Fleming, Ian – From Russia with Love

Now what? wondered Bond. Damn these office gossips. He said gruffly, `Well, sir, we did get on well. And there was some idea we might get married. But then she met some chap in the American Embassy. On the Military Attaché’s staff. Marine Corps major. And I gather she’s going to marry him. They’ve both gone back to the States, as a matter of fact. Probably better that way. Mixed marriages aren’t often a success. I gather he’s a nice enough fellow. Probably suit her better than living in London. She couldn’t really settle down here. Fine girl, but she’s a bit neurotic. We had too many rows. Probably my fault. Anyway it’s over now.’

M gave one of the brief smiles that lit up his eyes more than his mouth. `I’m sorry if it went wrong, James,’ he said. There was no sympathy in M’s voice. He disapproved of Bond’s `womanizing’, as he called it to himself, while recognizing that his prejudice was the relic of a Victorian upbringing. But, as Bond’s chief, the last thing he wanted was for Bond to be permanently tied to one woman’s skirts. `Perhaps it’s for the best. Doesn’t do to get mixed up with neurotic women in this business. They hang on your gun-arm, if you know what I mean. Forgive me for asking about it. Had to know the answer before I told you what’s come up. It’s a pretty odd business. Be difficult to get you involved if you were on the edge of marrying or anything of that sort.’

Bond shook his head, waiting for the story.

`All right then,’ said M. There was a note of relief in his voice. He leant back in his chair and gave several quick pulls on his pipe to get it going. `This is what’s happened. Yesterday there was a long signal in from Istanbul. Seems on Tuesday the Head of Station T got an anonymous typewritten message which told him to take a round ticket on the 8 p.m. ferry steamer from the Galata Bridge to the mouth of the Bosphorus and back. Nothing else. Head of T’s an adventurous sort of chap, and of course he took the steamer. He stood up for’ard by the rail and waited. After about a quarter of an hour a girl came and stood beside him, a Russian girl, very good-looking, he says, and after they’d talked a bit about the view and so on, she suddenly switched and in the same sort of conversational voice she told him an extraordinary story.’

M paused to put another match to his pipe. Bond interjected, `Who is Head of T, sir? I’ve never worked in Turkey.’

`Man called Kerim, Darko Kerim. Turkish father and English mother. Remarkable fellow. Been Head of T since before the war. One of the best men we’ve got anywhere. Does a wonderful job. Loves it. Very intelligent and he knows all that part of the world like the back of his hand.’ M dismissed Kerim with a sideways jerk of his pipe. `Anyway, the girl’s story was that she was a Corporal in the M.G.B. Had been in the show since she left school and had just got transferred to the Istanbul centre as a cipher officer. She’d engineered the transfer because she wanted to get out of Russia and come over.’

`That’s good,’ said Bond. `Might be useful to have one of their cipher girls. But why does she want to come over?’

M looked across the table at Bond. `Because she’s in love.’ He paused and added mildly, `She says she’s in love with you.’

`In love with me?’

`Yes, with you. That’s what she says. Her name’s Tatiana Romanova. Ever heard of her?’

`Good God, no! I mean, no, sir.’ M smiled at the mixture of expressions on Bond’s face. `But what the hell does she mean? Has she ever met me? How does she know I exist?’

`Well,’ said M. `The whole thing sounds absolutely ridiculous. But it’s so crazy that it just might be true. This girl is twenty-four. Ever since she joined the M.G.B. she’s been working in their Central Index, the same as

our Records. And she’s been working in the English section of it. She’s been there six years. One of the files she had to deal with was yours.’

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