John Gardner - Seafire

Bond glared at nobody in particular, his face a thundercloud. "This had better be good," he muttered angrily to the officer in the back.

"No idea if it's good, bad, or indifferent. I'm just obeying orders."

The one in the front chuckled. "That's what we do for a living these days. A lot of the fun's gone out of life."

"Like hell it has." Bond knew that he should keep his mouth shut. He also knew that the real problem was getting caught, and that the fury he felt was aimed at himself, not his captors. "We all like to pretend it's over now that the Soviet Union seems to be a dead issue," he snapped. "People don't like to think we're still doing the work."

"Well, you'd know all about that, Captain Bond, wouldn't you?"

It was a short drive back into London, and Bill Tanner stood outside the door that they used at the Home Office.

"Sorry about this." He also appeared to be in good spirits.

"We were going on a little holiday, Bill." Flicka did not even try to disguise her anger.

"So we were told." Tanner ushered them into the building, instructing the Security Service men to make themselves comfortable. "It might be a long wait," he told them as though this were the happiest news he had to convey.

The whole Committee was there, except, of course, for M. They looked spry and in good humor also. They were certainly very polite, showing Bond and Flicka to their seats at the far end of the table, seeing they had coffee, asking if they wanted anything else. Finally Lord Harvey brought the meeting to order.

"I presume that M's Chief of Staff has offered our apologies." He smiled. Charm will get you anywhere, Bond thought. "Really we had no option after we spoke with our cousins in the United States, but I'll let Tanner put you in the picture."

Bill Tanner opened with information that made Bond curse himself for being so lax. "I should tell you that Nurse Frobisher, looking after M, is one of us." He smiled, rather like the Chairman. "After your meeting with the Chief yesterday she called, so His Lordship went down and had a chat with him. He has great fondness for you, James, and for Fredericka. Hardly told us anything. However, we do have his bedroom taped, so we already knew what you were up to." The smile again as he picked up a sheaf of notes. "But that's not the real reason you're here. Yesterday, as the Chairman said, we had some lengthy discussions with the Americans. It turns out that we were wrong. In fact, they'll happily allow you to work on their turf. They'll also provide a bit of backup if it's necessary."

"Couldn't you just have got word to us, instead of hauling us back?"

"Ah." It was Lord Harvey who replied. "Would that we could. Captain Bond. Unhappily you were in a technical breach of our instructions, and we also have quite a lot to tell you. The Americans really want Max Tarn as much as we do. It was something they shared with us. In truth, they're pretty happy about the possibility of nabbing him in Puerto Rico. They hadn't actually put the finger on Tarn – that's their expression, not mine. What we told them was music to their ears. We gave them some information, practically everything, as it happens – except for the Nazi connection, of course – and then they recognized him straightaway."

"How so?"

"Our evidence on Tarn fits the profile of someone they've been searching for. Their code name is apt, so we've taken it upon ourselves to share it."

"And the code name is?"

"Apocalypse. That's what they've been calling the shadow they've been chasing. Good, Apocalypse?"

"Very original." He could not keep the satirical edge out of his tone.

"Thought you'd like it." Harvey raised an eyebrow, indicating that he fully agreed with Bond.

Tanner took over and told them the long story. The United Nations had been looking into the murky business of what they called the "international arms bazaar," and its Disarmament Commission had already made some progress within the American and British Connections.

"So far, the United States have been more concerned with the guns which have found their way onto the streets of their cities, but that's a domestic issue, and a very serious one for them." Tanner glanced at his notes again. "They now realize that the trade in weapons through America has reached incredible proportions. We have also been able to give them evidence that Max Tarn is behind at least two-thirds of the deals, making America, and his base in Puerto Rico, a kind of convenience store for small arms – pistols, assault rifles, semiautomatics, explosives, and ammunition.

"These items are being farmed out to a whole slew of organizations and countries. We've talked about that in connection with Tarn already, and the Americans sat up and took notice when we showed them what we've got on him. Already we know that among his clients he has the Colombian drug lords, the Irish gunrunners, the Japanese crime bosses, and – no surprise – the embargo-busters of Croatia. The Americans, in turn, have linked him to the off-limits countries in the Middle East.

"Tarn's really been working overtime. Only last month half a million firearms were licensed by the U.S. Federal Government for export to Argentina. Those weapons went nowhere near Argentina, but were neatly diverted by the Tarn organization and split between the Colombians and buyers in Europe."

Tanner went on to say that Max Tarn's people had gone further than any other illegal arms dealers. They had even managed to infiltrate the government computers in Washington and, with high-tech cunning, had sanctioned hundreds of deals that resulted in the diversion of weapons and military materiel.

"The U.S. Defense Trade Controls offices have been seriously undermanned during the past few years," Tanner continued. "Recently they've tracked down not only the question of small arms shipped out to Argentina, but also large amounts of artillery shells, fighter aircraft, fuses, and missiles licensed by the State Department for Jordan but ending up in Iraq. The entire business has reached incredible proportions. We were able to supply a lot of information."

"Which means you're actually going to allow us into the field?" It was all Bond was interested in: getting back into action.

"Among other things, yes." The Chairman spoke from the far end of the table. "Yesterday we didn't imagine in our wildest dreams that the U.S. authorities would embrace such a plan. So things have altered dramatically, and while I cannot praise you for trying to override our orders, I now have the authority to change those orders. Netting Max Tarn would be a triumph as far as we're concerned."

"So we can get on with it and go with your blessing?"

"Not so fast, Bond. Yes, you are going to be allowed into Puerto Rico – possibly along with one or two other people who you aren't likely to see – but I should warn you that, as of this morning, the American agencies have no trace of Tarn being anywhere near the Caribbean. He is, in fact, still in Germany – Tarnenwerder and Wasserburg."

"I didn't expect him to be in San Juan when we arrived." Bond raised his voice, almost shouting. "I told you he would certainly be going there soon."

"Oh, yes, we have no doubt about that, providing nobody tips him off and tells him to stay clear. We've even got an address for you. He keeps a fair-sized villa on the island. Near the town of Ponce, on the Caribbean side. His facilities in San Juan are confined to a small flat and, most important, his warehouses in the port area. These are almost certainly stockpiled with enough military equipment to start World War III, and they're used exclusively by his container ships. But for relaxation he has all the trappings of luxury in what our American friends refer to as his compound near Ponce – tennis courts, swimming pools, servants. Tarn does not stint himself when he's off duty."