Both Ourumov and Xenia jerked back.
“Check it,’ the general said in a low voice and, as Xenia walked away, so the second-in-command, sprawled in his own blood on the floor, moved. Close to death it was almost a reflex action. His hand shot up and punched one of the many alarm buttons in the room. Xenia whirled around, giving him a quick final burst from the Uzi, but it came a fraction too late, and their ears were assaulted by a sudden shrieking of warning sirens and alarms.
Xenia, pausing, looked anxiously at the general who said, “Get on with it. Their best response time is seventeen minutes. This place will be hit in less than fifteen now.
Go.” In the kitchen, Natalya pulled a chair to a point directly under the maintenance grille in the room’s ceiling, and started to work on loosening the metal. She had pulled it I, halfway down when she heard the rapid footsteps of Xenia coming hell for leather down the passageway.
Miles away, at the Anadyr air base in Siberia, three MiG23MDL “Flogger-Ks’ - hurtled off the main runway. The pilots had only just come on duty when the alarm sounded, and they received the target information literally as they were taxiing from their bunkers. In seconds they would be on their way to Severnaya Station.
Below the earth, in the small kitchen, one of the cupboard doors squeaked and opened as Natalya crawled out.
In London, James Bond was just entering the Operations Room below the Secret Intelligence Service’s headquarters.
Xenia kicked the kitchen door open, saw the broken cup and the spillage of coffee, then looked at the chair and the metal grille above it, now dangling, ripped from its setting.
She smiled grimly and lifted the Uzi spraying the entire ceiling, changing magazines and blasting away again.
Nobody hiding up there could possibly live.
Back at the console, she told Ourumov that she had dealt with the matter. He nodded with a tiny smile on his lips, then gestured towards the timers ticking down at what appeared to be a very fast pace.
“Time flies, Colonel.”
“They have a saying in the West” She grinned ~ at him.
“Time flies, particularly when you’re having fun.” He nodded again, slipped the GoldenEye disk from the console and placed it in his briefcase which he closed with the finality of a coffin lid.
“I think we should get out of here.” Using the voice print security system again, they left, once more marching in step, up the concrete stairs and out into the cold.
In less than four minutes the Tigre helicopter was starting to lift off in a cloud of snow, from which it emerged, black and sinister.
Bond went down to the Operations Room with Moneypenny who, he had to admit, was looking more than usually ravishing in a simple black dress with a gold clasp just below her right shoulder.
“Dressed to thrill,’ he murmured to himself as they got into the lift.
“I beg your pardon?” She had just caught what he had said.
Moneypenny’s hearing was almost unnaturally acute.
The old M used to say that she could hear the rumours from the powdervine directly from her office.
“I was observing that I’ve never seen you look so lovely.”
“Well, thank you, James.”
“Got some special assignment on tonight?”
“Well, I don’t sit around all the time waiting for you to call. I have a date, if you’re really interested. A date with a gentleman. We’re going to the theatre.”
“Nothing too taxing, I trust”
“Shakespeare actually.
Love’s Labours Lost”
“I’m devastated. What will I ever do without you?” She gave a coy little smile. “So far as I recall, James, you’ve never had me.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “No, but it’s often been my midsummer night’s dream.” Moneypenny turned her head away. “James, you know that kind of talk could easily be classed nowadays as sexual harassment.
“So what’s the penalty?” The lift came to a halt and the doors opened. As she stepped out, Moneypenny tossed a look over her shoulder, eyes twinkling. “Some day, James, you have to make good on your innuendoes.’ She led the way through to the Operations Room.
All the screens were active and the men and women who work below ground for the SIS sat at desks with smaller monitors, or listening through headphones, while senior officers examined maps and spoke quietly to each other.
Bond’s closest friend in the world of secrets, Bill Tanner, the old M’s faithful Chief of Staff, detached himself from the knot of senior officers and headed for Bond and Moneypenny, his hand stretched out. “Good to see you again, James.
“What’s going on, Bill? This looks like the old days.” He gestured at the satellite pictures coming in and the large video wall.
They all showed similar views - barren, snow-covered land with ruins and the big radio telescope dish.
“It’s more than like the old days. This time it looks very unpleasant. About ten minutes ago we intercepted an alarm signal from the supposedly abandoned radar station at Severnaya..
“Right up north?”
“Just about as far north as you get. Just look at what our satellite intelligence picked up.” He gave an order to one of the technicians and the picture on the video wall rewound itself, froze screen and then enlarged.
“We’ve got a match. Your missing Tigre.” There it was, the black shape quite clear against the snow. The technician opened up a smaller screen next to the video screen and up came the helicopter again, shown in both plan and section.
“From Monte Carlo to the far north of Russia. That’s quite a leap.’ “Personally, I think that it completes your own theory about the Janus syndicate. Pity the Evil Queen of Numbers won’t let you run with the ball.”
“You were saying?” M’s voice came from right behind them.
“I was just
“Making an unnecessary comment on a nickname I have already heard, Mr. Tanner. I happen to believe in numbers. Numbers are more accurate than human beings.”
“With respect, Ma’am, numbers are only as pure and accurate as the person who’s inputting them.”
“That goes without saying.” She gave Tanner a look that would cause concern to the toughest of men. “Now, the Prime Minister’s waiting for an update on the situation, so please proceed with your briefing, Mr. Tanner.” Bill Tanner paused for a moment, then walked across to the video wall. Bond had never seen Bill Tanner fazed by anyone, and the new M, hard as she was, seemed to have little effect on him.
“After the distress signal, James, the helicopter took off.
Seconds later the Russians scrambled three “Flogger-Ks” from the Anadyr base. They’re heading towards Severnaya, as is some unidentified piece of space junk - at least that’s what we’ve always thought it to be.’ “Severnaya’s supposed to have been dormant since “90, you think it’s operative again?”
“I think it’s been operative all the time. The ruins and general mess around it are, I believe, merely cosmetic.”
“So what’re they using it for?”
“There was a time,’ Tanner looked very troubled as he spoke, “when we suspected that Severnaya might just be the ground control station for that secret space-based weapons programme they coded GoldenEye. But M chipped in. “But our statistical analysis; our electronic and satellite intelligence could see they had neither the funds nor the technology to implement it.”
“Statistics, Ma’am, were never my strong point. Elint and Satint only go so far. With respect, you can read numbers from these sources, you can analyse them, but you can’t get into the heads and hearts of the people operating whatever your target happens to be. These pictures live?” M gave a short, dismissive laugh. “Unlike the American government we prefer not to get bad news from CNN. Of course they’re live.” She looked up and, like the rest, saw the pulsing red icon, the highlit area of Severnaya, and the moving pinpoints of light that were the Russian aircraft, heading towards the facility.