Bond had the plastic ‘harmonica’ bleeper unpeeled from the button before he reached the telephone box. By now Blackfriar would be back in the castle and he reckoned the General would immediately have the telephones checked. Indeed, he was surprised it had not already been done, for Chernov was obviously scrupulously careful. The bugs were nevertheless still in place and he heard the usual mixture of voices. He could make out very little and was about to replace the instrument when he suddenly heard Chernov’s voice, very clear. He must be standing right over one of the activated telephones.
‘I want every man we have on the streets of Dublin.’ His voice was calm and authoritative. ‘Bond and Colonel Smolin must be found and soon. I want them both. Understand? They took Bond from under my nose. Then we have the added trouble of those two German women, the damned Cream Cake business. What have I done to deserve such idiots?’
‘Comrade General, you had no option. It just couldn’t be helped.’ The conversation was in Russian. ‘Your orders have been obeyed to the letter. Once we run everyone to earth it will be simple. But the gunfight last night has caused almost a diplomatic incident.’
‘Diplomatic rubbish!’ shouted Chernov.
Now there was another voice, close to Chernov. ‘We’ve just had a message from Hong Kong, Comrade General.’
‘Yes?’
‘They’ve tracked Belzinger and Dietrich. She’s opened up the GRU house on Cheung Chau Island.’
‘Dietrich’s an over-confident bitch. We shall have to move fast. Get a message to Hong Kong. Tell them to watch at a distance. I don’t want anyone going in there until I arrive.’
The line began to break up and Bond realised that now, more than ever, it was essential for him to take the initiative. Delving into his pocket he pulled out the few Irish coins that Chernov’s man had left him. He put the receiver down, then dialled the castle number again. When it was answered, he spoke quickly in Russian, asking for General Chernov by name.
‘This is most urgent! A life and death matter.’
Chernov was on in a few seconds, quietly cursing about secure lines.
‘We don’t need a secure line, Comrade General,’ said Bond in English. ‘You recognise the voice?’
There was a short pause. Then, Chernov answered, cold as ice. ‘I recognise it.’
‘I just wanted to say that I look forward to meeting you again, Blackfriar. Catch me if you can. North, south, west or east.’
He put the accent on east, goading Chernov. Replacing the instrument, he left the box and walked rapidly to the car. Chernov would know Bond was calling his bluff, and that Bond had a small advantage, with his knowledge of Chernov’s likely movements. M would probably have said the telephone call was an insane move, but M was also playing a devious game.
‘For a minute there I thought you were playing games with me, Jacko. They’ve been on to me from Dublin. What country do you want?’
‘What d’you mean, what country?’
‘You’re being deported, Jacko. Your own folk in London have said we can send you to the moon as far as they care. Even your old boss says you’ve to take the rest of your leave elsewhere.’
‘He used those words?’
‘Exactly those words. “Tell the renegade to take the rest of his leave elsewhere. Tell him to go missing.” That’s what the auld divil said. So where’s it to be, Jacko? Spain? Portugal? A couple of weeks in the Canary Islands?’
Bond glanced at him, but Murray’s face was expressionless, innocent of any knowledge about Jungle’s recent visit there.
‘Let me think for a minute or two, Norman. Wherever I choose, can you get me out really quietly?’
‘As quietly as ghosts. You’ll go so silently that not even the Dublin airport controllers will know.’
‘Give me a minute then.’
Already he knew exactly where he wanted to go, but first Bond had to think about M’s attitude. Controls always worked on the basis of need-to-know, so why had M decided from the outset that Bond should be told he was on his own? And why, when M must know two of the girls had been found and had then disappeared, was he still denying Bond had any rights in the field? Bond was never supposed to meet Smolin, so he did not need to know about him. Was this a case of Bond not needing to know something else?
He tried to reason out the succession of events, using his knowledge of elementary trade and fieldcraft. When would a control deliberately withhold some piece of vital information from his agent, even when it might put his man at a grave disadvantage? There was only one set of circumstances that justified this kind of risk, and already there had been a hint of it in the conversation overheard through the ‘harmonicas’. You withhold only one kind of information – that a trusted agent might be a double. You withhold that when you do not know who is the guilty person. Bring them all back, M had told him. All, which meant Ebbie, Heather or Jungle could be a double. It had to be the answer. One of the Cream Cake team had been turned and, knowing the way M’s mind worked, Bond had to include Smolin and Dietrich among the suspects.
They reached the outskirts of Dublin, weaving their way through the heavy traffic. Why deny him? It was simple. You deny a field agent when the Foreign Office and the politicians would be seriously embarrassed; or when his targets know he is getting no assistance. Damn M, Bond thought, he’s playing it very long indeed – long and dangerous. Any other officer would have called it a day, gone back to London with his spoils and laid them at M’s feet. But not Bond. M was putting all his money on Bond seeing it through; risking his man like a gambler, knowing the stakes had risen dramatically once Blackfriar had shown himself.
‘Is there a secure telephone at this place you have at the airport, Norm?’
‘I told you not to be calling me Norm.’ Murray sounded annoyed.
‘Well, is there?’
‘It’s as safe as you can get.’ He glanced towards Bond with a large smile. ‘We may even let you use it if you’ve decided where you want to go.’
‘Can you get me into France, as near Paris as possible?’
Murray laughed loudly. ‘You’re asking for miracles, so. You know what the DST is like. Non bloody co-operative.’
‘You live in a country of miracles, Norman. Me, I’d rather be going back across the water to the good life. You know, the click of willow against a villain’s head, the roar of the riot, the scent of new-mown grass snakes.’
‘Lord love you, but you’re turning poetical, Jacko. Thank heaven the blessed St Patrick rid us of snakes.’
‘Did he?’ Bond returned the grin, knowing he was about to have all his requests fulfilled.
The secure quarters were inside the airport itself, in a small walled compound, which hid the car and its passengers from any possibility of being watched. Ostensibly, Dublin has one of the most open airports in Europe. In fact, it boasts discreet and powerful security, mostly hidden from public view. When they reached the approach road, Bond realised there were more than the usual number of Garda patrols around.
Inside there was a comfortable waiting room with armchairs and magazines. There were also a couple of plain clothes men who showed some deference to Norman Murray.
‘There’s a soundproof booth over there with one of the most secure telephones in Ireland,’ said Murray, pointing. ‘Use it now while I set up your flight.’
‘Not until I’m certain you can get me into Paris by tonight,’ said Bond coolly.
‘It’s as good as done, Jacko. You do your telephoning. You’ll be on your way with nobody the wiser within the hour.’
Bond nodded. Norman Murray was a very convincing officer.
Inside the booth he dialled a London number. The woman who answered asked straight away if they were scrambled, and he said probably, but that the line was secure in any case. Q’ute had offered help when he last saw her. Bond had known then that it was no idle remark. Just before he left she had said,