'There now, Mr Bond.' Anton Murik gestured to one of the comfortable leather chairs. 'Sit down. Rest yourself. As you see, we're old-fashioned enough to be formal here. We dress for dinner. But, as you've arrived late, and unprepared, we'll forgive you.'

'If the ladies don't mind.' Bond turned to smile at Mary-Jane Mashkin and Lavender Peac.o.c.k. The Mashkin woman returned his smile; Lavender gave him a broad, almost conspiratorial grin.

'Not at all, Mr Bond,' said Mary-Jane, and Lavender followed with a quick, 'Just this once, Mr Bond.'

James Bond nodded his thanks and took a seat. He had long ago ceased to worry about being the odd man out on formal occasions - except, of course, when it was some forewarned important function.

In the back of his mind, Lavender Peac.o.c.k caused niggling concern. She was beautiful, obviously intelligent, and at ease when Dr Anton Murik was absent; but in her guardian's presence Lavender had about her a certain wariness that he could not readily define.

It should not surprise him, Bond realised. Anton Murik and his castle, with people like Caber and the butler creeping around, would be enough to make anyone wary. There was something eery about this large Gothic structure with its interior which stank of wealth, taste and gadgetry, all set far out in the middle of a beautiful nowhere.

Murik helped himself to a drink, and they chatted amiably - Murik mainly interested in Bond's journey north - until Donal, the butler, reappeared to confirm that Mr Bond's luggage had been taken to his room and that the car was parked next to the Laird's Rolls outside. As an afterthought, and a look of distinct disapproval at Bond's apparel, he announced that dinner was served.

Bond was led across the hall - automatically glancing up at the doorway through which he had seen Franco vanish - into the long dining-room, this time decorated in more traditional style, but still retaining light colours and the same stamp and flair which showed in the hall and drawing room. None of Murik's weapon collection was on view in either drawing or dining room.

They sat at a fine long mahogany table, polished and kept in magnificent condition, and ate with Georgian silver from an exquisite dinner service, every piece of which was rimmed in gold. The Lairds of Murcaldy had obviously lived well for many decades: the table silver and china would, Bond considered, have brought a small fortune in any reputable London auction room.

Murik's food matched the outer show: a fine lobster c.o.c.ktail, prepared individually at each diner's elbow from freshly cooked and cooled crustaceans; a light consomme with a chicken base, followed by rare rib of beef which almost dissolved on the tongue; and, before the cheese board was circulated, there was one of Bond's favourite Scottish puddings, the delicious cream-crowdie - toasted oatmeal folded into thick whipped cream.

'The simplest things are best at table,' Anton Murik commented. 'You pay a fortune for that in the Edinburgh and Glasgow hotels, and yet it's merely an old farmhouse dish.'

Bond reflected on a fact he had noted so often in his travels: that the wealthy of today's world take their so-called 'simple' pleasures for granted.

He was not surprised when the port arrived and the ladies withdrew, leaving the two men to their own devices. The running of Murik Castle, it seemed, clung to the fashions of more gracious days. The servants - there had been two muscular young men waiting at table under Donal's eye - withdrew; as did the butler himself, after placing cigars, cutter and matches within the Laird's reach. Bond refused a cigar, asking permission to smoke his own cigarettes.

As he drew out the old and faithful gunmetal case, James Bond's thumb felt the rough section around the middle, where it had been skilfully repaired. The thought flashed through his head that this very case had once saved his life, by stopping a SMERSH a.s.sa.s.sin's bullet. The evidence was in the rough patch, invisible to the eye, on either side of the case. For a second he wondered if he would have need of any life-saving devices in this present encounter with the Laird of Murcaldy.

'So, you took up my offer, Mr Bond?' The eyes a.s.sumed the grey and menacing lava flow look as Anton Murik faced Bond across the table.

'To visit you, yes.' Bond watched as Murik expelled a great cloud of cigar smoke.

'Oh, I didn't just mean the visit.' He gave a throaty chuckle. 'I know men, Bond. I can scent them. You are a man of vigour who lives for danger. I smelled that the moment I met you. I also felt you have a similar facility - for scenting out possible dangers. Yes?'

Bond shrugged. It was not time to commit himself to anything.

'You must be good,' Murik continued. 'Only good mercenaries stay alive; and you did all the right things - reconnoitring my estate, I mean. There may well be a job for you. Just stay for a day or two and we shall see. Tomorrow I may even give you a small test. Again, we shall see.'

There was a moment's pause, and then Bond asked levelly, 'How did you do it?'

Murik arched his eyebrows in surprise. 'Do what?'

'Win the Gold Cup with China Blue?' Bond did not smile.

Murik spread out his hands. 'I have a good trainer. How else would I win such a prestigeous cup race? And I had the right horse.'

'How?' Bond asked again. 'China Blue's form made him the biggest outsider in the race. He even looked like a loser. Now I know that's easy enough to do, but you brought it off and there were no questions. You have him pulled in his other races?'

Slowly the Laird of Murcaldy shook his head. 'There was no need for that. China Blue won. Fair and square.' Then, as though suddenly making up his mind, he rose from the table. 'Come, I'll show you something.' He led the way to a door Bond had not noticed, in a corner on the far side of the dining room. He took out a bunch of keys on a thin gold chain, selected a key and unlocked the door.

They went down a cool, well-lit pa.s.sage which terminated at yet another door, which Murik unlocked with a second key. A moment later they stood in a large book-lined room. There were three leather chairs facing a wide military desk and a cabinet containing some exquisite pieces of antique weaponry. On the wall above the desk hung the only painting in the room - a large and undeniable Turner.

'Genuine?' asked Bond.

'Naturally.' Murik moved behind the desk and motioned Bond into one of the chairs facing him. 'My inner sanctum,' he commented. 'You are honoured to be here at all. This is where I work and plan.'

Gently Bond drew the chair nearer to the desk. Murik was opening one of the drawers. He removed a small buff folder, opened it and pa.s.sed two photographs to Bond. 'Tell me about these photographs, Mr Bond.'

Bond said they were pictures of China Blue.

'Almost correct.' Murik smiled again: a deep secretive smirk. 'They are brothers. You see - I will not bore you with the doc.u.ments - just over four years ago I had a mare in foal, here on the estate. I happened to be in residence at the time, and was in at the birth, so to speak. Happily I have a vet who knows how to keep his mouth closed. It was a rare thing, Bond. Two identical foals. Absolutely identical. No expert could have told them apart, though it was obvious to the vet and myself that the second would always be the weaker of the two. That is usual in such cases.'

He paused for effect. 'I registered one only. They were from good racing stock. There is one China Blue - the one you saw running at Ascot - with tremendous stamina and the natural apt.i.tude for racing. The other? Well, he races, but has no speed and little stamina. Though still, at four years, you would be hard put to tell the difference in build. Now, I've shared a secret with you. I am attempting to establish a trust between us. But if it ever leaks out, I promise you are a dead man.'

'n.o.body's going to hear it from me.' As he spoke, Bond moved the chair even closer, taking out his gunmetal cigarette case and the package of cigarettes provided by Q'ute. The Laird of Murcaldy had just answered a prize question. The man was a cheat and a fraud. Franco was in the house, and, for Bond, that was enough. M had been right to send him: this was certainly no panic or fool's errand.

Quickly he removed a couple of the cigarettes from the packet and placed them in his case. At the same time Bond pressed on the side of the packet, expelling one of the small electronic micro-bugs into his hand. Murik was still chuckling as he picked up the photographs from the desk. As he leaned down to return them to the drawer, Bond slid his hand under the foot-well of the desk, pressing the adhesive side of the bug hard against the woodwork. Now the Laird of Murcaldy's inner sanctum was wired for sound.

Murik snapped the drawer closed and stood up. 'Now, Mr Bond, I suggest you say goodnight to the ladies and retire. Your cases are in your room, and tomorrow we must all take part in the Games. After that you may wish to stay; and I may wish to make you a proposition. It depends on many things.'

In the drawing room, Mary-Jane Mashkin and Lavender Peac.o.c.k sat listening to Mozart through hidden speakers. Bond thought he glimpsed the look of friendly conspiracy on Lavender's face as they entered the room. Once again he experienced the feeling that she was trying to warn him of something as they shook hands, bidding each other goodnight.

The silent Donal had appeared, summoned surrept.i.tiously by Murik, and was instructed to show Bond to the East Guest Room.

As he left, Bond caught Lavender's eyes in his, warm, friendly, but with a lonely message hidden within. Of one thing he was certain, she was a living virgin on the rocks - though he admitted to himself that he was being presumptuous about the first part of that statement.

He followed Donal up the stairs, anxious to get at the receiver in his case and set it up so that any further business transacted by Murik in his inner sanctum could be recorded and listened to at leisure.

Donal opened the door, intoning, 'The East Guest Room, sir,' and Bond stepped into an Aladdin's Cave for the pa.s.sing visitor.

9.

All mod cons

The room was decorated almost entirely in black, with soft lighting hidden high up behind pelmets, where there must once have been ornate old picture rails. It took Bond a second to realise that there were two rooms and not one; for half of each of the bedroom walls and a large section of the ceiling was made of mirror - difficult to distinguish against the black decor. This gave the illusion of more s.p.a.ce; it also had the unnerving effect of disorientation. Donal spoke just as Bond confirmed, to himself, that an archway led from the bedroom into a bathroom.

'You did not leave the keys to your luggage, sir; otherwise I would have had your clothes unpacked and pressed. Perhaps tomorrow?'

'Certainly,' Bond turned his back, speaking sharply. 'Goodnight, Donal.'

'Goodnight, sir.' The butler withdrew, and Bond heard a very solid click as the door closed. He went over and tried the handle, immediately realising he had been correct in his identification of the sound. The door was fitted with a remote-controlled electronic lock. He was virtually a prisoner. At least, he thought, setting the roomy briefcase on a side table, he would not be a prisoner who would be secretly watched or overheard.

Unlocking the briefcase by turning the keys twice, he pressed down hard on the catches, which lifted on small hinges, revealing the real locking devices underneath: three wheels of numbers on each side. Bond spun the dials, and the briefcase opened. With this one they had made little effort to hide the equipment inside, the top of the case being a simple tray in which his toilet gear rested. Lifting out the tray, Bond uncovered the few pieces of hardware beneath.

The largest item was the one Bond required - the standard VL 22H counter-surveillance receiver, which looked something like a chunky walky-talky, but with headphones and a hand-held probe.

Bond plugged in the headset and probe, slipped the instrument's shoulder strap around his neck, adjusted everything and switched on. For the next ten minutes he carefully ran the probe over the entire room, covering every corner and fitment. The built-in verifier would quickly determine any type of bug, differentiate between various signals and even lead him to any television cameras hidden behind the large expanses of gla.s.s; or secret fibre-optic lenses, the size of pencil holes, in the wall. He followed a well-learned pattern, completing the sweep with great care. Nothing showed. The note in the earphones remained constant, and the needle in the VU unit did not waver.

Returning the counter-surveillance unit to its hiding place, he pulled out the larger piece of luggage. Checking the locks, he once more used his keys to open the lid, throwing the clothes out in a manner that would have made the sinister and fastidious Donal wince. When the case was empty, Bond returned to the locks, turning the keys a further three times in each. At the final click of the right lock, a minute panel slid back in the far left-hand corner of the case bottom, revealing a small numbered dial.

Bond spun the dial, selecting the code arranged between Q'ute and himself only a few days previously.

Another click and he was able to slide a larger portion of the case bottom to one side, disclosing some of Q Branch's special hardware, packed neatly in velvet-lined trays.

Removing the tiny receiver/recorder - based on the STR 440, and only eighty-four by fifty-five millimetres in size, complete with a specialised tape ca.s.sette and foam-padded minute headset - Bond switched on, set the control dial to the figure 1, and saw a small light glow like a red-hot pinhead. The bug placed in Murik's study was now active. A ca.s.sette lay ready attached to the machine. Now, any conversation or movement in Murik's room would be recorded on Bond's receiver. He looked around and decided that, for the moment at least, it was safe to leave the receiver on the long dressing table that took up the bulk of one wall. He put the small piece of apparatus carefully on the dressing table and started to unpack, first sliding the hidden compartment in the case back to its locked position.

Long experience had taught Bond to pack and unpack with speed and efficiency. In less than five minutes he had shirts, underwear, socks and other necessities packed neatly in the drawers which ran down the outer ends of the long dressing table, and his other clothes hung in the closets built into the walls on either side of the archway leading to the bathroom. He left one or two special items in the cases, which, after locking, he placed at the bottom of one of the closets. Only then did Bond allow himself an examination of the room, which had all the makings of an expensive movie set.

The centrepiece of the main room was a vast bed, made up with white silk sheets and pillows. The visible edges of the bed glowed with light, and the whole was partially enclosed by two high, padded semi-circular panels. Bond slid on to the bed, and found himself in what was almost another bedroom within the main room. The inside of the panels was softly lit; a large console took up the whole of one section to his left, while a television screen was set into one of the panelled sections which made up the semi-circle at the bed's foot.

After a few experiments with the console, Bond found that each section of the two semi-circles could be moved by remote control; that the bed could be slowly rotated; and even raised or lowered at will. The console also had facilities for complete quadrophonic sound, television video-recording, the Ceefax system, a telephone and intercommunication sets. Behind him, in a rack sunk into the black padding of the panel was a whole range of music and video ca.s.settes, plus a pair of expensive Koss headphones. Bond glanced briefly at the ca.s.settes, seeing that Anton Murik appeared to provide for all tastes - from Bach to Bartok, the Beatles to the latest avant-garde rock bands; while the video ca.s.settes were of movies only recently released in cinemas.

Bond recognised the bed as the famous and exclusive Slumberland 2002 Sleepcentre, with some modifications, made probably on Murik's own instructions. He noted that the console provided sound and light programmes marked 'Peace Mood', 'Wake', 'Sleep' and 'Love'. Something Q'ute would have appreciated, he thought with wry amus.e.m.e.nt.

It took a lot of will-power for Bond to leave the so-called Sleepcentre and investigate the bathroom which also had several intriguing gadgets, including a sunken whirlpool bath, and even a blood-warm lavatory seat. 'All mod cons,' he said aloud.

With a short chuckle, Bond returned to the bedroom. He would try out the communications system and complain that his door seemed to be jammed. As he headed towards the bed, a glance at the receiver on the dressing table showed the tape revolve for a second and then stop. The bug placed in Murik's study was picking up noises. Grabbing the receiver and headset, Bond dived into the Sleepcentre, slipping the 'phones over his ears.

Someone was in Murik's study. He heard a distinctive cough, then Murik's voice: 'Come in, the door's open. Close it and shoot the bolt. We don't want to be disturbed.'

The sounds came clearly through the headphones: the door closing, and then the rustle as someone sat down.

'I'm sorry about dinner,' Anton Murik said. 'It was unavoidable, and I didn't think it wise for you to show yourself to my visitor, even though he probably wouldn't recognise you from Adam.'

'The message was understood. Who is the man?' The other voice was heavily accented. Franco, Bond thought.

'Harmless, but could be useful. I can always do with a little intelligent muscle. Caber is good, but rarely puts his brain into gear before working. You have to give him orders like a dog.'

'This man?..'

'A mercenary out for hire. I shouldn't think he has many scruples. We met by accident at Ascot...'

'You have him checked out?'

'You think I'm that much of a fool? He says his name's Bond. I have the number and details of the car - very smart. It'll give us an address and by tomorrow night I shall know everything I need about Mr James Bond.'

Bond smiled, knowing that M had him very well covered. Any enquiries coming from pa.s.sport number, driving licence, car registration, or other means, would be nicely blocked off. All Murik could learn would come from the cover dossier - the service record of one Major James Bond, a Guards officer who had probably served with the SAS, and performed certain dubious duties since leaving the armed forces - under a slight cloud - six years previously.

Murik was still speaking. '...but I smell the need for money. Mercenaries are good earners, if they live, yet they all have that tendency to spend as though tomorrow did not exist. Or they turn to crime.'

'You must keep sights on all strangers until they are proved.'

'Oh, I'm testing him. He'll give us some interesting sport.' The laugh was unpleasant. 'At least we'll see what he's made of. But, my dear Franco, you're leaving shortly, and I want to get things finalised.'

'Everything in my head. Clear as day. You know me well now, Warlock. The teams ready in England, France and Germany. No trouble. They are on call. Listening the whole time. There is only America, and my people wait there for me.'

'And you'll be in the States by tomorrow night?'

'Afternoon.'

There was a long pause and a rustling of paper before Murik spoke again. 'You're quite certain of your American people?'

'The same as the others.'

'Willing to expend themselves in the cause?'

'Absolutely. They expect death. I have said it is not likely for them to survive. This is good psychology. Yes?'

'I agree. Though as long as they do exactly as they're told, there'll be no risk. That's the beauty of it. First, the fact that we only need to place four men in each station - to secure themselves within the control rooms - and take orders frommealone. Second, that they refuse to maintain contact with anyone outside - no hostage-taking, nothing to distract them. Third, that I make it plain to the governments concerned that they have twenty-four hours only, from the moment of takeover. The twenty-four hours runs out... thenBoom:England, France, Germany and the United States have big problems on their hands for many years to come - problems, if all the scientists are correct, that will not be confined to the four countries concerned. The death toll and damage could cover almost half of the world. This is the one time that governments will have no choice but to give in to blackmail.'

'Unless they do not believe you.'

'Oh, they'll believe me,' Murik chuckled. They'll believe me because of the facts. That's why it's all-important that your people go in at the same moment. Now, your Americans. How long will it take to brief them?'

There was another pause, as though Franco was trying to make up his mind. 'Twenty-four hours. One day at the most.'

'For both lots? For Indian Point Unit Three, and San Onofre Unit One?'

'Both. No problems.'

'It's the San Onofre that's going to scare the wits out of them.'

'Yes, I've studied papers. Still active, even though the authorities know how close it is to a fault. A seismic fault - is that how you say it?'

'Yes. America will press Europe. They just won't be able to take the risk. As long as your American people know what is expected and do only what I tell them. You must stress - as you have done in Europe - that if they obey orders, n.o.body can get at them for a minimum of twenty-four hours. By that time Meltdown will all be over anyway. So I see no reason why Meltdown cannot go ahead at twelve noon British Summer Time on Thursday, as planned.'

'There's one thing...'

'Yes?' Murik's voice, sharp.

'How are you to give the signals-pa.s.s on the instructions - without detection?'

A slight chuckle, subdued and humourless. 'Your people have the receivers. You have a receiver, Franco. Just use them, and let me worry about the rest.'

'But with radio signals of that strength - covering Europe and the United States - they'll pinpoint you faster than you can do yourTimescrossword; which is fast.'

'I told you, Franco. Let me worry. All is arranged, and I shall be quite safe. n.o.body'll have the slightest idea where any instructions are coming from. Now, Franco, we are on schedule for Thursday, which is ideal. If you can really finish everything in America within twenty-four hours, it means you will be in a position to carry out the other a.s.signment for me on Wednesday night. You think you can make that location?'

'There is time enough. Better I should do it than someone else...'

Even with the headphones on, Bond was suddenly distracted by a click from the door. His head whipped around, and he saw the handle turn a fraction. In one movement he grabbed the 'phones from his head, stuffing the receiver under the pillow before launching himself out of the Sleepcentre towards the door.

His hand shot out, grasping the door and pulling it sharply towards him.