Part 9 (1/2)

'He'd have known exactly which train the haz-mat was on.'

'Yes.' Then she frowned. 'About that, though, James. It's odd. The material was pretty bad. Methyl isocyanate, MIC. It's the chemical that killed all those people in Bhopal.'

'G.o.d.'

'But, look, here's the inventory of everything on board the train.' She showed him the list, translated into English. 'The chemical containers are practically bullet-proof. You can drop one from a plane and supposedly it won't break open.'

Bond was confused by this. 'So a train crash wouldn't have produced a spill.'

'Very unlikely. And another thing: the wagon with the chemical contained only about three hundred kilos of MIC. It's really bad stuff, certainly, but at Bhopal, forty-two thousand kilos were released. Even if a few of the drums had broken open, the damage would have been negligible.'

But what else would the Irishman have been interested in? Bond looked over the list. Aside from the chemicals, the cargo was harmless: boilers, vehicle parts, motor oil, sc.r.a.p, girders, timber . . . No weapons, unstable substances, other risky materials.

Maybe the incident had been an elaborate scheme to kill the train driver or someone living at the bottom of the hill below the restaurant. Had the Irishman been going to stage the death to look like an accident? Until they could home in on Noah's purpose, there could be no effective response. Bond could only hope that the surveillance he'd reluctantly put into play earlier in the evening would pay off. He asked, 'Any more on Gehenna?'

'h.e.l.l.'

'I'm sorry?'

Her face broke into a smile. 'Gehenna is where the Judaeo-Christian concept of h.e.l.l came from. The word's a derivation of Gehinnom, or the Valley of Hinnom a valley in Jerusalem. Ages ago, some people think, it was used as a site to burn rubbish and there may have been natural gas deposits in the rocks that kept the fires going perpetually. In the Bible, Gehenna came to mean a place where sinners and unbelievers would be punished.

'The only recent significant reference if you can call a hundred and fifty years ago recent was in a Rudyard Kipling poem.' She'd memorised the verse and recited, '”Down to Gehenna or up to the Throne, / He travels the fastest who travels alone.”'

He liked that and repeated it to himself.

She said, 'Now, for my other a.s.signment, Steel Cartridge.'

Relax, Bond told himself. He raised an eyebrow nonchalantly.

Philly said, 'I couldn't see any connection between the Gehenna plan and Steel Cartridge.'

'No, I understand that. I don't think they're related. This is something else from before I joined the ODG.'

The hazel eyes scanned his face, pausing momentarily on the scar. 'You were Defence Intelligence, weren't you? And before that you were in Afghanistan with the Naval Reserve.'

'That's right.'

'Afghanistan . . . The Russians were there, of course, before we and the Americans decided to pop in for tea. Does it have to do with your a.s.signments there?'

'Could very well. I don't know.'

Philly realised she was asking questions he might not want to answer. 'I got the original Russian data file that our Station R hacked and I went through the metadata. It sent me to other sources and I found out that Steel Cartridge was a targeted killing operation, sanctioned at a high level. That's what the phrase ”some deaths” referred to. I can't find out whether it was KGB or SVR, so we don't know the date yet.'

In 1991 the KGB, the infamous Soviet security and spy apparatus, was redesigned as Russia's FSB, with domestic jurisdiction, and the SVR, with foreign. The consensus among those following the espionage world was that the change was cosmetic only.

Bond considered this. 'Targeted killing.'

'That's right. And one of our clandestine operators an agent with Six was in some way involved but I don't know who or how yet. Maybe our man was tracking the Russian a.s.sa.s.sin. Maybe he wanted to turn him and run him as a double. Or our agent might even have been the target himself. I'm getting more soon I've opened channels.'

He noticed that he was staring at the tablecloth, brow furrowed. He gave her a fast smile. 'Brilliant, Philly. Thanks.'

On his mobile, Bond typed a synopsis of what Philly had told him about Hydt, Incident Twenty and Green Way International, omitting the information on Operation Steel Cartridge. He sent the message to M and Bill Tanner. Then he said, 'Right. Now it's time for sustenance, after all our hard work. First, wine. Red or white?'

'I'm a girl who doesn't play by the rules.' Philly let that linger teasingly, it seemed to Bond. Then she explained: 'I'll do a big red a Margaux or St Julien with a mild-mannered fish like sole. And I'll have a Pinot Gris or Albarino with a nice juicy steak.' She relented. 'I'm saying whatever you're in the mood for, James, is fine with me.' She b.u.t.tered a piece of her roll and ate it, with obvious pleasure, then s.n.a.t.c.hed up the menu and examined the sheet like a little girl trying to decide which Christmas present to open first. Bond was charmed.

A moment later Aaron, the waiter, was beside them. Philly said to Bond, 'You first. I need seven seconds more.'

'I'll start with the pte. Then I'll have the grilled turbot.'

Philly ordered a rocket and Parmesan salad with pear and, to follow, the poached lobster, with haricots verts and new potatoes.

Bond picked a bottle of an unoaked Chardonnay from Napa, California.

'Good,' she said. 'The Americans have the best chardonnay grapes outside Burgundy but they really must have the courage to throw out some of their d.a.m.ned oak casks.'

Bond's opinion exactly.

The wine arrived and then the food, which proved excellent. He complimented her on her choice of restaurant.

Casual conversation ensued. She asked about his life in London, recent travels, where he'd grown up. Instinctively, he gave her only the broad brush of information that was already in the public domain his parents' death, his childhood with his aunt Charmian in idyllic Pett Bottom, Kent, his brief tenure at Eton and subsequent attendance at his father's old school in Edinburgh, Fettes.

'Yes, I heard that at Eton you got into a spot of bother something about a maid?' She let those words linger a bit too. Then smiled. 'I heard the official story a touch scandalous. But there were other rumours too. That you'd been defending the girl's honour.'

'I think my lips must remain sealed on that.' He offered a smile. 'I'll plead the Official Secrets Act. Un-officially.'

'Well, if it's true, you were quite young to play knight errant.'

'I think I'd just read Tolkien's Sir Gawain,' Bond told her. And he couldn't help but note that she'd certainly done her research on him.

He asked about her childhood. Philly told him about growing up in Devon, boarding school in Cambridges.h.i.+re where, as a teenager, she'd distinguished herself as a volunteer for human rights organisations then reading law at the LSE. She loved to travel and talked at length about holidays. She was at her most animated when it came to her BSA motorcycle and her other pa.s.sion, skiing.

Interesting, Bond thought. Something else in common.

Their eyes met and held for an easy five seconds.

Bond felt the electric sensation with which he was so familiar. His knee brushed against hers, partly by accident, partly not. She ran a hand through her loose red hair.

Philly rubbed her closed eyes with her fingertips. Looking back to Bond, she said, her voice low, 'I must say, this was a brilliant idea. Dinner, I mean. I definitely needed to . . .' She trailed off, her eyes crinkling with amus.e.m.e.nt as she couldn't, or didn't want to, explain further. 'I'm not sure I'm ready for the night to be over. Look, it's only half past ten.'

Bond leant forward. Their forearms touched and this time there was no regrouping.

Philly said, 'I'd like an after-dinner drink. But I don't know exactly what they have here.' Those were her words but what she was actually telling him was that she was had some port or brandy in her flat just over the road, a sofa and music too.

And very likely something more awaited.

Codes . . .