John Gardner - Win, Lose Or Die

“The Captain’s apologies, sir. He couldn’t send the same seaman back for you. The rnan has had to go to the Sick Bay.

He wasn’t too well.”

Bond remembered. “He didn’t seem all that brilliant on the way in.” He jumped down into the boat and waved to Carter, who waited until they were clear of the jetty and then walked to his car.

Ten minutes later, Carter was back at the low building inside the base. Beatrice was waiting outside, looking frantic and agitated.

“Oh, my God, Mike.” Her voice had risen to an almost hysterical pitch.

“What in God’s name he began.

“They’ve got them.”

“Who?”

“Thatcher, Bush and Gorbachev. The Foreign Office in London received a telephone call ten minutes ago. They’ve been told to pass it on to their opposite numbers in Washington and Moscow. The call was from a man. They think from London. He gave them a code word Batsblood and said that the three heads of state were being held in invincible. There will be no release to the Press and their demand is six hundred billion dollars: two hundred billion for each of the heads of state.”

“Just money? Nothing else? No prisoners to be released?

Nothing like that?”

She shook her head, biting her lip. “That’s it. They have until three o’clock our time to agree. If nothing by then, they’ll show us some kind of firework display. If the Task Force makes any attempt to approach invincible, they’ll kill one of the three.” She drew in air.

“How? How could they have …?”

“We tried to contact the ship?”

Again the little nod. “Absolutely no vocal response. Nothing except the electronics. invincible already signalled to the other ships, order them to keep station.”

The little boat puttered up to the companionway let down from the main deck, forward, on the port side. The Leading Wren held the craft steady with a boathook, while Bond made his way up the shaking steps.

As they had approached the invincible he seemed to sense something eerie about it. Something wrong that he couldn’t put his finger on.

Now, he reached the main deck and saw it was deserted, except for the aircraft and helicopters.

His intuition was either correct, or playing tricks with him. In any case he reached behind him for the Browning. He had not even got a hand on the butt when a familiar voice said, “I wouldn’t do that, James. Just take your hand away.”

He turned to see Clover Pennington, with a Wren on each side, coming from behind one of the Sea Harriers. All three girls carried automatic pistols.

Stay cool, he thought. Stay very cool.

“Hello, “Cat’.” He smiled.

Operation Sleeping Beauty One of the girls walked forward, reached behind him and removed the Browning.

“Cuff him, while you’re at it,” Clover told her. “Well, James, did Tawny Owl give you the go-ahead?”

“Yes, how did you manage that?” he asked, surprised that his voice appeared to be steady.

“The silly old fool made a note of it and left it on his night table. It was so easy.

Bond felt the cuffs go on; the cold steel biting into his wrists.

He was still puzzled by the silence. “How, Clover?” he asked.

“Bring him down to my cabin,” she ordered the two Wrens, who shoved him like men, leading him to the bulkhead and down the companionway, along the knee-touching passages to the Captain’s day cabin, where they roughly pushed him into a chair.

Clover told the two girls to get on with their other duties.

“I’ll call for you in about five minutes. I want this one nicely locked away in the cells.” She went behind the Captain’s desk and sat, looking at him. “You see how easy it is for women to do the job of men?” The smile was still attractive, without menace, or phoney evil.

The snarl and leer were strictly for the movies.

Clover looked like any other, nice, well-brought-up girl with a future.

“There’s nobody around, that’s obvious.” Bond’s mind hovered between thoughts of what he could do, and how in heaven’s name First Officer Pennington had managed to take over the ship. “There are over two thousand people on this ship.”

He tried a winning smile. “How do fourteen girls manage to take over, as you appear to have done?”

“Two thousand and eighteen to be correct. Oh, and fifteen girls.

We sprang Sarah Deeley. She’s a psycho, of course, but useful if it comes to any really distasteful jobs.”

“How?” he asked again.

“Because it was very well planned, and we were in a prime position to pull it off. My girls had jobs everywhere - including complete access to the galleys.”

“The food?”

She nodded, “And drink. You should not really have got off the ship, James. I was a little cross about that. Didn’t you feel very thirsty this morning?”

He remembered chug-a-lugging the orange juice on the base, and the unusual need to drink. “Ah.”

Again the nice-girl smile, “Ah, indeed. Every morsel of food, every beverage, yesterday contained a substance that would make every man jack feel thirsty this morning. A craving thirst.”

“And this morning?”

“This morning you had nothing to drink before you went off to Rota. If you had taken a swig of coffee you would have become disoriented within twenty minutes, and dropped asleep within the half-hour. We called it Operation Sleeping Beauty. There were minor problems, of course - you were one of them - but my girls had ways of dealing with it all. Everyone, but you, is cosily tucked away. Fast asleep.”

“How dangerous is this stuff?”

“Stuff? Oh, the Mickey Finn we popped into the food and drink.

Kick like a mule, James. Knocks people out cold.

There’s a lot of that old stand-by, chloral hydrate, in it, but it’s been refined, the smell removed, also the after-effects are negative. The “Viper” put a lot of money into having the stuff made to the highest standards - Oh, and there’s little or no danger.”

“The “Viper” sounds a right little charmer.”

“He is, as it happens. Anyway, James, the whole company of this ship will be out cold for at least three days.”

“And the object of the exercise?”

“Money. MoneyŤ to continue putting the world, and society to wrights.”

“A lot of money?”

“Two hundred billion for each of the VIPs Bond started to laugh, “Clover, is Bassam Baradj that naive?”

“What d’you mean?”

“Doesn’t he realise that this isn’t the ultimate hostage situation?”

“Why not? Three of the world’s most powerful politicians . .

“Quite. You want money for them, and there’s no way you’ll get it. Sure, the countries concerned will probably chase all of you to the ends of the earth and back, but nobody’s going to pay that kind of money to get politicians back. Don’t you see that?

It’ll be Et tu, Brute? time. Nights of the long knives time.

The Russians will shrug their shoulders and the anti-glasnost team’ll be in. The Americans will do something stupid, like letting the Vice-President in for a while and then starting the circus again.

The British? Well, Mrs. T has her supporters, but … well, the Cabinet will hold little crisis meetings. Then they’ll just announce a new P.M. America and us Brits never give in to hostage situations anyway, and a lot of powerful people will see it as a God-sent opportunity for a change in leadership.” Bond thought for a moment and added, “But then, perhaps not.”

She had gone a little pale, he thought. Well, he was only telling her the truth. “Eventually, death. Yes. We have a few aces up our sleeves. If the Governments don’t meet our requirements by 15.00 hours this afternoon, our time, we’ll show some power. If anyone tries an assault on the ship, Sarah will deal with the hostages. One at a time, of course. So far it’s between us and the Governments, but I don’t see that lasting if they miss our first deadline.” She looked at her watch. “Three hours to go. I don’t know what’s planned, but we’ve all been told to stay off the main deck and the island.”