Instantly the slow motion ended and the tempo raced.
The two bullets lifted Bogdan off his feet, popping his arms into the air as though he were some grotesque jack-in-the-box. The fighting iron flew back and Bogdan’s body, shedding blood over Bond, fell against the door of the temple.
The pain shrieked back into Bond’s left arm and he heard a quick double crack and thump. Stone chipped off the pillar as the other ‘Robinson’ fired from the square.
Bond doubled up with pain, retching, his vision blurring. He almost keeled over, then saw the shape of the second Luger on the steps. He forced himself to turn, his gun, with two rounds still in the magazine, clutched in his right hand. Turning, he found himself losing his balance, reeling like a drunk with the shock and agony. A voice seemed to whisper near to his ear, ‘Get him. Take him out, now.’ Automatically, he squeezed the trigger, aware that the weapon was up and his right arm straight. Two shots at a ghost, he thought. Drop the gun and pick up the other one. He went through the routine as in reflex, acting by numbers. Just as he ducked down another bullet whined over his head. His hand caught the butt of the Luger, but he couldn’t straighten up.
He dropped on to one knee and raising his head, saw the other man standing over him taking careful aim. He was saying something in Russian and the Luger was huge in Bond’s vision.
Then the explosion came and what Bond imagined was his own last cry echoed around the pillared entrance to the Temple of the Supreme Emperor of the Dark Heaven.
22
DEATH OF A DOUBLE
If you are dead, Bond reasoned, you should not feel pain. His last memory was of the ‘Robinson’ standing a couple of feet away from him with the Luger pointing at his head, ready for the coup de grâce, then the dull explosion. I saw, I heard, I must be dead. But he could sense the waves of nausea and the stunning pain in his left arm. He knew that he could move, that his eyelids were moving. He heard a voice calling to him.
‘Mr Bond? Mr Bond? Are you okay, Mr Bond?’
He allowed his eyes to open fully. The sheer blackness was giving way to the first light of day. He was lying on his side and into his vision swam the soles of a pair of black trainers and a grey-black hump behind him, which he knew was a body. Beside him he saw toes of another pair of trainers. He turned his head, his eyes travelling upwards from the shoes.
‘Are you okay, Mr Bond?’
From this angle he could not see the face properly. The figure went down on one knee.
‘I think we should get out of here pretty damn chop-chop,’ said the dark-haired Chinese boy, smiling. ‘You remember me, Mr Bond? Richard Han. Swift’s man. Good thing I followed you. Mr Swift say that if anything happen, you might need much help, never mind. He said you would be here, Cheung Chau Island. Also I should watch your back.’
‘You killed the “Robinson”?’ Apart from the excruciating pain in his left arm, Bond felt distinctly better.
‘That his name? Robinson? Okay, yes, I kill him. You killed man with fighting iron. I shot this one.’ Han held a very large Colt .45 in his right hand. ‘It was correct that I kill him?’
‘Too damn right it was correct. Hell!’
Bond squirmed, shifting his head to squint down at his left wrist. The Rolex said five-fifteen. Forty-five minutes, or near enough, before Chernov would begin on the others. Shakily he pulled himself upwards, testing his weight gingerly. All seemed well except for the arm.
‘Give me that gun – the one on the ground.’
Han reached out for the Luger.
‘There should be another one,’ said Bond, peering into the grey light. His opponent’s weapon lay to one side of the body. Han picked it up.
‘Quickly,’ Bond urged him. ‘Take out the magazines and put all the cartridges into one. Okay?’
‘It’s okay. Mr Swift taught me much about guns. Said I was good shot.’
‘I agree with him. Look, Han, you know the house to the north of Tung Wan Bay? The house where they kept me?’
‘No,’ the boy said blankly. ‘Swift say you will be here. I watch your back. So, I come here and nobody seen you. I stick around, then late I see these men behaving like they were looking for butterflies in the dark. Very strange. I think, Richard follow these, they are up to no good.’
He would have gone on, but Bond stopped him. ‘Listen, Han, there is this house . . .’ He explained exactly where it was. ‘Get the police. Tell them it is a security matter . . .’
‘Swift give me a police number Hong Kong. He said it was Special Police.’
‘Special Branch?’
‘Yes. I am stupid. I think first it is some kind magic root. Then he explain.’
‘Okay. You can find a telephone on this island?’
‘My father’s fourth sister lives here. Has small shop with telephone. I shall wake her.’
‘Ring your number, but tell him to get local police to that house pretty damned fast, chop-chop. Okay?’
‘They be there very fast. You going?’
Bond took a deep breath. ‘While I’ve got the strength I’m going, yes. You get police there. Tell them to hold everyone.’ Han was already on his way, so Bond had to shout after him, ‘Tell them the people at the house are armed. They’re very dangerous.’
‘Okay. I tell them, heya?’
Han turned, one arm raised. Then, in the first light of dawn, the scene turned to one of carnage. There were two heavy thumps and Richard Han’s head burst open, spraying a mist of blood high into the air. The body ran three . . . four more steps before it hit the ground.
There was the sudden rattle of a machine pistol. Bullets were chipping and smashing into the Temple Wall around Bond. He reacted automatically, governed by his reflexes and training. The muzzle flash had been quite near, to his right. Expecting another burst of fire any second, Bond wheeled, loosing off two rounds in the direction of the flash. There was a hideous scream, followed by the crash of metal on stone and the noise of a body falling.
Bond dropped on to one knee, waiting, silent and still, straining to pick up any other noises, but only the moans continued. Slowly he raised his right hand, conscious again of the acute pain in his other arm. He gritted his teeth, listening. The moaning had stopped, so once more he rose, and took a pace forward. But he was stopped dead in his tracks by the familiar voice.
‘Move one more muscle and I’ll blow your head off, Bond. Now drop the gun.’
She was very close indeed, to his right.
‘I said drop the gun!’ The order was sharp, commanding.
Bond opened his fingers and heard the Luger hit the steps just as Heather Dare – or Irma Wagen – stepped from the shadows.
‘So?’ Bond breathed, feeling the horror of her deception wash over him.
‘Yes. So. I’m sorry, James, but you didn’t really think the General was going to take any more chances? You did very well. I didn’t think you’d be able to get the better of those men. But Chernov was worried. He seemed to sense the possibility.’
‘Bully for Kolya Chernov.’