The Spy Who Loved Me

It was quite a cavalcade that came sweeping up the road between the pines—a squad car with outriders, an ambulance, two other police cars, and a recovery truck that came toward me across the grass and went on down to the lake. Everyone seemed to have had their orders, and very soon the whole area was covered with moving figures in olive-green or dark blue.

The heavily built man who soon came forward to meet me, followed by a junior officer who turned out to be the stenographer, looked every inch the detective-captain of the films—slow-moving, kindly-faced, purposeful. He held out his hand. "Miss Michel? I'm Captain Stonor from Glens Falls. Let's go somewhere where we can have a talk, shall we? One of the cabins, or shall we stay out in the open?"

"I've had about enough of the cabins, if you don't mind. Why not over there—my breakfast table. And by the way, thank you very much for your thoughtfulness. I was starving."

"Don't thank me, Miss Michel." The Captain's eyes twinkled frostily. "It was your English friend, Commander Bond, who suggested it"—he paused—"among other things."

So he was a commander. It was the only rank I liked the name of. And of course he was bound to have put the captain's back up—an Englishman with all this authority. And with the C.I.A. and F.B.I, of all people! Nothing would irritate the regular police more. I decided to be extremely diplomatic.

We sat down and, after the usual police preliminaries, I was asked to tell my story.

It took two hours, what with Captain Stonor's questions and men coming up from time to time to whisper hoarsely into his ear, and at the end of it I was exhausted. Coffee was brought and cigarettes for me ("Not while I'm on duty, thank you, Miss Michel"), and then we all relaxed and the stenographer was sent away. Captain Stonor sent for Lieutenant Morrow and took him aside to radio a preliminary report to headquarters, and I watched the wreck of the black sedan, that had by now been hauled up the cliff, being towed over the lawn to the road. There the ambulance was driven over beside it, and I turned away as a wet bundle was carefully lifted out onto the grass. Horror! I remembered again those cold, red-flecked eyes. I felt his hands on me. Could it have happened?

I heard the captain say, "And copies to Albany and Washington. Right?" And then he was back sitting opposite me.

He looked at me kindly and said some complimentary things. I looked appreciative and said, "No, no." I asked when he thought I could get on.

Captain Stonor didn't answer immediately. Instead he slowly reached up and took off his cap and put it on the table. The armistice gesture, a copy of the lieutenant's made me smile inside. Then he rummaged in his pockets and took out cigarettes and a lighter. He offered me one and then lit his own. He smiled at me, his first non-official smile. "I'm going off duty now, Miss Michel." He sat back comfortably and crossed his legs, resting his left ankle on his right knee and holding the ankle. He suddenly looked like a middle-aged man with a family, taking it easy. He took his first long draw on his cigarette and watched the smoke drift away. He said, "You can be going any time now, Miss Michel. Your friend Commander Bond was anxious that you should be put to as little trouble as possible. And I'm glad to accommodate him—and you. And"—he smiled with unexpected humor and irony—"I didn't need Washington to add their wishes in this matter. You've been a brave girl. You got involved in a bad crime and you behaved like I'd wish any child of mine to behave. Those two hoodlums are both wanted men. I'll be putting in your name for the rewards. Likewise to the insurance company, who will certainly be generous. We've booked those Phanceys on a preliminary charge of conspiracy to defraud, and this Mr. Sanguinetti is already on the run, as the Commander suggested this morning he would be. We checked with Troy, as we would have checked anyway, and the normal police machinery is in motion to pick him up. There will be a capital charge against Mr. Sanguinetti, if and when we catch up with him, and it may be that you will be needed as a material witness. The state will pay for you to be brought from wherever you may be, housed, and taken back again. All this"—Captain Stonor made a throwaway gesture with his cigarette—"is normal police routine, and it will look after itself." The astute blue eyes looked carefully into mine and then veiled themselves. "But that doesn't quite end the case to my satisfaction." He smiled. "That is, now that I'm off duty, so to speak, and there's only just you and me."

I tried to look just interested and nonchalant, but I wondered what was coming.

"Did this Commander Bond leave you any instructions, any letter? He told me that he had left you asleep early this morning. That he had gone off around six and had not wanted to wake you up. Quite right, of course. But"—Captain Stonor examined the end of his cigarette— "your evidence and the Commander's is to the effect that you shared the same cabin. Quite natural in the circumstances. You wouldn't have wanted to be alone any more last night. But it seems rather an abrupt good-by—after an exciting night like that. No trouble with him, I suppose? He didn't, er, try to get fresh with you, if you get my meaning?" The eyes were apologetic, but they probed into mine.

I blushed furiously. I said sharply, "Certainly not, Captain. Yes, he did leave a letter for me. A perfectly straightforward one. I didn't mention it because it doesn't add anything to what you know." I ran down the zip on my front and reached inside for the letter, blushing even worse. Damn the man!

He took the letter and read it carefully. He handed it back. "A very nice letter. Very, er, businesslike. I don't get the bit about the soap."

I said shortly, "Oh, that was only a joke about the motel soap. He said it was too strongly scented."

"I see. Yes, sure. Well, that's fine, Miss Michel." The eyes were kindly again. "Well, now. D'you mind if I say something personal? Talk to you a minute as if you might be my own daughter? You could be, you know— almost my granddaughter if I'd started early enough." He chuckled cozily.

"No. Please say anything you like."

Captain Stonor took another cigarette and lit it. "Well, now, Miss Michel, what the Commander says is right. You've been in the equivalent of a bad motor accident and you don't want to have any nightmares about it. But there's more to it than that. You've been suddenly introduced, out of the blue, so to speak, and violently, to the underground war of crime, the war that's going on all the time and that you read about and see in movies. And, like in the movies, the cop has rescued the maiden from the robbers." He leaned forward across the table and held my eyes firmly in his. "Now don't get me wrong about this, Miss Michel, and if I'm speaking out of turn, just forget what I'm going to say. But it would be unreasonable of you not to create a hero out of the cop who saved you, perhaps build an image in your mind that that's the sort of man to look up to, even perhaps to want to marry." The captain sat back. He smiled apologetically. "Now the reason I'm going into all this is because violent emergencies like what you've been through leave their scars. They're one hell of a shock to anyone—to any dam' citizen. But most of all to a young person like yourself. Now I believe"—the kind eyes became less kind— "I have good reason from the reports of my officers to believe, that you had intimate relations with Commander Bond last night. I'm afraid it's one of our less attractive duties to be able to read such signs." Captain Stonor held up his hand. "Now I'm not prying any more into these private things, and they're none of my business, but it would be perfectly natural, almost inevitable, that you might have lost your heart, or at any rate part of it, to this personable young Englishman who has just saved your life." The sympathy in the fatherly smile was edged with irony. "After all's said and done, that's what happens in the books and in the movies, isn't it? So why not in real life?"

I stirred impatiently, wanting this stupid lecture to finish, wanting to be gone.

"Now I'm coming to the end very quickly, Miss Michel, and I know you think I'm being very impertinent, but ever since I got past middle age on the force, I've been interested in what I call postnatal care after a case like this. Particularly when the survivor is young and might be damaged by what the young person has been through. So I want to leave one thought with you if I may, and then wish you the best of luck and a happy journey on that crazy little scooter-thing of yours. It's just this, Miss Michel."

Captain Stonor's eyes continued to look into mine, but they had lost focus. I knew I was going to hear something from the heart. This is a rare thing between generations— between grown-ups and children. I stopped thinking of getting away and paid attention.

"This underground war I was talking about, this crime battle that's always going on—whether it's being fought between cops and robbers or between spies and counterspies. This is a private battle between two trained armies, one fighting on the side of law and of what his own country thinks is right, and one belonging to the enemies of these things." Captain Stonor was now talking to himself. I imagined that he was reciting something—something he felt very strongly about, perhaps had said in speeches or in an article in some police magazine. "But in the higher ranks of these forces, among the toughest of the professionals, there's a deadly quality in the persons involved which is common to both—to both friends and enemies." The captain's closed fist came softly down on the wooden table-top for emphasis, and his inward-looking eyes burned with a dedicated, private anger. "The top gangsters, the top F.B.I, operatives, the top spies and the top counterspies are coldhearted, coldblooded, ruthless, tough killers, Miss Michel. Yes, even the 'friends' as opposed to the 'enemies.' They have to be. They wouldn't survive if they weren't. Do you get me?" Captain Stonor's eyes came back into focus. Now they held mine with a friendly urgency that touched my feelings—but not, I'm ashamed to say, my heart. "So the message I want to leave with you, my dear—and I've talked with Washington and I've learned something about Commander Bond's outstanding record in his particular line of business—is this. Keep away from all these men. They are not for you, whether they're called James Bond or Sluggsy Morant. Both these men, and others like them, belong to a private jungle into which you've strayed for a few hours and from which you've escaped. So don't go and get sweet dreams about the one or nightmares from the other. They're just different people from the likes of you—a different species." Captain Stonor smiled. "Like hawks and doves, if you'll pardon the comparison. Get me?" My expression cannot have been receptive. The voice became abrupt. "Okay, let's go, then."

Captain Stonor got to his feet and I followed. I didn't know what to say. I remembered my immediate reaction when James Bond had shown himself at the door of the motel— Oh, God, it's another of them. But I also remembered his smile and his kisses and his arms round me. I walked meekly beside this large, comfortable man who had come out with these kindly-meant thoughts, and all I could think was that 1 wanted a big lunch and then a long sleep at least a hundred miles from The Dreamy Pines Motor Court.