Authors: John Gardner
“One word, only.’ “Yeah?”
“He say, win.” The Japanese officer laughed at the thought.
“Win, huh? Well, he didn’t, did he?”
“Man not win. He lost, and died.” The Japanese officer laughed again, as though it was the funniest thing he had heard in a long time.
Later, others did not find it so amusing.
The repercussions which sprang from the strange attack on the tanker, Son of Takashani, were predictable. Japan accused first Iran, then Iraq. Both countries denied complicity. No terrorist organisation owned up, though the Intelligence communities of the West kept their eyes and ears open.
Much of the traffic concerning the Japanese tanker passed across James Bond’s desk in that faceless building overlooking Regent’s Park where he was, to his frustration, chained to an administrative job. He could not know that he would, eventually, become deeply involved in the business.
In these days of high-tech electronics, it is not unusual for people, who should know better, to claim that HUMINT - the gathering of intelligence by human agents in the field - is either dead, or lives only on borrowed time. Bond had recently laughed aloud when hearing a writer of adventure stories claim that the spy novel was dead, because: “These days, it’s all done by satellites.”
Certainly those electronic wizards girdling the earth can pluck photographs, and even military transmissions, from the air, but there was far more to it than that. The satellite in war can give armies, navies and air forces the edge, but in peace, when there is more time at the disposal of intelligence agencies, the back-up analysis of photographs and spoken information can only be achieved by the man or woman in the field. Apart from that, there are often delicate covert operations which cannot be accomplished by whole echelons of electronics, only by humans.
In one area, that of ELINT, the collection of intelligence by electronic means, both the human agent, the COMSATS (Communications Satellites), and ELINT itself were welded together as a team. In recent years the micro bug, used so successfully to tap into telephone and other conversations, was sparingly taken into the field, usually only on close-quarter covert operations.
Indeed, the new buzzword is ELINT. Entire areas of towns, cities, and even the countryside can be monitored, world-wide.
No person is safe from the listeners, for eavesdropping has become part of life, necessary because of that other horror with which all countries and peoples are forced to cohabit - terrorism, in its many faces and forms.
Every twenty-four hours, electronic listening devices scan sensitive areas and, as they scan, so the giant memories of computers, at hundreds of installations, will strain to pick up particular trigger words and phrases. In parts of certain cities which are considered sensitive, if you talk to your girlfriend about Semtex, or accidentally speak a code word or phrase used by known terrorists, your conversation will almost certainly be monitored until the listeners decide your idle chatter is harmless.
Only human beings can install the small, very powerful listening stations at prescribed points; and other humans insert the key words and phrases into the computer databases. After that, the machines take over, making decisions to transcribe conversations, pinpoint their locations, even name those who are talking by identifying voice prints.
More human beings analyse these transcripts, sometimes at leisure, more often at speed, lest the advantage is lost.
Just over a month after the Son of Takashani incident, two men met in a villa overlooking the Mediterranean. They were smooth-skinned, immaculately turned out, and, to all intents and purposes, businessmen taking coffee on a vine-covered patio from which they had an uninterrupted view of spectacular beauty: cypresses, olive groves, rough grazing land for sheep and goats, the twinkling sea, and, in the distance, the baked red and white roofs of a small village. Neither of the men could have known that a powerful receiver was hidden in that village which looked so peaceful and secluded.
The receiver scanned an area of some fifty miles, shooting a million or so words a second, spoken in streets, bars, private houses and on telephones, through one of the COMSATS and on into the computers of two large listening-posts. One of the computers picked up an entire phrase, spoken by one of the two men as they drank their sweet coffee.
The phrase was, “Health depends on strength.” It was spoken as a toast, and the computer memories metaphorically sat up and took notice as the four words were repeated. They had only recently been inserted into the word scan programs.
“Health depends on strength,” the younger, dark-haired man smiled as he lifted his cup towards his older companion - a sleek, olive-skinned fellow with broad shoulders and a distinguished grey flecking his temples.
“WIN was a spectacular disaster,” the older man said. There was no hint of criticism in his voice, only a trace of distaste.
“I apologise,” his companion bowed his head slightly, “I had great confidence. The training was exceptional “And cost a small fortune “True. But it does prove that if we are to take all of them, when they’re aboard what they like to call Birdsnest Two, we require a much more subtle approach. Even if we had doubled, or maybe trebled the force for WIN there would have been carnage. Birdsnest Two is geared for any kind of attack. They would have taken out our hang-gliders long before they came within 500 feet of the target. Also it will probably have to be done in hard winter weather.”
The older man nodded, “Which means the attack can really only come from within.”
“You mean we should have people on board?” The dark-haired one sounded alarmed.
“Can you think of a better way?”
“It’s impossible. How can you infiltrate such a service at short notice? We’ve less than twelve months to go. If that had ever been an option we’d have used it, saved a lot of time, and also a great deal of money.” On the tapes that were finally studied, the listeners strained their ears through a long pause. In the distance came the sound of an aircraft high and a long way off. Nearer at hand, a dog barked angrily. Then the older man spoke “Ah, my friend, so often we go for a complex solution; how would it be if we made this more simple? One man. One man aboard Birdsnest Two would be all we need, for one man could unlock the gates, and let others in. Or even someone in the retinue, a discontented Flag Officer, for instance. One is all we require. A single Trojan Horse.”
“Even one would be .
“Difficult? No, not if he is already there, in place.”
“But we have nobody who.
“Maybe we do have somebody already in place; and maybe even he does not yet know it. Your people are skilled, surely they could tell who this man is, and bring pressure to bear?”
Again a pause, complete with the barking dog. Then “Compromise.
Yes, an obvious solution.”
“So obvious that you had to waste the lives of twenty mercenaries, not to mention the finance of training and equipping them. Now, go and find the agent we need. Officer, or enlisted man. Crew or visitor.
It doesn’t matter which. Just find him.”
M tossed the transcript back onto his desk and looked up at his Chief of Stall Bill Tanner, who appeared to be studying the old Admiral’s face as a strategist would examine the terrain of battle.
“Well,” M said. It was a grunt from the throat rather than a word clearly spoken. “Well, we know who these people are, and we know the target, what we don’t know is the full objective.
Any comments, Tanner?”
“Only the obvious, sir.”
“Meaning?” M was in an unashamedly bellicose mood today.
“Meaning, sir, that we can have things altered. We can have the brass hats moved at the last moment. Put them on a cruiser instead of Birdsnest Two . .
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Tanner, we know Birdsnest Two’s HMS Invincible, so say Invincible.” HMS Invincible is one of the three remaining aircraft-carriers - capital ships - of the Royal Navy: in fact three of the largest gas turbine-powered warships in the world.
All are designated as TDCs - “Through Deck Cruiser” of the Invincible class, and all had gone through major refits of electronics, weapons and aircraft capabilities since the lessons learned in the Falklands war.
With only the slightest pause, Tanner continued, “Put them in another ship … at the last minute . .
“What other ship? A destroyer, or a frigate? There are three of them, Tanner. Three top brass, complete with their staff. I’d say around twelve or fifteen bodies at the least. Use your sense, man, they’d have to share bunks on a frigate or destroyer, and that might be all very well for the Russkies, but I cannot see our American friends, or Sir Geoffrey Gould taking kindly to that.”
“Call it off’ sir?”
“I think there would be rumblings everywhere, including our wonderful Press and TV Defence Correspondents. They’d be asking “why?” before we even concocted a story. In any case, Landsea “89 is essential. All our combined exercises are essential, and what with this wretched business of glasnost and perestroika, NATO feels it’s doing the decent thing. Letting the Russians in on our war games, eh?”
“We’re not supposed to call them “war games anymore, sir “I know that!” M thumped his desk heavily. “It’s the thin end of the wedge, though, letting the Commander-in-Chief of the Russian Fleet in on a combined exercise as complex as this.”
Bill Tanner sighed, “At least our people won’t have to dodge their spy shiws all the time. You know, sir, even Churchill thought a sharing of information might be a good thing.”
“That, Chief of Staff, was before the First World War. It was also a sharing with the Germans. Russians are different creatures.
I’ve made no secret of the fact that I don’t approve of it.”
“Quite, sir.”
“I’ve been very outspoken with the Joint Intelligence Committee, though a fat lot of good it did me. All friends together, now - so they say. One idiot even quoted Kipling at me: Sisters under their skins and that kind of stuff. No, we have to do something positive.
Tanner had walked to the window, and stood looking out at the rain beating down on Regent’s Park. “Bodyguards, sir?
Well-briefed bodyguards?”
M made a grumbling noise. Then - “We know what these people’re after, Tanner, but we don’t want to tell the world, if only because we don’t know the reason why. Bodyguards would mean widening the circle of knowledge, and as you very well know that’s the first rule in our business - keep the circle small.” He stopped suddenly, as though struck by a new thought, then said, “No!” loudly, and not to anyone in particular.
The rain continued to fall on the grass, trees and umbrellas below. In his head Tanner had started to try and recite a piece of doggerel somebody had told him. It was a common theme about security and rumour dating back to the Second World War and it always made him smile “Actual evidence I have none But my aunt’s charwoman’s sister’s son, Heard a policeman on his beat, Say to a nursemaid in Downing Street, That he had a cousin, who had a friend, who knows when the war is going to end.”
It was not until he reached the last line, that Bill Tanner realised he had quoted the lines aloud.
“That’s it!” M almost bellowed.
“What, sir?”
“Nursemaid, Chief of Staff. We’ll give them a nursemaid. A good Naval man. Sound as a bell. A man willing to put his life before the lives of his charges.” M’s hand reached for the internal telephone which put him directly in touch with his devoted, though long-suffering private secretary. “Moneypenny,” he all but shouted loud enough for her to hear on the other side of the padded door. “Get Double-O Seven up here fast.”
Within ten minutes, James Bond was sitting in M’s holy of holies with his old Chief giving him what he thought of as the “fish eye”, and Bill Tanner looking a little uneasy.
“It’s a job,” M announced. “An operation that calls for more than the usual discretion; and certainly one that’ll require you to alter your circumstances a great deal.”
“I’ve worked undercover before, sir.”
Bond leaned back in the armchair in which M had invited him to sit.
It was a chair Bond knew well. If you were asked to sit in this, the most comfortable chair in M’s office, the news could only be bad.
“Undercover’s one thing, 007, but how would you feel about going back into the Royal Navy?”
“With respect, sir, I’ve never left the RNVR.”
M growled again, and James Bond thought he saw a gleam of unusual malice in the old Chief’s eyes. “Really?” M raised his eyes towards the ceiling. “How long is it since you stood a Duty Watch, 007? Or had to deal with defaulters; live day and night with the routine and discipline within a capital ship; or even felt a quarterdeck rise and fall sixty feet in a gale?”
“Well, sir .
“The job, 007, will require you to go back to active duty. In turn that’ll mean you’ll have to go on a course, several courses in fact, to bring you up to date with life and warfare in our present-day Royal Navy.”
The thought struck home. Bond’s life in the Service had, many times, caused him to work at full-stretch, but on the whole there were long periods of relaxation. To go back to active service in the Royal Navy would be a return to the old disciplines, and a re-honing of skills almost forgotten. A series of pictures flickered through his head. They were rather what he had always imagined a dying man saw: his life many years ago, in the Royal Navy Volunteer Reserve on active service. The images in his brain did not attract him as much as they had done when he was a young midshipman. “Why?” he asked lamely. “I mean why should I go back to active service, sir?”
M smiled and nodded, “Because, 007, in the late winter of next year, the Royal Navy, together with elite troops, air forces, and the navies of all the NATO powers, including the United States Navy, will be carrying out an exercise: Landsea “89. There will be observers: Admiral of the Fleet, Sir Geoffrey Gould; Admiral Gudeon, United States Navy; and Admiral Sergei Yevgennevich Pauker, Commander-in-Chief of the Soviet Navy - a post unknown in any other navy in the world.” M took a deep breath. “The latter has been invited because of the current thawing in relationships between East and West. Glasnost, perestroika, that kind of thing.”