John Gardner - Win, Lose Or Die

“What is it now? More shady business?”

“In a word, yes. But you’d better know that I had London’s clearance to have you taken ashore and sent home, after last night.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. But another job’s come up that might just be right for your unpleasant talents.” He instructed the interrogator regarding the wounded prisoner. “You’ll have a word with the Surgeon Commander tomorrow morning, and you will take his advice, and his advice only, as to when you can start. Now, I don’t want to see hide nor hair of you until you’ve got a result.”

In the wardroom at lunchtime, Clover Pennington came over and said she was sorry to hear about the Russian girl. “You’d grown quite fond of her, hadn’t you?” she asked.

“In a professional way only, Clover. She was good at her job.”

“And aren’t I any good at mine?”

“You’re excellent, Clover. But let it all lie till we’ve got the next few days behind us.”

They made Rota just before midnight. A boat went ashore with Rear-Admiral Sir John Walmsley, who stayed on the US Base until three in the morning, having made all arrangements for the base to house the inbound Rolls-Royce technicians.

The ship’s routine went on as usual, and, after doing his rounds of the secure areas for the heads-of-state and their bodyguards, Bond turned in a good hour before Walmsley was back in the ship.

His bedside communications telephone woke him at just before six.

“Captain’s compliments, sir. Could you go to his night cabin immediately?” It was the Officer of the Watch.

Bond shaved and dressed at the speed of light, and presented himself at the Captain’s night cabin ten minutes later.

Walmsley was in his bunk, looking tired, propped on one elbow, sipping a large mug of coffee with one hand and holding a signal in the other. “They give me no peace,” he said. “This is, I think, for you, Bond.” He waggled the flimsy signal. “Coffee?”

“No, I’ll get some later, sir.” Bond quickly read the flimsy.

FROM OC USNB ROTA SPAIN TO CAPTAIN HMS INVINCIBLE STOP IF YOU HAVE A CAPTAIN JAMES BOND ON BOARD HE IS REQUESTED TO COME ASHORE IMMEDIATELY TO TAKE URGENT INSTRUCTIONS FROM HIS SUPERIORS STOP PLEASE ADVISE SO HE CAN BE MET STOP CAPTAIN BOND IS ADVISED SONGBIRD STOP “I trust this was in cipher, sir?” The use of the word Songbird authenticated the signal for Bond.

“With you fellows it’s always in cipher. My writer unbuttoned it under absolute security. Gravestone security.”

“I think I’d better go, then, sir.”

“Thought you might. I’ve got a boat standing by. Only one rating to take you in. I don’t want to send a lot of people off the ship at the moment. Should he wait for you?”

Bond thought for a moment. “No, sir. But, as a precaution, I’ll signal you when I’m ready to return and I’ll use the word Songbird. If everything is normal, could you use Tawny Owl at the end of your signal?”

“Oh lord, must I, Bond?”

“My signal to you will assure you of my safety. You should also respond in kind.”

“Very well. Off you go. Your boat’s waiting at the forward gangway, port side.”

“Thank you, sir.”

As Bond left the cabin, so the Rear-Admiral leaned forward and began to write on the pad by his bed.

The rain had eased oIl, but Bond had muffled himself in his greatcoat, as the wind still carried rain and it was bitterly cold at seven in the morning. Also the Leading Seaman who steered them in did not seem to be completely awake. Altogether, Bond was glad when they reached the jetty. A civilian car was parked nearby and, as he came up the stone steps, a United States Navy Commander stepped from the driving side.

“Captain Bond?” He saluted.

“The same.

“Anything else to tell me, sir?”

“Predator,” Bond snapped back.

“Fine, sir. My name’s Carter. Mike Carter, and I’m acting on behalf of Songbird. If you’d like to get in, we have someone waiting for you on the base, sir.

They drove through the early morning mist, and the rain started up gain.

Finally, the American Commander stopped the car by a well guarded gateway. A black guard stepped forward and scrutinised the laminated card proffered by the Commander, looked at Bond and asked who he was.

Commander Carter handed him another piece of paper which, to his amazement, Bond saw had his photograph attached to it.

“Okay.” For the first time the guard saluted, and they drove on.

It was like any other base, apart from an area in the distance which contained two huge communications spheres, made from angled panels, making them look like enormous white golf-balls.

From between them other equipment sprouted - a very tall aerial, and three rotating dishes.

Over to his left, Bond saw another communications ball with some of the panels missing.

“That one not functioning?” he asked.

“Hell, no.” Carter smiled. “We share this place with the K Spanish Navy. That was going to be for them, so we built the sphere, then they couldn’t afford the gizmos that go inside. Tell you what, though, on Halloween we put lights in it and move the panels around.

It looks great as a pumpkin.”

They pulled up outside a low office building which had a marine armed guard at the door.

“Okay, here we are. Terminus, as they say. Just follow me, sir.

He showed the ID to the marine and they went through a small reception area, and along a passage. “In here, sir.” Carter opened a door. “Can I get you anything?”

“I haven’t had breakfast and I’m pretty dry.”

“Bacon, eggs, coffee.”

“Why not?” Bond smiled.

“Be back in a few minutes then, Captain Bond, sir.”

Bond nodded, and went into the room.

“Hello, my darling, I thought I’d never see you again,” said Beatrice Maria da Ricci, who was sitting at a table with a large mug of coffee in front of her.

Batsblood

For once, Bond was lost for words. “But he croaked, “you’re Beatrice,” pronouncing it as she had done, Beh-ahTree-che. As he did so, he realised that he had been mourning her since the terrible moment on Christmas afternoon when he had seen her blown to pieces in front of him at the Villa Capricciani on Ischia.

Instinctively he reached out to touch her hand. It was flesh - and blood, and he really did not care if she were the “Cat” of BAST.

She smiled up at him, the smile lighting her eyes, and the whole of her face. “It’s okay, James. I am real, not a ghost. Also I am on your side. I am not the “Cat’.”

“But how … What? - - I saw .

“You saw a very good illusion. Like a magician’s trick, like David Copperfield in America, or Paul Daniels in England.”

“How?”

“Your life was saved. So was mine, and we owe our lives to Franco whom we can never repay, because he is dead. I pleaded with M to let you know before this, but he said no, not until you could be off the ship for a little time.”

“But, how, Beatrice?”

There was a knock at the door and Carter reappeared with a tray.

Bacon, fried very crisply, the American way, two eggs, sunnyside up, a plate of toast, preserves and a huge pot of coffee.

“Don’t forget, Miss da Ricci,” Carter cautioned as he left.

“There isn’t much time. Your boss said it had to be done as quickly as possible.”

“Haven’t forgotten, Mike. Thank you.

Carter left and she told Bond to eat. “I will talk. Just like old times, eh?”

He nodded, and again asked how.

“There are two things you should know, James. First, you only met Franco and Umberto, who both gave their lives for all this.

We had more people watching out for us. Four more men, all well concealed. They were our real watchers. Second, while we showed you around the Villa we did not quite show you everything. Maybe that was wrong. I don’t know any more.”