‘I’m sorry, Mr Bond. I think you’ve wasted your time . . . and, for that matter, mine too.’
Bond, still exhausted by the flight from Berlin, the long drive down from New York, a brief and unsatisfying sleep in the wrong time zone and the wrong motel, was not surprised. Somehow he had known from the moment he had been shown into this blank, comfortless office with its comfortless office furniture and single, rectangular window looking out onto a strip of uninteresting shoreline, that this wasn’t going to go well. Behind the desk, Captain Eugene T. Lawrence USN sat with the easygoing obstinacy of a man too used to being obeyed. The Navy Liaison and Project Officer at Wallops Island was a man in his mid-forties, immaculately dressed in his summer uniform, khaki with gold buttons and three rows of ribbons nudging into his lapel, dark tie and shoulder boards. Buttoned up in every sense. He had the solid build and huge neck of a football player. The head, with its sandy-coloured hair, small eyes and smooth cheeks, was curiously baby-like. Bond guessed he went to church every Sunday. He would have a wife who would boast about him to her friends but who would wince at the sound of his coming home, and a son – Eugene Jnr – who would call him ‘sir’. He was the man in charge here and it didn’t matter if you had better judgement, more experience or new information. You did as he said.
Bond had been met at the gate by a younger man in a short-sleeved white shirt and flannel trousers who had introduced himself as Johnny Calhoun, Base Manager. Bond had quickly got the picture. This was what Duggan had already told him at Station G. Lawrence represented the military side of Wallops Island, Calhoun the scientific and civilian. Bond had seen his file and knew that he was a West Point graduate, employed by the Glenn L. Martin aerospace manufacturing company who had provided the majority of engineers working for the Vanguard Operations Group (VOG). He turned out to be slim and boyish with a crew cut, an easy smile and Ray-Ban Wayfarer sunglasses.
‘Good to meet you, Commander Bond. Welcome to Wallops. This your first time?’ Bond nodded. ‘I’ve only been here a year. I got transferred here from Baltimore and it’s been quite a ride. Please, come this way, sir. Captain Lawrence is waiting for you in his office.’
A single, wide track led from the car park, running parallel with the sea. There was a huge blockhouse on the left and, about fifty yards away, on the other side of the track and right next to the water, a great square of white concrete that was the launch pad. Bond stopped and gazed at the tower, ninety-five feet high, and the silver-white rocket standing there, its fury contained as it waited for the moment when it would finally be unleashed and blasted into space. Once again, he felt an irresistible thrill, something inside him that was both awed and inspired by the sheer power of the thing, the shimmering steel rising sleekly from the first stage rocket motor to the questing tip of the nose cone. From a distance, it looked almost lightweight, perfectly balanced on its platform about ten feet above the ground and surrounded by engineers and technicians – acolytes worshipping at the altar of modern science.
‘Yes, it’s quite a sight,’ Calhoun muttered, following his eyes. He had a pleasant drawl and seemed genuinely friendly, the sort of man you couldn’t help but like. ‘Every time I look at it I find myself knocked out by how far we’ve come – and wondering just how far we still have to go. Will you be here for the launch?’
‘I can’t really say,’ Bond replied.
‘You should try to stay if you can. You won’t have seen anything like it. It’s a wonderful sight.’ Calhoun faltered, then half smiled. ‘At least, it is when they get off the ground.’
Bond had been present at the launch of one rocket – indeed, he’d had a unique, ringside view – but decided not to mention it. The two of them walked together, heading for a low white building surrounded by shrubs. The air was very warm, the sun beating down from a cloudless sky. There wasn’t a breath of wind. Perfect launch conditions, Bond thought.
‘You know . . . maybe I should mention a couple of things about Captain Lawrence,’ Calhoun said. He already sounded apologetic. ‘There’s a great deal of pressure on him at the moment, just three days before a launch. We all feel the same way. So when we got the communication from your London office via the CIA, well, it couldn’t have been worse timed. I’m not blaming you, of course. I’m just trying to explain why you may find the captain a little . . . tired.’
‘Does he get “tired” very often?’
‘Yes, sir. You could say that.’ Calhoun shook his head. ‘He’s not such a bad guy when you get to know him. He joined the navy the day after Pearl Harbor. Trained at the US Naval Academy and flew missions in Korea. You know he got the Bronze Star? He came here the year before me and actually he’s run the place pretty well. Security. Discipline. Morale. He’s kept open the channels of communication and that’s quite something in itself, let me tell you. You have no idea how it is in this place. We’ve got so many different people involved, even ordering a light bulb or new toilet paper can take half a dozen forms and a committee meeting! If he’s a bit short with you, just don’t take it personally.’
Captain Lawrence had been short, from the moment Bond had walked into his office, not bothering to get up and examining him with the sort of disdain that he might reserve for a seasick Seaman Apprentice. Calhoun sat to one side, listening with a blank face as Bond told his story: the photographs found in Sin’s office, the link with SMERSH, the attempt to sabotage the race at Nürburgring and the possibility that something similar might happen here. Bond read the disinterest in the captain’s eyes and had to bite back his anger. He hadn’t travelled halfway round the world to be casually dismissed by some brass hat behind a desk. He’d been up against SMERSH before. He could sense the danger in the air. He knew things that this man didn’t.
And now, in his own considered way, Lawrence summed it all up. ‘What it really comes down to is some photographs you said you saw in a castle in Germany. There could be all sorts of reasons for their being there, by the way, but putting that aside, what makes you think that this man Sin could have any reason to do us harm?’
‘I told you, sir. The day before I had seen him with—’
‘This Colonel Gaspanov. Has it not occurred to you, Commander Bond, that there could be a perfectly simple explanation for that, too? The Soviets were racing. Plenty of their top brass are into that sort of thing and you think some intelligence bigwig is going to pass on an excuse to get out of Moscow? Why, I bet you couldn’t wait to get out there either. Sure beats paperwork.’
Bond ignored the insult. ‘There was still an attempt to kill the British driver.’
‘So you maintain. But again, in a court of law I’d say it was your word against theirs. And from what you tell me, the only act of violence on the racing circuit was committed by you.’
‘Ivan Dimitrov was employed by SMERSH, Captain. We have the intelligence—’
‘Which I haven’t seen.’ Lawrence glanced at Calhoun as if about to ask him his opinion, thought better of it, and turned back to Bond. ‘What exactly are you asking me to do?’
‘I came here to give you the facts, sir. Not to ask you to do anything. But if you’re asking my opinion, I think you should consider postponing the launch.’
‘That’s out of the question.’
This time Calhoun agreed. ‘That’s true, Commander. And anyway, that decision would have to be taken at a much higher level.’
‘But if you recommended—’
‘We wouldn’t recommend any such damn thing,’ Lawrence cut in. There was a red flush on the sides of his neck. For a moment, he sat there. Then he tapped two fingers on the surface of his desk. ‘All right. Let’s see where this takes us. What exactly do you think these people – the reds, SMERSH, whoever – have in mind?’
Bond knew he was being played with but he had no choice. ‘I think I’ve already explained myself, Captain. They may be planning to sabotage the rocket.’
‘And how exactly are they going to manage that? Let’s not forget that all three stages – engine, power plant and solid-propellant rocket – were all given thorough acceptance tests. Those were followed by systems tests. And then there were static tests for the propulsion systems, the stabilisation systems and all the controls. Are you telling me we overlooked something? There were alignment checks, system functional tests and a microscopic examination of all the instrumentation calibrations.’
‘I’m sure you’ve been very thorough,’ Bond said, patiently.
‘Well, that’s very kind of you, Commander Bond. But let’s imagine that we’ve made a mistake. We’re only dumb Americans, after all, and you’re telling us that we can’t look after our own security. So let us imagine that the commies pull it off. What exactly do they hope to achieve?’
‘I was hoping you’d tell me that.’
Lawrence nodded at Calhoun who took over. He spoke with a tone of regret. ‘This is a test flight,’ he said. ‘The rocket won’t be carrying anything that’s particularly valuable. In fact, we’re loading on a grapefruit satellite. We call it that because that’s about the size of it: 6.4 inches in diameter and it weighs four pounds.’
‘All our rockets have to carry scientific equipment,’ Lawrence added. ‘That’s the deal we have with the NRL.’
‘We’re testing the new spin stabilisation system,’ Calhoun said. ‘These days, thanks to miniaturisation, even the smallest satellite can do useful work. But it’s true, Commander. There’s nothing to be gained by shooting down the Vanguard or blowing it up or whatever. It would be annoying, of course. And expensive. But the navy is committed to this programme and it’s going to continue.’
‘Suppose it was redirected,’ Bond said. ‘Suppose it fell on a city.’
‘That can’t happen. Our safety officer will be following the launch from our central control office. He’ll be watching every inch of the journey and if the rocket shows any faults, if it swerves away from its appointed trajectory, if there is even the slightest danger of a land-based impact . . . well, that’s when he’ll hit Trigger Mortis.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘It’s our name for the panic button, Commander. One of the technicians dreamt it up and it kind of stuck. Every single vehicle launched from this base carries a self-destruct mechanism. If we have any reason to believe that something has gone wrong, we pull the trigger and blow it apart . . . and the pieces simply fall into the ocean.’
Lawrence glanced at his watch. ‘I hope that answers your questions, Commander Bond. Now, if you’ll excuse me—’
But Bond hadn’t come this far to be dismissed so abruptly. ‘You talk about checks,’ he insisted, ‘but there must be a hundred people working on this base. Any one of them could have been bribed, blackmailed, threatened. Even your safety officer could be working for the opposition—’
‘I happen to know Paul Glennan and his family and let me tell you I find that remark personally offensive. I have the recruitment files of every man jack on this island and I’ve gone through every one of them myself. That’s part of my remit. There isn’t one person I wouldn’t vouch for.’
‘And nothing has happened in the last few weeks or months? Nothing out of the ordinary?’
‘Absolutely not.’
But as he spoke, Bond saw Calhoun flinch. He turned to him questioningly and the younger man blushed. ‘Well, sir,’ he muttered, ‘there was that business with Keller.’
‘Goddammit, Johnny!’ Lawrence’s fist crashed down on the desk. ‘What happened with Keller had nothing to do with this base. You know it. The police confirmed it. And I can’t believe you’re contradicting me in my own office.’ He came to a decision and when he turned back to Bond, there was a new coldness in his eyes. ‘Let’s get back to these photographs that you say you saw,’ he snarled. ‘That’s where this all started. But where exactly are they?’
‘I don’t have them with me.’
‘What happened to them?’
‘They were stolen.’ Something told Bond that Captain Lawrence already knew.
Lawrence hesitated, enjoying the moment. And then, sure enough, he reached down and pulled open a drawer. With a flourish, he produced a handful of photographs and scattered them across the top of the desk. ‘Would these by any chance be the photographs you’re talking about?’ he demanded.
Bond glanced at them and knew at once that they were. Not just copies but exactly the same photographs that he had taken from the Schloss Bronsart and which Jeopardy Lane had subsequently taken from him. He could tell from the water damage. They had been in his jacket pocket when he hit the lake. ‘I don’t suppose the name Jeopardy Lane means anything to you?’ he asked.
‘Never heard of it.’
‘Then where did you get these?’
‘I think that’s my business, Commander Bond.’ Lawrence was smiling now. ‘But you might like to know that I’ve had them for quite a few days and I’ve had a chance to examine them. As far as I can tell, they’re fake.’
‘Fake?’
‘The ones of the base are real. Any tourist with a decent camera can take pictures. But this one . . .’ He picked out the photograph taken inside the hangar, the one showing three Korean scientists and the upper section of the Vanguard. ‘I don’t know what you think this is, but it’s got nothing to do with us.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘Because there are no Japs on Wallops Island. None at all.’
‘These men are Koreans.’
‘No Japs, no Koreans and no Chinese, except, maybe, in the laundry. This is not our hangar. I can tell you that at a glance.’
‘But it’s a Vanguard rocket.’
‘No, sir. I don’t believe it is. It may look like one – it’s hard to say from this photograph – but America is the only country in the world that has the Vanguard and to the best of my knowledge we haven’t had one stolen recently or, indeed, ever. I guess even we might notice if one of our rockets went missing, Commander. So, it’s like I told you quite a while ago now, you’re wasting your time.’
He stood up, signalling the end of the interview. Bond took one last look at the images strewn across the desk. Was it possible that Jeopardy Lane had been working for the NRL or even for the base itself? But if so, why hadn’t Lawrence told him as much? He would surely have wanted to boast about recovering the photographs. The navy liaison man was standing ramrod straight. There was to be no parting handshake.
‘I want you to know that I take particular exception to British Intelligence trying to undermine my authority,’ he said. ‘It’s bad enough that you guys kicked us out of Barbados. It hasn’t taken you very long to forget what we did for you in the war. But coming here like this, with your damn impertinent questions? Mr Calhoun will show you back to your car and make sure you leave the base.’
That was it. Johnny Calhoun walked over to the door and opened it and Bond followed him out of the office. Neither of them spoke until they were back in the open air and the sunshine. Then Calhoun broke the silence. ‘I’m sorry about that, Commander.’
‘Well, I can’t say you didn’t warn me. He was certainly tired. What was that jibe about Barbados?’
‘It’s actually true, sir. The NRL wanted to build a launch site in Barbados. When you launch a rocket, you always head for the east. You have to take advantage of the earth’s rotation and the closer to the Equator you are, well, it would have been useful to have the equatorial kick but the British government refused. Environmental reasons, I guess, but it ruffled a few feathers.’
‘How about that man – Keller?’ Calhoun looked uneasy and Bond knew that he didn’t wish to appear any more disloyal than he already had been. ‘I can go to the local police if you don’t want to talk about it. But it would help to get the facts from you and I can be discreet.’
‘Sure thing.’ Calhoun glanced back in case Lawrence had somehow followed them. There was nobody in the road. ‘Thomas Keller was one of our supervisors.’ Bond noticed the ‘Thomas’. Not Tom or Tommy. There was no familiarity here. ‘I hardly knew him and he didn’t mix in very well,’ Calhoun went on, confirming what Bond had already guessed. ‘He was German, and the truth is, if the navy had its way there wouldn’t be any Germans in the Vanguard Operations Group. They’ve got long memories. Anyway, a couple of weeks ago we were all very shocked because he was killed.’
‘How?’
‘According to the police, it was a domestic incident. His wife stabbed him and set fire to the house. She used to be a cocktail waitress – well, that’s what the newspapers said – and she simply got fed up with him. She took the car and crossed the state line. The whole thing sounds like a cheap thriller, but the fact is that Captain Lawrence is right. It didn’t have anything to do with us.’
‘What was Keller’s job here?’
‘General Supervisor.’
‘With access to the Vanguard?’
‘Well, yes. Of course. But it’s like I said. He was stabbed with a kitchen knife, the house was set on fire, and the wife disappeared, taking the car with her. As far as I know, they haven’t found her yet.’
‘Do you have his address? I still might take a look at his house.’
‘Rainbow Lane, Salisbury. I don’t recall the number but you can’t miss it. How long are you planning to hang around?’
‘I haven’t really decided.’ As far as Bond could see, there was no point kicking his heels in eastern Virginia but at the same time he had nowhere else to go. He would have to appeal to Captain Lawrence’s superiors. At the very least, they might be able to tell him something about Jeopardy and her part in all this.
They had reached the car.
‘Well, if you do decide to come for the launch, let me know and I’ll fix you up with a pass.’ They shook hands. ‘Good to meet you, Commander Bond.’
Half a mile away, a man stood leaning against a four-door sedan. As James Bond drove through the gates at Wallops Island, the man took out a pair of Bausch + Lomb Zephyr 9x35 binoculars and raised them to his eyes. He focused until he had a clear view of the driver. Yes. That was the face he had been shown. Just as his employer had suspected, the British secret agent had followed the photographs here.
The man had been doing a crossword. The newspaper was still lying, half folded, on the bonnet of his car. He quickly threw it onto the back seat, then climbed in. A few moments later, Bond drove past. The man started his own car, turned round and followed.