his place, throwing switches and watching the long screen light up high above the instruments.
With great precision Ourumov slid the GoldenEye disk into a slot, not unlike a CD player. He placed the day’s code card in front of him and inserted the key into a lock to the right of the point where the golden disk had slid into place. Xenia had already inserted the key taken from the Duty Officer. “On my count,’ he rapped. “Three, Two, One, Zero.’ They turned their keys in unison and the rest of the console lit up, needles flicked and the screen above them showed a segment of the earth with one of the satellites in orbit.
“Set target acquisition for Petya. Severnaya,’ the general ordered.
High above the earth’s surface, a piece of what appeared to be space junk - possibly the burned out stage of a rocket - seemed to be tumbling around in orbit, but, as the command from Severnaya leaped silently through space to wake it up, so the satellite coded Petya emitted blasts from hidden propulsion units and began to change course.
Inside the control room, both Ourumov and Xenia looked at the screen above them and saw what Natalya had been watching, less than half-an-hour before. The red symbol that was the Petya began to move rapidly, shifting from its position over the Middle East and heading at an unthinkable speed towards northern Russia.
On a lower display screen information started to ribbon out: PETYA LOCATION: 80.31.160.17 TARGET: 78.08.107.58.
Then: TIME TO TARGET: 15.43.21 Ourumov, consulting the card containing the codes, began to punch in a series of numbers. The display now flashed a further message: WEAPON ARMED.
At that very moment, panic stricken at what she could hear, Natalya knocked over her cup. In the sterile silence the noise was like a hand-grenade exploding.
Both Ourumov and Xenia jerked back.
“Check it,’ the general said in a low voice and, as Xenia walked away, so the second-in-command, sprawled in his own blood on the floor, moved. Close to death it was almost a reflex action. His hand shot up and punched one of the many alarm buttons in the room. Xenia whirled around, giving him a quick final burst from the Uzi, but it came a fraction too late, and their ears were assaulted by a sudden shrieking of warning sirens and alarms.
Xenia, pausing, looked anxiously at the general who said, “Get on with it. Their best response time is seventeen minutes. This place will be hit in less than fifteen now.
Go.” In the kitchen, Natalya pulled a chair to a point directly under the maintenance grille in the room’s ceiling, and started to work on loosening the metal. She had pulled it I, halfway down when she heard the rapid footsteps of Xenia coming hell for leather down the passageway.
Miles away, at the Anadyr air base in Siberia, three MiG23MDL “Flogger-Ks’ - hurtled off the main runway. The pilots had only just come on duty when the alarm sounded, and they received the target information literally as they were taxiing from their bunkers. In seconds they would be on their way to Severnaya Station.
Below the earth, in the small kitchen, one of the cupboard doors squeaked and opened as Natalya crawled out.
In London, James Bond was just entering the Operations Room below the Secret Intelligence Service’s headquarters.
Xenia kicked the kitchen door open, saw the broken cup and the spillage of coffee, then looked at the chair and the metal grille above it, now dangling, ripped from its setting.
She smiled grimly and lifted the Uzi spraying the entire ceiling, changing magazines and blasting away again.
Nobody hiding up there could possibly live.
Back at the console, she told Ourumov that she had dealt with the matter. He nodded with a tiny smile on his lips, then gestured towards the timers ticking down at what appeared to be a very fast pace.
“Time flies, Colonel.”
“They have a saying in the West” She grinned ~ at him.
“Time flies, particularly when you’re having fun.” He nodded again, slipped the GoldenEye disk from the console and placed it in his briefcase which he closed with the finality of a coffin lid.
“I think we should get out of here.” Using the voice print security system again, they left, once more marching in step, up the concrete stairs and out into the cold.
In less than four minutes the Tigre helicopter was starting to lift off in a cloud of snow, from which it emerged, black and sinister.
Bond went down to the Operations Room with Moneypenny who, he had to admit, was looking more than usually ravishing in a simple black dress with a gold clasp just below her right shoulder.
“Dressed to thrill,’ he murmured to himself as they got into the lift.
“I beg your pardon?” She had just caught what he had said.
Moneypenny’s hearing was almost unnaturally acute.
The old M used to say that she could hear the rumours from the powdervine directly from her office.
“I was observing that I’ve never seen you look so lovely.”
“Well, thank you, James.”
“Got some special assignment on tonight?”
“Well, I don’t sit around all the time waiting for you to call. I have a date, if you’re really interested. A date with a gentleman. We’re going to the theatre.”
“Nothing too taxing, I trust”
“Shakespeare actually.
Love’s Labours Lost”
“I’m devastated. What will I ever do without you?” She gave a coy little smile. “So far as I recall, James, you’ve never had me.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “No, but it’s often been my midsummer night’s dream.” Moneypenny turned her head away. “James, you know that kind of talk could easily be classed nowadays as sexual harassment.
“So what’s the penalty?” The lift came to a halt and the doors opened. As she stepped out, Moneypenny tossed a look over her shoulder, eyes twinkling. “Some day, James, you have to make good on your innuendoes.’ She led the way through to the Operations Room.
All the screens were active and the men and women who work below ground for the SIS sat at desks with smaller monitors, or listening through headphones, while senior officers examined maps and spoke quietly to each other.
Bond’s closest friend in the world of secrets, Bill Tanner, the old M’s faithful Chief of Staff, detached himself from the knot of senior officers and headed for Bond and Moneypenny, his hand stretched out. “Good to see you again, James.
“What’s going on, Bill? This looks like the old days.” He gestured at the satellite pictures coming in and the large video wall.
They all showed similar views - barren, snow-covered land with ruins and the big radio telescope dish.
“It’s more than like the old days. This time it looks very unpleasant. About ten minutes ago we intercepted an alarm signal from the supposedly abandoned radar station at Severnaya..
“Right up north?”
“Just about as far north as you get. Just look at what our satellite intelligence picked up.” He gave an order to one of the technicians and the picture on the video wall rewound itself, froze screen and then enlarged.
“We’ve got a match. Your missing Tigre.” There it was, the black shape quite clear against the snow. The technician opened up a smaller screen next to the video screen and up came the helicopter again, shown in both plan and section.
“From Monte Carlo to the far north of Russia. That’s quite a leap.’ “Personally, I think that it completes your own theory about the Janus syndicate. Pity the Evil Queen of Numbers won’t let you run with the ball.”
“You were saying?” M’s voice came from right behind them.
“I was just
“Making an unnecessary comment on a nickname I have already heard, Mr. Tanner. I happen to believe in numbers. Numbers are more accurate than human beings.”
“With respect, Ma’am, numbers are only as pure and accurate as the person who’s inputting them.”
“That goes without saying.” She gave Tanner a look that would cause concern to the toughest of men. “Now, the Prime Minister’s waiting for an update on the situation, so please proceed with your briefing, Mr. Tanner.” Bill
