by John Gardner
For the first time since Bond had begun, Ariel, the ham-fisted amiable giant, Bruin, spoke. ‘You are making out that Praxi, or one of us, is a traitor?’ In Bruin’s mouth these words came out as a threat, and Bond was conscious of the slight shift in the way Bruin moved in his chair, as though preparing to knock the hell out of somebody.
‘No, Bruin. No, I’m not suggesting that any of you are, or have been, traitors. But you have to understand there are a lot of unanswered questions; a very large number of things that must be explained completely to me.’
‘Nobody should even think Praxi’s a traitor.’ Bruin’s smile had gone now and he looked positively evil. A little like one of the gargoyles on Notre Dame Cathedral.
‘Nobody does,’ Easy’s voice took on a soothing tone. ‘Just let’s hear it all out, Bruin. Nobody’s accusing anybody.’
‘Well, it’s better they don’t.’
Bond seized the conversation again. ‘Orphan, Praxi? Kapitan August Wimper of the Volkspolizei?’
‘He was one of the five who could monitor important signals. He could have as easily received the Nacht und Nebel signal as I. And followed up the checks. I didn’t even get to tell him the order had been received.’
‘Any clues as to why?’
‘None, except that he had a lady friend, an Italian girl he used to see regularly. Sometimes he took a weekend leave specially to meet her. He used to travel a long way just to visit her. He could get a pass with no trouble.’
‘You knew her?’
‘No, I knew her name. Lena. She lived in Italy, near Pisa. He never told me her family name. But I have other things to say about Lena before we’re through.’
‘You saw photographs of her?’
‘No, but he would talk of her. Orphan was very proud of his sexual prowess. A little boastful.’
‘And she was the only one? He didn’t run a string of girls?’
Praxi blushed. ‘I don’t think so.’ A long pause. ‘He did try it on with me several times.’
Bruin exploded. ‘Schweinhund! Praxi, you should’ve told me. I’d have taken care of his sex life for ever.’
Bond stepped in again. ‘You say he wasn’t around when the Nacht und Nebel arrived?’
‘He usually let one of us know when he would be out of Berlin. This time he told nobody, and he left without leave. AWOL you call it. He never resurfaced. At least, not till three or four days ago. I had a report that a body had been pulled out of the Grand Canal in Venice. It had been in the water for some time. Days. A floater, you call that, yes?’
‘A floater, yes. Bloated: been in the water for some time?’
‘Yes. My contact said the remains were unidentifiable. Half the face was gone. No teeth, so dental records wouldn’t help. Yet I was told that the Berlin authorities were informed it was the missing August Wimper.’
‘You tell anyone else?’
‘Yes. Oscar Vomberg knew, also Harry here.’
‘And where did your information come from?’
‘From Venice.’
‘You have a contact in Venice?’
‘Several.’
‘Something special about Venice? Something we should know about?’
Harry Spraker laughed. ‘Tell him, Praxi. Tell him just how special Venice is.’
‘Since the scatter command, James, as you well know, Cabal has been decimated. Death by every means. Now, you see the remnants of a great network. It’s like in the army when you lose a whole regiment. The few who are left swear vengeance. Well, we have sworn vengeance . . .’
‘Retribution,’ Harry Spraker all but spat.
‘Revenge!’ Big Bruin’s voice rose almost to a shout. It all seemed very melodramatic.
‘Then you’re one hundred per cent certain of who’s been cutting Cabal to pieces?’
‘Of course we’re sure. You must be sure by now, James. Wolfgang Weisen and his whore, Monika Haardt.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘Because he swore that he would do it. Some of us knew him well, James. I knew him, Harry also. Wolfie Weisen is a special kind of person . . .’
‘The kind that needs roasting, then drawing and quartering,’ Harry Spraker whispered.
‘Look, both of you – James and Easy. If Mischa Wolf was the cunning, the brains within the HVA, so Weisen was a power behind the throne. The man is evil, and very clever. Towards the end – when the regime was collapsing and reunification of Germany became certain, he would say constantly that, as long as he was around, every person who ever worked against the Communist Party, and the old state organs of the DDR, would die. At Karlshorst they knew the name Cabal, they knew it was a network. They knew we had penetrated them, and Weisen was furious.
‘He’s a fanatic; a devoted Communist; hard and dedicated. James, this man was a child at Joseph Stalin’s court. He learned evil from the man who twisted Communism. Stalin was his hero. You should also know that he’s far from alone. Yes, Weisen’s gone to earth. But he has a vast army at his disposal. Do London and Washington not realise that there are men and women in Europe – especially in the old Eastern Bloc – who’ve given their lives to the religion? To the ideology of Communism? Do they not understand that these people are organised and ready to fight back? Or do they think the only dangerous ones are those few drunks in Moscow who completely failed to carry out a coup? Those idiots are only the tip of the iceberg. Weisen has hundreds of people, all organised in Europe, and he’s not foolish enough to show his hand until he’s ready . . .’
‘And when he does show it,’ Harry took over, ‘it won’t be just a half-cocked coup. He’ll go for some major destabilisation of Europe. I wouldn’t put it past him to have lines out to the worst terrorist organisations, people who still want to see the Western alliance fall apart. Weisen and his people are drunk with ideals, which means in their own light they’re stone-cold sober, and very well organised. They also have a lot of hardware: weapons, transport, aircraft, helicopters. Weisen squirrelled things away in case he needed them.’
‘What’s all this got to do with Orphan – August Wimper – and Venice?’
Praxi answered. ‘Wolfie Weisen is holed up in Venice, James. He’s sitting there pulling secret strings all over Europe.’
‘You know this for a fact?’
Harry Spraker’s face was hard. ‘Certain. I’ve seen him there.’
‘So have I.’ Praxi’s eyes glittered with anger, not at Bond or Easy, but because of the facts. ‘He’s killed over twenty, nearly thirty, members of Cabal. He’s going to kill us all if we’re not careful. He nearly had you tied up. Only Weisen could’ve been behind Axel Ritter managing to convince you that he was Harry Spraker.’
‘And you think the body they pulled out of the Grand Canal might not be that of your former colleague?’
‘I’d bet my life on it.’
‘You just might have to.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning that I think we’ve got to have a face-to-face with Wolfie Weisen and Monika Haardt. They’re both still on the wanted list, you know.’
‘We should tear them apart.’ Like the others, Bruin sounded angry. ‘Just screw their heads off. Weisen would be easy. After all, he’s only a munchkin.’
‘A man of limited stature,’ Bond smiled.
‘Ja, a dwarf.’ Bruin pronounced it ‘dvave’.
‘Let’s just take a look at Axel Ritter for a moment.’ Bond was anxious to get onto the deaths of the original Vanya and Eagle.
‘He took you for a fool.’ Harry Spraker looked very serious.
‘Then did he also take your friend Vomberg for a fool?’
‘Meaning?’
‘Oscar Vomberg was quite clear that he was working closely with you – Tester. He was going to bring you to me at the Kempi. Actually I saw the man you claim is Axel Ritter, while I waited for a cab at Tegel. That’s what convinced me he was Tester when he turned up and told me Vomberg was dead. That, and the fact he fingered a former Stasi
man, and disposed of him, at the Kempi.’ Bond continued, telling them the entire story – the two thugs on the train, Axel Ritter being drugged and showing no alarm when Bond admitted to killing Felix Utterman and Hexie Weiss.
‘Axel is a hard man,’ Praxi said.
‘He would stay in character,’ the real Harry Spraker added. ‘And we all knew Felix and Hexie. Ruthless. Weisen’s enforcers. They were probably behind a large number of the killings: the deaths of former Cabal agents. You did us all a favour in killing them – if they are indeed dead.’
‘Oh, they’re dead all right.’
Praxi gave a wan little smile. ‘I don’t believe anyone connected to Weisen is dead unless I see the body.’
‘I can assure you.’ Bond felt a cold bitterness. His pride had been bruised by the manner in which he had so easily been gulled by Axel Ritter. ‘Tell me, Harry. Was it really you working with old Vomberg? Following us at Tegel airport when we came in?’
‘Of course. Yes, I was slightly alarmed. I saw Ritter there, at Tegel. I knew there was danger.’
‘But you worked with Vomberg?’
‘I told you, yes. We knew the flight numbers from the warnings posted by London. We knew you were going to be very visible, that you were booked in to the Kempi, but we were being very careful. To some extent the required silence with London had been broken. We were cautious. After all, a lot of people had died – including Vanya and Eagle. We knew Weisen was tracking us down one at a time. I was concerned that Axel was there, at Tegel. He didn’t see me though. Vomberg was watching the Kempi, and I was in telephone contact with him all the time. We were to meet later.’
It was the story Vomberg had told him, at the Kempinski, before he had left to get his hand fixed; before he had left to keep his appointment with death. Bond said as much, adding that he felt responsible. ‘If I had taken more care, Oscar might still be alive.’
Quietly, Harry Spraker said, ‘We all have our personal appointments with death. Perhaps it is as well that we have no foreknowledge of time and place.’
‘Certainly your friends Vanya and Eagle had no foreknowledge.’ At last, Bond was getting to the murders of Puxley and Liz Cearns. ‘I want to talk about that.’
Praxi shifted uncomfortably. ‘You want to know what?’ she asked in a small voice.
Bond started with Puxley, saying they knew he had been alerted by a telephone call from Mab – Oscar Vomberg. ‘That call set up a meeting, at a club right there in Frankfurt. Der Mönch, and the face-to-face was to be with you, Praxi. With Sulphur.’
‘Yes. I don’t deny that. Both Vanya and Eagle were obviously trying to make contact. London, and Washington, of course, were not sending any messages through newspapers – as they did when you came over: though we were even suspicious about that, as you know. They seemed to be standing back, just letting our former controllers search.’ She looked towards Harry Spraker, as though to get his confirmation. He nodded.
‘So,’ Praxi continued. ‘I tried to make contact myself. I had retrieved the 800 phone by then . . .’
‘You didn’t leave Berlin with it?’ Easy asked.
‘I said we did not have the thing for quite some time. When I worked at Karlshorst, it was run around to different locations. I would have it for a while; then Harry would take over; or one of the others . . .’
‘August Wimper?’ Bond queried.
‘Why do you ask about him?’ Behind her eyes, suspicion lurked like a waiting mugger.
‘He seems an interesting possibility. Did he ever control the 800 machine?’
‘No. No, because he was with the Vopos, and had people in and out all the time, he was not happy to use it.’
‘But he did know about it?’
‘Oh, yes. I don’t think he ever realised that it couldn’t be tapped, but he certainly knew it was in use.’
‘And why didn’t you take it out of Berlin?’
Praxi sighed. ‘When the instruction came, I was in a panic. It was a serious thing, so I got out very quickly indeed . . .’
‘Where did you go?’
‘Freiburg . . .’
‘In Switzerland?’
‘Yes. I had friends there. It seemed to be the safest place for me. To start with anyway. I stayed a couple of months, then began to move around.’
‘But you didn’t take the 800 machine with you, Praxi? That seems strange.’
She shook her head. Very positive: a number of little movements to emphasise the point. ‘It was not in my apartment. You must understand that, within days, Weisen’s people were actively seeking out members of Cabal, as if they had known all the time, and now wanted to settle the score. When I left Berlin, Weisen’s men and women were watching airports and railway stations. I put the 800 into a security box at Tegel. I flew back for it. Just for the 800 unit.’
‘To take it where?’
‘Back to Freiburg. Almost as soon as I connected it, the thing started to ring. I was aware there had been deaths, but . . .’
‘How were you aware?’
‘I told you, Cabal employed many extra people. Specialists. Criminals even. I had two informers who thought I was KGB. I also had one woman, a cleaner, who regularly serviced a dead-drop. She had been instructed to send things on – to a poste restante in Munich. From there they got to me.’
‘Via another of your drones?’
‘Yes.’
‘So the circle of knowledge was wide.’
‘A little too wide, yes. But nobody talked. They didn’t trace me. After the 800 was up and running again, I established contact with a lot of people. Genuine Cabal people. Later, when Vanya and Eagle came looking, I used Vomberg as a go-between.’
‘Why Vomberg?’
‘Because he was the least likely person. You met him. You saw him. He was elderly, beginning to – how would you say it? – to look seedy?’
‘That would describe him.’
‘I tracked Vanya to Frankfurt, and had Vomberg nearby. Yes, James. Yes, I set up the meeting at Der Mönch, but Weisen’s people got to him first. All I can guess is that they already had him boxed in. The next time he went from that hotel, they would have had him. My call was incidental. If you feel responsible for Oscar Vomberg’s death, how do you think I feel about poor Vanya?’
Bond bought around ninety per cent of the story. He still felt there was something else hidden under the surface. ‘You think you were being manipulated?’
Praxi shook her head again. Vigorously, as before. ‘No. Every call in and out of the 800 instrument was safe.’
‘So what about Eagle?’ This time it was Easy who did the asking, which was natural. She had been a friend of Liz Cearns, and knew some hazy details, like the love affair the original Eagle was having in Germany.
‘Eagle was not so straightforward.’ Praxi was flagging. It was getting very late and they were all tired, but Bond could not let it stop now.
‘After the Frankfurt debacle? After Vanya’s death? Where did you go?’
‘Berlin. I wanted to contact Eagle. We were close.’
‘I was also a dear friend. You should know that, Praxi.’
She did not reply.
‘Why Berlin?’
‘We had an understanding. Eagle and I had a joke. To make any physical contact we said we would show ourselves only in the best places. I stayed two nights at the Kempinski. On the second morning, I saw Eagle and checked her room number. I was still being very cautious, so I left the hotel and called her, using our usual codes.’
‘We’ve heard the tape,’ Easy said, sharply as though she still remained suspicious. ‘You set up a meeting at the Hotel Braun for the next day.’
‘I went to that meeting. I went to see her. But already she was dead.’
‘Describe what you saw.’
Praxi told them, and it matched up with the file evidence. ‘I must have arrived only minutes after she was killed.’
‘You had no doubt it was murder?’
‘I was sure of it,
I didn’t know how. But I did find out something. In fact, I removed a memento.’ Her hand went to the briefcase which she unlocked. From among the papers she pulled out a thick Filofax-type book. ‘This belonged to Eagle. I took it from her room at the Braun, and I’ve read it completely and believe I probably disturbed the murderer, because his orders would almost certainly be to remove it from the scene – if someone knew she had it with her.’
‘We’ll go through it, of course,’ Bond took the book. ‘What’s so special about it?’
‘Eagle – Liz – was breaking the rules.’
Easy and Bond exchanged a quick glance: both thinking of the unidentified lover.
‘She was breaking all the rules. Not only was she having an affair, it was with a member of Cabal, and, worst of all, she kept a record of it in that diary thing. Coded, of course, but a child could break the cipher.’
‘When in love . . .’ Bond began.
‘I know. When in love you take chances. You run great risks. Liz Cearns – Eagle – was taking absurd gambles. She was probably the real traitor. Unwitting, of course, but a source used unscrupulously by Weisen.’
‘How?’
‘Eagle was Lena. Liz Cearns was Kapitan August Wimper’s “Italian” lover. It’s all there.’
In the aftershock, the 800 telephone began to ring.
11
DEATH COMES EXPENSIVE
James Bond stood on the balcony watching the dawn come up over Paris. It was a spectacular view, even with the light mist which wrapped itself around the Tuileries Gardens, and snaked just above the water of the Seine. Far away, he could see the Île de la Cité: the tall grey towers of Notre Dame rising as if out of a cloud. Everywhere the stunning autumnal colours – red, gold, yellow-brown – were just visible, as though seen through opaque glass, and the dampness of the misty morning had about it one of Bond’s favourite smells: woodsmoke, the very scent of the fall.
Everyone else either dozed or slept, for the long session of question and answer had not stopped with Praxi’s revelation and the call that had screeched in on the 800 line.