had the right horse.'
'How?' Bond asked again. 'China Blue's form made him the biggest outsider in the race. He even looked like a loser. Now I know that's easy enough to do, but you brought it off and there were no questions. You have him pulled in his other races?'
Slowly the Laird of Murcaldy shook his head. 'There was no need for that. China Blue won. Fair and square.' Then, as though suddenly making up his mind, he rose from the table. 'Come, I'll show you something.' He led the way to a door Bond had not noticed, in a corner on the far side of the dining room. He took out a bunch of keys on a thin gold chain, selected a key and unlocked the door.
They went down a cool, well-lit passage which terminated at yet another door, which Murik unlocked with a second key. A moment later they stood in a large book-lined room. There were three leather chairs facing a wide military desk and a cabinet containing some exquisite pieces of antique weaponry. On the wall above the desk hung the only painting in the room – a large and undeniable Turner.
'Genuine?' asked Bond.
'Naturally.' Murik moved behind the desk and motioned Bond into one of the chairs facing him. 'My inner sanctum,' he commented. 'You are honoured to be here at all. This is where I work and plan.'
Gently Bond drew the chair nearer to the desk. Murik was opening one of the drawers. He removed a small buff folder, opened it and passed two photographs to Bond. 'Tell me about these photographs, Mr Bond.'
Bond said they were pictures of China Blue.
'Almost correct.' Murik smiled again: a deep secretive smirk. 'They are brothers. You see -I will not bore you with the documents -just over four years ago I had a mare in foal, here on the estate. I happened to be in residence at the time, and was in at the birth, so to speak. Happily I have a vet who knows how to keep his mouth closed. It was a rare thing, Bond. Two identical foals. Absolutely identical. No expert could have told them apart, though it was obvious to the vet and myself that the second would always be the weaker of the two. That is usual in such cases.'
He paused for effect. 'I registered one only. They were from good racing stock. There is one China Blue – the one you saw running at Ascot – with tremendous stamina and the natural aptitude for racing. The other? Well, he races, but has no speed and little stamina. Though still, at four years, you would be hard put to tell the difference in build. Now, I've shared a secret with you. I am attempting to establish a trust between us. But if it ever leaks out, I promise you are a dead man.'
'Nobody's going to hear it from me.' As he spoke, Bond moved the chair even closer, taking out his gunmetal cigarette case and the package of cigarettes provided by Q'ute. The Laird of Murcaldy had just answered a prize question. The man was a cheat and a fraud. Franco was in the house, and, for Bond, that was enough. M had been right to send him: this was certainly no panic or fool's errand.
Quickly he removed a couple of the cigarettes from the packet and placed them in his case. At the same time Bond pressed on the side of the packet, expelling one of the small electronic micro-bugs into his hand. Murik was still chuckling as he picked up the photographs from the desk. As he leaned down to return them to the drawer, Bond slid his hand under the foot-well of the desk, pressing the adhesive side of the bug hard against the woodwork. Now the Laird of Murcaldy's inner sanctum was wired for sound.
Murik snapped the drawer closed and stood up. 'Now, Mr Bond, I suggest you say goodnight to the ladies and retire. Your cases are in your room, and tomorrow we must all take part in the Games. After that you may wish to stay; and I may wish to make you a proposition. It depends on many things.'
In the drawing room, Mary-Jane Mashkin and Lavender Peacock sat listening to Mozart through hidden speakers. Bond thought he glimpsed the look of friendly conspiracy on Lavender's face as they entered the room. Once again he experienced the feeling that she was trying to warn him of something as they shook hands, bidding each other goodnight.
The silent Donal had appeared, summoned surreptitiously by Murik, and was instructed to show Bond to the East Guest Room.
As he left, Bond caught Lavender's eyes in his, warm, friendly, but with a lonely message hidden within. Of one thing he was certain, she was a living virgin on the rocks-though he admitted to himself that he was being presumptuous about the first part of that statement.
He followed Donal up the stairs, anxious to get at the receiver in his case and set it up so that any further business transacted by Murik in his inner sanctum could be recorded and listened to at leisure.
Donal opened the door, intoning, 'The East Guest Room, sir,' and Bond stepped into an Aladdin's Cave for the passing visitor.
9 ALL MOD CONS
THE ROOM WAS DECORATED almost entirely in black, with soft lighting hidden high up behind pelmets, where there must once have been ornate old picture rails. It took Bond a second to realise that there were two rooms and not one; for half of each of the bedroom walls and a large section of the ceiling was made of mirror – difficult to distinguish against the black decor. This gave the illusion of more space; it also had the unnerving effect of disorientation. Donal spoke just as Bond confirmed, to himself, that an archway led from the bedroom into a bathroom.
'You did not leave the keys to your luggage, sir; otherwise I would have had your clothes unpacked and pressed. Perhaps tomorrow?'
'Certainly,' Bond turned his back, speaking sharply. 'Goodnight, Donal.'
'Goodnight, sir.' The butler withdrew, and Bond heard a very solid click as the door closed. He went over and tried the handle, immediately realising he had been correct in his identification of the sound. The door was fitted with a remote-controlled electronic lock. He was virtually a prisoner. At least, he thought, setting the roomy briefcase on a side table, he would not be a prisoner who would be secretly watched or overheard.
Unlocking the briefcase by turning the keys twice, he pressed down hard on the catches, which lifted on small hinges, revealing the real locking devices underneath: three wheels of numbers on each side. Bond spun the dials, and the briefcase opened. With this one they had made little effort to hide the equipment inside, the top of the case being a simple tray in which his toilet gear rested. Lifting out the tray, Bond uncovered the few pieces of hardware beneath.
The largest item was the one Bond required – the standard VL 22H counter-surveillance receiver, which looked something like a chunky walky-talky, but with headphones and a hand-held probe.
Bond plugged in the headset and probe, slipped the instrument's shoulder strap around his neck, adjusted everything and switched on. For the next ten minutes he carefully ran the probe over the entire room, covering every corner and fitment. The built-in verifier would quickly determine any type of bug, differentiate between various signals and even lead him to any television cameras hidden behind the large expanses of glass; or secret fibre-optic lenses, the size of pencil holes, in the wall. He followed a well-learned pattern, completing the sweep with great care. Nothing showed. The note in the earphones remained constant, and the needle in the VU unit did not waver.
Returning the counter-surveillance unit to its hiding place, he pulled out the larger piece of luggage. Checking the locks, he once more used his keys to open the lid, throwing the clothes out in a manner that would have made the sinister and fastidious Donal wince. When the case was empty, Bond returned to the locks, turning the keys a further three times in each. At the final click of the right lock, a minute panel slid back in the far left-hand corner of the case bottom, revealing a small numbered dial.
Bond spun the dial, selecting the code arranged between Q'ute and himself only a few days previously.
Another click and he was able to slide a larger portion of the case bottom to one side, disclosing some of Q Branch's special hardware, packed neatly in velvet-lined trays.
Removing the tiny receiver/recorder – based on the STR 440, and only eighty-four by fifty-five millimetres in size, complete with a specialised tape cassette and foam-padded minute headset -Bond switched on, set the control dial to the figure 1, and saw a small light glow like a red-hot pinhead. The bug placed in Murik's study was now active. A cassette lay ready attached to the machine. Now, any conversation or movement in Murik's room would be recorded on Bond's receiver. He looked around and decided that, for the moment at least, it was safe to
