He cursed himself for not having seen through it before. The white raincoat in London – that had worried him at the time, for nobody with even the most elementary training would have worn such a garment on the run. Then there was the offer to share her bed. That too had niggled, particularly when he saw her with Smolin, the two lovebirds.
‘No wonder the General was so well advised of our movements,’ he said aloud, hoping to bring her closer.
‘I led him like a dancer – led you as well, James; just as I managed to hook Smolin into revealing his treachery. We’d better get on with it. My orders are to kill you here, though I thought the precious “Robinsons” would have done the job for me.’
‘How long . . . ?’ Bond began.
‘Have I been KGB? A long time, James. Since my early teens. Cream Cake was blown from the start. When we all had to get out, the orders were to leave Maxim and Dietrich in place. They could have been taken at any point, but Centre thought London might use me once I was in England. They didn’t, as you know, so it was decided to deal with all the others. You were a bonus. Chernov came out of safety just for you, James. You find that flattering?’
‘Very.’
‘On your knees, then. We’ll do it the Lubyanka way. A bullet in the back of the head.’
He took a step forward, as though preparing himself. ‘And the attempt on your life in London was . . . ?’
‘A small charade to help you trust me. Mischa underestimated you, though. He’s been very angry. Now he’ll be pleased.’
She took another step closer to him, and Bond shrugged, the pain again angry, tearing at his arm.
‘I’ll lose my balance if I try to get down. That bastard’s smashed my arm badly.’
‘Then just turn around, slowly.’
She was calmer than he expected, but she was coming even closer, as though drawn towards his voice. He started to turn, his mind racing with the chances of his being able to take her with only one arm. Then, as she stepped in, her right hand holding the pistol high, he moved.
Turn in. Always turn in towards the body but away from the weapon. It was what the experts taught, and anyone foolish enough to get close with a pistol deserved all she got. Bond wheeled right, knowing the position was good as he turned like a ballroom dancer executing a complicated step. Although his reactions were slightly impaired by the injured arm, he got it right. Heather’s gun arm remained rigid for just the necessary length of time. As he came close, her arm and weapon were to the right of his neck. He brought his knee up hard. It was never as effective with a woman, but it still caused a lot of pain. He felt the breath go out of her, and could smell her, feel her body close against his.
As Heather doubled slightly from the impact, Bond’s right hand came up to grasp at her wrist. Even with one arm he could execute a lot of force with the downward pull. She gave a little cry when he broke her arm against his knee. The pistol dropped to the ground and bounced away down the steps.
Bond flicked his knee up again. She was off balance and her spine presented an ideal target. His knee caught her in the small of the back so hard that he actually heard the spine go. Then she fell away, her breath coming in little panting jerks. Although she must by now be unconscious, loud whimpering noises came from her throat.
He should have known it was Heather. She had taken the most prized target, Maxim Smolin. He should have seen it from the start. Bond reached out for the Luger. He did not hesitate. One bullet only, straight to the lovely head. He felt no qualms about it. Death was sudden and any nausea came only from the roaring pain in his left arm.
He walked slowly over to the other body. It was one of the two guards. The man was dead, both bullets having caught him in the chest. He had hoped it would be Mischa.
He looked at his watch again and at the fast-lightening sky. Time was really running out now. He would be lucky to make it. Taking another deep breath, Bond clenched his teeth. It was going to be one hell of a run, and lord knew what he could do when he got to the villa. Yet part of the job was done – the traitor had been found and dealt with. The odds on his saving the others were small, but he had to try.
23
CHINESE TAKEAWAY
He thought his lungs were going to burst with the effort, for he ran faster than he had since leaving the house with the ‘Robinsons’ at his heels. The pain in his lungs, combined with the aching of his thighs and legs, helped to take his mind off the agony of his torn and broken arm. Somehow he had managed to take hold of his left hand and secure the arm inside the overall. In his good right hand he held the Luger.
He forced himself on, scuffing the stones and sending up dust from the road that would take him almost as far as the promontory and the villa. He did not even try to calculate how much time had passed, but knew he would be cutting it very fine. Then, after what seemed an eternity, he reached the crest above the villa and sank to his knees, sliding back from the skyline. Using his right shoulder as a prop, he pulled himself up to peer at the building.
Only a few yards below there was a large brown stain, and the remains of bodies strewn as though some wilful child had dismembered a couple of dolls: the two ‘Robinsons’ he had burned in the night.
Bond caught a movement from the front of the villa. The one guard Heather had left behind, machine pistol at the ready, was crouching near the front wall, watching and alert. Chernov must be edgy, he thought. They would know about the two ‘Robinsons’ he had taken out close to the villa, and now the other two had not returned. There would be itchy fingers down there, though he suspected Chernov would be watching for Heather’s return. The odds had been so heavily stacked against Bond that nobody could have expected him to live.
Chernov would have Mischa inside with him, to help with the ritual killing. It must be very near to the moment of execution now. Slowly and painfully, Bond started to work his way around to the rear of the house, aware of the time bomb ticking away inside the place. He edged downwards and pulled himself to his feet once more. The back of the house was some fifty yards away and he covered the ground quickly, loping somewhat lopsidedly as he had done all the way back from the Pak Tai Temple. Odd, he thought, how your sense of balance went with one arm out of action. He reached the low wall without being spotted and moved silently towards the house.
Suddenly the sound echoed from the other side of the house, the noise he had dreaded from the beginning of his return journey, a terrible piercing scream – female, but like an animal in extreme pain. His mind was lanced by a vivid picture of Ebbie having her mouth forced open, with Chernov wielding a scalpel for the obscene punishment.
At that moment the guard came round the corner of the house to check the rear. The man stopped, his jaw dropping open. The machine pistol came up but before he could fire, Bond’s Luger jumped twice and two bullets crashed into the man’s chest, knocking him down like a skittle. As Bond stepped forward he thought there was movement to his right, at the edge of his vision, but when he turned, the Luger ready, there was nobody there. A trick of the early morning light.
There was a shout from the front of the garden and the sound of running feet, but before anyone reached the angle of the wall, Bond was on top of the guard. He wrenched at the machine pistol, identifying it almost by feel alone as an Uzi. It was the scaled-down version with the stock folded back; he wondered why the KGB were using Israeli weapons.
Mischa was pounding around the corner as Bond lifted the Uzi, one-handed. He gave Chernov’s right-hand man a burst that almost cut him in two. He fired on the run and was at the front of the house almost before he knew it. He yelled at Chernov who stood undecided outside the window, unarmed except for a scalpel, his face pale and shocked.