As Bond looked back, he saw one of the men talking into a radio.
As he had imagined, the police were assisting innocently in the events planned to take place over the lake in a few hours' time.
The great cleft in the mountains seemed to widen as they climbed away. The sun was up now, and you could clearly see tiny farmhouses on the slopes. Then suddenly the valley floor and the tiny landing strip appeared just below them, the grass a painted green, the control tower, hangar and one other building as neat and unreal as a film set. Out on the grass, two mountain rescue aircraft stood like stranded birds. At the far end of the field the sausage shape of the Goodyear airship Europa swung lazily, tethered to her low portable masthead.
Then the road dipped, the airfield disappeared, and they were twisting through the S-bends which would carry them to the final destination.
Before the two cars reached the valley floor and the airstrip two more police checkpoints were negotiated.
The Swiss police had certainly snapped into action.
London, Bond decided, would feel very satisfied, content that nothing untoward could now happen by the peaceful lakeside.
There were no less than three police cars at the airstrip entrance, which was little more than a metal gateway set into an eight-foot chain-link fence, encircling the entire area. In the distance, a police car patrolled the perimeter slowly and as thoroughly as only the Swiss perform their official duties.
As the Audis drew up, Bond saw two more faces which he recognised from Erewhon. This time, though, the men were dressed in smart suits and smiled broad, almost ingratiating smiles as the two-vehicle convoy came to a halt. They exchanged a few words with the senior policeman on the gate, and the cars were waved forward.
One man got into each car.
The man who entered Holy's car was a German, fair-haired, suspicious, and with features cut from a solid block of rough stone.
He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, and the smart suit bulged around the breast pocket. Bond did not like the look of him. He liked him even less when the talking started.
Holy confined himself to the most pertinent questions, and was given precise, military answers in an American accent.
Posing as the Goodyear head of PR, Rudi, the German, had taken the call from Bill Tanner, which he now described in detail, saying the man was certainly English, and also undoubtedly represented one of the major British security agencies. The police, he said, began to arrive within half an hour of his call.
Jay Autem then asked about times, and you could tell from His expression he had already worked out that the enquiries had begun while Bond was in the Foreign Office house off Northumberland Avenue.
'James, you didn't say anything indiscreet when you were with your friend Anthony Denton?' The two cars were heading not for the little office building but for the hangar, with its two slab-winged observation-rescue Pilatus aircraft sitting outside.
'Me?' Bond looked surprised and startled, as though he had not been paying attention to the conversation.
'Indiscreet? How? Why?' Holy looked at him, a shadow of concern crossing his face.
'You see, James, Tamil's people took over this airstrip, and the whole organisation here, in the early hours of yesterday morning.
Nobody suspected, there was no trouble. Not until last night, when you were closeted with the D.S.O.F.O obtaining the EPOC frequency for us.
Why, I ask myself; should the authorities begin to take an interest at that time of night?' Bond shrugged, indicating that he had no idea, and, in any case, it was nothing to do with him.
The cars came to a halt. 'I do hope you've given us the correct frequency, James. If you haven't Well, I've already warned you of the consequences; consequences for the entire world, my friend 'That's the current EPOC frequency. Have no doubt, Dr Holy,' he snapped back.
Holy winced at the sound of his real name, then nodded as he leaned forward to open the door.
Bond was left with the Arab boy, who watched him with alert bright eyes, a small Walther automatic clutched in his right hand. The safety catch, Bond noticed, was off.
Simon, Holy and the German, Rudi, were joined by Rahani and General Zwingli - a little procession walking spryly towards the hangar. Rahani's men were everywhere, Bond now saw, spread out, half concealed by what cover they could find, with a full armament of carbines and automatic weapons. There were even two guards on the small door inserted in one of the great sliding doors of the hangar.
The door was opened, and the party stepped inside.
Two minutes later, Simon came out, walking quickly to the car.
'Colonel Rahani wants you inside.' His manner was one of indifference, the attitude of a man who does not wish to become involved with anyone outside his own tight comradeship. Bond recognised the psychology. He had studied the whole subject of terrorist mentality and he knew they had come to some cut-off point.
Simon was not willing to have any kind of relationship with Bond now.
It could be, he thought, as they walked the few paces towards the hangar, that this really is the end. They've decided I've talked, and there can be no trust from now on. Curtain time - the fiction meeting the reality.
The little group of senior men stood just inside the door, and it was Tamil Rahani who greeted him.'
'Ah, Commander Bond. We thought you should see this.' He gestured towards the centre of the hangar.
About forty men sat close together on the floor, held in a tight knot by three tripod-mounted machine guns trained on them, each with a crew of four.
'These are the good men from Goodyear.' He split the Good-year, as though trying a pun. 'They will remain here until our mission is completed. They will be quickly dispatched - all of them - if one person makes an attempt to break out. They are being fed and looked after by the other team.' He indicated four men placed between the guns. 'It is uncomfortable for them. But if all goes well, they will be released unharmed. You will notice there is one lady.' From the middle of the group, Cindy Chalmer gave Bond a wan smile, and Tamil Rahani lowered his voice.
'Between ourselves, Commander Bond, I think the delightful Miss Chalmer does not have much chance of surviving. But we want no bloodshed yet; not even your blood. You see, it was SPECTRE'S intention that you should be put with this group of prisoners once you'd fulfilled your mission. The representative from SPECTRE did not trust you from the start, and is not at all happy with you now.
However. . .' His lips drew back, not into a smile, but rather in a straight thin slash across his face.
'However, I think you can be of use in the airship. You can fly, can't you? You have a pilot's licence?' Bond nodded, adding that he had no experience of airships.
'You'll only be the copilot. The one who sees to it that the pilot does as he's told. There'll be a nice irony in it, if by any chance you have doubled on us, Commander Bond. Come!' They returned to the cars and drove swiftly over the few hundred yards to the office building. Inside, around forty of Rahani's trained men from Erewhon were sitting around, smoking and drinking coffee.
'Our handling team, Commander Bond. They have learned by simulation. At Erewbon. It was something we did not show you, but they are very necessary when we weigh out the airship before takeoff and, to a great extent, when we get back from our short excursion.' The only man who was out of place sat at a table just inside the door. He wore a navy blue pilot's uniform, and his peaked cap lay on the table in front of him. One of Rahani's men sat opposite, well clear of the table, with an Uzi machine pistol ready to blow the man's stomach out should he make a fuss.
'You are our pilot, I presume?' Rahani smiled politely at the man, who looked at him coldly and said he was a pilot, but he would not fly under duress.
'I think you will,' Rahani said confidently. 'What do we call you?'
'You call me Captain,' the pilot replied.
'No. We're all friends here. Informal.' Rahani added in a commanding snap: Your first name.
The pilot realised it would be foolhardy to remain too stubborn.
He cocked his head on one side.
'Okay, you can call me Nick.'
'Right, Nick . . . ' Tamil Rahani carefully explained what was going to happen. Nick was to fly the airship, just
