There was one small ray of hope. To secure that set of numbers he would have to get in touch with the outside world. It would mean communication with the Service and it was probable that contact would eventually be physical - which meant escape. What he now had to do was plot a plausible method of making the right contact to get hold of the special frequency. At the same time, he must devise a way to do this with full knowledge and cooperation from his own Service.
It took half an hour for him to concoct two possible methods, though both presupposed he would be allowed to work alone. The first plan needed Cindy Chalmer's undercover assistance, and a method of getting to his Bentley. If this were not possible, then the second plan would have to suffice, though it contained a number of imponderables, some of which could come unbuttoned with worrying ease.
He was still working out this reserve plan when he realised what was different. Once Tigerbalm and Happy left, there had been no click of key in lock.
Sliding quietly off the bed, he went over to the door and tried the handle. It opened without resistance. Was it an error or a message from the Master of Endor telling him he was free to go wherever he liked? If the latter, then Bond would have put money on it being a very limited rein. Why not put it to the test? There were plenty of reasons for trying. He had no idea what had been going on in the world lately.
The corridor took him out to a landing, the landing to the main staircase, which brought him into the hall.
There, all possibility of real freedom ended. Seated near the door, dressed in jeans and a rollneck, was a young man he recognised from Erewhon. Another graduate from that alma mater lounged near the door to the laboratory stairs.
Giving each guard a friendly nod of recognition, which was returned with only a hint of suspicion in their eyes, he strolled through to the main drawing room where he had last sat with Freddie, Peter, Cindy and their hosts before dinner on the night which now seemed a hundred years ago.
The room was empty. He looked around, in the hope of spotting some newspapers. None - not even the television guides. There was a television set, however, and he strode quickly to it. The set was dead. Plugged in, switched on at the mains, but dead as a stone. The same applied to the radio tuner on the stereo system.
Nothing was coming into Endor through normal channels. Bond was sure that any other television or radio would also be inoperable, and that meant he and possibly others, had to be separated from world events.
Cut off. In isolation.
He stayed downstairs for five minutes or so then returned to his room.
About an hour later Tigerbalm came to tell him they were going to have a meal shortly. "The chief says you can join us." He showed no feelings towards Bond, either friendly or hostile. Somewhere along the road Tigerbalm's bouncy bonhomie had been removed.
The dining room was bare of its good furniture. In place of the Jacobean table, a series of functional, military trestle tables had been set up, while the food was collected from a cloth-covered table at the side. There were soups, bread, cheese and several salad dishes.
All very simple, with only mineral water to drink.
The room, however, was crowded and Bond recognised most of the faces from Erewhon. Only Tigerbalm and Happy appeared out of their depth, heavy and sly among the sunburned, soldierly young men.
"James, great to see you." Simon stood at his elbow.
"Wondered where you'd got to." Bond studied the face carefully.
The openness, so noticeable at Erewhon, had become artificial. Simon's pretence told Bond far more about the situation than all the double-talk in the world. Whatever the plot set in motion by SPECTRE through these people, it was already running. D minus two, three, four or five, he reckoned.
Then he drastically reduced the odds as he spotted Tamil Rahani, seated on one side of St. John-Finnes, with General Zwingli on the other.
The three men sat apart from everyone else at a smaller table, and were being served with food by a pair of younger soldiers. Like the others, they were dressed in uniform olive slacks and drab green pullovers, their heads bent in deep conversation.
For a second Bond's mind drifted off to M's surveillance team in the village. Had they noted the comings and goings? Were they aware of the dangerous powers gathered together in this place?
"I said, did you rest well?" Simon was repeating.
"Rest? Oh, rest, yes." Bond managed a smile. "I had no alternative, Simon. You saw to that."
"Come on, have some food." He began piling salads and cheese on to a plate until Bond had to stop him with a gesture of his hand.
They sat together at the end of one of the longer tables, Simon seeing to it that Bond had his back to the three leaders.
"Security, said Simon with a grin, in answer to Bond's last remark. "You know all about security, James. Perchance to dream, and a ride on the magic carpet. You go to sleep in a hot dusty climate, and wake up in a quiet English village. Would that all travel were so easy."
"I prefer to know where I've been, and where I'm going. I like to be aware."
"Sure." He took a mouthful of bread and cheese, chewing on it, sucking the juices back into his throat.
Simon, Bond thought, was every inch a trained soldier.
His face was the face of millions of men who marched from the Battle of Kadesh to the urban horrors of the present day.
"Hallo, the Professor's coming your way,James. Looks as if he's got orders for you.
St. John-Finnes leant over them. "James,' his voice had a quiet, confiding tone, as though trying to calm a wayward child, "can you spare an hour or two?" Bond just checked himself from making a famous remark, nodded and rose, winking at Simon as he followed the Master of Endor, as he now thought of him, from the room. He could feel the eyes of Rahani and Zwingli on his back as they left.
There was a young man guarding the stairs down to the laboratory.
He did not even signify that he had seen them, almost ostentatiously looking the other way.
"I thought I'd give you a chance to lose the American Revolution to me,' Jay Autem said as they began the descent. "It's an easy enough simulation at this level, so we can, perhaps, talk about your plans as we fight. Yes?"
"Whatever you say." Bond appeared noncommittal, but ran his plan for getting the EPOC frequency through his mind.
Neither Cindy nor Peter was in the main laboratory, and there had been a radical rearrangement. The largest area was now filled with collapsible wooden chairs, arranged in rows like a school assembly hall. At the far end, facing the chairs, were a large television projection screen and Jay Autem Holy's version of the Terror Twelve on a movable table.
Bond noticed two modern typing chairs and the big, chunky joystick controllers near by. A training session had obviously been going on earlier that day. The Balloon Game? Almost certainly.
They passed through into the long room with its map of the Eastern seaboard of eighteenth-century America; Boston with Bunker's Hill and Breed's Hill to the north, Dorchester Heights jutting out to enclose the harbour, and the townships of Lexington and Concord inland. For no apparent reason, Bond recalled hearing Americans pronounce Concord with a shortened second syllable so that it sounded like Conquered. Jay Autem Holy was smiling down at the board, with its movable open rectangle, and all the games paraphernalia set at the players' places.
Bond noticed the smile and the look, and in that second saw, for all the man's brilliance, the chink in his armour revealed. His interest in strategy and tactics had become an obsession - an obsession with winning. Holy was interested only in winning. To lose was the ultimate failure. Like an over-indulged child, to win was necessary, otherwise he could not live with himself. Had he lost some internal Pentagon battle when he disappeared all those years ago? Bond wondered, steeling himself.