‘If you need anything from here, just call and I’ll bring it to you myself.’
He was calling now, with a long shopping list and an almost impossible delivery time and place but Q’ute took it in her stride.
She merely said, ‘It’ll be there. Good luck,’ and rang off.
Murray was waiting for him, a set of white overalls in his hand. ‘Put these on,’ he said to Bond, ‘and listen carefully.’
As Bond complied, Murray continued, ‘The passage through that door leads to the flying club. You’re going on a spot of cross-country with an instructor. The flight plan is filed. Permission has been given for you to overfly northern France; they do it all the time from here. This time you’ll have a little engine trouble near Rennes, which is your turning point. You won’t be able to make an airfield, so your instructor will put out a Mayday and you’ll glide into a field: not any old field, but a particular one. There’ll be a car and someone to take your place in the aircraft for when the gendarmes and customs arrive. It’s got to go like clockwork. Do as you’re told and it should be okay. But if you’re asked, I had nothing to do with this. You follow?’
Bond nodded. ‘Thanks, Norman.’
‘The aircraft’s directly in front of the building, with the engine running and cleared to taxi. She’s a nice little Cessna 182. She would take four at a pinch. Good luck, Jacko.’
Bond shook Murray’s hand warmly, knowing that somehow M was still with him, for a reason best known to the old man himself.
The aircraft was drawn up close to the building, and Bond kept his head well down as he walked quickly towards it. He ducked his head under the wing and climbed up beside the instructor, a young, happy-looking Irishman who grinned at him, shouting that it was about time.
He had hardly strapped himself into the pupil’s position to the instructor’s left before the Cessna was taxiing towards the short runway on the far side of the field. They waited for a few minutes as an Aer Lingus 737 came in from London, then the instructor opened up the engine and the light aeroplane took to the air almost of her own accord. They turned out to sea and began to climb. At two thousand feet the instructor levelled out.
‘There we are,’ he shouted, ‘all set for the fun and games. I’ll be turning on course in five minutes.’ He moved his head. ‘Are you okay back there?
‘Fine,’ replied Bond.
He looked around and saw Ebbie’s face peering over the back of his seat, where she had been hiding.
‘Hallo, James. Are you pleased to see me?’
She planted a kiss on his cheek.
14
DINNER IN PARIS
Every field agent worth his salt has his special fall-backs away from home: a bank account in Berlin; a cache of weapons in Rome; passport blanks in a strong box in Madrid. James Bond’s was a safe house in Paris; or rather a small apartment owned by good friends who were willing to leave their home at a moment’s notice and no questions asked. The apartment was on the fourth floor of one of those buildings off the Boulevard Saint Michel on the Rive Gauche.
They arrived just after six in the evening, following a journey that had gone almost too smoothly for Bond’s peace of mind. The instructor had piloted the Cessna all the way and Bond noticed that, once over France, he allowed their altitude to fluctuate to a point where the Paris ATC were constantly calling him up to remind him of his allotted position. The rendezvous itself had been well picked, a lonely spot west of Rennes. They circled above it for fifteen minutes, gradually losing height until the pilot was certain his contact was in place.
He’s done this before, Bond thought, wondering when and in what circumstances. Maybe Murray had something on the man – smuggling, or even a tricksy business concerning the lads, as the Provos are always referred to in the Republic. Whatever his previous experience, this went like clockwork. Air Traffic Control called up once more, anxious about the loss of height. The pilot waited for around four minutes as he turned, bleeping his engine and positioning himself for a landing. Then he began his Mayday call, giving a heading and fix that was around ten miles out so that the authorities would take longer to reach them.
‘When we’re down, you’ve got about five minutes to get going,’ he shouted to Bond. He cut the engine, then gave it another burst: ‘A bit of realism for the customers,’ he said with a grin.
They drifted over some flat farmland with no sign of life for five or six miles then touched down and taxied towards a clump of trees and a ribbon-straight road lined with poplars. A battered elderly Volkswagen was parked near the trees, almost out of sight from the road. Just as the Cessna’s engine stopped, a figure wearing a white overall identical to Bond’s broke free from the trees and came towards them.
‘Go! God be with you,’ said the pilot, already starting to climb out.
Bond helped Ebbie down into the field, stripped off the overall and looked at the man who had joined them. Bond’s replacement simply nodded and inclined his head towards the Volkswagen. He handed over the keys and said there were maps in the car. Taking Ebbie by the hand, Bond set off at a trot. The last they saw of the two intrepid flyers was from the car. They had part of the cowling off and were fiddling with the engine. But by this time the Volkswagen was already on the road, heading for Paris. Bond allowed himself time to get used to the car before he spoke.
‘Right, young lady. How and why did you turn up again?’
It had been impossible to carry on any detailed conversation on the aircraft, and he was now very suspicious of Ebbie’s dramatic reappearance, even if it did have Norman Murray’s blessing.
‘That nice policeman thought it would be a pleasant surprise for you, James darling.’
‘Yes, but what happened to you in Kilkenny?’
‘He didn’t tell you?’
‘Who?’
‘The Inspector. Murray.’
‘Not a word. What happened?’
‘At the hotel?’
‘Well, I’m not talking about your daring escape from Germany, Ebbie,’ he replied with a certain crustiness.
‘I woke up,’ she said, as though that explained it all.
‘And?’
‘It was early, very early, and you weren’t there, James.’
‘Go on.’
‘I was frightened. I got out of bed and went into the passage. There was nobody there so I went along to the stairs. You were using the telephone down in the lobby. I heard your voice, then people started coming in at the other end of the passage. I was very embarrassed.’
‘Embarrassed?’
‘I only had . . . only little . . .’ She indicated what she had been wearing. ‘And nothing up here at all. So, there was a cupboard – a closet where they keep cleaning things.’
Bond nodded and she continued, ‘I hid. It was dark and not nice. But I hid for a long time. I heard other voices and people walking along the passage. When it was silent I came out again. You had disappeared.’
He nodded again. It could just be true, and she was convincing enough.
‘I dressed,’ she said, giving him a small, uncomfortable look. ‘Then the policemen came and I told them. They used the radio in their car and told me there were orders. Then they brought me to the airport. James, I have no clothes, only what I stand up in, and my shoulder bag.’
‘Did Inspector Murray tell you what would be happening?’
‘It was a risk, he said, for me to remain in Ireland. He said I should go with you, but to give you a surprise. He has a sense of humour. He’s a very funny man, the Inspector.’