Connie's reply chilled Bond's spine. "You heard the Chiefs orders. You do as I say. I do as I'm told. Sir Max knows exactly what he's doing, always has done and always will."
Bond thought of all he had read about Hitler in the Berlin bunker during his final days, issuing orders to military forces that had long ceased to exist. Fighting with ghosts, and then joining those armies with the assistance of poison and a bullet.
Seconds later, they were on the quayside and walking quickly back in the direction of the Old Town.
22 – U-boat
"No, Fredericka, can't you see the folly of you coming with me?"
"If you're going to be back here by dawn, it makes no difference. I can cover you, and it'll be safer. We've always worked together – well, ever since…"
"Flick, what if I'm not back by the morning?"
"Then I'll be with you. I don't think I want it any other way. If I'm to hang around here, I'll go crazy."
He sighed in irritation. They had been arguing for the best part of twenty minutes in their room at the hotel. "Flick, listen. If I don't get back by early morning, it'll mean one of three things. One, I'm dead meat…"
"James, don't. Don't talk like that."
"Face it, Flicka, we've got ourselves in a damned dangerous situation. Now, one, I shall be dead; two, I shall have done it, spiked the sub and gone in to rescue Felix – he can't be anywhere else but in Tarn's compound, and I didn't like the sound of the girl, Beth. We've only been near her once – at Hall's Manor – and she doesn't seem exactly the kind of playmate you'd take on a picnic. So, if they aren't putting the crew on board the sub until they sail, I'll probably have time to get rid of the damned boat and get Felix out."
"What's the third possibility?"
"That they've caught me in the sub. There's one more that I've just thought about. It is quite possible that I'll not even get into the submarine."
"And what happens then?"
"I probably come hightailing it back here, and we do something else. As it is, there's plenty for you to get on with. Just think about it. If you'd come to Germany with me, we'd both be dead by now. Like Germany, the sub's a one-person job." He was dressed in the black jeans, rollneck, and sneakers. The two aluminum cases lay open on the bed, with his wet suit lying between them, and beside it the other item that had been in the case: a wide leather belt, with fixed pouches into which he could place everything he needed. The belt also had clips for a holster, a long, vicious-looking knife, and a flashlight. "There is no other way, Flicka. In fact, you'll have to do several things. A call to the harbormaster and the local police, to begin with."
"You said that was last-resort stuff. You were adamant about it."
He knew she was right. Someone calling or going to the authorities here in San Juan would probably be shipped into the nearest mental hospital. Tales about prowling submarines bent on torpedoing a supertanker would almost certainly be regarded as the ravings of a lunatic. He re-locked the two cases and stowed them away in the fitted wardrobe.
"Then call the States. Call Langley, or even London. They'll see things are dealt with."
"Why can't we just do that now, and quietly bow out? Leave it to the authorities."
"You know why we can't do that. It's a question of time."
"Balls, James, it's a question of your pride. You have a personal vendetta with Tarn and you want to finish it by yourself."
Deep down he knew she was perfectly correct, but he was concerned about the time factor. He knew exactly how things might go if they called London. The Committee could sit around for most of the day deciding if it were wise to give the whole story to the American service. Anyway, his own motivation had taken over. There was no turning back from the way he had planned.
"James, we got the all clear to do this because the Americans wanted to get Tarn – Apocalypse, as they called him. Nobody'll hold up any signals we send. Not now that we've eliminated Tarn's man, Christopher, and are operating here with the okay from the Americans."
He sighed. "I'm not even convinced that we do have the okay from them."
"What do you mean, James? You're getting paranoid about this."
"Give me a little time. If I'm not back by noon, make all the telephone calls you want. At least let me have a shot at the submarine. Perhaps you're right. Perhaps we should report to everyone and pray for the marines to arrive to put an end to this madness. But will you just give me a little time to set them up?"
She was very unhappy, but in the short time they had been together, Flicka von Grüsse had discovered that James Bond could be more than stubborn.
"Okay." She glared at him. "You have your moment of glory, James. Go and deal with the submarine, but if you're not back by nine, I'm going to alert London. Not a minute too soon, either. You've got until nine in the morning. Right?"
He gave her a bleak smile, signaling agreement to the compromise. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was just after nine now. "I've got less than twelve hours."
"Well, you'd better get cracking, James, because I'm not going to be responsible for any cock-up that leaves this harbor in flames and half the Caribbean polluted for all time. So get going."
He distributed the items he needed around the belt. Pistol, knife, the small high-powered flashlight, compact tool kit, and the five oblong boxes from the bottom of the second case. The boxes he had called his "little jewels." He slung the wet suit over one arm and went over to Flicka, who still looked angry. "Don't worry. Flick. I'll be back. This is just a safeguard. The minute I'm back we'll both call London and Washington. You're basically right, but I want to cover all the bases."
She clung to him as though saying goodbye for the last time. "Be careful, darling James. I want you around for the wedding, remember?"
"I'll be there, with a smile on my face and everything intact."
"I'm not so worried about the smile. Just make sure everything's in working order. I'd hate you to be encumbered with prosthetic body parts like Felix."
Minutes later he retrieved the car from El Convento's parking place and was heading out of San Juan, taking the most direct road across the island to Ponce.
Flicka pulled herself together once he had left the hotel. She even cursed herself. During the years she had spent with Swiss Intelligence and security services she had been known for her cool and decisive courage. Now that Bond was in her life she seemed to have lost some of that calm reserve, and she was not overjoyed by the lapse. She presumed that it had something to do with her body chemistry, for Fredericka von Grüsse had to admit she had never, in her entire life, loved a man with this kind of intensity.
Well, she thought as she began to undress, he really only has until nine in the morning. Then I'll make such a fuss that London and the Americans will have to send an entire battle group if necessary.
She went into the bathroom, pulled a shower cap over her hair, and surrendered to the soothing warm water. When she eventually turned off the shower, she reached from behind the curtain and grabbed a towel before stepping out.
She screamed when she saw them, Maurice Goodwin and the black girl called Beth. They stood just inside the bathroom door, and Beth held the Beretta that Flicka had left with her clothes on the bed.
"Honey, you're all alone here. Thought we'd keep you company." Beth was eyeing her unpleasantly. "It's okay," she continued. "Maurice has to go out, but I can keep you company until your friend comes back."
Flicka took in a lungful of air. "He isn't coming back." She kept her voice level.
"A likely tale. If I was a man, there's no way I'd leave a sweet piece like you on your own."
"Please yourself. But he's not coming back and there's an end to it."
"So where's he gone?" Goodwin eyed her lecherously. "I need to know, Fräulein von Grüsse, and I need to know fast. Beth here is clever at inflicting pain. She's made a kind of art form of it. So tell me now. Where's he gone?"