“Now I must talk seriously about the real world, and what is happening aboard Invincible tonight. I am standing down all watches at this moment, except for officers and ratings who have been given special instructions to be present on the main deck, Flight Operations, and the bridge. This is for security purposes, and anyone not ordered to be on the main deck, in Flight Operations, or on the bridge will meet with stiff penalties if found there. In fact they could well suffer injury. Marines have been posted on all companionways and bulkheads leading to the prohibited areas. They are armed and there is a password sequence known only to those authorised to work on the main deck.
“You will hear helicopters landing and taking off. This is because the VIP officers we’ve had aboard, since Landsea “89
began, will be taking their leave of us. However, other VIPs will be coming aboard, and this is now classified information. Until you’re informed of its declassification, no officer, Petty Officer, Warrant Officer, rating or marine will speak of anything seen aboard Invincible over the next few days. If anyone does talk, outside this ship, I should remind you that to do so will be regarded as a breach of the Official Secrets Act; punishable accordingly.
“To underline the seriousness of this situation, you should know that, until we reach Gibraltar, there will be four Sea Harriers, fully armed and ready to fly, on and around the ski-ramp, forward. There will be two pilots from the Air Group at five minute readiness, twenty-four hours a day, starting now.
That is all.”
In Flight Operations, Bond could see that was not all, for the first two Sea Harriers were not only in place but also had pilots in the cockpits and their engines on at idle. Apart from that, there was a sense of de{ja vu in the lights flashing from three helicopters stacked, one behind the other, closing on the stern.
The cloud cover was high so he could only see the red and green rotating lights against the darkness. But he knew, from the Commander (Air), that the first chopper was about one mile away, closing at a speed of around fifty knots; and the other two were stacked at one thousand feet intervals.
The Sea King was visible now, a shaft of light coming from its nose as the halogen spot came on. It closed, then hovered as the Flight-Deck Controller and his men signalled it in to land some hundred yards behind the pair of back-up Sea Harriers, parked together well behind the ski-ramp.
Nobody approached the Sea King as its rotors gently slowed down.
They were still whisking the air as the US Navy helicopter rolled in behind it, followed by the big, twin-finned Kamove
which nosed onto the deck with its two huge contrarotating rotors whirling fast and its turbines giving a final dying roar.
Bond just caught a glimpse of the three VIP officers, the British, American and Russian Admirals, being hustled towards their respective helicopters. Then the main deck lights went out, leaving only dim blue guiding lights leading from the helicopters to the main bulkhead doors in the island.
“Time you joined the reception committee, Captain Bond.”
The Commander glanced towards him. Bond nodded and with a “Good luck!” left Flight Ops, turning his body sideways, rattling down the companionway, heading towards the section of cabins recently vacated by the trio of Admirals and their bodyguards.
In the hour that had passed since he had last been in this part of the ship, a great deal had taken place. The passageway floors were now covered in thick red carpeting, and three sections of the long corridor, which led from James Bond’s cabin to the turning into the Wrens’ quarters, had been separated by neat wooden doors, the jambs screwed into bulkhead cross-sections.
The doors were open, and he could see right down to the end, where the entire draft of Wrens were drawn up, with Clover Pennington pacing anxiously. In the middle portion, the new Naval Intelligence man, Woodward, was accompanied by two armed marines. Woodward gave Bond a wink, lifting his right hand and following with a thumbs-up, to which Bond replied in kind. through the door nearest to him Nikki Ratnikov and Yevgeny Stura were also accompanied by two Royal Marines, while another pair, with Sergeant Harvey in tow, waited patiently to one side of Bond’s cabin door.
Bond nodded to the sergeant. “Any minute now,” he said, and the words were hardly out of his mouth when he heard the sounds of feet on the uncarpeted section of the passageway leading to the spruced up VIP quarters.
They came at a brisk pace: Rear-Admiral Sir John Walmsley, Ted Brinkley and a civilian who could only be from one service, for he had all the smooth and tough, alert looks of an officer of the Special Branch Close Protection Squad. At the centre of this group, Bond saw the first of the VIPs who had come aboard from the helicopter which had picked up Sir Geoffrey Gould.
The Rear-Admiral stopped in front of Bond. “Prime Minister,” he said to the almost regally dressed Mrs. Margaret Hilda Thatcher. “I’d like to present Captain James Bond, who is in total charge of security for Stewards’ Meeting.”
The Prime Minister smiled and firmly shook Bond’s hand.
“It’s nice to see you again, and congratulations on your promotion.” She turned to Walmsley. “Captain Bond and I are already old friends,” she said. “I couldn’t have better protection, and it’s not generally known that Captain Bond was instrumental in saving not only my life, but that of ex-President Reagan, some time ago.” Then back to Bond. “I couldn’t be in better hands.
Just see that we’re left alone for a full four days, Captain Bond.
We shall need every minute of it, if we’re going to get through a tough agenda. And it is a very tough, and important agenda. I’m sure you are already aware of that.”
“Yes, Prime Minister. I’ll do everything possible. If your people require anything, they should get in touch with me personally.”
“Very kind of you, Captain Bond,” and with her best electorial smile, the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom marched away with her retinue.
Bond’s eyes followed her, and he ignored Sergeant Harvey’s muttered, “I wouldn’t like to be on her defaulters’ parade.”
From the far end of the passageway, he heard the Rear-Admiral introduce the PM to First Officer Pennington, and then make his excuses.
He came striding back, glaring at Bond. “You said nothing about saving her life! Anything else I should know?”
“She exaggerated,” Bond did not smile. “The information’s restricted anyhow, so I shouldn’t let it go any further, sir.”
“Hrrumph!” Walmsley said - or something very like it - and went off to meet the next arrival.
President George Herbert Walker Bush, surrounded by his Secret Service men -Joe Israel, Stan Hare and Bruce Trimble and with a small man carrying a briefcase chained to his wrist, had been met at the foot of the companionway by Walmsley.
The President was tall, smiling, greying and very open-faced.
“Captain Bond,” he acknowledged as the Rear-Admiral made the introduction, “I know I’m in good hands. A close friend of mine told me what a help you’d been to him, and I believe we have another friend in common.”
“We probably have, sir.”
“Yes, Felix served under me when I was DC IA. A good man. Hope to see more of you, Bond, but you’ll appreciate the schedule’s tight as a drumskin. Good to meet you.”
The President of the United States had a firm handshake, almost as firm as Mrs. Thatcher’s, and, as he walked away, Sergeant Harvey muttered, “Nor his.”
“Nor his what?” Bond said out of the corner of his mouth.
“Wouldn’t like to be on his defaulters’ parade either.”
“If you were, they’d call it a masthead, Sergeant Harvey.
That’s what the US Navy call defaulters -just as the Royal Navy did a long time ago.