Bond - 27 - Never send flowers (22 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A RIDE IN THE COUNTRY

`Don't you think we should wait for Maeve?

Sweat her?" Fredericka stood in the great hall. They had seen this part of the castle on their arrival, therefore only getting an impression of a heavily decorated Victorian-like entrance. Now, for the first time, they noticed the long minstrels' gallery, high above.

`That's how we heard the Dragonfly talking to his sister." Bond pointed to the balustraded U shape above them.

`Yes, but don't you think we should wait?" `No, for one thing I don't particularly want to do any explaining concerning two dead bodies. Also, if we're to catch up with Dragonpol, we should head for Milan. That's his first stop, isn't it?" `According to the notes, yes.

But, James, how do we set about finding him?" `We might have to get a little help, Flick. What I do know is that the longer we hang around here, the more time it gives Dragonpol." He went up to the place where they had left their luggage, carrying it down to the hall and then out to the BMW, which he checked meticulously before letting Fredericka near it. He had read the full report of how Archie and Angela Shaw had died in London, and one thing was certain: Dragonpol knew about explosives just as he knew about other kinds of weapons and more exotic ways to death.

The car was clean so they just drove away, leaving Schloss Drache lit up as though for some festival.

They went as fast as the law would allow, heading for Bonn, and stopping only for Fredericka to make one international call to Switzerland from a public telephone.

`I won't be long, my dear, but I have an idea and it might just make all the difference when we get into Italy,' she told him, refusing to say more.

Bond sat, irritably, in the car, wondering silently on the amount of time it took women to make quick telephone calls, or dress for dinner yet seemed to be able to get out of their clothes in the wink of an eye when occasion demanded.

In all, Fredericka spent over half an hour in the phone booth.

`Getting back into your service's good books?" Bond asked, when they were on the road again.

`Not likely, my dear. I called our old chum Bodo." `Lempke? The Swiss cop with the turnip head?" `The same. He's a damned good policeman, and he also owes me a favour." `Will he pay up?" `We'll see when we get to Bonn." So, when they reached the airport and turned in the BMW, she made another call, while Bond got them on to a flight to Milan.

`All set,' Fredericka told him. `We have a booking at the Palace.

`Oh, you couldn't get us in at the Principe e Savoia?" The Palace in Milan is sister hotel to the Principe, and regarded mainly as a good, but no frills, hotel used by businessmen and provincials in town for one or two nights. The Palace was not noted for being an hotel of the grand school, but a resting place without luxury and with rooms designed in the utilitarian manner.

`I didn't even try the Principe,' she snapped. `If you want kitsch, over-decorated five-star places, you can go and stay there on your own. Anyway, Bodo will know where to find us." `He's repaying your favour?" `More, he's coming to see us. With information, I hope." He did not press for explanations. Already he had learned that Fredericka von Grusse liked to do things her way, and she would tell him only when she was good and ready. Bond respected that, for he knew it mirrored his own attitude in arcane matters.

They arrived in Milan at a little after six in the evening, and by seven were settled into the Palace, amidst chrome and furnishings which were serviceable, though far from the luxury Bond would have preferred.

However, the mini-bar was well stocked, and it was Fredericka who suggested that they break out the champagne.

`We have something to celebrate?" `Getting away from Schloss Drache in one piece is enough for me. But this might be a case of "we who are about to die" `What a charming idea. Why are we about to die, Flick?" `Work it out for yourself, James. It's quite simple really.

We're both marked men well, you are. I, on the other hand, am a marked woman." `But shouldn't we begin to try and find the Dragonfly?" `You like looking for needles in haystacks?" He thought for a minute.

She was right, of course. Without some official assistance, they would be unlikely to track down Dragonpol. He had even suggested that they make contact with some kind of authority. Yet something else was nagging away in the back of his mind, there just out of reach.

Something they had overheard during that last conversation between Dragonpol and his sister.

`I suspect he might well come looking for us.

The Dragonfly, I mean." `With a little homicide on his mind?

Hence, we who are about to die?" `Possibly, but Bodo doesn't think he's out to kill anybody at this point." She paused, gave him her most beautiful smile and added, `With the exception of the meddlers that was what he called us, wasn't it? The meddlers?" `He also said we should be kept unharmed.

Again the overheard conversation swirled around his mind, with something significant hovering off stage.

`Unharmed until he returned, presumably. We have to face the fact, James, that friend Dragonpol, actor extraordinary with a great eye for detail, does not really like us. So, unless he gets lucky and sees us, he's unlikely to start killing anybody.

`No? What about the bloody list? Milan equals KTK and so forth." `If Bodo's correct, KTK is not even in Milan.

Think of La Scala, James. Then think about who KTK could be.`I already have. Milan equals one of the greatest opera houses in the world La Scala-and there's only one KTK connected with opera. The beautiful Dame Kiri Te Kanawa.. `Quite, and she's nowhere near Milan at the moment, though she will be in December. You worked out who YA is, in Athens?" `Arafat?" `Give the man a cigar. Yes, Yasser Arafat, the Old Man, the PLO leader with a thousand lives, or so it seems.

`And?" `And he is nowhere near Athens, and not likely to be until December when he has agreed to take part in a joint meeting with other Arab leaders, together with representatives from the British and United States governments. Dame Kiri's going to be in Milan for the second week in December doing three performances of Tosca, and making one charity appearance in the Cathedral, on the night of the thirteenth.

Arafat is due to arrive in Athens on December the fourteenth. All that's a long time off, but if Dragonpol's up to his usual 202

form, he's planning to do those two in a row. Of course, there's always Paris." `I have one idea about Paris, but it really doesn't bear thinking about, and there's no way that Dragonpol could have any advance warning." `Then keep it to yourself until we've talked to Bodo." As if on cue, the telephone rang and within seconds Fredericka was having an animated conversation with the Swiss detective.

Finally she put the telephone down and turned to face him. `He will have all the information we need by tomorrow, and we are to meet him for lunch." `So?" `So, we're on holiday, unless David Dragonpol comes calling. Why don't I go and change into something loose and stimulating while you call down for room service?" As Fraulein von Grusse said the next morning, it was a night during which they both deserved to be awarded gold medals. `World champions,' Bond agreed with a sly smile.

They were seated at a small restaurant in Milan's famous Gallerie possibly the world's first shopping mall, Fredericka said lunching in style and watching all the girls go by. Bond had said that he thought the smartest women in the world were to be found in Milan, and Fredericka, after only a few minutes, said she felt positively dowdy.

LemPke arrived on the dot of twelve noon.

`You've got everything?" Fredericka asked.

`Funnies." Bodo made his clown's la' looked from side to side furtively. `For you. Don't know why I put my the lamb for you.

`I think you mean on a limb, Bodo, but I know you do it for me because you love me to distraction." Fredericka took a long sip of her wine, looking up at the fat cop from under batting eyelids.

Bodo followed her lead with his glass of red.

`Adds more to my little pink cells, eh?" He refused to say anything worth hearing until he had eaten. `If lam playing hockey from my job, then at least someone should buy me a good meal,' he announced.

It took Bodo a good ninety minutes to dispatch antipasto, minestrone, spaghetti alla Milanese, and a huge piece of disgustingly rich chocolate cake.

With thick cream. When the coffee was served he wiped his mouth with a napkin and settled back.

`I think I told you everything already, but your friend with the strange name, the David Dragonpol, isn't about to start killing anyone here in Milan, or Athens. Mind you, it would not surprise me if he tried to knock the pair of you into oblivion." `Contacts,' Fredericka prodded. `I asked you to fix up some discreet contacts for us here in Milan.

`Sure. I done it. Just like you asked. But, as I said, I'm not going tolose my pension for a couple of busybody funnies.

`So who is he?" `Who is who?" `The contact you've arranged?" `Ah, I have to take you to him. Cloak and dagger." He laid a pudgy finger against the side of his nose. `The pair of you should know all about cloaks and daggers." `One question. Bond, rightly, felt that somewhere along the way he had been left out.

`Just one small question to put me into the picture." `Sure." Bodo gave him another of his clown's faces.

`You seem to have done some snooping and also arranged things for us. How do we know Dragonpol's still here in Milan?" `Trust us, James." Fredericka laid a hand on his sleeve. `If Bodo's here, then Dragonpol is almost certainly still in town. Someone had to get in touch with authority, and that's just what I've done, through Bodo. We can't do this alone." She turned to Lempke who was looking at the bill with a face which spoke of heart attacks.

`You bought lunch for the entire restaurant." He passed the slip of paper over to Bond, who paid with a credit card.

`Okay,' Bodo appeared much relieved. `Okay, I take you to my man now. Come.

None of them even noticed the dapper Englishman dressed in navy blazer and slacks, one hand smoothing a mane of grey hair, the other clutching a stout walking stick with a brass duck's head handle. The Englishman had been sitting only a few tables from them. Now, as they left the restaurant, he too paid his bill and followed them, at a distance, as they walked out on to the street.

The traffic was snarled in a way unique to Milan, the air heavy with the smell of diesel and gasoline. Bodo sniffed. `The end of summer,' he said. `Soon, you won't be able to get a flight in or out.

Always the same in Milan. Come autumn and the place gets socked in.

Soon it will be time for the smog again." He lifted a hand, and a sleek Ferrari seemed to materialize out of the banked-up traffic, snaking over and pulling up by the curb.

`Have to be quick or we'll get a ticket." Bodo hustled them in, and the driver, a short young man with the eyes of a pickpocket, smiled and nodded.

`Just going for a little ride, like the old gangster movies say.

A ride in the country." On the pavement, outside the Gallene, the very obvious Englishman, with his military blazer and the stick with the duck's head handle, watched them drive away. He saw other cars, weaving behind them in the traffic and he frowned. There was no way he would be able to follow them now.

He made a small, petulant gesture with his head, then turned back to find a telephone. The meddling Swiss woman and her English boyfriend would have to return to their hotel, and he had plenty of time. Everyone would wait, but one person had to know what was going on if the whole business was to be pulled off with a minimum of fuss.

Somebody had to be lured, and he knew just the woman to do the luring.

`There are a couple of cars on our tail,' Bond said as they pulled away. `A black Fiat, and a dark green Lamborghini. Possibly a taxi as well." `Good." Bodo turned to him and smiled. `We don't want unauthorized vehicles on our tail, do we?" Within minutes they were taking the road out of Milan, heading towards Lake Como and Cernobbio.

`We wouldn't be going to the Villa d'Este by any chance?" Bond asked.

`You know Milan well?" Bodo gave him another smile.

`I know the Villa d'Este. It's pretty high profile for a secret meeting with your contact. Also, your man must be a very well-connected Italian policeman if we're meeting him there." `Who said he was a policeman? Anyway, you'd be surprised who stays at the Villa d'Este these days." With that, Bodo made himself comfortable and appeared to go to sleep.

The Villa d'Este is, arguably, one of Italy's greatest hotels.

For almost five centuries it was a private estate on the shores of Lake Como, some thirty miles from Milan. For over a hundred years it has been a summer oasis for the rich and noble: a refreshing gem set in parkland, with tennis courts, swimming pool, horses, an eighteen-hole golf course and amazing Lombardian food. Its famous park and terrace have been the meeting place for deposed and reigning royalty, politicans, and people whose names are legends, while the service approaches the grandeur of a lost age.

They were expected. Bond spotted two security men watching in the parkland, and a small black van placed strategically near the main entrance.