Dialogue and movement began and was then stopped as William reached the far side of the display.
The scene came alive again as Fredericka and Bond went past, then, ahead, they saw the stocky little William run into the next exhibit as though he were trying to make it to the area behind the displays.
Again there was noise, a huge overpowering burst of music recognizable immediately as Wagner's Sieried. William was attempting to get across the stage which was a full-sized model of the famous opera house Richard Wagner's great dream theatre at Bayreuth, built especially for the performance of the composer's gargantuan operas.
Bond stopped, legs parted, the Colt an extension of his arm, sighting it on the figure of William as he blundered forward towards the automaton of Siegfried singing his microchip heart out and raising the legendary magic sword which is such an integral part of the massive Ring Cycle of operas.
He fired once and saw William lifted off his feet as the bullet struck him, sending him curving towards the half rising sword, then, in a flurry of arms and legs, William crashed down upon the operatic automaton. Sparks flew from under his body, and a small burst of smoke immersed both man and robot for a few seconds. When the smoke lifted, William lay impaled on the sword, while the opera continued, the tapes playing on even though the reproduction of Wagner's stage remained still, with the macabre bundle of corpse and electronics at its centre, the very real sword reaching bloodily up through William's back.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A RIDE IN THE COUNTRY
`Don't you think we should wait for Maeve?
Sweat her?' Fredericka stood in the great hall. They had seen this part of the castle on their arrival, therefore only getting an impression of a heavily decorated Victorian-like entrance. Now, for the first time, they noticed the long minstrels' gallery, high above.
`That's how we heard the Dragonfly talking to his sister.' Bond pointed to the balustraded U shape above them.
`Yes, but don't you think we should wait?' `No, for one thing I don't particularly want to do any explaining concerning two dead bodies. Also, if we're to catch up with Dragonpol, we should head for Milan. That's his first stop, isn't it?' `According to the notes, yes.
But, James, how do we set about finding him?' `We might have to get a little help, Flick. What I do know is that the longer we hang around here, the more time it gives Dragonpol.' He went up to the place where they had left their luggage, carrying it down to the hall and then out to the BMW, which he checked meticulously before letting Fredericka near it. He had read the full report of how Archie and Angela Shaw had died in London, and one thing was certain: Dragonpol knew about explosives just as he knew about other kinds of weapons and more exotic ways to death.
The car was clean so they just drove away, leaving Schloss Drache lit up as though for some festival.
They went as fast as the law would allow, heading for Bonn, and stopping only for Fredericka to make one international call to Switzerland from a public telephone.
`I won't be long, my dear, but I have an idea and it might just make all the difference when we get into Italy,' she told him, refusing to say more.
Bond sat, irritably, in the car, wondering silently on the amount of time it took women to make quick telephone calls, or dress for dinner yet seemed to be able to get out of their clothes in the wink of an eye when occasion demanded.
In all, Fredericka spent over half an hour in the phone booth.
`Getting back into your service's good books?' Bond asked, when they were on the road again.
`Not likely, my dear. I called our old chum Bodo.' `Lempke? The Swiss cop with the turnip head?' `The same. He's a damned good policeman, and he also owes me a favour.' `Will he pay up?' `We'll see when we get to Bonn.' So, when they reached the airport and turned in the BMW, she made another call, while Bond got them on to a flight to Milan.
`All set,' Fredericka told him. `We have a booking at the Palace.
`Oh, you couldn't get us in at the Principe e Savoia?' The Palace in Milan is sister hotel to the Principe, and regarded mainly as a good, but no frills, hotel used by businessmen and provincials in town for one or two nights. The Palace was not noted for being an hotel of the grand school, but a resting place without luxury and with rooms designed in the utilitarian manner.
`I didn't even try the Principe,' she snapped. `If you want kitsch, over-decorated five-star places, you can go and stay there on your own. Anyway, Bodo will know where to find us.' `He's repaying your favour?' `More, he's coming to see us. With information, I hope.' He did not press for explanations. Already he had learned that Fredericka von Grusse liked to do things her way, and she would tell him only when she was good and ready. Bond respected that, for he knew it mirrored his own attitude in arcane matters.
They arrived in Milan at a little after six in the evening, and by seven were settled into the Palace, amidst chrome and furnishings which were serviceable, though far from the luxury Bond would have preferred.
However, the mini-bar was well stocked, and it was Fredericka who suggested that they break out the champagne.
`We have something to celebrate?' `Getting away from Schloss Drache in one piece is enough for me. But this might be a case of 'we who are about to die' `What a charming idea. Why are we about to die, Flick?' `Work it out for yourself, James. It's quite simple really.
We're both marked men well, you are. I, on the other hand, am a marked woman.' `But shouldn't we begin to try and find the Dragonfly?' `You like looking for needles in haystacks?' He thought for a minute.
She was right, of course. Without some official assistance, they would be unlikely to track down Dragonpol. He had even suggested that they make contact with some kind of authority. Yet something else was nagging away in the back of his mind, there just out of reach.
Something they had overheard during that last conversation between Dragonpol and his sister.
`I suspect he might well come looking for us.
The Dragonfly, I mean.' `With a little homicide on his mind?
Hence, we who are about to die?' `Possibly, but Bodo doesn't think he's out to kill anybody at this point.' She paused, gave him her most beautiful smile and added, `With the exception of the meddlers that was what he called us, wasn't it? The meddlers?' `He also said we should be kept unharmed.
Again the overheard conversation swirled around his mind, with something significant hovering off stage.
`Unharmed until he returned, presumably. We have to face the fact, James, that friend Dragonpol, actor extraordinary with a great eye for detail, does not really like us. So, unless he gets lucky and sees us, he's unlikely to start killing anybody.
`No? What about the bloody list? Milan equals KTK and so forth.' `If Bodo's correct, KTK is not even in Milan.
Think of La Scala, James. Then think about who KTK could be.`I already have. Milan equals one of the greatest opera houses in the world La Scala-and there's only one KTK connected with opera. The beautiful Dame Kiri Te Kanawa.. `Quite, and she's nowhere near Milan at the moment, though she will be in December. You worked out who YA is, in Athens?' `Arafat?' `Give the man a cigar. Yes, Yasser Arafat, the Old Man, the PLO leader with a thousand lives, or so it seems.
`And?' `And he is nowhere near Athens, and not likely to be until December when he has agreed to take part in a joint meeting with other Arab leaders, together with representatives from the British and United States governments. Dame Kiri's going to be in Milan for the second week in December doing three performances of Tosca, and making one charity appearance in the Cathedral, on the night of the thirteenth.
Arafat is due to arrive in Athens on December the fourteenth. All that's a long time off, but if Dragonpol's up to his usual 202
form, he's planning to do those two in a row. Of course, there's always Paris.' `I have one idea about Paris, but it really doesn't bear thinking about, and there's no way that Dragonpol could have any advance warning.' `Then keep it to yourself until we've talked to Bodo.' As if on cue, the telephone rang and within seconds Fredericka was having an animated conversation with the Swiss detective.
Finally she put the telephone down and turned to face him. `He will have all the information we need by tomorrow, and we are to meet him for lunch.' `So?' `So, we're on holiday, unless David Dragonpol comes calling.
