by Steve Cole
‘James?’ Anya’s voice was low, cautious. ‘James, that is not Madame Radek.’
‘Not . . .?’ James frowned. ‘But I met her—’
‘I was taught by her in Paris. There is a similarity, but nothing more.’
The woman rose slowly from her seat, her dark silk dress spilling softly over her body. ‘Don’t you recognize me . . .?’
‘You are not Gaiana Radek,’ Anya insisted.
‘I was talking to young James Bond here.’ She turned to Demir. ‘Go and ready the motor car. This won’t take long.’ As Demir nodded and left, she reached down for something on the chair beside her. ‘I have an appointment at the Opera House, and must dress accordingly . . .’
James saw her take a black felt hat – simple, but stylishly cut with a tailored bow of moire ribbon – and place it on her head.
From the narrow brim, she turned a black veil down over her face.
How did I not see it? The world seemed to tilt around James. It’s her. La Velada. Here, all the time. He stared, his jaw shifting wordlessly.
‘What are you looking at?’ Mimic turned James’s voice back to him, and gave a high-pitched giggle. ‘What are you looking at? What?’
24
Invasion by Stealth
‘HELLO, BOND.’ LA Velada’s own voice was higher, softer than the one she used for ‘Madame Radek’; more considered, more conniving. ‘You’ve been most helpful to our enterprise. How fortunate that I didn’t kill you in Cuba after all.’
‘What is she talking about?’ Anya said. ‘Where is the real Madame Radek?’
‘Oh, she’s quite dead, my dear. I had her walled up in her shut-down studio when I adopted her identity three months ago, to fully immerse myself in our plans here.’ La Velada’s smile was like a vivid red hook plucking at her face. ‘Now, you’ll let me enjoy my little reunion with Bond without interruption – won’t you?’
‘La Velada was very interested to hear that I’d run into you professionally last year,’ Elmhirst said, ‘and that you were getting involved in SIS business abroad.’
‘That was by chance,’ James retorted.
‘Was it?’ Her insufferable smile stayed stitched to her face. ‘You can’t deny you’re becoming quite the unofficial asset. You wrecked our operations in Cuba, forcing us to change our schedule and revise our plans. And I believe that at Christmas you were involved in a chain of events that wiped out millions of pounds’ worth of arms research for both Britain and Germany.’
‘For which we thank you,’ Elmhirst chipped in.
‘Indeed,’ La Velada said. ‘It is as though you’re being bred for battle. Small wonder that there have been close eyes on your future.’
‘I thought the only reason I even had a future was because I can make sense of my father’s riddle,’ James said. ‘If you’re this desperate to know what he meant with his note, your own future must still be in jeopardy.’
‘If we grow complacent, we are weak. If we are weak, we can fail.’ La Velada moved slowly towards James. ‘You walk that sharp line between insight and bravado with impressive talent, Bond. I suppose you’ve worked out what we’ve been up to?’
‘Sitting on your backsides?’ James suggested. ‘How can it take three years to construct a few buildings around the Thames, dig tunnels underneath and set off some stolen explosives?’
‘Ah, but that supposes our end is to level a city – when in fact this is merely our starting point.’
James’s attempts at further bravado died in his throat.
‘I can assure you, I’ve been most active since we met in Cuba,’ La Velada went on. ‘I have overseen construction work here and the distribution of materials and personnel via submarine, enabled Karachan to develop the nationwide network of communist cells around the country, and’ – she gestured to herself – ‘still I find time to masquerade as a famous dancer and spend many months arranging a gala show, to be performed tomorrow night before royalty and the most important of VIPs. Why would that be?’
‘Royalty . . .’ James looked across at Mimic. ‘He impersonated King George on the submarine. You’re going after him, aren’t you?’
‘James,’ Anya said quietly, ‘I do not think the date for this performance was chosen at random. Those tide tables in the buried files say that in August 1935 the Thames was at its highest.’
‘And reaches its peak as our performance begins. Very good.’ La Velada held her palm almost sensually to James’s cheek, and he flinched. ‘I fear you struggle with scale, Bond. “Set off some stolen explosives,” you say? There is nothing random about the positioning of each stockpile of hexogen, nothing imprecise about the tunnel’s path through the strata of London’s underworld.’
Karachan couldn’t stay silent a moment longer. ‘Kalashnikov designed it so that the force and pressure waves from each explosion would travel through the network and trigger the next,’ he said, ‘turning London’s foundations to rubble and the Thames into a tsunami.’
‘Embankments will fail all along the river, and fifty square miles of the most densely populated part of England will be flooded.’ La Velada bestowed a warm smile upon James. ‘In the aftermath, as the waters settle, our submarines will leave their pens and advance along the Humber, the Tyne, the Mersey, the Forth . . .’
‘You can’t just invade England!’ James cried. ‘We have allies. You’ll start a second world war.’
‘The submarines will not attack,’ said La Velada. ‘They will seem to offer protection against further incidents. Our presence will be welcomed by a frightened people.’
James stared at her, shaking his head. ‘You mean, you’ll blame London’s destruction on the Nazis or something?’
‘Adam Elmhirst, last surviving operative of the British Secret Intelligence Service, will make a most convincing case.’
‘You are mad,’ said Anya. ‘I have lived among the British people. They fear Russia. They will never accept her rule.’
‘Not overnight, perhaps,’ said Karachan. ‘But over many years we have covertly placed loyal Soviet sleeper agents in key positions of authority, to minimize resistance.’
‘And when the King broadcasts to the nation that, with Westminster levelled, the Soviet Union has rushed to Britain’s aid to help form a new emergency government in the north, well . . .’ La Velada gave an elegant shrug. ‘How can the powers of the world protest when the sovereign warmly welcomes his invaders?’
‘King George would never do that . . .’ But then James turned to Mimic, and his heart plummeted. ‘But you don’t need the King, do you? Not for broadcasts on the wireless. You’ve got him, ready to read out whatever he’s told.’
La Velada nodded. ‘And the real King will be in no position to gainsay us . . . Because you’ll never guess who’s returned from a fruitless search for Blade-Rise’s stolen hexogen, just in time to take up his role as one of the King’s personal bodyguards, working with the Met at the Opera House tomorrow . . .’
Elmhirst grinned, saluted and then mimed firing a gun with the same fingers. ‘At the first sign of trouble I’ll whisk him away so he’s seen to escape, through an emergency exit underground.’
‘Another of your tunnels?’ Anya spat.
‘Another of your father’s tunnels,’ La Velada corrected her. ‘But no one will see us execute the King, deep beneath the theatre.’
‘In the confusion of London’s destruction we will ensure that all members of your current parliament are also exterminated,’ Karachan said casually, ‘so that a new era can be ushered in.’
La Velada looked proud. ‘Of course, we cannot maintain the illusion of a king in voice alone for long, but then we won’t have to. Frightened people adjust so very easily. It is Soviet money that will help Britain rebuild the terrible damage that has been done . . . and Soviet rule that will bring communities back together.’
The wave of realization crashed hard over James. ‘You’re not starting a war. You’re staging a coup.’
Karachan’s dark litt
le eyes twinkled. ‘You might call it an invasion by stealth.’
‘And the peace we make in the aftermath will give the USSR a satellite state in the heart of Europe,’ La Velada concluded, ‘bolstering our strength.’
‘You’ve forgotten Jericho.’ James licked his dry lips. ‘You can still be stopped.’
‘Ah, yes. Your relatives in Jericho.’ La Velada shook her head. ‘They don’t exist.’
‘What . . .?’ James stared at her, his last hopes sinking. ‘You don’t know what you’re—’
‘Elmhirst radioed me the details of your charming story and I had them checked against your file. A weak lie. We’re very disappointed in you, Bond.’
‘Remember how Mimic slit Mr Kalashnikov’s throat?’ Elmhirst grabbed Anya by the back of the neck. ‘How would you like him to have a go at hers now?’
Obligingly, Mimic recreated Ivan Kalashnikov’s death rattle in Anya’s ear. She shuddered, turning the movement into a convulsion as she tried to break free. It only made Elmhirst grip her harder. James bowed his head, knowing he was helpless and defeated. He hated that feeling; there had to be some last trick he could pull, some way to turn things around . . .
A change of tactic, perhaps?
‘I don’t know what it means,’ James said. ‘I’ve been racking my brains, but . . . it must have been meant for Uncle Max to understand.’ He turned a piteous gaze on Anya. ‘I didn’t want them to hurt you, so I made something up.’
‘You hear?’ Karachan sneered. ‘We’ve wasted enough time on this bourgeois blunt instrument. It’s too late for anything to stop our plans now.’
‘Yes,’ said James quickly as Anya went limp in Elmhirst’s grip, ‘it’s too late.’
‘Is it, now.’ La Velada stared at him. ‘I find your capitulation a little out of character. But at this moment I have more pressing business. The dress rehearsal for tomorrow’s performance will be starting soon at the Opera House.’ She looked at Elmhirst and Karachan. ‘Detain them for now. Since their fathers have helped secure our final victory, it seems only right that they should witness the dawn of our new order. With appropriate re-education, we may find useful roles for them in the coming administration. And if they will not learn, they will die.’
‘Yes, they will die.’ Elmhirst smiled at James. ‘And her before you.’
25
One and Only Chance
LA VELADA LEFT to join Demir for her appointment as Madame Radek, while Karachan excused himself to make telephone calls to the heads of his communist network, ensuring that the final preparations for the coup were complete. If only I could steal that list of Soviet moles, James thought, take it to SIS, get them to act . . . But as he and Anya were marched from the room at gunpoint by Elmhirst and Mimic, he knew it was fantasy.
‘Why did you betray Britain?’ James said bluntly.
‘Why has Britain betrayed the working man?’ Elmhirst retorted, unfazed. ‘Just as the nineteenth century belonged to the British Empire, so the twentieth will belong to the Soviet Union. The way forward, the way to lasting peace, is through a well-planned global society. A communist future is more important than clinging to the old, outdated loyalties of king and country.’
‘I don’t care what you say, Elmhirst.’ James shook his head. ‘The people won’t fall for your fairy stories.’
‘You think not?’ Elmhirst’s smile was back, and cockier than ever. ‘If a lie’s presented in the right way, anyone will buy it.’ He unlocked a door on the opposite side of the corridor and pushed it open. ‘Case in point . . .’
James stopped dead, incredulous.
‘What is it?’ Anya asked as Elmhirst shoved them both forward into the room.
‘It’s . . . the police cell they put me in.’ James stared at the narrow bunk he’d been lying on just days ago, at the cayenne pepper still scattered on the floor. ‘This is where I was held after Mimic caught me in the school. I thought I was in another building altogether.’
‘Because you were told by people you believed were in authority. Your being there made sense, so you didn’t question it too closely. This is actually where we put up the men who undertook the excavation works. Imported slave labour. They thought it was luxury after what they were used to in the Soviet penal camps.’ Elmhirst smiled almost sadly. ‘See, people are happiest when they’re told what to think. Only, now you know that it wasn’t exactly in our interests to take you to a real cop shop, was it?’
‘And when you came to get me out, I had to be blinded,’ James realized. ‘Otherwise I’d have seen you stage the fight, realize where I was and known you were lying to me from the start.’
‘’Ere, hold up!’ said Mimic, in the voice he’d used as the duty officer James had heard as Elmhirst set him loose. ‘You can’t just take him out of here!’
‘Tough, isn’t it?’ Elmhirst looked mock-sympathetic. ‘When you finally work out you’re not as smart as you think you are.’
Let Elmhirst call me names, James thought, let him think me beaten. I’ll get my chance.
There’s no time like the present.
‘Please,’ James said. ‘Can you take off my handcuffs . . . just for a little while?’
Elmhirst pulled a face. ‘Wrists sore, are they?’
‘Please? I wouldn’t try anything. I mean, you’ve got a gun.’
‘So I have.’ Elmhirst walked over to James. ‘And I’ve got fists, too.’
By way of proof, he smashed his knuckles into James’s left cheek. James gasped as the world blinked out about him, snapping back on as he hit the floor. Anya stifled a cry.
‘Never stop trying, do you, Bond?’ The toecap of Elmhirst’s right boot cannoned into James’s stomach, kicked the breath out of him. ‘Still think that you can turn things around?’
James gasped as another kick sent fire through his ribs.
‘You lied to me on the sub. You wasted my time. And for what?’ Elmhirst kicked him in the back; James gasped for breath, afraid he might throw up. ‘Trying to live up to the daddy who was hardly ever there – is that it?’
‘Go . . . to hell,’ James hissed.
‘I reckon you saw me as a bit of a father figure. Bet you thought we made a good team.’ Elmhirst hunkered down beside him, wiped blood from the cut on James’s cheek with his thumb and studied it thoughtfully. ‘You were drawn to me, like you were drawn to that silly bitch Roan back at Eton. Someone older; someone who’ll throw themselves in deep, who knows they’ll have to find a way out or cope with the consequences.’ He shook his head. ‘You invest yourself in them, you commit, because you think they’ll pay a fine return. But not every investment comes good, Bond. Sometimes you lose it all.’
He stood up and stamped his heel down on James’s left arm. James couldn’t contain his shout of pain as the handcuffs scissored through his wrists, opening the skin.
Elmhirst crouched again and tweaked James’s cheek almost fondly. ‘Now, are you ready to tell me what your dad meant by those notes? The truth this time?’
James made no answer, shaking and wheezing for breath.
‘Leave him alone!’ Anya snapped. ‘How can you expect him to answer questions when you do this?’
‘I expect you to coax some life back into him. I told you, I don’t like loose ends. I want them all tied up ahead of the final act.’ Elmhirst rose, blew a sarcastic kiss at Anya and nodded to Mimic, who left the room. ‘We’ll be back. Tomorrow is a big day, and we don’t want anyone to spoil it . . . do we?’
The door slammed shut behind them, and a key turned in the lock.
Anya rushed over to kneel beside James, and overbalanced with her own arms still tied behind her back. She was close to tears as she put her face against the back of his neck. ‘Oh, James.’
‘I . . . I’m all right.’
‘You are not. I am not.’ She shook her head. ‘You know now that I am not the stone I try to be. That I am afraid.’
‘You . . . and me both.’
‘These people, they’
ll kill us both when they’re through with us.’
‘They’re . . . fanatics . . . They’ll do anything for what they believe in.’ James clenched his teeth and rolled over onto his back so he could look up at her. ‘So . . . we must be fanatics too.’
‘Fanatical about what?’
‘Living.’ James coughed, his ribs agony, and swallowed down the taste of blood. ‘We’re fanatical about staying alive, hear me? And we’ll do anything, risk anything, to keep living. While we live, we can fight.’
Anya looked down at him, and James saw a fierce light in her eyes. He felt it too, tasted it, when she bent down and kissed him fervently on the lips. To share something other than fear and pain felt good. He was sorry when she pulled away, breathing shakily, licking her lips. There was something he couldn’t define in her clear blue eyes. Vulnerability, perhaps; a different kind of fear.
‘What . . . are you thinking?’ she asked softly.
‘Two things. Firstly, that I’m glad that bastard didn’t punch me in the mouth.’ James managed a smile. ‘Secondly, I think it’s about time you reached into my trouser pocket . . .’
‘And pulled out your gun.’ Anya raised one eyebrow. ‘The kiss was not that bad, I hope?’
James explained his plan. ‘A bullet fired point blank through the handcuff chain might be enough to break it.’
‘But the sound of the gunshot might bring Elmhirst and Karachan.’
‘Then we’d better make damn sure the chain breaks first time,’ James said, ‘so that one of us can defend the other.’
‘Yes. Each defends the other.’ She leaned forward again, put her face to his. ‘About this, I will be the fanatic.’
‘Good. Just let me get my strength back.’ James was desperate to escape, of course, but still felt weak from his beating, and if the gunshot did bring their captors running . . . Well, to get out of here alive, he needed to be ready to fight as never before.
James chewed over his father’s riddle like a starved dog with a bone, as the night turned slowly dark through the small, high windows. ‘If Elmhirst does come, I think I’ll ask him for a Bible.’