by John Gardner
"Well, don't just stand there. At least say thank you.
He remained silent, wishing to draw her out. The trick was as old as the trade itself practised constantly by case The Balloon Game officers and agent handlers the world over. Remain silent and let them come to you, tell you all there is to tell. Only then should you try to fill in the gaps.
"They've got four back-up copies,' she said at last, "and I just hope to heaven the Old Bald Eagle doesn't need to run the fourth, because this is it." Bond remained silent. He did not smile.
"I thought they'd buried it, locked it behind steel and sprinkled man-eating spiders in the vault." She stared back at Bond, who did not move.
"All five disks have been kept in the chief's safe - the one in his office that does have everything except the man-eating spiders." Once more she held it out. "But today it's all systems go, and they're using it all the time.
As often happens Peter and I have been banished from the lab. But the guards have got used to us going up and down. I guess you beat him at his own game?"
"Yes,' Bond said flatly, as though there had been no pleasure in it.
"Heard some of it. Now perhaps you'll believe he's insane. Had one of his tantrums. I heard that as well."
"How did you get down?"
"Looked as though I belonged. Clip-board under one arm. I just walked past the young thugs on the door.
They've seen me before. You were with Bald Eagle. Like a lot of people who become paranoid about security, he has a blind spot. The safe was left open. I did a swift switch and tucked this up my shirt." It was all he was going to get. "You haven't seen it run, then?" She shook her head. Her negative gestures, he noticed, were always performed with the head tilted slightly to the right - a distinctive mannerism, a flourish, like the way some people curl the last letter of their signature, underlining the name to give it more importance. It was a habit they should have caught during training, where the mohair-suited psychiatrists note and eradicate idiosyncracies. He waited again.
"There's been no way, James. Only' the inner circle have seen it, played with it - if that's the right word." At last Bond took the disk.
"Trained on it,' he corrected her. "And there's little chance of us having a look-see. Where's my gear?"
"In the garage, under a pile of rubbish - tyres, old tins, tools: odds and ends. In one corner. I had to improvise, and it was better to hide it there than let them find it in the car. It's not safe by any means, so we just have to hope nobody goes rooting around." He seemed to give the situation a lot of thought.
"Well, I don't fancy trying to unlock this,' he touched the disk.
"What's on it is big, and I suspect dangerous. I just hope you're right - that the disk iSn't missed, and that nobody goes rooting through the garage and tumbles over my hoard of electronics."
"So what good's it going to do? You want me to try and get it out?" Bond went over to the window, where the chintz curtains had been drawn. The promised supper tray was on a table near by, and he noticed it had been set for two - prawns in little glasses, cold chicken and tongue, salads, bread rolls, a bottle of wine. Did anybody get hot food at Endor when the heat was on? he wondered. He still clutched the disk in his hand. Better if he kept it close. Yet there were so few hiding places. In the end, he banked on there being no search, walked over to the wardrobe and pushed it among his clothes. The whole process seemed to take several minutes of silence.
"There are friends,' he confided at last. "Quite near. I would have thought that by now No, you don't move from the house. Nobody tries to get out except me." Bond turned, and dropped quietly into a chair, signalling she should also sit. He nodded towards the wardrobe.
not taking any risks, not with that. It's like a time bomb.
"We just sit, and wait until the cavalry arrive?" Cindy was perched on the end of the bed, her skirt riding up to show a slice of smooth, tantalising thigh.
"Something like that." Bond was trying to reckon how much time they might have; whether the team with their cameras, log books and directional microphones had advised M that something important was happening at Endor. Would M let them sweat it out? Possibly. The cautious, diplomatic intriguer had waited before, almost until the last moment.
"I want an educated guess from you, Cindy. You've been here before - I mean when they've prepared for some caper.
She had been at Endor before, when the hard men had come and spent hours training down in the converted cellars.
"This is the biggest gathering yet?" Since she had been here, it was.
"In your estimation, Cindy, what's the timing? How long have we got before things start to roll?" In his mind the question was really, how long have I got before they ask me to filch the EPOC frequency?
"It can only be a guess, but I'd say forty-eight hours maximum."
"And your little playmate, Peter?" She sprang to Peter's defence like a sister, often at loggerheads with her brother, but always ready to stand up for him. "Peter's okay. He's a brilliant worker, dedicated .
"Would you trust him? Really trust him, when the chips are down, as they say?" She gnawed her upper lip. "Only in a real emergency.
Nothing against him. He can't stand St. John-Finnes or Dazzle.
He's been looking for a different job. Says this place is too claustrophobic for him."
"I expect it'll be even more claustrophobic soon,' Bond said. "I'd say you, Peter and myself are destined for oblivion - particularly you and Peter. Anybody who isn't completely in their confidence." Once more he fell silent, his mind slicing through every morsel of information. Jay Autem Holy had indicated that SPECTRE'S current ploy was destined to change history. Afterwards, they would not want anybody around who could name names or draw faces.
Certainly not in the immediate wake of whatever they planned.
"My car,' he snapped suddenly.
"The Bentley? Yes?"
"You took my gear from the boot. How?"
"It was just before the present crowd arrived. I had been through the kitchens and spotted a whole lot of food being loaded into the two big deep freezes. I also heard Old Bald Eagle on the telephone. I knew they were bringing you back. What did happen by the way? They said you were in hospital Bond brusquely told her to get on with it.
She knew the car had been driven back and put into the garage, and she wondered about the micro and drives he had used in the hotel. The Bentley's keys were left in a security cabinet where they kept all the car keys. She had been in and out of that one since she first arrived - and she chose her moment.
"It was a risk, but I only had the keys out for five minutes.
Everyone was busy, so I took the keys, unloaded the boot, and stashed the stuff in the garage. It's not really safe, but it seemed to be the only way. Bad enough doing that, and far too risky to attempt getting it any further away.
"And the car itself? Have they done anything with it?
Gone over it?" She gave her angled negative head shake. "No time.
Not enough troops either. Everyone's been up to their eyes here."
"The keys?"
"Jason will have them."
"And it's still there? In the garage?"
"Far as I know. Why?"
"Can we. .
"Forget it, James. There's no way we can drive out of here in one piece."
"I hope to be going officially. But if they haven't messed about with it, I wouldn't mind spending fifteen minutes in that car now. Possible?"
"The keys? How? Lord, I don't.
"Don't worry about keys. Just tell me, Cindy, can we get into the garage?"
"Well, I can. She explained that her room had a window looking out on the garage roof. "You just drop down, and there's a skylight. Opens upwards. No problem."
"And security?"
"Damn. Yes, they've got a couple of young guys out front." She explained the layout. The garage itself held four cars, and was, in effect, an extension to the north end of the house. Her room was on the corner, j
ust above the flat roof, one window looking down on the garage, two more to the front.
"And these guards? They're out front? Specifically watching the garage?"
"Just general duties. Keeping an eye on the north end.
If we could Wait a minute. If my curtains aren't drawn they can see straight up into my room. I caught one lot at it last night. They just move a shade further down the drive and they have a good view.
How would it be if I gave them a peep show?" Bond smiled for the first time. "Well, I'd appreciate it.
Cindy leaned back on the bed. "You, James, you male chauvinist pig, have the opportunity to appreciate it any time you want. That's an offer."
"I'd love to take you up on it, Cindy. But we have work to do. Let's see how good they've been with my luggage.
He went over to the weekend case and dumped it on the bed beside the girl, then knelt to examine the locks.
After a few seconds he nodded and took out the black gunmetal pen clipped inside his pullover, unscrewing the wrong end to reveal a tiny set of miniature screwdriver heads. These were threaded at their blunt ends, the threads matching a small hole in the pen's cap.
No traveller should be without one,' Bond said. He smiled and selected one of the drivers, screwing it into place.
Carefully he began to remove the tiny screws around the right lock of his case. They turned easily, the lock coming off in one piece to reveal a small oblong cavity containing one spare set of keys for the Mulsanne Turbo, which he slipped into his pocket before replacing the lock and putting away the miniature tool kit.
The plans for Cindy's diversion and Bond's crawl from her window were quickly arranged.
"The diversion's no problem,' she said, lowering her eyelids.
"I've got exceptional quality tart's stuff on under the skirt." She gave a little pout. "I thought I might even turn you on.
She described her room, suggesting that she should enter in the dark, open the side window and pull those curtains before switching the light on. "I'll be able to see exactly where the guards have placed themselves. You'll have to crawl to the side window on your belly." "How long can you . . . well, tantalise them?" If she performed the full act, Cindy said, putting on a throaty voice, she could keep them more or less happy for about half an hour. "To be on the safe side, I guess you d better reckon on ten minutes, give or take five.
He gave her a look usually reserved for the more cheeky jumper and pearls set at the Regent's Park Headquarters, checked the ASP, and said the sooner they got on with it the better. Bond knew that, if Holy's men hadn't yet tampered with the car, it would certainly be given a going over before they let him out - if they let him out.
Nobody appeared to be stirring in the house. While tiptoeing across the landing, they saw men still lounging in the hall, but the rest was quiet, and the corridor leading to Cindy's room at the far end of the house was in darkness. Her smooth palm touched his, their fingers interlocking for a moment as she guided him towards her door.
She was young, supple, very attractive and obviously available to him at least. For a second he wondered, not for the first time, how genuine she was. But the chance to doubt had long since passed. There was nobody else to trust.
Cindy opened her door, whispering, "Okay, down boy." He dropped on to his stomach, beginning to wriggle his way across the floor. Cindy was humming to herself and interspersing the low, tuneful, bluesy sound with soft comments.
"Nobody at the side m closing the curtains okay, going to the front windows . . . Yes they're down there . . . Right, James, get cracking, I'm putting the lights on . . ." And on they flooded, with Bond halfway across the floor, moving fast towards the window, where the curtains billowed and sighed like a sail.
As he reached it, he saw her out of the corner of his eye, standing near the far front window, hands to her shirt, swaying slightly as she sang softly: He shakes my ashes, freezes my griddle, Churns my butter, stokes my pillow My man is such a handyman He threads my needle, gleans my wheat, Heats my heater, chops my meat, My man is such a handyman.
The last words were barely distinguishable to Bond, who was already out of the window, dropping silently on to the garage roof. He had a copy of "Queen' Victoria Spivey's Handman, recorded in the 1920s, so he knew what that was all about.
Flat against the root, his body pressing down as if to merge with the lead surface, Bond lay silent, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Then he froze, hearing first the sound of feet on gravel, then the voices. There were, as Cindy had said, two of them, speaking in heavily accented English. One made a hushing sound.
"What?"
"The roof. Didn't you hear it?"
"What?"
"Sounded like someone on the garage roof.
Bond willed his body into the flat surface, pressing down, his head turned away, pulses thudding in his ears.
"On the roof? No."
"Move back. Take a look. You know what he said - no second chances." The sound of feet on the gravel again.
"I can't see any "You think we should go and . .
Bond's hand inched towards the ASP.
"There's nobody there. Might have been a cat - Hey, Hans, look at that." The scuffle of feet could be heard moving back off the gravel.
Bond turned his head, and saw the clear silhouettes of The Balloon Game the two guards below, in front of the house. They were close to one another, looking up like a pair of astronomers studying a new planet, eyes fixed on the windows, out of sight to his right.
Carefully he started to move towards the centre of the roof where he knew the skylight lay. Then, suddenly, he dropped flat again as the guards also moved - his own breathing sounding so loud that it must draw them to him. But the two men were now backing away from the house, heads tilted, trying to get a better view of what was happening just inside Cindy's lighted open window.
Again Bond edged forward, going as fast as safety would allow, conscious of each minute slipping away.
Though probably less than a minute, it seemed to take an eternity to reach the skylight, which moved at his first touch. Very gently he slid it back, staring down into the darkness below.
They had made it easier for him by parking the white Mercedes directly underneath. One Swing and he was down, fret on the car's root, head less than a foot below the edge of the skylight.
Crouched there, Bond slipped the ASP from its holster. If they had put a man inside the garage, plans might just have to change. Once more he waited, stock still, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness.
No sound could be heard but the beating of his own heart. The long outline of the Mulsanne could just be made out parked to his right.
He dropped to the floor, padded around the rear of the Mercedes, one hand still grasping the ASP, the other now clutching the keys to the Bentley.
The lock thumped open, and there was that solid, satisfying sound as the catch gave way to his thumb and the heavy door swung back.
The Bentley's interior came alive with light, and he slid into the driving seat, leaving the door open as he checked the connections around the Super 1000 long range telephone, which Communications Control Systems had provided for the electronics wizards at RollsRoyce to wire in. Closing the door, he picked up the handset, letting out a breath of relief as the small pin of red light came on to show the telephone was active. His main fear had been that Holy's men had cut the connections. Now, all he could do was pray that nobody was monitoring the closed waveband.
Quickly he punched out the number, and, before the distant end had time to say "Transworld Exports,' he rasped out, "Predator! Confuse!" hitting the small blue scramble button as he said it, then counting to twenty, waiting for the distant to come up again.
the voice of the Duty Officer at the Regent's Park Headquarters said clearly.
"I say this once only. Predator, emergency . . . and Bond launched into a fast two-minute message which he hoped would be clearly intelligible if Jay Autem Holy really intended to send him
out from Endor to steal the United States EPOC frequency within the next few days.
Putting the telephone back into its cradle between the seats, he retrieved the ASP which had rested above the polished wooden dashboard only inches from his hand, and returned it to his holster Now he had to get back to Cindy's room as fast as possible. The thought of the girl slowly stripping, singing to herself was highly erotic in his heightened state of mind, bringing the picture of Percy Proud to him quickly, as though she were very close. A trick of the subconscious he decided, closing the Bentley's door as quietly as its weight allowed and locking the car.
The interior lights remained on for a few seconds, then the garage was once more consigned to darkness. He turned, to head back to the Mercedes, when a sharp double metallic click brought him to a halt.
There was an old game - remembered from his training back in the Second World War - which they still played in the school. You sat in darkness while tapes of noises were run. The object was to identify each noise.
Often they ran the distinctive cocking action of an automatic pistol with the sounds of door handles, toys, even metal snap fastenings. The sharp double click which he heard now came from the far side of the Mercedes, and Bond would know it anywhere. It was that of an automatic pistol being cocked.
He had the ASP in his hand again, like a master conjurer producing a wand from midair. But as the gun came up, a spotlight flashed on and a very familiar voice spoke softly.
"Put that nasty thing away, dear. It's not really worth it, and neither of us wants to get hurt, do we?" - 1(3EPOC BOND COULD SEE him quite clearly, outlined against the lighter colouring of the wall. In a fraction of a second, his brain and body calculated the situation and made a decision.
Normally, with all his training, and the long built-in reflexes, Bond would have taken him out with one shot, probably straight from the hip. But several factors were weighed in an instant and stayed his hand.
The voice was not aggressive, indicating room for negotiation; the words had been plain, simple and to the point - . . . neither of us wants to get hurt, do we?" More important, there was no silencer fitted to the ASP. A shot from either side would bring Holy's people into the garage. Bond reckoned that Peter was as anxious as he was himself to keep the wolves at bay.