outweighing the disappointment – though only by a nose. She squeezed his arm and sat back. ‘You order for me, James. I’m sure you know what I’d like.’
Tuesday – DEATH IN THE SAND
19
James Bond awoke from a dream he could not recall but that had him sweating fiercely, his heart pounding – and pounding all the faster from the braying of his phone.
His bedside clock told him it was 5:01 a.m. He grabbed the mobile and glanced at the screen, blinking sleep from his eyes. Bless him, he thought.
He hit answer. ‘
‘
‘
‘What did we do in the days before encryption?’ asked Rene Mathis, presumably in his office on Boulevard Mortier, in Paris’s 20th
‘There were no days before encryption, Rene. There were only days before there was an app for it on a touch screen.’
‘Well said, James. You are waxing wise,
The thirty-five-year-old Mathis was an agent for the French secret service, the Direction Generale de la Securite Exterieure. He and Bond worked together occasionally, in joint ODG and DGSE operations, most recently wrapping up al-Qaeda and other criminal enterprises in Europe and North Africa. They had also drunk significant quantities of Lillet and Louis Roederer together and spent some rather… well, colourful nights in such cities as Bucharest, Tunis and Bari, that free-wheeling gem on Italy’s Adriatic coast.
It had been Rene Mathis whom Bond had called yesterday evening, not Osborne-Smith, to ask his friend to run surveillance on Severan Hydt. He had made the decision reluctantly but he had realised he had to take the politically risky step of circumventing not only Division Three but M himself. He needed surveillance but had to make sure that Hydt and the Irishman remained unaware that the British authorities were on to them.
France, of course, has its own snoop operation, like GCHQ in England, the NSA in America and any other country’s intelligence agency with a flush budget. The DGSE was continually listening in to conversations and reading emails of the citizens of other countries, the United Kingdom’s included. (Yes, the countries were allies at the moment, but there
So Bond had called in a favour. He’d asked Rene Mathis to listen to the ELINT and SIGINT from London being hoovered up by the hundred-metre antenna of France’s gravity gradient stabilised spy satellite, searching for relevant key words.
Mathis now said, ‘I have something for you, James.’
‘I’m dressing. I’ll put you on speaker.’ Bond hit the button and leapt out of bed.
‘Does this mean that the beautiful redhead lying beside you will be listening as well?’
Bond chuckled, not least because the Frenchman had happened to pick that particular hair colour. A brief image surfaced of pressing his cheek against Philly’s last night on her doorstep as her vibrant hair caressed his shoulder before he returned to his flat.
‘I searched for signals tagged “Severan Hydt” or his nickname “Noah”. And anything related to Green Way International, the Gehenna plan, Serbia train derailments, or threat-oriented events this coming Friday, and all of those in proximity to any names sounding Irish. But it is very odd, James: the satellite vector was aimed right at Green Way’s premises east of London, but there was virtually no SIGINT coming out of the place. It’s as if he forbids his workers to have mobiles. Very curious.’
Yes, it was, Bond reflected. He continued dressing fast.
‘But there are several things we were able to pick up. Hydt is presently at home and he’s leaving the country this morning. Soon, I believe. Going where, I don’t know. But he’ll be flying. There was a reference to an airport and another to passports. And it will be in a private jet, since his people had spoken to the pilot directly. I’m afraid there was no clue as to which airport. I know there are many in London. We have them targeted… for surveillance only, I must add quickly!’
Bond couldn’t help but laugh.
‘Now, James, we found nothing about this Gehenna plan. But I have some disturbing information. We decrypted a brief call fifteen minutes ago to a location about ten miles west of Green Way, outside London.’
‘Probably Hydt’s home.’
Mathis continued, ‘A man’s voice said, “Severan, it’s me.” Accented but our algorithms couldn’t tell region of origin. There were some pleasantries, then this: “We’re confirmed for seven p.m. today. The number of dead will be ninety or so. You must be there no later than six forty-five.”’
So Hydt either was part of a plan to murder scores of people or was going to do so himself. ‘Who are the victims? And why are they going to die?’
‘I don’t know, James. But what I found just as troubling was your Mr Hydt’s reaction. His voice was like that of
‘He said that?’
‘Indeed. The man told him he could be very close. And Hydt sounded very pleased at that too. Then the phones went silent and haven’t been used again.’
‘Seven p.m. Somewhere out of the country. Anything more?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘Thank you, for all this. I’d better get on with the hunt.’
‘I wish I could keep our satellite online longer but my superiors are already asking questions about why I am so interested in that insignificant little place called London.’
‘Next time the Dom is on me, Rene.’
‘But of course.
‘
In his years as a Royal Naval Reserve commander and an agent for ODG, he’d been up against some very bad people: insurgents, terrorists, psychopathic criminals, amoral traitors selling nuclear secrets to men mad enough to use them. But what was Hydt’s game?
Purpose… response.
Well, even if it wasn’t clear what the man’s twisted goal might be, at least there was one response Bond could initiate.
Ten minutes later he ran down the stairs, fishing the car key from his pocket. He didn’t need to look up Severan Hydt’s address. He’d memorised it last night.
