'And, if any of them breaks, he can only point the finger at Franco, who is missing, believed killed in action.' He paused, glancing up at the dials in front of him. 'I imagine they won't be in jail for long. There will be hostages, deaths, demands.'
Bond nodded slowly. 'And you have to call up all six groups? Or does a blanket code cover it?'
For a second, Murik was caught off his guard. 'Same code, but each group enumerated in case I want to leave one active until the others get clear. That was the arrangement. But, naturally, none are going to get clear.'
'You don't think any of them'll be stupid enough to fight their way out?'
Murik shook his head very slowly.
It was enough for Bond. He needed the defusing code word; and, having already heard each of the groups come in with their 'Number One… War; Number Four… War' and the rest, it required only common sense to work out the way in which the occupying groups could be made to stand down. At least that was a logical step in the right direction.
He had a reasonable idea of what to do
If only he could release his arms. Every time Murik moved, Bond glimpsed the butt of the Python revolver under the jacket. If his arms were free and the right moment could be found… Go on thinking. Work it out. There had to be a way, and there was still time. If he managed anything it would have to be late in Murik's scheme of things. Sometime tomorrow. A message to the terrorist squads now would only alert their suspicions. From what he knew of terrorist operations, Bond was clear about the psychological factors. For the first hours, hijackers or hostage- takers were suspicious of anyone and everything. Better to wait.
As he began to wrestle with the most difficult problem of all, the earphones suddenly came to life. He recognised the pilot's voice: 'Captain to the Laird of Murcaldy, sir. Could you send someone up here for a moment?'
Murik gave a quizzical tilt of the head and beckoned Caber. 'Up to the flight deck with you. See what it's all about.'
Caber left with a nod. Murik glanced at his watch. 'Hope it's nothing too drastic. Time for some food, I think.'
Caber was gone for around ten minutes, returning with a puzzled look. He bent low and muttered in Murik's ear. The Laird's face underwent no change as his hand gently eased Caber away and he swivelled his chair towards the console opposite. 'The captain says they're picking up an intermittent trace on the flight deck radar scope, just on the periphery, to the north. They've tracked other aircraft – commercial stuff- but they appear to have two blips coming up every now and then, as though they were holding station with us. See what you can do.'
The men bent over viewers, through which they were probably looking at radar screens. 'What's your range?'
Bond asked Murik coolly, knowing that if aircraft were shadowing the Starlifter, M had probably succeeded, late in the day, in getting the right answers to some difficult problems.
'On the flight deck? Around a hundred miles.' There was no smile on Murik's face now. 'In here a little more – nearer a hundred and fifty.'
'There it is,' one of Caber's men exclaimed. 'Two of them. In and out of this screen very quickly.'
Nobody spoke. Then, about five minutes later, the same man said they were there again. 'Could be shadow aircraft. Just keeping out of range. Coming in for an occasional look.'
'Well, it won't do them any good,' snapped Murik. 'They can't take action.'
'Not until you've collected your diamonds and given the stand-down order.' Give him the facts now, Bond thought. Murik would come to it soon enough.
'And then?' asked the Laird with a lopsided smirk. Bond sighed. 'Blow you out of the sky. Force you down. Anything. Even shadow you to your lair.'
Murik looked at him gravely for a full minute, then burst out laughing, his white hair ruffling as he threw his head back. 'You think I've not taken precautions against that possibility? After all the planning, you think I've left
'A man of your capabilities? I shouldn't think so.' Bond's stomach churned. The bastard. No, of course a man like Anton Murik would not take risks. Of course he had already eliminated any possible gamble from the Melt down operation.
'Let them have their fun.' Murik was still laughing. 'Just keep an eye on them until the time comes.' He spoke to the men at Lavender's console, then turned back to Bond. 'You think I would undertake this without having some radar-jamming gear on board? If they really are shadow aircraft, then we'll fuzz their pictures as soon as we turn in to pick up the loot.'
'And if they are? They'll already know where you're going -for the diamonds, I mean.'
'I'll be away and out of it long before they'll dare come near. I'll hold off on the terrorist squads until, literally, the last moment.' He gnawed his lip, something Bond had not seen him do before. 'Anyway, they may have nothing to do with us. Routine. Coincidence. Could be.'
'Could be. But somehow I don't…' Bond left the sentence unfinished.
Far away to the north of the Starlifter, the two Armee de l'Air Super Mirage fighters from the Fourth Fighter Wing turned in unison. Below, the pilots could see another pair of Mirages coming up fast. The leader of the pair which had been keeping station clicked on his transmitter and spoke. 'Watchdog Five,' he said.
Through his headphones came a voice from the approaching aircraft. 'Watchdog Five, this is Watchdog Six on routine patrol. We take over now. Instructions you return to base and refuel. Over.'
'Watchdog Five,' the pilot of the first Super Mirage replied. 'Instructions understood. All quiet. Headings as before. Good luck.'
Watchdog Six acknowledged the message, the pilot turning his head in the shining cockpit to follow the first two Mirages as they peeled away. Then he called up his wing-man and the two new aircraft swung into a long, looping pattern high over the sea. It was good exercise, he thought. But there must be more to it than a routine shadowing. It wouldn't be a Russian they were following; and he had not believed his squadron commandant, who had told them this was a snap defence exercise. For one thing they were armed to the gills – everything from cannon to rockets.
The pilot bent his head to look at his small radar screen. The blip came up at the expected place. The two aircraft turned away, to begin another long circuit. If the blip vanished, they had orders to close until they made contact again.
Away to the south at Perpignan Airport, SEPCAT Jaguars sat, off the main runways, as though waiting to leap into the air for a kill. In the airport's operations' room, senior Armee de 1'Air officers were going over the flight plan filed by Aldan Aerospace for their Starlifter. So far it had not deviated. The aircraft had made a long climb out to sea, and then maintained a holding pattern while testing Aldan 's specialised equipment. The holding pattern would continue, at almost 30,000 feet, for the best part of twenty-one hours. After that Aldan planned to descend almost to sea level before turning in to make their return approach to Perpignan at just before one o'clock the following afternoon.
In the building overlooking Regent's Park in London, M examined the latest reports radioed to him from France. Anton Murik's Starlifter was maintaining its filed flight plan. Yes, he thought, it probably will. Right up until the last moment, when he's got the ransom aboard. Unless-M hoped – unless James Bond was on board, and could do something about it.
It was a long and tiring evening: prelude to an even longer night of intense fatigue. Murik had drilled his staff to perfection, so that they followed a prescribed routine. Quite early on he told Bond that he did not expect the ransom aircraft to arrive anywhere near its DZ until around nine or ten the following morning. 'They can manage it by then – or so the computers tell me. That's why I set a minimum deadline. Twenty-four hours is just enough time.' He grinned -a clever pupil showing off. 'And it makes them jump: doesn't give them time to think hard.' Rest and eating periods were staggered, and either Murik or Caber was always left with Bond, just as one of the other two men remained next to Lavender. Caber, in fact, was there most of the time.
As for Bond and Lavender, they were fed – mainly on coffee and sandwiches – where they sat, their wrists being freed only for eating, or when they were taken to the wash room by an armed man, who locked them into the simple closet and stood outside the door, letting them out at a knock from the inside. On returning, they were carefully strapped into their chairs again, always under the wicked eye of at least one pistol. On no occasion during
