Actually I got the doc to give her something. Sedative.”
“You realise that, unless the killer got out very quickly, Deeley’s your main suspect? One set of smudged, bloody footprints, which ended suddenly along the passage, when we got there. Deeley’s, we presume, with her feet wiped off with your towel. What was she wearing?”
“A robe. Towelling robe, most of the girls find those convenient.”
“Carrying anything?”
“Then there’s another problem. We haven’t recovered the murder weapon. Somewhere, someone’s got a very sharp knife.
And there’s the other matter of you not having Deeley security cleared when they gave her to you at Yeovilton.”
“She was Grade 3 cleared. On her documents. She’s been working on classified stuff at Fleet HQ, Northwood.”
“It actually says that?”
“You want to see it?”
“Later. It’s all a forgery anyway.
“What… ?”
He didn’t let her finish. “Leading Wren Sarah Deeley does not exist, Clover.”
“What d’you - - Again he stopped her, by completing the question.
“What do I mean? I mean what I say. No Leading Wren Deeley exists in your branch of the service. I’ve had it from London. She’s a plant, and I suspect that Ed Morgan knew it, or, at least suspected it. He had other suspicions as well.”
“This is crazy!”
“No, you’ve made a terrible mistake, Clover. You were in charge.
You should have personally seen to it that all security clearances matched up and were for real.”
“Oh, my God.” There was no denying the shock in her voice and on her face. “What do we do, James?”
“You mean what do I do? I’ll tell you.” He spoke for ten minutes, saying that he would feel safer if she was out of the way.
“I’ll arrange a marine guard and have you kept somewhere out of sight. It’ll make matters easier. Then I want to talk to the Captain.
After that, I’ll see Nikki Ratnikov. I want an independent identification of the Deeley girl. Then I’ll question her, and she’ll probably be taken into custody and held until it’s all over and we’re in Gib. I’m not going to bother my people as yet. More secure to do it directly from Gib. Okay?”
“Whatever you say, James.” As he rose, so she came towards him, one hand reaching out and grasping his sleeve. “James, my career’s at risk. I’ve played everything by the book, even saved your life from that wretched girl who, I’m certain, was going to see you dead before Christmas Day was out. You owe me.
And you, Clover, owe me now. I’ll do whatever I can for you.” She came closer, her young body thrusting against his.
Bond pulled away, holding her at arm’s length. “Later, Clover.
When it’s all over we’ll talk. Just wait.” He went to the cabin door, opened it and spoke to the marine on duty. While they waited, the Tannoy blasted out - the Captain saying that they had now cleared the English Channel. “There are still submarines shadowing us,” he boomed, “but they tell me they’ve been ordered not to attack. The political situation is that both sides are talking, in spite of the fact that seven NATO air bases on the European Continent were attacked, with varying degrees of damage and success, during the night. I’m going to stand down Red Watch for two hours, but you are all on an immediate response alert. I shall keep you informed of any change in the situation.”
The click that ended the message coincided with the knock on his cabin door. It was the marine sergeant Harvey. The man was tired, like everyone else on board, and it showed. Bond lost no time asking questions and then issuing orders - “Have you anywhere we can Stow First Officer Pennington while I make a couple of enquiries?”
“Yes, sir. The duty marine sergeant’s cabin. I’m still there for the next hour or so.”
“Right, take her there, and make sure she’s under guard.
There’s the possibility she could be attacked, like our American friend last night - at least until I’ve finished my job.”
“If you’ll come with me, Ma’am,” Sergeant Harvey appeared to be very considerate. To Bond he said, “I’ll see she’s guarded every minute, sir.” Clover gave Bond a weak smile, the look of someone with a lot on her mind, and departed with the sergeant. Before he could close the cabin door, a young midshipman appeared in the corridor, which, like all the other passageways below the flight deck, was only wide enough for two people to pass by brushing against each other. In the US Navy, Bond remembered, they called them “knee-touchers”.
“Captain’s compliments, sir. Could you join him in his day cabin as quickly as possible?”
“Tell him I’m on my way. I wanted to see him in any case.”
Bond turned back into his cabin, opened up the little cupboard which stowed away a small handbasin and mirror. He looked unshaven, but that could be dealt with later. For now, he sloshed cold water over his face, cleaned his teeth and ran a comb through his hair.
“You look dog-rough, Bond, if I ma)’ say so.” Rear-Admiral Sir John Walmsley did not look too hot himself, but you don’t tell Rear-Admirals that kind of thing - unless you’re a Vice-Admiral or above. Walmsley was obviously in a foul mood. “Well, you got anything to tell me?”
Bond wondered why a man of Walmsley’s station could so easily murder the English language. “Such as what, sir?” He bordered on that armed forces’ crime called dumb insolence.
“Such as your detective work; your gumshoeing. Such as whether we can all sleep safely in our bunks? Whether we have a band of Thugs aboard, or a crew of cut-throat pirates. Have you caught the bastard who cut the American’s throat?”
“Not yet, sir. But it shouldn’t be too long. Within the next half-hour or so, unless I’m being led up the garden path.”
“And, when you’ve caught this fellow, do you think it’s safe to continue with Stewards’ Meeting? Last night, early this morning anyhow, you were all for chucking it away.”
“I needed to talk to you about that, sir. Might I ask you what arrangements were made with the US Navy about communications?”
The Rear-Admiral nodded, and repeated, almost word for word, what Admiral Gudeon had told him.
“And the Russians?”
“Not quite as cryptic.” Walmsley was down to giving shorthand answers.
“Can you expand on that?”
“Yes. They can use our main Communications Room, but not with much freedom. The Americans had their own gear on board, as you know.
The Russians’ve been okayed to pass en clair signals through our transmitters. I suspect their signals aren’t quite as straightforward as they appear. I should tell you they’ve reported Morgan’s death.”
“What I really need to know, sir, is how long have we got before there’s any question of an abort?”
“At the moment we’re in a readiness state for Stewards’ Meeting, Bond. Things are going ahead exactly as planned. It all starts to happen at around ten tonight. If I recommend an abort after six, then I’ll get a right old rollicking from the powers that be. What’s worrying you? The threat by these BAST hooligans? There’s no way they can possibly have information on Stewards’ Meeting.”
Bond took in a deep breath. “Surely, sir, you must know they have some intelligence. I was nearly taken out; there was some loose talk at the RNAS Yeovilton. We’ve had a very serious incident aboard. I really don’t know the security risks .
Walmsley ran a hand across his brow. “I let fly at you after the incident, Bond. I’m sorry about that, but I don’t want to abort. As I said to you before, this is of great political importance. He repeated himself with a stronger accent, “Of great political importance. Now, give me your Sunday punch. If you get the fellow who killed Morgan, do you reckon we’re in the clear?”