They were close now.
‘Of course,’ Paula said. She produced the piece of plastic in her left hand. Bond followed suit.
‘Good.’ The officer had the sour and humourless face of an old army hand who did everything by numbers. ‘Do you know anything about this sudden movement order? We’ve only heard rumours.’
‘I know a great deal.’ Paula’s voice hardened. ‘You’ll all be told in time.’
They were right up to the officer now. ‘They say we have to be out within twenty-four hours. Some sweat.’
‘We’ve all been through sweat before.’ There was no emotion in Paula’s voice as she offered her card to be checked by the machine.
The officer took both cards, fed them, one at a time, into a small slot near the top, then waited until a series of lights ran their course, sounding a soft buzzer for each pass.
‘Good luck, whatever your mission.’ He returned their cards. Bond nodded. The private soldier by the door was already opening up the bolts.
Paula thanked the officer in charge, and Bond followed her lead, giving the Nazi salute. Heels clicked and orders were barked as the door swung back.
A few seconds later they were outside, and the biting cold hit them like a fine spray of ice. It was dark, and Bond – with no wrist watch – had lost all sense of time. There was no immediate way of telling whether it was late afternoon or near dawn. The complete blackness gave the impression that it was the middle of the long Arctic night.
They advanced to the left, following tiny blue guide lights which outlined the exterior of the bunker. Under the snow, Bond could feel the hard metal of the long strips of chain-link ‘roadway’ that must have been laid down around the Command Post. There would be similar wide strips for the runway on von Glöda’s airfield.
The main doors of the bunker towered, white, above them,and as they passed them, Bond realised where Paula was taking him – to the small concrete shelter where he had seen the snow scooters being stored. He could just make out the circle of trees to his right, and remembered how when Kolya first lured him to this outpost they had suddenly broken cover from those trees, to be bathed in lights.
Paula seemed to have forgotten nothing. As soon as they reached the small, low structure, built hard against the rock face, she produced a key ring on a thin chain.
The shelter smelled of fuel and oil, while the switch by the door produced only a dim light. The scooters were neatly parked, looking like giant insects huddled together in hibernation.
Paula made for the first one that suited her purpose – a big, long black Yamaha, much larger than those on which Kolya had led them over the border.
‘You don’t mind if I drive,’ Paula was already checking the fuel. In the poor light, Bond could only sense, not see, the cheeky smile on her lips.
‘And where’re we going, Paula?’
She glanced up, peering at Bond through the gloom. ‘My people have an observation post about ten kilometres away.’ Her hand waved towards the south. ‘It’s partly wooded, but on high ground. You can see the whole of the Ice Palace, and the runway, from there.’ She heaved at the scooter, pulling it into position so they could run it straight out of the door.
Bond’s hand closed around the butt of his P7. ‘You’ll forgive me, Paula. We’ve known each other a long time, but my impression is that you’re somehow tied up with von Glöda, or Kolya. This operation hasn’t been straightforward from the word go. Hardly anybody has been what they seemed. I’d just like to know whose side you’re on, and who your “people”, as you call them, really are.’
‘Oh come on, James. All our files on you say that 007 is one of Britain’s best field men. Sorry, you’re not officially 007 any more, are you?’
Bond slowly produced the P7. ‘Paula? My instincts tell me that you’re KGB.’
Her head tilted back and she laughed. ‘KGB? Wrong, James. Come on, we haven’t much time as it is.’
‘I’ll come once you’ve told me. I expect the proof afterwards – even if you are KGB.’
‘Idiot.’ A friendly laugh this time. ‘James, I’m SUPO, and have been since long before we first met. In fact, my dear James, our meeting wasn’t a complete accident. Your own Service has now been informed.’
SUPO? Maybe she was at that. SUPO was the abbreviation for Suojelupoliisi – the Protection Police Force. The Finnish Intelligence and Security Agency.
‘But . . .’
‘I’ll prove it within the next couple of hours,’ she said. ‘Now, for God’s sake, James, let’s get going. There’s a lot to be done.’
Bond nodded. He climbed on to the back of the scooter behind Paula as she started the motor, put the machine in gear, and gently eased it from the shelter. Once outside, she dismounted and went back to close the door behind them. Then, within seconds, they were away into the trees.
For a good minute, Paula did not even bother to turn on the large, broad-beamed headlight. After that, Bond simply clung on for dear life. She rode the Yamaha as though it were part of her body, zig-zagging with an accuracy that took Bond’s breath away. She had slipped goggles over her eyes and was well-muffled, but Bond’s only protection was Paula’s body as the wind ripped around them.
His arms were wound tightly around her waist. Then at one point – with another of her wonderful laughs drifting back on the wind – Paula took her hands off the controls and lifted Bond’s arms, so that his hands cupped her breasts through the heavy padding of the greatcoat.
Their route was far from easy. They skirted the bottom of a long rise through tightly packed trees, then made a lengthy run up the slope, swerving among the trees all the way. Yet Paula hardly slowed for anything. Holding the throttle open wide, she took the scooter side on through gaps in the trees, allowing it to ride dangerously, near a forty-five-degree angle on some banks, yet retaining control all the time.
At last she slowed, slewing from left to right at the crest, following what was certainly a natural trail. Then, quite suddenly, two figures rose from the side of the track. His eyes now well adjusted to the night, Bond caught the shapes of machine pistols against the snow.
Paula slowed and stopped, then raised an arm, and Bond found his hand searching for the P7. There was a short, muttered conversation between Paula and the larger of the men, who was dressed in Lapp costume and wore a huge moustache which made him look even more like a brigand. The other was tall and thin, with one of the most evil faces Bond had ever seen – sharp and weasel-like, with small eyes that darted everywhere. For his own sake, Bond hoped Paula had, at last, told him the truth. He wouldn’t have enjoyed finding himself at the mercy of either of these people.
‘They’ve been keeping clear of the two kotas we’ve got up here,’ Paula said, turning her head towards Bond. I’ve got four men in all. Two have gone in at regular intervals, to check the radio equipment and keep the fires going. It seems that all’s safe. The other pair are in the camp now. I’ve said we’ll go straight to the kotas – you’ll want food, and I’ve got to get a message off to Helsinki on the short wave. They’ll relay it to London. Anything you want to tell your boss – M?’
‘Only details of what’s been going on, and where I am. Do we know where von Glöda will head for?’
‘I’ll tell you after I’ve talked to Helsinki,’ she said, gunning the engine.
Bond nodded vigorously. ‘Okay.’ They advanced at a walking pace, the two Lapps taking station ahead and behind them. Bond leaned forward and whispered loudly, ‘Paula, I’ll shoot you where you stand if you’re taking me for a ride.’
‘Shut up and trust me. I’m the only one you can trust out here. Right?’