ushered them back into the car.
‘Remember, you’re unarmed. But as far as I can tell, there’s no danger. The people who are on my trail should have been diverted. I shall be with the airport manager.’
He told them he would not be long, and then walked towards the airport buildings. The airport manager had been alerted and was treating the arrival of the executive aircraft as a normal routine matter.
‘They are about eighty kilometres out, and just starting their approach,’ he told Bond. ‘I believe you need a room for a small conference while the aircraft is being turned around.’
Bond nodded, apologising for the inconvenience of having the airport opened at this time of night.
‘Just be grateful the weather is good,’ the manager said with an uncertain smile. ‘It’s not possible at night if there is a lot of cloud.’
They went out on to the apron, and Bond saw that the airport had been lit for the arrival. A few minutes later he spotted the flashing red and green lights creeping down the invisible path of the approach to the main runway. In a few seconds the little HS 125 Exec jet, bearing no markings but a British identification number, came hissing in over the threshold. It touched down neatly and pulled up with a sharp deceleration. The pilot had obviously used Salzburg before and knew its limits. The aircraft was brought to a standstill by a ‘batsman’ using a pair of illuminated batons.
The forward door opened and the gangway was unfolded. Bond did not recognise the two women, but was glad to see that at least two of the men coming down the steps were people he had worked with before. The more senior was a bronzed, athletic young man called Crispin Thrush, with Service experience almost as varied as Bond’s.
The two men shook hands, and Crispin introduced him to the other members of the team as the manager led them to a small, deserted conference room. Coffee, bottles of mineral water, and note pads were set out on a circular table.
‘Help yourselves,’ Bond said as he looked around at the team. ‘I think I’ll go and wash my hands.’ He jerked his head at Crispin, who nodded and followed him from the room out into the airport car park. They spoke in lowered voices.
‘They briefed you?’ Bond asked.
‘Only the basics. Said you’d put the flesh on it.’
‘Right. You and one of the other chaps take a rented Saab – the one with the two girls in it, over there – and go straight up to the Klinik Mozart. You’ve got the route?’
Thrush nodded. ‘Yes, they gave us that. And I was told something almost unbelievable . . .’
‘Steve?’
He nodded again.
‘Well, it’s true. You’ll find him there, sleeping off some dope the clinic’s Director, Doktor Kirchtum, gave him. You’ll find Kirchtum a godsend. Quinn and a couple of heavies have been holding him there.’
He went on to explain that there was some cleaning up to be done, and Quinn was to be made ready to take a telephone call from the KGB man watching the road for the Bentley. ‘When he makes his radio report, listen to him and watch him, Crispin. He’s a rogue agent, and I’ve no need to tell you how dangerous that can be. He knows all the tricks and I’ve only got his cooperation because of threats against his wife . . .’
‘They pulled Tabby in, I understand. She’s stashed in one of the Rome safe houses. Gather the poor girl’s a bit confused.’
‘Probably doesn’t believe it. He says she had no idea that he’d defected. Anyway, if the whole team will fit into the Saab, you’d better drop your two girls, and the other lad off at the Goldener Hirsch. If we keep it short in the conference room, you can get the Bentley team on their way. The car will be spotted, so make sure you’ve got time to get settled into the clinic, with Quinn awake, before the Bentley leaves. Their watcher will take it for granted that I’m in it, with my companions, heading for Paris. That should throw them for a while.’
He told Crispin where the Bentley could be found, with the keys in the exhaust, and the route the team should take to Paris. Once the messages had been passed on, Crispin and his man were to get Steve Quinn to Vienna by the fastest means possible.
‘Tickets. With the Resident’s compliments.’
Crispin reached into his jacket and pulled out a heavy, long envelope. Bond slid it unopened into his breast pocket, as they began walking slowly back to the conference room. They stayed there for less than fifteen minutes, drinking coffee and improvising a business meeting concerning an export deal in chocolate. Eventually Bond rose.
‘Right, ladies and gentlemen. See you outside, then.’
He had already arranged that Sukie and Nannie would not even see the team that had flown in. He used some charm to get a man to remove their luggage from the Saab, and now he briskly ushered them into the airport building, where the manager was waiting for them. He joined them a few minutes later, having passed on the Saab keys to Crispin, and wished the new team good luck.
‘M’s going to boil you in oil if this goes wrong,’ Crispin said with a grin.
Bond cocked an eyebrow, sensing the small comma of hair had fallen over his right temple. ‘If there’s anything left of me to boil.’
As he said it, Bond had a strange premonition of an unsuspected impending disaster.
‘VIP treatment.’ Sukie sounded delighted when she saw the executive jet. ‘Just like the old days with Pasquale.’
Nannie simply took it in her stride. Within minutes they were buckled into their seat belts, whining down the runway and lifting into the black hole of the night. The steward came round with drinks and sandwiches, then discreetly left them alone.
‘So, for the umpteenth time, where are we going, James?’ Sukie asked as she raised her glass.
‘And what’s more to the point, why?’ said Nannie, sipping her mineral water.
‘The where is Florida. Miami first, and then on south. The why’s more difficult.’
‘Try us,’ Nannie said with a smile, peering over the top of her granny glasses.
‘Oh, we’ve had a rotten apple in the barrel. Someone I trusted. He set me up, so now I’ve set him up, arranged a small diversion so that his people think we’re all on the way to Paris. In fact, as you can see, we’re travelling in some style to Zurich. From there we go by courtesy of Pan American Airlines to Miami. First class, of course, but I suggest we separate once we reach Zurich. So here are your tickets, ladies.’
He opened the envelope given him by Crispin and handed over the long blue and white folders containing the Zurich-Miami flight reservations made out in their real names, the Principessa Sukie Tempesta and Miss Nannette Norrich. He held back the Providence and Boston Airlines tickets that would get them from Miami to Key West. For some reason he sensed it was better not to let them know the final destination until the last minute. He also glanced at his own ticket to check it was in the name of Mr J. Boldman, the alias used on his B passport, in which he was described as a company director. Everything appeared to be in order.
They arranged to disembark separately at Zurich, to travel independently on the Pan Am flight and to meet up again by the Delta Airlines desk in the main building at Miami International.
‘Get a Skycap to take you there,’ Bond advised them. ‘The place is vast and you can easily get lost. And beware of legal panhandlers – Hare Krishna, nuns, whatever, they’re . . .’
‘Thick on the ground,’ finished Nannie. ‘We know, James, we’ve been to Miami before.’
‘Sorry. Right, we’re set then. If either of you have second thoughts . . .’
‘We’ve been over that as well. We’re going to see it through,’ said Nannie firmly.
‘To the bitter end, James.’ Sukie leaned forward and covered his hand with her own. Bond nodded.
He caught sight of the pair at Zurich having a snack in one of the splendid cafes that seem to litter that clean and pleasant airport. Bond drank coffee and ate a croissant before checking in for the Pan Am flight.
On the 747, Sukie and Nannie were seated right up in the front, while Bond occupied a window seat some way behind on the starboard side. Neither gave him a second look. He admired the way Sukie had so quickly picked up field technique; Nannie he almost took for granted, for she had already shown how good she could be.
The food was reasonable, the flight boring, the movie violent and cut to ribbons. It was hot and crowded when they landed at Miami International, soon after eight in the evening. Sukie and Nannie were already at the Delta desk when he reached it.
‘Okay,’ he greeted them. ‘Now we go through Gate E to the PBA departures.’
