Licence Renewed

and each one has been most successful in smuggling in the equipment necessary for the task.'

'Weapons can sometimes backfire.' Bond tried hard not to crease his brow with the worry now nagging at him, opening an empty pit of horror within his mind.

'The weapons are only small things.' Murik's eyes again stirred into that unpleasant deep movement – the deadly molten lava, which seemed to betray a hint of madness. That he was wholly mad, in his genius, Bond did not doubt. Only a maniac would take the kind of risks this small monster was about to embark upon. 'The weapons are needed for one moment only. The men and women, all twenty-four of them, will be on duty in their various plants at the required moment. All have access to the control rooms. Weapons will be used as a last resort only – possibly as a threat. The takeover of the control rooms in all six plants should be quite bloodless. And the staff inside will be freed immediately.'

'How well do you know people like that?' Bond kept any hint of feeling out of his voice. Murik now began to look more like a slug than a bulldog, but one could not but have some awe for what was obviously such careful planning.

'I?' Murik looked up with surprise. 'I do not know them at all. Only Franco, and he acted on my instructions. Franco, as I've said, was a highly intelligent man. I taught him all the necessary things. In turn he instructed the teams. I do assure you, James Bond, that we even went through each phase with plans – plans of the plants concerned. Nothing has been left to chance. You see, the initial moves in the control rooms will be elementary precautions only. First, the remote switches will be cut: this means that no master control can scram the plants in question.'

'Scram?'

'It is a word we use. Scram means the sudden shutdown of a fission reactor. Remote control insertion of the control rods. In all but one of our target reactors there is a central master control covering several reactors. So each squad will first isolate its reactor so that it cannot be rendered safe from the master control.' His smile was as unpleasant, and nerve-twitching, as the lava look in his eyes. 'It would defeat our purpose if the squads did not have complete control over their destinies.'

Bond's muscles had gone as rigid as his tightened lips. Tension built steadily through his body. He had gone over the dozen or so possibilities which might defeat the terrorist assaults before they even had a chance to get off the ground. The facts concerning infiltration and the immediate isolation of the target reactors removed a whole range of opportunities.

'And the other thing?'

'Oh,' Murik pecked his head forward. 'The most obvious one, of course. As they separate themselves from the master control, they will also cut all communication lines to the outside world.'

'No contact at all?'

'They won't need contact. That can lead only to a dangerous lack of concentration. We cannot possibly allow any dialogue between the squads and the authorities. They have their orders; the times and details.' He gave his humourless smile once more. 'They have one, and only one, method of communication. That lies with me. It will be used most sparingly.

'Each group is equipped with a small but immensely high-powered transceiver, developed by one of my own companies. This company. It is the most important item that the teams have smuggled in; and each one is set to a particular frequency. Once they're in and completely isolated, each team will signal one code word, together with an identification. Only one person in the entire world will be able to receive those messages.' Smugly he tapped his chest. 'Myself. In turn, the groups will be the only people able to receive my message – another code word of course to inform them to abort their mission. That instruction will be given only when my demands are met in full: and it has to be received by them within twenty-four hours of their messages that the various takeovers have been successful. If they do not receive my abort signal…' He gave a sad little gesture with his hands. 'If they do not receive it, they'll go ahead-on the dot -with the action. They will cut off the cooling systems to each of their reactors.'

Bond's face was set like stone, his eyes locking with those of Anton Murik. 'And if they do that, millions of lives will be lost, large parts of the world will be rendered uninhabitable for a long time, there will be huge damage and pollution…'

Murik nodded like a Buddha. 'It is possible that the whole world will suffer despoilment, yes. Yes, Mr Bond, that is why the governments concerned – and, almost certainly, other governments too-will not allow it to happen. My demands will be met; of that I am one hundred per cent sure.'

'And how will the world know of your demands?'

'You will see, Bond; you will see. You'll have a ringside seat.' He chuckled. 'You'll be able to observe everything, from start to finish.'

'But…'

'And after it is all over.' He spread his hands in a gesture meant to convey an inevitability. 'Well, Franco had to go at some point. You have done that for me. You see, I could never have let Franco pass any of the ransom money on to his various terrorist organisations, because I need to keep it myself. It is essential that I retain every penny made from this operation, in order to bring safety to the world. This is truly a case of the end justifying the means.' Murik shifted uncomfortably in his chair, adopting a slightly sad tone as he went on, 'Of course, I do feel it a little dishonourable witholding your small fee. After all, you did achieve success of a sort, even if not in the way I would have wished. And I have, as I say, rather taken to you, my friend. But then you have from the beginning betrayed my trust in you. And, in the circumstances, I cannot allow you to remain in possession of the facts. However, if you have any next of kin, I am prepared to make a token…' Murik's voice tailed away.

'So you'll kill me?'

'Something like that. I had a nice idea originally, but since Mary-Jane's death, I think you deserve a longer agony. Surely you would like an exciting end, James Bond?'

'And Lavender?'

Murik hit the table hard, with a balled fist, 'She should already be dead, instead of my Mary-Jane. But don't worry, Bond, she'll be with you – right up to the very end.' A throaty chuckle. 'Or right down to the very end.'

'You bastard.' James Bond spoke quietly, in control of his emotions. 'You've already tried to murder your ward, and you'll do it again. Your own ward…'

'Who has been a thorn in my side for many years.' Murik also spoke with no trace of emotion. 'Just as you have turned out to be a thorn over the past few days. My work will continue with no possible disruption, once Miss Lavender Peacock has disappeared.'

'Why?' Bond stabbed in the dark. 'Why? Because she is the rightful heir to your title, estate and money?'

Anton Murik raised his eyebrows. It was a movement which made the pugnacious face even more repellent. 'Astute,' he said, sharply, uttering the word clearly, in two distinct syllables. 'Most astute. There's no harm, I suppose, in you knowing; for there is very little to prove it. Yes, she is the rightful heir. I came to my own position by devious means, you see…'

'You mean the business with your grandfather? And then the doubts about your own mother being the rightful wife to your late lamented father?'

For the first time in the whole conversation, Murik looked bewildered, then angry. 'How do you know this?' His voice began to rise.

Bond, feeling he was gaining a small ascendency, took his mind back to the moment M had explained the chequered and dubious history of the Muriks. 'The business in Sicily? It's common knowledge, Laird. The graves at – where was it? – Caltanissetta? Those of your father and your mother's maid? The facts about that are well enough documented. I should've thought you'd've known. After all, the Lord Lyon King of Arms has been carrying out a very lengthy investigation…'

Murik's face twitched, then his voice returned to normal.

Even the smile came back. 'Ah, maybe. But nothing can be proved.'

'Oh, I don't know. Your own mother was your father's maid, wasn't she, Anton?' It was the first time Bond had dared use the familiarity of his Christian name.

Murik nodded. 'But I was his son.'

Once more, Bond stabbed in the dark: 'But you had a brother -a half-brother anyway. By your father and his true wife. A brother born at the time of the bandit episode in Sicily, when your mother, the maid, was already pregnant. What did he do? Come back to haunt you?'