for years to come. It was unthinkable. M said so, loudly. Bond pointed out that Jay Autem Holy had talked only of peace.
'There would be the danger of their using a reserve plan if I failed to return with the EPOC frequency.'
'There's one alternative.
Ploughshare.' M said it as though this were the answer to everyone's dreams.
'Ploughshare, and whatever the Russian equivalent is.' Percy asked what Ploughshare was, and M told her with a smile that it was a way of consigning all nuclear weapons - the bulk of them anyway - to the scrap heap.
Quietly he informed the assembly of the cipher which could be sent over the EPOC frequency that would set in motion the destruction of all arming codes, and the disarming of all nuclear weapons, strategic and tactical.
'It's been reckoned that the process would take around twenty-four hours in the U.S.A. I should imagine it would be a little longer in the Soviet Union. Just as there's always been a Doomsday Machine, we've had a Swords to Ploughshare Machine for the last three decades.' M pursed his lips and waited for this to sink in before continuing.
'It's there in case of some catastrophe, like a 67 percent paralysis of the armed forces by nerve gas, or a genuine stalemate. Of course it's always been hoped that if the Ploughshare option were taken, it would be by mutual understanding. But it's there. And it's just as potentially dangerous as blowing two great nations to pieces, because using it would be the easiest way to destabilise the two superpowers, by removing their nuclear balance at a stroke. Do that, and the stage is set for real revolution, economic disaster and chaos.' Bond was right. Let him be supplied with the EPOC frequency, and a homing device, one or two of the Armourer's more fancy pieces of equipment, and a good surveillance team. 'You can then go back from whence you came, 007. Somewhere along the way, they'll pick you up, and we'll track you - safe enough if the team stays well back.' Without further ado the meeting broke up and they took Bond off into a side room, where Major Boothroyd wired three homing devices into his clothes, and one for luck into the heel of his right shoe. The Armourer then handed Bond a couple of small weapons, and they gave him five minutes with Percy.
She clung to him, kissed him and told him to take care.
There would be time enough once this was over, Bond said, there was no doubt about it, and the haymaking season would last all summer.
Percy smiled the knowing smile women the world over smile when they've got what they really want.
Back in the conference room, they gave him the EPOC frequency that had come into effect at midnight. It was now one in the morning, and Bill Tanner gave the final hasty briefing.
'We've already got your homers on two scanners' he said. 'Don't worry, James, they've a range of almost ten miles. The car behind will stay only a mile or so away.
The one riding point is already on his way. We know the route, so as soon as you go astray, we'll be in action. One S.A.S. team standing by. They'll be anywhere you want in a matter of minutes, in a straight line, as the chopper flies. Good luck.' Even the centre of London was beginning to slow down. Bond had the Bentley on the Hammersmith Flyover, heading towards the M4, in less than twelve minutes. They had calculated that Holy and Rahani wouldn't try anything until he was well off the motorway.
It happened just after the Heathrow Airport turnoff.
First, a pair of cars, travelling very fast, forced the Bentley to give up the outside lane. Bond cursed them for a couple of fools and pulled into the middle lane. Before he realised what was happening the two cars reduced speed, riding beside him, keeping him in the centre, while two heavy goods lorries came up in the slow lane.
Bond increased speed, trying to slip away in the centre lane, but both cars and lorries were well tuned, and, too late, he realised the way ahead was blocked by a big, slow-moving refrigerated truck.
He braked and saw incredulously the rear doors open and a ramp slide out, its end riding on buffered wheels, fishtailing to the road surface, the whole contraption being driven with great precision.
The cars to the right and lorries on the left crowded him, like sheep dogs working together until he had no option left. With a slight jerk, the Bentley's front wheels touched the ramp. With the steering wheel bucking in his hands, Bond gave the engine a tweak and glided into the great white moving garage.
The doors clanged shut behind him. Lights came on, and the door was opened. Simon stood beside the car, an Uzi tucked under one arm.
'Well done, James. Sorry we couldn't give you any warning. Now, there's not much time. Out of those clothes. We've brought the rest of your gear. Everything of it, shoes as well, just in case they smelled a rat and bugged you.
Hands grasped at his clothing, tearing it from him, handing over other things - socks, underwear, grey slacks, white shirt, tie, blazer, and soft leather moccasins.
When he turned round, Simon was behind him, now dressed in a chauffeur's uniform, and the van seemed to be slowing down and taking one of the exits. The ASP was handed back to him - a sign of good faith? He wondered if it was loaded.
The team had worked with such speed and proficiency that Bond hardly had time to take in what was going on.
As the truck shuddered to a halt, Simon opened the Bentley's rear door, half pushing Bond into the back, and in a second the truck's doors were again open, and they were reversing out. Simon was in the driving seat.
'Well done, James. You got the frequency, I presume?' Jay Autem Holy said from beside him.
'Yes.' His voice sounded numb.
'I knew it. Good. Give it to me now.
Bond parroted the figures, and the decimal point.
'Where are we going?' Holy repeated the frequency, asking Bond for confirmation. By now they were moving smoothly back on to the motorway.
'Where are we going, James? Don't worry. We're going to live through an important moment in history.
First, Heathrow Airport. All the formalities have been taken care of. As we're just a little late, we're cleared to drive straight up to our private jet. We're going to Switzerland. Be there in a couple of hours. Then we have another short journey. Then yet another kind of flight. I shall explain it all later. You see, yesterday morning, long before you woke for breakfast, while it was still dark, the team from Erewhon carried out a very successful raid. They stole a small landing strip and an airship. In the morning, James, we're all going for an airship ride.
To change history.
A mile or so back down the road, the observer in the trail car had noted that their target seemed to pull off the motorway for a few minutes. 'We're closing on him.
Can't make it out. You want me to call in?'
'Give it a couple of minutes.' The driver shifted in his seat.
'Ah. No.' The observer stared at the moving blip which was Bond's homer. 'No, it's okay. Looks as though they were right. He's still heading west. Lay you odds on them picking him up between Oxford and Banbury.' But the Bentley had, in fact,just passed them, going in the opposite direction, hurling itself back towards Heathrow and a waiting executive jet.
THE MAGIC CARPET
THE EXECUTIVE JET had Goodyear symbols all over it a smart livery, with the words Good Year flanking the winged sandal. It also had a British registration.
Bond resisted the temptation to make a run for it, try to attract attention, or cause a commotion. The realisation that he was outnumbered, outgunned and at an extreme disadvantage held him back.
Whoever had laid out the ground plan of this operation, Holy, Rahani, or the inner council of SPECTRE itself, had done so with admirable attention to detail. For all he knew, the whole gang on board could have a genuine affiliation to Goodyear. In any case, he did not even know whether the ASP was loaded. So far there was at least a small amount of trust between him and the main protagonists.
Exploit that trust to the full, he told himself, and just go along for the ride.
After takeoff an attractive girl served drinks and coffee. Bond took the coffee, not wishing to dull any of his senses. He then excused himself and went to the pocketsized lavatory at the rear of the aircraft.
The ever-watchful Simon sat near the door, eyeing him with wary amusement. But there was no attempt at restraint.
Inside he took out the ASP and slipped the magazine from the butt.
