exchange click through and a second before the ringing tone began he put the piece of plastic on the mouthpiece and pressed hard. For two seconds it emitted a tiny piercing beep not unlike the sound of a muted harmonica. Through the earpiece he heard a small responding beep, meaning that the black grains of plastic wheat he had planted in the castle telephones had reacted to the tone. With the tiny ‘harmonica bugs’ coming to life he could now listen in not only to telephone conversations but to any sound within thirty feet of each bug. He could have been as far away as Australia or South Africa and have received the same transmission. These tiny, powerful instruments can be activated from thousands of miles away making the telephone a live, ever-ready microphone. At that moment Bond could hear only odd, far away noises, probably from one of the many rooms without a telephone. Softly, he put down the receiver and glanced at his watch. He knew he must continue to activate the bugs until he got a result. Ebbie had been hovering, looking perplexed. She was holding the bandages and disinfectant.
‘James, will you let me do your hands? Please.’
Bond nodded, still preoccupied as he debated whether to telephone Smolin. Somebody would certainly be in the castle, if only to tend the injured Ingrid. But the fact that he could pick up nothing meant one thing, that Chernov had every available man, including himself, scouring the countryside for them.
He sighed. ‘Yes, okay, Ebbie. Do your worst.’
In fact, she did her best. She was soothing, gentle and very disconcerting. In the middle of her ministrations the food arrived, and they started eating as soon as she had finished.
‘I shall bathe after this.’ She spoke with her mouth half full. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t wait. I was so hungry.’
‘That’s all right, Ebbie. You’ve been very kind.’
She looked across the little table that had been brought in for them. Her head was bowed, but she lifted her eyes, half closed, then opened them wide. ‘I want to show you every kindness, James. You were wonderful back at that awful castle.’
‘I don’t need payment, my dear.’
‘Oh, but I liked you all those years ago on the submarine. You’ve bugged the telephones at the castle, yes?’
‘You’re very astute, Ebbie.’
‘Astute? What’s astute? Is it sexy? I find you very . . .’
‘It means you’re very shrewd . . . clever at spotting things.’
‘But it was obvious, what you were doing just now. We were taught about it when we prepared for Cream Cake – that is such a stupid name. You have listening devices in the castle, yes?’
‘Of course I have.’
‘Then you’re a clever little bugger, James, to be able to listen to things in the castle from this telephone.’
‘I think you have the wrong word, Ebbie, but not to worry.’ He smiled and her face lit up.
‘James, dear man, I hope you don’t have to listen to them all night?’
‘It depends. At the moment there’s nobody there.’
‘I hope you don’t. Oh, I do hope you don’t.’
‘We shall see. I must keep trying.’
They finished eating and Ebbie disappeared into the bathroom. Bond wheeled the dining table into the corridor. He was about to dial the castle again when Ebbie came out of the bathroom, dressed only in what she would have called her
He tried the castle once more and this time caught a short conversation. A man was talking in Russian to Ingrid, who was obviously very weak. It amounted to nothing and although he waited for fifteen minutes, there was no other sound. He put down the telephone and lay back on the bed feeling tired and now acutely aware of the pain in his arm and hands.
Closing his eyes, he wondered what the next move should be. Like it or not, he would have to reactivate the bugs at regular intervals, and his experience told him that if he heard no more from the castle they should all be on the move within a few hours. If they got back to England in one piece he could take the girls to one of his own safe houses, which he kept well hidden from the Service. He would then report to M with Smolin. At least two-thirds of the mission would have been accomplished. While he was composing his apologia to M, Ebbie returned to the bedroom, her hair glistening and her body only partially covered by an oyster satin neglige.
‘The bathroom’s free now, James.’ She allowed the neglige to slip from her shoulders. ‘Unless you have something better to do.’
Bond looked at the young fresh body, which held for him that same urgent attraction of innocence he had felt earlier. Slowly, he moved from the bed and into her arms. Their first kiss seemed to last a lifetime. His hands slid down to the neat silky little buttocks, and he felt his mind shrinking to one great need as Ebbie returned his kiss, her tongue darting and reaching hard into his mouth. He pulled away and looked into the wide open blue eyes.
‘With these bandages on, it might be difficult for me to take a bath.’ His throat felt dry. ‘I wonder if you could . . .’
‘Why don’t we have a bath together?’
Ebbie’s hand closed around his wrist and she led him unprotesting into the bathroom. She turned on the taps and Bond allowed her to undress him. When he was lying in the warm water she stood over him, naked, to soap his body, her hands and fingers exploring him as she did so. When he was washed clean she stepped into the narrow tub, sliding on to her side and lifting one leg over his so that he took her beneath the warm water.
When it was over, Ebbie dried him with a rough towel, and redressed his hands. This time, he led her back to the bedroom. For all her innocent looks, it was obvious that she was far from inexperienced, for she showed not only great stamina, but also imagination and invention. Through that night they made love to one another three more times, once with a stormy wildness; then with passion – Ebbie above him, reciting a sensuous poem to the rhythm of her own body; and finally with intense tenderness which made Bond think almost sadly of his dead wife, Tracy.
Bond tried the castle several times throughout the night, still with no result. In the end he gave up and drifted to sleep with Ebbie twined around him.
He woke with a start, realising that dawn was not far away. Gently he disentangled himself from Ebbie’s smooth body and looked at his watch. It was five-thirty. Sliding from the bed, he padded quietly to the bathroom. His hands felt less sore, though the arm mangled by Fafie still throbbed. Washing was easier than he expected and by six o’clock, with dim light starting to show outside, Bond was dressed and equipped with the ASP, baton and his hidden weapons.
Ebbie still lay in a deep sleep, her fair hair spread across the pillow, her face tranquil. She would probably need all the rest she could get that day, so Bond pocketed the room key and went silently into the corridor. The room service table had gone, and the whole hotel was wrapped in silence. As he made his way down to the main lobby, the calm was broken by occasional sounds of the kitchen staff preparing breakfast below. Nobody was on duty at the reception desk so he made his way to the coin-operated telephone, dragging a pile of Irish change from his pocket.
A decidedly sleepy and disgruntled voice answered from the Clonmel Arms Hotel, and he had to repeat his request to be put through to Mr and Mrs Palmerston. There was an unduly long wait before the operator came back on the line.
‘I’m sorry sir, but they’ve checked out.’
‘When?’ Alarm bells sounded in his head.
‘I’ve just come on duty myself, sir. But some friends of theirs arrived unexpectedly, so I’m told. Mr and Mrs Palmerston left around a half hour ago.’
Bond’s nerves shrieked as he thanked the operator and quickly hung up. What ‘friends’? But he already knew the answer. Blackfriar – General Chernov – had caught up with Smolin, and it would not be long before he reached Bond and Ebbie. Whether he had half an hour or ten minutes, it was essential that Bond put himself back in control of the situation. Instantly he dialled a Dublin number. It rang for several minutes before the voice answered sharply.
‘Murray.’
‘Jacko B. There are problems. I have to make this official.’
‘Where are you?’ Norman Murray sounded on edge.
