‘Tell them to bring women’s clothes,’ Bond snapped, giving a rough estimate of the sizes.
By the time he was off the telephone he could hear squeals of delight from one of the bathrooms, where the clothes had been found bundled into a cupboard. Sukie came through fully dressed but, almost blatantly, Nannie appeared doing up her stockings to her retrieved suspender belt, which still had holster and pistol in place.
‘Let’s get some air in here,’ Sukie said, advancing towards the windows. Bond stepped in front of her, saying that he would not advise even opening the curtains, let alone the windows. Quietly, he explained why and told them to stay in the main room. Then he made his own way behind the drapes to let air into the room.
The doorbell rang violently. After shouted identifications, Bond explained in German through the closed door that he could not get it open from inside. He heard sets of keys rattling as they were tried in the lock before the seventh worked and the door swung open to admit what seemed like half the Salzburg police force, headed by a smart, authoritative, grey-haired man whom the rest treated with great respect. He introduced himself as Kommissar Becker. The investigative team got on with their job on the terrace while Becker talked to Bond. Sukie and Nannie were led away by plain-clothes men, presumably to be questioned separately elsewhere.
Becker had a long patrician nose and kindly eyes. He knew the score and came quickly to the point.
‘I have been instructed by our Foreign Ministry and Security Departments,’ he began in almost unaccented English. ‘I understand that the Head of the Service to which you belong has also been in touch. All I want from you is a detailed statement. You will then be free to go. But, Mr Bond, I think it would be advisable for you to be out of Austria within twenty-four hours.’
‘Is that official?’
Becker shook his head. ‘No, not official. It is merely my own opinion. Something I would advise. Now, Mr Bond, let us take it from the top as they say in musical circles.’
Bond recounted the story, omitting all he knew about Tamil Rahani and SPECTRE’S Head Hunt. He passed off the shoot-out on the autobahn as one of those occupational hazards that can befall anyone involved in his kind of clandestine work.
‘There is no need to be shy about your status,’ Becker said with an avuncular smile. ‘In our police work here in Austria, we come into contact with all kinds of strange people, from many walks of life – American, British, French, German and Russian – if you follow me. We are almost a clearing house for spies, only I know you don’t like to use that word.’
‘It is rather old-hat.’ Bond found himself smiling back. ‘In many ways we are an outdated tribe and a lot of people would like to see us consigned to the scrap heap. Satellites and computers have taken over much of our work.’
‘It is the same with us,’ the policeman said with a shrug. ‘However, nothing can replace the policeman on the beat, and I’m sure there is still a need for the man on the ground in your business. It is the same in war also. However many tactical or strategic missiles appear over the horizon the military needs live bodies in the field. Here we are geographically placed at a dangerous crossroads. We have a saying especially for the NATO powers. If the Russians come, they will be in Vienna for breakfast; but they will have their afternoon tea in London.’
With a detective’s knack of moving from a digression back to the mainstream of questioning, Becker asked about the motives of Heinrich Osten – Der Haken – and Bond gave him a word by word account of what had passed between them, again leaving out the core of the business concerning the Head Hunt.
‘He has apparently been looking for a chance to line his pockets, and get away, for many years.’
Becker gave a wry smile. ‘It doesn’t surprise me. Der Haken, as most people called him, had an odd hold over the authorities. There are still many folk, some in high office, who recall the old days, the Nazis. They remember Osten all too well, I fear. Whoever brought him to this unpleasant end has done us a favour.’ Again, he switched his tack. ‘Tell me, why do you think the ransom has been set so high on the two ladies?’
He tried his innocent expression. ‘I don’t really know the terms of the ransom. In fact, I have yet to be told the full story of the kidnapping.’
Becker repeated his wry smile, this time wagging a finger as though Bond were a naughty schoolboy. ‘Oh, I believe you know the terms well enough. After all, you were in Osten’s company for some time after the reports of his death. I took over the case last night. The ransom is you, Mr Bond, and you know it. There’s also the little matter of ten million Swiss francs lying, literally, on your head.’
Bond made a gesture of capitulation. ‘Okay, so the hostages are being held against me, and your colleague found out about the contract, which is worth a lot of money . . .’
‘Even if you had been responsible for his death,’ Becker cut in, ‘I don’t think many police officers, either here or in Vienna, would go out of their way to charge you – Der Haken being what he was.’ He lifted an inquisitorial eyebrow. ‘You didn’t kill him, did you?’
‘You’ve had the truth from me. No, I didn’t, but I think I know who did.’
‘Without even knowing the details of the kidnapping?’ Becker enquired sagely.
‘Yes. Miss May – my housekeeper – and Miss Moneypenny are bait. As you say, it’s me they want. These people know I will do everything I can to rescue the ladies, and that in the last resort I’d give myself up to save them.’
‘You are prepared to give your life for an elderly spinster and a colleague of uncertain age?’
‘Also a spinster,’ Bond said with a smile. ‘The answer is yes, I would do that – though I intend to do it without losing my head.’
‘My information is, Mr Bond, that you have many times almost lost your head over . . .’
‘What we used to call a bit of fluff?’ Bond smiled again.
‘That is an expression I do not know – bit of fluff.’
‘Bit of fluff, piece of skirt – young woman,’ Bond explained.
‘Yes. Yes, I see, and you are correct. Our records show you as a veritable St George slaying dragons to save young and attractive women. This is an unusual situation for you. I . . .’
Bond cut in sharply, ‘Can you tell me what actually happened? How the kidnap took place?’
Kommissar Becker paused as a plain-clothes officer came into the room and there was a quick exchange. The officer told Becker that the women had been questioned. Becker instructed him to wait with them for a short time. The team on the balcony were also completing their preliminary investigation.
‘Inspektor Osten’s case notes are somewhat hazy,’ the Kommissar said. ‘But we do have a few details, of his interviews with Herr Doktor Kirchtum of the Klinik Mozart, and others.’
‘Well?’
‘Well, it appears that your colleague, Miss Moneypenny, visited the patient twice. After the second occasion she telephoned the Herr Direktor asking permission to take Miss May out – to a concert. It seemed a pleasant and untaxing suggestion. The doctor gave his consent. Miss Moneypenny arrived as arranged in a chauffeur driven car. There was another man with her.’
‘There is a description?’
‘The car was a BMW . . .’
‘The man?’
‘A silver BMW, a Series 7. The chauffeur was in uniform, and the man went into the clinic with Miss Moneypenny. The staff who saw them said he was in his mid-thirties, with light hair, and was well dressed, tall and muscular.’
‘And Miss Moneypenny’s behaviour?’
‘She was a little edgy, a tiny bit nervous. Miss May was in good spirits. One nurse noticed that Miss Moneypenny treated her with great care. The nurse said it was as though your Miss Moneypenny had nursing experience. She also had the impression that the young man knew something about medicine. He stayed very close to Miss May the whole time.’ The policeman drew in breath through his teeth. ‘They got into the BMW and drove off. Four hours later, Herr Doktor Kirchtum received a telephone call saying they had been abducted. You know the rest.’
‘I do?’ Bond asked.
‘You were told. You started out towards Salzburg. Then there were the shoot-out and your unpleasant experience with Inspektor Osten.’
‘What about the car? The BMW?’
‘It has not been sighted, which means that either it was out of Austria very quickly with the plates changed and maybe a respray, or it’s hidden away somewhere until all goes quiet.’
