James Bond - Seafire Part 4

"No, sir. We've had this weekend booked for the past six weeks. You can check that out, here in the hotel."

Tarn nodded. "Yes, we already have. So tell me what it's all about. Just spit it out, James - that is your name, yes?"

"Yes, Sir Max."

"Well, James. Tell all."

"There's a warrant out for your arrest. You and Lady Tarn. They're going to pull you in on Monday morning; and there's another search-and-seizure warrant for the premises in Ludgate Circus - Tarn International - and also for your private residence. They're Security Service people watching you, and -"

"I told you so, Max," from Goodwin. "Couldn't be anyone else'd make such a foul-up."

"Yes, you mentioned that." Max Tarn had gone slightly pale under the ruddy and tan cheeks. "What exactly are they arresting me for, Mr. Bus - Oh, to h.e.l.l with it, why don't we all come clean, Mr. Bond? It is Bond, isn't it, not Busby? Why? How? I want it all or you'll end up with your wife in a neat little plastic body bag. I didn't mention to you that some of Connie's people are with your wife at this very moment. One's the young gentleman whose wrist you almost broke on Friday night. He thinks your wife's a dish - his words not mine. I wouldn't presume. But I would presume to order your mutual demise if I don't get the right answers. So let's have a little party, Mr. Bond. Let's play Truth or Dare, just like I used to play it in my nursery with my dear old nanny."

6 - Knight's Move

"She's not my wife." Bond juggled several complex problems in his head, calculating on the fly. He had not even discussed this possible scenario with Flicka, yet from the outset Max Tarn had known his ident.i.ty. Now it was up to him to lie. Cover every possible permutation. Lie convincingly, and pray that Flicka's story jigsawed with his own. Tarn was obviously shaken by the very idea of the arrest and search-and-seizure warrants. It was probably the last thing he expected, just as Bond had not foreseen the exposure of his name. What else did Tarn know? he wondered in the split second between sentences.

"She's not my wife," he repeated, pleased and a little surprised that he sounded so casual. Deep within him, metal b.u.t.terflies stirred and sent their anxiety cannoning around his guts.

"Of course she isn't, Mr. Bond." Tarn's voice was silkily smooth. "She's a former officer of Swiss Intelligence. A discredited officer at that. So tell me exactly what this arrest business is all about, and why you, of all people, would wish to warn me in advance."

"I haven't the slightest idea what it's about. All I can tell you is that I've seen the warrants. As for warning you, I've already told you. I've always held you in great regard. Any man who has the intelligence and flair to emerge from practically nothing to become a multibillionaire has my respect -"

"But I didn't come up from nothing, my friend. I came from one of the oldest and most proud families in Germany. I don't use the 'von,' but I am really Sir Max von Tarn. My grandfather was a general who fought bravely in the first war, his father was a field marshal, and my great-great-grandfather held one of the highest positions in the Prussian Empire, with blood ties to the Hohenzollern family. Look . . ." His voice rose as he spoke, and he pulled his elegant cardigan to one side, revealing a small crest embroidered on his shirt. A shield, surmounted with scrollwork, two crossed spears on a field of gold, and below it a motto: In Familia Vir. In Family Lies Strength.

So Max Tarn did claim a direct link with the old family. "I didn't realize." Bond tried to sound genuinely astounded. "Sir Max, if you have such a respected and aristocratic background, why do you never use it?"

"Because I prefer things to look as though I came from nowhere, and in some ways I did come onto the scene out of the blue. After all, the n.a.z.is murdered all my relatives, apart from my mother, and stole our family estates. My mother kept very quiet about our background. Officially, I'm dead." A friendly charming smile that caused a flash of pleasure deep in the brown eyes; the twinkling of his irises gave out a strange uncanny impression, as though they were water and a breeze came rippling across them. "Though, of course, many of my close friends and business a.s.sociates do know from whom I am descended. They're very good about it." He paused, chin lifted and face set in a smile that was, at once, paradoxically condescending and welcoming.

"Well, I have even more respect for you now, Sir Max," Bond lied. "I came from a pretty middle-cla.s.s background, and I've had to drag myself up by my bootstraps. I thought I'd done quite well until the Cold War ended. If you know my real name, then you probably know what I did to serve my Queen and Country."

"Spy. Agent provocateur. a.s.sa.s.sin. Saboteur. Right? All those unpleasant things people do in 'The Secret World.'"

"I was a field agent with British Intelligence, yes."

"Oh, I think something more than just a field agent, Mr. Bond. Don't be modest. You were a star, a leader; decorated many times - in secret, of course. A legend within your service." A pause as he looked Bond over from head to toe. "I could always use a man like you. Think about it."

"Well." He blinked quickly, then looked away in mock modesty. "Well, I was lucky. My problem, Sir Max, was that I thought it would go on forever. In some ways I suppose I'm well off. At least they've found me a job - at about a third of my old salary, and with a pension that drops accordingly. That's the way people like me are treated. When we are no longer needed to do the dirty work, the powers that be don't want to know. We're turned out into a life they neither understand nor wish to live."

"And that's the kind of life you live nowadays, Mr. Bond? Come, come, you could afford to take Fraulein von Grusse on one of my cruises - not a cheap item. Only a hundred and twenty of your colleagues have been put on the retired list - that's public knowledge. You don't appear to stint yourself. I understand you have a good London address."

"Bit of a final fling, Sir Max. The cruise, I mean. The job they've given me is a dead end; it's as boring as watching sand in an egg timer. I even have a little sign on my desk that says, "Beware, the End is Nigh." Yes, I had a little private money, but that's been eroded over the years, and now I'm as good as being put out to gra.s.s."

"Yes, I wanted to ask you what actually goes on in that house in Bedford Square."

"Nothing exciting, I fear. We're a kind of repository for doc.u.ments. Mainly the decla.s.sified stuff. It's a sort of research center for old Cold Warriors who want to write their memoirs. Seems to be the coming thing, writing the story of your supposedly secret life. They're all at it." Tarn could dig as deeply as he wanted, for Bond had just described the cover given to the new Two Zeros Section. There were even people in the Home and Foreign Offices, not to mention the Intelligence and Security Services, who thought that was exactly what was going on in Bedford Square.

"Yes." Tarn nodded. "I had heard that's what you were doing there. But tell me, Mr. Bond, why did you find it necessary to use a pseudonym to cruise on my ship, and book in at this hotel?"

"I would have thought it was obvious. Fredericka - Fraulein von Grusse - and I are having an affair."

"Which seems to be common knowledge. You are living together, after all,"

"There's a kind of double standard about that, as far as my old outfit's concerned." Bond gave a small shrug. "Things have changed a little recently, but we used the Mr. and Mrs. Busby names on the cruise because our relationship was frowned on at the time. It's out in the open now, but in the last few months we've stayed here on a number of occasions and used the other names. That's how the staff know us, so we decided not to embarra.s.s them by using proper names for this weekend -"

"Which you claim is a coincidence?"

"I've said so, and you can check with reservations."

"So you've already told me." He gave a little chuckle, "And I've already checked."

Bond nodded, as though Tarn was simply showing common sense. "I might also ask you, Sir Max, how you know all about me. You appear to have gone out of your way to burrow into my past, and I'm sure that wasn't done just over this weekend."

"No. No, that's fair. The truth about that is I have a staff who go through the names of all those who travel on my cruise ships. If they look interesting I authorize a little digging. You looked very interesting. I found the fact that you worked for both the Home and the Foreign Offices intriguing, particularly after hearing the details of how the pair of you dealt with those blundering miscreants on Caribbean Prince. I remember saying to Connie that you sounded like a couple of hired killers. So we checked you out. Both of you. It's relatively easy, you know."

"Of course I know, sir. I've done it myself. Even took a peep at a file on you at one time. You came up squeaky clean, incidentally; that's why the warrants concerned me so much."

"Maybe I believe you, Mr. Bond, but I really need to know something about these search-and-seizure warrants. You come to me and tell me this because we happen to be in the same place at the same time. If it turns out to be true - which I would doubt except for the sudden odd surveillance over this weekend - I would have known nothing about this. Not that I have anything to hide; my conscience is clear. But I'd like you to think about these warrants for a moment. You say that you saw them. Where was this?"

"At the Home Office."

"And why would you, a former big-league field officer now in charge of a penny-ante operation looking after files and doc.u.ments, why would you be at the Home Office?"

Stick as near to the truth as you can, he thought. "How much do you know about the reorganization of our former clandestine services, sir?"

"Only what I've read in the newspapers. Names out in the open. Addresses in the public domain. A newer, less secret, kinder and caring system."

"Let me tell you, then. Yes, certain things are out in the open. But all those old organizations with the letters and numbers - MI5, MI6, and so forth - are now run by the bureaucrats. Run by committees and little cabals. Watchdogs. Guardians of morality. Financial Working Parties. Junior Ministers with special duties. They've sprung up all over the place, to make life h.e.l.l for those who played by the good old rules."

"Quite right, too," Tarn almost snapped. "What it means, Mr. Bond, is that now those services are accountable. They never were before. If I were ever a power in any land, I'd make sure that you people were answerable to me personally."

"It also means that they can be used by whoever's in power."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Under the previous system, they were always apolitical. Yes, they worked for government, but never for the particular ruling party. As soon as the political party in power has access - complete access - to those organizations, you begin to sp.a.w.n corrupt organizations. You follow?"

Tarn grunted, as if not convinced. "Well, Bond, how much of a look did you get at these warrants?"

"Pretty brief. Enough time to see your name - together with that of Lady Tarn - and the address of Tarn International's offices."

"You say they're to be enacted on Monday."

"It was there, on the papers. Monday the eleventh."

"So you had time to see that also?"

"Yes."

"Surely you know that part of the interrogator's art is to draw out things which the person being interrogated does not realize he's seen? This is standard practice with the police, and - I should imagine - your former employers, yes?"

"Yes." Careful.

"Well, the point's already been proven. It now appears that not only did you see names and places, but also the date the warrants were to be enacted. If you had time to see those things, perhaps you also had time to pick up - even cerebrally - the reasons for these doc.u.ments being issued."

The silence stretched out, like a body on mortuary slab. At the window, Goodwin moved and muttered, "Christ, they're using that same d.a.m.ned car - the Volvo. Been going round and round for the past half hour."

Finally, Bond replied: "No, no, I can't think of anything." Then: "Wait a minute, though. I can remember something about restrictions on the sale of arms." Out of the corner of his eye, Bond saw that he had at least got Maurice Goodwin's attention and Max Tarn's shoulders seemed to stiffen slightly.

There was a considerable pause before Tarn said that, surely, this had to be a mistake. "Arms? Arms as in weapons?"

"Arms as in devices to kill people, yes."

"But I've never had any dealings with armament companies." An uncertain frown, and a slight tremor in his right hand. Then he seemed to recover. "Ah, yes. Yes, I see what's happened. I did buy certain things. We're planning a small museum - a war museum - for one of the islands the cruise line owns in the Caribbean. It's just a desolate strip of land, but with a pleasant beach. When my ships put in there, we fly a few people over from Na.s.sau. They set up a couple of bars, small restaurants, a little store that sells local artifacts. The pa.s.sengers like a pleasant day on the beach with some amenities laid on."

His tone became more convincing as he continued. "One of my people suggested the museum. You wouldn't expect to find something like that out in the middle of the sea. In fact, we start building this summer. Should be done by next year, and it'll house all kinds of things - aircraft, weapons, paintings, models, simulations. Even a submarine. Pay for itself in a couple of years, we reckon. One of my companies bought quite a number of things for the museum." He gave a sigh meant to indicate relief but falling very short of its target. "Well, that's it, I suppose. Some idiot in one of your snooping departments has made a glorious error and taken my purchases as something dangerous and illicit." Tarn's explanation was stilted and patently unconvincing.

"Then you'll be able to satisfy them, sir. That's good."

Tarn turned away, his head moving in the direction of Goodwin. "Yes, a relief. A relief indeed, eh, Maurice?"

"A relief? Oh, yes indeed." Goodwin did not sound happy.

Tarn began to say something else to Bond when there was a knock at the door and Connie put his head into the room.

"A word, sir, please." The bodyguard moved his head to indicate that he needed to talk with Sir Max in the relative privacy of the pa.s.sage.

Tarn excused himself, leaving Bond alone with Goodwin, who looked straight at him, then glanced out of the window before settling his cynical eyes back again. "You think my boss is going to buy your story, do you?"

"It's not a story, Maurice. Just the plain, unvarnished truth. Incidentally, I was looking forward to meeting Lady Tarn."

"You betcha." Goodwin gave a short laugh. "Of course you want to meet her. Everyone does. The famous beauty, Trish Nuzzi. Amazing what money'll buy for a man, isn't it?"

"Meaning that your boss bought her?"

"Now, I didn't say that, Bond. I only remarked that it's wonderful what money'll buy."

"Yes, but . . ."

The door opened and Tarn came back into the room. "Maurice, could you join us outside for a few moments." Then, to Bond: "I'm sorry about this, Mr. Bond. Duty calls, though. Won't be a minute."

Bond nodded and watched as the door closed behind them. He went over to the window and looked down into the street in front of the hotel. Taking in the Security Service's surveillance teams, he thought how well they were a.s.sembled. A layman would not have recognized the team as watchers. Only someone with a profound knowledge of surveillance methods could have fingered them for what they really were. So Maurice Goodwin was well versed in these things. That was not so unlikely, for he was patently ex-military.

He was just turning away from the window when the door to the bedroom opened quietly. Lady Tarn stood just inside the room. Beautiful and even more stunning than the photographs he had seen of her, or the glimpses at the hotel.

She hesitated, her movements quick and full of nervousness. "Mr. Bond, I know your real name. I only want a quick word." She glanced agitatedly toward the main door. "First, I want to thank you. You tried to save the life of one of the officers on Caribbean Prince . . ."

"Well, I -"

"No, I just want to thank you. It was Lieutenant Mark Neuman. He was my cousin. I know you did all you could to save him."

Her eyes glistened with tears just below the surface. "I wanted to warn you, as well."

"Warn me?"

"My husband. He's not what he seems. Please take great care. If you've been of use to him, he'll try to use you again and again. Max can be charming, but his goal in life is terrifying. I don't know -"

The main door opened, and Tarn came striding back into the room, stopping suddenly as he saw his wife. "What're you doing in here?" There was a touch of merciless brutality about both his face and voice. Maurice Goodwin hovered behind him, looking a little too anxious.

"I thought you had all left." She spoke like someone near to pleading, as though she feared physical pain. "I only . . ."

"Just wait in the bedroom. We haven't quite finished." Then, as an afterthought, he added, "My dear."

As soon as she was gone he altered again: now all smiles, obviously trying to project a conciliatory mood.

"I'm sorry to have kept you, Mr. Bond. You've been most helpful. Both of you. You and Fraulein von Grusse."

"If your gorillas have hurt one hair of her head, I'll -"

"Mr. Bond, please." His voice oozed with an unlikely sense of serenity. "I apologize most profusely for any belligerence I showed when we first met. If I can do anything to put that right . . ."

"No, just let us get on with our lives," Bond snapped. "I came to do you a favor."

"And I appreciate that. I'm quite willing to pay you back with interest. In time you'll appreciate that I had to be absolutely sure of you both. A few answers from your good friend Fraulein von Grusse were all we needed. Just to check out the pair of you."

"Well, you've asked your questions; presumably asked them of Flicka as well. Now, I'd like to go, sir, if that's convenient."

"By all means, Mr. Bond. You've done me a service. I'd simply like to repay -"

"It's not necessary. Good afternoon to you, Sir Max." Then, over his shoulder, "And you, Mr. Goodwin."

Outside, the burly Connie was all set to escort him down in the lift. "Not necessary, Conrad. I'll see myself out." He placed the palm of his right hand firmly on the bodyguard's chest and pushed him away. As the doors to the elevator closed, he saw the surprised look in the big man's eyes as he stumbled back against the opposite wall.

Flicka was standing by the window, looking down into the street below, when he got back to their suite.

"You've had visitors, I hear?" Bond went up behind her and locked his arms around her shoulders.

"A pair of nicely dressed apes, yes. If they weren't so potentially dangerous, they'd be like cartoon characters." She twisted her face up toward him. "One of them was the oaf whose hand you mangled before we checked in. He's still not happy about that. Became definitely unpleasant about it, James, and he goes by the delightful name of Mr. Archie; his friend is Mr. Cuthbert. They're superior types who'd think rape was their right, and would have no bad dreams if they roasted their grandmothers and served them up as an entree."

"And these two little charmers asked you questions?"