`For God’s sake stop calling me “old man”.’ When there was so much to know, so much to think about, this was Bond’s first reaction to utter catastrophe. It was the reaction of someone in a burning house who picks up the most trivial object to save from the flames.
`Sorry, old man. It’s got to be a habit. Part of trying to be a bloody gentleman. Like these clothes. All from the wardrobe department. They said I’d get by like this. And I did, didn’t I, old man? But let’s get down to business. I expect you’d like to know what this is all about. Be glad to tell you. We’ve got about half an hour before you’re due to go. It’ll give me an extra kick telling the famous Mister Bond of the Secret Service what a bloody fool he is. You see, old man, you’re not so good as you think. You’re just a stuffed dummy and I’ve been given the job of letting the sawdust out of you.’ The voice was even and flat, the sentences trailing away on a dead note. It was as if Nash was bored by the act of speaking.
`Yes,’ said Bond. `I’d like to know what it’s all about. I can spare you half an hour.’ Desperately he wondered: was there any way of putting this man off his stride? Upsetting his balance?
`Don’t kid yourself, old man,’ the voice was uninterested in Bond, or in the threat of Bond. Bond didn’t exist except as a target. `You’re going to die in half an hour. No mistake about it. I’ve never made a mistake or I wouldn’t have my job.’
`What is your job?’
`Chief Executioner of SMERSH.’ There was a hint of life in the voice, a hint of pride. The voice went flat again. `You know the name I believe, old man.’
SMERSH. So that was the answer–the worst answer of all. And this was their chief killer. Bond remembered the red glare that flickered in the opaque eyes. A killer. A psychopath–manic depressive, probably. A man who really enjoyed it. What a useful man for SMERSH to have found! Bond suddenly remembered what Vavra had said. He tried a long shot. `Does the moon have any effect on you, Nash?’
The black lips writhed. `Clever aren’t you, Mister Secret Service. Think I’m barmy. Don’t worry. I wouldn’t be where I am if I was barmy.’
The angry sneer in the man’s voice told Bond that he had touched a nerve. But what could he achieve by getting the man out of control? Better humour him and gain some time. Perhaps Tatiana. . . .
`Where does the girl come into all this?’
`Part of the bait,’ the voice was bored again. `Don’t worry. She won’t butt in on our talk. Fed her a pinch of chloral hydrate when I poured her that glass of wine. She’ll be out for the night. And then for every other night. She’s to go with you.’
`Oh really.’ Bond slowly lifted his aching hand on to his lap, flexing the ringers to get the blood moving. `Well, let’s hear the story.’
`Careful, old man. No tricks. No Bulldog Drummond stufFll get you out of this one. If I don’t like even the smell of a move, it’ll be just one bullet through the heart. Nothing more. That’s what you’ll be getting in the end. One through the centre of the heart. If you move it’ll come a bit quicker. And don’t forget who I am. Remember your wrist watch? I don’t miss. Not ever.’
`Good show,’ said Bend carelessly. `But don’t be frightened. You’ve got my gun. Remember? Get on with your story.’
`All right, old man, only don’t scratch your ear while I’m talking. Or I’ll shoot it off. See? Well, SMERSH decided to kill you–at least I gather it was decided even higher up, right at the top. Seems they want to take one good hard poke at the Secret Service–bring them down a peg or two. Follow me?’
`Why choose me?’
`Don’t ask me, old man. But they say you’ve got quite a reputation in your outfit. The way you’re going to be killed is going to bust up the whole show. It’s been three months cooking, this plan, and it’s a beaut. Got to be. SMERSH has made one or two mistakes lately. That Khoklov business for one. Remember the explosive cigarette case and all that? Gave the job to the wrong man. Should have given it to me. I wouldn’t have gone over to the Yanks. However, to get back. You see, old man, we’ve got quite a planner in SMERSH. Man called Kronsteen. Great chess player. He said vanity would get you and greed and a bit of craziness in the plot. He said you’d all fall for the craziness in London. And you did, didn’t you, old man?’