John Gardner - Man From Barbarossa

Michael Brooks began with a raw statement, arctic in its bleakness. ‘This business: the trial, the taping, the whole thing about this war criminal Vorontsov,’ he said, ‘is a blind, a sleight, a way to throw the Kremlin and the President off-balance. It’s only part of something greater, an evil which will have appalling consequences. We know some of it but not all. The gist is that hardline military people are about to launch a plot which will destroy America and probably Britain also. And I mean destroy. When the influence of those great nations has gone, the Old Guard will once more seize control of the USSR. They will have the ability to plunder the West and rebuild Russia as the only major power in Europe and the Middle East – a power more repressive than it was even in Stalin’s day. If this works, they will eventually overcome the entire world.’

15

STONES AND BONES

Michael Brooks told them that he felt this phase of the operation was almost over, ‘If we’re right in our assessment.’ He spoke in a correct, near military form, as if making a verbal report to the Ministry of Defence. While he talked, he leaned across, touching his wife’s arm to include her in his deliberations. ‘If we really have got it right, they have to make a significant move into their next phase before January 15th when the United Nations’ deadline for Iraq to withdraw from Kuwait runs out.’ Personally he could see nothing for it but war.

‘The Americans will be forced to lead the coalition forces and probably demolish Iraq. It’s the only way they’ll get them out of Kuwait.’

They sat close on the floor, in a circle. Bond thought of it as a ring of conspiracy.

‘James?’ Brooks said, ‘You’re behind the camera and must have some idea of how the taping’s gone. How much more do you think they have to do?’

‘A day. Maybe two. Possibly the whole thing, with editing, can be wrapped up in three. Certainly not more. I’d guess less than three. Why?’

‘We should be ready for the end to come very quickly. If Emerald and I are right, they won’t want any witnesses left. I mean they won’t leave anyone who has taken part in, or assisted with, the making of this so-called trial video.’

‘Yes, I think you’re right.’

Emerald joined in. ‘Have you tried to count the number of armed troops they have on the spot?’

‘They come and go,’ Bond shrugged. ‘I don’t mean physically leave and return. They get changed around a lot. Today there seemed to be more around than yesterday.’ He went on to tell them what he had felt when they were outside.

Natkowitz agreed. ‘You get to sense things in this business,’ he began, then, ‘Sorry, you two know more about that than any of us. But out in the dark the other night, I was sure there were troops in the forest.’

Nina nodded her accord.

‘So how many?’ Brooks pressed.

‘Maybe fifty or sixty in the building.’ Bond’s voice was confident, though he was far from certain. Natkowitz and Nina agreed.

‘Heaven knows how many are out in the forest. Father, there’s no way we can take on this lot.’ His daughter was almost pleading with him.

‘It wouldn’t be a question of taking them on.’ Emerald spoke with authority so that they all turned to her, waiting, as though listening to a guru.

She wore a long, caftanlike, shapeless black garment. When she smiled it was as though the young woman of her past returned in spirit. ‘Michael and I have been doing little night forays. Reconnaissance. We put Natasha on to this room and there are other secret hidey-holes. Well, there would be in this kind of monastery, wouldn’t there?’

‘Why d’you call it that?’ Bond came back sharp and quick, as though Emerald had read his mind.

She gave her beautiful smile again. ‘You’re thinking, what’s this stupid old biddy know about this building? Right?’

‘No. It’s only the place has a feel to it. That and the architecture, if you can call it architecture.’

‘But that’s exactly what it is. A bloody monastery for soldiers. Or didn’t you know? We’re less than ten miles from the Finnish border and this clearing in the forest has been here for centuries. It’s the site of a very ancient monastery. We know all this because we worked for the buggers at Moscow Centre when they started to build this place – the Lost Horizon they call it now, because nobody really wants it. Originally it was going to be the nearest thing to religion ever seen in the Red Army.’

‘Religion?’

‘Well, sort of. It was to be a kind of grand hôtel-cum-monastery for the general staff of the Red Army.’ She pronounced ‘hôtel’ like the old school, ’ôtel. She paused. ‘You see, they found this place. This old site. Used to be revered by the Lapps. A holy place. When the building began they even found some remains. Stones and bones. Michael and I came up here, remember, darling?’

‘In summer,’ Brooks sounded far away. ‘Yes, they’d just cleared the site when we first visited.’ He took up the narrative, telling them it had been a sound military idea. Senior officers would spend time out in what would seem to be a wilderness. ‘Not far from civilisation really, but it’s stuck in the middle of a bloody great forest so they’d be corralled here; they’d feel apart from the world. For a week or so each year, the general staff of the Soviet armed forces would spend some time in silent contemplation of military affairs. The idea was to make them meditate, in strict silence, on the great writings of military tactics and strategy, much as monks and nuns reflect on the works of Saints Augustine and Ignatius. When they’d done their stint, they’d have some kind of a conference, share their thoughts with one another. Then, if I know the Russians, they’d all get pixillated and falling-down drunk. In the end, they built the place, poured a fortune into it, then decided against the “retreats” or whatever they were going to call them.’

Bond nudged his way in. ‘With respect, what’s this got to do with our present situation?’

Emerald’s eyes twinkled. ‘We were just trying to explain why you might have vibes here. It is a little odd. The Lapps always said it was haunted, but that’s probably because the land used to belong to Finland, and, by inference, them. The Lapps, I mean. The point is there are tunnels, hidden rooms, sliding panels – the kind of thing you find back home in old country houses. Priest’s holes, escape routes. And we’re both pretty sure none of the present inhabitants knows about them.’

‘Ah.’ Natkowitz nodded. ‘You mean we should lie up when it’s over?’

‘Something like that. Though unless we had food . . .’

‘And weapons.’ Bond added.

‘It’s an idea,’ Michael Brooks said the three words as though he really meant it was the only way any of them would get out alive. He bit his lip as though trying to make up his mind whether to tell them more. Then he said, ‘I’ll be honest. We’ve organised things. Not much, but enough for a few days if we’re forced to hide. This tunnel . . .’

‘You’ll show us the way?’ Bond again.

‘The truth, and the light, dear, yes.’ Emerald Lacy gave the impression she was enjoying this immensely. ‘I think we should all know exactly where to hide. Just in case the world caves in unexpectedly.’ She stopped for a moment, then looked at Bond again. ‘James, do you have any way of communicating with the outside world?’

‘Why?’ Bond’s suspicion would not allow him to share everything with these people.

Michael Brooks nodded. ‘It’s all right, James. We understand you.’

Emerald went on speaking, almost over her husband. ‘If you do have communication facilities, however primitive, try to keep them hidden and near at hand. Michael and I have the map co-ordinates for this place. You might wish to send them out.’ She gave him a quizzical, near comic look. ‘That is, if you have the means.’