There was a long pause. Bond waited for the name which M had given him on the last night, in that office high on the ninth floor of the building overlooking Regent’s Park.
‘It’s so uncertain . . .’ Mosolov did not wish to be drawn.
Bond opened his mouth to speak again, but Kolya quickly added: ‘Next week. By this time next week we may well have it all sewn up. Our GRU monks report that another consignment is to be stolen. That’s why we have little time. As a team, our job is to gain evidence of the theft, then follow the route by which the arms are removed – right up to their final destination.’
‘And you think the man who’ll receive them will be Count Konrad von Gloda?’ Bond gave a broad smile.
Kolya Mosolov did not show any signs of emotion or surprise.
Brad Tirpitz chuckled. ‘London has the same information as Langley, then.’
‘Who’s von Gloda?’ Rivke asked, not attempting to disguise her shock. ‘Nobody’s mentioned any Count von Gloda to me.’
Bond removed the gunmetal cigarette case from his hip pocket, placed a slim white H. Simmons cigarette between his lips, lit it, inhaled smoke, then let it out in a long thin stream.‘My people – and the CIA too, it would appear – have information that the principal acting on behalf of the NSAA, in Finland, is a Count Konrad von Gloda. That true, Kolya?’
Mosolov’s eyes still remained cloudy. ‘It’s a code name. A cryptonym, that’s all. There was no point giving you that information yet.’
‘Why not? Are you hiding anything else, Kolya?’ Bond did not smile this time.
‘Only that I would hope to lead you to von Gloda’s retreat in Finland next week when we carry out our surveillance on Blue Hare, Mr Bond. I had also hoped you would accompany me into Russia to see it all for yourself.’
James Bond could hardly believe it. A KGB man was actually inviting him into the spider’s web, under the pretext of witnessing the theft of a large quantity of arms. And there was no way, now, in which he could tell whether Kolya Mosolov meant it to be a genuine part of Operation Icebreaker, or whether Icebreaker was merely some carefully dreamed-up device to trap Bond on Soviet soil.
It was the latter possibility that M had warned Bond about, before 007 had left for Madeira.
6
YELLOW vs SILVER
The four members of the Icebreaker team had arranged to meet for dinner, but Bond had other ideas. M’s warnings of duplicity among the uneasy quartet had been made all too apparent at the short briefing in Kolya’s room.
If it had not been for the nudge from Brad Tirpitz, the name ofCount Konrad von Gloda would not have been mentioned; and, according to M, this mystery man was a key figure in any combined security investigation. Nor had Kolya bothered to give him full details of the more dangerous items missing from the Russian Blue Hare Ordnance Depot.
While Brad Tirpitz was obviously as well-informed as Bond, it seemed that Rivke remained very much in the dark. The whole projected operation – including the business of surveying a second large theft from the Russian side of the border – did not bode well.
Although the dinner meeting was agreed, Kolya had been insistent that all four members of Icebreaker should be off the island, heading back into the operational area in Finland, within the next forty-eight hours. A rendezvous had even been given, and accepted by all.
Bond knew there were things he had to do before joining the others in the bitter climate of the Arctic Circle. There were several flights out of Madeira on the Sunday morning, so doubtless Kolya would make suggestions – at dinner – as to how they should split up and travel separately. But James Bond was certainly not going to wait on Kolya Mosolov’s instructions.
On leaving the room, he made his excuses to Rivke – who wanted him to have a drink with her in the bar – and made for his own quarters. Within fifteen minutes, James Bond was on his way in a cab to Funchal Airport.
There followed a long wait. It was Saturday, and he had missed the three o’clock flight. He didn’t get away until the last aircraft of the night – the ten o’clock, which, at that time of year, runs only on Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays.
During the flight, Bond reflected on his next move, knowing that his colleagues would almost certainly begin arriving in Lisbon after the first aircraft out on Sunday. Bond preferred to be away, heading towards Helsinki, long before any of them reached the mainland.
His luck held. Technically there were no flights out of Lisbon after the final aircraft from Funchal. But the afternoon KLM service to Amsterdam had been badly delayed because of weather conditions in Holland, and there was a spare seat.
Bond finally made Schiphol Airport, Amsterdam, at four in the morning. He took a cab straight to the Hilton International, where even at that early hour, he was able to book a seat on the Finnair 846, leaving for Helsinki at five-thirty that evening.
In his room, Bond quickly checked his overnight bag and the customised briefcase, with its hidden compartments for the two Sykes Fairburn commando knives, and the Heckler & Koch P7 automatic, all screened so that they would not show up on airport X-ray machines or during security examinations – a device which the Armourer’s assistant in Q Branch, Ann Reilly – known to all as Q’ute – had perfected to such a degree that she was loath to give even members of her own department the technical details.
After some argument, mainly from Bond, the Armourer had agreed on Heckler & Koch’s P7, ‘squeeze cocking’, 9mm automatic in preference to the rather cumbersome VP70, with its long ‘double action’ pull for each shot. The weapon was lighter and more like his old beloved Walther PPK, now banned by the security services.
Before taking a shower and going to bed, Bond sent a fast-rate cable to Erik Carlsson, in Rovaniemi, with instructions about his Saab; then he ordered a call for eleven-fifteen, with breakfast.
He slept peacefully, even though, in the back of his mind, the problems regarding Mosolov, Tirpitz and Ingber – particularly Mosolov – nagged away. He woke, refreshed, but with those thoughts uppermost.
Adhering to his usual scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, marmalade and coffee, Bond finished breakfast before dialling the London number where he knew M would be found on a Sunday morning. There followed a conversation using a double-talk, which was standard, so far as Bond and his chief were concerned, when it came to open telephone calls in the field.
Once contact had been established, Bond gave M the outline details: ‘I talked to the three customers, sir. They’re interested, but I cannot be altogether certain they’ll buy.’
‘They tell you everything about their plans?’ M sounded uncommonly young on the telephone.
‘No. Mr East was decidedly cagey about the Principal we spoke of. I must say Virginia seemed to know most of the details, but Abrahams appeared to be completely in the dark.’
‘Ah.’ M waited.
‘East is keen for me to go and see the source of the last shipment. He says there’s another due out any time.’
‘That’s quite possible.’
‘But I have to tell you he did
‘I suggested he might hold back.’ You could almost see M smile with the satisfaction of having been right.
‘Anyway, I’m moving north again late this afternoon.’
‘You have any figures?’ M asked, giving Bond the opportunity to provide a map reference of the proposed meeting point.
He had already worked out the reference, so rattled off the figures, repeating them to give M the opportunity to jot down the numbers, which were purposely jumbled, each pair being reversed.
‘Right,’ M answered. ‘Going by air?’
‘Air and road. I’ve arranged for the car to be waiting.’ Bond hesitated. ‘There’s one more thing, sir.’
