the accident. We thought you were taken away by a genuine ambulance and the police. Obviously we were wrong.’
‘I was just coming down the final slope, looking forward to seeing you again. Then, poof – nothing. I woke up with a lot of pain in my legs and my father standing over me. He had that woman with him. I don’t think she’s here though. But they did have some kind of a hospital organised. Both legs broken, and a couple of ribs. They plastered me up, took me for a long ride, and I finally woke up here. The Count calls it his Command Post, but I’ve no idea where we are. The nurses are friendly enough but won’t tell me anything.’
‘If my calculations are correct . . .’ Bond eased himself on to his side so that he could more easily talk to Rivke and look at her simultaneously. There were signs of strain around her eyes, and she was in obvious discomfort caused by the casts on her legs and the traction. ‘If I’m right, we’re in a large bunker, situated around ten to twelve kilometres east of the Finnish border. On the Russian side.’
‘Russian?’ Rivke opened her mouth, eyes wide with amazement.
Bond nodded. ‘Your beloved Papa has pulled a very fast one.’ He made a grimace, conveying a certain admiration. ‘You have to admit he’s been exceptionally clever. We have searched everywhere for clues, and all the time he’s been operating from the most unlikely place – within Soviet territory.’
Rivke laughed quietly, the sound tinged with bitterness. ‘He always was clever. Who’d have looked in Russia for the headquarters of a Fascist group?’
‘Quite.’ Bond stayed silent for a moment. ‘How bad are the legs?’
She lifted a hand – a gesture of helplessness. ‘You can see for yourself.’
‘They haven’t given you any therapy yet? Let you try and walk – even with crutches or a Zimmer?’
‘You’re joking. I can’t feel much pain. It’s just very uncomfortable. Why?’
‘There’s got to be a way out of this place, and I’m not going alone or leaving you behind.’ He paused, as if making up his mind. ‘Not now that I’ve found you, Rivke.’
When he next looked, Bond thought he could detect a moistness in the large eyes. ‘James, that’s wonderful of you, but if there is a way out, you’ll have to try it yourself,
Bond’s brow creased. If there was a way, could he get back in time? Bring help? He put the answers into words. ‘I don’t think the clock’s on our side, Rivke. Not if I’ve told them what I think . . .’
‘Told them . . . ?’
‘Being ducked in almost frozen water, without your clothes on, is slightly disorientating. I passed out a couple of times. They wanted the answers to two questions.’ He went on to say that he knew one answer, but could only guess the other.
‘What kind of questions?’
In a few words Bond told her about the NSAA man being captured in London before he could commit suicide. ‘Your father’s got a new Command Post. This fellow has enough information to tip off our people. The devil of it is that the London prisoner probably doesn’t realise he knows. Your maniac father had a group sent to his new Command Post for briefing, before leaving for London. Our interrogators, like yours with Mossad, are not fools. The right questions’ll yield the answers.’
‘So you think your Service already knows where this new place – this second Command Post – is located?’
‘I wouldn’t put money on it. But if I’ve told von Gloda’s inquisitors we have the man, and that he’s been interrogated, they can add up the answers as well as our people. I should think your father’s moving everyone out of here pretty damned fast.
‘You said there were two questions?’
‘Oh, they wanted to know where our people were keeping him. That’s no problem, really. There’s a chance one man could get at him; but any full-scale assault’s out of the question.’
‘Why, James?’
‘We keep a special interrogation centre in the basement of our Headquarters building in London. He’s holed up there.’
Rivke bit her lip. ‘And you really think you told them?’
‘There’s a possibility. You said your father was in here earlier. I can vaguely remember that. He gave the impression they knew about it. You were awake . . .’
‘Yes.’ She looked away for a second, not meeting his eyes.
Agents of Mossad, thought Bond, tend to opt for a suicide pill rather than face an interrogation which might compromise them. ‘Do you think I’ve failed my own Service’, he asked Rivke, ‘and this unholy alliance we were supposed to be involved in?’
For a second, Rivke was silent. Then: ‘No, James. No. You had no alternative, obviously. No, I was thinking about what my father said – God knows why I call him a father. He’s really no father of mine. When he came in, he said something about you having provided information. I was dozing, but he sounded sarcastic. He thanked you for the information.’
Bond felt the lead of despair deep in his guts. M had sent him blind into a compromising situation, though he could not blame his chief for that. M’s reasoning would have been the less knowledge the better, as far as Bond was concerned. Like himself, M had almost certainly been duped by what had transpired: the real Brad Tirpitz’s elimination, Kolya Mosolov’s double-dealing with von Gloda. And then there was the duplicity of Paula Vacker. The despair came from the knowledge that he had let his country down, and failed his Service. In Bond’s book these were the cardinal sins.
By now, von Gloda would almost certainly be going through all the standard routines of moving shop: packing, organising transport, loading up the BTRs with all the arms and munitions they could carry, shredding documents. Bond wondered if von Gloda had some temporary base – apart from the major new Command Post – from which he could operate. Now he would want to get out as quickly as possible, but it might take up to twenty-four hours.
Bond looked around to see if any of his clothes had been left with him. There was a locker opposite the bed, though not large enough to contain clothing. The rest of the room was bare, just the formal trappings of a small private hospital ward: another small locker opposite Rivke’s bed; a table, with glasses, a bottle and medical equipment standing in the corner. Nothing useful that he could see.
There were curtain-bearing rails around each bed, two lamps – above the bedheads – a strip light set in the ceiling, and the usual small ventilation grilles.
The idea came to him that he might overpower the nurse, strip her, and try to get out disguised as a woman. But the notion was self-evidently ludicrous, for Bond scarcely had the build which lent itself to female impersonation. In addition, just thinking it made him feel dopy again. He wondered what drugs they’d shot him with after the torture.
If von Gloda were to keep his bargain with Kolya – which seemed highly unlikely – Bond’s only chance would be an escape from Kolya Mosolov’s custody.
There was a sound in the passage outside. The door opened and the nurse came in, bright, starched and hygienic. ‘Well,’ she started briskly, ‘I have news. You’ll both be leaving here soon. The Fuhrer has decided to take you out with him. I’m here to warn you that you’ll be moving in a few hours.’
‘Hostage time,’ said Bond, sighing.
The nurse smiled brightly, saying she expected that was it.
‘And how do we go?’ Bond had some notion it might help to keep her talking, if only to gain a little information. ‘Snowcat? BTR? What?’
The nurse’s smile did not leave her mouth. ‘I shall be travelling with you. You’re perfectly fit, Mr Bond, but we’re concerned about Miss Ingber’s legs. She prefers being called Miss Ingber, I gather. I must be with her. We’ll all be going in the Fuhrer’s personal aircraft.’
‘Aircraft?’ Bond did not even realise they had flying facilities.
‘Oh yes, there’s a runway among the trees. It’s kept clear even in the worst weather. We have a couple of light aircraft here – ski-fitted in winter, of course – and the Fuhrer’s executive jet, a converted Mystere-Falcon. Very fast but lands on anything . . .’
‘Can it take off on anything?’ Bond thought of the bleak ice and snow among the trees.
‘When the runway’s clear.’ The nurse seemed unconcerned. ‘Don’t worry about a thing. We always have ice burners out along the metal runway just before he leaves.’ She paused in the doorway. ‘Now, is there anything you need?’
