John Gardner - Win, Lose Or Die

“Difficult to say, Chiefy. I went and had a smoke in the heads.”

“You jammy bugger,” the other Petty Officer said. “I was just telling them about how you sloped off that time when we last docked in Gib. She was a corker, wasn’t she? Black-haired beauty, that one.

“You’re full of shit,” said Blackie, and the conversation continued on this high intellectual plane for the next hour or so.

The turbines all ran smoothly, but Blackie knew that it wouldn’t be smooth running at about eleven in the forenoon tomorrow. For one thing, the oil temperature on Number One turbine would start to rise spectacularly, and he would be there to deal with it.

* “Gentlemen, thank you for your time. I’ll be as quick as possible; though it’s essential that you all know exactly what’s at stake here.” Sir John Walmsley was full of himself: sitting back in his chair in the crowded day cabin, with all his senior officers around him, he almost overflowed with his own responsibility. Bond viewed the man with pity rather than awe. Walmsley was a pompous ass, full of self-importance, and, therefore, from Bond’s viewpoint, not really suitable for the job he had to do. “Now, Stewards’ Meeting. This is a very clear name for what is happening aboard invincible.”

The Rear-Admiral cleared his throat and continued. “You all know who’s on board. The three most powerful heads of state in the world, and they see themselves attending a real Stewards’ Meeting, for they regard themselves as true Stewards, Stewards in whom the world puts its trust. Two men and a woman who can truly hold the world in their hands.” This, Bond concluded, was going to be a sermon, not a briefing. Nor would it be a sermon to the wholly converted.

Walmsley was still talking. “You’ll also realise one important factor. They are all here with close protection squads but without their normal advisers - apart from the sinister bagman, with President Bush, who is required to have the nuclear alert codes with him at all times.”

He paused, as though pleased with his own knowledge and the ability for him to share it. Then he continued, “As some of you already know, they are here under highly classified code names.

The PM is Shalott Lady of, I presume, not just because she knows her onions.” He paused again for the obligatory chuckle to pass around the room. “The President of the United States is Dancer; and Secretary Gorbachev is October. You will refer to them by those names, both in conversation and any radio messages you might be called upon to give.

But, as I have said, the one unique thing is that they’re here with no advisers, or assistants. As far as their colleagues are concerned, Shalott has a touch of the “flu; October is resting in his country dacha, and has left orders that he should not be disturbed for five days; Dancer has requested no Press, and no calls to his hunting-lodge where he is quail-shooting.”

Again he waited for a laugh, but the jest was, if not dying, at least fatally ill. “The point is that all three chose to meet in secure conditions so that they could carry out four whole days of highly personal, one-on-one - or, I suppose it could be one-on-two talks without the usual interference from the throngs of experts from both government, military, financial and social levels who often advise more caution over sensitive issues.

“There will be no official statements regarding Stewards’ Meeting.

Nobody is to know, unless they feel they have accomplished some incredible breakthrough that can be announced. Their main objective is to set some ground rules on world finance, security against terrorism, and the acceleration of solving that thorny question regarding the quick phasing out of nuclear weapons.

“Our job is to see they have the next four days to themselves.

They will be eating and working together in the forward lecture room, which has been made more presentable than usual. So, with the help of the Wren detachment to see they get decent food, and good service, and the assistance of security, they will be following a very tight schedule which, even in the midst of Landsea “89, we must see is adhered to. They have got to be given four whole days, no matter what.

If you have any questions come straight to me. Understand?”

Yes, Bond thought. Go straight to him, and he will pass you straight on to me. He left, went back to his cabin and sent for Donald Speaker, the interrogator who had come in from Gibraltar with the new American, Woodward.

He had never met Speaker before, but knew his reputation as a hard investigator who rarely gave an inch, so it was, when the man came into his cabin and sat down without even being asked, that Bond took an almost irrational dislike to him.

If Speaker had made any progress with Deeley he was not going to tell Bond. In fact it was just the opposite, for, within minutes, he realised that the interrogator was asking questions of him.

“I don’t altogether trust those two Branch men in fancy dress,” Speaker said of Brinkley and Camm.

“Oh?”

“Not cut out for the kind of job they’re doing on this ship. I’m highly dubious of their motives, Mr., er Captain, Bond.”

“Interesting, but what about Deeley?”

“I’ll report when I have anything to report.”

The gingery beard, Bond decided, covered a weak chin. The man was, in a sense, hiding from himself. “You have only a very limited time. You realise that?”

“How so?”

“It becomes a non-Service matter, once we get to Gib. She has to be handed over to the Civil Police.”

“What are we, two days from Gib?”

“We’re taking four actually. For operational reasons which don’t concern you.

“Well,” the lips curled under the beard, “well, that’s plenty of time for me to whop some kind of story out of her. Don’t worry. ” He rose.

“Sit down!” Bond all but shouted. “Sit down! I haven’t said you can leave.”

“I didn’t know you were my keeper on this ship.”

“Well, you had better know, Mr. Speaker. You don’t move on this ship without my saying so.”

“You’re not trying to tell me you’re SIS?” The leer again.

“I am telling you just that.”

“Very interesting, in view of what seems to have happened on board this ship. I think we’ll have a little talk when we’re back in London.

I can be a very suspicious man, Bond, and they trust me at the interrogation centre. I can reach into your file and come up with something, I’m sure. Everyone has at least one thing they want to hide. We’ll discover yours, then I can embroider it a little and they’ll drop you into a well and forget about you. I’ve broken stronger men than you, Bond. Goodnight,” and he walked from the cabin, leaving Bond floundering. The man was some kind of a nutter, he thought. Best get a signal off to London about him.

He went out and toured the passageway, speaking to all the varied security men, British, American and Russian. All seemed in good order, so he decided to leave the signal until after dinner, which he took quietly in the wardroom.

Later, as he was about to go up to Communications, the Tannoy clicked on. “D’you hear there! D’you hear there! Would Captain Bond please take a message in his cabin? Captain Bond to his cabin please.”

Nikki, looking pale and uncomfortable, was waiting for him.

“What can I do for you, Nikki?”

“Oh, please don’t tempt me, James, but I have a terrible concern.

A worry.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Pour it all out.”

“This is about the new American. The one called Woodward, Dan Woodward.”

“Desperate Dan,” Bond smiled. “Has he been desperate with you?

He comes complete with a reputation that he likes the ladies.”