John Gardner - Seafire

She hesitated, her movements quick and full of nervousness. "Mr. Bond, I know your real name. I only want a quick word." She glanced agitatedly toward the main door. "First, I want to thank you. You tried to save the life of one of the officers on Caribbean Prince …"

"Well, I -"

"No, I just want to thank you. It was Lieutenant Mark Neuman. He was my cousin. I know you did all you could to save him."

Her eyes glistened with tears just below the surface. "I wanted to warn you, as well."

"Warn me?"

"My husband. He's not what he seems. Please take great care. If you've been of use to him, he'll try to use you again and again. Max can be charming, but his goal in life is terrifying. I don't know -"

The main door opened, and Tarn came striding back into the room, stopping suddenly as he saw his wife. "What're you doing in here?" There was a touch of merciless brutality about both his face and voice. Maurice Goodwin hovered behind him, looking a little too anxious.

"I thought you had all left." She spoke like someone near to pleading, as though she feared physical pain. "I only…"

"Just wait in the bedroom. We haven't quite finished." Then, as an afterthought, he added, "My dear."

As soon as she was gone he altered again: now all smiles, obviously trying to project a conciliatory mood.

"I'm sorry to have kept you, Mr. Bond. You've been most helpful. Both of you. You and Fräulein von Grüsse."

"If your gorillas have hurt one hair of her head, I'll -"

"Mr. Bond, please." His voice oozed with an unlikely sense of serenity. "I apologize most profusely for any belligerence I showed when we first met. If I can do anything to put that right…"

"No, just let us get on with our lives," Bond snapped. "I came to do you a favor."

"And I appreciate that. I'm quite willing to pay you back with interest. In time you'll appreciate that I had to be absolutely sure of you both. A few answers from your good friend Fräulein von Grüsse were all we needed. Just to check out the pair of you."

"Well, you've asked your questions; presumably asked them of Flicka as well. Now, I'd like to go, sir, if that's convenient."

"By all means, Mr. Bond. You've done me a service. I'd simply like to repay -"

"It's not necessary. Good afternoon to you, Sir Max." Then, over his shoulder, "And you, Mr. Goodwin."

Outside, the burly Connie was all set to escort him down in the lift. "Not necessary, Conrad. I'll see myself out." He placed the palm of his right hand firmly on the bodyguard's chest and pushed him away. As the doors to the elevator closed, he saw the surprised look in the big man's eyes as he stumbled back against the opposite wall.

Flicka was standing by the window, looking down into the street below, when he got back to their suite.

"You've had visitors, I hear?" Bond went up behind her and locked his arms around her shoulders.

"A pair of nicely dressed apes, yes. If they weren't so potentially dangerous, they'd be like cartoon characters." She twisted her face up toward him. "One of them was the oaf whose hand you mangled before we checked in. He's still not happy about that. Became definitely unpleasant about it, James, and he goes by the delightful name of Mr. Archie; his friend is Mr. Cuthbert. They're superior types who'd think rape was their right, and would have no bad dreams if they roasted their grandmothers and served them up as an entrée."

"And these two little charmers asked you questions?"

"Just your usual hostile interrogation, with plenty of unveiled threats. A very nasty couple, though they seemed to believe me in the end. Sir Max Tarn's private knuckle-dragger, Connie, came down and finally checked me out. I presume we were both asked roughly the same questions."

They talked for some twenty minutes, and Bond discovered that Flicka had not been asked about the warrants. Tarn's inquisitors had zeroed in solely on her relationship with Bond, the reasons for their use of pseudonyms, and the kind of work going on at the Bedford Square house. They had been particularly interested in when and why Bond and Flicka had decided to spend the weekend in Cambridge.

"I gave them the answers they wanted to hear, which was basically the truth." She shrugged. "After that, they seemed to lose interest."

"I wouldn't be too certain about that." Bond pulled her close to him. Her hair smelled of hay and late summer, and he felt the familiar surge of affection that had become so much part of his life since they had met. "I think I'd better go and make a little telephone call," he said eventually. "I believe the office should be kept informed,"

Outside, the bank of telephones on Parker's Piece was empty. Bond dialed the Minister's contact number. This time it was a male voice that answered.

"Brother James," he identified himself.

"Brother James. You calling about Knight's Move?"

"No. How long…?" he began. Knight's Move had been their chosen code for extreme emergency.

"Called in less than a minute ago. Move!" The disembodied voice in faraway London had about it the urgency of a bomb threat.

He slammed down the receiver, turned on one heel, and started to run back toward the University Arms. He was less than twenty yards away when he saw Sir Max Tarn's Rolls, accompanied by one of the Rovers, moving out from under the hotel's porte-cochère, nosing its way into the traffic.

He slowed to a walk and sauntered into the foyer. "Sir Max leaving us?" he casually asked of one of the porters standing by the door.

"Sudden call back to London. You never know with these wealthy folk. Always on the go." The porter was looking at a five-pound note – his tip from Tarn, no doubt. He appeared to be considering it as paltry.

Bond did not use the lift, but went up the main staircase, two stairs at a time. The door to their suite was slightly ajar, a room-service table outside.

"Did you…?" he began as he entered the room, pulling the door wide open.

"Shut it, Bond." He was looking into the circular little mouth of an automatic pistol, held left-handed by the young thug whose hand he had injured on their arrival. What had Flicka called him? Mr. Archie?

Across the room Archie's partner, Cuthbert, had one arm around Flicka's neck; the other held a small weapon Bond recognized as a little Beretta.22, not exactly a stopping weapon.

"Don't do anything stupid, will you, old chap?" from Archie. "Sir Max so wanted to be here for this. Sends his apologies and all that. Called away unexpectedly. Him and Lady Trish. Very disappointed, as were Mr. Goodwin and Connie. They all wanted to be in on this."

Bond remained absolutely still, balancing on the balls of his feet, not moving a muscle as he tried to calculate the risk involved in any immediate action. The man who had spoken kicked the door closed, then moved in behind Bond. His breath was warm and the quiet voice full of menace. The hard cold touch of the automatic on the back of his neck banished all thoughts of any instant attempt at turning the tables.

"Now, Mr. Bond, sir. We're going to take a little trip. A short journey by car. Just the four of us. Very cozy and nothing to be concerned about." The voice was low, though there was something curious about the pitch.

"Take me ." Bond matched the volume of his voice to that of his captor. "Just take me. Leave Fräulein von Grüsse out of it."

"Very chivalrous." The man holding Flicka moved slightly, pressing the muzzle of his pistol harder into her neck. "Don't you think that's chivalrous, Mr. Archibald? Something you rarely come across these days." The timbre of his voice was almost identical to that of his partner.

"Exceptionally unselfish, Mr. Cuthbert. What a pity it's not in our power to grant such a plea."