Chapter Fourteen

Paperclip

"We don't have much much time, James. The Russians will very likely order a strike on this place. The nearest airbase is-"

"How far back, Alec?"

Trevelyan remained unflinching. "Well, I grew up in a drafty old mansion in the highlands of Scottland." He spoke affectedly. "Of course, I don't like to talk about that time. Too many bad memories."

There was an audible frustration on the other side of coms. "Your father killed your mother and himself when you were six. Is that why?"

"Oh no," Trevelyan assured, as he slowly zigzagged through the laboratory floor, eyeing any point from which a sniper might be hiding. The sheer scale of the room gave away most hiding places. The only place to camp would be on the upper scaffolding suspended over the vats, or the control room. Trevelyan looked for the stairs while he talked, his gun peering first around every nook. "I'm not sure where you're getting your information, James. My parents were killed in a climbing accident in the French Alps when I was eleven. What are you planning, Double-O Seven?"

"You're about to die heroically for England, Alec. The stairs are on your next right. Go to them. Leave the gun on the steps."

Trevelyan holstered the Browning inside the late Russian lieutenant's jacket when he spotted the stairs. The landing at the top was hidden from view, and it would make a pleasant surprise at the top, but he was sure now James wasn't finished talking. Bond wanted answers, and there were one or two things Trevelyan needed clearing up. "I grew up with a chip on the shoulder. I thought the world owed me something. I thought I was better than everyone. Better than the women I abused, better than the friends I considered no more than sycophants." His boot found the first rung.

"I told you to leave the gun," the com snapped.

"Then I joined the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserves, and I started believing in something much bigger than myself. I was recruited into the Secret Service. It helped for a while." Trevelyan ignored him, advancing like a father upward to check on his sleeping girls. "It does help for a while, doesn't it, James?"

"Final warning." Trevelyan reached the top. He peered through the suspensions for any sign. Nothing. He pulled out his weapon and let it tumble on the steel grating. Below him, Ourumov began to whistle tunelessly.

"Why, Alec?"

Unarmed, Trevelyan's stride was much more casual. He put his hands in his pockets and walked the plank. He shrugged. "I guess I just grew tired of all the killing. All the vodka martinis in the world could never silence the screams."

"Let me tell you about my life, old friend." The timber on the line was deathly.

Trevelyan stepped into the control box. No one was there. It was a bare little installation, no more than three strides to get across it. There was one window that faced the factory floor. Exposed wires and industrial cords coiled into a control panel that sat awkwardly on top of the tangled web.

"I've worn a mask all of my life." Bond's voice seemed to echo in the room. "I put it on the first time one morning when I was six when I found my parents spawled in each other's arms on the floor of the kitchen in our little boarding house. They looked like they were sleeping on top of a red halo. I don't think I've ever told you this."

"You are going to regret this, James." The cool exterior melted from Trevelyan's side of the conversation. Above the control panel was a big mushroom-shaped button marked in Russian: DUMP. He paid no nevermind, but its position on the wall next to the window and the ostentatious red of it called his attention. Through the window, his vision captured a faint glimmer of recognition. Locked in place along a long stretch of railing that divided observation decks over the vats there was a rack of empty hazard suits. They were full bodied head to toe, white, and billowy like pillows. They were clipped just so that they gave off a distinctly occupied ghostliness. The mask hid only a portion of the face. The calm tried to regain its footing, but it fizzled at the touch.

Bond continued. "I've thought a lot about it through the years, looking over the pictures taken of their bodies." Trevelyan had never seen those pictures and felt the invasion sharply. And Bond went on. "I think father positioned my mother carefully over him before he delivered the coup de grace to himself. He must have known I'd find them, or that they'd make a beautiful picture for the coroner. He made sure none of my mother's defensive wounds were visible."

"I'm going to kill you, James." Trevelyan stepped out the other side of the control box and moved, seemingly purposelessly, to the suits dangling where the air was still.

"From then on, I decided that I would be true only to myself. That I would go to any length to conceal myself. I'd pretend that I didn't know about my father's shame. And when the time was right-"

Trevelyan lunged suddenly at one of the suits and jerked its collar. His face was close enough to fog the visor, but inside the tinted glass, he could see eyes. He ripped the hood off and stared to the inert, gaping expression of Adrik Vasilevsky.

The Walther's silencer pressed hard against the bump in Trevelyan's occipital bone. "I'd show my real face."

Trevelyan smiled and released his hold. "That was quite a lovely rendition of my life," he congratulated. "You give me much more credit than I give you."

"So, is the son still fighting for Russian All-Military Union?" Bond's voice was straining not to elevate. "Or did father dearest make you goose step until it took?"

"I fight for myself, James." His demeanor had chilled to subzero levels. "So, who gave me up?"

Bond did not respond directly. "Your friend, Ourumov, has something to do with it."

Trevelyan understood or thought he did. "Our mutual history. The Lienz Cossacks."

Bond said nothing.

"If it's not too much trouble asking, James, but why is Arkady still alive?" He was still buzzing below, seemingly unaware.

There was a pause, and then. "I have orders to take him alive."

"Why?" It was a perplexed scoff. Trevelyan tried to twist his head, and the silencer dug at the bone. Then he understood. "A defection!"

Double-O Six could sense other agent's shrug behind him. He could also sense him tensing. "Something like that. He's...been asked for. I have my orders."

"Something troubling you, James? Tell me."

"Nevermind. Let's take a walk."

"Because of my father!" Ourumov called suddenly alert and alive. "I'm going to see my father!"

"What?"