"And the perfect opportunity to use Two Zeros for the first time," added the head of the Security Service.
"That is exactly why we've called this meeting." The Minister could not hide his irritation. "I think the Commissioner can probably carry on now and fill in the gaps."
There was a pause as Wimsey looked around the assembled company. He cleared his throat and began again. "The source claims that Tarn is using at least four companies to launder money used to purchase arms illegally and pass them on to customers who pay him off to the tune of a hundred percent profit. He says there's firm evidence that one of the container ships of Tarn Shipping Ltd. carried arms and munitions on several occasions, while one of his ships from Tarn Cruise Lines, Inc., was used last year to pick up a special consignment from Odessa – the passenger list was, he says, padded with people in Tarn's employ. Also, Tarn Freight Ltd. has brought stuff overland. The entire network lives off the smuggling and selling of arms. That's where the really big money comes from – that and a couple of other nefarious sources: dodgy art and that kind of thing. The Tarn empire, it seems, has been built on arms deals from way back."
"And he's buying them from where?" Bond interrupted.
"Anywhere he can get them. In the old days he spent a lot of time dodging embargoes, producing phony end-user certificates, and he bought from anyone who would sell – even British and American companies. Now, of course, the field's wide open. Under the counter from the old Eastern Bloc countries, Russia itself, intermediaries in Switzerland and Luxembourg, of course, plus all the old sources. It's big business, and the larger his orders the more likely it is that no questions are asked. Accounts in the Cayman Islands, Bermuda, and Lord knows where else. Our source says it would take months to trace the various huge sums of cash without his help. As M says, he took fright when he stumbled on the full extent of Tarn's operation."
"Which is?"
"Well, it's not your usual few boxes of small arms and ammunition, Semtex and semiautomatic s, stuff like that. Tarn, it appears, aims a little higher. Aircraft, tanks, missiles, high-end materiel." He seemed to glare around the table at his colleagues, as though daring them to dispute his statement. When he resumed, his sentences came out in short bursts, as if he were giving the bare bones of a précis. "It's not going to be a walk in the park trying to nail Sir Max. The man probably thinks he's fireproof. After all, he's one of the wealthiest men in the world. Tarn International is, as we all know, a general umbrella company for a large number of subsidiaries scattered all over the place. Dolmech is reluctant to bring documents out of the main office because he's too frightened. We'd have to pick him up as well and let him lead us through the paper trail."
"So you're suggesting?" Bond already had an inkling of why he was being brought into the business.
"Several options." Wimsey did not look him in the eye. "We have kept Tarn and his wife under surveillance for the past ten days, and I do have warrants for search and seizure of documents from the offices of Tarn International. Also warrants to lift Tarn, his wife, and our asset, which seems to be the straightforward route. Tentatively we plan to do this first thing on Monday morning. But… Well, it's going to bring his legal department down on us like the proverbial ton of bricks, and the media will have a field day. Arrest, seizure, and all that kind of thing could possibly ruin any case we might bring, because I have no doubt that the Tarn organization has a kind of self-destruct plan in the event of action by the authorities."
"So you have another plan, sir?"
"Yes, there is another way to go. Problem is that it might take us some time to set up, and a delay could ruin the probability of any real success."
"You wouldn't by chance be thinking of flushing him out by putting one of my people in?"
"It's a thought." Wimsey left the words hanging in midair.
"And it should remain just that. A thought." Bond did not even try to disguise his anger. "Have you any conception of how long it would take to put someone in? Weeks, months. It would be like the old Cold War days: putting someone into the Eastern Bloc. I've known it to take years to establish bona fides and get them to bite. If Tarn's as good as you say, he has the resources of a small country anyway. It could take one hell of a time."
"What about a walk-in?" M looked at his former agent with dead-fish eyes.
"You're suggesting that one of my people calls Sir Max and lays it on the line? Says to him, 'Look here, old chap. I know you're a decent person, but I also know that the authorities are about to lift you and go through your files like grease through a goose, if you follow me.'"
"Yes, something very like that." M was still locking eyes with him.
"Whom would you suggest?"
M gave a long sigh, a huge sucking in of breath, followed by its expulsion from his lungs. He sounded like an old steam train, though not as benign. "I have to spell it out for you, Captain Bond?" The "James" had gone, a sure sign that the old Chief was getting testy. "Quite recently there was an incident concerning one of Tarn's cruise ships, Caribbean Prince, one of the three he operates under Tarn Cruise Lines, Inc. On the passenger list of that luxury vessel were a Mr. and Mrs. James Busby. Mr. Busby carried a British passport which described him as a civil servant attached to the Home and Foreign Offices. You follow me, Captain Bond? JB, James Busby. JB, James Bond."
"Ah, so, the above-mentioned Mr. Busby goes to Sir Max Tarn and says he knows one or two things about the Caribbean Prince episode, and will spill the beans -"
"Not quite," Wimsey snapped. "The idea is that Mr. James Busby has seen some confidential documents which he is willing to share with Sir Max."
"What kind of confidential documents?"
"First, you should know that Dolmech has provided a verbal list of some recent purchases by Tarn under the guise of artifacts for a military museum he plans to assemble on one of the Caribbean islands as a special draw for passengers swanning around on his cruise ships. One item has us worried. Last autumn he acquired a submarine."
"A submarine?"
"An old submarine, admittedly. Possibly a very early Victor II-class Russian submarine."
"We don't have any idea where he's hiding the damned thing." M's voice was clipped and terse. "But we're pretty sure that Caribbean Prince was, either accidentally or by design, at the receiving end of a small, and equally old, torpedo from this submarine. Damn it, Bond, you've seen all the signals: all the confidential stuff that's passed between the Americans and ourselves."
"I've seen nothing suggesting that good old Sir Max – as the British tabloids so often call him – owns a personal submarine which goes around taking potshots at his cruise ships." Sir Maxwell Tarn was beloved by the British tabloids – self-made man from an indistinct background, billionaire, the giver of large charitable gifts, and good copy for the columnists. "What are you really getting at, sir?"
"The fact that you, and your colleague Fräulein von Grüsse, have built-in bona fides. Good old Sir Max, as you put it, knows just about every name of every passenger who travels on his ships. He's a man who pays attention to that kind of detail. We know this from Peter Dolmech. Max Tarn looks out for people who can be of use to him, and I should well imagine that James Busby, civil servant working for the Home and Foreign Offices, has caught his eye. Anyone with that kind of job description can only really be one thing – Security, and/or Intelligence. In many respects I'm surprised you haven't heard from Tarn already. After all, you saved the day by putting paid to the attempted holdup. You're tailor-made for an approach, and I am correct in assuming that you're planning to stay at the University Arms, Cambridge, this weekend, aren't you?"
"How the…?" Bond began.