John Gardner - Never send flowers

`Well, my dear, what do you say? You and Captain Bond seem to make a nice team. When this business is over, we have plans for reorganization. You could be a great asset to us." `I would still work with Jam-Captain Bond?" `A consummation devoutly to be wished, to quote the Bard." `Then I'll take the job, sir." `Good. Then you'll both go and do some sightseeing, yes?" `Give us the guidebook, sir." Bond knew it was no good arguing. `But what happens if we haven't got him after his stay in Athens?" `Do not even think about that, James." M had gone deathly serious, all good humour dropping away like a snake shedding its skin. `If you have to go on to Paris, then we're all in trouble.

The target there is unmistakable, and refuses to alter plans.

We have four days before Mr Dragonpol's one possible kill on this particular outing." `Don't you mean three possible kills?" Bill Tanner asked.

`One or three, it's all the same. If it came to that, we would face a terrible decision, and the target for Paris just will not budge." `Then Fli Fraulein von Grusse and I will have to drag him out either here or in Athens, sir." `Your head's in a noose if you don't, 007 M, Bond thought, was all heart.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

MY BROTHER'S KEEPER

Before they left, Bill Tanner produced an expensive-looking briefcase, `With the armourer's compliments, James. He says there's nothing new or special. But he claimed you'd know what to do with it." Bond nodded and treated the case as though it contained gold bullion.

M, looking very serious, delivered the final instructions. `We'll stay here until it's all over, but you must not attempt to contact anyone, unless there is another death, of course. This man is very dangerous and, if it weren't for the Security Service's involvement, we'd have left it all to the police. Give it three days here,' he said. `Three, and three only. In fact, I think you should reserve seats on a flight to Athens, and do it as openly as possible. Go about your business, loiter, behave as tourists, but do not look for our own people, or Gianne-Franco's ladies and gentlemen. They'll be there.

Just try to be unaware of them. Your focus must be on Dragonpol, and he's likely to be doing aLon Chaney." `What is Lon Chaney?" Fredericka asked, and Bond explained that he was a famous movie actor of the twenties and thirties. `Man of a Thousand Faces." `So, why don't you just say Dragonpol will probably be in disguise?" `You have a very literal mind, Fraulein von Grusse,' M smiled. `I like that in a woman.

All right, Dragonpol will probably be in disguise; and he's the only one you have to look out for. When, and if, you do spot him, your job is to lead him to a place of your choosing. Somewhere public, where Gianne-Franco's people can take him. I want him alive, James, you understand?" He understood all right. He also understood that Dragonpol would probably be harder to spot than Gianne-Franco Orsini's watchers.

Now Bond sat close to Fredericka in the back of a cab with the unopened briefcase between his knees. It was very late.

`I feel naked." She leaned towards him, half whispering. The taxi was an ordinary saloon and had no partition, so the driver had already tried to make light conversation, first in Italian, and later in fractured English. They had pretended to know neither.

The Italian driver with the pickpocket's eyes had taken them along the lake, dropping them off in Como itself, where, for a few hours, they forgot the dangers lurking in the shadowy world in which they now found themselves. `I never thought I'd end up as some kind of superdetective,' Bond said with the hint of a smile.

`What they call a hardboiled dick, eh?" `If you say so.

Hand in hand they wandered around like young lovers, even buying the kind of souvenirs they would normally not touch with a barge pole: little pots and ashtrays with `Lake Como' printed on them, and a pen and ink drawing of Como.

At one point, Fredericka slipped away, returning with a small box containing a pair of exquisite cufflinks: narrow strips of what looked like woven gold with a large clasp at each end. Bond opened his gift as they sat outside a small bar. She sipped a Campari and he nursed his usual vodka martini.

His pleasure in the gift was like that of a small child on Christmas morning. `People don't often actually give me presents,' he said, then told her to stay where she was as he strolled off up the street.

He returned with a gold ring containing a magnificent sapphire, in a claw setting, surrounded by a circlet of diamonds.

`Oh, James, you darling man." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. `Please, you put it on my finger." She stretched out her left hand and indicated the third finger. For a moment he hesitated, then took her right hand, whispering, `Not until this is all over.

Tenderly, almost erotically, he slipped it on to the third finger of her right hand. `I don't want to tempt fate. Women with whom I get deeply involved have a tendency to meet what bad novelists call an untimely end.

He kissed her gently, and they walked down to the lakeside where they found a small restaurant.

The sky was like velvet, speckled with stars. Out on the lake there seemed to be a thousand lights from the small coracle-like fishing boats which trawl the waters of Lake Como and the neighbouring Maggiore.

It was a night of magic, and during dinner they spoke to each other more with their eyes than voices.

Then, suddenly it was over, and they were haggling with a cab driver over the price of a ride back to Milan.

`I still feel naked,' she said.

`Soon you will be." `No. No, I didn't mean that. I feel we're going back into a war zone and I'm not armed.

`We can probably change that." He indicated the briefcase which he lifted on to his lap, taking care their driver could not see them through his mirror.

Inside the case were documents, a couple of files, and a diary, but that was mere window dressing. He touched the hidden pressure points and lifted out the false bottom to reveal a pair of weapons, ammunition and two holsters: a shoulder rig for himself, and a thigh strap for Fredericka.

The guns were Browning 10 mm automatic pistols. Both were loaded, and the false bottom of the briefcase contained a shielded partition which meant it could be safely carried through any security checks.

Keeping the pistols below the driver's sight lines, Fredericka transferred one to her shoulder bag while Bond stuck his into his waist band, behind his right hip.

`Like carrying a cannon,' she whispered.

`They're not peashooters. These things're real stoppers. The FBI are using them now instead of the old 9 mm." They pulled up in front of the Palace at a little after midnight.

As he paid off the driver, Bond spotted at least two of the Italian team. He did not notice the smart Englishman who was out for a late stroll, still wearing slacks and a navy blue blazer, striding out with the aid of his walking stick which sported a brass duck's head as its handle.

At reception, the duty manager smiled at them and spoke in his near flawless English. `Mr and Mrs Bond. A nice surprise for you.

Your sister, Mr Bond. She has arrived earlier this evening.

Naturally I allowed her to wait in your room. She's there now, and said you'd be delighted to see her." `Your sister?" Fredericka asked once they were in the elevator cage.

He shook his head. `I'm an only child. Could even be friend Dragonpol in drag. He's done it before the Russian in Paris." At the door to their room, he cautioned her to wait, flat against the wall to one side. Then, slipping the lock he went in, crouching low, the pistol ready at his side.

`I'm sorry to arrive like this." Carmel Chantry sat in the one easy chair facing the door. She was dressed in a white silk suit and looked as though she had just stepped from the pages of Vogue.