by Ian Fleming
‘This section,’ he said, ‘is headed “Biological Warfare Weapons and Defence”. This is how it goes on:
‘ “Biological Warfare,” ’ he read, ‘ “is often referred to as bacteriological, bacterial, or germ warfare but it is preferred over those terms because it includes all micro-organisms, insects and other pests, and toxic products of plant and animal life. The Army lists five groups of B.W. agents, including certain chemical compounds used to inhibit or destroy plant growth:
‘ “Micro-organisms (bacteria, viruses, rickettsiae, fungi, protozoa). Toxins (microbial, animal, plant). Vectors of disease (arthropods (insects and acarids), birds and animals). Pests (of animals and crops). Chemical anti-crop compounds (plant-growth inhibitors, herbicides, defoliants).
‘ “Biological Warfare agents, like Chemical Warfare agents, vary in lethality, making it possible to select an agent best suited to accomplish the objective desired, whether it be temporary incapacity with little after effects or serious illness and many deaths. There are some important differences between B.W. and C.W. other than their scientific classifications. B.W. agents have an incubation period of days, sometimes weeks” ’ – (Franklin looked up. ‘See what I mean about Olympia?’) – ‘ “which produces a lag in their action while C.W. weapons usually bring reactions within a few seconds to a few hours. C.W. agents are easier to detect than B.W. agents, and identification of the latter could often be too late to permit effective counter-measures.” ’ (Franklin again looked significantly at his audience) ‘ “… B.W. agents theoretically are more dangerous, weight for weight, than C.W. agents, though this advantage may be cancelled because of loss of virulence by B.W. agents under exposure.” ’
Franklin paused. His finger went down the page. ‘Then it goes on to talk about anti-personnel B.W. agents like anthrax, typhus, smallpox, botulism, and so on. Yes’ – his finger stopped – ‘here we are. “Anti-animal B.W. agents which might be used to incapacitate or destroy domestic animals are:
‘ “Bacteria: Anthrax, three closely related species of brucella, and glanders. Viruses: Foot-and-mouth disease, rinderpest, Rift Valley fever, vesicular stomatitis, vesicular exanthema, hog cholera, African swine fever, fowl plague, Newcastle disease, and equine encephalomyelitis.” ’
Franklin looked up apologetically. ‘Sorry about all this jaw-breaking stuff, but there’s not much more of it. Then it goes on to “Anti-crop B.W. agents”, which they say would be used as economic weapons, as I personally think is the case with the Blofeld scheme, and they mention a whole list including potato blight, cereal stem disease, crown rust of oats, curly top disease of sugar beets, block rot of crucifers and potato ring rot, and insects such as the Colorado beetle and something called “the Giant African Land-snail”, which I somehow don’t think we need worry about. Then they talk about “chemical anti-crop agents”, but I don’t think we need worry about those either as they’d have to be sprayed from an aeroplane, though, for what it’s worth, they’re damned lethal. Now, this is more to the point.’ Franklin’s finger halted on the page. ‘ “The nature of B.W. agents makes them very adaptable for covert or undercover operations. The fact that these agents are so concentrated, cannot be detected by physical senses, and have a delayed casualty effect, would enable an operator quietly to introduce effective amounts into building ventilation systems, food and water supplies, and other places where they would be spread rapidly through contact with a heavily concentrated population.” ’ Franklin paused. ‘And that means us. You see what I mean about livestock shows and so on? After the show, the virus gets carried off all over the country by the exhibits.’ He went back to his pamphlet. ‘And here it goes on, “A significant factor is that the possible area of effective coverage is generally greater with B.W. than with C.W. agents. Tests have been made which show that coverage measured in the thousands of square miles is quite feasible with biological agents.” ’ Franklin tapped the paper in front of him. ‘How about that, gentlemen? We talk about the new poison gases, the nerve gases the Germans invented in the war. We march and counter-march about radiation and the atom bomb. “Thousands of square miles” it says here. A Committee of the United States Senate says it. How many thousands of square miles are there in the United Kingdom and Eire, gentlemen?’ The eyes, urgent and holding humour no longer, looked almost scornfully into the faces of these three top officers of the Secret Service. ‘I’ll tell you. There are only something over one hundred thousand square miles of this little atoll of ours, including the little atoll of all Ireland.’ His eyes retained their fire. ‘And let me just give you a last quote and then perhaps’ – the eyes regained some of their humour – ‘you’ll realize why I’m getting so steamed up on this Day of Goodwill to all Men. Look here, what it says under “Defensive Measures”. It says, “Defence against B.W. warfare is greatly complicated by the difficulties involved in detection of B.W. agents, a situation which is almost unique as to these weapons.” ’ (Franklin looked up and now he smiled. ‘Bad English. Perhaps we might improve on “as to”.) “They cannot be detected by sight, smell, or any other physical sense. So far no means have been devised for their quick detection and identification.” ’
Franklin threw the pamphlet on to the desk. Suddenly he gave a big, embracing smile. He reached for his little polished pipe and began filling it. ‘All right, gentlemen. The prosecution rests.’
Franklin had had his day, a Christmas he would never forget.
M. said, ‘Thank you, Mr Franklin. Am I right in thinking that you conclude that this man Blofeld is mounting Biological Warfare against this country?’
‘Yes.’ Franklin was definite. ‘I am.’
‘And how do you work that out? It seems to me he’s doing exactly the opposite – or rather it would if I didn’t know something about the man. Anyway, what are your deductions?’
Franklin reached over and pointed to the red cross he had made over East Anglia. ‘That was my first clue. The girl, Polly Tasker, who left this Gloria place over a month ago, came from somewhere round here where you’ll see from the symbols that there’s the greatest concentration of turkey farmers. She suffered from an allergy against turkeys. She came back inspired to improve the breed. Within a week of her return, we have the biggest outbreak of fowl pest affecting turkeys in the history of England.’
Leathers suddenly slapped his thigh. ‘By God, I think you’ve got it, Franklin! Go on!’
‘Now’ – Franklin turned to Bond – ‘when this officer took a look into the laboratory up there he saw rack upon rack of test-tubes containing what he describes as “a cloudy liquid”. How would it be if those were viruses, Fowl Pest, anthrax, God knows what all? The report mentions that the laboratory was lit with a dim red light. That would be correct. Virus cultures suffer from exposure to bright light. And how would it be if before this Polly girl left she was given an aerosol spray of the right stuff and told that this was some kind of turkey elixir – a tonic to make them grow fatter and healthier. Remember that stuff about “improving the breed” in the hypnosis talk? And suppose she was told to go to Olympia for the Show, perhaps even take a job for the meeting as a cleaner or something, and just casually spray this aerosol here and there among the prize birds. It wouldn’t be bigger than one of those shaving-soap bombs. That’d be quite enough. She’d been told to keep it secret, that it was patent stuff. Perhaps even that she’d be given shares in the company if the tonic proved the success this man Blofeld claimed it would. It’d be quite easy to do. She’d just wander round the cages – perhaps she was even given a special purse to carry the thing in – lean up against the wire and psst! the job would be done. Easy as falling off a log. All right, if you’ll go along with me so far, she was probably told to do the job on one of the last two days of the show, so that the effects wouldn’t be seen too soon. Then, at the end of the show, all the prize birds are dispersed back to their owners all over England. And that’s that! And’ – he paused – ‘mark you, that was that. Three million birds dead and
still dying all over the place, and a great chunk of foreign currency coughed up by the Treasury to replace them.’
Leathers, his face red with excitement, butted in. He swept his hand over the map. ‘And the other girls! All from the danger spots. All from the areas of greatest concentration. Local shows taking place all the time – cattle, poultry, even potatoes – Colorado beetle for that crop, I suppose, Swine Fever for the pigs. Golly!’ There was reverence in Leathers’s voice. ‘And it’s so damned simple! All you’d need would be to keep the viruses at the right temperature for a while. They’d be instructed in that, the little darlings. And all the time they’d be sure they were being saints! Marvellous. I really must hand it to the man.’
M’s face was thunderous with the fury of his indecision. He turned to Bond. He barked, ‘What do you think?’
‘I’m afraid it fits, sir. The whole way along the line. We know the man. It fits him too. Right up his street. And it doesn’t even matter who’s paying him. He can pay himself, make a fortune. All he has to do is go a bear of sterling or Gilt-Edged. If Mr Franklin’s right, and that Senate paper’s pretty solid backing for him, our currency’ll literally go through the floor – and the country with it.’
M. got to his feet. He said, ‘All right, gentlemen. Mr Franklin, will you tell your Minister what you’ve heard? It’ll be up to him to tell the P.M. and the Cabinet as he thinks fit. I’ll get on with the preventive measures, first of all through Sir Ronald Vallance of the C.I.D. We must pick up this Polly woman and get the others as they come into the country. They’ll be gently treated. It’s not their fault. Then we’ll have to think what to do with Mister Blofeld.’ He turned to Bond. ‘Stay behind, would you?’
Goodbyes were said and M. rang for Hammond to see the other two out. He then rang again. ‘Tea, please, Hammond.’ He turned to Bond. ‘Or rather have a whisky and soda?’
‘Whisky, please, sir,’ said Bond with infinite relief.
‘Rot-gut,’ commented M. He walked over to the window and looked out at the darkness and rain.
Bond drew Franklin’s map towards him and studied it. He reflected that he was learning quite a lot on this case – about other people’s businesses, other people’s secrets, from the innards of the College of Arms to the innards of Ag. and Fish. Odd how this gigantic, many-branched tree had grown from one tiny seed in September – a girl calling banco in a casino and not having the money to pay. And what about Bond’s letter of resignation? That looked pretty silly now. He was up to his ears, as deeply as ever in his life before, in his old profession. And now a big mopping-up job would have to be done. And he would have to do it, or at any rate lead it, organize it. And Bond knew exactly what he was going to put to M. when the tea and whisky came. Only he could do the cleaning up. It was written in his stars!
Hammond came in with the tray and withdrew. M. came back to his desk, gruffly told Bond to pour himself a whisky, and himself took a vast cup, as big as a baby’s chamber-pot, of black tea without sugar or milk, and put it in front of him.
At length he said moodily, ‘This is a dirty business, James. But I’m afraid it makes sense. Better do something about it, I suppose.’ He reached for the red telephone with scrambler attachment that stood beside the black one on his desk and picked up the receiver. It was a direct line to that very private switchboard in Whitehall to which perhaps fifty people in all Britain have access. ‘Put me on to Sir Ronald Vallance, would you? Home number, I suppose.’ He reached out and took a deep gulp at his cup of tea and put the cup back on its saucer. Then, ‘That you, Vallance? M. here. Sorry to disturb your afternoon nap.’ There was an audible explosion at the other end of the line! M. smiled. ‘Reading a report on teen-age prostitution? I’m ashamed of you. On Christmas Day too. Well, scramble, would you?’ M. pressed down the large black button on the side of the cradle. ‘Right? Now I’m afraid this is top priority. Remember Blofeld and the Thunderball case? Well, he’s up to his tricks again. Too long to explain now. You’ll get my side of the report in the morning. And Ag. and Fish. are mixed up in it. Yes, of all people. Man called Franklin is your contact. One of their top pest-control men. Only him and his Minister. So would your chaps report to him, copy to me? I’m only dealing with the foreign side. Your friend 007’s got the ball. Yes, same chap. He can fill you in with any extra detail you may need on the foreign angles. Now, the point is this. Even though it’s Christmas and all that, could your chaps try at once and lay their hands on a certain girl, Polly Tasker, aged about 25, who lives in East Anglia? Yes, I know it’s a hell of a big area, but she’ll probably come from a respectable lower-middle-class family connected with turkey farming. Certainly find the family in the telephone book. Can’t give you any description, but she’s just been spending several weeks in Switzerland. Got back the last week in November. Don’t be ridiculous! Of course you can manage it. And when you find her, take her into custody for importing Fowl Pest into the country. Yes, that’s right.’ M. spelt it out. ‘The stuff that’s been killing all our turkeys.’ M. muttered ‘Thank God!’ away from the receiver. ‘No, I didn’t say anything. Now, be kind to the girl. She didn’t know what she was doing. And tell the parents it’ll be all right. If you need a formal charge, you’ll have to get one out of Franklin. Then tell Franklin when you’ve got her and he’ll come down and ask her one or two simple questions. When he’s got the answers, you can let her go. Right? But we’ve got to find that girl. You’ll see why all right when you’ve read the report. Now then, next assignment. There are ten girls of much the same type as this Polly Tasker who’ll probably be flying from Zürich to England and Eire any day from tomorrow on. Each one has got to be held by the Customs at the port or airport of entry. 007 has a list of their names and fairly good descriptions. My people in Zürich may or may not be able to give us warning of their arrival. Is that all right? Yes, 007 will bring the list to Scotland Yard this evening. No, I can’t tell you what it’s all about. Too long a story. But have you ever heard of Biological Warfare? That’s right. Anthrax and so on. Well, this is it. Yes. Blofeld again. I know. That’s what I’m just going to talk to 007 about. Well now, Vallance, have you got all that? Fine.’ M. listened. He smiled grimly. ‘And a Happy Christmas to you.’
He put the receiver back and the scrambler button automatically clicked to OFF. He looked across at Bond. He said, with a hint of weariness, ‘Well, that’s taken care of this end. Vallance said it was about time we had this fellow Blofeld in the bag. I agree. And that’s our job. And I don’t for a moment think we’re going to get any help from the Swiss. Even if we were to, they’d trample all over the case with their big boots for weeks before we saw any action. By that time the man would be in Peking or somewhere, cooking up something else.’ M. looked straight at Bond. ‘Any ideas?’
It had come, as Bond knew it would. He took a deep pull at his whisky and put the glass carefully down. He began talking, urgently, persuasively. As he expounded his plan, M’s face sank deeper and deeper in gloom, and, when Bond concluded with ‘And that’s the only way I can see, sir. All I need is two weeks’ leave of absence. I could put in a letter of resignation if it would help,’ M. turned in his chair and gazed deep into the dying flames of the log fire.
Bond sat quietly, waiting for the verdict. He hoped it would be yes, but he also hoped it would be no. That damned mountain! He never wanted to see the bloody thing again!
M. turned back. The grey eyes were fierce. ‘All right, 007. Go ahead. I can’t go to the P.M. about it. He’d refuse. But for God’s sake bring it off. I don’t mind being sacked, but we don’t want to get the Government mixed up in another U2 fiasco. Right?’
‘I understand, sir. And I can have the two weeks’ leave?’
‘Yes.’
23 ....... GAULOISES AND GARLIC
WITH THE Walther PPK in its leather holster warm against his stomach and his own name in his passport, James Bond looked out of the window at the English Channel sliding away beneath the belly of the Caravelle an
d felt more like his old, his pre-Sir Hilary Bray, self.
He glanced at the new Rolex on his wrist – the shops were still shut and he had had to blarney it out of Q branch – and guessed they would be on time, 6 p.m. at Marseilles. It had been the hell of a rush to get off. He had worked until late in the night at H.Q. and all that morning, setting up the Identicast of Blofeld, checking details with Ronnie Vallance, fixing up the private, the Munich side of his life, chattering on the teleprinter to Station Z, even remembering to tell Mary Goodnight to get on to Sable Basilisk after the holiday and ask him to please do some kind of a job on the surnames of the ten girls and please to have the family tree of Ruby Windsor embellished with Gold capitals.
At midnight he had called Tracy in Munich and heard her darling, excited voice. ‘I’ve got the toothbrush, James,’ she had said, ‘and a pile of books. Tomorrow I’m going to go up the Zugspitze and sit in the sun so as to look pretty for you. Guess what I had for dinner tonight in my room! Krebsschwänze mit Dilltunke. That’s crayfish tails with rice and a cream and dill sauce. And Rehrücken mit Sahne. That’s saddle of roebuck with a smitane sauce. I bet it was better than what you had.’
‘I had two ham sandwiches with stacks of mustard and half a pint of Harper’s Bourbon on the rocks. The bourbon was better than the ham. Now listen, Tracy, and stop blowing down the telephone.’
‘I was only sighing with love.’
‘Well, you must have got a Force Five sigh. Now listen. I’m posting my birth certificate to you tomorrow with a covering letter to the British Consul saying I want to get married to you as soon as possible. Look, you’re going up to Force Ten! For God’s sake pay attention. It’ll take a few days, I’m afraid. They have to post the banns or something. He’ll tell you all about it. Now, you must quickly get your birth certificate and give it to him, too. Oh, you have, have you?’ Bond laughed. ‘So much the better. Then we’re all set. I’ve got three days or so of work to do and I’m going down to see your father tomorrow and ask for your hand, both of them, and the feet and all the rest, in marriage. No, you’re to stay where you are. This is men’s talk. Will he be awake? I’m going to ring him up now. Good. Well, now you go off to sleep or you’ll be too tired to say “Yes” when the time comes.’