The frequency itself is altered at midnight every two days. Right?"
"I believe so.
"The ciphers are carried by that omnipresent, and somewhat frightening official known as the Bag Man.
Correct?"
"The system has been found reliable,' Bond agreed.
"There was a Bag Man present in J.F.K. "s entourage in Dallas.
It's never been changed. He's always around - in the United States as well as when the President travels abroad. It's the penalty for having your head of state as C-in-C Armed Forces."
"The Bag Man can part with the ciphers and EPOC frequency only to the President, or the Vice-President, should anything happen,' Holy went on. "Should the President meet with a fatal accident overseas, the ciphers would be immediately null and void, unless the Vice-President were with him."
"Yes."
"So, if someone - anyone - were in possession of the EPOC frequency, and the eleven ciphers, it would be possible to relay a command which would automatically begin to run?" For the first time since they had started talking, Bond smiled, slowly shaking his head.
"No. There is a fail safe.
The EPOC frequency is a beamed satellite signal. It goes directly through one of the Defense Communications Satellite Systems, and they are very tricky little beggars.
The program will run only if the satellite confirms that the signal has come directly from the area where it knows - because it has been told - the President is. You would have to be very close to him before you could beat the system.
"Good." To Bond's surprise, Jay Autem Holy looked quite happy.
"Would you be surprised to learn that we already have the eleven ciphers, the programs?"
"Nothing surprises me any more. But if you're playing games with an Emergency Presidential Order you still have to get hold of the frequency for the forty-eight hours when you plan to operate. Then you have to get close to the President, and be able to use the frequency. I'd say the last two were the hardest parts getting near the President with the equipment needed to transmit, and obtaining the necessary frequency.
"So who else knows the EPOC frequency - always? I'll tell you, Mr. Bond. The Duty Intelligence Officer at the NATO C-in-C's Headquarters, the Duty Communications Officer at the C.I.A. HQ Langley, the Duty Communications Officer at N.S.A the corresponding senior communications officers of the U.S. armed forces - and, Mr. Bond, the senior monitoring officer at G.C.H.Q. Cheltenham. The Duty Security Officer at the British Foreign Office - who is always a member of the Secret Intelligence Service - is also in possession of the frequency.
It's quite a list, when you consider that the President himself doesn't know the EPOC frequency until he has occasion to use it."
"They're so very rarely used. Yes, as I remember it, you've got the list right but for one other person.
"Who?"
"The officer who controls the ciphers and frequency at the outset. Normally a communications security officer with the National Security Agency.
"Who usually, Mr. Bond, has forgotten the details within five minutes. What we shall need from you is the precise EPOC frequency on a particular day, which means we need it twenty-four hours in advance.
All other details are taken care of."
"And how do you expect me to give you the EPOC frequency?" Jay Autem Holy gave a throaty laugh. "You have done service as Duty Security Officer at the Foreign Office.
You know the system and the routine. Someone with your background and your expertise should have no difficulty in obtaining what we require. Just put your mind to it. This is why you were the obvious candidate, Bond. Providing you're as straight as we believe you to be.
There is an old proverb: when you want something from the lions, send a lion, not a man.
"I've never heard that before."
"No? You are the lion going to the lions. You are trusted, but if you should fail us . . . Well, we are not forgiving people, I'm afraid. Incidentally, I'm not surprised you didn't recognise the proverb. I just invented it." Jay Autem Holy threw back his head in a guffaw of laughter. James Bond did not think it was at all funny.
"You'll get the frequency for us, won't you, Bond?" The query came out through a series of deep breaths, as he gained control of himself.
"Think of it as your revenge. I promise you it will be used for good, and not to create havoc and disaster.
He had no option. "Yes, I'll do it. It's only a few numbers you want, after all."
"That's right. You're in the numbers racket now. A few simple digits, Mr. Bond." He paused, the vivid green eyes boring into Bond's skull. "Did you know the Soviets use almost an identical method when the General Secretary and Chairman of the Central Committee is abroad?
They call it the Panic frequency - but in Russian of course.
"You need access to this Panic frequency as well?" Bond asked, his nerves on edge.
"Oh, we already have it. You're not the only person in the numbers racket, Mr. Bond. Our principals in this operation have little money to spare but they certainly have contacts. Light on cash but heavy on information.
They do not trust your judgment as we do - or have I already told you that?"
"Ah, your principals, yes." Bond turned down the corners of his mouth. "Even though my part in all this is vital - essential - I am not allowed to know . . .
"The name of our principals? I should have thought a man like you would have guessed already. A once powerful and very rich organisation, which has fallen on bad times - mainly because they lost their last two leaders in tragic circumstances. Our principals are a group who call themselves SPECTRE. The Special Executive for Counterintelligence, Terrorism, Revenge and Extortion. I rather like the revenge bit, don't you?"
BUNKER'S HILL
TIGERBALM AND HAPPY, the strong-arm men in residence, cheerfully took Bond back to his room and left him, keeping up their good humoured banter the whole time.
Yet something was different, Bond knew. In his present bemused state, he could not work out what it was.
Stretching out on the bed, he looked up at the ceiling and put his mind to the current problem. It all seemed so unreal, particularly in this pleasant room with its white gloss paint and flowered wallpaper.
Yet here he was, with the knowledge that downstairs a scientist had already run simulations for criminal activities and was now training people for some other, more dangerous mission using microcomputer games techniques and his own particular skills.
It was even more difficult to believe, as Jay Autem Holy had suggested, that, packaged to SPECTRE'S requirements, the plan concerned military orders transmitted by the United States President. It had not surprised him to learn that SPECTRE, as principals in the matter, did not approve of Bond's recruitment. After all, they had carried on a death feud for more years than either party cared to remember.
But that was neither here nor there at this moment.
Jay Autem Holy had disclosed the reason for Bond being on the payroll. Now it was up to him to be convincing.
M had been clear about the way this kind of situation should be handled. "If they take you in - if any organisation takes you in then you will have to split yourself in two,' he had counselled.
First, Bond should not think of any recruitment as either serious or long-term; second, he had to believe it was serious. The ultimate paradox.
"If they want you for a specialist job, you must at all costs treat it as a reality. Work it out, as they would expect of you, like a professional." So now, lying on the bed, with part of his mind treating the situation with grave suspicion, James Bond began to tackle the problem of how to get hold of the EPOC frequency for these people.