He was almost two thirds of the way down the runway and at a standstill, desperately looking around the cockpit to acclimatise himself with the controls when he felt the plane being rocked violently by another explosion.
Bond pulled down on the flaps lever and saw that the wide extensions to the trailing edge of the wings became fully extended. As they did so, he opened the throttle to full power and moved his feet back, easing off the brakes on the rudder pedals.
The Storch leaped forward, gathering speed, and eating up what was left of the runway. He felt the tail come up as the machine reached the end of the metalled section and bounced over the twenty odd yards of turf, heading straight for the long wide crevasse. Even with flaps fully extended, Bond knew he had not quite made enough speed to lift the Storch into the air. He eased back on the stick and felt the aircraft claw for its natural element. It rolled off the end of the solid ground, hung in midair for a second, before the nose dropped as she stalled and began to lose height, falling into the deep fissure.
He saw the rock face rising on both sides, great boulders and a stream less than two hundred feet below, getting closer with each second. Gently he eased off on the power, tilted the straining aircraft to the left, lifting the nose slightly so that he could gain enough airspeed for the plane’s wings to take over the weight.
It seemed an eternity before he could ease back, and feel the nose come right up, the whole machine stabilising.
Slowly he began to climb from the gorge and turn back over the facility which was now rubble and fire leaping from under the ground.
As he climbed away, Bond thought he saw the dam begin to split and crack, spilling water across the entire valley. It was no time to feel any sentiment. Alec Trevelyan had taken the same risks as anyone else in the Double-O Section. If not for a twist of fate, it could have been himself down there, shot through the head, his body being slowly covered by the water that was now crashing white from the lake.
Flying as low as he dared, Bond began to play tag with the mountains as he steadily made his way back to the area where in a matter of hours a submarine would take him back to England with Operation Cowslip successfully accomplished. On reflection, the one thing that pleased him was the fact that there had been no biological or chemical weapons actually in the complex. If there had been, the idea of blowing the place up was just about as foolish a concept as you could have. So, he presumed, M had already known there was little likelihood of deadly germs or toxic chemicals at the plant.
There was no way he could know that, in less than a decade, Colonel Ourumov would rise from the dead to become a thorn in his side and place him in even greater danger.
High Stakes The south of France, Bond often reflected, was not what it used to be. That coastline which runs from Saint-Tropez to the Italian border, just to the east of Menton, was packed to capacity during the season. The once leisurely Promenade des Anglais in Nice was even more leisurely, but today it was because of the steady, slow-moving stream of traffic - cars and an abundance of tour buses which made it more like Paris in the late afternoon.
Now, in the early summer of 1995, Bond detested the crowds, the traffic and the obvious growth of pollution, not only in the air, but also in the sea itself. There was trouble in what used to be paradise.
At this moment, however, he had risen above it all as he swung the old Aston Martin DB5 into a hairpin bend on the Grand Corniche, the highest of those roads which run parallel to the coast, in the foothills of the Alpes Maritimes. Up on this snake of a road which is perched on the cliff-like outcrop and sometimes even lances through tunnels blasted into the rock itself, you were removed from the snarl of traffic and crowds, yet afforded magnificent views of the sea and coastline.
He had almost forgotten what a joy it was to drive the Aston Martin which handled like the thoroughbred it was.
Just as much of a thoroughbred as the beautiful Caroline who sat beside him.
Caroline had not struck him as a girl who frightened easily, but he could feel her nervousness as he accelerated along the straight.
When she spoke it was in the cultured accent of a young woman who had been brought up in an atmosphere of relative privilege and had never felt guilty about it.
“James, do we really have to go quite so fast?” She glanced at him and then turned her attention quickly back to the road, for a large truck was rounding the bend taking up more of the Aston Martin’s road than it should.
Bond shifted down to third, and eased the car over so that the two vehicles passed safely with around an inch between them.
“Speed, my dear Caroline, is one of the few true aphrodisiacs left to mankind.” He gave her a wicked smile, the cruel mouth lifting in pleasure while his startlingly ice blue eyes twinkled.
Caroline swallowed. “I prefer soft lights, music and champagne,’ she said bluntly.
“That’s good as well.”
“James, I like a spirited drive as well as the next girl, but..
“Well, what’ve we got here?” His head turned as a bright yellow Ferrari 355 pulled alongside, its driver glancing across with a mocking smile.
The driver had a dark gypsy look about her, and the smile held a hint of challenge that Bond could not ignore as the Ferrari eased ahead of him.
“Who the blazes is that?” Caroline’s hand came up, touching Bond’s arm for a second. It could have been the start of a proprietary gesture, but she pulled the hand back, asking the question again.
“Haven’t a clue.” Bond did not even look at her. “But from here she has good lines, and she’s certainly shaking her tail at us.” He gently accelerated, bringing the car to within a few feet of the Ferrari, following her exact line as she increased speed on another sharp bend, forcing Bond to shift down and tap the brakes, losing a little distance, which he made up quickly on the straight stretch of road ahead. This time he pulled out, piled on the power and shot past the Italian car.
“James, stop this. You’re “Flirting with death?” He tapped the brakes again as they came to another long treacherous bend.
“You’re flirting with something,’ she began, then gasped as the Ferrari shot ahead, its driver not even turning her head, her eyes totally concentrating on the road.
Bond shifted down, floored the accelerator and then shifted up, now close behind the Ferrari. The girl driving the car in front swung out, in a desperate attempt to block the Aston Martin, but Bond, seeing his chance, pulled out and roared past, the edge of the road to his left barely a foot away from a long drop over the rocks.
“James, I said stop this,’ Caroline’s voice cracked with a note of command.
“Only a bit of fun. Where else could you get this kind of thrill, mixed with beautiful scenery and gorgeous weather?”
“James. I was sent out here to do your five-year evaluation. Do you want my report to M.
..” She cut off with an intake of breath as the Ferrari came alongside in an attempt to pass, but Bond was blocking her off, matching speed for speed as the two cars hurtled towards a long right hand bend.
He saw the flashing lights and heard the honking horn of the tour bus a fraction of a second before the Ferrari’s driver. For what seemed like a moment suspended in time, the big bus loomed huge in the Ferrari’s path.
Bond mouthed an expletive, pumping the brakes and shifting down, slowing the Aston Martin safely and just allowing the Ferrari to cross his nose with only a whisper between the car and the bus. “Ladies first” He tried to make it sound amusing, failing miserably.
“Stop this car!” Caroline snapped. “I mean it, James.
Stop this car at once!”
“Whatever you say, Ma’am.” The car slewed straight across the road, burning rubber as it came to a halt sideways on at a tourist overlook. “No problem, Caroline. I have no problem with female authority, and I hope you’ll put that in my evaluation.” His hand moved to the console, one finger flicking a switch.