free society, yet doing little about the thousands of alcohol-related deaths in the home, on the roads and in hospitals. The anti-smoking lobby appeared to gratify that other guilt which knew little headway was being made against drug abuse.
The afternoon went by in intense boredom. He was not worried about any legal repercussions, but the big question mark remained over his current status. His mind made lazy circles around the enigma in which he found himself. He could not figure out the mystery surrounding Lee. No sense, or sudden revelation came to him. Only a numbness and the now unmistakable fact that someone, for some reason, had set him up.
Around dusk, Broderick and the other two agents came down. Bond was handcuffed to Nolan and they led him back out of the cell, up the steps and into the main offices, all deserted except for the more obvious signs of security – the coded key pads, electronically locked doors, and blinking alarm lights. They unlocked and relocked doors by punching in codes, finally reaching a deserted reception area with a double bank of elevators.
They locked one of the elevator cars in the ‘up’ position and Broderick sent Wood down to make sure ‘we haven’t got any civilians around’, as he put it. After five minutes Wood signalled through the emergency telephone system.
‘Downstairs, you just move fast, okay?’
Bond nodded, asking where he should move to.
‘We’ll take you to a car out in back, and I want it real quick. No lagging behind. The last thing we need is some smart-ass reporter spotting you. You’re probably next month’s front page, Bond, but sure as hell nobody wants you to be splashed over the tabloids tomorrow.’
The main lobby of the building was as deserted as the offices above them, but they led Bond away from the main street doors, taking him along a corridor and out through the rear of the building where Wood sat at the wheel of an old brown Chevy. Bond was bundled into the back, squashed between Nolan and Broderick and was barely settled before Wood burned a great deal of rubber, pulling away and running through the gears like a racing driver.
He tried to follow the route, but the driver kept doubling back, taking last-minute turn-offs, so that he became disorientated. He tried to remember the map of San Francisco in his head and thought they were heading in the general direction of the Embarcadero. He glimpsed the TransAmerica Pyramid somewhere over to the right, then suddenly they were down by the old Ferry Building, which always reminded him of Liverpool, and drawing up to the side of a helicopter pad where a big S-61 sat in the glare of floodlights, its rotors idling, the word NAVY clearly visible on the rear assembly.
As the car pulled up, the floods went out, leaving only little blue marker lights around the pad and up the ramp to the S-61. Nolan unlocked the handcuffs. ‘Okay, Bond. Out we go. They’re looking forward to seeing you inside that chopper. Rather you than me.’
A chill breeze buffeted their faces as Bond was assisted from the car and roughly handled up the ramp to the helicopter. A figure beckoned him from the steps and the FBI men gave him a final push on his way. He thought he heard Broderick say that his luggage was already aboard, but the words were lost on the breeze and the wash from the rotors.
A crewman helped him aboard and showed him to a seat inside the dark body of the craft, shouting in his ear that he should fasten the seat belt. The door slammed and the engines came up to fine pitch the moment he was inside.
He felt, more than saw, someone sitting in the next seat. Then the familiar voice came loudly in his ear. ‘Only a couple of hours in San Francisco, Bond, and already there’s mayhem. You even managed to get your own minder killed,’ M said. ‘Sometimes I think the Grim Reaper sits on your shoulder, 007. One day he’ll catch up with you.’
The helicopter was airborne and tilting like a fairground ride, angling the lights of the city crazily below them.
The helicopter ride took them out over the bay towards the US Navy facility on Treasure Island and down to the helicopter pad of a Nimitz class nuclear aircraft carrier. Throughout the whole journey, which took less than ten minutes, Bond said nothing to his old chief. Inside he seethed with anger. ‘Take a rest; take a holiday . . .’ M had said. Now, Bond felt that he had been betrayed. Certainly he had been set up, the hostility of the FBI men had not been feigned, so somehow he had been used, and there could only be one manipulator – M himself.
As they touched down on the carrier’s deck, the deck lighting went off. The door was opened and two shadowy figures helped him out of the helicopter, leading him firmly towards the island – that unique superstructure which is the hallmark of any carrier, though the island of Nimitz class aircraft carriers is distinctively smaller than normal.
Once through the hatchway and into a brightly lit interior, Bond turned as M followed him.
‘I think you owe me some explanation, sir!’ His anger was barely concealed, but M simply gave a tight little smile and indicated that he should follow the uniformed yeoman who stood patiently waiting just inside the hatchway.
Bond gave an audible sigh and followed the yeoman along the maze of companionways, and up metal stairways until they reached a wooden door set into a bulkhead. The yeoman opened the door without pausing to knock, holding it back so that both M and Bond could enter, then closing it behind them.
‘Alone at last, eh, 007?’ M’s voice had a slightly jaunty air to it. They were in a large day cabin, the kind, Bond thought, that would be occupied by a Naval Taskforce C-in-C. There was a large desk anchored to the deck and chairs set around for conferences. The US President’s framed photograph hung over the desk which was completely clear except for a bank of telephones and a small, neat, pile of files.
M strode across the cabin, taking the seat behind the desk as though this was his rightful place. Bond opened his mouth, about to pour out a list of genuine grievances, but M held up his right hand as though staving off a blow. ‘Just sit down, James. Sit down and listen to me before you even try and fire a broadside. Things are not what they appear to be.’
Bond swallowed his pride and sat, his head cocked to one side, chin lifted arrogantly.
‘You say that I owe you an explanation, and maybe I do,’ M began, ‘but I think you’ll find the boot might be on the other foot. First, you are under the impression that I tried to lure you to this part of the globe on the pretext of sending you on leave when I really wanted to involve you in some operation, right?’
Bond nodded. ‘Absolutely right, sir. And if I . . .’
‘Wait!’ M barked. ‘Just sit quietly and wait, 007. You’re too fond of flying off the handle at the least suspicion. I am sorry that your leave has been curtailed because you are still very obviously in need of a rest and change of scene, but we’re into something far more important now.’
He shifted in the black leather chair, taking out his pipe and tossing a tobacco pouch on to the desktop. ‘Let me say now that I wanted you to get a good rest – a change of scene and a change of pace. Yes, on the charge of trying to lure you into this part of the world, I plead guilty, but I wanted you to get your leave before slamming you into an operation here, in the United States.’ He began to load his pipe, constantly glancing up at Bond as he spoke. ‘Events overtook me. I had thought to give you fair warning and a good briefing. Before you left London, I was pretty certain that you would end up working on this side of the Atlantic and I’m sure you wouldn’t have relished two trips across the fish pond. My whole aim was a genuine attempt to get you relaxed and ready. Come to that, it backfired very badly – and that part is down to you.’
‘You mean the FBI and the surveillance?’ Bond had calmed a little for he knew, while M could be devious, he always played fair with him when it came to operations, even though he had, on a number of occasions, tried tricks of involvement without giving him all the facts at the outset.
‘I left a note for you at the Fairmont. That just about amounted to an order. I was telling you to stay aboard the damned hotel and not go gadding off around the town.’
He waited, as though expecting an apology. When none was forthcoming, M continued, ‘Instead of staying in, you went off out into the night and, as a result, an FBI agent was killed. Your fault, 007. Entirely your doing.’
Another pause and silence between the two men. Bond stared straight ahead, not even looking M in the eyes as he slowly began to face the fact that it
‘Death is not funny, especially in the way the poor, unfortunate Malloney met his end, but it has helped us rather than hindered a somewhat complex situation.’
‘So, I am now a pariah as far as the FBI are concerned? Because some young agent wasn’t experienced enough.’
‘No.’ M’s look hardened into an all too familiar grimness. ‘No, you’re persona non grata with the FBI because
