John Gardner - Seafire

Flicka screamed, backing against the wall, as though trying to push her body through the lath, plaster, and stone, while Bond swung around, his flashlight's beam illuminating the empty doorway. Later he realized that, at that moment, he expected death to come hurtling in from either Cathy or Anna, but there was no one there, and the only sound was the macabre creaking of the rope around Trish Tarn's neck.

He allowed the flashlight to sweep completely around the room, the beam finally falling on a long black box in the corner. He went over to examine it and found it was a stereo tape machine, which clicked off as he reached it. From the back of the machine a wire had been stretched to another small gray square box screwed to the floor just inside the door. He recognized it immediately as an electronic eye, cheap but serviceable. The kind of thing you could buy at any electronics store to help fit a do-it-yourself security system. The eye had sent a signal to the tape machine as Bond and Flicka had crossed into the room, switching on a prepared tape.

"Meant to scare the pants off us." He played the light on Flicka and saw her relax.

"I know of better ways," she breathed, summoning a weak smile.

Neither of them could keep their eyes from the obscene corpse that swayed slightly on the rope, so he took her by the shoulders and gently led her from the room. In the passageway outside, he unhooked the radio from his belt and pressed the Send button. Within seconds a static-laden voice came faintly from the speaker:

"Micro One. Over."

"Brother James. Your SAS man is dead, and Lady Tarn is now really deceased. She's hanging in the attic at Hall's Manor. Over."

"Roger that, Brother James. Police and Security will be with you shortly. Over."

"Has The Committee broken up? Over."

"Roger that also, Brother James. You are to brief all interested parties at nine ack emma." He knew the voice at the distant end was Bill Tanner.

"Roger. Wilco and out."

Together they went downstairs to await the arrival of the authorities, Bond restless, moving from room to room, peeping into bare, moldy cupboards and examining doors and windows.

In what had once been a huge dining room he came across burned paper in the grate of an elaborate fireplace, so he stirred the black mess around, soiling his fingers but revealing a couple of small pieces of paper that had not been wholly consumed. One was the edge of a large sheet, and some numbers were still clearly visible. The other charred piece looked as though it had come from a memo pad – the kind of thing that executives carry around: little oblong pages that fit into a leather holder. The writing on this was only partly readable. He could make out Call , followed by the British Telecom get-out code and the German get-in code and a series of digits. There was a check mark against this telephone number and a scrawl that said, Book for four nights from and the day's date.

He went back into the hall and called the main headquarters, which overlooked Regent's Park. His work name was still registered there, and he would at least find a duty officer and a couple of secretaries in situ. Identifying himself as "Predator," he asked if someone could trace the number.

It took only forty seconds with the magic of the mainframe computers. The number was that of the Vier Jahreszeiten – Munich's best address. The hotel for the rich and famous.

Munich, he thought. Munich tonight; Munich, the old capital of Bavaria and within easy reach of Tarnenwerder and Wasserburg am Inn. At least he knew where they were heading, and this time they had not wanted him to know.

Fifteen minutes later three cars pulled up in front of the house, and both Bond and Flicka gave short statements before getting a ride to their car, stashed a mile away.

"So you think Cathy and Anna have sold out?" Flicka was restless and did not seem to be getting comfortable in the passenger seat. Usually she had that wonderful gift of being able to remain still and unmoving in any situation. Now she was all muscular tics, arranging and rearranging her body as though she could not find a restful position.

"That's certainly what we're meant to believe." He was driving fast, just within the limits, streaking up the M11 toward London. "With these people it's difficult to know what's the truth and what's just laid on for our benefit."

Presently he said that his gut reaction told him Cathy and Anna had belonged to Tarn almost from the word go. "Money, as they say, talks. It's possible they were originally hired by Trish, who admitted marrying the man for his money. Max Tarn appears to have a way to circumvent loyalty, and that way is almost certainly through his checkbook and ideology. Yes, I believe both of them are part of the Tarn organization, and have been for some time. Lord knows who else has been bribed."

They drove back to the flat, took showers, and stretched out for a much-needed rest, for, by now, it was almost five in the morning. Bond could not sleep. His mind would not carry him off into the healing dreamless dark, while Flicka still seemed restless.

He had his back to her when she whispered, "You still awake, love?"

"Too much on my mind, Flick. Are you too tired to talk?"

"No, I'm haunted by that body. Unusual for me, I know, but I thought Trish was a nice person. In a way I looked forward to seeing her after all this was over. Women need women friends, James, and I've precious few of those left now that I've cut adrift from Switzerland."

"Give it time. Look, I've got to talk to you. Serious stuff."

"Work serious, or personal serious?"

"Work. I think we should leave the personal until all this is over."

"Well, we could keep it a secret."

He seemed lost in thought for a full two minutes. "My dear girl, I haven't felt like this about someone for a very long time. In fact, I don't think I've ever really felt what I feel for you. Never in my life. So when all this is over, will you marry me?"

Her lips brushed against his as he turned to face her. "James, you already know the answer. I've hoped for this ever since we first met. Yes, of course I'll marry you, and I'd like to shout it from the rooftops."

They kissed and moved closer.

"Pity it has to remain a secret," she said.

"I know, but I think we're probably going to need each other professionally in the next week or so. If we announce it formally, they'd take you off the active list quicker than hell would scorch a feather."

"Quicker than…? I've never heard that."

"Something my sainted old grandmother used to say."

"Then she had a fine turn of phrase."

"She was fine about most things. Just like you, my dear Flick." He paused. "Now, I have to talk about work, and you're not going to like what I have to say."

"Try me."

"I'm going to ask permission to go out in the field on my own."

"Over my dead body."

"Seriously, Fredericka. This is a one-man job, and it has to be done quickly."

"You mean I'd hold you up?" A tiny touch of irritation.

"No, but I don't think it would be wise for us to go together. Let me explain." He told her about the fragment of paper and what he had discovered. "If they're off to Munich today it probably means that Max is going to see his German lawyers in Wasserburg, and is also possibly taking a look around his ancestral home. I'd like to see exactly how things stand. You recall what Trish told us? That Max's quietly restoring Tarnenwerder; and there's the whole matter of his family claim to the place. We've even got the name of his lawyers – remember the dossier? Saal, Saal u. Rollen, who still have offices in the Marienplatz, Wasserburg am Inn. If I'm to do a swift search of their office, it's best that I do it on my own."