John Gardner - Licence Renewed

James Bond's heart leaped, and he felt a new urgency coursing through his veins. It was a long time since M had addressed him as 007, and it signified that he could well be off into the real unknown again. He could almost smell the possibilities.

'Well, what do you think?' M repeated.

Bond lit another cigarette and looked up at the ceiling before he spoke. 'I should imagine you'll want me on the way to Scotland tonight.' M's eyes betrayed nothing as Bond continued. 'Not a healthy mix — an international terrorist and a renowned nuclear physicist. Been one of the nightmares for some time, hasn't it, sir? That some group would get hold of not only the materials but the means to construct a really lethal nuclear device? We suspect some of them have the materials — look at that fellow Achmed Yastaff I took out for you. At least four of the ships he arranged to go missing were carrying materials...'

M snorted, 'Don't be a fool, 007. Easiest thing in the world to construct a crude device. Yes, they've almost certainly got the materials — and don't ask me who I mean by "they". You've got to think logically on this one. If any of the existing terrorist organisations wanted to use some crude bomb to blackmail a government, they could do so. But for a man like Franco to be consorting with an old devil such as the Laird of Murcaldy — well, that's a very different matter, and it could mean one of two things.'

'Yes?..' Bond leant forward.

'First,' M ticked off the index finger of his left hand with that of his right, the pipe jammed into the corner of his mouth, held tightly between his teeth as he spoke. 'First, it could mean that Franco is setting up a very sophisticated operation, and is soliciting Anton Murik's specialist help and knowledge. Second,' — the fingers moved, — 'it could be the other way around: that Dr Anton Murik is seeking Franco's aid on a little adventure of his own. Either of those possibilities is going to take more than five short visits from Franco.'

'And Anton Murik is capable of either of these things?' Bond's brow furrowed. He could read absolutely nothing in M's weather-beaten face, and that was always a danger signal. There was far more to all this than the information brought to them by 'The Opposition'.

'Not only capable of it, but also a most likely candidate.' M opened a drawer in his desk and dropped another file on top of the one provided by M.I.5. 'We've had our eye on Dr Anton Murik, Laird of Murcaldy, for some time now.' He tapped the two files. 'What Ross told you is a slight understatement — the business about Murik resigning from the International Atomic Energy Commission under some sort of cloud. They don't have all the facts. We do. Murik resigned, 007, under a damned great storm. In fact the man was kicked out, and didn't take kindly to it. He is a man of some brilliance, and very large resources.'

M took the pipe from his mouth, looking Bond straight in the eyes. 'Even his title — Laird of Murcaldy — is more than highly suspect, as Ross mentioned. No, I don't intend to send you scooting off to Scotland, 007. It's my job to see that you're properly briefed, and given good support and cover. The hell with "The Opposition" and their surveillance team. I want to get you as close to Murik as possible. On the inside; and before we get to that, there's a great deal you should know about the so-called Laird of Murcaldy.'

It was obviously going to be a long evening, and Bond thought he should not surprise May, his able and devoted housekeeper, by returning suddenly and late to the flat off the King's Road.

Before M could launch into the details of the dossiers which lay, full of secrets, in front of them, Bond asked permission to leave the office for a moment.

M gave one of his irritated old-fashioned looks, but grudgingly nodded his consent for Bond to make a telephone call from the privacy of his own office.

In the end, it was easier for Bond to dial his own number on Miss Moneypenny's extension. May had given up trying to fathom her employer's working hours long ago, and merely asked if he fancied anything special to eat when he did get in. Bond said he would not be averse to a nice pair of Arbroath Smokies — should she have some tucked away. May, being a strict conservative in matters of kitchen equipment, would never in a thousand years have allowed a freezer in her domain. Bond agreed with her, though it was sometimes nice to be able to have delicacies within reach, so they had compromised. With tact, Bond had talked her round to allowing him to buy a large Bosch refrigerator with a spacious freezing compartment, which May christened the ice box. She thought, now, that there might be a pair of Smokies in 'the ice box', adding, 'So I'll see what I can do, Mr James; but mind you don't get back too late.' May had a habit of treating Bond, when the mood was on her, as a nanny will treat her small charges.

The fact that Bond was only out of his office for a few minutes mollified M, who had refilled his pipe and was poring over the dossiers. Caustically he asked if 007 had managed to arrange matters so that they were not interrupted again.

'Yes, sir,' Bond replied calmly. 'I'm quite ready for the Laird of Murcaldy, Rob Roy and even Bonnie Prince Charlie, if you wish.'

'It's not a matter for levity, 007,' M spoke sharply. 'The Murik family is a noble line. There was a Laird of Murcaldy at Dunbar, and another at Culloden Moor. However, it is possible that the true line died out with the present Laird's grandfather. It has yet to be proven, or even properly tested, but it is a matter which disturbs the Lord Lyon King of Arms greatly.' He shuffled through some of the first dossier. 'Anton Murik's grandfather was well-known as an adventurer — a traveller. In the year 1890 he was missing for more than three months in central Europe — searching, it is said, for his brother who had been disinherited for some offence. Their parents were dead, and the village folk believed that Angus Murik — that was his name — planned to return with his brother, shepherding the black sheep back into the fold. When he did return it was with a wife: a foreign woman, the records say. She was with child, and there are also written documents suggesting that the prodigal Laird was not Angus at all, but the brother, Hamish. It is also suggested that the child, who became Anton's father, was born out of wedlock, for there are no records of a marriage having actually taken place.'

Bond grunted, 'But surely that would only weaken the line, not destroy it altogether.'

'Normally, yes,' M continued. 'But Anton was also born in strange circumstances. His father was a wild lad who, at the age of eighteen, also began to travel. He did not return at all. There is a letter, extant, saying that he had married an English woman of good family in Palermo. But shortly after that a young woman arrived at Murik Castle, in an advanced state of pregnancy, with the news that her husband, the heir to the title, had been killed by bandits during an expedition in Sicily.'

'When was this?' It sounded a confused and odd story to Bond.

'Nineteen-twenty,' M nodded, as though reading Bond's thoughts. 'Yes, and there are newspaper reports of some "English" gentleman having been killed in Sicily. The newspapers, however, claim that this gentleman's wife also perished at the hands of the bandits; though the young woman insisted it was her maid who died. The graves, at Caltanissetta, are so marked; but diaries, and some memories, say that the girl who presented herself as wife of the Laird-presumptive was far from being an English lady of good breeding. It's difficult to sort out fact from fiction, or even bigotry. What is certain is the fact that some of the older people on the Murik estate maintain Anton is not the true Laird — though, knowing which side their bread is buttered, they only whisper it privately, and will not commit themselves to either strangers or authority.'