Almost running, he crossed the chamber and pressed it down on the reception plate of the space image recorder. He pushed it home and waited as a pale translucence illuminated the screen of the large monitor. Ten seconds later an image appeared. An image so startling and unexpected that Gregor Sverdlov’s hand was still shaking as he pressed the button that would put him in immediate telephone contact with his regional controller.
The bare foot attempted to hook the slipper from beneath the bed, and then abandoned the project. The red light had started flashing on top of the telephone, which meant that the President was waiting to speak. General Scott, U.S.M.C. withdrew the one arm that he had managed to thrust into his dressing gown when the telephone first rang and nodded his head aggressively in time with the speaker on the other line. Eventually his moment came to break in.
‘Listen, General Gogol. How many times do I have to tell you? We.didn’t put it there. We are as perplexed and disturbed as you are.’
A wave of static broke over his words and he leant forward to pull back the curtain beside the bed. A siren was screaming and a lorry load of U.S. Space Marines converging on a shuttle and rocket positioned in the middle of a launching pad. The area was lit by searchlights like the start of a Twentieth Century-Fox film.
‘General Scott?’ The rasping Russian voice re-materialized out of the ether.
‘Yes, General Gogol. I’m still here.’
‘In the circumstances I am certain that you will have no objection if we make our own investigation. The satellite Kalinin is on a similar orbit collecting meteorological information —’
‘We know about the satellite,’ said Scott, allowing a hint of sarcasm to enter his voice. ‘I had no idea it was collecting meteorological information.’
‘The details are perhaps immaterial at this time,’ said Gogol coldly. ‘I propose that we divert Kalinin to investigate this intruder.’
‘Reports suggest that you have already done so,’ said Scott.
There was a mounting roar from outside the window which told that the U.S. shuttle had achieved lift-off. ‘In the circumstances, I think that we will send up a vehicle ourselves to examine the situation. You will of course have no objections?’
There was a slight pause and then Gogol’s voice came back colder than ever. ‘No. We will be in constant touch to review the situation. Goodnight, General Scott.’
‘Goodnight, General Gogol.’ Scott put down the telephone and promptly picked it up again. The President was on the line. ‘Yes, sir... A shuttle is on the way... Yes, the Russians will get there first... No, sir, I don’t think they had anything to do with it. I think they’re as much in the dark as we are... Yes, sir. If there is any doubt we’ll take the initiative... destroy it.’
Gogol leant back against the pillow and his brows wrinkled in concentration. Were the Americans telling the truth or were they trying to provoke the first confrontation in space between the two great powers? The implications of such a course of action could be far-reaching and terrifying. Fortunately the satellite Kalinin was well able to defend herself. She must be prepared to bring her defensive capability to bear in an L.P.A. role. In Soviet army terminology L.P.A. stood for Liquidation of Potential Attacker.
The two Drax guards moved slowly along the corridor and glanced hopefully through the porthole into one of the zero-gravity spheres. All was darkness. Frustrated in their voyeuristic impulses, they advanced towards the Electronic Camouflage Unit. When they had gone, Bond and Holly emerged from a side corridor and moved to a window that looked out on space. Below them and protruding from the side of the central globe was the cylinder that had contained three nerve-gas spheres. With a sinking heart, Bond saw that it now contained only two. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘we have a problem.’
‘Yes.’ Holly was not looking at Bond but over his shoulder. Her eyes were wide with fear. Bond spun round and saw Jaws looming above him like an angry bear. His arms were spread wide and his teeth bared like two rows of organ pipes. The huge hands clenched and Bond ducked and dived to one side. As Holly raised the laser torch that she had taken from one of the technicians, Jaws grabbed it and squeezed. The metal extruded from his fist like toothpaste. Jaws struck again and a metal guide rail was snapped off to fly across the floor. Bond threw himself on it and rose to lash out with a sblow that struck Jaws on the side of the jaw. There was a loud dong and the metal buckled. Jaws smiled. He came forward again and Bond jabbed with cruel force for his crutch. Again there was a dong. Jaws’s face registered distaste, like a vicar being told a crude joke. He still came forward. Bond spun round desperately. Before his nose was the threatening bulb of a laser gun; behind that a Drax guard with a determined expression on his face. Two other guards were covering him, each with a laser gun. Bond raised his hands in submission. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Take me to your leader.’
Drax moved away from the giant telescope and dusted his fingers together. It was a gesture he indulged in when savouring moments of satisfaction. To see a master plan approaching its execution produced a series of such moments.
‘Sir—’
Drax turned to the technician who was speaking from one of the consoles. ‘What is it?’
‘The Russian satellite, sir. It appears to have changed course.’
‘So?’
‘If my calculations are correct, it is now on course to intercept us.’
The red of Drax’s scar tissue flushed to crimson. ‘That is not possible.’ He corrected this complacency with his next order. ‘Check the state of the radar jamming system.’
A second technician manipulated the switches of his console and then spoke in a puzzled voice. ‘Jamming power supply and back-up are out, sir. We can be observed.’
Drax gritted his uneven teeth. ‘Make a personal investigation of the situation immediately and report back to me. And bring the operatives.’ The last four words were spoken in a voice of fire and brimstone. The technician left with two guards, and a monitor voice spoke from the roof of the chamber. ‘We are on schedule for secondary launch position in T minus thirty seconds.’
Drax nodded vigorously as if anxious to convince himself that all was still well. ‘Launch second nerve-gas globe as scheduled.’
He moved to the window and looked out at the tubular spout like the thorax of a giant insect. After a few seconds a globe detached itself and drifted away like an egg laid in space. The last of the three spheres moved forward into the launch position. Drax turned away. ‘Prime next batch of nerve-gas spheres and load re-entry tube.’
The elevator hissed open and Bond and Holly emerged, dwarfed by the figure of Jaws. Drax looked upon them coldly. His lip curled.
‘James Bond. You appear with the tedious inevitability of an unloved season.’
Bond’s glance was no less unloving. ‘I didn’t think there were any seasons in space.’
Drax smiled a thin, cruel smile. ‘As far as you are concerned, only winter.’ He turned to Holly. ‘And the treacherous Dr Goodhead. The word “welcome” freezes on my lips. How happy I am that despite all your plodding efforts my finely wrought dream approaches its fulfilment.’