Bond fought down the desire to point out the terrible risk that Murik would be taking. The facts of Operation Melt down were like a kaleidoscope in his mind; but of one thing he was certain: hired and fanatical terrorists are unstable in conditions of stress. However strongly Anton Murik felt about the ultimate threat, the situation might well be out of his control once the terrorist squads were in place.

More than ever, Bond realised that he must make a bid for freedom. They made their way slowly, side by side, to the foot of the stone stairway.

'There is one thing,' Bond said calmly, hands clasped behind his back.

'Go on,' Murik encouraged him. The two men might have been discussing new staffing arrangements at a respectable City company.

'If you want Franco removed,' Bond continued politely, 'to – ah – protect your little secret and to save on expenses why should I suppose you'll not have Caber and his men similarly dispose of me as soon as I've done the job? And why not anyway simply put something in Franco's nightcap and get Caber to dump him in the loch?'

Murik stopped in mid-stride and turned to beam at Bond.

'Very good, Mr Bond. You show yourself to be the man of wits I'd hoped for. You are right to question my trustworthiness. It would be all too easy for me to arrange matters as you prognosticate. Except, of course, your last suggestion. I would not wish Franco's remains to be discovered on my doorstep.'

Murik said this in a tone of mild parental shock. They resumed strolling back to the stairs.

'As to your own wellbeing,' Murik continued, 'it is by no means assured by my proposal. One false move would certainly bring about Caber's longed-for revenge. He is a savage man, Mr Bond, but I can control him. All the same, I should point out that neither could you be sure, had you declined my offer, that I would not be able to make your future life -or death -very unpleasant. The choice remains yours. Even now you can walk out of here freely, without a penny, and spend every minute of the days to come wondering where and when I might catch up with you. No one would believe the cock-and-bull story you might think of imparting to the police, or anyone else. So you have only my word for good faith. But remember, much greater risks lie on my side of the contract.'

'You mean,' Bond interjected, 'that you are gambling on my not taking up with Franco at the last minute, instead of killing him, so as to aid him in collecting a much larger sum even than the generous fee you have suggested for me?'

'Precisely ' Murik flicked the switch and the vault was once again plunged in gloom. They mounted the stairs in silence.

THE NAMES of the six nuclear power stations were in the forefront of Bond's mind for the rest of the evening, running like a looped tape in his head. His knowledge of nuclear power, and the location of reactors throughout the world, was sketchy; though, like his colleagues, he had done a short course on the security of such power plants.

Indian Point Unit Three was somewhere near New York City – he knew that because of a remark made during a seminar. A serious accident at any of the three Indian Point plants could cause grave problems in New York itself. It was the same with San Onofre One, situated a hundred miles or so from Los Angeles. There had been criticism of the siting of that plant so near a possible off-shoot of the San Andreas fault, he recalled.

Heysham One was in Lancashire, near the coast, and only recently operational. Saint-Laurent-des-Eaux Two, in France, he knew was in the Orleans area. As for the East and West German reactors – Nord Two-Two, and Esenshamm – Bond had no clues.

At least he had the names, and the knowledge that they were subject to terrorist squad takeover on Thursday. Small squads in the control rooms, the Laird had said. Get out, Bond's experience told him. Get the information to M and leave the rest to the experts. Sir Richard Duggan's boys from M.I.5 almost certainly had Murik Castle under surveillance, and it would not take long for troops to move in. If they were on the ball, Franco would already be in the F.B.I.'s sights in the United States. It should not take much to pull him; and if part of Meltdown was already under way, strict security at the target points would mop up the suicide squads. Bond did not have time to start thinking of the delicate intricacies of Murik's plan. Already there was enough on his mind, and it was essential for him to appear completely relaxed in front of Murik, Mary-Jane Mashkin and Lavender Peacock. The old adage about the best form of defence being attack might not be either tactically or strategically sound on a battlefield, but here, round the Laird of Murcaldy's dinner table, Bond knew it was his only salvation. He drew the talk around to his favourite subject of golf, and took over the conversation, launching into a long and amusing account of a game he had recently played. It was, in fact, a highly embellished description of a round with Bill Tanner, and Bond felt it was perfectly within the interests of the Service to slander M's Chief-of-Staff outrageously. Even Murik appeared to be amused by the long tale, and Bond was so caught up in the telling that he had to pull himself from the half-fantasy when the ladies withdrew, coming down to earth as he faced Anton Murik alone over the table. Little passed between the two men except an explicit warning from the Laird, who obviously felt he had already told Bond too much about his plans. As they finally rose, he placed a hand on Bond's arm and said, 'Stay alert,' the note of command clear in his voice. 'We shall probably be leaving here in a day or two, and I shall want you on hand all the time before you go out and earn your money. You understand?' Bond thought of the old English word wæloga – one that breaks faith – and knew that, if Murik was going to break faith with desperate men like Franco's terrorists, there would be little likelihood, had Bond really been a contract mercenary, of any money coming his way. Franco's death would undoubtedly be followed quickly by Bond's own demise, whatever Murik said about his good intentions.

As he said goodnight to Murik and the ladies, Bond took heart from Lavender's quick, conspiratorial look, guessing that she would come to his room as soon as the castle was quiet. Back in the East Guest Room, Bond heard the tell-tale thud as the electronic lock went on after the door was closed. Murik was not a man to take chances: great care would be required once Lavender arrived. He now moved with speed, packing only the essential hardware and clothes into the larger case, then laying out other necessary items on the bed: the fake Dunhill, the pen alarm – which he would use to put M on alert once he was clear of the immediate vicinity of Murik Castle – and a small flat object that looked like a television remote control. This last he placed next to the car keys. When the moment came, speed would be essential. He wished now that there had been the opportunity to smuggle the Browning into the castle. He would have felt a small edge of confidence in being armed, for in the clear light of logic he should trust no person in this place, not even Lavender Peacock. But, as far as M was concerned, O07's job was complete-the basic information was to hand and ready to be reported. Maybe the Saab would have to run some kind of gauntlet, but if his luck held and Lavender really was the girl he thought, it would only be a matter of hours before M would have a special unit-maybe the SAS-smashing their way into the castle. Last of all, Bond laid out a pair of dark slacks and a black roll-neck sweater, together with the dullest-coloured pair of moccasins he possessed. Then, after placing the three steel ball-bearings, filched from Murik's control room, near the door, he showered, changed into the dark clothing, stretched out on the Sleepcentre, and lit a cigarette. Near his right hand lay the last piece of equipment, a wide strip of thick plastic, one of many odds and ends, screwdrivers, wires and such, provided by Q'ute. Time passed slowly, and Bond occupied himself by working on the remaining pieces of the Meltdown puzzle should he not get through, it would be best to have some operational diagram in his head.