John Gardner - Win, Lose Or Die

“At the moment we’re in a readiness state for Stewards’ Meeting, Bond. Things are going ahead exactly as planned. It all starts to happen at around ten tonight. If I recommend an abort after six, then I’ll get a right old rollicking from the powers that be. What’s worrying you? The threat by these BAST hooligans? There’s no way they can possibly have information on Stewards’ Meeting.”

Bond took in a deep breath. “Surely, sir, you must know they have some intelligence. I was nearly taken out; there was some loose talk at the RNAS Yeovilton. We’ve had a very serious incident aboard. I really don’t know the security risks .

Walmsley ran a hand across his brow. “I let fly at you after the incident, Bond. I’m sorry about that, but I don’t want to abort. As I said to you before, this is of great political importance. He repeated himself with a stronger accent, “Of great political importance. Now, give me your Sunday punch. If you get the fellow who killed Morgan, do you reckon we’re in the clear?”

“It might be just that little bit safer.” Bond said, allowing his tone to take on a grave-side seriousness. “But we cannot be one hundred percent sure.

“Give me the odds.”

“That an attempt will be made to compromise Stewards’ Meeting?”

Walmsley nodded.

“Fifty-fifty. If I get the killer or not, sir, it’s always been fifty-fifty. We don’t know enough about this damned group BAST. We never have. The seriousness of a threat has always been high. I mean, if our people are right, BAST lost men, and spent a great deal of money organising some form of assault.

We’ve assumed it was aimed at Stewards’ Meeting, but we can’t be sure.”

Sir John Walmsley waited for a minute or so. “If you get the person who killed Morgan, and if he can be interrogated, it will help?”

“If it’s who I think, then I would imagine interrogation isn’t going to be of much assistance. If, as I suspect, it’s a BAST job, done to protect their own, on board this ship, then the culprit will be highly trained. Won’t break under any normal interrogation. And there will just not be time to bring in any specialists.

In any case, sir, I would suspect that the killer knows very little.

BAST appears to be well drilled. If so, they’ll work in the usual manner of terrorist groups: cells, cut-outs, all that kind of thing.

It’ll all be very much need-to-know.”

Walmsley stood up and paced the small cabin. “Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you join the dance? I’ll tell you, Bond. Unless something comes up - hard intelligence, I mean - I shall go ahead with Stewards’ Meeting once you have the killer under lock and key. I can’t afford to abort.”

“As you say, sir. But, if I might suggest that all parties are given some kind of warning .

“They’ve already had the main warning, Bond. They already know these BAST clowns might just make some kind of attempt to compromise the operation. All three parties have stated that the risk is calculated. In other words, they all want Stewards’ Meeting to go ahead as arranged.”

“They know about Morgan?”

Walmsley gave an unspoken “No”. shaking his head and pursing his lips.

“Then on their own heads be it.”

“Easy to say, Bond. But people like that tend to lash out if something does happen. And if your worst fears are realised, then it will be our balls they’ll cut off. We both know that.”

Bond grunted.

“We’re on a hiding to nothing, Captain Bond. Whatever steps we take, they’ll have us for breakfast - fried, with a little tomato and bacon, I suspect.”

“Then I’d best get on with putting my one suspect away; then doing some grilling of my own - without bacon and tomato.”

“Let me know.” Walmsley’s tone became belligerent again.

“Just let me know the results. But, after five, local, this afternoon all bets are off. We go ahead.”

“Aye-Aye, sir.” Bond left the cabin. Time to see the lovely Nikki Ratnikov, and the Wren who was not a Wren, Sarah Deeley.

“James, can call you James, yes?” Nikki Ratnikov shook her head.

The shining ash-blonde hair swirled and settled naturally, with not a strand out of place. Bond could see why other women would take a natural dislike to Nikki.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, call me James.”

“I am a little - distressed distraite. Oh, that is French. How you say it in English?”

“Distressed? Upset?”

“Yes, this is so. I, James, have seen many bad things in my time.

Many, you cannot do my kind of work and avoid these things. But this was like maniac. This was like your old English Jim the Ripper, is right?”

“Jack,” Bond corrected. “Jack the Ripper.”

“Unnecessary violence. That poor man. He looked as though head had been removed, decapitalised? Yes?”

“Decapitated.”

“So. Decapitated. And the blood. It was all so sudden.

Frightening.”

“Right, Nikki. Tell me. Tell me exactly what happened.”

In spite of the protestations of being upset and distressed, Nikki Ratnikov was very lucid: matter-of-fact. “So. Yes. I wake up. I do not look at the time. I just wake up. Not much sleep I am getting with the noise. But I wake up and realise I need to go to I need the bathroom, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I put on my robe and leave my cabin. I am a little asleep still, James, you understand?”

“Yes, Nikki. Right, Nikki, I understand.”

I get to the bathrooms. I am looking at my feet to climb over the little step.”

“To climb over the bulkhead, yes.”

“My foot is lifted even, then I look up and there is red water on the floor. Then I see the Navy girl and the body. My God, it is shock. I move back and scream.”

“You screamed a lot, Nikki.”

“It was so sudden, the horrible wound and all the blood on the floor. Then the Navy girl start to also scream.”

Bond had collected the clues as they were presented to him.

“Tell me exactly what you saw, Nikki.” The body had been face down when he had arrived with the marine and Clover Pennington.

“Exactly.”

“The Navy girl - what do you call them the Jenny Wren, yes?”

“Wren will do.”

“Okay. The Wren was leaning over this poor man. She had one hand on his shoulder pushing him back, as if she had just found him. His head was back and I could see the terrible gash.

Red, and the throat slashed - is that so, slashed?”

Bond nodded her on.

“It was horrible. She saw me and let go of the man’s shoulder.

He fell on his face, then I think she began screaming.”

“What was she wearing, the Wren?”

“She had the sleeping clothes on, and a white robe. Like made from towels, yes?”

“Did she not get blood on the robe? If she was leaning…?”

“She was like, how you say, squatting. She had the robe pulled up so it would not get in the blood.”

“And what happened next?”

“We were both screaming, and a man came, then the Wren officer.

She was telling me to go to my cabin, and the other girl to come out quickly.”

“You saw her coming out?”

“Yes.”

“Remember anything in particular?”

“No. Then I left.”

“Think, Nikki. Did you notice anything else at all? How did she come out. Did she lift up her robe so that it wouldn’t trail in the blood?”

“Yes, that I remember. She came out with it lifted up, but it was strange There was blood on it. She had blood on the chest. On the front of the robe. High up.”

“Ah. Good. You would recognise this girl again, Nikki?”

“Of course. Anywhere I would recognise her.”

“Right. Just wait one moment, please.”

“For you, James, much more than one moment.”