Varied options had been put forward. The Rock Hotel was well-covered. They had members of the SAS and local plainclothes men, plus one senior Secret Intelligence Service man watching out in case Baradj made a move. At first it had been thought they should make a full frontal and pull Baradj, for they knew he had a helicopter and pilot standing by at the airport.
Nobody had attempted to alert Baradj or his pilot, and the final consensus of opinion was that trying to take Baradj alive was dangerous.
“Remove their leader and those women will almost certainly kill.”
That was M’s personal view, and one shared by Bond.
Baradj had given them a latitude and longitude, a precise point at sea where the money had to be dropped and marked. If anyone approached him during or after the pick-up - which was to be byhelicopter, all three hostages would be killed.
Whatever else,” Bond had said, “he’s thought out the operation, and we just cannot risk taking the fellow on the Rock. If we couldn’t get him alive, it would be curtains for Mrs. T, Gorby and President Bush.”
It had now been agreed that a rescue attempt had to be made long before anyone tried to get hold of Baradj. “We can con Baradj that we’re meeting the deadline, let him relax, then make a bid to get the hostages off.” Bond’s was the last word. The Ministry of Defence, SIS, the Pentagon and the Kremlin had agreed to a last-ditch rescue attempt. The local forces had also agreed that the planning and logistics should be left to Bond.
“Has anyone figured out how Baradj is communicating with Invincible?” he asked.
“He isn’t,” Mike Carter had said. “I suspect he’ll flash them a code word. A one time break in silence. Probably on a short wave from Gib. It’ll mean either they’re to stand by because we’ve agreed, or kill, because we’ve not agreed. Then there’s the other one - kill, we’ve doublecrossed him.”
“All we can do is listen out.” Bond’s jaw had set, and his eyes turned to that dangerous stone-like look as he tried to gauge how many things could go wrong.
Now, in the low hut on the USNB Rota, he was going through possible strategy and tactics. “It has to be a small force.” He looked around the room. I took out one of these harpies, which leaves them with fourteen - fifteen if the wretched man Speaker is active; sixteen if Baradj’s side-kick, Hamarik, is able to function, which I very much doubt. The situation will almost certainly be that their tame psycho, the woman posing as Leading Wren Deeley, will be locked in with the hostages - or, at least, close to them, with orders to start killing on a given signal. So, our first job will be to get down here.” His finger moved to the Briefing Room one deck down from the main deck. “This we must do without being detected if possible.” Then he gave a worried sigh, “I want you all to realise that I’m really only guessing. That Briefing Room is the place where they were having the conference meetings. I’d stake money on the three of them being kept in there, possibly with a guard on the bulkhead door. But it’s still only a guess. If I’m wrong and they’re being held somewhere else, then it’ll go wrong and I’ll take the blame.”
“But you believe that’s our main target?” the SBS Major nodded.
“Yes. We have to take the risk. The quickest way down is through the Flight Crew Room which is here.” He pointed to the bulkhead door he had used to get to the Harrier. It seemed days ago now, not just a handful of hours.
“So, before we decide on tactics, how many people do you think we need?” The SBS Major was putting on a little pressure, and Bond knew it. Behind the dedication of elite forces, there was always a desire to be in at the kill, to take credit. They were really in the hands of the United States Navy, so Bond had to make a very careful choice. He also had to make it with confidence and speed.
“They’re fourteen, maybe fifteen. I don’t think we have to go by the odds.” He locked eyes, first, with the US Marines Major and then with the Royal Marines Major from the Special Boat Squadron. “I lead.
We draw up the main plan together. I want five of your Marines, Major, and five SBS, Major,” turning to each man as spoke. They both nodded solemnly. “As for weapons, well, there’s likely to be killing regretful, but I see no other way - and I think some of that killing’s got to be silent.
Have we any hand-guns with silencers?”
It was Mike Carter who answered. “We can provide Brownings and H and Ks with modified noise reduction units.”
“Right,” Bond nodded.
“Everyone will carry either a Browning or an H & K. I want one man from each unit to be armed with a sub-machine-gun. Any H & K MP5s, Mike?”
“MP5s, 5Ks, Uzis, you name it, we got it.”
“K-Bar knives for the US Marines; usual Sykes-Fairhairn for SBS.
Flash-bangs?” he asked Carter, meaning stun grenades.
“Whatever you need.”
“Two each, and some tear-gas grenades. We’ll go in with masks on.
Now, the actual tactics, and here we’re going to have to guess a lot.
We have to ask where we would put people on that ship to keep watch. I know the girl in charge, and she’s no fool. But she’ll probably act predictably.”
“Then she’ll let some of the girls rest for part of the time,” the SBS officer said.
“Maybe. They’ll be highly stressed, whatever, and, therefore, more dangerous. I’d say she’d only let three of the girls rest at one time. That gives her eleven - twelve with Mr. Speaker, and I really don’t know how good he’ll be in a tangle.”
“She’ll stay on duty all the time?” the US Marine Corps officer asked.
Bond nodded, with a smile, “Clover is probably able to keep going without sleep for another forty-eight hours. So, if you were her, where would you put your troops?”
They talked it out carefully, using logic, then going back and looking at it in the most perverse manner. In the end, they decided that Bond had been right about the psycho being with the VIPs, plus a guard outside. They put two more on the main deck, one patrolling forward and one aft. Two on the bridge, probably armed with sub-machine-guns, and two, similarly armed, in Flight Operations. This way they would have the whole main deck covered, fore and aft.
There were a total of five companionways leading down from the island to the first deck, where they thought the VIPs were being held.
“One at the foot of each companionway?” Bond asked.
“Either at the foot or nearby,” the SBS officer agreed. The USMC Major nodded.
“We can probably pinpoint what kind of defence they’ve got on the main deck, even, possibly in the island and down on the first level.”
They all looked up as Mike Carter suddenly revealed this information.
Bond saw it at once. The base, he suspected, was now used for major intelligence gathering: the electronics and the massive golf-balls had told him that. “You can scan the ship for us?”
“We can try. Carter tapped a pencil against the table. “We’ve got several nice four-lanned P36s here stuffed full of the latest reconnaissance hardware. We can do a recce about an hour before you go in. They can see through anything - and it’s going to be dark tonight: low cloud. We should at least get a clear idea of where the sentries are posted on deck, and who’s in the island.”
“I wish you’d said that before,” Bond snapped. “What’ll you do? Overfly and then do a square to cover all sides?”
“Something like that. I need to know a time.”
“Quarter to four in the morning, 03.45. Nice and dark. Time for births and deaths. Lowest ebb for those under stress. Okay?”
They all nodded.