Nobody Lives for Ever jb-20

by John Gardner

  ‘The television aerial.’

  ‘Ja, the television aerial. The duty nurse let them in, and on to the roof. She thought it good, okay. Only when she was coming to me did I smell a mouse.’

  ‘They asked to see you?’

  ‘In here. My office, they ask. Only later I find they had been putting up Antenne for their radio equipment. They lock the door. They threaten me with guns and torture. Tell me to put the next doctor in charge of the clinic. To say I would be occupied in my study on business matters for a day or two. They laughed when I had to say “tied up”. They had pistols. Guns. What could I do?’

  ‘You do not argue with loaded guns,’ Bond agreed, ‘as you can see.’ He nodded to the corpses. Then he turned to the grunting, straining Steve Qumn. ‘And when did this piece of scum arrive?’

  ‘The same night, later. Through the windows, like you.’

  ‘Which night was that?’

  ‘The day after the ladies disappeared. The two in the afternoon, the other at night. By that time they had me in this chair. All the time they had me here, except when I had to perform functions . . .’ Bond looked surprised, and Kirchturn said he meant natural functions. ‘Finally I refused to give you messages on the telephone. Until then they had only threatened me. But after that . . .’

  Bond had already seen the bowl of water and the large crocodile clips wired up to a socket in the wall. He nodded, knowing only too well what Kirchtum must have suffered.

  ‘And the radio?’ he asked.

  ‘Ah, yes. They used it quite often. Twice, three times a day.’

  ‘Did you hear anything?’ Bond looked at the radio. There were two sets of earphones jacked into the receiver.

  ‘Most of it. They wear the earphones sometimes, but there are speakers there, see.’

  Indeed, there were two small circular speakers set into the centre of the system. ‘Tell me what you heard.’

  ‘What to tell? They spoke. Another man spoke from far away . . .’

  ‘Who spoke first? Did the other man call them?’

  Kirchtum thought for a moment. ‘Ah, yes. The voice would come with a lot of crackling.’

  Bond, standing beside the sophisticated high frequency transmitter, saw that the dials were glowing and heard a faint hum from the speakers. He noted the dial settings. They had been talking to someone a long way off – anything from six hundred to six thousand kilometres away.

  ‘Can you remember if the messages came at any specific times?’

  Kirchtum’s brow creased, and then he nodded. ‘Ja. Yes, I think so. In the mornings. Early. Six o’clock. Then at midday . . .’

  ‘Six in the evening and again at midnight?’

  ‘Something like that, yes. But not quite.’

  ‘Just before the hour, or just after, yes?’

  ‘That is right.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  The doctor paused, thought again, and then nodded. ‘Ja. I know they have to send a message when news comes that you are leaving Salzburg. They have a man watching . . .’

  ‘The hotel?’

  ‘No. I heard the talk. He is watching the road. He is to telephone when you drive away and they have to make a signal with the radio. They must use special words . . .’

  ‘Can you remember them?’

  ‘Something like the package is posted to Paris.’

  That sounded par for the course, Bond thought. Cloak and dagger. The Russians, like the Nazis before them, read too many bad espionage novels.

  ‘Were there any other special words?’

  ‘Yes, they used others. The man at the other end calls himself Hawk’s Wing – I thought it strange.’

  ‘And here?’

  ‘Here they call themselves Macabre.’

  ‘So, when the radio comes on, the other end says something like, “Macabre this is Hawk’s Wing . . .”’

  ‘Over.’

  ‘Over, yes. And, “Come in Hawk’s Wing.”’

  ‘This is just how they say it, yes.’

  ‘Why haven’t any of your staff come to this office, or alerted the police? There must have been noise. I have used a gun.’

  Kirchtum shrugged. ‘The noise of your gun might have been heard from the windows, but the windows only. My office is soundproofed because sometimes there are disturbing noises from the clinic. This is why they opened the windows here. They opened them a few times a day for the circulation of air. It can get most heavy in here with the soundproofing. Even the windows are soundproofed with the double glaze.’

  Bond nodded and glanced at his watch. It was almost eleven forty-five. Hawk’s Wing would be making his call at any time, and he had already figured that Quinn’s man would be stationed somewhere near the E11 autobahn. In fact he probably had all exit roads watched. Nice and professional. Far better than just one man at the hotel.

  But he was now playing for time. Quinn had stopped twisting on the floor, and Bond was already beginning to work out a scheme that would take care of him. The man had been in the game a long time, and his experience and training would make him hard to crack, even under ideal interrogation conditions; violence would be counter-productive. There was, he knew, only one way to get at Stephen Quinn.

  He went over and knelt beside the trussed figure. ‘Quinn,’ he said softly, and saw the hate in the sidelong, painful glance. ‘We need your co-operation.’

  Quinn grunted through the makeshift gag. It was clear that in no way would Quinn co-operate.

  ‘I know the telephone is insecure, but I’m calling Vienna for a relay to London. I want you to listen very carefully.’

  He went over to the desk, lifted the receiver and dialled 0222-43-16-08, the Tourist Board offices in Vienna, where he knew there would be an answering machine at this time of night. He held the receiver away from his ear so that Quinn would at least hear a muffled answer. When it came, Bond put the receiver very close to his ear, simultaneously pressing the rest button.

  ‘Predator,’ he said softly. Then, after a pause, ‘Yes. Priority for London to copy and action soonest. Rome’s gone off the rails.’ He paused again, as though listening. ‘Yes, working for Centre. I have him, but we need more. I want a snatch team at Flat 28, 48 Via Barberini – it’s next to the JAL offices. Lift Tabitha Quinn and hold for orders. Tell them to alert Hereford and call in one of the psychos if M doesn’t want dirty hands.’

  Behind him, he heard Quinn grunting, getting agitated. A threat to his wife was the only thing that would have any effect.

  ‘That’s right. Will do. I’ll run it through you, but termination, or near termination may be necessary. I’ll get back within the hour. Good.’ He put down the instrument. When he knelt again beside Quinn, the look in the man’s eyes had changed; hatred was now edged with anxiety.

  ‘It’s okay, Steve. Nobody’s going to hurt you. But, I’m afraid it could be different with Tabby. I’m sorry.’

  There was no way that Quinn could even suspect a bluff, or double bluff. He had been in the Service for a long time himself, and was well aware that calling in a psycho – the Service name for their mercenary killers – was no idle threat. He knew the many ways his wife could suffer before she died. He had worked with Bond for years and was sure 007 would show no compunction in carrying out the threat.

  Bond continued, ‘I gather there will be a call coming through. I’m going to strap you into the chair in front of the radio. Make the responses fast. Get off the air quickly. Feign bad transmission if you have to. But, Steve, don’t do anything out of line – no missing out words or putting in “alert” sentences. I’ll be able to tell, as you know. Just as you’d be able to detect a dodgy response. If you do make a wrong move, you’ll wake up in Warminster to a long interrogation and a longer time in jail. You’ll also be shown photographs of what they did to Tabby before she died. That I promise you. Now . . .’

  He manhandled Quinn into the radio operator’s chair, and adjusted the straps from the strangulation position, binding him tightly
into the chair. He felt confident, for the fight appeared to have gone out of Steve Quinn. But you could never tell. The defector might well be so indoctrinated that he could bring himself to sacrifice his wife.

  At last he asked if Quinn was willing to play it straight. The big man just nodded his head sullenly, and Bond pulled the gag from his mouth.

  ‘You bastard!’ Quinn said in a hoarse, breathless voice.

  ‘It can happen to the best of us, Steve. Just do as you’re told and there’s a chance that both of you will live.’

  As he was speaking, the transmitter hummed and crackled into life. Bond’s hand went out to the receive and send switch, set to Receive. A disembodied voice recited the code:

  ‘Hawk’s Wing to Macabre. Hawk’s Wing to Macabre. Come in Macabre.’

  Bond nodded to Quinn, clicked the switch to Send, and for the first time in years prayed.

  12

  ENGLAND EXPECTS

  ‘Macabre, Hawk’s Wing, I have you. Over.’

  Steve Quinn’s voice sounded too steady for Bond’s liking, but he had to let him go through with it. The voice at the distant end crackled through the small speakers.

  ‘Hawk’s Wing, Macabre, routine check. Report situation. Over.’

  Quinn paused for a second, and Bond allowed the muzzle of the ASP to touch him behind the ear.

  ‘Situation normal. We await developments. Over.’

  ‘Call back when package is on its way. Over.’

  ‘Wilco, Hawk’s Wing. Over and out.’

  There was silence for a moment as the switch was clicked to the Receive position again. Then Bond turned to Kirchtum, asking if it all sounded normal.

  ‘It was usual,’ he said with a nod.

  ‘Right, Herr Doktor. Now you come into your own. Can you get something that will put this bastard to sleep for around four or five hours, and make him wake up feeling reasonable – no slurred speech or anything?’

  ‘I have just the thing.’

  For the first time, Kirchtum smiled, easing his body painfully from the chair and hobbling towards the door. Half-way there he realised that he was wearing no shoes or socks and limped back to retrieve them. He put them on and slowly left the room.

  ‘If you have by any chance alerted Hawk’s Wing, you know that Tabby won’t last long once we’ve found you out. You do everything by the book, Quinn, and I’ll do my best for you as well. But the first person to be concerned about is your wife. Right?’

  Quinn glared at him with the hatred of a traitor who knows he’s cornered.

  ‘This applies to your information as well. I want straight answers, and I want them now.’

  ‘I might not have the answers.’

  ‘You just tell me what you know. We’ll know truth from fiction in the long run.’

  Quinn did not reply.

  ‘First, what’s going to happen in Paris? At the George Cinq?’

  ‘Our people are going for you. At the hotel.’

  ‘But you could have got me here. Enough people have tried already.’

  ‘Not my people. Not KGB. We banked on you coming down here after May and Moneypenny. Yes, we organised the kidnap. The idea was for us to take you on from here. Getting you to Salzburg was like putting you into a funnel.’

  ‘Then it wasn’t your people who had a go in the car?’

  ‘No. One of the competition. They took out the Service people. None of my doing. You seem to have had a guardian angel all the way. The two men I put on to you were from the Rome Station. I was to burn them once they saw you safely into Salzburg.’

  ‘And send me on to Paris?’

  ‘Yes, blast you. If it were anyone else but Tabby, I’d . . .’

  ‘But it is Tabby we’re thinking about.’ Bond paused. ‘Paris? Why Paris?’

  Quinn stared steadily into Bond’s eyes. The man did know something more. ‘Why Paris? Remember Tabby.’

  ‘The rules are it’s to be Berlin, Paris or London. They want your head, Bond, but they want to see it done. We were out to claim the reward and just taking your head wasn’t enough. My instructions were to get you to Paris. The people there have orders to pick you up, and . . .’

  He stopped, as though he’d already said enough.

  ‘And deliver the package?’

  There was fifteen seconds’ silence.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Deliver it where?’

  ‘To the Man.’

  ‘Tamil Rahani? The head of SPECTRE?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Deliver it where?’ Bond repeated.

  No response.

  ‘Remember Tabby, Quinn. I’ll see Tabby suffers great pain before she dies. Then they’ll come for you. Where am I to be delivered?’

  The silence stretched for what seemed to be minutes.

  ‘Florida.’

  ‘Where in Florida? Big place, Florida. Where? Disney World?’

  Quinn looked away. ‘The most southern tip of the United States,’ he said.

  ‘Ah.’ Bond nodded.

  The Florida Keys, he thought. Those linked islands that stretch 150 kilometres out into the ocean. Bahai Honda Key, Big Pine Key, Cudjoe Key, Boca Chica Key – the names of the most famous ones flicked through his mind. But, the southernmost tip – well, that was Key West, once the home of Ernest Hemingway, a narcotics route, a tourist paradise, with a sprinkling of islands outside the reef. Ideal, thought Bond. Key West – who would have imagined SPECTRE setting up its headquarters there?

  ‘Key West,’ he said aloud, and Quinn gave a small, ashamed nod. ‘Paris, London or Berlin. They could have included Rome and other major cities. Anywhere they could get me on to a direct Miami flight, eh?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Where exactly in Key West?’

  ‘That I don’t know. Honestly, I just do not know.’

  Bond shrugged as though to say it did not matter.

  The door opened and Kirchtum came in. He was smiling as he flourished a kidney bowl covered with a cloth.

  ‘I have what you need, I think.’

  ‘Good,’ said Bond, smiling back, ‘and I think I have what I need. Put him out, Herr Doktor.’

  Quinn did not resist as Kirchtum rolled up his sleeve, swabbed a patch on the upper right arm and slid the hypodermic needle in. It took less than ten seconds for his body to relax and the head to loll over. Bond was already busy with the straps again.

  ‘He will have a good four to five hours’ sleeping. You are leaving?’

  ‘Yes, when I’ve made sure he can’t get away once he wakes up. One of my people should arrive here before then, to see that he gets the telephone call from his watcher and relays it on to his source. I have to arrange that. My man will use the words, “I’ll met by moonlight.” You reply, “Proud Titania.” Got it?’

  ‘This is Shakespeare, the Summer Midnight Dream, ja?’

  ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream, ja, Herr Doktor.’

  ‘So, summer midnight, midsummer night’s, what’s the difference?’

  ‘It obviously mattered to Mr Shakespeare. Better get it right.’ Bond smiled at the bear-like doctor. ‘Can you deal with all this?’

  ‘Try me, Herr Bond.’

  Five minutes later, Bond was heading back to the Saab. He drove fast to the hotel. In his room he called Nannie to apologise for keeping them waiting.

  ‘There’s been a slight change of plan,’ he told her. ‘Just stand by. Tell Sukie. I’ll be in touch soon. With luck, we’ll be leaving within the hour.’

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ Nannie sounded peeved.

  ‘Just stay put. Don’t worry, I won’t leave without you.’

  ‘I should jolly well think not,’ she snapped, banging down the receiver.

  Bond smiled to himself, opened up the briefcase containing the CC500 scrambler and attached it to the telephone. Though he was, to all intents and purposes, on his own, it was time to call for some limited assistance from the Service.

  He dialled the London Rege
nt’s Park number, knowing the line would be safe now he had taken out the team at the clinic, and asked for the Duty Officer who came on almost immediately. After identifying himself, Bond began to issue his instructions. There was information he wanted relayed fast to M, and on to the Vienna Resident. He was precise and firm, saying that there was only one way to deal with the matter – his way. Otherwise they could lose the chance of a lifetime. SPECTRE had made themselves into a sitting target, which only he could smash. His instructions had to be carried out to the letter. He ended by repeating the hotel number and his room and asked for a call-back as quickly as possible.

  It took just over fifteen minutes. M had okayed all Bond’s instructions and the operation was already running from Vienna. A private jet would bring in a team of five – three men and two women. They would wait at Salzburg airport for Bond who should get clearance for a private flight to Zurich on his Universal Export passport B. Bookings were made on the Pan American Flight 115 from Zurich to Miami, departing at 10.15 local time. Bond thanked the Duty Officer and was about to close the line when he was stopped.

  ‘Predator.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Private message from M.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He says, “England expects”. Nelson, I suppose – “England expects that every man will do his duty.” ’

  ‘Yes,’ Bond replied irritably. ‘I do know the quotation.’

  ‘And he says good luck, sir.’

  He knew he would need every ounce of luck that came his way. He unhooked the CC500 and dialled Nannie’s room.

  ‘All set. We’re almost ready for the off.’

  ‘About time. Where are we going?’

  ‘Off to see the Wizard.’ Bond laughed without humour. ‘The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.’

  13

  GOOD EVENING, MR BOLDMAN

  ‘James. James, you’re going the wrong way. You left the Bentley in the car park to the left. Remember?’

  ‘Don’t tell the whole world, Sukie. We’re not using the Bentley.’

  On his way back, after parking the Saab, he had made a quick detour, and used the old trick of sticking the Bentley’s keys up the exhaust pipe. It was not as safe as he would have liked, but it would have to do. Now they were lugging their suitcases to the Saab.