Gardner, John (16 page)

'By turning a generator.' 'Quite; and the generator is operated usually by a turbine, in turn operated how, Mr Bond?' 'Water, in hydro-electric plants; boiling water producing steam in other types of plant.'

'Good; and the steam is produced through boiling the water, using coal, oil, gas - or the core of a nuclear reactor.' He gave another little laugh. 'An expensive way to boil water, don't you think? Using nuclear power?'

'I hadn't thought of it like that. It's always struck me as being one of the few sure ways to produce energy and power without using dwindling supplies of oil and fossil fuels.'

Murik nodded, 'In many ways I agree. I do not go along with Professor Lovins when he says that using nuclear power to boil water is like using a chainsaw to cut butter though he does have something on his side: wasted heat. No, the problem, Mr Bond, is one of safety and control. Nuclear reactors, as they now stand throughout the world, put our planet and its people at risk ... '

'You mean the problem of radioactive waste?'

'No. I'm talking about unavoidable accident. There have already been incidents galore. If you're an intelligent man you must know that: 1952, Chalk River, Ontario;

!955, Idaho Falls; 1957, Windscale, England; '58, Chalk River, Canada; '61, Idaho Falls; 1970, Illinois; '71, Minnesota; '75, Alabama; '76, Vermont. Need I go on? Or should I mention the Kyshtym catastrophe in the U.S.S.R. when an atomic waste dump exploded in the Urals? Spillage, partial fuel meltdown. One day, with the kind of reactors we have at the moment, there will be catastrophe. Yet governments remain silent. The Carter Administration almost admitted it . . .' He rummaged among some papers. There. 1977 - "Between now and the year 2000 there
will
be a serious core meltdown of a nuclear reactor; but with proper siting such accidents can be contained". Contained? Proper siting? Do you realise what a core meltdown means,

Mr Bond?' 'Is that something to do with what they call the China Syndrome? I saw a movie with Jane Fonda . . .' Bond continued to play innocent. Anton Murik nodded. 'A nuclear reactor produces its enormous heat from a core - a controlled chain reaction, and as long as it's controlled all is well. However, if there is a failure in the cooling system — a ruptured pipe, a shattered vessel, the coolant lost - that's it. The core is just left to generate more and more heat; create more and more radioactivity . . .' 'Until it goes off like a bomb?' Despite Anton Murik's fanaticism, Bond found himself absorbed in what the man was saying. Murik shook his head. 'No, not quite like the big bang, but the results are fairly spectacular. One of the great American-born poets wrote, "This is the way the world ends; not with a bang but a whimper." The whimper would be a kind of tremor, a rumble, with the earth moving, and one hell of a lot of radioactive particles being released. The core itself would become so hot that nothing could stop it, right through the earth — rock, earth, metal — nothing could stand in its way. Right through to China, Mr Bond; the Pekin Express — and that could happen in any one of the nuclear reactors operating in the world today. The trouble is that
I
could make it safe for them.' He gave a long slow smile, then a shrug. 'But, of course, as usual, the money men won't play. My system is foolproof, but they won't allow me to build it, or show them how.' He paused again, looking hard at Bond, 'Can you blame me, Mr Bond? I'm going to demonstrate how unsafe the present systems are and at the same time show them just how safe they could be.'

Bond shook his head. 'No, I wouldn't blame you for doing that if your system
is
as safe as you say.' For a second he thought the Laird of Murcaldy was going to lash out at him.

'What do you mean?' Murik screamed. 'What do
you
know, Bond?
If
my system is safe?
If
my system is as safe as
I
say? I'm telling you, I have the only positively one hundred per cent safe nuclear reactor system; and because of grasping economists, because of contracts and profits, because of self-seeking politicians, they've tried to make a laughing stock of me.' He seemed to relax, drawing back into his chair.

During the long speeches about nuclear reactors, Bond had managed to steal two more glances at the large map.

The American targets were ringed in red chinagraph. Now he had managed to identify the English and French locations. Heysham One and Saint-Laurent-des-Eaux Two.

What was this man going to do? Was his brilliance so unhinged that he was prepared to expose governments or organisations he hated by sending suicide terrorists into nuclear reactor sites to manufacture disaster that might affect the entire world? Would his madness carry him that far? Meltdown —of course.

Murik was speaking again. 'I have prepared a master plan that will do both of the things I require.' He gestured towards the map, giving Bond the opportunity to take another look, his eyes moving unerringly to Germany.

There it was, marked in red like the others.

Bond experienced a sinking deep in his stomach when he realised that there were two targets marked in the German area,
one
in the Federal Republic, the other in the East-in the DDR. So, even the Eastern Bloc had not been left оut of Anton Murik's plans. In the East it was Nord Two-Two. The site in West Germany could be identified as Esenshamm. Now Bond had them all locked in his brain. The job would be to lead Murik on to reveal the bulk of his Operation Meltdown; though, even without further information, Bond considered the mission complete. If he could get out that night, M.I.5 would be able to track down and isolate Murik and with luck collar Franco through the American security agencies. Meltdown could be blown, and with it the instigator, Warlock: Anton Murik. 'My little plan will alert the world to the horrific danger that exists through the nuclear plants already built and working.' Murik gave another of his chuckles, rising to a full-throated laugh, 'It will also provide me with the necessary capital to build my own safe plant, and demonstrate to those cretins and profit-seekers that it is possible to use nuclear energy without putting the human race at risk.' 'How?' Bond asked, convinced that a straightforward question would produce a reflex answer. But Anton Murik, in spite of the hysterical outbursts was not easily trapped. 'It's a complicated business. But you will play your part, Mr Bond. Ours was a happy meeting; a pleasant coincidence.' 'What sort of part?' Bond dropped his voice, sounding wary. 'There is one essential piece of the operation: to ensure no legal action will be taken against me. It is something that has to be done so that nobody ever knows I have had a part in what will happen. Your job is to kill one man. A contract, Mr Bond. I am giving you a contract — that's the right terminology, I believe?' 'You think I'll just go out and kill someone?' 'I see no reason for you to be squeamish. From what I gather, you are not a man who values human life very highly. Also, the job pays well. According to my information you need around £20,000 quite soon. I'm offering £50 000, which I'm certain is more than your usual basic fee. It should also serve to keep you silent.'

'I don't know what you mean,' Bond said flatly. Inside, there was a mild sensation of elation. Anton Murik had been fed the entire cover story. 'I mean, you know nothing about me . . .'

'No?' Murik's eyes clouded, the old dangerous lava flow hot in their depths. 'I think you will find I know far more than is comfortable for you.'

'How . . . ?' 'There are ways, Mr Bond.
Major
Bond. Who won the Sword of Honour for your year at Sandhurst?' 'Fellow called Danvers . . .' Bond tried to make it sound spontaneous.

'And you used to call him Desperate Dan, yes?'

Bond allowed his face to take on a puzzled expression, 'Yes, but ... ?' 'And you went into the Guards, like your father before you, like the late Colonel Archie Bond? Correct?'

Bond nodded silently.

'You see, James Bond, I have my informants. I know about your career. I also know about your heroism. I have details of the great courage you displayed while assigned to the SAS . . .'

'That's confidential information,' Bond blurted out, 'highly classified.'

Murik nodded, unconcerned. 'Like the name of all officers seconded to the Special Air Service - yes. But
I
know. Just as I am up to date with your failures: how they allowed you to resign rather than face a court martial after that unfortunate business with the Mess funds; how you have lived by your wits and skill ever since. I have details of the small jobs you have performed in Third World countries, and I also have a record of the unpleasant gambling gentlemen who would like to get their hands on either you or the £20,000 you owe them.'

Bond allowed his shoulders to slump forward, as though he had been defeated by some clever policeman. 'Okay,' he said softly, 'but how do you know all this about me?'

'By wits and weapons, James Bond: that's how you've lived since the Army let you go,' Murik went on, ignoring the question. 'Apart from mercenary engagements, I can make an informed guess concerning the contract killings you've performed.' M had certainly placed the information well. Bond wondered exactly how Murik's informants had been manipulated as channels for Bond's mythical past. He sat up, his face impassive, as though Murik's knowledge of his supposed profession as mercenary and contract artist was something with which he could deal. 'Okay,' he said again. 'I won't deny any of it. Nor am I going to deny that I'm good at my job. It's not a profession of which a man can be proud, but at least I do it very well. How's Caber?' There was a tinge of malice in his voice. Bond had to show Murik he was unafraid. The Laird of Murcaldy was not smiling. 'Bewildered,' he said coldly. 'Nobody's ever really beaten Caber until today. Yes, you are good, Mr Bond. If you were not, I wouldn't be offering you a sum of £50,000 for a contract killing now.' 'Who's the lucky client?' Bond assumed a straightforward, professional manner.

'A man called Franco Oliveiro Quesocriado.'

'I don't think I've had the pleasure.'

'No. Probably not. But at least you'll have heard of him. Hijackings, bombings, hostage-taking: his name is often in the papers — his first name, that is. He is said by the media to be the most wanted international terrorist on the books.' 'Ah.' Bond opened his mouth, allowing a flicker of recognition to cross his face.
''That
Franco. You're putting out a contract on him?'

Murik nodded.

'How do I find him?'

'By staying close to me. There will be no problems. I shall point you in the right direction. All you have to do is remove him — but not until you're told. You will also do it in prescribed way. The moment will come, in the operation I am about to set in motion, for Franco to disappear. Vanish. Cease to exist, leaving no trace.'

'For that kind of money I might even throw in his birth certificate.'

Murik shook his head. In a chilling voice he said, 'That has already been taken care of.
You
will be his death certificate.' Both men were silent for a moment. Bond looked down and absently fingered a knob on the console in front of him. Then he looked Murik straight in the eye.

'And the money? How shall I receive it?' he enquired firmly.

'You will be free to collect £50,000 in bank notes of any currency of your choosing a week from today at my bank in Zurich. I assure you it is the most respectable bank in Europe. I shall arrange for you to call them from here tomorrow — on the public telephone system, of course. I have no private connection. I shall leave you alone to ascertain the number from the Swiss telephone directory and verify the arrangement personally. But I can allow you only one call to Switzerland.'

'Sounds fair enough,' Bond said, wildly thinking that here was a heaven-sent opportunity for getting word out to M. But he knew full well the call would be monitored and intercepted the moment he tried any sort of bluff. It was on Bond's lips to ask what would happen should he fail and Franco escape, but he remained silent.

Murik stood up and began to walk calmly down the long room. 'I think we should get ready for dinner now, Mr Bond. Then I would suggest a good rest. It is likely to be an active and taxing week.' There was no suggestion that Bond might like to consider the proposal, no polite enquiry even as to whether he would accept. Murik had already assumed the terms were agreed and the contract sealed.

Bond started to follow Murik towards the door and as he did so, caught sight of one of the weapons on display in the Laird's collection. On a small shelf among grenades and other devices stood a cutaway German S-Mine, from the Second World War —a metal cylinder with its long protruding rod housing the trigger. Bond knew the type well and the display version showed clearly how deadly the mine could be. You buried the thing until only the tip of the slender trigger showed above the ground. An unlucky foot touching the trigger activated the mine, which then leaped about seven feet into the air before exploding to scatter fragments of its steel casing, together with ball-bearings loaded into the sides of the device.

The cutaway S-Mine had been so arranged as to show the ball bearings in position, and also separately. A small pile of these steel balls, each about a centimetre in diameter, lay beside the weapon. They looked just the right size for Bond's purpose. Loudly he asked - 'You're tied up with this Franco fellow? In this scheme of yours?'

Before Murik had time to stop and reply, Bond had quietly reached out his hand and scooped three of the ball bearings from the display, slipping them into his pocket, out of sight, as Murik turned.

'I am not going into the finer points, Mr Bond.' Murik stood by the exit as Bond caught up with him. 'There are some things you should know, I suppose.' Murik's voice was low, with a rasp like the cutting edge of a buzz saw. 'Yes, friend Franco has contacts among all the major terrorist organisations in the world. He has provided me with six suicide squads to infiltrate half-a-dozen major nuclear power stations. They are fanatics: willing to die for their respective causes if need be. For them, if my plan works, it will mean vast sums of money set at the disposal of their several societies and organisations. Terrorists always need money, Mr Bond, and if the plan does not work, it is of no consequence — to the suicide squads, at least.' He gave another of his unpleasant chuckles, before continuing.