Cold

by John Gardner

  ‘You had a comment, Bond!’ M said sharply.

  ‘No, sir. No. Do the FBI have a nice little safe house like this in Idaho?’

  ‘It’s not an FBI house,’ M smiled grimly. ‘It’s one of ours.’

  Toni moved in. ‘Then we’re not to operate on the Clay business together?’

  Eddie gave a forceful, ‘No!’ which settled matters for all time. ‘James, your job is to sniff out Clay. Take a few soundings, see if he really has connections with COLD, then get out.’

  ‘Before he gets me, I presume?’

  M said that the job was purely routine. ‘Just touch base with the man, take a look-see at him and his little gang, then return straight to London. You send in your report through me. Right?’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  Eddie Rhabb shifted in his chair. ‘We will have someone looking after your interests, James. In fact, we’ll have the whole area covered, and someone’ll make contact using the same passwords as we did tonight.’

  ‘And we go out under our real names? In daylight? Under no cover?’

  ‘That would be the best way to flush them out.’ MacRoberts had toned down his wild man voice to a softer, more gentle and persuasive inflection.

  ‘What if they also decide to do it in plain sight? At the airport, for instance?’

  ‘I do assure you, James, that we have co-operation from the Italians. Tomorrow at Pisa and Rome there will be a maximum alert. And they do know what and who they’re looking for,’ MacRoberts soothed.

  ‘Well, I must be going,’ M rose from his chair. ‘Your fellows going to take me to that military base?’ He glared at Eddie Rhabb.

  The FBI man nodded. ‘Then they’ll come back here and wait until it’s time to take James and Toni to Pisa.’

  ‘And when’s that going to be?’ Toni sounded disenchanted with the way things had turned out.

  ‘You both leave here at ten in the morning, and fly to Rome on the eleven o’clock shuttle. You, Toni, have an hour to wait for the Dulles direct; James will just make it for San Francisco.’

  M nodded to each of the men and shook Toni’s hand, then stood in front of Bond. ‘Good luck, James. I’ll see you in London. Right?’

  ‘If I get through this particular obstacle course, yes sir.’

  ‘You’ve always come back before . . . Except, well, there was one occasion when you had us worried. But you’ve always made it home.’

  ‘There’s a first time for everything, sir.’

  M slowly nodded. ‘Yes. Well, good luck,’ and he was gone, with Rhabb beside him walking into the night.

  ‘The come-back kid, eh?’ Toni gave him a little crooked smile.

  ‘Bring ’em back alive. Ride into town with their bodies slung over my saddle, that’s me.’

  Outside, they heard the car start up, then the meshing of the gears and the crunch of tyres on gravel.

  ‘In good form, your boss,’ Rhabb chuckled as he came back through the door followed by MacRoberts. ‘He always as outspoken and unemotional as that?’

  ‘Most of the time.’ Bond forced a smile. ‘Thou‘I think one of their wives was in bed with him.yEgh I once saw him moved by a very good claret at his club.’

  MacRoberts threw his head back and laughed. Then – ‘You two had better get some rest. Tonight must’ve been arduous for you.’

  ‘Yes, arduous is a good word.’

  ‘Laborious is good as well.’ Toni kept a straight face before asking what the two highly experienced officers thought would be going on at the Villa Tempesta.

  ‘Well . . .’ Eddie began.

  ‘The Brothers Grimm’ll both have nasty headaches when they wake up,’ MacRoberts continued. ‘I also suspect they’ll be out for blood. Probably your blood. There’ll be telephone calls to Idaho, I’ve no doubt.’

  ‘They’ll also be put out because they’re two men short,’ Toni added. ‘Don’t fancy your chances much, James.’

  ‘Enough, if I have to face them, I’d like to do it well rested.’

  His room was small but pleasant with a dormer window and a bathroom in which he could just about have swung the proverbial cat. He stripped, showered, got into bed and turned the light out.

  Within a couple of minutes, as he was passing over the rim of sleep, there was a soft tapping at the door.

  ‘Who is it?’

  The door opened quietly and Toni climbed into bed next to him, rubbing herself against him like a cat. ‘I came to say hello and goodbye,’ she whispered, rolling on top of him and wriggling her body as she opened her legs, half kneeling. ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘Well, hello.’

  ‘And hello to you, Toni.’

  Twenty minutes later he asked, ‘Do you come here often?’

  ‘Not as often as I’d like to.’

  ‘Then you must visit me in London.’

  She snuggled close and made him promise to come back safely from Idaho. He promised, and, holding each other, they both made a slow and comfortable descent ">She was shak

  11

  GRAVEYARD

  He got very near to fighting physically with MacRoberts and Rhabb. ‘My chief’s gone adrift here while under your care, and I’m damned well going to find him,’ he shouted at one point, fist raised to throw a punch at Eddie. All logic had disappeared, and for almost an hour he would not listen to reason. Then Rhabb was forced to get really tough with him.

  ‘I understand your position, James.’ He stood almost nose to nose with Bond, literally in his face. ‘I know how you must feel. You’ve worked under M for a long time. It wouldn’t surprise me if you felt a little guilty about what’s happened. If you hadn’t made that escape, M might not even have been here. He insisted on seeing you. He’s not a young man but he flew over in the back seat of a jet fighter to reinforce his orders. You were to work under my direction, and I’m bloody well going to see that you get back to the States and meet with Clay. There’s no way you’re going to go tearing around Italy causing mayhem when what we need is some insight into this son-of-a-bitch of a general.

  ‘It’s a lot to ask of you, I know, but when it all boils down, you weren’t asked, you were ordered. M ordered you to do this under my jurisdiction and you’re going to obey his orders. Right?’

  Bond turned away scowling, knowing the FBI man was right, and that he was being left-footed by the emotion he felt for his longtime superior.

  ‘Well, make sure you get him back – and in one piece as well.’ A pause, then – ‘I’m sorry, Eddie. This threw me. The Old Man has been part of my life for years . . .’

  ‘As long as you’re not going soft and getting twitchy about being in the field.’

  Once more, anger flared within him. ‘You calling me a coward, Rhabb? Yes, I’ve been doing this job for quite a while, and I know people get burned-out from time to time, but I’ve never, and will never, gib at the work I do for my country. Understand?’

  ‘Perfectly.’

  Bond turned and went back upstairs to get ready for the journey. As he shaved, he heard a telephone ring once somewhere in the house, and when he carried the small case and his briefcase downstairs, he found Rhabb and MacRoberts sitting, stone-faced. Neither of them looked at him, and when he asked what was wrong, Eddie avoided his eyes.

  ‘M’s wrong picked upEeither , James.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We think he’s also being used as another lure.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Seven o’clock this morning, before everyone had been made aware of the seriousness of the problem, an air ambulance – a converted Lear Jet – landed at Pisa to pick up a British businessman who had been injured in a road accident. That was the story anyway. The aircraft had clearance to London but apparently deviated from its original flight plan, flew to Rome, gassed up with emergency tanks and filed a new flight plan. It was headed to Seattle, Washington State. Some story about the patient requiring special treatment that could only be given at a hospital there.’

  ‘M’s the
patient?’

  ‘Almost certainly. One of the personnel at Pisa recognized a Tempesta bodyguard as one of the nursing staff.’

  ‘What about picking them up in Seattle? They can’t even have arrived yet.’

  ‘They’ve gone off the air. No radar has them. We’ve got military aircraft out looking and scanning every possible approach to the USA and Canada. So far, no luck.’

  ‘They’ve got to be out there somewhere.’

  ‘Yes, unless something went wrong.’ He let the thought lie between them. Nobody wanted to suspect the worst possible scenario.

  Toni Nicolletti came down the stairs with her case. ‘More problems?’ she asked.

  ‘Serious.’ Bond looked up at her, then shook his head. ‘You really don’t want to know.’

  Eddie drove them to Pisa. ‘You won’t see people – unless I get one of them to make contact with you – but you’ll be followed all the way. Wherever you are, my men and women will not be far behind you, James. I should imagine we’ll see you in a few days. Oh, yes, you have the right to terminate the general if it becomes a necessary option.’

  ‘I didn’t even need to be told that.’ Bond’s eyes looked as hard as granite.

  During the flight to Rome, he held Toni’s hand and felt a small sadness on leaving her. But that was the way of life for him. Men and women passed like travellers on a dark night. They met, found some consolation in one another and then went on, their lives separating. On occasions – like the short time he had spent with Sukie at Dulles International – they would meet again, slake their mutual thirsts, and exchange whatever wisdom they had learned in the period spent apart. His whole life seemed to have been filled with a memory of women: sometimes a wilderness of them.

  Long before the seat belt signs came on for the descent into Leonardo da Vinci, he had said his goodbyes and kissed her gently on the mouth, whispering one quick line from The Song of Solomon, ‘Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair.’ He saw tears start in her eyes, and wondered at his act of sentiment.

  Then they were down and taxiing in to the terminal. James Bond was one of the first off the aircraft. He did not look back, or try to catch a glimpse of Toni.

  During the flight to San Francisco he ate, dozed, watched a movie and gave it three thumbs-down. From the airport he took a cab to The Fairmont and checked in under his own name.

  On the aircraft, and on the way to the hotel, he knew there were at least two people with him. He did not look for these shadows but suspected that one of Eddie’s people was ahead of him, while someone else – belonging to either theqAFbb Tempestas or COLD – was lurking at a distance behind him.

  He unpacked only what he needed, which included the ASP 9mm automatic and a holster which he clipped onto his belt on the right side of his back. He would have to return it to the secret section of the briefcase before going through security the next day, but on the ground he was not going to be caught without a weapon.

  Next he booked himself on the first flight to Spokane in the morning; then he called the number given to him by Eddie Rhabb. They had arranged a series of fast codes to report his arrival and to pick up any news. The conversation was brief.

  ‘I’m here,’ Bond began.

  ‘Good, and good luck.’

  ‘News?’

  ‘Yes, we think the man flew to Canada after all.’

  ‘Safe?’

  ‘No further information. You could meet up with him. Who knows?’

  The distant end of the line went dead.

  The flight into Spokane landed just after eight the next morning. An hour later he had started his journey, in a Ford Taurus – the only car Hertz had available – taking Interstate 90 and crossing the state line into Idaho.

  In the lovely lakeside resort of Coeur d’Alene he stopped and used a public call box to dial the number given to him by the Tempestas. It rang for a long time and then clicked as though being switched automatically to another line.

  ‘Adjutant.’ The voice was clipped, businesslike.

  ‘I need to speak with General Brutus Clay.’ He held his breath as the line went silent then a low growling voice came on, ‘Clay.’

  ‘I’m a friend of the Tempesta brothers. We need to meet. Today if possible.’

  ‘I’m conducting a tactical exercise in the field,’ Clay barked.

  ‘We still need to meet.’

  ‘I can give you half an hour. Pencil?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Map reference . . .’ the general snapped out a series of numbers and Bond repeated them back.

  ‘Fifteen hundred hours today.’ The line clicked and went dead.

  Eddie had told him to take Rand McNally maps. ‘They don’t do Ordnance Survey like in Europe,’ he had said, ‘but these’ll do you fine.’

  Back in the car he unfolded the map to work out the route. The map reference, it seemed, was a graveyard. Was that an omen or a warning? He sat for a moment looking across the still water of the lake and the jagged mountains beyond. It was a Swiss view, the kind of silent wonder that you did not associate with America if, like Bond, you usually only had business in the cities of that great country. He could do worse than eventually retire to a place like this. There would be climbing and skiing, fishing, boating and other water sports. But he was basically a European. Maybe it could soon pall. A year or two and the itch would catch him so he would scurry back to somewhere in the great United States of Europe, if that terror actually ever came about.

  He drove on until he reached a turn-off leading to a log building on his right that sported the name of Willy’s Wolf’s Lair, and advertised the best steaks in the world.

  Inside, girls in fringed jackets, short skirts, cowboy boots, and hats hanging behind their necks, carried trays piled with steaks that could have come from a mammoth not a cow, fries and all the trimmings.

  There was a bar to his right and he slid onto a stool, ordering a Red Dog inaugural flightAFbbbeer. He craved for a vodka martini, but common sense told him that just might be considered a girl’s drink around here.

  ‘One Red Dog? You got it.’ The barman slid the bottle across to him and asked if he wanted a glass. Bond nodded and saw the eyebrows lift slightly as one was provided.

  ‘Why, Bill?’ said a voice and he looked around to see that seated next to him was a young lady in stone-washed jeans, a denim shirt and jacket, the jeans folded into tightly-laced calf-length boots. The accent was distinctly southern. He expected to hear ‘Why, I do declare,’ as her next line.

  ‘Hilary?’ He peered at her as though trying to recognize her from his past.

  She had a round face that had seen a lot of the outdoors, the complexion was fresh, pink and white, with a wide mouth, violet eyes and a great waterfall of naturally blonde hair. ‘Hilary herself. This is real strange. Ah nearly almost didn’t stop off here. Just came to mind as I was driving past.’ She pronounced it ‘payust.’ ‘Man, ah ain’t seen you in so long. Mah Mama’d be tickled to death about this. How are y’all?’

  ‘Very bonny thank you,’ he smiled, purposely using a favourite expression of a fictional spy. He had always wanted to say that – ‘very bonny.’

  ‘Well, you’re a picture and no mistake, Bill. We gonna take a bite to eat together?’

  In the event they took several bites, and she almost overwhelmed him with her constant prattle. Later, he told her that it was like being trapped in Gone With the Wind. This was after they had demolished steaks the size of dinner plates, mounds of fries and several cups of coffee.

  ‘Where’s your car?’ he asked when they finally got outside.

  ‘It’s that old black pick-up parked over there.’ Her accent had become more familiar: all trace of Scarlett O’Hara gone – presumably with the wind. ‘It’ll be safe enough here. Nobody’s going to notice it for a few days. Place is always crowded with cars. I’ll ride with you, that’s what Eddie said I should do.’

  ‘How did you know I’d drop in at Willy’s Wolf’
s Lair?’

  ‘I didn’t. I passed you way back in Coeur d’Alene and figured you might just stop here. I was just going to leave and catch up with you when you came in. Where’s the meet with Brutus Clay?’

  ‘A graveyard just outside of a place called Murray.’

  ‘That’s an interesting place, James. I can call you James, yes?’

  ‘Of course. Do I call you Hilary?’

  She gave a little laugh. ‘My real name’s Felicia Heard Shifflet. Heard as in seen and not, but my friends call me Fliss.’

  They drove through an eight-mile stretch of mountains. ‘Fourth of July Pass, they call this,’ she told him. Then through tiny towns with names like Osburn, Silverton, onto Nine Mile Road, through Dobson Pass. Fliss kept up a running commentary. ‘If you see small streams around here you call them cricks,’ she said. ‘Never say creek or they’ll correct you. A crick is a crick.’

  No Name Gulch. Unnamed Gulch. Pond Gulch. ‘I thought they only used names like this in movies,’ Bond laughed.

  At a little before three in the afternoon she instructed him to turn right onto a narrow lane called Dark Road. ‘We go over King’s Pass and we’re nearly there,’ she said.

  ‘Wouldn’t have missed this for the world.’ He had enjoyed the drive and her running commentary. It was all a strange mix of spectacular beauty in which small communities seemed to be hanging on by their fingernails.

  It was just quarter past three when he pulled the car over and they stepped out literally into a graveyard which ran from the roadside sloping upwards to a line of trees. The grass was well kept, the graves in good condition.

  ‘Come along, there are things you just have to see.’ She held out a hand pulling him up among the gravestones. ‘This is something you need to remember,’ pointing at a marker which said Capt. ‘Tonk’ Toncrecy. He was the model for Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn. There were other colourful characters – Molly b’Damn, a local whore, who had nursed sick miners through a serious epidemic of smallpox in the late 1880s. Another lady of the night was commemorated by her nickname: Terrible Edith.