James Bond - Seafire Part 19

"Sir Max, what a . . . But how . . . ? I mean . . ."

"As someone else once said, reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. Maurice Goodwin you know, I think. But you certainly haven't met my heavenly twins, Cathy and Anna. There, say h.e.l.lo to the nice Dr. Rexinus, and Anton Fritz, and we mustn't forget the lovely Ms. Motley." Then he raised his voice: "Connie, stay up there and don't let anyone else come aboard."

There was the faint sound of Connie Spicer's voice, then the shuffle of movement as Tarn and his three companions began settling themselves.

"Sir Max, it's . . ." Rexinus began.

"I shall do the talking for the time being, Doctor. First, you seem to be having a nice little party. Are you not going to introduce me to your guest? A gla.s.s of wine wouldn't come amiss either."

"Certainly. I'm sorry. Mr. Felix Leiter, from Texas. Sir Max Tarn."

"From London, I guess." Felix raised his voice slightly, trying, Bond thought, to push up the levels of everyone's speech.

"You guess correctly, Mr. Leiter, though I'm not simply confined to London. I regard myself as an international citizen. I've heard that name before, somewhere. Leiter. No, Felix Leiter, I've seen it in print."

"I doubt it, Sir Max, I'm just an old Texas cowboy."

"And I doubt that, Mr. Leiter."

"Well, I owned the cows, and there were quite a lot of them."

"Really? Well, I fear that you've accepted an invitation to come aboard Mare Nostrum at a very inconvenient time."

"Oh, gee, well, I can make myself scarce. I'll leave now. Y'all get on with your party." There was a s.h.i.+fting sound as Felix got to his feet.

"No!" Max Tarn barked. "You have a limp, and a prosthetic arm. A leg and an arm."

"Sounds like you're a kinda Sherlock Holmes, Sir Max."

"Hardly. Now I think I recall where I read about you. You're a friend of a friend of mine. A Mr. James Bond. You were also once a member of the American Intelligence Service. Oh, Mr. Leiter, I fear you've fallen among thieves, and I think you'd better stick around."

"Whatever your fancy, Sir Max. But I guess you've been reading the wrong books. I don't recall anyone by the name of Bond. Knew a fella from Houston called Bind, and another one who hailed from Dallas, name of Band. Big Jim Band, but no Bonds - except on the stock market, of course."

Tarn laughed unpleasantly and told Cathy to watch Felix. "This is a live one, Cath. We're going to have to take him into custody and keep him safe until SeaFire's over."

"Sir Max, if I could . . . ?" from Rexinus.

"Dr. Rex, please shut your mouth. I've spent a fortune on you and your friends. You said it would take a year. You've had your year and now it's payback time. The demonstration we promised ourselves will happen tomorrow night, and it's going to be quite something."

"But, Sir Max, I have to tell you . . ."

"You don't have to tell me anything, Rex. It's time for me to tell you. I'm here to give you a briefing. Operation SeaFire. Has a nice ring to it, eh?"

Rexinus seemed to have given up, but Anton Fritz's voice came piping with "I don't think you quite understand, sir. What Rex is trying to say is that the AAOPS isn't quite -"

"Please, no excuses and no explanations. We run a public demonstration of the AAOPS tomorrow night. If you have final touches to perfect, then you'll just have to work at them in the next twenty-four hours." Pause. "Actually a shade less than twenty-four hours."

Through the door, Max Tarn's voice sounded even silkier than it had when Bond last heard him - silkier and, somewhere mixed in with the silk, a rough undertow as though the smoothness was slowly being ripped apart. Sir Max Tarn had reached some terrible pinnacle from which he could only fall. It was the voice of a person utterly unbalanced. A man who believed himself invincible, safe from anything, even death.

Vesta Motley also tried. "Sir Max, there is a problem. We -"

"There is no problem as far as I'm concerned, Ms. Motley. It's taken a long while to set this up. We go ahead tomorrow night. Now, if you'll all cease talking and be quiet, I'll give you the briefing."

Barking mad, Bond thought. Just as he had predicted. Tarn probably already knew what they were trying to tell him, but was going ahead whatever the outcome.

He was speaking again. "The oil company, MetroTex, has one of their supertankers coming into this harbor at precisely eight o'clock tomorrow night. It is a huge affair and will be fully loaded. Thousands upon thousands of gallons of oil and gasoline. The name of that enormous s.h.i.+p is Golden Bough, and she's a regular visitor to these sh.o.r.es, so her timing is like clockwork.

"What Golden Bough contains will make this rich harbor golden, all right. Golden with fire and flames. The amusing thing is that there's already a precedent for what will happen, because in the late sixteenth century no less a sailor than Sir Frances Drake set fire to every s.h.i.+p in this harbor."

"Which lit the way to his defeat," said Leiter.

Tarn did not even pause. "Your job, Dr. Rexinus, will be to dash in and let the world see that an oil spill of this magnitude can be contained. It will be your triumph. More importantly, it will be my triumph. The demonstration has to be big. It has to be impressive, for if it is not contained then this entire island will be surrounded by an oil slick which will make any other disaster of this kind look insignificant. Every other major oil spill the world has seen will be as small as sc.u.m on bathwater."

There came the noise of what would normally be a slow handclap, only this sounded like a hand being slapped onto leather. Felix was pus.h.i.+ng his luck.

"What the devil does that mean, Mr. Leiter?"

"Simply applauding. I'm all in favor of spectacles, and if Golden Bough is as big as I think she is, you'll do more than light up the harbor here and run oil around the coastline. It could drift a long way. We're talking about almost total pollution of the Caribbean."

"You're not taking Dr. Rexinus into account, Mr. Leiter. He and his companions are wonder workers. With the flick of a switch they can pour trouble on oiled waters. I've put several million into a brilliant idea, so tomorrow night we see if I've wasted my money or not."

"How're you going to set Golden Bough ablaze? You got some special kindling to do that?"

Tarn gave a small bark of a laugh. "Yes. Yes, good. Kindling. Yes, I do have special kindling in the form of a somewhat ancient Russian submarine. She's old, rusty, noisy, I think a little leaky also, but I've put money into her as well."

"A submarine?" Rexinus's voice quavered.

"And torpedoes - two of them. Should have been three, but one was wasted. At least we know it works. I had a slight problem with the captain. He's a Scottish gentleman and I fear he bends his elbow a shade too much. On a trial run earlier this year he actually targeted one of my own cruise liners. He tells me that he didn't know the torpedo tubes were loaded, or whatever the expression is. My s.h.i.+p escaped with a little damage and no loss of life. In other circ.u.mstances I might have fired the man - preferably from one of his own torpedo tubes - but I think we can trust him to do the job thoroughly this time, can't we, Maurice?"

Goodwin grunted, and Tarn repeated, "Maurice?"

"Yes, Max, we can trust him now. I don't relish the job, but I'll be with him to make certain he doesn't go astray."

Tarn sighed. "It's a terrible thing when a man has to put his own watchdogs onto people he pays to do specialist jobs - pays handsomely, as well. I really wonder what the world's coming to."

"You're going to watch the display from here, then?" Felix was feeding him questions that might help Flicka and Bond.

"Not quite from here, Mr. Leiter. I prefer a grandstand view. I shall watch it all from the top of that grand old fortress they call El Morro. If you behave yourself, I might even let you come with me. No. No, I don't think that's a good idea. I'll leave you to the interesting charms of one of my other girls. You think Beth would like to play with this one, Anna?"

Anna gave a sound that lay somewhere between a cough and a laugh. "Beth would love to play with him. Probably remove his false arm and leg first. She likes pulling the wings off flies." There was something disgustingly sinister in the way she said it, and Bond reached for his weapon, turning as though to put his shoulder to the door, but Flicka caught his arm and shook her head silently.

He knew she was right. It was his old trouble, guilt from the past about Felix. Now he had put his friend in danger again. He looked down at Flicka, gave a sad little smile, nodded, and relaxed.

There was rustling from the main cabin. "This chart," Tarn said. "Heed me, Dr. Rexinus, you're going to have to follow my instructions to the letter. You will leave this berth at seven o'clock tomorrow night. On the dot of seven, so that you will reach here." He was obviously showing Rexinus a point on the chart, and aloud he gave a lat.i.tude and longitude. "This will bring you to within one nautical mile of the initial explosion. As soon as the fire begins to spread, you will take Mare Nostrum straight towards the outer edges of the flames and begin to operate the AAOPS. If I recall our previous conversations correctly, you will be able to move quite close to the center of both the fire and oil spill. Did you not explain that to me when we finalized our agreement?"

"Yes, that's what I said." Rexinus sounded resigned. "I think we'll take her for a run out tomorrow morning, just to go through the drill."

Good, Bond considered, he's going to make a dash for it.

"Why not do that, Rex? I didn't tell you that there'll be an extra hand on board. Well, he's one man, but he carries a great deal of weight. He's up on the deck at the moment. My man Connie Spicer. Martial arts expert, crack shot, carries all kinds of lethal things with him."

"We can always do with another pair of hands." Rexinus's voice betrayed his disappointment, and Bond mouthed a d.a.m.n. With Connie left on board, there was little chance of the three gullible scientists overpowering him. Come to that, if Connie stayed on the craft now, there might be difficulties in getting ash.o.r.e themselves. He looked back along the pa.s.sageway. There were cabin doors to left and right, and, at the far end, the pa.s.sage seemed to connect with another, running across the breadth of the laboratory s.h.i.+p. A third door was visible. Three night cabins. If the craft had been properly designed, there had to be a way up to the main deck somewhere for'ard.

Felix had started to speak again. "Sir Max, what if something goes wrong with your fireworks display? What if Dr. Rexinus and his friends fail to contain the oil and gasoline?"

"I hate to even contemplate that, but I suppose one must face the possibility. First, Mare Nostrum will probably be consumed in the flames, and, second, I shall have to start all over again. But I have faith in these good people, Mr. Leiter. They'll not fail me. Now, back to the operation." More rustling. "This is where my submarine will be at eight o'clock. She will turn bow on to Golden Bough. The two tin fish, as I think they used to call them, will be fired. Heaven knows, I don't think even my captain, Jock Anderson, can possibly miss. The target is so large and he'll be quite close. After he's fired the torpedoes, he turns tail and runs for it. I have no doubts that part will go like clockwork. Maurice here will want to get out as quickly as he can."

"Too d.a.m.ned right," murmured Maurice Goodwin.

"Any further questions?" Tarn had become all businesslike. "I haven't got all night. No, Mr. Leiter, please, no questions from you. Cathy, take Mr. Leiter topside and put him in the car. It's time we were getting back if we're to have any sleep tonight."

More movement, then Tarn again: "Tell Connie to come down here, would you? I want to make sure that the gallant crew of Mare Nostrum understands that his orders are my orders, and they have to see what will happen should they disobey him."

More sounds of movement, then Connie's voice from the main cabin. "You wanted me, chief?"

"I would like you to impress upon these good people how important it is to stick to the timetable and jump when you tell them to jump." He paused, then addressed the others. "Connie is an amazing man. You should know that he can go without sleep for days at a time. In fact, he has promised me that he will not sleep until SeaFire is safely over. You understand?"

Bond signaled to Flicka, indicating that they should move back along the pa.s.sage. She nodded and followed him, drawing her Beretta from under her skirt.

The door in the cross pa.s.sage was flanked by two narrow companionways leading up to the deck. Bond took the one on the starboard side, Flicka behind him, covering the rear. At the top, he peered out, then whispered, "We're right by the wheelhouse. With luck we can slip off after Tarn leaves."

He could see Tarn's car - a low, sleek black Jaguar - pulled up near the gangway, and Cathy with Felix. She held a pistol and stood well back while he leaned against the car. For a second time, the thought of rescuing his friend flashed in and out of Bond's mind. No. There was no point in trying foolhardy heroics that could well put them out of action and ruin any further chance he had of stopping the madness of what Max Tarn called SeaFire.

They waited for what seemed to be a very long time, but finally Tarn came up on deck with Anna and Maurice Goodwin in tow. Bond smiled when he saw Sir Max, for he had entered into what he saw as the spirit of the affair, dressed in white ducks and a blazer, a yachting cap set jauntily on his head.

He stopped by the car, staying behind Cathy's right shoulder and talking to Felix for the best part of a minute, then Goodwin moved forward and opened the rear pa.s.senger door, roughly helping Felix into the car.

It was Tarn himself who took the wheel, and seconds later the Jaguar pulled away from the gangway.

He waited until the sound of the engine was far away, then motioned to Flicka, moving silently and slowly along the deck. From below voices were raised. He even heard Rexinus almost shouting at Connie Spicer, "But it won't work. We'll all be sailing out to certain death."

Connie's reply chilled Bond's spine. "You heard the Chiefs orders. You do as I say. I do as I'm told. Sir Max knows exactly what he's doing, always has done and always will."

Bond thought of all he had read about Hitler in the Berlin bunker during his final days, issuing orders to military forces that had long ceased to exist. Fighting with ghosts, and then joining those armies with the a.s.sistance of poison and a bullet.

Seconds later, they were on the quayside and walking quickly back in the direction of the Old Town.

22 - U-boat

"No, Fredericka, can't you see the folly of you coming with me?"

"If you're going to be back here by dawn, it makes no difference. I can cover you, and it'll be safer. We've always worked together - well, ever since . . ."

"Flick, what if I'm not back by the morning?"

"Then I'll be with you. I don't think I want it any other way. If I'm to hang around here, I'll go crazy."

He sighed in irritation. They had been arguing for the best part of twenty minutes in their room at the hotel. "Flick, listen. If I don't get back by early morning, it'll mean one of three things. One, I'm dead meat . . ."

"James, don't. Don't talk like that."

"Face it, Flicka, we've got ourselves in a d.a.m.ned dangerous situation. Now, one, I shall be dead; two, I shall have done it, spiked the sub and gone in to rescue Felix - he can't be anywhere else but in Tarn's compound, and I didn't like the sound of the girl, Beth. We've only been near her once - at Hall's Manor - and she doesn't seem exactly the kind of playmate you'd take on a picnic. So, if they aren't putting the crew on board the sub until they sail, I'll probably have time to get rid of the d.a.m.ned boat and get Felix out."

"What's the third possibility?"

"That they've caught me in the sub. There's one more that I've just thought about. It is quite possible that I'll not even get into the submarine."

"And what happens then?"

"I probably come hightailing it back here, and we do something else. As it is, there's plenty for you to get on with. Just think about it. If you'd come to Germany with me, we'd both be dead by now. Like Germany, the sub's a one-person job." He was dressed in the black jeans, rollneck, and sneakers. The two aluminum cases lay open on the bed, with his wet suit lying between them, and beside it the other item that had been in the case: a wide leather belt, with fixed pouches into which he could place everything he needed. The belt also had clips for a holster, a long, vicious-looking knife, and a flashlight. "There is no other way, Flicka. In fact, you'll have to do several things. A call to the harbormaster and the local police, to begin with."

"You said that was last-resort stuff. You were adamant about it."

He knew she was right. Someone calling or going to the authorities here in San Juan would probably be s.h.i.+pped into the nearest mental hospital. Tales about prowling submarines bent on torpedoing a supertanker would almost certainly be regarded as the ravings of a lunatic. He re-locked the two cases and stowed them away in the fitted wardrobe.

"Then call the States. Call Langley, or even London. They'll see things are dealt with."

"Why can't we just do that now, and quietly bow out? Leave it to the authorities."

"You know why we can't do that. It's a question of time."

"b.a.l.l.s, James, it's a question of your pride. You have a personal vendetta with Tarn and you want to finish it by yourself."

Deep down he knew she was perfectly correct, but he was concerned about the time factor. He knew exactly how things might go if they called London. The Committee could sit around for most of the day deciding if it were wise to give the whole story to the American service. Anyway, his own motivation had taken over. There was no turning back from the way he had planned.

"James, we got the all clear to do this because the Americans wanted to get Tarn - Apocalypse, as they called him. n.o.body'll hold up any signals we send. Not now that we've eliminated Tarn's man, Christopher, and are operating here with the okay from the Americans."

He sighed. "I'm not even convinced that we do have the okay from them."

"What do you mean, James? You're getting paranoid about this."

"Give me a little time. If I'm not back by noon, make all the telephone calls you want. At least let me have a shot at the submarine. Perhaps you're right. Perhaps we should report to everyone and pray for the marines to arrive to put an end to this madness. But will you just give me a little time to set them up?"

She was very unhappy, but in the short time they had been together, Flicka von Grusse had discovered that James Bond could be more than stubborn.

"Okay." She glared at him. "You have your moment of glory, James. Go and deal with the submarine, but if you're not back by nine, I'm going to alert London. Not a minute too soon, either. You've got until nine in the morning. Right?"

He gave her a bleak smile, signaling agreement to the compromise. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was just after nine now. "I've got less than twelve hours."

"Well, you'd better get cracking, James, because I'm not going to be responsible for any c.o.c.k-up that leaves this harbor in flames and half the Caribbean polluted for all time. So get going."

He distributed the items he needed around the belt. Pistol, knife, the small high-powered flashlight, compact tool kit, and the five oblong boxes from the bottom of the second case. The boxes he had called his "little jewels." He slung the wet suit over one arm and went over to Flicka, who still looked angry. "Don't worry. Flick. I'll be back. This is just a safeguard. The minute I'm back we'll both call London and Was.h.i.+ngton. You're basically right, but I want to cover all the bases."