John Gardner - Icebreaker

‘I’m going to shower,’ Paula announced. ‘Then we can enjoy ourselves to our hearts’ content. I don’t know about you, but I think there’s no need for either of our Services to hear we’re back in Helsinki for at least another twenty-four hours.’

‘You don’t think we should call in? We can always say we’re still on the road,’ Bond suggested.

Paula thought it over. ‘Oh, maybe I’ll dial my answering service later. If my controller has anything urgent he leaves a number for me. What about you?’

‘Have your shower, then I’ll follow you. I don’t honestly think M would appreciate anything from me until the morning.’

She gave a dazzling smile and headed for the bathroom, lugging her one small overnight case.

20

DESTINY

James Bond dreamed. It was a dream he often experienced: sun, and a beach, which he recognised only too well as the seafront at Royale-les-Eaux. It was the five-mile promenade as it used to be, of course, not the garish package-tour resort it had since become. In Bond’s dream, life and time stood still, and this was the place he remembered from both childhood and his younger years. A band played. The tricolour beds of salvia, alyssum and lobelia bloomed in a riot of colour. And it was warm, and he was happy.

The dream often came when he was happy; and that night had certainly brought happiness. Together Bond and Paula had escaped from the clutches of Kolya Mosolov, made their way to Helsinki, and there – well, things had gone even better than they themselves expected.

Paula returned from the bathroom dressed only in a see-through nightdress, her body glowing and her scent as seductive as Bond had ever known it.

Before showering, Bond tapped out a call to London – a number reserved especially for taped messages from M. If there was anything new – in answer to the cipher sent from the Saab at Salla – he would hear it now. Sure enough, M’s voice was on the line: a brief double-talk message which came quite near to congratulating Bond, and also confirmed that Paula was known to be working for SUPO. There could, Bond thought, be no more surprises.

Paula had taken the initiative, making love to him as a kind of hors d’œuvre; then, after a short rest, during which Paula talked and laughed about their brush with disaster, Bond started where she had left off.

Now there was peace, safety and warmth. Warmth, except for a cold spot developing on his neck, behind the ear. Still half asleep, Bond brushed at the cold spot. His hand came into contact with something hard, and vaguely unpleasant. His eyes snapped open and he felt the cold object pressed against his neck. Gone was Royale-les-Eaux, replaced with uncompromising reality.

‘Just sit up quietly, Mr Bond.’

Bond turned his head to see Kolya Mosolov stepping away from him. A heavy Stetchkin – made even more bulky by a silencer fitted around the barrel – pointed, out of reach, at Bond’s throat.

‘How . . . ?’ Bond began. Then, thinking of Paula, he turned to see her sound asleep beside him.

Mosolov laughed – a chuckle, almost out of character; but Kolya was a man of so many voices. ‘Don’t worry about Paula,’ he said, soft and confident. ‘You must have both been very tired. I managed to deal with the lock, administer a small injection, and move around without disturbing either of you.’

Bond cursed silently. This was so unlike him, to drop his guard and allow sleep to take over completely. He had done everything else. He even recalled sweeping the room for electronics the moment they arrived.

‘What kind of an injection?’ Trying not to sound concerned.

‘She’ll sleep peacefully for six or seven hours. Enough time for us to do what has to be done.’

‘Which is?’

Mosolov made a motion with the Stetchkin. ‘Get dressed. There’s a job I have to see completed. After that we’re going on a little journey. I even have a brand new passport for you – just to be certain. We leave Helsinki by car, then helicopter, and later there’ll be a jet waiting. By the time Paula can alert anyone, we’ll be well on our way.’

Bond shrugged. There was little he could do, though his hand moved unobtrusively to the pillow, under which he had placed the P7 before finally going to sleep. Kolya Mosolov reached inside his padded jacket, which he wore open, to show Bond the P7 tucked into his waistband. ‘I thought it safer – for me, that is.’

Bond put his feet on the floor. He looked up at the Russian. ‘You don’t give up easily, do you, Mosolov?’

‘My future rests on taking you in.’

‘Dead or alive, it would seem.’ Bond got to his feet.

‘Preferably alive. The business at the frontier was exceptionally worrying in that respect. But now I can finish what was started.’

‘I don’t understand it.’ Bond began to move towards the chair on which his clothes were folded. ‘Your people could have had me at any time in the past few years. Why now?’

‘Just get dressed.’

Bond began to do as he was told, but continued to talk. ‘Tell me why, Kolya. Tell me why now?’

‘Because the time is right. Moscow’s wanted you for years. There was a period when they wanted you dead. Now, things have changed. I’m glad you survived. I admit to using bad judgment in letting our troops fire on you – the heat of the moment, you understand.’

Bond grunted.

‘Now, as I said, things have changed.’ Mosolov continued. ‘We wish simply to verify certain information. First we’ll do a chemical interrogation, to clean you out. Then we’ll have a nice little asset to exchange. You’ve got a couple of our people who’ve done sterling work at General Communications Headquarters in Cheltenham. In due course an exchange will be arranged, I’m sure.’

‘Is that why Moscow went along with all this in the first place? The games played with von Glöda and his crazies?’

‘Oh, partly.’ Kolya Mosolov jerked his pistol. ‘Look, just get on with it. There’s another job to be done before we leave Helsinki.’

Bond climbed into his ski pants. ‘ Partly , Kolya? Partly? Bit of an expensive operation, wasn’t it? Just to get me – and you damned near killed me doing it.’

‘Playing along with von Glöda’s wild schemes helped get rid of other small embarrassments.’

‘Like Blue Hare?’

‘Blue Hare, and other things. Von Glöda’s death is a foregone conclusion.’

‘ Is ?’ Bond looked up sharply.

Kolya Mosolov nodded. ‘Amazing, really. Wasn’t that some display our ground attack boys gave? You wouldn’t have thought anybody could survive. Yet von Glöda managed to get out.’

Bond found it difficult to believe. Certainly M had not known. He asked where the would-be leader of the Fourth Reich was now hiding.

‘He’s here.’ Mosolov spoke as though the information were obvious. ‘In Helsinki. Regrouping, as he would say. Reorganising. Ready to start all over again, unless he is stopped. I have to do the stopping. It would be embarrassing, to say the least, if von Glöda were allowed to continue his operations.’

Bond was now almost dressed. ‘You’re taking me out – back to Russia. You also intend to deal with von Glöda?’ He adjusted the collar of his rollneck.

‘Oh yes. You’re part of my plan, Mr Bond. I also have to get rid of friend von Glöda, or Aarne Tudeer, or whatever he wishes to call himself on his tombstone. The timing is good . . .’

‘What is the time?’ Bond asked.

Kolya, always the professional, did not even glance at his watch. ‘About seven forty-five in the morning. As I was saying, the timing is good. You see, von Glöda has some of his own people here, in Helsinki. He leaves for London, via Paris, this morning. I gather the madman imagines he can stage some kind of rally in London. There’s also the question of an NSAA agent being held by your Service, I think. Naturally, he wants to take his revenge on you, Bond. So, I consider it best to offer you as a target. He cannot resist that.’