In the couple of seconds which passed before he replied, Bond’s mind ran through the facts. Either Rivke was the best deception artist he had ever met, or, as he had earlier decided, completely honest. These feelings had to be put next to his long and intimate knowledge of Paula Vacker. From their first meeting, Bond had never suspected Paula of being anything but a charming, intelligent, hard-working girl. Now, if Rivke was telling the truth, Paula became a liar and possibly an accessory to attempted murder. The knife artists had cornered him in Paula’s flat, yet she had taken care of him, had driven him to the airport. Someone obviously had fingered him on the road to Salla. That could only have been done from Helsinki. Paula?
Bond switched back to the Paula connection. ‘There’re reasons why I shouldn’t believe you, Rivke,’ he began. ‘I’ve known Paula for a long time. When I last saw her, when she told me she’d confided in you, Anni Tudeer, she was very specific. She said Anni Tudeer worked with her in Helsinki.’
Rivke slowly shook her head. ‘Unless someone else is using my name . . .’
‘You’ve never worked in her world? In advertising?’
‘You’re joking. I’ve said no already. I’ve told you the story of my life. I knew Paula at school.’
‘And did she know who you were? Who your father was?’
‘Yes.’ Softly. ‘James, you can easily settle it. Call her office, check with them; ask if they have an Anni Tudeer working for them. If so, then there are two Anni Tudeers – or Paula’s lying.’ She leaned closer, speaking very distinctly, ‘I’m telling you, James, there are
‘Yes.’ Bond nodded. ‘Yes, so would I.’
‘Then you believe me?’
‘There’s no point in you lying to me, when all the facts can be checked. I thought I knew Paula very well, but now . . . well, my instincts tell me to believe you. We can run traces, even from here, certainly from London. London already says that you’re Anni Tudeer.’ He smiled at her. She was, at close proximity, a very lovely young woman. ‘I believe you, Rivke Ingber. You’re straight Mossad, and you’ve only left one thing out – the question of vengeance. I can’t believe you simply want to atone for your father’s actions. You either want him in the bag or dead. Which is it?’
She gave a provocative little shrug. ‘It doesn’t really matter, does it? Whichever way it goes, Aarne Tudeer will die.’ The musical voice altered for a second, steel hard, then back once more to its softness, and a small laugh. ‘I’m sorry, James. I shouldn’t have tried to play games with you. Brad Tirpitz
‘Lure? Into what web?’ Bond, 99 per cent sure of Rivke’s motives and claims, still kept that tiny 1 per cent of wariness in reserve.
‘Not a web, exactly.’ She put out a hand, fingers resting in Bond’s palm. ‘To be honest, I don’t feel safe with either Tirpitz or Kolya. I wanted to be sure you’d be on my side.’
Bond let go of her hand, placing his own fingers lightly on her shoulders. ‘We’re in the business of trust, Rivke; and we both need it from someone, because I’m not happy with this set-up any more than you are. First things first, though. I have to ask you this, simply because I suspect it: do you know, for certain, that your father’s mixed up with the NSAA?’
She did not pause to think. ‘Yes. For certain.’
‘How do you know?’
‘That’s why I’m here; it’s why I was put on this job. Back in Israel the people on the ground began computer analysis immediately after the first National Socialist Action Army incident. It was natural they should look at the old leaders – the former Party members, the SS, and those who’d escaped from Germany. Several names came up. My father was high on the list. You’ll have to take my word for the rest, but Mossad has evidence that he is tied in very closely. It’s not coincidence that the arms are coming out of Russia through Finland. He’s here, James – new name, almost a new face, the whole business of a new identity. There’s a new mistress as well. He’s spry and tough enough, even at his age. I know he’s here.’
‘A game bird.’ Bond gave a wry smile.
‘And game is in season, James. My dear father’s well in season. Mother used to say that he saw himself as a new Fuhrer, a Nazi Moses, there to lead his children back to their promised land. Well, the children are growing in strength, and the world’s in such a mess that the young, or the pliable, will lap up any half-baked ideology. You only have to look at your own country . . .’
Bond bridled. ‘Which has yet to elect, or allow, a madman into power. There’s a stiff backbone there that will eventually – sometimes a little late, I admit – get matters straight.’
She gave a friendly pout. ‘Okay, I’m sorry. All countries have their faults.’ Rivke bit her lip, her mind drifting off-course for a few seconds. ‘Please, James. I
Go along with it, Bond thought. Even though you are almost sure, take every bit of the bait, but hold back the 1 per cent and remain alert. Aloud he said, ‘All right. But what about the others? Brad and Kolya?’
‘Brad and Kolya are both playing death and glory games, and I’m not certain if they’re doing it together or against each other. They’re serious enough yet not serious enough. Does that sound stupid? A paradox? It’s true. Watch them.’ She looked straight into his eyes, as though trying to hypnotise him. ‘Look, I get the feeling – and it’s only intuition – that either the CIA or the KGB has something it wants to bury. Something to do with the NSAA.’
‘I’d put my money on it being Kolya,’ Bond replied lightly.’ The KGB asked us in, after all. The KGB came to
Rivke shifted her chair closer to the end of the bed where Bond sat. ‘You mean if they’ve found themselves with an arms leak, and some other funny business that’s going to look very bad? Something they can’t contain?’
‘It’s a theory. Plausible enough.’ She was so close that Bond could smell her: the traces of her scent, plus the natural odour of an attractive woman. ‘Only a theory,’ he repeated. ‘But it’s possible. This is all out of character for the KGB. They’re usually so closed up. Now they come and ask for help. Could they be pulling us in? Having us for suckers? So that, when the truth – whatever it is – comes spewing out, we’ll be implicated. Israel, America and Britain will all take the blame. It’s devious enough for them.’
‘Fall guys.’ Rivke spoke softly again.
‘Yes. Fall guys.’ Bond wondered what his old and ultraconservative-minded chief would make of the expression. M hated slang in any form.
Rivke said if there was even a possibility of a KGB plot to discredit them, it would be wise to make a pact now to stick together. ‘We really do have to watch each other’s backs, even if the theory doesn’t hold.’
Bond gave Rivke his most charming smile, leaning close, his lips only inches from her mouth. ‘You’re quite right, Rivke. Though I’d be much happier watching your front.’
Her lips, in return, seemed to be examining his mouth. Then: ‘I don’t frighten easily, James, but this has got me twitchy . . .’ Her arms came up, winding around his neck, and their lips brushed, first in a light caress. Bond’s conscience nagged at him to take care. But the warnings were cauterised in the conflagration as their lips touched.
It seemed an eternity before their mouths parted, and Rivke, panting, clung on to Bond, her breath warm near his ear as she murmured endearments. Slowly, he drew her from the chair on to the bed where they lay close, body to body, then mouth to mouth once more, until together, as though at some inaudible signal, their hands groped for one another.
What began as a kind of lust, or an act of need – two people alone, and responding to a natural desire for comfort and trust – slowly became tender, gentle, even truly loving.
Bond, still vaguely aware of the tiny remaining doubt in the back of his head, was quickly lost in this lovely creature, whose limbs and body seemed to respond to his own in an almost telepathic way. They were as two perfectly attuned dancers, able to predict each other’s moves.
Only later, with Rivke curled up under the covers, like a child in his arms, did they speak again of work. For
