night. With this new mental and physical intermingling came a fresh anxiety, so that they worked harder than ever towards the final goal of preparing Bond to meet Percy's former husband.
By the start of the third week, as he was really beginning to master the intricacies of micro programs, Percy suddenly called a halt.
'I'm going to show you the kind of thing that Jay Autem could well be writing now,' she announced, switching off the Terror Twelve and removing the normal disk drives which Bond had just been using.
In their place she fitted a large, hard-disk laser drive and, powering up the system, booted a program into the computer - 'booting' being the technical term for placing a program in the computer's memory.
If Bond had found the computer TEWT fascinating, it was as child's play to the program he was about to witness. What appeared on the screen now was not the standard computer graphics he had become used to, even in their highest form, but genuine pictures, real and in natural colour and texture, like a controllable movie.
'Video,' Percy explained. 'A camera interfaced with a hard laser computer disk. Now watch.
She manipulated the joystick, and it was as though they were driving along a city street in heavy traffic.
Certainly the human forms she produced were less realistic than the background against which she made them move, run, fight and take action. But there was a new and almost frightening conviction about this presentation. It was more a simulation than a game.
'I call it Bank Robbery,' she said, and there was no doubt about its effectiveness. By the clever juxtaposition of real film and graphics you could play at robbing a real bank, dealing with every possible emergency that might arise. Bond was more than impressed.
'When I've taught you how to process and copy Jay Autem's work, you'll have the Terror Twelve and three types of drive to take with you, James. Don't say I havn't provided you with all the essential creature comforts.' Until later that evening, Bond applied himself to the work, but remained introspective, his mind hovering between the tasks on hand and the appalling potential for evil of the tool that Jay Autem Holy - or indeed anyone with the necessary knowledge - had at his disposal.
It should have been obvious, of course. If there were programs to assist the military in learning strategy and tactics, there had to be the potential there for unscrupulous people to learn the best way to rob, cheat and even kill.
'And you really believe training programs, like the one you showed me today, are being used by criminals?' he asked much later, when they were in bed.
'I'd be very surprised if they weren't.' Percy's face was grave.
'Just as I'd be amazed if Jay Autem were not training criminals, or even terrorists, in his nice Oxfordshire house.' She gave a humourless little laugh. 'I doubt if it's called Endor by accident.
The Holy Terror has a dark sense of humour.' Bond knew that she was almost certainly right. Every two days he received a report from England, via Bill Tanner: a digest of the information coming from the surveillance team that had been set up with exceptional discretion, officers being changed every forty-eight hours, in the village of Nun's Cross. He asked Percy what she thought had actually happened on the night Dr Holy went missing.
'Well, he certainly didn't go by himself. Dear old Rolling Joe Zwingli must have gone with him, and that guy was as mad as a hatter.
They had a file as long as your arm on him at Langley.'
'Dealt with the poor pilot, then jumped, I suppose?' Bond was almost speaking to himself. Percy nodded, then shrugged. 'And did away with Zwingli when it suited him.' During the final days of study, Bond mastered the art of copying all types of program protected by every method Percy knew to be used by Dr Holy. They saved the last two days for themselves.
'You're an enchantress,' Bond told Percy. 'I know of nobody else who could have taught me so much in such a short time.'
'You've given me a few wrinkles as well, and I don't mean on my face.' She put her head back on the pillow.
'Come on, James, darling, one more time, as the jazz men say, then we'll have a fabulous dinner and you can really show me how to play those tables in the Salles Privees.' It was midafternoon, and by nine that evening they were seated at the first table in the Casino's most sacred of rooms. Bond's run of luck was still high, though he was now gambling with care, rarely going above his winning stake, which had quadrupled since his arrival, and not betting on the rash outside chance, high-win options.
During the three hours they played that night he was down, at one point, to 40,000 francs. But the wheel started to run in his favour, and eventually, by midnight, the stake had increased to 300,000 francs.
He waited for two turns to pass, deciding to make the next bet the last of the night, when he heard a sharp intake of breath from Percy.
Glancing towards her, he saw the colour had left her face, her eyes staring at the entrance. It was not so much a look of fear as of sudden surprise.
'What is it?' She answered in a whisper, 'Let's get out. Quickly.
Over there. Just come in 'Who?' Bond's eyes fell on a tall, grizzled man, straight-backed, and with eyes that swept the room as though surveying a battlefield. He did not really need to hear her reply.
'The old devil. And we thought Jay Autem had gone for him.
That's Rolling Joe in the flesh. Joe Zwingli's here, and with a couple of infantry divisions by the look of it!' Zwingli was moving into the room, flanked by four other men, neat and smart as officers on parade, and looking as dangerous as an armoured brigade about to attack a Boy Scout troop.
ROLLING HOME
GENERAL ZWiNGLi had been no chicken at the time of his disappearance. He must now be in his mid- seventies.
Yet, from where Bond sat, he looked like a man of sixty in good physical shape. The four other men were younger, heavier and not the kind of people you would be likely to meet at Sunday school parties.
For a moment, Bond sat calmly awaiting the worst, convinced that Zwingli and his men were looking for him, or possibly Percy. There had to be a connection.
You didn't need a crystal ball to work that out. Zwingli had been a necessary part of the disappearance plot. If there had been collusion at the time of the aeroplane wreck, there would still be collusion now, for Dr Holy and General Zwingli were tied together for life by a much stronger bond than marriage vows. Conspirators can rarely divorce without one partner seriously damaging the other.
Bond smiled genially. 'Don't stare, Percy. It's rude. It may also call the good General's attention to us - if it's us he's looking for.' His lips hardly moved as he watched Zwingli and his entourage out of the corner of his eye.
To his relief, the General's craggy face broke into a broad smile.
He was not looking in Bond's and Percy's direction but advancing towards a dark-skinned muscular man, possibly in his mid-thirties, who had been sitting at the bar. The pair shook hands warmly, and there were greetings and introductions all round.
I think, to be on the safe side, it would be prudent for us to take our leave now,' Bond muttered. 'Be casual and natural.' He went through the business of tipping the croupier, gathering the chips together as they rose. They made their way to the cashier, where Bond opted for cash rather than a cheque.
Once outside, he took Percy's arm, leading her firmly back to the hotel.
'It could simply be a coincidence, but I'm taking no chances. I don't for a moment think he could recognise you. How well did you know him, Percy?'
'Two or three dinner parties. Washington social functions. I knew him, but he always gave the impression of complete non-interest. Not just in me, but in all women.
It was him all right,James. I've no doubt about that.' During M's briefing Bond had studied a number of photographs, including two series in Time magazine, when General Zwingli had made the cover story. 'For someone who's been dead that long, he looked in exceptionally good shape. No, the only way he could recognise you is if he was forewarned: if he knew you'd changed your. . .well . . .your image.' Percy giggled. 'This is my real image, James. Mrs. Jay Autem Holy was the disguise. I put on weight, wore thick clear-glass spectacles and looked the ultimate frowsy computer scientist 'And the nose?'
'Okay, so I had it fixed after Jay Autem went missing.
Nobody's perfect. But you're right, I'd have had to be fingered directly to Rolling Joe for him to know it was
