Licence Renewed

by John Gardner

  The man who had severed the communications link was completing the job by tearing the three telephone leads from their sockets as the gunmen ordered the six technicians to line up, facing the door.

  A series of images flashed through the minds of these half dozen unfortunates – pictures of their wives and families crossing bleakly with incidents they had seen on television newsreels: hostages held in terrible conditions for long periods; hostages shot and killed as a warning to others; the drawn and haggard faces of men and women who had lived through ordeals like this. It was therefore with a sense of both great surprise and relief that they heard the gunmen tell them to leave quietly through the main door and get up the stairs.

  'It would not be advisable for anyone to take panic action,' the gunman called Claude told them. 'Just report to the authorities and say that a message with certain demands will be coming through from outside within a few minutes. Any sudden move before that and we shut down the cooling system. We cause a China Syndrome. Tell them that, okay?'

  The six men nodded, shakily leaving their place of work. The heavy door to the control room slammed behind them and the two gunmen clamped on the interior safety locks, watching through the reinforced glass which ran the length of the gallery as the released operators slowly filed away.

  The other two men had been busy removing their most essential piece of equipment, the transceiver, from a canvas haversack. One of the men now ran out a cable and plugged it into a wall socket. The security guard, Claude, who was the squad leader, switched on the small, box-like, transceiver and watched as the red light glowed, then turned green. Pressing the transmit button he said loudly and distinctly, 'Number Three. War.'

  Similar scenes to these were being enacted in five other nuclear power stations, in Europe and the United States.

  James Bond heard the words clearly through the headphones:

  'Number Three. War.'

  'That's the French one,' Murik said, his voice interrupted by another quick message: 'Number One. War.' ' England.' Murik was ticking off the names of the plants on a clipboard lying in front of the console.

  'Number Four. War.'

  'Number Five. War.'

  'Number Two. War.'

  They came in quickly, tumbling into the earphones, as though someone was speaking within Bond's head. Then a long pause. Bond saw Murik's hand clench and unclench. He looked hard at the man who was embarked on an operation from which there could be no turning back. The wait had Murik worried, drumming his fingers on the edge of the console. Then after what seemed an eternity: 'Number Six. War.'

  'All in.' Murik grabbed Bond's arm, nodding his head excitedly.

  'Now,' he said, his voice strange, almost out of control, 'now for my message. In a moment I shall activate the ultimatum. You see, everything is ordered, outside human control – except for the reaction of the governments concerned. Throughout Europe and the United States we have a series of hidden powerful micro-transmitters controlled by a signal from this aircraft. The transmitters will relay a translated message to every European country, and a number of Asian and Eastern countries too. The transmission is locked into the normal broadcasting frequencies of the countries concerned and will cut in on any programme already going out.' He adjusted a dial and watched a pair of needles centre themselves on a VU below it. 'You will hear the ultimatum in your own language, Mr Bond. You'll realise the seriousness of the situation, and how it is impossible for me to lose.'

  Murik leaned forward, threw two switches and prepared to press a red button on the console. He added, 'By the way, you will not recognise my voice. But it is me, even though I sound like a woman. There is an ingenious device called in the trade, the Electronic Handkerchief. By using it, you can alter your own voice beyond recognition. I have chosen the voice of a rather seductive lady. Now, listen.'

  Without warning, Bond heard the voice in his headphones; sharp and commanding at first, then calmer as it dictated a message. Slowly the full impact, and Murik's sheer ingenuity, came home to Bond, his eyes widened and he felt a sickening lurch in his stomach.

  Almost an hour later M sat with members of the government, security services, and chiefs-of-staffwho make up the secret crisis committee known as COBRA – in the Cabinet Office Briefing Room deep under Whitehall. They were listening again to a recording of that sudden, audacious and terrifying ultimatum. It was the seventh hearing for M, but the message still had its impact-an impact it had made on people all over Europe, the United States and many other parts of the world.

  The only action M had taken was to call the French police back from Perpignan airport. But, by the time he had made contact, M discovered that they had been recalled anyway. They too had heard the message, on the radio in their van.

  The voice relaying that message was a woman's. M thought of clandestine propaganda broadcasts during the Second World War, like those of Lord Haw-Haw and Tokyo Rose.

  'Stop whatever you are doing. Stop now. Stop and listen. This is an emergency broadcast of extreme urgency to every man, woman and child. Stop. Stand still and listen,' the voice clipped out, sharp and commanding. Then it continued, calm and deliberate. 'This is a message of great urgency. It concerns everyone, but it is mainly directed at the governments of Britain, France, the Federal Republic of Germany, the German Democratic Republic and the United States. This message is being broadcast in all necessary languages throughout Europe and the United States, as well as to some countries not immediately affected. It will be the only message, the only set of instructions to the governments concerned.

  'At exactly twelve noon British Summer Time, that is,

  G.M.T. plus one, today, six nuclear reactor power plants were seized by terrorist groups. These groups now occupy and hold the main control rooms of the following nuclear plants.' The voice went on to list the full names of the plants and their precise locations. The tone rising, it continued, 'I must make two things clear. The men who hold these nuclear power plants are dedicated to a point that some would call fanaticism. They will die if necessary. Second, all lines of communication have been cut between these groups and the outside world. They can make contact with one person only – myself. They are under orders to do the following: if an attempt is made to assault any one of the six power plants my men will immediately turn off the cooling system to the core of the nuclear reactor. This will cause immense heat to build up. Within a very short time there will be an explosion similar to a mild earthquake and a very large area surrounding the plant will be contaminated by radioactive material. The core of the reactor will proceed to burn its way through the earth. Eventually the core will find an exit point where further, possibly more devastating, radioactive material will be expelled. That is known, to those who have not heard of it, as the China Syndrome.

  'These men are under instructions to carry out this same operation exactly twenty-four hours after I stop speaking unless certain demands are met. Let me repeat that the men who have taken over these nuclear plants will not hesitate to follow their orders to the death. If in twenty-four hours this becomes necessary the results will be catastrophic for the whole world. It will mean an end to all life in large areas; certainly an end to the growth of food, the keeping of livestock and fish, in even larger tracts of land. It is no exaggeration to say that it could well mean the end of the world as we know it. There will be no way to stop such a disaster if my demands are not met.

  'These are my instructions: I require a ransom payable only in cut gem diamonds to a value of not less than fifty billion dollars, that is, five zero billion, В for Bertie, dollars to be paid in cut gem diamonds at their current rate-today's rate. These diamonds – easily obtained through the markets in London, Holland, Belgium and America-are to be placed, packed neatly in one large-sized yellow naval flotation bag. The bag is to be equipped with a normal naval or army recovery hoop. This consignment is to be dropped by aircraft at the following point.' The voice calmly went on to give the latitude and longitude, repeating it thr
ee times so that there could be no error.

  'Before the diamonds are delivered, an area of fifty square miles around the dropping point is to be cleared of all shipping, and once its mission is completed the aircraft employed is to fly well out of the zone. I shall not give the order for the nuclear plants to be released until the diamonds have been dropped. Until I have picked them up in safety and have been assured of the amount, and its lack of contamination. I have experts to hand, and this operation will take me approximately two hours from the moment of dropping. Thus the governments concerned have in reality around twenty-two hours to comply with my demands. If the ransom is not dropped; if I do not pick it up, and get it away in time, without any action being taken against me, no word of command will go out, and those who control the six nuclear power stations will carry out their threat.

  'I stress that this is no hoax. This broadcast is my ultimatum. There will be absolutely no other contact. I repeat that any attempt to communicate with those holding the plants can only result in tragedy. You have exactly twenty-two hours. Message ends.'

  The Prime Minister, who had been brought back to London from an engagement in Hampshire – the car being driven at breakneck speed with a police escort – was chairing the meeting.

  'I have been in touch with the President of the United States and the heads of all other governments concerned.' The Prime Minister looked worried; but the natural poise was still there. 'We are all agreed that, no matter how difficult, this is one terrorist action in which we have no choice. We are being asked for a very large sum of money, but at this moment all the threatened countries are gathering diamonds of good quality. We have experts working on it in London, and diamonds are being flown by the fastest possible methods to Paris, where a French military aircraft is standing by. A co-ordination unit is being set up there to ensure that there are no hitches, and to check the quality of the stones. As you know, the dropping zone is in the Mediterranean and at the moment we are scheduling a drop to be made at nine o'clock our time tomorrow. The most difficult thing, apparently, is to clear the area of all shipping. There are specialists working on this now. I am, personally, depressed by this action. It is the first time this country has given way to blackmail by terrorist groups, but our combined advisers seem to think there are no options open. Has anybody got any further points to contribute?'

  M cleared his throat. 'Yes, on behalf of my Service, Prime Minister: we think we know who is behind this ingenious and horrific act. We also think we know where this person is: in an aircraft over the Med now. With permission of the Chiefs-of-Staff, I am going to ask for this aircraft to be shadowed by the Armée de l'Air, by fighter-borne radar, of course. I know we can take no action until the terrorists have left the nuclear power plants, but it is a lead, and we might just be able to retrieve the diamonds after the event.'

  The Prime Minister nodded. 'I read your confidential report on my way here. You mention something about one of your agents?'

  'I can't be sure' -M looked solemn -'but there is a possibility that one of my people is on board the aircraft. However, I'm certain he would be the last person to ask for any special consideration.'

  'That's not the point.' The Prime Minister looked down at the documents on the table. 'Do you think he might be able to do something about the situation?'

  'If he can't halt this ungodly mess, Prime Minister, nobody can.'

  20 WARLOCK

  BOND SAT IN FRONT of the console, the facts fighting each other in his mind, as though trying to drag him into despair. He recognised the symptoms: as when, caught in the sea a man decides he can swim no farther; or feels the onset of fatigue in snow, making him lie down exhausted, to be encompassed by that strange euphoria that comes before death by freezing.

  Murik had planned, using his great knowledge and privileged information. He had mustered his forces through the most elusive international terrorist in the world and set up a complicated, and admirable, tactical operation. There was little to stop him at this stage. For his own safety, Murik would have to get rid of both Bond and Lavender. Why Murik had not already killed them was almost beyond Bond's comprehension. After all, the Laird was ruthless enough to set an almost impossible deadline to his ultimatum. Bond could only presume they were still alive because Murik's vanity needed to feed on the applause of doomed witnesses.

  Don't let yourself go, Bond told himself. Keep alert. Do anything; try to combat the inevitable. He began by trying to feel the flight pattern being followed by the Starlifter. It appeared to him that the aircraft, having reached its cruising height, was locking into a wide, oval holding pattern, each circuit covering around fifty miles or so. That made sense: maximum altitude, with the aircraft using the minimum fuel and the Aldan Aerospace technicians in the forward compartment going about their prescribed tests with the equipment.

  He glanced towards Lavender and smiled. She returned the look with a twist of her lips, bravely struggling with the horrors that must have been going through her head.

  Anton Murik rarely stopped talking. 'You see,' he said, 'we'll descend to the pick-up point some ninety minutes before the deadline runs out. By then we'll know, by our radar, when their aircraft has made its dropping run. I want to keep them on the edge of their seats until the last moment. If the flotation bag is there – as I'm certain it will be – it's a simple matter: my air crew has been well-trained in the art of picking up from the sea. All we need is a couple of low-level passes while we trail a cable with grappling hooks from the rear of the aircraft. Once we've hooked on, we just winch up the bag. A rise in the price of diamonds, eh?' He cackled at his weak joke.

  'A rise'll be right,' Bond replied. 'You'll get a glut. Could mess up the market.'

  'Oh, my dear Bond, why do you always underestimate me? I'm a patient man: waited too long for this. You don't think I'm going to send out a troop of Boy Scouts with the diamonds, and flood the market next week.' He gave an irritated little sigh. 'This has taken too long to set up. I don't mind waiting a little longer-a year or two. Softly, softly. The diamonds'll trickle on to various markets. I've enough money to start work on my own reactor now. I simply wish to recoup from this little hoard.' Looking straight at Bond he gave a broad smile. 'All for free. They'll fall over themselves to pay up.'

  'And if they stand fast? If they don't come up with your precious fifty billion?' Bond realised this was unlikely. Murik held his gaze coldly. 'Then the world will not be the world any more. Not as we know it.' 'You're really going to let the terrorist teams close down the cooling systems?'

  Murik gave a dismissive wave of the hand. 'There'll be no need. The governments will pay up and look happy. They have no option.'

  'But…' Bond was about to repeat his constant worry that either one of the terrorist squads would lose control, or some idiot security force would try an assault. There was a further possibility: that the governments would give in to the ultimatum, yet would lack time to fulfil Warlock's requirements. But what was the use? There was no point in arguing or even trying to reason with Anton Murik.

  If argument would do no good, Bond had to think of some other way. Strapped into his seat, with Lavender in the same situation, he knew chances of survival were slim. He must go on searching for further chinks in the armour. Bond might play on Murik's vanity for a time, yet in the end that could not affect the outcome. To do anything concrete he had to be free and mobile. After that, there was the problem of taking out Murik, Caber and the two heavies sitting with Lavender at the other console.

  Bond gazed blankly at the vast array of electronic units before him, particularly those directly in front of Murik. Think logically, he told himself. What would he do if free and unhindered? The earphones had been plugged into a unit bright with pin-lights, VUs, a digital frequency display and half a dozen tuning dials. He had no doubt that this was the most important piece of equipment in Murik's impressive array; in particular the microphone with its transmit button. Press that button, speak, and you would be throu
gh to the squads holding the control rooms in the nuclear power plants. This was all too obvious. It was what Murik would do once he was away and safe with the diamonds, plucked from the sea. But what would he say? How would Murik defuse the situation?

  Vanity. Use it. Play on the vanity. 'What happens to the terrorist squads?' Bond asked, casually. Murik gave him a sly look. 'What d'you mean, what happens to them?'

  'Well, nobody can fault you on anything, Anton.' Bond again chanced the familiarity. 'This is probably the most brilliantly organised terrorist strategy of the century. But, when you've picked up the diamonds and got safe home presumably not Perpignan…' Murik laughed. 'Unfortunately you won't be around to see.

  Bond nodded, as though the point was academic. 'I realise that. But I suppose you call off the dogs: radio, on your shielded beam, and give them the word. They give up. So what happens to them?'

  Murik shrugged: the sly look again. 'Franco's department.' He lowered his voice. 'And Franco isn't with us any more. Those people have dealt entirely with him. They expect to die in action. A nuclear death from radiation. As far as I can gather, if they're ordered to abort, they simply come out with their hands up. Custody. Interrogation. Trial. A trip to the bridewell.'

  'They're willing to die for their various causes; so they're equally willing to serve a term in jail?'

  'And, if any of them breaks, he can only point the finger at Franco, who is missing, believed killed in action.' He paused, glancing up at the dials in front of him. 'I imagine they won't be in jail for long. There will be hostages, deaths, demands.'