Authors: John Gardner
“This morning, one of the main turbines which drive this ship, had a serious malfunction. One man, a Petty Officer, was killed and there was no further damage. The turbine has been inspected and, so far, there are no signs of sabotage. One thing is clear, though - we should not attempt to make Gibraltar without getting the turbine running again. Also, because the other turbines were produced at the same time as the one which blew, it is essential that they have a complete overhaul. This will take several days.” He paused to let all this sink in, and Mrs. Thatcher showed slight annoyance, looking at him as if to say, “Get on with it, man.”
“There is a US Naval Base, near Cadiz, and within a few hours’ sailing time from here, but there are problems about this place “You’re talking about Rota?” the PM asked.
“Precisely, Prime Minister. Until a few years ago Rota was a base for US ships. In particular for the nuclear submarine fleets.
However, this was discontinued at the request of the Spanish Government. Now it is solely used for Spanish ships, though the United States use it as an airfield - to support the US Navy, as a staging post for US personnel returning home, or going to other NATO bases in Europe. It is also, I am told, used for more sensitive matters.”
“So what are you telling us, Captain Bond?” President Bush asked, a little sharply.
“Permission has been given for The invincible to put into Rota. In fact it has now been included in the exercise in which we are supposed to be engaged, Landsea “89. A new turbine is being flown out, in several sections, and a special team of engineers are coming in from Rolls-Royce. The problem there is that we shall be called upon to allow more civilians on board .
“Can they not wait for the four days, which, I must remind you, Captain Bond, are shrinking fast?” The Prime Minister was getting more irritated and Bond already knew that it was unlikely they would budge her from her avowed intention of spending the full four days with President Bush and Secretary Gorbachev.
“There is one other problem,” Bond continued. “Yes, I expect the engineers can be kept at bay, but I am concerned for your safety.
While we cannot prove the gas-turbine accident was an act of sabotage, we have had two incidents since we commenced Landsea “89. Both, we suspect, are connected to a little-known terrorist group called BAST.
One took place before you joined us - that concerned murder, and the resultant discovery that one of the Wren detachment on board was not what she seemed. She was a very definite penetration agent, we think linked to BAST.
Also, this morning, one of your protectors, Chairman Gorbachev, was killed while we were trying to arrest a second man we think is also a BAST penetration.”
The Russian leader spoke a few words to the interpreter who said, “Mr. Gorbachev is already aware that Nikola Ratnikov has given her life for his personal protection. She is to be posthumously awarded the highest honour the Soviet Union can give to a brave soldier.”
Bond acknowledged the statement, then continued, “I have also been threatened by BAST. Over Christmas I was personally attacked, and my car was bombed on the island of Ischia. This was definitely a BAST operation, which seems to indicate that the whole of Stewards’ Meeting is known to them.
“Our only option is to limp into Rota tonight, and get you all off the ship, under cover of darkness. The USNB at Rota has agreed to take people off but, as yet, they do not, of course, know who you are.
“Then that will take up a little time, Captain Bond,” Mrs. Thatcher said frostily. “I would suggest that you get on with moving us into Rota, and arranging for us to fly back to our respective countries under the utmost secrecy.”
“Thank you, Prime Minister. That’s what we see as the most viable course .
But the PM had not finished. “This will, of course, not be possible to accomplish in the next four days. We started our talks this morning. We will leave, secretly from Rota, in four days. I am sure we’ll all be quite safe in your hands. Thank you, Sir John, thank you, Captain Bond. Now we must really get on with our work.
“It’s like trying to argue with an Exocet,” Sir John Walmsley said angrily once they were outside. “So be it. We make for Rota.
The rest of the Task Force will have to stay outside the harbour, as a defensive wall, while we, Bond, will just have to make the best of it. How’s the fellow who got shot this morning?”
“He’ll be okay, but we can’t even think of questioning him yet.”
“Come up to the bridge with me.” The Rear-Admiral had already set off at a brisk pace. “When’ll you be able to interrogate the man?”
“Probably some,time tomorrow. I have an armed guard on him round the clock.
“You going to leave him to the tender mercies of the inquisitor you had flown in from Gib?”
Bond sighed. “As it happens, I was going to have him relieved because I didn’t think him suitable for the Deeley girl. He’s got a paranoid personality, and jumps at every shadow. He’s not the most pleasant interrigator I’ve met, and he sees plots behind every uniform and every bulkhead, though I think he might just be the type to deal with this joker.”
“Your province, Bond. Your province. You must do as you see fit.” They had reached the bridge. “Oh, merciful heavens, look what we have here!” Walmsley exploded. Outside the weather had closed in, with low cloud and driving rain.
“It’ll take me until tonight to get into Rota. Maybe late tonight.
You get on with what you have to do, Bond, and I’ll try and make it in the shortest possible time. The Task Force will have to close up, and that’s not going to be easy in the circumstances.
We’ll talk later. Right?”
“Aye-Aye, sir.” Bond went below, found the sick bay and spoke to Surgeon Commander Grant.
“He’s weak and unconscious,” the doctor told him, “though one of the Flag Lieutenants guarding Mrs. T came down and shot off some photographs to send to London for identification. The marines will keep an eye on him, and, I assure you that, unless he’s subject to a miracle, there’s no way he can get out of here.
Lost too much blood.” Next, Bond summoned Donald Speaker to his cabin. The man showed no sign of relaxing his near-paranoid unpleasant stance and arrived late, without knocking at the door.
“Sit down.” Bond knew he sounded like a headmaster who had summoned a recalcitrant boy to his study.
“What is it now? More shady business?”
“In a word, yes. But you’d better know that I had London’s clearance to have you taken ashore and sent home, after last night.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. But another job’s come up that might just be right for your unpleasant talents.” He instructed the interrogator regarding the wounded prisoner. “You’ll have a word with the Surgeon Commander tomorrow morning, and you will take his advice, and his advice only, as to when you can start. Now, I don’t want to see hide nor hair of you until you’ve got a result.”
In the wardroom at lunchtime, Clover Pennington came over and said she was sorry to hear about the Russian girl. “You’d grown quite fond of her, hadn’t you?” she asked.
“In a professional way only, Clover. She was good at her job.”
“And aren’t I any good at mine?”
“You’re excellent, Clover. But let it all lie till we’ve got the next few days behind us.”
They made Rota just before midnight. A boat went ashore with Rear-Admiral Sir John Walmsley, who stayed on the US Base until three in the morning, having made all arrangements for the base to house the inbound Rolls-Royce technicians.
The ship’s routine went on as usual, and, after doing his rounds of the secure areas for the heads-of-state and their bodyguards, Bond turned in a good hour before Walmsley was back in the ship.
His bedside communications telephone woke him at just before six.
“Captain’s compliments, sir. Could you go to his night cabin immediately?” It was the Officer of the Watch.
Bond shaved and dressed at the speed of light, and presented himself at the Captain’s night cabin ten minutes later.
Walmsley was in his bunk, looking tired, propped on one elbow, sipping a large mug of coffee with one hand and holding a signal in the other. “They give me no peace,” he said. “This is, I think, for you, Bond.” He waggled the flimsy signal. “Coffee?”
“No, I’ll get some later, sir.” Bond quickly read the flimsy.
FROM OC USNB ROTA SPAIN TO CAPTAIN HMS INVINCIBLE STOP IF YOU HAVE A CAPTAIN JAMES BOND ON BOARD HE IS REQUESTED TO COME ASHORE IMMEDIATELY TO TAKE URGENT INSTRUCTIONS FROM HIS SUPERIORS STOP PLEASE ADVISE SO HE CAN BE MET STOP CAPTAIN BOND IS ADVISED SONGBIRD STOP “I trust this was in cipher, sir?” The use of the word Songbird authenticated the signal for Bond.
“With you fellows it’s always in cipher. My writer unbuttoned it under absolute security. Gravestone security.”
“I think I’d better go, then, sir.”
“Thought you might. I’ve got a boat standing by. Only one rating to take you in. I don’t want to send a lot of people off the ship at the moment. Should he wait for you?”
Bond thought for a moment. “No, sir. But, as a precaution, I’ll signal you when I’m ready to return and I’ll use the word Songbird. If everything is normal, could you use Tawny Owl at the end of your signal?”
“Oh lord, must I, Bond?”
“My signal to you will assure you of my safety. You should also respond in kind.”
“Very well. Off you go. Your boat’s waiting at the forward gangway, port side.”
“Thank you, sir.”
As Bond left the cabin, so the Rear-Admiral leaned forward and began to write on the pad by his bed.
The rain had eased oIl, but Bond had muffled himself in his greatcoat, as the wind still carried rain and it was bitterly cold at seven in the morning. Also the Leading Seaman who steered them in did not seem to be completely awake. Altogether, Bond was glad when they reached the jetty. A civilian car was parked nearby and, as he came up the stone steps, a United States Navy Commander stepped from the driving side.
“Captain Bond?” He saluted.
“The same.
“Anything else to tell me, sir?”
“Predator,” Bond snapped back.
“Fine, sir. My name’s Carter. Mike Carter, and I’m acting on behalf of Songbird. If you’d like to get in, we have someone waiting for you on the base, sir.
They drove through the early morning mist, and the rain started up gain.
Finally, the American Commander stopped the car by a well guarded gateway. A black guard stepped forward and scrutinised the laminated card proffered by the Commander, looked at Bond and asked who he was.
Commander Carter handed him another piece of paper which, to his amazement, Bond saw had his photograph attached to it.
“Okay.” For the first time the guard saluted, and they drove on.
It was like any other base, apart from an area in the distance which contained two huge communications spheres, made from angled panels, making them look like enormous white golf-balls.
From between them other equipment sprouted - a very tall aerial, and three rotating dishes.
Over to his left, Bond saw another communications ball with some of the panels missing.
“That one not functioning?” he asked.
“Hell, no.” Carter smiled. “We share this place with the K Spanish Navy. That was going to be for them, so we built the sphere, then they couldn’t afford the gizmos that go inside. Tell you what, though, on Halloween we put lights in it and move the panels around.
It looks great as a pumpkin.”
They pulled up outside a low office building which had a marine armed guard at the door.
“Okay, here we are. Terminus, as they say. Just follow me, sir.
He showed the ID to the marine and they went through a small reception area, and along a passage. “In here, sir.” Carter opened a door. “Can I get you anything?”
“I haven’t had breakfast and I’m pretty dry.”
“Bacon, eggs, coffee.”
“Why not?” Bond smiled.
“Be back in a few minutes then, Captain Bond, sir.”
Bond nodded, and went into the room.
“Hello, my darling, I thought I’d never see you again,” said Beatrice Maria da Ricci, who was sitting at a table with a large mug of coffee in front of her.
Batsblood
For once, Bond was lost for words. “But he croaked, “you’re Beatrice,” pronouncing it as she had done, Beh-ahTree-che. As he did so, he realised that he had been mourning her since the terrible moment on Christmas afternoon when he had seen her blown to pieces in front of him at the Villa Capricciani on Ischia.
Instinctively he reached out to touch her hand. It was flesh - and blood, and he really did not care if she were the “Cat” of BAST.
She smiled up at him, the smile lighting her eyes, and the whole of her face. “It’s okay, James. I am real, not a ghost. Also I am on your side. I am not the “Cat’.”
“But how … What? - - I saw .
“You saw a very good illusion. Like a magician’s trick, like David Copperfield in America, or Paul Daniels in England.”
“How?”
“Your life was saved. So was mine, and we owe our lives to Franco whom we can never repay, because he is dead. I pleaded with M to let you know before this, but he said no, not until you could be off the ship for a little time.”
“But, how, Beatrice?”
There was a knock at the door and Carter reappeared with a tray.
Bacon, fried very crisply, the American way, two eggs, sunnyside up, a plate of toast, preserves and a huge pot of coffee.
“Don’t forget, Miss da Ricci,” Carter cautioned as he left.
“There isn’t much time. Your boss said it had to be done as quickly as possible.”
“Haven’t forgotten, Mike. Thank you.
Carter left and she told Bond to eat. “I will talk. Just like old times, eh?”
He nodded, and again asked how.
“There are two things you should know, James. First, you only met Franco and Umberto, who both gave their lives for all this.
We had more people watching out for us. Four more men, all well concealed. They were our real watchers. Second, while we showed you around the Villa we did not quite show you everything. Maybe that was wrong. I don’t know any more.”
“What didn’t you show me?” He swallowed the orange juice in one draught, then tucked in to the bacon and eggs. As fastidious as he was about breakfast, this was heaven. He had not realised how hungry he was, nor how thirsty. Unnaturally thirsty.