John Gardner - No Deals, Mr. Bond

Fräulein Captain Dietrich also gave presents to Jungle but Swift did not appear to have such full intelligence about those. There was even less information about the relationships between the other three operatives and their targets. From the beginning Bond had wondered whether this was a complete operation, or whether only two people, Dietrich and Smolin, were really wanted, the rest being merely makeweights or even distractions. Bearing in mind the way Swift had misjudged the operation, he would have to sift the details again and again. As they were passing through a village of around five hundred inhabitants, which seemed to have a cathedral, twelve garages and twenty bars, he said, ‘Tell me about it one more time, Heather.’

‘I’ve told you all of it.’ She spoke in a small, weary voice, as though she did not want to discuss Cream Cake ever again.

‘Just once more. How did you feel when they told you?’

‘I was only nineteen. I was precocious, I suppose. I saw it all as a joke. It wasn’t until later that I realised how deadly the whole business really was.’

‘But you felt excited?’

‘It was an adventure, for heaven’s sake. If you were just nineteen and they told you to seduce a not unattractive woman older than yourself, wouldn’t you have been excited?’

‘It depends which way my feelings ran politically.’

‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Her shredded nerves were showing now.

‘Were you a politically aware young woman when they approached you for this exciting adventure?’

She gave a long sigh. ‘If you really want to know, I was disenchanted with the whole scene. To me everyone talked rubbish: East, West, North, South, whatever – the Communist Party, the Americans, the British. Maxim used to say, “When it comes to politics and religion, it’s a fairground.” ’

‘Really?’ Bond was surprised at this sudden revelation about Smolin’s views on political matters. ‘And what did he mean by that, I wonder?’

‘He meant you paid your money and took your choice. But he used to say that once you’d taken that choice it bound you hand and foot. He said that Communism was the nearest thing in politics to the Roman Catholic Church. Both of them had rules from which you could not deviate.’

‘But you were trying to make him deviate. You were doing your best to make him a convert.’

‘In a way, yes.’

Bond grunted. ‘You had met him before?’

She sighed again. ‘I’ve told you. He was a regular visitor to our house.’

‘And he’d already shown an interest in you?’

‘Not particularly.’

She hesitated, then launched into a long speech. Colonel Smolin may not have been the greatest looking man around, but he was attractive. There was no real physical attraction at first sight but he had something. Then Smolin was made even more attractive to her when the matter was fully explained. First her father had said he was fighting against the powers that had split her country in two. Then the man she had come to know as Swift, her controller, had been more blunt.

‘He’s a bastard,’ Swift had said at her first briefing, ‘a grade A bastard who wouldn’t think twice about hanging his own mother with piano wire. He’s a professional spycatcher and spykiller who doesn’t mind if he’s wrong from time to time. We’re asking you to get yourself into his bed, make him rely on you, share his thoughts with you, share his fears, and, in the end, his secrets.’

‘Maxim wasn’t really as bad as Swift painted him.’

Bond had already sensed that she still clung to some hidden nostalgia about the affair with Smolin. ‘I expect the executioners’ mistresses at Auschwitz and Belsen said the same thing while they ate their Kirschtorte .’ He had no time for sentiment as far as men like Smolin were concerned.

‘No!’ Heather almost shouted. ‘Read my report. It’s all there. Maxim was an odd mixture of a man, but a lot of stories about him are just not true.’

‘So that’s why he’s got a team out now hunting down you and your friends? That’s why he’s tearing tongues out?’

She remained silent, staring ahead. Bond gave her a quick glance. He could have sworn that there were tears in her eyes.

‘And you just went out and caught him, netted him, bedded him and reported the pillow talk back to Swift?’

‘I’ve told you!’ She almost shouted at him. ‘How many more times, James? Yes, yes, yes. I hooked him. I even became fond of him. He was good to be with: kind, thoughtful, gentle and very loving. Too loving.’

‘Because you misjudged the moment of truth?’

‘Yes! Must I go through it again and again? I told Swift that I thought he was ready. God . . .’ She was indeed near to tears now. ‘Swift told me to bring him home, to lay the news on him.’ Bond concentrated on the road. ‘And what happened when you laid the news on Maxim Smolin?’

Heather took a deep breath and opened her mouth. At that moment they started to go into a bend leading on to a long stretch of open road flanked by scrubby hedges. Big Mick, a couple of hundred yards behind, flashed his lights and in the driving mirror Bond saw two cars squeezing in on the Volvo fast so that the road was filled with the three vehicles. Though he had not driven this route for years, Bond had an odd sense of déjà vu . In his mind there was a picture of an accident, flashing blue lights and police flagging them down. Even before seeing what lay ahead, he felt the fear tighten in his stomach. Behind, the two flanking cars appeared bent on squashing the Volvo.

Then they were round the bend and on to the straight road that was, just as he expected, littered with debris, warning signs and flashing lights. He shouted to Heather to brace herself. Ahead, there was a Garda car, an ambulance, the remains of a dun-coloured saloon that could have been a Cortina, and an Audi on its side crushing the hedge. There was also a heavy lorry, across the road. Bond was in no mood for lorries. He braked with his left foot and tried to spin the car, even though he knew that by now the road behind him would be blocked by a crushed Volvo – unless Big Mick had supernatural powers.

Heather screamed, the car slewed sideways and kept going, gathering speed in spite of Bond’s attempt to control it. Too late, he realised that the road surface had been covered with a thick slick of oil.

The scene of the crash was coming up with amazing speed. Bond fought the wheel, feeling the rear coming round much too fast and knowing there was no way to avoid collision. When it came, there was a sense almost of anti-climax. A grinding crunch brought them to a halt.

Bond automatically reached for his gun but was already too late. The doors were wrenched open and two men in Garda uniform pulled Heather and Bond out of the car, using an expert and very painful arm-lock. Dazed, Bond wondered where his gun had gone. He tried unsuccessfully to resist and became aware that they were being hustled into the ambulance, where four other men were waiting to take over.

For members of an ambulance team, they appeared far from concerned about injuries. By this time Heather was screaming loud enough to wake the dead. She was silenced by one man chopping her sharply on the side of the neck with the edge of his hand. She went down just as the doors closed and the ambulance began to move. The man who had hit her caught her falling body and hoisted it on to one of the stretcher beds.

From the front a fifth man appeared, yet they seemed in no way crowded. Later Bond realised that they were in a very large ambulance, probably a refurbished military vehicle. It picked up speed, its klaxon sounding. Above the wail the fifth man spoke.

‘Mr Bond, I believe? I’m afraid there’s been a minor accident and we have to get you away from the site as fast as possible. I’m sorry to inconvenience you, but this is essential for everyone’s safety. I’m sure you understand. If you would just sit down and remain quiet we’ll get along nicely, I’m sure.’