'A mercenary out for hire. I shouldn't think he has many scruples. We met by accident at Ascot…' 'You have him checked out?' 'You think I'm that much of a fool? He says his name's Bond. I have the number and details of the car – very smart. It'll give us an address and by tomorrow night I shall know everything I need about Mr James Bond.'

Bond smiled, knowing that M had him very well covered. Any enquiries coming from passport number, driving licence, car registration, or other means, would be nicely blocked off. All Murik could learn would come from the cover dossier – the service record of one Major James Bond, a Guards officer who had probably served with the SAS, and performed certain dubious duties since leaving the armed forces – under a slight cloud – six years previously.

Murik was still speaking. '… but I smell the need for money. Mercenaries are good earners, if they live, yet they all have that tendency to spend as though tomorrow did not exist. Or they turn to crime.'

'You must keep sights on all strangers until they are proved.'

'Oh, I'm testing him. He'll give us some interesting sport.' The laugh was unpleasant. 'At least we'll see what he's made of. But, my dear Franco, you're leaving shortly, and I want to get things finalised.'

'Everything in my head. Clear as day. You know me well now, Warlock. The teams ready in England, France and Germany. No trouble. They are on call. Listening the whole time. There is only America, and my people wait there for me.'

'And you'll be in the States by tomorrow night?'

'Afternoon.'

There was a long pause and a rustling of paper before Murik spoke again. 'You're quite certain of your American people?'

'The same as the others.'

'Willing to expend themselves in the cause?'

'Absolutely. They expect death. I have said it is not likely for them to survive. This is good psychology. Yes?'

'I agree. Though as long as they do exactly as they're told, there'll be no risk. That's the beauty of it. First, the fact that we only need to place four men in each station – to secure themselves within the control rooms – and take orders from me alone. Second, that they refuse to maintain contact with anyone outside-no hostage-taking, nothing to distract them. Third, that I make it plain to the governments concerned that they have twenty-four hours only, from the moment of takeover. The twenty-four hours runs out… then Boom: England, France, Germany and the United States have big problems on their hands for many years to come – problems, if all the scientists are correct, that will not be confined to the four countries concerned. The death toll and damage could cover almost half of the world. This is the one time that governments will have no choice but to give in to blackmail.'

'Unless they do not believe you.'

'Oh, they'll believe me,' Murik chuckled. They'll believe me because of the facts. That's why it's all-important that your people go in at the same moment. Now, your Americans. How long will it take to brief them?'

There was another pause, as though Franco was trying to make up his mind. 'Twenty-four hours. One day at the most.'

'For both lots? For Indian Point Unit Three, and San Onofre Unit One?'

'Both. No problems.'

'It's the San Onofre that's going to scare the wits out of them.'

'Yes, I've studied papers. Still active, even though the authorities know how close it is to a fault. A seismic fault – is that how you say it?'

'Yes. America will press Europe. They just won't be able to take the risk. As long as your American people know what is expected and do only what I tell them. You must stress – as you have done in Europe – that if they obey orders, nobody can get at them for a minimum of twenty-four hours. By that time Meltdown will all be over anyway. So I see no reason why Meltdown cannot go ahead at twelve noon British Summer Time on Thursday, as planned.'

'There's one thing…'

'Yes?' Murik's voice, sharp.

'How are you to give the signals-pass on the instructions – without detection?'

A slight chuckle, subdued and humourless. 'Your people have the receivers. You have a receiver, Franco. Just use them, and let me worry about the rest.'

'But with radio signals of that strength – covering Europe and the United States – they'll pinpoint you faster than you can do your Times crossword; which is fast.'

'I told you, Franco. Let me worry. All is arranged, and I shall be quite safe. Nobody'll have the slightest idea where any instructions are coming from. Now, Franco, we are on schedule for Thursday, which is ideal. If you can really finish everything in America within twenty-four hours, it means you will be in a position to carry out the other assignment for me on Wednesday night. You think you can make that location?' 'There is time enough. Better I should do it than someone else…'

Even with the headphones on, Bond was suddenly distracted by a click from the door. His head whipped around, and he saw the handle turn a fraction. In one movement he grabbed the 'phones from his head, stuffing the receiver under the pillow before launching himself out of the Sleepcentre towards the door.

His hand shot out, grasping the door and pulling it sharply towards him.

'It's okay,' whispered Mary-Jane Mashkin, 'only me.' She slipped inside, the door swung to heavily, and Bond heard the locks thud into place again. His heart sank. Mary-Jane Mashkin was a handsome woman, but not Bond's fancy at all. Yet here she was, dressed a shade too obviously in a heavy silk Reger nightdress and wrap, her dark hair hanging around her face; a flush to her cheeks. 'I thought I should come and see that you're comfortable,' she murmured coyly. 'Have you got everything you need?'

Bond indicated the door. When Donal had closed it,

Bond had realised there was some kind of automatic locking system. The noise following Mary-Jane's entrance had confirmed his fear. 'How do you get through that system? It's electronic, isn't it?' he asked.

She pushed herself towards him, smiling in a faraway manner. 'Some of the rooms – like this – have electronic locks for safety. The doors can always be opened from the outside; and allyou have to do is dial "one" on the 'phone.

That puts you through to the switchboard. They'll open it up for you. If Anton agrees, of course.'

Bond backed away. 'And that's what you'll do? To get out, I mean.'

'Oh, James. Are you telling me to leave?'

'I…'

She slid her arms around his neck. 'I thought you needed company. It must be lonely up here.'

Bond's mind scrabbled around for the right actions and words. There was something decidedly wrong here. A carefully orchestrated seduction scene by this American woman: an intellectual, mistress to Anton Murik, and almost certainly in on whatever villainy was being planned at this moment by the doctor and Franco.

'James,' she whispered, her lips so close that he could feel her breath, 'wouldn't you like me to stay for a while?' Mary-Jane Mashkin, fully dressed, made up, and with her hair beautifully coiffured, seemed a handsome and attractive woman. Now, close to, with her body unfettered from corset or girdle, and the face cleaned off, she was a very different person.

'Look, Mary-Jane. It's a nice thought, but…' He wrenched himself free. 'What about the Laird?'

'What about him? It's you I've come to see.'

'But isn't this risky? After all, you're his… trusted confidante.'

'And I thought you were a man who was used to taking risks. The moment I set eyes on you, I… James, don't make me humiliate myself…'

She was a good actress, Bond would say that for her. The whole thing smelled of either a set-up or a special reconnaissance. Had he not just heard Anton Murik talk about testing him? Women involved with men like Murik did not offer themselves to others without good reason. Bond took the woman by the shoulders and looked her straight in the eyes. The situation was delicate. A false move now might undo all the good work which had got him into Murik Castle. 'Mary-Jane, don't think I'm not appreciative, but…'