If Bond had been able to blush, he would have blushed. He said, «Er – well, sir, it seems there’s a chap called Sir Hilary Bray. Friend of Sable Basilisk’s. About my age and not unlike me to look at. His family came from some place in Normandy. Family tree as long as your arm. William the Conqueror and all that. And a coat of arms that looks like a mixture between a jigsaw puzzle and Piccadilly Circus at night. Well, Sable Basilisk says he can fix it with him. This man’s got a good war record and sounds a reliable sort of chap. He lives in some remote glen in the Highlands, watching birds and climbing the hills with bare feet. Never sees a soul. No reason why anyone in Switzerland should have heard of him.» Bond’s voice became defensive, stubborn. «Well, sir, the idea is that I should be him. Rather fancy cover, but I think it makes sense.»
«Sir Hilary Bray, eh?» M tried to conceal his scorn. «And then what do you do? Run around the Alps waving this famous banner of his?»
Bond said patiently, obstinately, refusing to be browbeaten, «First I’ll get Passport Control to fix up a good passport. Then I mug up Bray’s family tree until I’m word-perfect on the thing. Then I swot away at the rudiments of this heraldry business. Then, if Blofeld takes the bait, I go out to Switzerland with all the right books and suggest that I work out his de Bleuville pedigree with him.»
«Then what?»
«Then I try and winkle him out of Switzerland, get him over the frontier to somewhere where we can do a kidnap job on him, rather like the Israelis did with Eichmann. But I haven’t worked out all the details yet, sir. Had to get your approval and then Sable Basilisk has got to make up a damned attractive fly and throw it over these Zurich solicitors.»
«Why not try putting pressure on the Zurich solicitors and winkle Blofeld’s address out of them? Then we might think of doing some kind of a commando job.»
«You know the Swiss, sir. God knows what kind of a retainer these lawyers have from Blofeld. But it’s bound to be millionaire size. We might eventually get the address, but they’d be bound to tip off Blofeld if only to lay their hands on their fees before he vamoosed. Money’s the religion of Switzerland.»
«I don’t need a lecture on the qualities of the Swiss, thank you, 007. At least they keep their trains clean and cope with the beatnik problem [two very rampant bees in M’s bonnet!], but I daresay there’s some truth in what you say. Oh, well.» M wearily pushed the file over to Bond. «Take it away. It’s a messy-looking bird’s-nest of a plan. But I suppose it had better go ahead.» M shook his head sceptically. «Sir Hilary Bray! Oh, well, tell the Chief of Staff I approve. But reluctantly. Tell him you can have the facilities. Keep me informed.» M reached for the Cabinet telephone. His voice was deeply disgruntled. «Suppose I’ll have to tell the PM we’ve got a line on the chap. The kind of tangle it is, I’ll keep to myself. That’s all, 007.»
«Thank you, sir. Goodnight.» As Bond went across to the door he heard M say into the green receiver, «M speaking. I want the Prime Minister personally, please.» He might have been asking for the mortuary. Bond went out and softly closed the door behind him.
So, as November blustered its way into December, James Bond went unwillingly back to school, swotting up heraldry at his desk instead of top-secret reports, picking up scraps of medieval French and English, steeping himself in fusty lore and myth, picking the brains of Sable Basilisk and occasionally learning interesting facts, such as that the founders of Gamages came from the de Gamaches in Normandy and that Walt Disney was remotely descended from the d’Isignys of the same part of France. But these were nuggets in a wasteland of archaisms, and when, one day, Mary Goodnight, in reply to some sally of his, addressed him as «Sir Hilary» he nearly bit her head off.
Meanwhile the highly delicate correspondence between Sable Basilisk and the Gebrüder Moosbrugger proceeded haltingly and at a snail’s pace. They, or rather Blofeld behind them, posed countless irritating but, Sable Basilisk admitted, erudite queries each one of which had to be countered with this or that degree of heraldic obfuscation. Then there were minute questions about this emissary, Sir Hilary Bray. Photographs were asked for, and, suitably doctored, were provided. His whole career since his schooldays had to be detailed and was sent down from Scotland with a highly amused covering note from the real man. To test the market, more funds were asked for by Sable Basilisk and, with encouraging promptitude, were forthcoming in the shape of a further thousand pounds. When the cheque arrived on December 15th Sable Basilisk telephoned Bond delightedly. «We’ve got him,» he said. «He’s hooked!» And, sure enough, the next day came a letter from Zurich to say that their client agreed to a meeting with Sir Hilary. Would Sir Hilary please arrive at Zurich Central Airport by Swissair flight Number 105, due at Zurich at 1300 hours on December 21st. On Bond’s prompting, Sable Basilisk wrote back that the date was not convenient to Sir Hilary owing to a prior engagement with the Canadian High Commissioner regarding a detail in the Arms of the Hudson’s Bay Company. Sir Hilary could, however, manage the 22nd. By return came a cable agreeing and, to Bond, confirming that the fish had not only swallowed the hook but the line and sinker as well.
The last few days were spent in a flurry of meetings, with the Chief of Staff presiding, at Headquarters. The main decisions were that Bond should go to the meeting with Blofeld absolutely «clean». He would carry no weapons, no secret gear of any kind, and he would not be watched or followed by the Service in any way. He would communicate only with Sable Basilisk, getting across such information as he could by using heraldic double talk (Sable Basilisk had been cleared by MI5 immediately after Bond’s first meeting with him), and Sable Basilisk, who vaguely thought that Bond was employed by the Ministry of Defence, would be given a cut-out at the Ministry who would be his go-between with the Service. This was all assuming that Bond managed to stay close to Blofeld for at least a matter of days. And that was to be his basic stratagem. It was essential to find out as much as possible about Blofeld, his activities and his associates, in order to proceed with planning the next step, his abduction from Switzerland. Physical action might not be necessary. Bond might be able to trick the man into a visit to Germany, as a result of a report which Sable Basilisk had prepared of certain Blofeld family documents at the Augsburg Zentral Archiv, which would need Blofeld’s personal identification. Security precautions would include keeping Station Z completely in the dark about Bond’s mission to Switzerland and a closure of the «Bedlam» file at Headquarters which would be announced in the routine «Orders of the Day». Instead, a new code-word for the operation, known only to an essential handful of senior officers, would be issued. It would be «CORONA».
Finally, the personal dangers to Bond himself were discussed. There was total respect for Blofeld at Headquarters. Nobody questioned his abilities or his ruthlessness. If Bond’s true identity somehow became known to Blofeld, Bond would of course instantly be liquidated. A more dangerous and likely event would be that, once Blofeld had probed Bond’s heraldic gen to its rather shallow bottom and it had been proved that he was or was not the Comte de Bleuville, Sir Hilary Bray, his usefulness expended, might «meet with an accident». Bond would just have to face up to these hazards and watch out particularly for the latter. He, and Sable Basilisk behind him, would have to keep some tricks up their sleeves, tricks that would somehow make Sir Hilary Bray’s continued existence important to Blofeld. In conclusion, the Chief of Staff said he considered the whole operation «a lot of bezants» and that «Bezants» would have been a better code-word than «Corona». However, he wished Bond the best of luck and said, cold-heartedly, that he would instruct the Technical Section to proceed forthwith with the devising of a consignment of explosive snowballs for Bond’s protection.