Win, Lose or Die by John Gardner Read Free Book Online Page B

which, as he knew from the past, were not the only protection that guarded M’s beautiful country house called, nostalgically, Quarterdeck.
    His feet crunched on the gravel as he approached the portico and grasped the thong attached to the gleaming brass bell, once that of some long-forgotten ship, and clanged it to and fro.
    Seconds later the stout door was unbolted from inside and opened to reveal M’s servant, Davison, who had replaced the faithful ex-Chief Petty Officer Hammond.
    “And Mrs. Davison? She well?” Bond stepped into the hall, taking in the familiar scene - the smell of polish from the pine panelling; the Victorian hall stand, with M’s old Ulster hanging from it, and Wellington boots set nearby; the table with its wonderfully-detailed 1944 scale model of the battle cruiser Repulse, M’s last command.
    “Mrs. Davison’s fit as a flea, sir - and twice as nippy, if you follow my drift.”
    “Indeed I do, Davison.” Bond inclined his head towards the model.
    “Much more beautiful than the present one, eh?”
    “Don’t know what to make of the Andrew any more, sir.
    Carriers that aren’t carriers, and no real ships. Not like in the old days, anyhow.”The Andrew’ is naval slang for the Royal Navy, and has been since the mid-nineteenth century. Before that the word usually described one ship.
    The present Repulse is the S23, one of the Royal Navy’s first “Resolution’ class SSBN, Polaris-armed submarines.
    “anyway, sir, the admiral is expecting you.
    “Good. Lead the way, Davison.”
    The former CPO knocked loudly on the thick, heavy Spanish mahogany door and M s voice sounded, sharp, from behind it “Come.”
    “Captain James Bond, sir.”
    “Permission to come aboard, sir?” Bond smiled, but immediately realised that his smile was not returned.
    M did not open the conversation until the door was closed behind them but, in those few seconds, Bond took in the entire room. It was still as neat as ever. The table near the window, with water-colour materials laid out in what looked like a parade ground precision; the old naval prints, neatly aligned along the walls and M’s desk, with papers, an old ink-stand, leather blotter, calendar, the two telephones, one ivory, the other red, all in perfect order.
    “Well,” M began, “this had better be good, Bond. There was a specific arrangement. No contacts unless you fired a distress signal.”
    “Sir, I was .
    “If you’re going to tell me someone had a pot shot at you with a missile, I know about that; just as I know it could have been an electronic fault in your aircraft .
    “With respect, sir. That was no electronic fault. There are other matters also. I wouldn’t break field rules if there were no reason.
    M motioned to an armchair. Bond sat, and M took his usual place behind the desk. “You’d better… he was cut short by the red telephone purring. He lifted it to his ear saying nothing.
    Then M grunted twice, nodded at the receiver and recradled it.
    “There was nobody on your back, anyway. We’re sure of that.
    Now, if you’re certain about the missile - and I’m not - what did you come to talk about?”
    Bond started at the beginning - the Sidewinder doing its best to blow him out of the sky, then, without a pause he went on with the story of First Officer Clover Pennington. “She says there are fifteen Wrens slated for attachment in Invincible, says it’s common knowledge,just as she says it’s common knowledge that I’m going to be there as well. I felt it vital that I talk directly to you, sir. This is a security matter, and I don’t like details being known to all and sundry. Particularly as you were so adamant that we kept to strict field rules, and I was to operate under deep cover. If a Wren First Officer’s blabbing about it, how do we know these BAST people haven’t got everything already?
    Knowledge that the three admirals are going to be in Invincible, knowing I’m their Nanny, responsible for their