‘I mean there are times I’m not completely certain of you, Paula.’
Paula gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘After all I’ve done?’
‘Even after all you’ve done. For instance, what about the pair of thugs at your place? The knife merchants?’
She nodded, quietly. ‘I wondered when you’d get back to them.’ She edged away, turning her body towards him. ‘You think I set you up?’
‘It crossed my mind.’
Paula bit her lip. ‘No, dear James.’ She sighed. ‘No, I didn’t set you up. I let you down. How can I explain it? As I said, neither von Gloda nor Kolya were playing it straight. Everyone was in a no-win situation, as they say. I worked under SUPO’s instructions, and also von Gloda’s orders. The situation became impossible once I was put in charge of liaison with Kolya. He was always in and out of Helsinki. You turned up out of the blue, and my chiefs had to be told. I let you down, James. I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘What you’re trying to say is SUPO ordered you to inform Kolya? Right?’
She nodded. ‘He saw a way to get you in Helsinki, then whip you up to the Arctic and into Russia all on his own. Sorry.’
‘And what about the snow ploughs?’
‘What snow ploughs?’ Her mood changed. A few moments before, Paula had been on the defensive, then contrite. Now she was plain surprised. Bond told her about the trouble on the way from Helsinki to Salla.
She thought for a minute. ‘My guess would be Kolya again. I know he had the airport and hotels watched by his own people – in Helsinki, I mean. They would know where you were heading. I think Kolya would have gone to a lot of trouble to tuck you under his arm and get you into Russia without using any of von Gloda’s formulas.’
By the end of the journey Bond was virtually convinced by Paula’s explanations. As he said, there had never been time for him to get really close to the autocratic, iron-haired von Gloda; and he understood from past experience the strange power clash between two determined men, like von Gloda and Kolya.
‘Your place or mine?’ Bond asked as they reached the outskirts of Helsinki. He was almost satisfied with Paula’s answers, true, but a niggling doubt remained in a corner of his mind, for nothing in Operation Icebreaker had been what it seemed. Time now to play his trump card.
‘We can’t go to my place.’ Paula gave a small cough. ‘It’s in a hell of a mess and roughed up – it got burgled, James, for real. I didn’t even have time to report it to the police.’
Bond pulled the car over to the side of the road and stopped. ‘I know.’ He reached across to the glove compartment, taking out von Gloda’s Knight’s Cross and the Campaign Shield and dropping them on Paula’s lap. ‘I found these on your dressing table when I called there and discovered the place wrecked, on my way to the party in the Arctic.’
For a second, Paula was angry. ‘Then why the hell didn’t you use them? You could’ve shown them to Anni.’
Bond patted her hand. ‘I did. She identified them. Which made me concerned, also very suspicious. Of you. Where did you get them?’
‘From von Gloda, of course. He wanted them cleaned up. The man was obsessively proud of them, just as he was obsessive about his destiny.’ She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. ‘Oh hell, I might have known that bitch would turn them on to me.’
Bond took the medals and threw them into the glove compartment. ‘Okay,’ he said, relieved. ‘You pass. Let’s give ourselves a treat. We’ll take the honeymoon suite at the Inter-Continental. How about that?’
‘How
They had no difficulty checking in, and the Inter-Continental’s twenty-four hour room service provided food and drink with the minimum delay. The drive, the explanations, and their long relationship together seemed to have removed all the barriers.
‘I’m going to shower,’ Paula announced. ‘Then we can enjoy ourselves to our hearts’ content. I don’t know about you, but I think there’s no need for either of our Services to hear we’re back in Helsinki for at least another twenty-four hours.’
‘You don’t think we should call in? We can always say we’re still on the road,’ Bond suggested.
Paula thought it over. ‘Oh, maybe I’ll dial my answering service later. If my controller has anything urgent he leaves a number for me. What about you?’
‘Have your shower, then I’ll follow you. I don’t honestly think M would appreciate anything from me until the morning.’
She gave a dazzling smile and headed for the bathroom, lugging her one small overnight case.
20
DESTINY
James Bond dreamed. It was a dream he often experienced: sun, and a beach, which he recognised only too well as the seafront at Royale-les-Eaux. It was the five-mile promenade as it used to be, of course, not the garish package-tour resort it had since become. In Bond’s dream, life and time stood still, and this was the place he remembered from both childhood and his younger years. A band played. The tricolour beds of salvia, alyssum and lobelia bloomed in a riot of colour. And it was warm, and he was happy.
The dream often came when he was happy; and that night had certainly brought happiness. Together Bond and Paula had escaped from the clutches of Kolya Mosolov, made their way to Helsinki, and there – well, things had gone even better than they themselves expected.
Paula returned from the bathroom dressed only in a see-through nightdress, her body glowing and her scent as seductive as Bond had ever known it.
Before showering, Bond tapped out a call to London – a number reserved especially for taped messages from M. If there was anything new – in answer to the cipher sent from the Saab at Salla – he would hear it now. Sure enough, M’s voice was on the line: a brief double-talk message which came quite near to congratulating Bond, and also confirmed that Paula was known to be working for SUPO. There could, Bond thought, be no more surprises.
Paula had taken the initiative, making love to him as a kind of hors d’?uvre; then, after a short rest, during which Paula talked and laughed about their brush with disaster, Bond started where she had left off.
Now there was peace, safety and warmth. Warmth, except for a cold spot developing on his neck, behind the ear. Still half asleep, Bond brushed at the cold spot. His hand came into contact with something hard, and vaguely unpleasant. His eyes snapped open and he felt the cold object pressed against his neck. Gone was Royale-les-Eaux, replaced with uncompromising reality.
‘Just sit up quietly, Mr Bond.’
Bond turned his head to see Kolya Mosolov stepping away from him. A heavy Stetchkin – made even more bulky by a silencer fitted around the barrel – pointed, out of reach, at Bond’s throat.
‘How . . . ?’ Bond began. Then, thinking of Paula, he turned to see her sound asleep beside him.
Mosolov laughed – a chuckle, almost out of character; but Kolya was a man of so many voices. ‘Don’t worry about Paula,’ he said, soft and confident. ‘You must have both been very tired. I managed to deal with the lock, administer a small injection, and move around without disturbing either of you.’
Bond cursed silently. This was so unlike him, to drop his guard and allow sleep to take over completely. He had done everything else. He even recalled sweeping the room for electronics the moment they arrived.
‘What kind of an injection?’ Trying not to sound concerned.
‘She’ll sleep peacefully for six or seven hours. Enough time for us to do what has to be done.’
‘Which is?’
Mosolov made a motion with the Stetchkin. ‘Get dressed. There’s a job I have to see completed. After that we’re going on a little journey. I even have a brand new passport for you – just to be certain. We leave Helsinki by car, then helicopter, and later there’ll be a jet waiting. By the time Paula can alert anyone, we’ll be well on our way.’
Bond shrugged. There was little he could do, though his hand moved unobtrusively to the pillow, under which he had placed the P7 before finally going to sleep. Kolya Mosolov reached inside his padded jacket, which he wore open, to show Bond the P7 tucked into his waistband. ‘I thought it safer – for me, that is.’
