‘Ah, you only acted frightened.’ Bond smiled at her, ‘I can tell when people are really frightened.’
She bent down, kissed him, then gave a little frown. ‘James, I’m
‘I am. Senior and very civil.’ He paused, ready to ask the important questions, but Paula moved across the room to retrieve the automatic pistol, which she nervously handed to him.
‘Will they come back?’ Paula asked. ‘Am I likely to be attacked again?’
‘Look,’ Bond said, spreading his hands, ‘for some reason a couple of hoodlums were after me. I really don’t know why. Yes, sometimes I do slightly dangerous jobs – hence the weaponry. But there’s no reason I can think of for those two having a go at me here, in Helsinki.’
He went on to say that he might find out the real answer in London and felt that Paula would be quite safe once he was out of the way. It was too late to catch the British Airways flight home that night, which meant waiting for the regular Finnair service, just after nine the next morning.
‘Bang goes our dinner.’ His smile was meant to look apologetic.
Paula said she had food in the house. They could eat there. Her voice had begun to quaver. Bond decided quickly that it would be best to start his questioning on the positive side before he tackled the really big problem: how did the would-be assassins know he was in Helsinki, and – particularly – how did they know he was visiting Paula?
‘Have you got a car near here, Paula?’ he began.
She had a car and a parking space outside.
‘I may well ask a favour of you later.’
‘I hope so.’ She gave him a brave, come-on smile.
‘Okay. Before we get down to that, there are more important things.’ Bond fired the obvious questions at her – rapid shooting, pressing her for fast return answers, not giving her time to avoid anything or think about replies.
Had she ever talked about him to friends, or colleagues, in Finland, since they had first met? Of course. Had she done the same in any other country? Yes. Could she remember the number of people to whom she had talked? She gave some names, obvious ones – close friends and people with whom she worked. Did she have any memory of other people being around when she had spoken about Bond? People she did not know? That was quite possible, but Paula could give no details.
Bond moved on to the most recent events. Had anyone been with her in the office when he had telephoned from the Inter-Continental? No. Was there any way the call could have been overhead? Possibly; someone could have been listening in at the switchboard. Had she spoken to anyone after the call – told anyone that he was in Helsinki, and picking her up at six-thirty? Only one person. ‘I was meeting a girl – a colleague from another department. We’d arranged to discuss some work over dinner.’
This woman’s name was Anni Tudeer, and Bond spent quite a long time getting facts about her. At last he lapsed into silence, stood up, crossed to the window and peered out, holding back the curtain.
Below, it looked bleak and a little sinister, the white frozen sculptures throwing shadows across the layer of frost on the ground. Two small fur bundles scuffed their way along the pavement opposite. There were several cars parked in the street. Two of them would have been ideal for surveillance: the angle at which they were parked gave good sight-lines to the front door. Bond thought he could detect movement in one of them but decided to put it out of his mind until the time came. He returned to his chair.
‘Is the interrogation over?’ Paula asked.
‘That wasn’t an interrogation.’ Bond took out the familiar gunmetal case, offering her one of his Simmons specials. ‘One day, maybe, I’ll show you an interrogation. Remember I said I may have to ask a favour?’
‘Ask, and it’ll be given.’
There was luggage at the hotel, Bond told her, and he had to get to the airport. Could he stay in her flat until about four in the morning, then drive himself to the hotel in her car, pay the bill and get out ‘clean’, before going on to the airport? ‘I can arrange for your car to be brought back here.’
‘You’re not driving anywhere, James.’ She sounded stubbornly serious. ‘You’ve got a nasty wound in your shoulder. It’s going to need treatment, sooner or later. Yes, you stay here until four in the morning; then I’ll drive you to the hotel and the airport. But why so early? The flight doesn’t leave until after nine. You could make a booking from here.’
Once more, Bond reiterated that she wouldn’t really be safe until he was out of her company. ‘If I get to the airport in the early hours you’ll be rid of me. Also, I’ll have the advantage. There are ways of positioning yourself in a place like an airport concourse so that nobody can give you nasty surprises. And I’m not using your telephone for obvious reasons.’
She agreed, but remained adamant that she would do the driving. Paula being Paula, Bond conceded.
‘You’re looking better.’ She gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘Drink?’
‘You know what I fancy.’
She went off into the kitchen and mixed a jug of his favourite martini. It was over three years ago, in London, that he had taught her the recipe – one which, because of certain publications, had become a standard with many people. After the first drink, the throbbing in his shoulder seemed less intense. With the second, Bond felt he was almost back to normal. ‘I love that robe.’ His mind began saying things to his body, and, wound or not, his body answered back.
‘Well,’ she gave a shy smile, ‘to tell you the truth, I’ve already got dinner organised here. I had no intention of going out. I
‘Wouldn’t stop me playing chess, or any other indoor sport you might name.’
With a single movement she pulled the tie belt, and her robe fell open. ‘You said I knew what you fancy,’ she said lightly, then, ‘that is, if you feel up to it.’
‘Up to it is the way I feel,’ Bond replied.
It was almost midnight when they ate. Paula set a table with candles and produced a truly memorable meal: ptarmigan in aspic, glowfried salmon, and a delicious chocolate mousse. Then, at four in the morning, now dressed for the fierce cold of dawn, she allowed Bond to lead the way downstairs.
With the P7 unholstered, Bond used the shadows to creep into the street and make his way across the road, slick with ice, first to a Volvo, then an Audi. There was a man in the Volvo, asleep, his head back and mouth open, far away in whatever dreams bad surveillance men fall prey to during the night. The Audi was empty.
Bond signalled to Paula, who came, very sure-footed, across the pavement to her car. It started first time, the exhaust sending out thick clouds in the freezing air, and Paula drove with the skill of one used to taking a car through snow and ice for long periods each year. At the hotel, the pick-up and check-out went without a hitch; and there was no tail on them as Paula headed north towards Vantaa.
Officially Vantaa Airport is not open until seven in the morning, but there are always people about. At five o’clock it had that look you associate with the sour taste of too many cigarettes, constant coffee, and the, tiredness of waiting for night trains, or planes, anywhere in the world.
Bond would not let Paula linger. He assured her that he would ring from London as soon as possible and they kissed goodbye affectionately.
There were people sweeping the main departure concourse where Bond chose his spot. His shoulder was starting to throb again. Several stranded passengers tried to sleep in the deep, comfortable chairs and quite a number of police walked around in pairs, looking for trouble that never materialised.
Promptly at seven the place became alive. Already, Bond had taken up a stance at the Finnair desk, so as to be first in line. There was plenty of room on Finnair’s 831, due out at 9.10.
The snow began to fall around eight o’clock. It had become quite heavy by the time the big DC9–50 growled off the runway at 9.12. Helsinki quickly disappeared in a storm of white confetti, which soon gave way to a towering cloudscape below a brilliant blue sky.
At exactly 10.10, London time, the same aircraft flared out over the threshold of Heathrow’s runway 28 Left. The spoilers came in as they dumped lift, the whining Pratt & Whitney turbofans wailed into reverse thrust, and the aircraft’s speed was gradually killed off as the landing was completed.
An hour later, James Bond arrived at the tall building overlooking Regent’s Park which is the Headquarters of
