John Gardner - Seafire

He moved the file over to Helmut's desk and began to examine the papers within, holding the small light in his teeth. The very first item showed that he had struck pay dirt, for it was a copy of an application for one Maximilian Erwen von Tarn to reclaim his German citizenship. Attached to it were copies of the official correspondence concerning the application, and the final page showed that the whole thing had been granted in March of 1992.

Other papers in this one file alone concerned the issue of a passport to Tarn, while the last section of documents were copies of a court order banning anyone else's claim to ownership of the house called Tarnenwerder and its considerable estates. The whole shooting match had legally belonged to the said Maximilian Erwen von Tarn since January '92, even though he had not officially reclaimed his German citizenship until March.

There was enough here to satisfy The Committee that Sir Max Tarn, business tycoon and philanthropist, was not quite what he seemed. Certainly, as dual nationality could not apply, he had been sailing and flying under a false flag for some time.

He took out the camera and began adjusting it in order to get clear, well-lit shots of the papers. As he put his hand down on the corner of Helmut's desk he glanced toward the right-hand set of drawers that ran down to the floor. The bottom one was slightly open, and he glimpsed a small red pinpoint of light from within.

Opening it further revealed a combination answer-phone, set to pick up any incoming messages. He touched the little arrowed button marked Rewind, knowing that sometimes people did nothing about rewinding the tape after they had played it back. When it stopped he pressed the Play Messages button, heard the beep and then the second shock of the night. "This is most urgent," said a disembodied voice on the tape. "An agent from the British Intelligence Service is on his way to Wasserburg. His mission is to run a check on Max and on the current Tarnenwerder situation. The man will be operating under the name James Boldman, and I would advise that Max give him the disappearing treatment." Then followed a description of himself, James Bond, together with a few other facts – facts pertaining to MicroGlobe One and the current situation in England.

It was not so much the message as the voice that rocked Bond on his heels. It was one he recognized immediately. Someone with whom he worked very closely and would never have thought capable of penetrating an organization like Two Zeros or even MicroGlobe One. Reaching down, he removed the tape from the answer-phone and slipped it into his pocket. Going back to the job of photographing the documents, he found himself working like an automaton. The identity of the person who had betrayed him was so devastating that he could think of little else, but he completed the work, returned the file to its place in the cabinet and, using his picks again, relocked the drawer. It was one of the things he had learned very early in his training. If you become involved in a covert burglary it is always best to leave things at least approximately how you found them.

He even did a quick search of the other drawers in Helmut's desk to see if there was an extra tape for the answer-phone. Eventually he found a small packet of these tucked away beside the instrument itself and cursed that he had not looked more carefully to start with.

Now all he had to do was get back to the hotel, pay his account, and head for Munich. If he managed to get that far, it was possible that, by then, Tarn's men could be watching out for him, which would pose a new and difficult threat.

There was still no sign of life outside the offices of Saal, Saal u. Rollen, and as he quietly made his way down the stairs, Bond at last began to think that maybe he would get away with it.

He reached the bottom of the stairs when the lights came on.

"So, Mr. Boldman, or should I call you Mr. Bond? Would you like to talk with me for a while?" She looked as tempting as ever, in a military-style raincoat. The only thing he did not like about her now was the lethal little automatic she held in her right hand, very close to her delicious body.

"Heidi? Hi," he said, allowing a smile to creep over his face. "So you got my note. I didn't really expect you to come." He showed no sign of having seen the pistol as he walked forward, his arms outstretched as though to embrace her.

"Your note? I… What're you talking about, Mr…?" His greeting had thrown Heidi just enough for her to pause before doing anything – like pulling the trigger.

Bond kept on going, straight toward her. "Heidi, I'm so pleased. Now where would you like to have dinner?" By this time he was only two steps away and could clearly see the puzzled expression.

He moved in close, and her right hand brushed his left side so that he could trap the wrist and gun with his left arm, cutting in like a vise. She opened her mouth just before he brought up his right elbow and struck her violently on the side of the jaw.

"I do hate striking women, Heidi, but you should have stayed a good little girl." The pistol dropped to the floor as he applied more pressure with his left arm, while the next blow was a hard chop to the base of the neck with the heel of his right hand.

She went down completely, sprawled at his feet. Quickly he felt the pulse in her neck to make sure she was still alive, which she was, though she would probably remain unconscious for a good ten minutes, maybe even more.

Scooping up her pistol, he headed straight to the rear of the building, letting himself out and quietly closing the door behind him. At a steady jog trot he made for the parking lot, now more conscious of the dog bite in his right forearm. Trying to banish any thought of the pain from his mind, he made the car in three minutes flat, realizing that he did not have the time for such niceties as collecting his luggage or paying the bill at the Paulanerstuben.

He had just started the engine and was pulling out of the space beside the main exit when a black BMW roared in front of him and a similar-colored Mercedes-Benz blocked off the exit.

Two men leaped from the Merc, and a third hit the ground running as the BMW came to a jolting stop. All three men were armed, and he saw that one of them was the huge Kurt Rollen he had seen that morning.

He let out the brake and pushed hard on the accelerator, pointing the VW straight at the lone man who had jumped from the BMW. He muttered to himself – "I don't know your name, but I call you the lone idiot" – for the approaching figure obviously considered himself invincible. Bond slewed the car to the right, braking hard and letting the offside door swat the foolhardy man. There was a sickening thud, and he just caught a glimpse of the mouth open in a scream and eyes wide with sudden terror. He was also almost sure that his target had been thrown several yards, but he would soon find out. He put on more speed and then performed a perfect wheel-and-brake turn that brought him back facing the two men who had come from the Merc. He saw the BMW idiot lying very still a long way off to his right as the first bullets ripped into the Corrado, punching a hole in the shatterproof windshield on the passenger side, ripping into the seat next to him.

The only way to fight armed men when you are trapped in a car is to use the vehicle itself, and he slammed the accelerator hard against the floor so that the car leaped toward Rollen, who had fired the two shots.

The giant had seen what had happened the BMW imbecile, and he obviously did not want to share the same fate. He paused, fired again, the bullet passing over the Corrado as Bond tried to spin the VW and catch Rollen off balance.

The car began the spin, then hit what must have been a patch of oil in the middle of the parking lot. For what seemed to be minutes, he wrestled with the wheel as the VW went completely out of control, snaking its way toward the little wooden fence that separated the parking lot from the road. At one point he saw Rollen's companion suddenly appear on his left side, hands lifted trying to get a shot in, but the Corrado must have brushed him as it went rocketing past, for he heard another bump and then a yell over the sound of the engine.