John Gardner (7 page)

“You were saying?” Natalya laughed.

Boris cursed and quickly typed in a command to load a programme of his own. The programme flashed a reminder on his screen - TO SEND SPIKE PRESS ENTER.

He hit the Enter key and the prompt changed to SPIKE SENT.

“Good. Spiked them.

Natalya shook her head. “Boris, just hang up.

“No way.” He turned and looked her straight in the eyes.

“I spiked them, you stupid goose. That programme of mine seizes the phone line of anyone trying to trace me. It jams their modem.

They can’t hang up.” He typed another command which brought up another message: INITIATE SEARCH - ENTER PASSWORD.

“Now what?” from Natalya.

“I enter the password.” He typed ten keys. On the screen the letters were not visible, coming up as a line of black circles.

“Bullets,’ he explained.

“I know what bullets are, Boris.” As he tapped Enter again so a map of the world came up on the screen and a red line began to trace the telephone line, the names of places ribboning out as it passed through major junctions or satellites. From Severnaya it tracked straight to St. Petersburg, across Europe to angle off over the Atlantic to the United States where it crawled quickly to Atlanta, and stopped, leaving a winking red light over the city.

His screen went blank for a second and was suddenly replaced by the words: FBI HEADQUARTERS, COMPUTER FRAUD DIVISION.

Boris said something obscene and impossible, then banged sharply on his Enter key to clear the screen. “I need a cigarette,’ he snapped moodily and sounding sullen.

“Well, I need coffee.” Natalya glanced at her screen to make sure all was in order and walked towards one of the doors that led to a kitchen.

Boris Ivanovich Grishenko swaggered away from his terminal, as if he were walking off the job, heading for one of the utility doors. He went up the steep angle of stone steps that led to the outside world, grinned at a security camera, pushed open the door and stepped into the cold, bleak landscape.

As he did so, a voice echoed from a concealed speaker -“CoMr.ade Grishenko, you are using an emergency exit.

You have been told before, this is illegal. Get back to the technical area as quickly as possible.”

“Come up and stop me.” Boris was obviously always doing this kind of thing, and had little tolerance for authority, knowing he was probably the most essential computer technician they had.

He pulled out a packet of Marlboro cigarettes. He had bought a huge amount on his last leave, paying with the hard currency the technicians earned. Putting a cigarette between his lips, he flicked at the wheel of his lighter. The flame spluttered for a second and was blown out, as if by some sudden strong wind.

Grishenko raised his eyes. The dark shape of a helicopter was descending onto the landing pad some fifty yards away, its rotors stirring the powdered snow into a white tornado.

The Tigre has landed, Xenia Onatopp thought grimly.

She popped the sleek canopy and undid her safety harness, reaching down to sling an Israeli-made Uzi onto her right shoulder. She already had spare magazines in pouches on her belt.

“Ready, General?” She spoke into her headset, hearing the general’s snarl of response -“Let’s get on with it. I’ve been ready for some time now.

They were both in uniform, Xenia with the insignia of a colonel, her partner with that of a general. Bond would have recognised the general immediately, for the last time he had seen him General Ourumov had a gun to the head of his old friend Alec Trevelyan.

Boris Grishenko did a swift disappearing act as soon as he spotted the two officers.

Now, Ourumov kept step with Xenia as they marched purposefully along the side of the ruined building, where ice and snow had been cleared from a path which led to the main door, down wide concrete steps, along a corridor to a security door. A guard sprang to attention and saluted, though General Ourumov seemed to hardly notice the man. He knew exactly what he was doing, looking straight into a camera placed almost at eye level and clearly speaking his name “General Arkady Grigorovich Ourumov. Head of Space Division.” There were a series of fast bleeps as the system went through its voice recognition routine, then the steel security door opened and the pair were through into the most sensitive area where the Duty Officer snapped to attention, his second-in-command hastily rising and buttoning his jacket.

“General, if I’d known you were coming..

Xenia muttered, “You’d have baked a cake, yes.

“You’d have been ready for me, I think, Major. This is an unscheduled test of the Severnaya facility. A war simulation. We shall be test firing GoldenEye. Report status.” He looked up and could see that the computer scientists and technicians behind the thick tinted glass were moving, craning from their work-stations to see what was going on. “Jump, man. Report status,’ Ourumov barked at the major.

“Status normal, sir. Two operational satellites: Petya and Mischa, both in ninety-minute earth orbit at one hundred kilometres.”

“Good. Here’s the authorisation code. Hand me the GoldenEye, today’s access numbers and the key, please. I am timing you as from now.” He had already thrown a plastic card down on the small counter, now he ostentatiously brought his left arm up and studied his watch.

The major almost fell over himself trying to get things done correctly, punching in the numbers to unlock the metal gate in front of the safe, using the palm print pad to ID himself, them tapping in the safe’s code of the day.

The lock beeped different tones - like a digital telephone, then clicked open.

Xenia gestured to the other officer and said that he should open the safety door through to the technical area.

“On a wartime basis, Captain, this entire facility must be open in case there is need to evacuate with little warning.” The captain did not argue.

“Today’s codes, sir. The electronic firing key and GoldenEye.” The Duty Officer brought the items from the safe: the key, a plastic card, and a small golden disk in the centre of which was an engraved eye.

“Good. Now, make the blind see.” The major looked down at the disk and removed a piece of golden tape from the centre of the eye, revealing a circle where the pupil would have been.

“You know how the GoldenEye works?”

“Yes, General. When positioned correctly the disk allows a laser beam to lance through its centre, thus initiating the firing mechanism of the satellite.”

“Good.

You have done well, Major. I think that will be all we require.” He turned to Xenia. “Colonel. You take over.

Xenia almost lazily unslung her Uzi and put two quick bursts in the direction of the two officers. Then she walked unhurriedly to the door leading to the technicians’ area and sprayed everything in sight, changing magazines with an almost robot-like perfection.

Bodies were thrown back against equipment or spun violently, showers of sparks and smoke leaped from computer work-stations. The entire business took less than thirty seconds.

In the small kitchen, Natalya Simonova spilled her coffee and looked up, horror in her eyes.

Back in the main control room Xenia bent down and removed a second firing key hanging on a silver chain from around the dead Duty Officer’s neck and went over to the long console at which Ourumov had already taken his place, throwing switches and watching the long screen light up high above the instruments.

With great precision Ourumov slid the GoldenEye disk into a slot, not unlike a CD player. He placed the day’s code card in front of him and inserted the key into a lock to the right of the point where the golden disk had slid into place. Xenia had already inserted the key taken from the Duty Officer. “On my count,’ he rapped. “Three, Two, One, Zero.’ They turned their keys in unison and the rest of the console lit up, needles flicked and the screen above them showed a segment of the earth with one of the satellites in orbit.

“Set target acquisition for Petya. Severnaya,’ the general ordered.

High above the earth’s surface, a piece of what appeared to be space junk - possibly the burned out stage of a rocket - seemed to be tumbling around in orbit, but, as the command from Severnaya leaped silently through space to wake it up, so the satellite coded Petya emitted blasts from hidden propulsion units and began to change course.

Inside the control room, both Ourumov and Xenia looked at the screen above them and saw what Natalya had been watching, less than half-an-hour before. The red symbol that was the Petya began to move rapidly, shifting from its position over the Middle East and heading at an unthinkable speed towards northern Russia.

On a lower display screen information started to ribbon out: PETYA LOCATION: 80.31.160.17 TARGET: 78.08.107.58.

Then: TIME TO TARGET: 15.43.21 Ourumov, consulting the card containing the codes, began to punch in a series of numbers. The display now flashed a further message: WEAPON ARMED.

At that very moment, panic stricken at what she could hear, Natalya knocked over her cup. In the sterile silence the noise was like a hand-grenade exploding.

Both Ourumov and Xenia jerked back.

“Check it,’ the general said in a low voice and, as Xenia walked away, so the second-in-command, sprawled in his own blood on the floor, moved. Close to death it was almost a reflex action. His hand shot up and punched one of the many alarm buttons in the room. Xenia whirled around, giving him a quick final burst from the Uzi, but it came a fraction too late, and their ears were assaulted by a sudden shrieking of warning sirens and alarms.

Xenia, pausing, looked anxiously at the general who said, “Get on with it. Their best response time is seventeen minutes. This place will be hit in less than fifteen now.

Go.” In the kitchen, Natalya pulled a chair to a point directly under the maintenance grille in the room’s ceiling, and started to work on loosening the metal. She had pulled it I, halfway down when she heard the rapid footsteps of Xenia coming hell for leather down the passageway.

Miles away, at the Anadyr air base in Siberia, three MiG23MDL “Flogger-Ks’ - hurtled off the main runway. The pilots had only just come on duty when the alarm sounded, and they received the target information literally as they were taxiing from their bunkers. In seconds they would be on their way to Severnaya Station.

Below the earth, in the small kitchen, one of the cupboard doors squeaked and opened as Natalya crawled out.

In London, James Bond was just entering the Operations Room below the Secret Intelligence Service’s headquarters.

Xenia kicked the kitchen door open, saw the broken cup and the spillage of coffee, then looked at the chair and the metal grille above it, now dangling, ripped from its setting.

She smiled grimly and lifted the Uzi spraying the entire ceiling, changing magazines and blasting away again.

Nobody hiding up there could possibly live.

Back at the console, she told Ourumov that she had dealt with the matter. He nodded with a tiny smile on his lips, then gestured towards the timers ticking down at what appeared to be a very fast pace.

“Time flies, Colonel.”

“They have a saying in the West” She grinned ~ at him.

“Time flies, particularly when you’re having fun.” He nodded again, slipped the GoldenEye disk from the console and placed it in his briefcase which he closed with the finality of a coffin lid.

“I think we should get out of here.” Using the voice print security system again, they left, once more marching in step, up the concrete stairs and out into the cold.

In less than four minutes the Tigre helicopter was starting to lift off in a cloud of snow, from which it emerged, black and sinister.

Bond went down to the Operations Room with Moneypenny who, he had to admit, was looking more than usually ravishing in a simple black dress with a gold clasp just below her right shoulder.

“Dressed to thrill,’ he murmured to himself as they got into the lift.

“I beg your pardon?” She had just caught what he had said.

Moneypenny’s hearing was almost unnaturally acute.

The old M used to say that she could hear the rumours from the powdervine directly from her office.

“I was observing that I’ve never seen you look so lovely.”

“Well, thank you, James.”

“Got some special assignment on tonight?”

“Well, I don’t sit around all the time waiting for you to call. I have a date, if you’re really interested. A date with a gentleman. We’re going to the theatre.”

“Nothing too taxing, I trust”

“Shakespeare actually.

Love’s Labours Lost”

“I’m devastated. What will I ever do without you?” She gave a coy little smile. “So far as I recall, James, you’ve never had me.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “No, but it’s often been my midsummer night’s dream.” Moneypenny turned her head away. “James, you know that kind of talk could easily be classed nowadays as sexual harassment.

“So what’s the penalty?” The lift came to a halt and the doors opened. As she stepped out, Moneypenny tossed a look over her shoulder, eyes twinkling. “Some day, James, you have to make good on your innuendoes.’ She led the way through to the Operations Room.

All the screens were active and the men and women who work below ground for the SIS sat at desks with smaller monitors, or listening through headphones, while senior officers examined maps and spoke quietly to each other.

Bond’s closest friend in the world of secrets, Bill Tanner, the old M’s faithful Chief of Staff, detached himself from the knot of senior officers and headed for Bond and Moneypenny, his hand stretched out. “Good to see you again, James.

“What’s going on, Bill? This looks like the old days.” He gestured at the satellite pictures coming in and the large video wall.

They all showed similar views - barren, snow-covered land with ruins and the big radio telescope dish.

“It’s more than like the old days. This time it looks very unpleasant. About ten minutes ago we intercepted an alarm signal from the supposedly abandoned radar station at Severnaya..

“Right up north?”

“Just about as far north as you get. Just look at what our satellite intelligence picked up.” He gave an order to one of the technicians and the picture on the video wall rewound itself, froze screen and then enlarged.