‘Drop the cutter and freeze.’
Chernov gave one pitiful shrug, then threw the scalpel into the garden and raised his hands, his shoulders drooping.
Maxim Smolin, Susanne Dietrich and Jungle Baisley were still chained together in the corner, while Ebbie lay strapped to a wide plank set astride three saw horses.
‘My God, you really meant it! You bastard, Chernov, you must be crazy.’
Bond’s voice had risen to an uncontrolled, murderous yell and Chernov backed away. ‘Vengeance is not just the prerogative of the gods,’ said Chernov shakily, although his eyes blazed with a mixture of fury and frustration. ‘One day, James Bond, one day all the ghosts of the old SMERSH will rise and crush you. That will be vengeance.’
Bond rarely felt the desire to inflict pain but in that moment he saw Chernov being hit by three steel darts from the pen gun: one to each eye and one in the throat. But Chernov had to be taken alive.
‘We’ll see about vengeance!’ He nodded. ‘The keys, General. I want those chains undone.’
Chernov hesitated for a second, then his hands moved towards the table and Bond saw the keys lying there.
‘Pick them up gently.’ Bond was under control now. ‘Unlock them.’
Again Chernov hesitated, his eyes flickering to a point behind Bond’s shoulders. No, he thought, you don’t fall for an old trick like that.
‘Just do as I say, Kolya . . .’ he began, then the hairs on the nape of his neck prickled and he turned.
‘If I were you, Jacko, I’d simply be putting your gun down on the table very carefully.’
Norman Murray faced him, having come in quietly through the door, his police issue Walther PPK steady in his right hand.
‘What . . . ?’ began Bond incredulously.
‘Kolya,’ Murray said calmly, ‘I’d leave the keys where they are. Whatever vengeance you’re wanting will have to wait, so, because I’ve a feeling we’re going to get some visitors up here soon enough. I’m sorry I’m so late, but it was a bit of a avoiding my own people and the Brits. Not an easy job.’
Chernov made a ‘Tchah-ing’ sound.
‘Well, when it comes to us getting out safely we’ll have to use your man Bond as collateral, will we not?’
Bond backed away. ‘Norman? What in God’s name . . . ?’
‘Ah, Jacko, the evils of this wicked world. You recall that lovely book of Robert Louis Stevenson, Treasure Island? Grand book that. You remember the bit where young Jim Hawkins meets the castaway, Ben Gunn was his name? Well, auld Ben Gunn tries to explain to Jim how he got started on his iniquitous life of piracy. He says, “It begun with chuck-farthen on the blessed grave-stones” – playing what we’d be after calling shove-ha’penny on the gravestones. Well, I suppose it was like that for me. Now will you put that cannon on the table, Jacko Bond.’
Bond turned his back, carefully placing the Luger near the keys.
‘Now, hands on your head, Jacko.’
‘I’ve got a broken arm.’
‘Well, hand on your head then. You’re a pedantic divil, Jacko.’
By the time Bond turned again, slowly raising his right hand, he had slipped the pen from the breast pocket of the overalls, covering it with his right palm. Two traitors, he thought, and the second one an officer of the Republic of Ireland’s Special Branch. A man who had a special, secret relationship with the British Service over matters of intelligence, who even cooperated with M himself.
‘Good,’ Murray continued. ‘As I was saying, Jacko, it started by playing shove ha’penny on the grave-stones for me, after a fashion; only my game was the horses. The auld, auld joke – slow horses and fast women. The debts and the lady, one night in Dublin, who had me compromised and trussed neat as a turkey at Christmas. I just want you to know it wasn’t a political thing with me, more a matter of money.’
‘Money?’ The disgust showed in Bond’s voice. ‘Money? Then why bother to rescue me from Chernov?’
‘Now that was a bit of cover. None of us ever thinks we’ll blow our cover, do we Jacko? And I was playing it three ways: my own people, you Brits and these fellas. I’m a treble, really, Jacko and I didn’t know the cover was blown until I got you to Dublin airport. So that’s water under the bridge now.’
‘It doesn’t matter, Norm. And don’t tell me not to call you Norm again, because you’re Comrade Norm now.’
‘I suppose you’re right. I don’t know how I’m goin’ to like it in yon country. It’s goin’ to be awful cold there, so it is. But, you see, Jacko, they’re most of them on to me now. Your man M’s on to me for sure, so I’m getting a lift out with Kolya, here.’ He turned towards Chernov. ‘And don’t you think we should be getting a move on, Kolya? The porpoises must be close behind me now. Treading on my tail, so they were, when I left Dublin.’
Chernov nodded gravely. ‘We go as soon as the business is completed.’
During the momentary distraction, Bond was able to twist the two sections of the pen anti-clockwise with the first finger and thumb of his right hand then turn the weapon face forward. His thumb then moved back to the push trigger.
‘Norman!’ he called, swivelling his body so that he was aligned with Murray’s head. He pressed the trigger quickly twice. ‘Sorry, Norman,’ he said as the two steel darts made tiny red pinpoint holes in the Special Branch man’s head, just above the eyes.
‘Jacko!’ The word came as a reflex, for Murray must have been dead as he spoke, pitching forward, the gun dropping from his hand at the instant Bond reached out and retrieved the Luger from the table.
Now it was done. Those who could have caused scandal were dead. Chernov would be a coup. Only the tidying up and some plausible explanations to the Press were needed.
‘Now, Kolya Chernov . . .’ Bond’s voice was not as steady as it might have been, for he had liked Murray, ‘. . . take the keys and unlock these good people.’ He looked at Ebbie. ‘When you’re free, go to the telephone, darling, and dial the number I give you. It belongs to my own Department’s Resident in Hong Kong. You’ll have to cover the General while I speak to him. We must go official on this.’
Chernov began to unlock the shackles and Ebbie went to the telephone. The conversation took no more than three mintues. Meanwhile the others were freed. Jungle and Smolin, using their initiative, secured Chernov with the chains. All the fight seemed to have gone out of him now.
Bond put down the telephone, resting his good hand on the table. There was a light touch on his shoulder and a hand slid down to lie on top of his own.
‘Thank you,’ Ebbie said, her voice breaking. ‘James, I have to thank you so much.’
‘It was nothing,’ he replied.
The pain returned, the dizziness took over, and his legs buckled under him. In a far corner of his mind he welcomed the oblivion.
James Bond came round in a private hospital room. The Service Resident was by his bedside. He was well known to Bond. They had worked together, once in Switzerland and again in Berlin.
It did not take Bond long to realise that his left arm was encased in plaster.
‘It’s broken in two places and there are some torn muscles.’
‘Apart from that,’ said Bond, smiling, ‘how did you enjoy the play Mrs Lincoln?’ It was a very old joke they had shared in the past.
‘M sends congratulations, together with some harsh words about your allowing that girl to travel here with you.’
Bond closed his eyes, feeling very tired. ‘Girls like Ebbie are not easy to stop. Don’t worry, it wasn’t my only mistake.’
‘He wants you back in London. The doctors say you can leave the hospital tomorrow but you’re to stay here for a couple of weeks. Reluctantly our Chief has agreed. The quacks just want to keep an eye on the arm, if you follow me.’