It was, as he had thought, empty.
Whatever else happened, ammunition or another weapon was a priority.
Back in his seat, Bond took stock. The takeover of the Goodyear base, together with the airship Europa, had already taken place hours before Bill Tanner had checked. True, the Swiss police were now alerted, but they would only make SPECTRE' S task easier by keeping out any unwanted meddlers. The only possibility of the Service suspecting anything amiss would be the discovery that the surveillance cars had lost him - but heaven knew when they would find out. These people had taken no chances. By stripping him, they had effectively cut off any possible pursuit. The surveillance teams could be led a pretty dance, all over the country, following the constant bleeps of the homers coming from a pile of clothes in a lorry or car.
Not for the first time in his career, Bond was truly alone, with no way of warning anyone in authority. On the face of it, there was very little he could do to stop the airship's scheduled flight over Geneva, or prevent use of the Russian and American ciphers. Even the high security classification of these ciphers would work against them.
If M was correct and the SPECTRE plan turned on the operation of the American Ploughshare cipher or its Russian equivalent, there would be no worldwide alert while Russian and American leaders were locked in their Summit talks. The damage would already have been done before they knew there was a crisis.
Sitting next to Jay Autem Holy, he reflected on the ingenuity of the plan, which would denude the two superpowers of their one true weapon in the power balance. It was, of course, what many people had dreamed of; protested for, talked and argued about for years. M had stressed this at the meeting in the house off Northumberland Avenue.
He was convinced that a 'phased run-down of both sides' nuclear armouries was a reasonable solution. For the two superpowers to be stripped overnight of their major weapons would destroy the tenuous stability that had prevailed since the Second World War. Operation Down Escalator was, Bond thought, an appropriate name, borrowing from that clumsy term, dc-escalation, bandied about by politicians and protesters alike.
He dozed, not asleep, but conserving his energies for the time when ingenuity and strength might be needed.
Yet in that state, pictures of the aftermath of Down Escalator, as described by his chief; churned over and over in his mind. There would be a worldwide economic crisis, with a market crash of enormous proportions, all confidence lost in the two superpowers. M had said that any economist or social historian could map out the events which would follow the undercutting of financial stability. The United States and the Soviet Union would be at the mercy of any other nation, however small, which possessed its own nuclear capability. As he took in the pictures M had drawn, Bond became even more determined to prevent Operation Down Escalator, no matter what the cost to himself.
'Anarchy will rule,' M had said. 'The world will divide into uncertain alliances and the man in the street, no matter what his birthright, nationality, or politics, will be forced to accept a way of life which will drop him into a dark and bitter well of misery. Freedom, even the compromise freedom which exists now, will be erased from our existence,' M had declaimed in a rare burst of almost Churchillian oratory.
'Seatbelt, James.' He opened his eyes. Jay Autem Holy was shaking his shoulder. 'We're coming in to land.' Bond smiled back, sheepishly, as though he had really been deeply asleep.
'Landing? Where?' Perhaps in Geneva, at the airport, he could get away, raise the alarm.
'Berne, Switzerland. You remember we're flying into Switzerland?' Of course. They wouldn't do anything like trying to go into Geneva, which would be bristling with security.
Berne! Bond smiled inwardly. These people had the whole business tied up. Berne, cars, a swift drive over to the Lake of Geneva and the Goodyear airstrip. All formalities would be already dealt with under the auspices of the huge international company they appeared to represent.
He glanced at his watch. It was already four in the morning. As the aircraft banked on its final approach he saw out of the cabin window that the sky was beginning to brighten, a dark grey colour wash streaked with light.
No, he had to go all the way. Try to spike the plan from the inside as it got under way.
'Nice place, Berne,' he observed casually, and Holy nodded.
'We go on by car. It'll take us an hour - an hour and a half.
There'll be plenty of time. Our job does not start until eleven.' They came in with engines throttled back, then there was a final short burst of power to lift them over the threshold, and hardly a bump as the wheels touched down, before the final fiery roar of reverse thrust.
As he had suspected, the transfer was swift and accomplished with the combined efficiency of Swiss bureaucracy and SPECTRE'S cunning.
The aircraft was parked well away from the main terminal. Two Audi Quattros and a police car were drawn up alongside.
From the window, Bond saw the transaction take place - the small pile of passports handed over, inspected and returned, with a salute.
There would be no customs inspection, he thought. The Goodyear jet must have been running in and out of Berne and Geneva for a month or so now. They would have the formalities cut down to the fine art of mutual trust.
Then General Zwingli eased his bulk down the aisle first, giving Bond a friendly nod as he passed. They left the aircraft in single file, with Bond hemmed in neatly by the Arab boy and Simon. Nobody threatened him, but it was implicit in their looks that any false move would be countered. The police car, with its immigration officers on board, was already slowly disappearing back towards the terminal.
The Audis had Goodyear V.I.P. stickers on the windscreens and rear windows. Bond recognised both drivers, in their grey uniforms, as men he had seen in Erewhon.
Within minutes, he was sitting next to Holy in the rear of the second car as they swept away from the airport in the half light of dawn. The houses on Berne's outskirts still slept, while others appeared to be just waking lights coming on, green shutters open.
Always, in Switzerland, Bond thought, you knew you were in a small, rich country, for all the buildings looked as though they had been assembled in some sterile room from a plastic kit, complete with small details of greenery and flowers.
They took the most direct route - straight to Lausanne, then along the lake road, following the line of the toy-like railway. Holy was quiet for most of the journey, but Simon, sitting in the front passenger seat, occasionally turned back to make small talk.
'You know this part of the world, James? Fairytale country, isn't it?' Bond remembered, for no apparent reason, that the first time he had visited the Lake of Geneva was when he was sixteen. He had spent a week with friends in Montreux, had had a youthful holiday affair with a waitress from a lakeside cale, and had developed a taste for Campari-soda.
The Magic Carpet Between Lausanne and Morges the cars stopped at a lighted lakeside restaurant. Simon and the Arab boy, in turns, brought out coffee and rolls to the cars. The sheer normality of their actions grated on Bond's nerves, like a probe on a raw tooth. Half of his mind and body urged him to take drastic action now: the other more professional half told him to wait; bide his time and use the moment when it came.
'Where are we heading?' he asked Holy soon after the breakfast break.
'A few kilometres this side of Geneva.' Holy remained relaxed and confident. 'We turn off the lake road.
There's a small valley and an airstrip. The team from Erewhon will be waiting for us. Have you ever flown in an airship, James?'
'No.'
'Then it will be a new experience for us both. I'm told it's rather fantastic.' He peered from the windows. 'And it looks as though we'll have a clear day for it. The view should be wonderful.' They went through Nyon, the houses clustered together on the lake as though clinging to each other to save themselves from falling in. Soon afterwards, Geneva came into view at the western end of the lake, a misty blur of buildings with a toy steamer ploughing a lone furrow of spray, chugging across the water. It all looked as peaceful as ever.
They also met the first police checkpoint, the cars slowing almost to a standstill before the sharp-eyed uniformed men waved them on.
There was a second road block just before they turned inland. A car and two policemen on motorcycles started to flag them down, until they spotted the Goodyear stickers. They were waved on with smiles.
