Marquis sat back and looked at Bond.
Bond frowned. “It’s an extremely ambitious schedule.”
Marquis replied, “I agree. I’m not saying it will be a picnic. We’ll have to push ourselves to the limit, but we can do it.”
There was that word again, Bond thought.
“We will do it,” Marquis continued. “I’ve been asked to get us up the mountain in the safest but quickest amount of time possible. I aim to do that. This schedule gives us just a little over a month. The weather will be unpredictable toward the end of May. We’re sure to encounter storms as it is, being that near the monsoon season. We have to race against time.”
Bond had no choice but to go along with the plan. Nevertheless, he foresaw possible personality conflicts with the expedition leader. M looked at Bond. “Well, Double-O Seven?”
“As he said, it won’t be easy. But I think I’m up to it, ma’am.”
“Fine. Moneypenny will draw up the details for you to attend the training sessions. Thank you, gentlemen. That will be all, Group Captain.”
Marquis started to get up, then asked, “So, Bond, do you think this Chinaman, Lee Ming—or whoever he is—still has the specification?”
“We have every indication that he does,” Bond replied. “Where would he have hidden it?” Marquis asked. “Do you know?”
“That’s classified,” M said. “Even to you. I’m sorry.”
Marquis nodded and said, “Of course. I meant only that if it had been placed somewhere in his clothing or hand luggage, the crash could very well have—”
“We know exactly where the formula is hidden,” M repeated. “Let Double-O Seven handle that end of things. You just get him up and down that mountain in one piece, all right?”
Marquis stood and bowed slightly. “Yes, ma’am.” He turned to Bond and said, “We’ll see you tomorrow, eh, Bond? Bright and early?
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Bond said dryly.
The drive in the DB5 was extremely pleasant. It was a beautiful April day without a cloud in the sky. Bond almost wished he were driving a convertible, but he could never own one. They were enjoyable as a novelty every once in a while, but Bond preferred hardtops.
Church Crookham is a quiet village not far, coincidentally, from Fleet, and is the home of the 1st Battalion of the Royal Gurkha Rifles. Bond had never known any Gurkhas personally, but he had a great deal of respect for them. When M had mentioned that he would be working with a partner, Bond had momentarily stiffened. He relaxed when she told him that his companion would be a Gurkha. Bond was intrigued with the prospect of working with a member of what he considered to be the world’s fiercest and bravest fighting force.
Made up of hardy hillmen from Nepal, the Gurkhas have been a part of British military history since the Anglo-Nepali conflict of 1814. Bond thought wryly of the British army at that time. He admired the tenacity with which his country had attempted to expand the empire. Britain, already in control of India and hoping to extend the border, pushed northward into Nepal. They were met with such determined, independent, and resourceful soldiers, many not more than five feet four inches tall, the British army was surprised and impressed. Britain eventually won the war, but a friendly, long-lasting relationship was created with the Nepalese government. It was agreed that the British army could recruit soldiers, and being selected became an honor to the Nepalese people. The pay a Gurkha received from the British army was considerable when compared to that of his countrymen, and he could look after his entire family with it.
The Gurkhas were later incorporated into the Indian Army, and when India became independent after the Second World War, the Gurkhas were split between the two countries. Several regiments remained in the Indian Army. Britain retained four—the 2, 6, 7, and 10 Gurkha Rifles. In July 1994, due to “options for change,” the regiments were amalgamated into one regiment—the Royal Gurkha Rifles, consisting of two battalions, the I RGR based in the UK and the 2 RGR based in Brunei. The Gurkhas stationed in England were originally the 2 and 6 Gurkha Rifles.
As he had reviewed this history before driving out from London, Bond couldn’t help but visualize the stereotypical Gurkha: a short, stocky man with legs the size of tree trunks, running through the jungle after an enemy, wearing the traditional Nepalese topi, a white cotton cap that was decorated with colored designs (although in battle they would wear a camouflaged jungle hat or helmet) and waving the deadly khukri knife. They were known to behead their opponents during hand-to-hand combat. Such was their fierce reputation that during the Falklands conflict, Argentine forces supposedly fled when they heard that the Gurkhas were coming. “Ayo Gurkhali!”—the famous Gurkha war cry meaning “The Gurkhas are upon you!”—was intended to strike terror in the heart of the enemy.
Bond pulled into the compound after showing his credentials to the sentry, then drove past the barracks, which were painted black with white trim. When he presented himself at the officers’ mess, he was greeted by a tall young Englishman in civilian clothes.
“Mr. Bond?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m Captain Alexander Howard.” They shook hands briefly. “Come this way”
He led Bond into a magnificent room that could have served as a museum for the entire history of the Royal Gurkha Rifles. The lounge was decorated with a blend of British colonialism and Nepalese culture. Along with the more westernized brown vinyl-covered chairs and green carpet, there were real ivory tusks mounted on a non-working black wooden fireplace with a grand carving of the Hindu god Ganesh in the front. A tiger skin covered the carpet, and there were silver trophies and ornaments all over the room. Bond took a moment to admire the famous paintings portraying the Battle for Sari Bair, Gallipoli, August 9, 1915, and the Battle of Kandahar on September 1, 1880. A portrait of Prince Charles, who serves as colonel in chief of the regiment, hung over an impressive display of khukris medals, and awards. A painting of Field Marshal the Viscount Slim the most famous Gurkha officer, was also on display. Bond greatly admired his book about the Gurkhas’ exploits during World War II, which is now required reading at Sandhurst.
Captain Howard said, “Have a seat and Sergeant Chandra will be with you soon.”
“I thought his name was Gurung,” Bond said.
“The Nepalese automatically adopt their tribal name at birth, like you and I would adopt our parents’ surname. Because there are only a handful of the main tribes, there are an awful lot of people with the same surname,” Howard said. “Hence, we have several men whose last name is Gurung. A lot of Gurkhas are Gurungs. They’re mostly either Gurungs or Magars, from the western part of Nepal, and there are subtribes within those. There are a few from the eastern tribes, the Rais and Limbus. We refer to the men around here either by their first names or by their numbers. It’s much less formal here than in other regiments.”
“I see.”
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“Vodka martini, please.”
Howard smiled with approval. “Excellent choice.” He moved to fetch the drink, but Bond stopped him.
“Could you please shake it? Don’t stir it.”
Howard looked at Bond curiously, then said, “Yes, sir.” He left Bond alone in the room that contained so much history: monuments and memorials to the ghosts of foreign men who had died for Britain, as well as the proudly displayed commendations and trophies for those who had survived.
The captain returned with the drink and said, “I understand that what you have to discuss with the sergeant is classified, so I will take my leave.”