By Royal Command (27 page)

‘Not all Russians love communism, my dear,’ said Dr Friend. ‘Wrangel is a white Russian, not a red. He lost everything when the communists took over and has been working to restore the old order ever since.’

‘You’re joking,’ said Roan.

‘Have you not been listening? I do not joke. Operation Snow-Blind was a German operation. Stamped by Hitler himself. A very clever man, by the way. True, it was a bold plan and not without its risks, but we knew that if we pulled it off it would be a triumph. You have been a great help to the fascist cause, Roan, I thank you. Hitler thanks you.’

‘No,’ Roan shouted. ‘I’m a communist, not a fascist!’

‘What difference does it make?’ said James. ‘One bunch of fanatics are pretty much the same as another in my book. A lot of hot air and shouting, and the desire to take over the world. The end result: a lot of innocent people lying dead.’

‘You are wrong,’ said Dr Friend. ‘We are not all the same. I had my experience of the communists when I was younger, and I did not like what I saw. There was too much suspicion and fear among them. Anyone clever or ambitious was removed and executed. Their leadership is not intelligent. They are peasants. I knew I would never be safe among the communists. The Nazis, however, appreciate talent, and they appreciate my talents greatly.’

Roan was shaking her head and murmuring ‘No, no, no…’

‘Europe is balanced on a knife edge,’ Dr Friend continued, ignoring Roan. ‘Balanced between fascism and communism. Most countries have a sneaking regard for Hitler and a terrible fear of communism. There are too many rich men, too many royal families, too many people with too much to lose under communism, but they fear for their precious freedoms under fascism. Would they really throw democracy aside and embrace Hitler? Perhaps – if it meant stopping the spread of communism. Your King George doesn’t much care for Hitler. He has been a popular king and so the British have no desire to change things. His son, however, Edward, the Prince of Wales, thinks rather highly of what Herr Hitler has achieved. With him on the throne things might be different. My plan was very simple – to kill the King in a spectacular manner and let everyone believe it was the work of the communists. In the hysteria following his death Britain would turn against the Soviet Union, and where would she look to find an ally against the Russian threat? To Germany, of course, the only country in Europe with the guts to stand up against the communists. With Prince Edward on the throne, England would become Germany’s strongest ally. The doctrine of National Socialism, of Nazism, would be very easily rolled out into England. And not just England – other countries would see what a threat the communists posed. Hitler would become the strongest, most dominant force in Europe, with no other country powerful enough, or brave enough, to stand up to him.’

James smiled. At last things that had seemed to make no sense were becoming clear. They had all been made fools of. Merriot, Nevin, Roan, Dandy, James himself. None of them had realised that it was a blind. There never had been a communist plot. It was the Nazis all along. Ironically the only person who had known even a little of what was really going on had been Colonel Sedova. She must have uncovered the plot in Lisbon, and had been trying to stop it.

The shadow war, Merriot had called it. Spies and agents working against each other in the darkness. Nobody knowing exactly who the enemy was.

But the war wasn’t over. There were more battles to be fought and James could still end up as a casualty.

‘I think you’re wrong,’ he said. ‘Dead wrong. The English would never welcome Hitler.’

‘Do you not think so?’

‘No.’

‘Then how do you think we so easily put Dandy and Roan in place at Eton?’

James shrugged. He didn’t know what to say.

‘With the help of our British friends,’ said the doctor. ‘There are many in England who admire Hitler. It was they who assured us that Prince Edward would make a better ally than the King. We needed to be sure, however, that this was true. We had to get close to him. So it was decided that I would replace the real Graf von Schlick, a distant relative. We faked a car accident. Two bodies arrived at the clinic wrapped in bandages. I was one and the Graf was the other. Wrangel kept him drugged to keep him quiet until the operation. Unfortunately, the one night that Wrangel could not be there to keep an eye on him, he started to cry out, and you chose to find out what all the fuss was about.’

Another piece of the mystery fell into place for James.

‘The Graf knew some of your plan, didn’t he?’ he said.

‘Yes. He understood more in his drugged state than we had thought. If it wasn’t for you, it would not have been a problem. Dr Kitzmuller, the surgeon at the clinic, was working for us. He is a German, a supporter of Hitler. Under the knife the real Graf was given enough anaesthetic to kill him and I swapped places with him. At the same time we completed the final stage of my facial reconstruction. I also wear scleral lenses in my eyes, of my own design, coloured to match the Graf’s own. I can only wear them for short periods of time, but they are sufficient. I do not look exactly like him, but the fire would have altered his face and the resemblance is enough to convince most people. His wife, though, regrettably had to die, or she might have given us away.’

‘So before Dandy got anywhere near the King, you’d already killed three people?’ said James.

‘Eight people,’ Dr Friend corrected him. ‘You are forgetting the communist cell in Lisbon.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ said James. ‘My mistake, Dr Friend.’

‘No,’ said the doctor. ‘Perseus Friend is no more. He was not welcome in many places. The Graf von Schlick on the other hand, a relative of the British royal family… Well, that opens doors. As the Graf I was free to travel to England, where I met the Prince and many of our supporters.’

‘A lot of good it did you,’ said James. ‘The King is still alive. Operation Snow-Blind was a failure. All that work, all those deaths, all for nothing.’

Dr Friend sighed.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Once again, you, James Bond, have spoiled my careful planning. Which is why tomorrow, when Dr Kitzmuller gets here, I am going to skin you alive…’

28

You Never Give Up, Do You?

‘I am a practical man, James. I hate waste. You have to die, as I am sure you will understand, but you are young and healthy and strong. Your skin is firm and flexible. My skin, on the other hand, thanks to you, is like the scuffed leather on an old pair of boots. Large areas of my body are still scarred and ugly. I am well enough now for another operation, and I have built a modest operating theatre here in the Schloss. Some more skin grafts to my back, my neck and my legs and hands will make me almost normal again. I will peel off your skin, James. It seems only fair after all the trouble you have put me to. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a skin for a skin.’

‘No!’

With a shout Roan was on her feet, a table knife clutched in her hand. She ran towards Dr Friend who sat calmly in his place, watching her, unblinking.

She had not gone four paces, however, when Wrangel slid out of his chair, spun her round by the shoulder and jabbed her on the chin with his clenched fist. He moved fast and gracefully for such a large man and the blow was painfully efficient.

Roan dropped to the floor without a sound and lay unmoving on the cold stone slabs.

‘It seems that, despite what she has done, the girl feels something for you, James,’ said Friend, staring at Roan.

‘What are you going to do with her?’ James asked, trying to keep his voice as emotionless as the doctor’s.

‘She failed in her main task, but she did well in everything else. She evaded capture and brought you to me. However, it is of the utmost importance that the British continue to believe that the communists were behind this plot. We cannot risk her ever talking to anyone about the truth of Operation Snow-Blind. Therefore, she will have to die as well.’

James grabbed a heavy cut-glass water jug and hurled it as hard as he could at Dr Friend. The doctor must have been expecting something for he simply leant to one side and the jug smashed harmlessly on the floor behind him.

‘A brave show,’ he said, in the same dreary monotone. ‘Let’s see if you are quite so brave tomorrow when we operate on you without anaesthetic in front of the girl. Sadly I myself will be asleep, but I think I will get Wrangel to film the process for me. It will please me to study her reactions as she watches you scream in pain and terror. As she watches your handsome body reduced to a piece of meat on the butcher’s slab. And when it is over and I am recovered, I think perhaps I shall have the pleasure of executing her myself. Then there will be one less filthy red in the world.’

Roan moaned and started to stir. James went over to her and helped her up. She stood unsteadily, rubbing her jaw. She swayed and James caught her.

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

‘Don’t mention it.’ There was bitterness in James’s voice.

Roan turned her face to him. Tears were crawling slowly down her cheeks.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.

‘It’s too late for that.’

Wrangel gave James a shove.

‘Come on,’ he said, ‘move.’

‘Lock them up in the rooms next to Fräulein Haas,’ said Dr Friend. ‘And be careful not to damage the boy at all. His skin is important to me.’

James and Roan walked side by side through the castle, Wrangel and the two armed guards following closely behind. Roan tried to take James’s hand but he shook her off.

‘You knew they were here, didn’t you?’ he said. ‘Near Kitzbühel?’

‘Yes,’ said Roan quietly.

‘That’s why you so quickly agreed to my plan to escape here, isn’t it?’

Roan nodded. ‘Amethyst told us that the Lisbon cell had been broken up,’ she said. ‘He told us that Obsidian was based in Austria. I didn’t know the details; I didn’t know anything about the Graf or Doctor Friend.’

‘But you were planning this all along.’

Roan said nothing.

‘Weren’t you?’ James snapped angrily.

‘Yes.’ Roan spoke so softly the word was more of a sigh.

‘After everything I’d done for you,’ said James. ‘How could you betray me?’

‘I’ve tried to explain,’ said Roan. ‘What I’m fighting for is bigger than both of us. You and I, we don’t matter. What’s important is history. What’s important is that we win the struggle by whatever means possible. It broke my heart, darling, really it did. I’ll always love you. But sometimes we have to sacrifice the things we love for the greater good.’

‘I’ve never heard such rot,’ said James.

‘It’s not rot,’ said Roan, her voice cracking. ‘I’m fighting for every worker in the world, all the poor people, the masses living under the boot of –’

‘Oh, please, spare me another bloody lecture,’ said James wearily. ‘I’m fed up to the back teeth of hearing about it. You champion the workers of the world, the faceless masses, but me, a real living breathing person, I mean nothing to you. Why? Because I come from a privileged background? Because I was an Eton schoolboy? Because I was English? Do I not count?’

‘I was confused, darling. I didn’t know what to do. I was scared of the British and I was scared of the men who’d hired me. I knew how ruthless they were. I’d failed, you see, and I was terrified of what they might do to me. I’d always known that you were important to them. I thought that if I could deliver you to them they might look more kindly on me.’

‘Friend was right,’ said James. ‘It
is
funny.’

Roan sobbed. ‘If I’d have known what was going to happen,’ she said, ‘I’d have done everything differently, but I was desperate to save my skin.’

James laughed coldly.

‘And in the process you’ve given them mine.’

‘I didn’t know, darling…’

‘Well that’s pretty obvious,
darling
,’ James scoffed. ‘You didn’t know the first damned thing about what was really going on, did you? And now we’re both going to die. And as far as I can see it’s not going to help the precious workers one jot.’

The room they locked James into was small with a low ceiling and a single, square, casement window. It had grey walls, a stone floor, a wooden bed, a wash-stand and a tatty, mud-coloured rug.

And it stank.

The smell of decay he had first noticed in the courtyard was even stronger here.

He went immediately to the window and pushed it open, hoping that it might clear the air.

The window swung back only a couple of inches into a sort of sturdy metal cage bolted to the outside wall, but it was enough to let in a waft of foul-smelling vapours from outside. The stench hit James like a blow and he put his hand to his mouth and staggered back, trying not to gag.

He took out his handkerchief, soaked it in the wash-stand and tied it around his face. Then he returned to the window and put his mouth to the opening.

‘Roan?’ he called out.

After a while there came a reply.

‘James? Is that you?’

‘Yes. Listen, I’m sorry about the things I said just now. I was scared and angry and disappointed.’

‘It’s all right,’ said Roan. ‘You have a right to be. You probably want to kill me and I wouldn’t blame you. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, but that’s an evil smell. We must be right beneath the toilets.’

‘Maybe,’ James shouted. ‘Can you see anything out of your window?’

‘Not really, I can’t get it open far enough. As far as I can tell we’re in the side of the castle overlooking the valley. There’s a long drop out there.’

‘Even so,’ James called to her, ‘if I could get out somehow I might be able to climb down and get some help.’

‘You never give up, do you?’

‘No.’

‘I appreciate you trying, darling, but you’re just a kid. We’ve got to accept that nobody’s going to come to our rescue. You remember I said once I wanted to stay young and pretty all my life. Well, it looks like my wish is going to come true.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ said James. ‘I’m not just going to sit here and wait for the morning. I’d rather smash myself to pieces on the rocks below than have that ghoul dress himself in my skin.’

‘Would he really do it?’

‘He would,’ said James. ‘You don’t know him like I do.’

‘I’m awful scared, James. I don’t like it here.’

‘Don’t worry,’ James shouted. ‘We’re not staying.’

James carefully searched the room, looking for anything that might be of use. There was a sheet and a thin blanket on the bed; by cutting them into strips and tying them together he might make a rope – but he would have to first get out of the window for that to be any use. He could pull the bed apart and use the legs as weapons – but didn’t really relish the idea of taking on the doctor’s gun-toting friends armed only with a wooden leg. He could try and batter the door down with the wash-stand, but the noise would alert the guards long before he would be able to do any damage.

He went back over to the window. With the sash opening into the metal cage there was no way he could see properly outside. The first thing he would have to do would be to remove the window from its frame.

That was easily done.

He took off his shoe and removed the knife from its hidden compartment in the heel. He unfolded the blade and used it to scrape some layers of caked-on paint from the first screw in the lower hinge and tried to turn it. It was useless, the screw was rusted into the hinge. The wood itself was soft, however. The window must be at least fifty years old and it didn’t look as if maintenance had been top of the doctor’s list of things to do when he moved in here.

James dug into the rotten wood with his knife.

Yes. This was going to work.

It took him nearly an hour of gouging, cutting and chopping, but he worked slowly and steadily and eventually he was able to pull all six screws out of the frame and lift the window down. Now the opening was clear.

He pulled the bed over so that he could stand on it, adjusted his handkerchief, then climbed up and leant out to see how the iron cage was fastened to the wall.

There were heavy rusted bolts. The iron bars were half an inch thick and the walls were solid granite.

Removing the cage was obviously not an option.

While he had been working, his mind focused on his task, James had almost forgotten about the awful stink. He had got used to it. But now, as the wind shifted direction, it hit him again. He groaned and retched, then went back to the wash-stand and wet his handkerchief again. It didn’t keep out all of the smell but it helped a little.

He looked out again. A bright moon was riding high in the sky, but the wind was moving clouds across its face. There were brief periods of illumination followed by long stretches of heavy darkness.

He waited for a clear spot and looked down.

It wasn’t encouraging.

Far below he could just make out the tops of pine trees, and between him and them were jagged rocks. Even if he could somehow get the iron cage off the wall, to get down from here would need mountaineering equipment.

What about climbing up, then?

He twisted round and looked up, just as the clouds shrouded the moon again.

For the moment he could see nothing except the black shape of the castle walls. His window seemed to be beneath an overhang that looked to be dotted with weeds and small bushes growing out of the cracks in the masonry. He shifted his position and switched his attention to the sides. To the left was Roan’s window, to the right was some kind of object projecting from the wall – a rock perhaps, or another bush.

He looked back up just as the clouds thinned and a pale light fleetingly illuminated a patch of wall. He caught a glint of metal. He fixed his eyes on the spot and waited. If there was anything out here he could use he would grab his chance.

It was frustrating waiting to get a proper look. The clouds slowly lifted, though, until he could make out the shape of some kind of man-made metallic object. It slowly grew out of the darkness until at last it revealed itself to be an ice-axe. The long-handled cutting tool used by mountaineers.

What on earth was an ice-axe doing hanging on the wall outside his window?

As the moonlight grew brighter it revealed more and more of the scene above him. He saw that the axe was dangling from a rope. He followed the rope up. It was snagged on a dead root sticking out of the wall.

Then it was too dark again to see any more and James waited patiently for another break in the clouds. Finally the sky cleared and it was as if a searchlight were sweeping over the wall.

With a shock James realised that the dark mass to his right was a man. He was hanging upside-down from a second rope that was tied around his waist and tangled round one ankle. From there the rope went straight up to a piton, a metal climber’s hook that had been driven into the stonework about fifteen feet above the dead body.

Now James understood what the awful smell was. God knows how long the man had been hanging there, but it must have been for some time, because he was rotting.

He had been baked in the sun and dried by the wind, so that his face looked mummified. It was dark, almost black, the cracked lips pulled back from the teeth in a grimace. His eyes had long since been pecked out by birds and the sockets were gaping and empty. The birds had also been busy elsewhere – strips of flesh had been peeled from his face so that here and there the bones showed through.