James Bond - Seafire Part 9

"Funny." Bond looked first at Anna and then at Cathy. "I thought I chased you two all over Seville on motorcycles. I thought I had killed the pair of you."

"You did what?" Anna sat up even straighter.

"If you left with Trish, you missed a little unpleasantness. I killed two of his toughs, and a man called Peter Dolmech got murdered."

"Oh, no." Trish Tarn put her hands to her face. "Peter? He was one of the nicest men around Max."

"He was also providing us with information and his luck ran out, I'm afraid."

"You probably did in Pixie and Dixie," Cathy supplied.

"Pixie and . . . ?"

"That's what everyone called them. They had been stunt drivers at one time. Stunts with cars and motorcycles. Very nasty gentlemen. Did a lot of unpleasant jobs for Max. Their real names were never mentioned, and I got the impression they were wanted by the police in about seven different countries." Trish held out her gla.s.s for more champagne and took a deep breath. "But to get back to Max, I really laid into him when we got to Seville. I knew a lot more by then, but I was out of my mind with anger and grief. It would've been more prudent to keep quiet, but I told him the truth and this is the result. He was so furious that he did most of it. Connie Spicer broke my nose and jaw. Max, as you must know, suffers from a kind of folie de grandeur. He's done nothing but spread death and destruction for most of his adult life, but he thinks he can, in some way, make amends. When he does, he reckons that everyone's going to forget about the weapons and people - because he also deals in people, mercenaries mostly - and hail him as a hero. As the true hero. I shouldn't have told him on that last day in Seville."

"What was this horrific thing you told him, Trish?"

"You can't guess?" She gave a bitter little laugh. "I told him the truth, knowing that it would explode his mind. The truth. You see, I'm a quarter Jewish, on my mother's side, and me a good Catholic girl. My father was Italian, and my mother English. When I was coming up to my First Communion they told me. It was a big family secret. A quarter Jewish, and that was enough to spark off my dear husband when I threw it in his face."

"He just beat you up and then let you walk away?" Bond still only had an inkling of what she really meant.

"Not quite." Again the bitter laugh. "He lost control. Said he would have to bathe four times a day for the rest of his life, to get the Jewish filth from his body. He shouted at me. Said n.o.body must ever know; said he loathed himself. Did some damage to my face and ribs. I said I was going, so he put Connie in. I think the idea was to disable me so that I couldn't leave, but Connie hadn't banked on the girls."

"You took Connie out?" Bond's tone was one of admiration.

"We kind of incapacitated him." Cathy did her roguish smile.

"Let's say he won't be satisfying any ladies for a while. Yet, knowing Connie, he's probably able to hobble around by now."

"Trish, I'm sorry." Bond was searching for the right words, not quite certain that he understood the complete subtext of what she had told him. "Are you saying that Max has Fascist tendencies?"

This time her laugh was not bitter, but one of genuine amus.e.m.e.nt, and it was echoed by chuckles from Anna and Cathy.

"James," she said finally. "No, Max does not have Fascist tendencies. I thought you'd already know. In fact, I really believed that was why you're after him. Max Tarn is not just another Fascist. Max Tarn thinks of himself as the n.a.z.i Messiah. He's the reincarnation of Hitler, Himmler, Goebbels - you name them, he is it. The whole arms-dealing thing has been a means to an end. Stage one in his comeback. Weapons poured into the wrong hands over the past couple of decades have been for one reason: the complete destablization of Europe - if not the world. He danced - really danced - with joy when the Berlin Wall came down. When the news came through he actually said, 'My time is now near. The destruction of the Wall will bring all true n.a.z.is into the open. By the time I am ready, they'll respond to me just as those in the 1930s responded to the Fuhrer.'"

He tried to disguise his horror and fascination. "And he let you walk away when you told him about your Jewish blood?"

There was a pause before Trish said, "It's not quite as easy as that, James. Like the n.a.z.i leaders of old, he has that uncanny knack of being able to double-think. After the first few years of our marriage I realized that he really regarded me as a showpiece. He just may be able to ignore the tiny bit of Jewish blood in my veins. Max has a terribly long reach. He can probably find me and have me hauled back, though I think his hands're pretty full at the moment."

"Like the n.a.z.is who turned a blind eye to Jews they needed in order to function?"

"Exactly. Do you know that Hitler was always aware that the gravediggers within the n.a.z.i kingdom were Jews? They didn't touch them because they were necessary. Certain people are necessary to Max, and I might be one of them." She gave her head a little shake, as though trying to get rid of some nightmare. "Let me give you another instance. He owns - that's the right word, owns - an African-American girl who happens to be a junkie. He talks to her using the most appallingly racist language. That is when he's forced to go anywhere near her. But he tolerates her because she is an a.s.sa.s.sin who takes a pride in her work. Orders are given to her by either Connie or Goodwin, because, while they're loyal to Max, they do not really have the same scruples about being near her. When he's around, he makes certain she keeps to her own quarters. If she has to be in the entourage, he makes sure she travels in a different car."

"What's her name?"

"Beth. I don't know any other name for her. Everyone calls her Beth. That's it."

"But, Trish, I gather he claims lineage with the von Tarn family -"

"I don't think he needs to just claim lineage. I think it's genuine. But . . ."

"But the n.a.z.is are supposed to have murdered his family."

"A family that, over the years, he's come to despise."

"I see." The shock of these latest revelations was just starting to bite home.

"Max is powerful, James. Don't ever doubt that. He is a very dangerous beast."

"You wouldn't happen to know where he is now?" Bond made it sound so casual that it almost went unnoticed, but he saw Anna stir and flash a look toward Cathy.

"He could be checking in downstairs, for all I know."

Trish's hand went up to her hair for the first time since they had been in the room, fingers splayed, raking deeply into the thick soft forest. "But I don't think so. What you're really asking me is where you can go and pick him up, yes?"

Bond leaned forward. "I can offer you safety, Trish."

"Oh, please." She laughed. "You cannot offer me safety until you have him six feet under. He has an army out there."

"Trish," Flicka took over, "we can give you some safety. We can get you out of Jerusalem first thing in the morning. Once we have you in England we're certain we can keep you safe. You and the girls."

"The girls can always look after themselves, but, yes, I'd like them around for a while."

"Then you'll come with us?"

"I've nowhere else to go, and Max will know I'm here. Even Connie will have it figured out. Yes. Okay, take me to London and squirrel me away where none of Max's people can get their hands on me. What's in it for you?"

"Your safety, Trish," from Bond. "Your safety, and cooperation."

"You have my cooperation in any case. You want to know where Max is? Okay, I can tell you where I think he'll be, if he's not on the way here to take me back by force."

"Is that a possibility?"

"Always, but I don't think he has much time to come chasing me at the moment."

"So if he's not on his way here . . . ?"

"Well, maybe not yet, but eventually he'll end up in the Caribbean."

"Playing with his toy cruise ships?"

She gave a tired smile, and the pain showed through again. "He has two main operating bases, both of them really sewn up. Seville is one. Being an inland port, it's useful. He paid a lot of people not to ask too many awkward questions, so many of his container ships pa.s.s through Seville. The other port he uses is San Juan."

"And he has that one closed up as well?"

"Pretty much. He also owns some property there. We have a suspicion that he stashes cargo away on Puerto Rico and that is where he plans to become a world hero." That "we" included the girls, for she waved her arm in their direction, and both Cathy and Anna nodded in agreement. "We think he owns warehouses, and other little bits of real estate, and he's spread money around the place as though cash is going out of fashion."

"So he runs a complex operation from two distinct bases. One in Europe, the other in the Caribbean, where he has some kind of ace up his sleeve?"

"That's about the size of it. His merchant bank launders the money, I should imagine."

"You imagine correctly. We're getting that sorted out. There's a great deal of evidence, and we're putting the financial side together now."

"He said that part could never be broken." Cathy had gone back into one of me other rooms and brought another bottle of Dom Perignon. "In Seville, I heard him say that his banks were a hundred percent foolproof."

"It would've taken until doomsday if it hadn't been for Peter Dolmech."

Anna stirred. "You said he was dead."

"He left us a little legacy. A map of the laundry, so to speak."

There was a short pause, during which Trish and the girls did not look at each other. Then Trish broke the silence. "Poor Peter. At least he did something worthwhile before he died. Max trusted him absolutely, and I would never have thought he was the spy in the camp."

"You suspected a spy?"

"No, but Max did. He was paranoid about it. Always changing procedures, and playing games to trap people. Though he never did - trap anyone, that is."

"Well, he did more than trap Dolmech, and he almost destroyed the information." He went on to describe what had happened in Seville, leaving out the most gory of the details.

Again there was a silence. A pause that went on a shade too long. Trish Nuzzi once more put a hand to her hair, then quietly said that she was sorry but she really had to lie down. "Doctor Hartman saw to it that my nose and jaw were fixed," she added as a kind of afterthought.

"So Max'll eventually end up in the Caribbean. Where else might he be?"

"He could be in Germany. Wa.s.serburg. He's quietly restoring Tarnenwerder - the old family seat - to its former glory."

"He is?" Bond asked of n.o.body in particular.

"Then tomorrow we'll take you back to London and some safety?" Flicka asked.

"Yes. Yes, of course. It's all I want now: to be out of it all and in some normal kind of life."

"What time?" Cathy asked, sounding businesslike.

"We'll give you a call first thing." Bond had already decided to book seats on the first possible flight back to Heathrow. "I think there's a flight at around noon. Now, are you going to be all right tonight?"

"If we're not, we'll give you a call." Anna sounded smug and, if anything, overconfident.

"So what do you think?" Bond asked when they were back in their own suite.

"You mean the amazing s.e.x change, the distraught Lady Tarn, or the reincarnation of Adolf Hitler?" Flicka had started to undress.

"All three, I suppose. You happy with them, Flick? Trust them?"

"The dedicated-crazy-n.a.z.i thing shook me, but I can see it's probably true enough, and the time is ripe in Germany. There are so many dedicated n.a.z.i organizations coming out of the woodwork now. The skinhead groups, the Neo-n.a.z.is toughs, but that's the wrong name for them. They're not neo anything. They are n.a.z.is plain and simple: Germany for the Germans, and then only the purebred Germans. Out with any foreigners. Even people who, up to a couple of years ago, said it could never happen twice are now having doubts. As for the rest, right up until we mentioned Dolmech, I trusted them. Then things came apart slightly."

"Could be that Lady T was having a ride around the park with Dolmech."

"The thought had crossed my mind. Either her or . . . No, they wouldn't have let their guard down - the girls, I mean."

"To be perfectly honest with you." Bond raised his voice as she pa.s.sed through into the bathroom. "To be perfectly honest, I wouldn't trust those two with anyone - except La Nuzzi, of course. They're obviously devoted to her."

"And I'll be perfectly honest with you, my darling, I wouldn't trust any of them with you. Even with the bashed-up face, Trish was drooling, and the two terrors would have kept you busy for hours."

"I didn't notice anything unusual. I think you're exaggerating, Flicka."

She did not reply, so he smiled to himself and went over to the telephone to call both El Al and BA. There was an El Al flight from Ben Gurion International to Heathrow at noon, and they had seats. He booked five, giving their names and saying that he would get back to them with the information on the other three pa.s.sengers first thing in the morning. As ever, El Al were tight-lipped.

They both slept well, spooned close together in the big double bed. The telephone dragged them up through a few layers of unconsciousness. Bond looked at his watch and saw that this was not his wake-up call requested for seven, as the time showed ten minutes past six. Groggily, he croaked into the phone and Pete Natkowitz came on strong and clear at the other end, telling him that this was a secure line.

"I think you might have a small problem." The Mossad man dived straight in.

Bond was immediately wide awake. "What kind of problem?"

"I don't know how you got on last night, but I've just had a call from BG International. It appears that Trish Nuzzi and her entourage left on the six o'clock to Paris."

Bond replied with a single oath. "s.h.i.t!" he said.

12 - A Horrible Way to Die

It took them less than ten minutes to decide that it would serve no purpose for them to stay on in Jerusalem, and that there was no point in chasing Trish Nuzzi and the girls to Paris.

It was raining, there had been a shooting in Jerusalem, some kind of tear gas and stone-throwing clash in Tel Aviv, and another bit of violence on the road between the two, which eventually made them nearly late for the flight - El Al suggesting around three hours before check-in, instead of the former two. It was all part of the constantly shifting dangers of the Middle East, but there were other pa.s.sengers who arrived almost at the last minute, which made for a very late departure and an unhappy flight crew.

They were back in the London flat at around seven in the evening to find twelve messages waiting on the secure telephone and one showing on the private line. The twelve on the secure telephone were quick and to the point - would he call the Minister as soon as possible; would he call Bill Tanner as soon as possible. They had started coming in late on the previous evening, and the last had been left only an hour before their return.

He called M's Chief of Staff first, for at least he knew where he stood with Bill Tanner. There was panic in the streets, according to Tanner, and the Minister had been searching for him to attend a meeting with relevant members of The Committee as soon as possible. It appeared that there had been a break in the Tarn case.

He immediately telephoned the Minister's private number, to be told the same thing. "We've been away for a couple of days," Bond said lamely.

"In future I'd appreciate it if you left a contact number with your office when you're going to be out of London over a weekend." The Minister gave him short shrift. "I can get people together within the hour, so would like you at the Home Office by eight o'clock sharp."

"Bang goes a quiet evening in front of the television." Flicka tried to sound piqued.

"Since when have we ever had quiet evenings in front of the television?" He looked up, saw her grin, and shrugged.

He was tempted to leave the message on the private phone, but he ran it back and pressed Play almost automatically. The husky female voice was immediately recognizable: "This is Cathy, James. We're sorry that Trish decided to run out on you at the last minute, but as you can imagine, she really doesn't trust anyone at the moment - anyone except us, of course. Don't worry, we'll see that she comes to no harm, and we'll keep in touch."

While the tape was still playing, he touched the b.u.t.ton on the caller ID unit next to the telephone. "Well, they're not in Paris." He frowned. "That was made from an 071 London number. The girls've brought her here, and how in the blazes did they get this telephone number?"

Flicka said that she would get the number traced to an address and call him at the Home Office. "We don't want you to upset the Minister by being late," she soothed. "That would never do."