James Bond - 028 - Never Send Flowers

by John Gardner

  ‘No,’ she continued. ‘Laura went straight to Gerald and made her confession. He was appalled, of course, though tried to pass it off. Said he had known all along, but felt she was so good that he had buried the evidence.’

  ‘She really was that good?’

  ‘Laura? Yes, she was stunningly professional. A walking encyclopaedia on all known terrorist operations, and personalities. To be honest with you, Gerald would have been lost without her, she was so good.’

  ‘And now he is lost?’

  ‘Just about. He covered up for her. He even kept quiet about David Dragonpol. You saw that yourself. He refused to discuss her private life with your Chief.’

  ‘I still don’t see why he put the dogs on me.’

  She gave a little mocking laugh. ‘I think he really imagined that he might still get away with it – I mean hide the little difficulty about her brother and the bloodline, and also keep the Dragonpol thing under wraps. He knew you were good. Has a file on you. Really he wanted someone more inexperienced on the case. He set you up, James, but you must know that.’

  ‘No. How did he set me up?’

  ‘He uses someone at that hotel in Interlaken – has been using her for some time . . .’

  ‘Marietta Bruch?’

  ‘The same. Laura spent odd weeks there with David. In fact, he made sure he had someone near her whenever she had any kind of tryst with D.D., as she used to call him. When the engagement was broken off, he seemed very relieved.’

  He nodded. ‘So tell me about Laura and the great man. The man with the glass head, as some people used to call him.’

  ‘He didn’t like that, by the way. There’s really nothing much to tell. Gerald was concerned that, should the marriage take place, the Press would focus on her, turn up her past, and he’d be given the old heave-ho. Which is probably what would have happened, and what will happen.’

  ‘There really was an engagement?’

  ‘Oh, Lord, yes. Laura was nuts about him – and he about her. They met by accident, in 1990. Switzerland, as it happened. Lucerne, I think. Laura didn’t even know who he was. David Dragonpol is a great chameleon, you know. Can hide in plain sight, even though his face and name are of the household variety. They met while she was doing a bit of unauthorized snooping for Gerald. The affair began within a couple of days . . .’

  ‘She was like that?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Permissive? Got into affairs quickly?’

  ‘Far from it. Laura was poised, elegant, even beautiful, and very sexy. I tried, but she’s not one of the sisterhood.’ Her hand went to her mouth. ‘Damn!’

  ‘Don’t worry. I had you marked a few minutes ago. Just tell me about Laura and Dragonpol.’

  ‘Actually, you might not have me marked. If you want the truth, I’m like the Circle Line. I go both ways. You’d be surprised how many people are bisexual.’

  ‘Ah. No, I wouldn’t be surprised. Nothing surprises me any more and, like they say, some of my best friend announced his retirement ,Us, and all that.’ He wanted her to get to the real meat, and not spill her own problems or proclivities to him. ‘Laura and Dragonpol,’ he said firmly.

  ‘I told you. They met early in 1990, and the whole thing took off. She came back into the office like a loony tune. You could almost see the bluebirds flying around her head, tweeting like they do in cartoons. And she put on that goofy, faraway look that people get when they’re first smitten.’

  ‘And she spilled the beans to you?’

  ‘I forced it out of her, but yes, she talked to me. We had dinner together one night and she told all – as the girls’ magazines say. It was better for me to hear it before anyone else.’

  ‘But others did hear it.’

  ‘Of course. In the Security Service you don’t keep that kind of thing quiet for very long. Every spare weekend she had, Laura spent with David. When the dogs are out, they soon put two and two together. In a matter of weeks she made no secret about it within the office. I don’t think it went further than that. Our people, like yours, are pretty tight-lipped, but I do know that she had girls from the secretariat asking her what he was really like. The usual kind of thing.’

  ‘And where did he meet her?’

  ‘They took holidays together, sometimes in Interlaken, which they both thought was safe . . .’

  ‘No, you said she saw him on every spare weekend she had.’

  ‘Oh, that. She’d fly out to his place.’

  ‘His place?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘The Press, and a lot of other people, have been trying to find out where his place is, ever since he went to ground.’

  ‘He’s never made a genuine secret of it. He has a kind of fairytale life. Lives in a castle on the Rhine. Very Hans Christian Andersen and the Brothers Grimm.’

  ‘Where exactly?’

  ‘Right on the Rhine. Not far from Andernach. I’ve seen photographs of the place – great thick walls, turrets, a huge enclosed garden, moat, the lot. It’s even called Schloss Drache – that’s German for Dragon. Been in the family for centuries apparently. He lives there with his younger widowed sister. She’s quite a handful, I gather. Name of Horton. Maeve Horton, née Dragonpol. You do know his family history, don’t you?’

  ‘Only that his publicity used to claim the Dragonpols are mentioned in the Doomsday Book.’

  ‘Certainly are. There’s a manor house in Cornwall – Dragonpol Manor, would you believe? Yet they really think of themselves as Anglo-Irish. A Dragonpol went to Ireland with the Earl of Essex to put down the rebellion in the late sixteenth century. The Irish problem’s plagued every British monarch since Elizabeth I to the present day. Odd, isn’t it?’

  He nodded her on.

  ‘The Elizabethan Dragonpol set himself up in a huge manor in West Cork. They actually became very respected – the Dragonpols of Drimoleague. Still have a place there. The Irish connection sent Gerald through the roof. He had agents trawling the area – illegally, of course – looking into the family background for weeks after Laura announced the engagement . . .’

  ‘Which was when?’

  ‘Oh, about six weeks after they first met.’

  ‘And it was broken off?’ eventually, the animals became usU

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Two weeks ago. She had planned to go out to Schloss Drache for her leave in August. She actually told me they would be getting married in August. Apparently it was all arranged. Then, a couple of weeks ago she came into my office looking ill – white, unsteady. It was a Friday afternoon and she said D.D. had called her. There was some drama and he was sending his private aircraft for her. On the Monday she came in and told me it was all over.’

  ‘She was in a state? Emotional?’

  ‘Yes. Very unhappy, but she gave the impression that the reason for the break-up was valid. She actually said to me, “It’s quite out of the question. We can’t marry. I just wish he’d told me sooner.” ’

  ‘Told her what?’

  ‘I don’t know. She said that she’d talk about it when she came back from her leave. Booked the Interlaken hotel at the last minute. Said she didn’t know if it was a good idea, because they’d been very happy there, but it would give her some kind of perspective.’

  ‘So she was never able to discuss the reason with you?’

  She shook her head, biting her lip, plainly upset. When he looked at her again, Bond saw tears hovering in her eyes. ‘She loved him so much, James. It really was one of those great romances.’

  ‘Yet she took the break-up . . . how can I say it? Stoically?’

  ‘She said she understood, and that it was quite impossible. I mean, when she came into my office on the Friday, she looked sick – very sick – with concern. When she came in on the Monday, she was together. It was as if she had been able to accept the break-up and knew the marriage would never have worked.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘That’s all I
know.’

  There was a long pause. Somewhere far away, down the corridor, somebody slammed a door.

  ‘So, you’re going to stay hidden away until your leave is up?’

  ‘Something like that. Gerald won’t be too happy. He’ll have lost his two most precious assets, and I know where a lot of the bodies are buried. He won’t let me go easily.’

  ‘You think you’re in any kind of danger?’

  She shook her head, then laughed. ‘Gerald’s a pompous idiot, but he’s not that stupid. No, I don’t think I’m in any physical danger.’

  ‘What about Laura? Did you ever think she was in physical danger?’

  ‘It’s something we don’t really think about. Anyone in the Anti-terrorist Section could be in danger.’

  ‘But she knew things, knew of people . . .’

  ‘More than most. There was a period when she was working on the hostages business with the Americans. Trying to find out where people like Terry Waite were being kept. She was good, James, so certainly some of the terrorist organizations would know of her, though they might only know her as a cipher – a code name. She was very careful. I told you: a real pro.’

  ‘So, if you were asked under oath, you would have to say that there was always a possibility?’

  ‘Of course. The same possibility that we all face. No more, no less. There was no particular outfit that she was afraid of. That’s all.’

  Bond grunted, and slowly got to his feet.

  ‘ announced his retirement ,UDo you have to go?’ There was a hint of begging in her voice, and her eyes had a pleading look. ‘I’m very much alone. I mean I could do with some company.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I must go. You’ve given me information that I have to follow up.’

  ‘Not even a “thank you” cuddle?’

  He shook his head, reached out and gave her shoulder a comforting caress. ‘Maybe some other time, Carmel.’

  ‘That would be really nice.’

  Outside in the street, the day had turned into evening. Warm, with that wonderful pearly summer sky that you get over London on good August nights.

  Back at the Regency house, off the King’s Road, he found a police car, and a pair of uniformed officers waiting patiently. They told him there had been a fire. ‘Nothing serious, sir, but it looks like arson, and a break-in.’

  It was obvious that the cops had not been taken into the confidence of the Security Service. The lock had been mended, and the small entrance lobby was black with soot from the fire. The offending rubbish bin had been dusted for prints, and removed into the garden. The bedroom window had been broken somehow.

  He thanked the police and called a twenty-four-hour glazier who turned up at around eight-thirty. He had just finished with the window when the telephone rang for the first time. It was the red phone, his private and secure line with the office.

  ‘Get anything interesting at Brown’s?’ M asked quietly.

  ‘Quite a lot, sir. I’m following it up.’

  ‘Don&rsquo/p>

  8

  THIS IS HOW IT MUST END

  ‘James, it’s you, look at it!’ Flicka stood in the doorway of the bedroom holding the Daily Telegraph which had been delivered with breakfast. She lifted the front page so that it faced Bond, who was lying back against the pillows. There were banner headlines: BEAUTY STABBED IN LONDON HOTEL. Below, the sub-heading read, Man sought by police. Side by side were two photographs, one of a somewhat elaborate brunette next to a composite picture, produced by a photofit computer programme. The composite bore more than a passing resemblance to James Bond.

  On the previous night, Bond had found himself expected at the Inn on the Park. She had booked a suite which looked out across Hyde Park, not that he wanted to even glance at Hyde Park from the windows, for she met him at the door, a towelling robe loosely knotted at the waist, the knot parting as she stepped back to reveal that she was wearing the bare minimum underneath, with the accent on bare.

  They finished saying hello about two hours later, after which he called room service and they sat across a small table eating smoked salmon and a huge chef’s salad while he told her how things stood.

  ‘The letter was certainly to David,’ he swallowed, ‘but not to dear departed brother David. I suspect she never intended to send that letter. I believe it was a kind of private therapy. Sometimes people deal with emotions by writing letters to a loved one now out of reach. I’d bet money that’s what Laura March was doing.’

  ‘And the loved one was?’

  He told her. Inevitably her jaw dropped and she asked the familiar question, ‘Not the David Dragonpol?’

  ‘In the flesh.’

  ‘Ah.’ She gave him a sloe-eyed, knowing look. ‘We know of the famous Mr Dragonpol.’

  ‘Everyone knows of the famous Mr Dragonpol.’

  ‘I mean the royal “we”, as in my service knows of David Dragonpol.’

  ‘Really? Interesting?’

  ‘I use the term “my service” loosely. I honestly don’t know if I’m still a member of it. Like you, I’m on leave pending a Court of Inquiry. But, yes, I’ve seen the name come across various desks from time to time. He travels a lot.’

  ‘My information is that he stays holed up in a castle on the Rhine.’

  She nodded. ‘Schloss Drache, sure. He comes in via Germany, but he’s been in and out like a jack rabbit – you should pardon the simile – over the last couple of years. A day here, two days there, a change of plans. Busy announced his retirement a wouldr man, David Dragonpol – what a crazy name, Dragonpol.’ She ran it over her neat little pink tongue, then tried it again. ‘Dragonpol.’ Then, once more with feeling, ‘Draaagooonpool. Weird.’

  ‘It means Dragon Head.’

  ‘I know what it means, James. It’s just a weird name. He should have changed it to Beastiehead, or something more conventional. Where did you come by all this information anyway – about Laura and the demon Dragonpol?’

  ‘First, what do your people think the great man’s up to, travelling around Switzerland?’

  ‘Nobody’s sure. He’s only been casually questioned, and always has a ready answer: says he is hunting for pieces to go in his castle which he is turning into a huge theatre museum.’

  ‘A theatre museum?’

  ‘He plans to open it to the public in due course: a kind of Disneyland, but dedicated to the history and art of theatre through the ages. That’s what he says he’s doing. Mind you, he likes disguises, but then he’s an actor, so he would like disguises.’

  ‘Yet your service still knew of his comings and goings?’

  ‘Usually, yes. He’s also very good at slipping surveillance, but there were some leads – little things – I recall.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Such as a possible meeting with an arms dealer here, or a special source there: the odd informer; some people on the fringes of international terrorism. Nothing was ever proved, but there is definitely something sniffy about the actor.’

  ‘Iffy,’ Bond corrected.

  ‘No, sniffy, like in smelly.’

  ‘If your people had an eye on him, what about the British Security Service?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know about that.’

  ‘You share information though.’

  ‘Only when it’s absolutely necessary. Dragonpol very rarely went to England. We Swiss like to keep certain secrets.’

  ‘Then you Swiss should have known about him and Laura.’

  She shrugged. ‘Maybe we did. I don’t see everything.’

  ‘Well, he was definitely engaged to the fair Laura, and the engagement was broken off a couple of weeks before she went up the mountain and didn’t come down again.’

  She looked at him as though not entirely satisfied; as a woman who has smelled a different scent on his shirt, or spotted a lipstick mark on a collar: a shade of lipstick she never uses. ‘So, where did you come by all this information?’

  He told her about the skirmish with the S
ecurity Service’s watchers, and his meeting with the lovely Carmel Chantry.

  ‘And this Chantry person told all?’

  ‘Everything. Including how we were set up by the unlovely Fräulein Bruch.’

  ‘Mmmm.’ She again cocked a quizzical eye at him. ‘She tell you this standing, sitting, or flat on her back, James?’

  ‘I was sitting, she was lying on a bed in Brown’s Hotel.’

  ‘Before she told you, were you also lying on the bed?’

  ‘No, Flicka. It was all very proper.’

  ‘What we’ve been doing is also very proper.’

  ‘More than very proper. She also told me that she once made a pass at Laura.’

  ‘Doesn’t me">She nodded f blean a thing – particularly if she’s fragile and feminine.’

  ‘She volunteered the information.’

  ‘Lying on a bed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Huh!’ Flicka von Grüsse narrowed her eyes.

  ‘I remained seated throughout.’

  ‘Long may it stay that way. You think the wicked witch of the Victoria-Jungfrau will get us off the hook if I alert large muscular members of my service to go and talk with her?’

  ‘Shouldn’t be surprised. You might even provoke some kind of international incident.’

  ‘Good.’ She sounded quite ready to start a global incident. ‘Good, I’ll telephone them in the morning. I still have a few favours I can call in. Anyway, someone’s going to be in touch with me; give me the inquest verdict and find out when Laura’s going to be buried – and where.’ She took another mouthful of salmon. ‘What was it the old Inquisition used to call an interrogation? Putting someone on the question.’

  ‘To,’ Bond smiled. ‘They put people “to the question”.’

  ‘Good again. In a few minutes I shall put you to the question, James. But I shall do it lying down, and the torture will be exquisite.’

  ‘You could take a man to an early grave, Flicka.’

  ‘No, but I’ll soon tell if his stamina has gone down the tubes. Find out if he is telling the truth about this little heart-to-heart, earlier this evening, with Ms Chantry.’