'You were brilliant, absolutely brilliant. I don't know anybody who could have made a plan as fast as that and then carried it out so skilfully. You made fools of the pair of them. But now... I've got to ask you some questions. Haven't I?'
Her face was against his shoulder and he felt her nod.
'You were to decoy me to the Acropolis where I was to be picked up by two of your men. Correct?'
She began in a muffled voice: 'But I didn't want to- '
'We'll save that for now. Well, when the men appeared you realized they were the wrong men. How?'
Ariadne swallowed and pulled herself upright. 'We... there was to be a recognition signal just before they moved in. A thing with a handkerchief. They didn't give it. So I told them I was informed Legakis and Papadogonas were going to do the job. Then the guy said they'd been called away to another assignment. But as far as I know there's nobody named Legakis or Papadogonas who's working for us. So then I just gambled that they won't know enough English. And here we are. Can I have a cigarette?'
'Of course.'
Bond gave her a Xanthi, the pungent Macedonian blend he always smoked in Greece, lit one himself and inhaled deeply. He felt charged-up, almost exhilarated. Whatever lay immediately ahead the expected gloomy pattern of abduction and captivity had been broken. He was still free and the initiative was not all on the other side - or sides.
'Ariadne, who are you working for? You said you'd tell me.'
When she spoke she was herself again, quick and assured. 'I said maybe. It's still maybe. For the moment I can't tell you anything. And there's so much I don't know myself. Who were those men? It's frightening. The whole situation must have changed in the last few hours. It could be it isn't you we want after all. I don't see how it can be, now that this...'
She was thinking aloud, but her voice died away before she had done much more than express confusion. By now Bond had arrived at his own views about the scene on the Acropolis. For the moment he must follow through and put what faith he could in the midget transmitter in his shoe and the efficiency of Thomas's men. He said dryly, 'Where are you taking me?'
'To see my chief. He must talk with you. Obviously I can't force you to come with me. You can stop the driver now and get out and walk away. But please don't. We have to talk. Can you trust me?'
'Trust doesn't enter into it. I've got to come with you.'
'I don't understand that. Like most things about this.' Ariadne turned and gripped his hands. 'But I do have one reason for feeling happy. Oh, not happy, but less miserable than a quarter of an hour ago, when I thought I'd never see you again. We're still together. Sure, you've no reason to trust me on anything else, but you do believe me about this, don't you, James? That I want us to go on being together?'
'Yes.' Bond spoke as he felt. 'I believe you, Ariadne.'
They kissed, and for a moment left the world of enmity, violence and treachery in which they worked. Just then the taxi slowed and stopped. They moved apart. In the most everyday manner possible they got out and Bond paid off the driver.
It was a narrow street on the outskirts of the city towards the port of Piraeus, with a small bar in which a solitary old man dozed, a grocer's shop, a long building that might have been a school, a few houses of variegated shapes but all uniformly whitewashed. One was set a few yards back from the street behind rusty railings. Ariadne opened the gate, which squeaked painfully, and they crossed a tiny paved courtyard overgrown with vine and laurel. An underfed tabby cat rushed past them, squeezed through the railings and vanished. At the front door, Ariadne gave a complicated knock, reached out and gripped Bond's hand.
Bolts were thrown and the door opened. The man Ariadne had called Tzimas stood there. At the sight of them he gave a grunt of consternation, but a gun was in his hand within the time of a heartbeat. He motioned them in and shut the door, bolting it by feel while his eyes and gun remained on Bond. Ariadne led the way across a square tiled hall to an inner door. Bond followed her over the threshold.
There were two men sitting at the cheap barley-sugar-legged table. Both at once jumped up and began shouting questions at Ariadne. During the gesticulating three-cornered word-play that followed, Bond studied the men. One was in his thirties, dark, good-looking, a little overweight for his age: Greek. The other might have been anything between forty and sixty, grey, dried-up, close-cropped, speaking Greek with a heavy accent: Russian. No question about it. Well, that was one point checked off. Bond allowed himself to wonder whether M was in this house. Since the Quarterdeck affair he had, as far as possible, rigorously excluded M from his conscious thoughts, knowing that to speculate in that direction put him at the mercy of useless, senseless rage and hatred. So it did now for a moment: Bond gritted his teeth and concentrated on the present scene.
The Greek, biting his lip, hurried to an open roll-top desk littered with papers and began telephoning furiously. The Russian continued his dialogue with Ariadne for a time. He glanced at Bond more and more often, finally dismissed the girl with a flick of his hand and came over. He looked tired and frightened.
'Precaution, Mr Bond,' he said, his accent no less thick in English than in Greek. 'Take out your gun slowly and give it to me.'
Bond, with Tzimas at his side, did as he was told. The Russian gave the weapon a quick professional glance before reaching across and placing it on the desk.
'Now take a seat, Mr Bond. You like a drink?'
Bond, sitting beside Ariadne on a moth-eaten horsehair sofa, looked up in surprise. 'Very much. Thank you.'
The Russian signed to Tzimas. 'We have only ouzo, I'm sorry. It is known that you prefer whisky, but our budget wouldn't allow this. You call that cheese-paring?'
The thin mouth twitched upwards. You've got guts, thought Bond. You're scared half out of your mind and you're too proud to be seen yielding to it. He nodded and smiled back. Tzimas handed him a tooth-glass half-full of milky fluid. '_Fíye apo tho, málaka?__' said the man threateningly, glaring into Bond's face. Then he guffawed and slammed him on the back. '_Bravo! Ees iyían!__'
'Now, Mr Bond.' The Russian waved Tzimas away with a frown and leant back against the edge of the table. 'My name is Gordienko and my associate here is named Markos. We may have very little time, so I must request you to be intelligent and answer my questions. As you have gathered, it was arranged for you to be captured tonight and brought here. You are not captured but you come here just the same. Why?'
'What alternative had I? You must see that.'
'I do not. I don't. Now, please. What is the purpose of your visit to Greece?'
Bond stared. 'Good God, you brought me here!'
Gordienko stared back, then shrugged, 'Perhaps it was not intelligent of me to ask this now. Tonight all very confusing. But answer this. In your opinion, who has employed the men who have tried to capture you?'
'I don't know. Some powerful free-lance. Anyhow, it failed. Now let me ask you something. Where's your other prisoner? Is he here?'
'This is...' Gordienko looked defeated. 'I have no idea what you mean.'
'Now who's being unintelligent? Another one, then. What do you want with me? You've got me here at your mercy. Surely you can let me know that much.'
'I can,' said Gordienko briskly. 'Now, yes, I can. You're considered to be very important, Mr Bond. So important that the task to plan your capture is taken out of my hands and entrusted to - another official.'