Icebreaker

10

KOLYA

James Bond was furious. ‘You mean we aren’t going to do anything about Rivke?’ He did not shout, but his voice was cold, brittle as the ice decorating the trees outside Kolya’s window.

‘We’ll inform her organisation.’ Kolya appeared unconcerned. ‘But later, after this is over. She could’ve turned up by then anyway. We haven’t got time to go snow-shoeing around the countryside after her now. If she doesn’t surface, Mossad will have to look for her. What does it say in the Bible? Let the dead bury the dead?’

Bond’s temper was frayed. Already he had been within an ace of losing it a couple of times since joining the remnants of the Icebreaker team in Kolya’s room. Kolya had opened up at his knock, and Bond had pushed past him, a finger to his lips, the other hand holding up the VL34 detector like a talisman.

Brad Tirpitz gave a sarcastic grin, which changed to a withering look of displeasure as Bond unearthed another infinity device from Kolya’s phone, plus some additional electronics from under the carpet and in the toilet roll holder.

‘Thought you dealt with the sweeping,’ Bond snapped, looking suspiciously at Tirpitz.

‘I did all our rooms when we first got here. Checked yours out as well, buddy.’

‘You also claimed the rooms were clean in Madeira.’

‘So they were.’

‘Well, how come they – whoever they are – were able to pinpoint us here?’

Unruffled, Tirpitz repeated he had swept the rooms for electronics. ‘Everything was hygienic. In Madeira, and here.’

‘Then we’ve got a leak. One of us – and I know it’s not me,’ Bond said acidly.

‘One of us? Of us?’ Now Kolya’s voice turned nasty.

As yet Bond had not been able to give Kolya the full details of the warning telephone call that he supposed came from Paula. He did so now, watching the Russian’s face alter. Mosolov’s features were like the sea, he thought. This time the change was from anger to placidity, then concern, as Bond outlined how the trick could have been managed. Whoever was operating against them knew a great deal about their private lives.

‘That was no ageing land mine out there,’ he stated bleakly. ‘Rivke is good on skis. I’m not bad myself, and I should imagine you’re not exactly a novice, Kolya. Don’t know about Tirpitz . . .’

‘I can hold my own.’ Tirpitz had assumed the expression of a surly schoolboy.

The explosion on the slopes, Bond continued, could have been operated by a remote control system. ‘They could also have used a sniper, in the hotel. It’s been done before – a bullet activating an explosive charge. Personally, I go for the remote control because it ties in with everything else: the fact that Rivke was on the slopes, that I got a telephone call which must have coincided with her leaving the top of the run.’ He spread his hands. ‘They have us bottled up here; they’ve taken one of us out already, which makes it easier for them to close in on the rest . . .’

‘And Count von Gloda was here for breakfast, with his woman.’ Tirpitz came out of his sullen mood. He pointed at Kolya Mosolov. ‘Do you know anything about that?’

Mosolov gave a half nod. ‘I saw them. Before the business on the slopes. Saw them when I got back to the hotel.’

Bond followed up what Tirpitz had started. ‘Don’t you think it’s time, Kolya? Time you came clean about von Gloda?’

Mosolov made a gesture meant to convey that he was at a loss about all the fuss. ‘The so-called Count von Gloda is a prime suspect . . .’

‘He’s the only suspect,’ Tirpitz snapped.

‘The probable power behind the people we’re all trying to nail,’ added Bond.

Kolya sighed. ‘He was not mentioned in previous meetings because I’ve been waiting for positive proof – identification of his command headquarters.’

‘And you have that proof now?’ Bond moved close to Kolya, almost menacing him,

‘Yes.’ Clear and unshakable. ‘All we need. It’s part of the briefing for tonight,’ Kolya paused, as though pondering the wisdom of going any further with the information. ‘I suppose you both know who von Gloda really is?’ It was as though he intended to deliver some coup de grace.

Bond nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘And the relationship with our missing colleague,’ added Tirpitz.

‘Good,’ said Kolya in a slightly peeved tone. ‘Then we’ll get on with the briefing.’

‘And leave Rivke to the wolves.’ The thought still stung Bond.

Very quietly Kolya turned his head, eyes clashing with Bond’s. ‘I suggest that Rivke will be okay. That we leave her in – what’s your expression – leave her in baulk? I predict that Rivke Ingber will reappear when she’s ready. In the meantime, if we are to collect the evidence that will eventually smash the National Socialist Action Army – which is our sole reason for being here – we must go into tonight’s operation with some care.’

‘So be it,’ Bond said, masking his anger.

The object of the exercise, Kolya Mosolov had already put forward, was that they should view, and possibly photograph, the theft of arms from ordnance depot Blue Hare, located near Alakurtii. Kolya spread a detailed survey map on the floor. It was covered in marks – crosses in red, various routings in black, blue and yellow.

Kolya’s forefinger rested on a red cross just south of Alakurtii, about sixty kilometres inside the Russian border and some seventy-five kilometres from where they now sat.

‘I understand’, he said, ‘that we’re all fairly expert on snow scooters.’ He looked first at Tirpitz, then at Bond. Both men nodded their assent. ‘I’m glad to hear it, because we’re all going to be under pressure. The weather forecast for tonight is not good. Sub-zero temperatures, rising a little after midnight when light snow is expected, then dropping to hard freezing conditions again.’

Kolya pointed out that they would be travelling through difficult country, by snow scooter, during much of the night.

‘As soon as I realised Rivke would be in the hospital . . .’ he began again.

‘Where she is not,’ interrupted Bond. Kolya ignored him.

‘. . . I made other arrangements. We need at least four bodies on the ground for what we have to do. We must cross the Russian border without help from my people, following a route which I suspect will also be used by NSAA vehicles. The intention was to leave two of us as markers along the route while Bond and I went all the way to Alakurtii. My information is that the NSAA convoy will be arriving, by arrangement with the officer in command of Blue Hare and his subordinates, at about three in the morning.’

The loading of whatever vehicles were to be used would take only an hour or so. Kolya guessed that they would employ amphibious tracked APCs, probably one of the many variants of the Russian BTRs. ‘They have everything ready, so my people tell me. Bond and I will take VTR and still pictures, using infra-red if necessary: though I presume there’ll be a lot of light. Blue Hare is in the back of beyond and nobody’s going to bother much during the loading. The care will be taken on the way in, and, more especially, during the transportation out. At Blue Hare itself, I expect all the floodlights to be on.’

‘And where does von Gloda come into all this?’ Bond had been examining the map and its pencilled hieroglyphics. He was not happy with it. The way across the border looked more than difficult – through heavily wooded areas, over frozen lakes and long stretches of open, snow-covered country which, in summer, would be flat tundra. Mainly, though, it was the heavily forested patches that worried him. He knew what it was like to navigate, and find a trail, with a snow scooter, through these great black blocks of fir and pine.

Kolya gave a kind of secret smile. ‘Von Gloda’, he said very slowly, ‘will be here.’ His finger hovered over the map, then stabbed down at a section marked out in oblongs and squares. The map reference showed it to be just inside the Finnish border, a little to the north of where they would expect to cross and return.

Both Bond and Tirpitz craned forward, Bond quickly memorising the co-ordinates on the map. Kolya continued talking.

‘I am 99 per cent certain that the man your people, Brad, call Glow-worm, will be safely tucked away there tonight; just as I’m sure the convoy from Blue Hare will end up at the same point.’

‘Ninety-nine per cent certain?’ Bond raised an eyebrow quizzically, his hand lifting to brush the small comma of hair from his forehead. ‘Why? How?’

‘My country . . .’ Kolya Mosolov’s tone contained no jingoism, or especial pride, ‘my country has a slight