John Gardner - Seafire

It was noon when he took the call, and Bond immediately made plans to get out of the office. He instructed his new secretary, who rejoiced in the name of Chastity Vain and sported a figure that would give pause to the saintliest of men, telling her that he would be away for the rest of the day. He gave her M's private number in case of any major panic, then left the building, taking the Saab and heading out toward the M4, turning off at the Windsor exit, making for M's home, Quarterdeck – the beautiful Regency manor house on the edge of Windsor Forest. He stopped off for a pub lunch, and finally arrived at the house just before two-thirty.

His ring – on the famous ship's bell that hung outside the main door – was answered by a nubile nurse who introduced herself somewhat formally as Nurse Frobisher. "Thank heaven." She breathed a sigh of relief when he told her his name. "He's not the best of patients. Should rest all the time but is always working on papers, or making telephone calls. I tried removing the phone yesterday, but had to let him have it back. He works himself up into such states. Come on up. Perhaps you can persuade him to relax. If he doesn't, then I fear he'll not be long for this world." This last said with a hint of sadness that worried and depressed Bond.

"I have my doubts about that." He followed her up the stairs to M's bedroom.

His old Chief lay back, propped up by pillows, the bed covered with papers and notepads.

"James, my boy. Thank heaven you've come. I am being driven half mad by interfering women."

Nurse Frobisher raised her eyebrows and quietly left as M beckoned him over, telling him to sit by the bed.

"I'm swinging the lead a bit, my boy. Doing a bit of poodle-faking, if you want the truth." Though his speech was bright and strong, the look on his face told a different story. The clear sparkle of his gray eyes had turned dull, and his weatherbeaten face showed signs of strain. Under the tan, which the old man cultivated, there was a paleness that Bond had never seen before, while the skin of his face had started to stretch tightly against his cheekbones.

"Now listen to me." He hardly paused for breath, "I know you have no leave due, but I'm wondering if you can persuade that damned Committee to let you take a long weekend. Something's come up that I would entrust to nobody but you – well, maybe you and that nice Swiss girl."

"I can always creep away without The Committee knowing."

M frowned, then gave a thin-lipped smile. "Wouldn't be the first time, eh?"

"I suppose not, sir."

"Right, let me put you in the picture, then. You already know that we drew a blank in Spain?"

Bond nodded. He had carefully read the eight-page memo that dealt with the follow-up to the incident in Seville. With the assistance of the Spanish authorities, they had pinpointed Max Tarn's villa in the hills above the town, but by the time arrangements had been made to raid the place, the cupboard was bare, and there were signs of an unexpectedly hasty departure.

"Well." M leaned back against the pillows and the tired look came back into his eyes. "In the satchel poor Peter Dolmech was carrying there was a short letter addressed to me personally. There's been a delay in it being passed on to me, unhappily. Nowadays things get snarled up. I don't have the same, unquestioned power anymore."

"So I understand, sir. The letter?" He wanted to get to the meat without tiring the old man.

"Mmm." M stretched out to the night table and took a neatly folded single sheet of paper. "Read it for yourself." He handed the paper across the bed.

It was short and to the point:

Dear Admiral,

Just in case I don't make it, a small piece of information has just reached me. It appears that Lady Tarn is not conversant with Sir Max's business, as we know it. I am unaware of her status of enlightenment, but she has left this morning for Jerusalem. I have no details of where she will be staying, but you may recall that, as Trish Nuzzi, she has made frequent visits to Israel, so it is just possible that she may have an apartment in Tel Aviv or Jerusalem. It might be worthwhile following up on her. I have a vague notion that she sometimes uses an Israeli doctor, though cannot swear to it.

Hope to see you soon.

It was signed, in a neat hand, "Peter."

Bond handed back the letter. "You want me to go and take a look-see, sir?"

"I have no real authority to send you, James. By rights I should hand this straight over to The Committee, but… Well, as it was a personal letter, I thought I should handle it personally. I've been in touch with our old friend Pete Natkowitz, from Mossad. Trish Nuzzi is booked into the King David. You might just care to drop in on her. It's possible, of course, that she is looking for somewhere safe. I can't see that lady taking to her husband's dealings too kindly. If she would like safety… Well, why don't you bring her back to London?"

"I'll do all I can, sir."

"Yes." M nodded gravely. "When there's talk of peace, that little country becomes a shade heated, but you've been there before."

"I'll slip off on Friday night."

"Tomorrow? You can't manage it tonight, or in the morning?"

"Don't think that would be wise, sir. Don't worry, though, I'll report back to you personally before I bring anyone else into the charmed circle."

"Good, and in return I'll make certain you're covered at this end. Get onto the usual number if you need backup. You know how to get hold of Natkowitz?"

"No problem, sir. Now, don't you think you should get some rest?"

"I'll have plenty of time to rest in the hereafter, James. Stay and talk with me for a while. That dratted nurse has a good old naval name, but she has no heart."

As if on cue, Nurse Frobisher appeared with a tray on which she had set tea, three cups, and a plate of biscuits. "It's time for the Admiral's medicine anyway." She gave them a bright smile. "I thought tea wouldn't come amiss."

It soon became obvious to Bond that he was also part of M's medicine, for Nurse Frobisher began dropping broad hints that he should stay and talk. At one point she said quietly that it would be a good idea to tire her patient so that he would be forced to rest. In the end it was after five before he left, heading back to London.

As soon as he opened the door to the flat, he knew that Flicka was not in the best of moods.

"You didn't even have time to let me know you were going to be out?" she asked, a tincture of acid in her tone.

"It was very secure, I'm afraid, but…"

"Yes, I got that impression from Lady Muck in your office. I suppose you do know that she treats everyone as if she's the boss when the boss is away?"

"No, I -"

"Oh, yes. Acts like a wife, and has that stupid name – Chastity – which certainly doesn't go with her figure. Her skirts have been getting shorter by the day since she took over, but I don't suppose you would notice anything like that?"

"Will you shut up!" Bond shouted at her. "This is important and it concerns you."

There was a long pause, during which they seemed to smolder at each other across the room. Then:

"What concerns me?"

"Going to Jerusalem tomorrow. There's a lot to arrange."

Flicka remained silent during his explanation of the visit to M, except at the point when he mentioned Nurse Frobisher. Under her breath she muttered something about nurses' uniforms and she supposed this one was a hundred and eight.

"No, mid-twenties and very attractive, but I was there to talk with M." He cut her down.

"So we tell nobody?" she asked when he had finished relating the entire story.

"Not a soul, so you keep your pretty little mouth closed."

"Now?" she asked, sidling up to him and lifting her face to be kissed.