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'Best go with her。 Nikki。 Protocol； really。 Perhaps we can talk later on。'
'I also would like that。 In your cabin； maybe； yes？' Reluctantly； she allowed Clover to guide her towards the panionway。 Nikki looked back and smiled invitingly。 First Officer Pennington kepi her eyes to Ihe front。
Bond had just turned in for the night when they darkened ship； righi on 23。59 hours。 Ten minutes later； he realised few people were going to get much sleep while the exercise was running； for the klaxon began to blare while the orders came blasting out of the Tannoy system。 'All hands to action stations。 Close up； all watches。'
Shortly after ihis； the Captain calmly announced that the whole force had been spread into their approved battle formation； a huge； rough diamond shape； as they were entering Ihe English Channel at full speed。 'Our escorts report a wolf…pack of submarines trying to get inside the screen。' Walmsley's voice was calm； dispassionate； and Bond imagined it would be just the same if this were the real thing。 'One of our escorts on the starboard side has been challenged by a submarine； and ordered to stop。 I'm putting four helicopters into the air on submarine search。 If the subs fire on our force； or bee more belligerent； our helicopters will go into search…and…destroy mode。'
Bond stretched back on the small bunk； fully dressed。 It was almost one…thirty in the morning。 He could give it five more minutes before he would need to check out his charges； and make certain all was well。
Thirty seconds later； he was on his feet； springing to the cabin door； answering the pounding on it。
A flushed Royal Marine sentry stood there； almost breathless。 'Captain Bond； sir； you're needed。 It's bad。 sir。 Very had 。 。 。'
He was about to add more when Clover Pennington appeared behind the marine。 'It's one of the Americans； Jame … sir。' She looked as though she was about to throw up。 〃The one I believe they call Ed。 The slim； very tough； good…looking one； with sandy hair。'
'Yes？ That's Ed。 What's wrong？'
'One of my girls 。 。 。 One of my Wrens 。 。 。 found him。 I le's dead。 A lot of blood。 I think 。。。 I 。。。 Well； 1 know 。 。 。 he's been murdered； sir。 Someone's eul his throat。 The heads are like an abattoir。'
Bond felt his stomach churn as he reached for the webbing…belt with the big holster hanging from it。 Then； buckling it on； he nodded； following the marine and First Officer Pennington into the VIP area。 The belt； with the heavy pistol bouncing against his side； made him feel like a Western gun…slinger。 Unreal。 But it was not every day of the week you get an American Secret Service bodyguard murdered aboard one of Her Majesty's ships。
11
Death's Heads
Bond paused for a second before the bulkhead； with its fire…door bolted open。 Below decks there was always a familiar smell； difficult to describe； dry； filtered air； a little oil； tiny mixed scents of machinery and humans。 The paintwork was light…grey and a mass of piping ran high along each side of the passageway； with electrical duels carrying wiring down ю the deck itself。 The air…conditioning； plumbing and electronics hummed。 This was what always assaulted the senses； when the ship was alive and at sea。
Ahead of him there were the other cabin doors； usually used by executive officers； who were now forced to double…up on messdecks and in other areas of the ship。 Beyond； there was a further bulkhead where another marine stood on duty。 Through there； he knew were the cabins occupied by the Wren detachment； who had ousted the junior officers。
Before stepping over the first bulkhead。 Bond gave rapid orders to the flushed marine who had hanged on his door … 'I don't care who it is。 Admirals or special duty staff who came aboard with them； you are to check who is in each of these cabins； and also have a list ready for me； I want to know who was where over the past hour at least。 And get one of the doctors as quickly as you can。 You'd best get your sergeant down here to give you a hand。 My authority。 You know who I am？1
The young marine nodded； and Bond turned to Clover； 'Right； the body's where'。' In the heads used for your Wrens？〃
She gave him a sickly； 'Yes。' and Bond brushed past her and started to run down the passageway。 Behind him he heard the young marine banging on the first cabin door with his rifle butt。
At the second bulkhead he told the marine on duty to stay alert and asked him if any of the officers； or their men； had gone past him into the prohibited area where the Wrens were。
〃I've only been hare for fifteen minutes； sir。 We had to reorganise the guard duties when the Captain called all hands to close up。'
*S〃 how long was the area unguarded？'
〃Not sure； sir。 Fifteen minutes at the most。'
Clover led him through the passageway adjacent to the cabins occupied by the Wrens。 A rather startled girl in pyjamas poked her head out of one of the doors。 'Back inside； Deeley。' Clover snapped sharply； and the figure disappeared。
There was a trail of bloody footprints； ending abruptly in a spatter of blood； around twelve feel from the elosed bulkhead door which led to the heads。 For some reason a query ran through Bond's mind。 The ablutions and lavatories on Royal Navy ships were always known as the 'heads' … plural … while the US Navy called them 'head' … singular。 It was the other way around with the HUD in fighter aircraft。 The Americans called it the Wertds…up…Display； the Brits translated it as Head…up…Display。 Any odd thoughts on British and American semantics were cleared from his mind as he opened the bulkhead door。
Clover had been right； the place was like an abattoir； awash with blood； and the body on the tiled floor rolled with the ship； giving the horrific illusion that the blood was still pumping from it。
'You touch him？'
Clover shook her head； lips closed tightly as though she was fighting the urge to vomit；
'Better get out。 Go back and tell one of those marines that the Doc should bring down a couple of Sick Bay ratings to help clean up the mess。'
？ I'll do that from the nearest 'phone。'A tall； grey…haired figure stood behind them。 'Surgeon mander Grant； Let's take a look at the cadaver。'
Bond had met Grant for a few seconds in the ward…room on his arrival aboard。 The Doc appeared to be a no…nonsense man； of few words。 He was in uniform but with his trousers tucked into green surgeon's boots。 'Leave him to me。 then I'll get one of my boys down with a spare set of wellies for you。 Captain Bond。 Blood's the very devil to get off。'
Bond nodded and stood at the door as Grant splashed across the gore…swilled tiled deck。 He bent over to examine the body； giving a little grunt of disgust。 He shook his head； plodded back and picked up the telephone inter on the wall in the passageway； dialling the Sick Bay number。 'Barnes？ Right； get down to 406。 Wellies and rubber aprons。 One spare pair of wellies； and rustle up a couple of lads with strong stomachs； 。squeegees and buckets。 Quick as you can。'
He turned to Bond。 〃Whoever did it wasn't taking any chances； Captain Bond。 They've nearly taken his head off。 Neat slit。 Ear to ear。 By the look of it； someone took him from behind； grabbed his hair and reac