Текст книги "The James Bond Anthology"

Автор книги: Ian Fleming

21 | THE MAN FROM AG. AND FISH.

They had coffee in M.’s study and smoked the thin black cheroots of which M. allowed himself two a day. Bond burnt his tongue on his. M. continued with his stories about the Navy which Bond could listen to all day – stories of battles, tornadoes, bizarre happenings, narrow shaves, courts martial, eccentric officers, neatly-worded signals, as when Admiral Somerville, commanding the battleship Queen Elizabeth, had passed the liner Queen Elizabeth in mid-Atlantic and had signalled the one word ‘SNAP’! Perhaps it was all just the stuff of boys’ adventure books, but it was all true and it was about a great navy that was no more and a great breed of officers and seamen that would never be seen again.

It was three o’clock. A car’s wheels scrunched on the gravel outside. Dusk was already creeping into the room. M. got up and switched on the lights and Bond arranged two more chairs up against the desk. M. said, ‘That’ll be 501. You’ll have come across him. Head of the Scientific Research Section. And a man called Franklin from the Ministry of Agriculture. 501 says he’s the top on his subject – Pest Control. Don’t know why Ag. and Fish. chose to send him in particular, but the Minister told me they’ve got a bit of trouble on their hands, wouldn’t tell even me what it is, and they think you may have run into something pretty big. We’ll let them have a look at your report and see what they make of it. All right?’

‘Yes, sir.’

The door opened and the two men came in.

Number 501 of the Secret Service, whose name Bond remembered was Leathers, was a big-boned, rangy man with the stoop and thick spectacles of the stage scientist. He had a pleasant, vague smile and no deference, but only politeness, towards M. He was appropriately dressed in shaggy tweeds and his knitted woollen tie didn’t cover his collar stud. The other man was small and brisk and keen-looking, with darting, amused eyes. As became a senior representative of a Ministry who had received his orders from his Minister in person and who knew nothing of Secret Services, he had put on a neat dark-blue pin-stripe and a stiff white collar. His black shoes gleamed efficiently. So did the leather of his fat brief-case. His greeting was reserved, neutral. He wasn’t quite sure where he was or what this was all about. He was going to smell his way carefully in this business, be wary of what he said and how far he committed his Ministry. Of such, Bond reflected, is ‘Government’.

When the appropriate greetings and apologies for disturbed Christmases had been made, and they were in their chairs, M. said, ‘Mr Franklin, if you’ll forgive my saying so, everything you are going to see and hear in this room is subject to the Official Secrets Act. You will no doubt be in possession of many secret matters affecting your own Ministry. I would be grateful if you would respect those of the Ministry of Defence. May I ask you to discuss what you are about to hear only with your Minister personally?’

Mr Franklin made a little bow of acquiescence. ‘My Minister has already instructed me accordingly. My particular duties in the Ministry have accustomed me to handling Top Secret matters. You need have no reservations in what you tell me. Now then’ – the amused eyes rested on each of the other three in turn – ‘perhaps you can tell me what this is all about. I know practically nothing except that a man on top of an alp is making efforts to improve our agriculture and livestock. Very decent of him. So why are we treating him as if he had stolen atomic secrets?’

‘He did once, as a matter of fact,’ said M. drily. ‘I think the best course would be for you and Mr Leathers to read the report of my representative here. It contains code numbers and other obscure references which need not concern you. The story tells itself without them.’ M. handed Bond’s report to 501. ‘Most of this will be new to you also. Perhaps you would like to read a page at a time and then pass them on to Mr Franklin.’

A long silence fell in the room. Bond looked at his fingernails and listened to the rain on the window panes and the soft noises of the fire. M. sat hunched up, apparently in a doze. Bond lit a cigarette. The rasp of his Ronson caused M.’s eyes to open lazily and then close again. 501 passed across the last page and sat back. Franklin finished his reading, shuffled the pages together, and stacked them neatly in front of him. He looked at Bond and smiled. ‘You’re lucky to be here.’

Bond smiled back but said nothing.

M. turned to 501. ‘Well?’

501 took off his thick spectacles and polished them on a none too clean handkerchief. ‘I don’t get the object of the exercise, sir. It seems perfectly above-board – praiseworthy, in fact, if we didn’t know what we do know about Blofeld. Technically, what he has done is this. He has obtained ten, or rather eleven, counting the one that’s left the place, suitable subjects for deep hypnosis. These are all simple girls from the country. It is significant that the one called Ruby had failed her G.C.E. twice. They seem to suffer, and there’s no reason to believe that they don’t, from certain fairly common forms of allergy. We don’t know the origins of their allergies and these are immaterial. They are probably psychosomatic – the adverse reaction to birds is a very common one, as is the one brought on by cattle. The reactions to crops and plants are less common. Blofeld appears to be attempting cures of these allergies by hypnosis, and not only cures, but a pronounced affinity with the cause of the allergy in place of the previous repulsion. In the case of Ruby, for instance, she is told, in the words of the report, to “love” chickens, to wish to “improve their breed” and so forth. The mechanical means of the cure are, in practice, simple. In the twilight stage, on the edge of sleep – the sharp ringing of the bell would waken those who were already asleep – the use of the metronome exactly on the pulse-beat, and the distant whirring noise, are both common hypnotic aids. The singsong, authoritative murmur is the usual voice of the hypnotist. We have no knowledge of what lectures these girls attended or what reading they did, but we can assume that these were merely additional means to influence the mind in the path desired by Blofeld. Now, there is plenty of medical evidence for the efficacy of hypnosis. There are well-authenticated cases of the successful treatment by these means of such stubborn disabilities as warts, certain types of asthma, bed-wetting, stammering, and even alcoholism, drug-taking, and homosexual tendencies. Although the British Medical Association frowns officially on the practitioners of hypnosis, you would be surprised, sir, to know how many doctors themselves, as a last resort, particularly in cases of alcoholism, have private treatment from qualified hypnotists. But this is by the way. All I can contribute to this discussion is that Blofeld’s ideas are not new and that they can be completely efficacious.’

M. nodded. ‘Thank you, Mr Leathers. Now would you like to be unscientific and hazard any wild guesses that would contribute in any way to what you have told us?’ M. smiled briefly. ‘You will not be quoted, I can assure you.’

501 ran a worried hand through his hair. ‘Well, sir, it may be nonsense, but a train of thought came to me as I read the report. This is a very expensive set-up of Blofeld’s. Whether his intentions are benign or malignant, and I must say that I think we can accept them as being malignant, who is paying for all this? How did he fall upon this particular field of research and find the finance for it? Well, sir, this may sound fanciful, looking for burglars under the bed, so to speak, but the leaders in this field, ever since Pavlov and his salivating dogs, have been the Russians. If you recall, sir, at the time of the first human orbiting of the earth by the Russians, I put in a report on the physiology of the astronaut Yuri Gagarin. I drew attention to the simple nature of this man, his equable temperament when faced with his hysterical welcome in London. This equability never failed him and, if you will remember, we kept him under discreet observation throughout his visit and on his subsequent tours abroad, at the request of the Atomic Energy authorities. That bland, smiling face, sir, those wide-apart, innocent eyes, the extreme psychological simplicity of the man, all added up, as I said in my report, to the perfect subject for hypnosis, and I hazarded the guess that, in the extremely complicated movements required of him in his space capsule, Gagarin was operating throughout in a state of deep hypnosis. All right, sir’ – 501 made a throw-away gesture of his hand – ‘my conclusions were officially regarded as fanciful. But, since you ask, I now repeat them, and I throw out the suggestion that the Power behind Blofeld in all this may well be the Russians.’ He turned to Bond. ‘Was there any sign of Russian inspiration or guidance at this Gloria place? Any Russians anywhere in the offing?’

‘Well, there was this man, Captain Boris. I never saw him, but he was certainly a Russian. Otherwise nothing I can think of except the three SPECTRE men who I’d guess were ex-SMERSH . But they seemed definitely staff men, what the Americans would call “mechanics”.’

501 shrugged. He said to M., ‘Well, I’m afraid that’s all I can contribute, sir. But, if you come to the conclusion that this is dirty business, for my money, this Captain Boris was either the paymaster or supervisor of the scheme and Blofeld the independent operator. It would fit in with the free-lance character of the old SPECTRE – an independent gang working for whoever was willing to pay them.’

‘Perhaps you’ve got something there, Mr Leathers,’ said M. reflectively. ‘But what the devil’s the object of the exercise?’ He turned to Franklin. ‘Well now, Mr Franklin, what do you think of all this?’

The man from Ag. and Fish. had lit a small, highly polished pipe. He kept it between his teeth and reached down for his briefcase and took out some papers. From among them he extracted a black and white outline map of Britain and Eire and smoothed it down across the desk. The map was dotted with symbols, forests of them here, blank spaces there. He said, ‘This is a map showing the total agricultural and livestock resources of Britain and Eire, leaving out grassland and timber. Now, at my first sight of the report, I admit I was completely confused. As Mr Leathers said, these experiments seem perfectly harmless – more than that, to use his word, praiseworthy. But’ – Franklin smiled – ‘you gentlemen are concerned with searching for the dark side of the moon. I adjusted my mind accordingly. The result was that I am filled with a very deep and terrible suspicion. Perhaps these black thoughts have entered my mind by a process of osmosis with the present company’s way of looking at the world’ – he looked deprecatingly at M. – ‘but I also have one piece of evidence which may be decisive. Excuse me, but there was one sheet of paper missing from the report – the list of the girls and their addresses. Is that available?’

Bond took the photostat out of his inside pocket. ‘Sorry. I didn’t want to clutter up the report too much.’ He slipped it across the table to Franklin.

Franklin ran his eyes down it. Then he said, and there was awe in his voice, ‘I’ve got it! I do believe I’ve got it!’ He sat back heavily in his chair as if he couldn’t believe what he had seen.

The three men watched him tensely, believing him, because of what was written on his face – waiting for it. Franklin took a red pencil out of his breast pocket and leaned over the map. Glancing from time to time at the list, he made a series of red circles at seemingly unrelated points across Britain and Eire, but Bond noticed that they covered the areas where the forests of symbols were at their densest. As he made the circles he commented, ‘Aberdeen – Aberdeen Angus, Devon – Red Poll, Lancashire – poultry, Kent – fruit, Shannon – potatoes,’ until ten red circles stood out on the map. Finally he poised his pencil over East Anglia and made a big cross. He looked up, said ‘Turkeys’ and threw his pencil down.

In the silence that followed, M. said, rather testily, ‘Well, Mr Franklin, what have you in mind?’

The man from Ag. and Fish. had no intention of being pushed about by someone, however grand and hush-hush, from another Ministry. He bent and dug again into his brief-case. He came up with several papers. He selected one, a newspaper cutting. He said, ‘I don’t expect you gentlemen have time to read much of the agricultural news in the paper, but this is from the Daily Telegraph of early December. I won’t read it all. It’s from their agricultural correspondent, good man by the name of Thomas. These are the headlines: “CONCERN OVER TURKEYS. FLOCKS RAVAGED BY FOWL PEST”. Then it goes on: “Supplies of turkeys to the Christmas market may be hit by recent fowl pest outbreaks which have resulted in large numbers of birds being slaughtered …” and further down, “Figures available show that 218,000 birds have been slaughtered … last year, total supplies for the Christmas market were estimated at between 3,700,000 and 4,000,000 birds, so much will depend now on the extent of further fowl pest outbreaks.” ’

Mr Franklin put the cutting down. He said seriously, ‘That news was only the tip of the iceberg. We managed to keep later details out of the press. But I can tell you this, gentlemen. Within the past four weeks or so we have slaughtered three million turkeys. And that’s only the beginning of it. Fowl pest is running wild in East Anglia and there are also signs of it in Hampshire, where a lot of turkey-raising goes on. What you ate at lunch today was almost certainly a foreign bird. We allowed the import of two million from America to cover this position up.’

M. said sourly, ‘Well, so far as I’m concerned, I don’t care if I never eat another turkey again. However, I see you’ve had quite a problem on your hands. But to get back to our case. Where do we go from turkeys?’

Franklin was not amused. He said, ‘We have one clue. All the birds that died first were exhibited at the National Poultry Show at Olympia early this month. Olympia had been cleared and cleaned out for the next exhibition before we had reached that conclusion, and we could find no trace on the premises of the virus – Fowl Pest is a virus, by the way, highly infectious, with a mortality of one hundred per cent. Now then’ – he held up a stout white pamphlet with the insignia of the United States on it – ‘how much do you gentlemen know about Biological Warfare?’

Leathers said, ‘We were indirectly concerned in the fringes of the subject during the war. But in the end neither side used it. Around 1944 the Americans had a plan for destroying the whole of the Japanese rice crop by the use of aerial sprays. But, as I recall, Roosevelt vetoed the idea.’

‘Right,’ said Franklin. ‘Dead right. But the subject is still very much alive. And very much so in my Ministry. We happen to be the most highly agriculturalized country in the world. We had to make ourselves so during the war to keep ourselves from starvation. So, in theory, we would be an ideal target for an attack of this kind.’ He slowly brought his hands down on the table for emphasis. ‘I don’t think it would be too much to say, gentlemen, that if such an attack could be launched, and it can only be countered by slaughtering the poultry and animals and burning the crops, we would be a bankrupt country within a matter of months. We would literally be down on our knees, begging for bread!’

‘Never thought of that,’ said M. reflectively, ‘but it seems to make sense.’

‘Now this,’ continued Franklin, holding up the pamphlet, ‘is the latest thinking on the subject by our friends in America. It also covers Chemical and Radiological Warfare, but we’re not concerned with those – C.W., B.W., and R.W. they call them. It’s a United States Senate paper, Number 58991, dated August 29th, 1960, prepared by “The Subcommittee on Disarmament of the Committee on Foreign Relations”. My Ministry goes along with the general findings on B.W., with the reservation that America is a vast country and we are a very small and tightly-packed one. B.W. would hit us a thousand times harder than it would hit the States. May I read you a few extracts?’

M. positively loathed the problems of other Ministries. In the end, on the Intelligence side, they all ended up on his plate. Bond, amused, watched him summon an expression of polite interest. ‘Go ahead, Mr Franklin.’

22 | SOMETHING CALLED ‘B.W.’

Franklin began reading in an even, expository tone of voice, frequently stopping to explain a point or when he skipped irrelevant passages.

‘This section,’ he said, ‘is headed “Biological Warfare Weapons and Defence”. This is how it goes on:

‘ “Biological Warfare,” ’ he read, ‘ “is often referred to as bacteriological, bacterial, or germ warfare but it is preferred over those terms because it includes all micro-organisms, insects and other pests, and toxic products of plant and animal life. The Army lists five groups of B.W. agents, including certain chemical compounds used to inhibit or destroy plant growth:

‘ “Micro-organisms (bacteria, viruses, rickettsiae, fungi, protozoa). Toxins (microbial, animal, plant). Vectors of disease (arthropods (insects and acarids), birds and animals). Pests (of animals and crops). Chemical anti-crop compounds (plant-growth inhibitors, herbicides, defoliants).

‘ “Biological Warfare agents, like Chemical Warfare agents, vary in lethality, making it possible to select an agent best suited to accomplish the objective desired, whether it be temporary incapacity with little after effects or serious illness and many deaths. There are some important differences between B.W. and C.W. other than their scientific classifications. B.W. agents have an incubation period of days, sometimes weeks” ’ – (Franklin looked up. ‘See what I mean about Olympia?’) – ‘ “which produces a lag in their action while C.W. weapons usually bring reactions within a few seconds to a few hours. C.W. agents are easier to detect than B.W. agents, and identification of the latter could often be too late to permit effective counter-measures.” ’ (Franklin again looked significantly at his audience) ‘ “… B.W. agents theoretically are more dangerous, weight for weight, than C.W. agents, though this advantage may be cancelled because of loss of virulence by B.W. agents under exposure.” ’

Franklin paused. His finger went down the page. ‘Then it goes on to talk about anti-personnel B.W. agents like anthrax, typhus, smallpox, botulism, and so on. Yes’ – his finger stopped – ‘here we are. “Anti-animal B.W. agents which might be used to incapacitate or destroy domestic animals are:

‘ “Bacteria: Anthrax, three closely related species of brucella, and glanders. Viruses: Foot-and-mouth disease, rinderpest, Rift Valley fever, vesicular stomatitis, vesicular exanthema, hog cholera, African swine fever, fowl plague, Newcastle disease, and equine encephalomyelitis.” ’

Franklin looked up apologetically. ‘Sorry about all this jaw-breaking stuff, but there’s not much more of it. Then it goes on to “Anti-crop B.W. agents”, which they say would be used as economic weapons, as I personally think is the case with the Blofeld scheme, and they mention a whole list including potato blight, cereal stem disease, crown rust of oats, curly top disease of sugar beets, block rot of crucifers and potato ring rot, and insects such as the Colorado beetle and something called “the Giant African Land-snail”, which I somehow don’t think we need worry about. Then they talk about “chemical anti-crop agents”, but I don’t think we need worry about those either as they’d have to be sprayed from an aeroplane, though, for what it’s worth, they’re damned lethal. Now, this is more to the point.’ Franklin’s finger halted on the page. ‘ “The nature of B.W. agents makes them very adaptable for covert or undercover operations. The fact that these agents are so concentrated, cannot be detected by physical senses, and have a delayed casualty effect, would enable an operator quietly to introduce effective amounts into building ventilation systems, food and water supplies, and other places where they would be spread rapidly through contact with a heavily concentrated population.” ’ Franklin paused. ‘And that means us. You see what I mean about livestock shows and so on? After the show, the virus gets carried off all over the country by the exhibits.’ He went back to his pamphlet. ‘And here it goes on, “A significant factor is that the possible area of effective coverage is generally greater with B.W. than with C.W. agents. Tests have been made which show that coverage measured in the thousands of square miles is quite feasible with biological agents.” ’ Franklin tapped the paper in front of him. ‘How about that, gentlemen? We talk about the new poison gases, the nerve gases the Germans invented in the war. We march and counter-march about radiation and the atom bomb. “Thousands of square miles” it says here. A Committee of the United States Senate says it. How many thousands of square miles are there in the United Kingdom and Eire, gentlemen?’ The eyes, urgent and holding humour no longer, looked almost scornfully into the faces of these three top officers of the Secret Service. ‘I’ll tell you. There are only something over one hundred thousand square miles of this little atoll of ours, including the little atoll of all Ireland.’ His eyes retained their fire. ‘And let me just give you a last quote and then perhaps’ – the eyes regained some of their humour – ‘you’ll realize why I’m getting so steamed up on this Day of Goodwill to all Men. Look here, what it says under “Defensive Measures”. It says, “Defence against B.W. warfare is greatly complicated by the difficulties involved in detection of B.W. agents, a situation which is almost unique as to these weapons.” ’ (Franklin looked up and now he smiled. ‘Bad English. Perhaps we might improve on “as to”.) “They cannot be detected by sight, smell, or any other physical sense. So far no means have been devised for their quick detection and identification.” ’

Franklin threw the pamphlet on to the desk. Suddenly he gave a big, embracing smile. He reached for his little polished pipe and began filling it. ‘All right, gentlemen. The prosecution rests.’

Franklin had had his day, a Christmas he would never forget.

M. said, ‘Thank you, Mr Franklin. Am I right in thinking that you conclude that this man Blofeld is mounting Biological Warfare against this country?’

‘Yes.’ Franklin was definite. ‘I am.’

‘And how do you work that out? It seems to me he’s doing exactly the opposite – or rather it would if I didn’t know something about the man. Anyway, what are your deductions?’

Franklin reached over and pointed to the red cross he had made over East Anglia. ‘That was my first clue. The girl, Polly Tasker, who left this Gloria place over a month ago, came from somewhere round here where you’ll see from the symbols that there’s the greatest concentration of turkey farmers. She suffered from an allergy against turkeys. She came back inspired to improve the breed. Within a week of her return, we have the biggest outbreak of fowl pest affecting turkeys in the history of England.’

Leathers suddenly slapped his thigh. ‘By God, I think you’ve got it, Franklin! Go on!’

‘Now’ – Franklin turned to Bond – ‘when this officer took a look into the laboratory up there he saw rack upon rack of test-tubes containing what he describes as “a cloudy liquid”. How would it be if those were viruses, Fowl Pest, anthrax, God knows what all? The report mentions that the laboratory was lit with a dim red light. That would be correct. Virus cultures suffer from exposure to bright light. And how would it be if before this Polly girl left she was given an aerosol spray of the right stuff and told that this was some kind of turkey elixir – a tonic to make them grow fatter and healthier. Remember that stuff about “improving the breed” in the hypnosis talk? And suppose she was told to go to Olympia for the Show, perhaps even take a job for the meeting as a cleaner or something, and just casually spray this aerosol here and there among the prize birds. It wouldn’t be bigger than one of those shaving-soap bombs. That’d be quite enough. She’d been told to keep it secret, that it was patent stuff. Perhaps even that she’d be given shares in the company if the tonic proved the success this man Blofeld claimed it would. It’d be quite easy to do. She’d just wander round the cages – perhaps she was even given a special purse to carry the thing in – lean up against the wire and psst! the job would be done. Easy as falling off a log. All right, if you’ll go along with me so far, she was probably told to do the job on one of the last two days of the show, so that the effects wouldn’t be seen too soon. Then, at the end of the show, all the prize birds are dispersed back to their owners all over England. And that’s that! And’ – he paused – ‘mark you, that was that. Three million birds dead and still dying all over the place, and a great chunk of foreign currency coughed up by the Treasury to replace them.’

Leathers, his face red with excitement, butted in. He swept his hand over the map. ‘And the other girls! All from the danger spots. All from the areas of greatest concentration. Local shows taking place all the time – cattle, poultry, even potatoes – Colorado beetle for that crop, I suppose, Swine Fever for the pigs. Golly!’ There was reverence in Leathers’s voice. ‘And it’s so damned simple! All you’d need would be to keep the viruses at the right temperature for a while. They’d be instructed in that, the little darlings. And all the time they’d be sure they were being saints! Marvellous. I really must hand it to the man.’

M’s face was thunderous with the fury of his indecision. He turned to Bond. He barked, ‘What do you think?’

‘I’m afraid it fits, sir. The whole way along the line. We know the man. It fits him too. Right up his street. And it doesn’t even matter who’s paying him. He can pay himself, make a fortune. All he has to do is go a bear of sterling or Gilt-Edged. If Mr Franklin’s right, and that Senate paper’s pretty solid backing for him, our currency’ll literally go through the floor – and the country with it.’

M. got to his feet. He said, ‘All right, gentlemen. Mr Franklin, will you tell your Minister what you’ve heard? It’ll be up to him to tell the P.M. and the Cabinet as he thinks fit. I’ll get on with the preventive measures, first of all through Sir Ronald Vallance of the C.I.D. We must pick up this Polly woman and get the others as they come into the country. They’ll be gently treated. It’s not their fault. Then we’ll have to think what to do with Mister Blofeld.’ He turned to Bond. ‘Stay behind, would you?’

Goodbyes were said and M. rang for Hammond to see the other two out. He then rang again. ‘Tea, please, Hammond.’ He turned to Bond. ‘Or rather have a whisky and soda?’

‘Whisky, please, sir,’ said Bond with infinite relief.

‘Rot-gut,’ commented M. He walked over to the window and looked out at the darkness and rain.

Bond drew Franklin’s map towards him and studied it. He reflected that he was learning quite a lot on this case – about other people’s businesses, other people’s secrets, from the innards of the College of Arms to the innards of Ag. and Fish. Odd how this gigantic, many-branched tree had grown from one tiny seed in September – a girl calling banco in a casino and not having the money to pay. And what about Bond’s letter of resignation? That looked pretty silly now. He was up to his ears, as deeply as ever in his life before, in his old profession. And now a big mopping-up job would have to be done. And he would have to do it, or at any rate lead it, organize it. And Bond knew exactly what he was going to put to M. when the tea and whisky came. Only he could do the cleaning up. It was written in his stars!

Hammond came in with the tray and withdrew. M. came back to his desk, gruffly told Bond to pour himself a whisky, and himself took a vast cup, as big as a baby’s chamber-pot, of black tea without sugar or milk, and put it in front of him.

At length he said moodily, ‘This is a dirty business, James. But I’m afraid it makes sense. Better do something about it, I suppose.’ He reached for the red telephone with scrambler attachment that stood beside the black one on his desk and picked up the receiver. It was a direct line to that very private switchboard in Whitehall to which perhaps fifty people in all Britain have access. ‘Put me on to Sir Ronald Vallance, would you? Home number, I suppose.’ He reached out and took a deep gulp at his cup of tea and put the cup back on its saucer. Then, ‘That you, Vallance? M. here. Sorry to disturb your afternoon nap.’ There was an audible explosion at the other end of the line! M. smiled. ‘Reading a report on teen-age prostitution? I’m ashamed of you. On Christmas Day too. Well, scramble, would you?’ M. pressed down the large black button on the side of the cradle. ‘Right? Now I’m afraid this is top priority. Remember Blofeld and the Thunderball case? Well, he’s up to his tricks again. Too long to explain now. You’ll get my side of the report in the morning. And Ag. and Fish. are mixed up in it. Yes, of all people. Man called Franklin is your contact. One of their top pest-control men. Only him and his Minister. So would your chaps report to him, copy to me? I’m only dealing with the foreign side. Your friend 007’s got the ball. Yes, same chap. He can fill you in with any extra detail you may need on the foreign angles. Now, the point is this. Even though it’s Christmas and all that, could your chaps try at once and lay their hands on a certain girl, Polly Tasker, aged about 25, who lives in East Anglia? Yes, I know it’s a hell of a big area, but she’ll probably come from a respectable lower-middle-class family connected with turkey farming. Certainly find the family in the telephone book. Can’t give you any description, but she’s just been spending several weeks in Switzerland. Got back the last week in November. Don’t be ridiculous! Of course you can manage it. And when you find her, take her into custody for importing Fowl Pest into the country. Yes, that’s right.’ M. spelt it out. ‘The stuff that’s been killing all our turkeys.’ M. muttered ‘Thank God!’ away from the receiver. ‘No, I didn’t say anything. Now, be kind to the girl. She didn’t know what she was doing. And tell the parents it’ll be all right. If you need a formal charge, you’ll have to get one out of Franklin. Then tell Franklin when you’ve got her and he’ll come down and ask her one or two simple questions. When he’s got the answers, you can let her go. Right? But we’ve got to find that girl. You’ll see why all right when you’ve read the report. Now then, next assignment. There are ten girls of much the same type as this Polly Tasker who’ll probably be flying from Zürich to England and Eire any day from tomorrow on. Each one has got to be held by the Customs at the port or airport of entry. 007 has a list of their names and fairly good descriptions. My people in Zürich may or may not be able to give us warning of their arrival. Is that all right? Yes, 007 will bring the list to Scotland Yard this evening. No, I can’t tell you what it’s all about. Too long a story. But have you ever heard of Biological Warfare? That’s right. Anthrax and so on. Well, this is it. Yes. Blofeld again. I know. That’s what I’m just going to talk to 007 about. Well now, Vallance, have you got all that? Fine.’ M. listened. He smiled grimly. ‘And a Happy Christmas to you.’