The needle. He was the only one to have fired a shot. Almost certainly he had hit - probably killed - one of them. Yet, apart from their natural caution, they had been careful to make sure that he was unharmed. A connection between his visit to Jay Autem Holy and the current situation was probable, though not certain. Take nothing for granted. Wait for revelations. Expect the worst.
Bond lay there, mentally prepared, for the best part of twenty minutes. At last there came footsteps - muffled, as though boots crunched over earth, but the tread had a decidedly military sound.
Bolts were drawn back and the door to Bond's room was unlocked and opened.
He caught a glimpse of sand, low white buildings and two armed men dressed in drab olive uniforms. A third person stepped into the room.
He was the one who had administered the knock-out injection in the Oxfordshire wood. Now he wore uniform - a simple olive drab battledress, smart with no insignia or badges of rank. He had on desert boots and a revolver of high calibre holstered on the right of his webbing belt. A long sheathed knife hung from the belt on the left. His head was covered by a light brown, almost makeshift, kafflyeh held in place by a red band. One of the men outside reached in and closed the door.
"Had a good sleep, Mr. Bond?" The man's smile was almost infectious. As he looked up, Bond remembered his feelings about the eyes.
"I'd rather have been awake."
"You're all right, though? No ill effects?" Bond shook his head.
"Right. My name's Simon." The man was crisp and businesslike, extending a hand which Bond did not take.
"We hold no grudge over our man,' he said after a slight pause.
"You killed him, by the way. But he was being paid to risk his life." He shrugged. "We underestimated you, I fear. My fault. Nobody thought you'd be carrying a gun. After all, you're not in the trade any more. I guessed that, if you were armed, it would be for old time's sake, and nothing as lethal as that thing. It's unfamiliar to us, incidentally. What is it exactly?"
"My name is James Bond, formerly Commander, Royal Navy. Formerly Foreign Service. Now retired." Simon's face creased into a puzzled look for a moment.
"Oh, yes. I see. Name and rank." He gave a one-note laugh.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Commander Bond, but you're not a prisoner of war. When you outran us in that beautiful motor car there was no way to let you know we came as emissaries. In friendship. A possible job."
"You could have shouted. In the wood, you could have shouted, if that was the truth."
"And would you have believed us?" There was silence.
"Quite. No, I think not, Commander Bond. So we had to bring you in, alive and well, using only minimal force." Bond thought for a moment. "I demand to know where I am and who you people are."
"In good time. All in "Where am I?" Bond snapped.
"Erewhon." Simon gave a low chuckle. "We go in for code names, cryptonyms. For safety, security, and our peace of mind - just in case you turn down the job, or even prove to be not quite the man we want.
This place is called Erewhon. Now sir, the Officer Commanding would like a word." Bond slowly got off the bed, reached out and grasped Simon's left wrist, aware of the man's other hand moving swiftly to the revolver butt.
"Commander, I wouldn't advise "Okay, I'm not going to attack you.
I just don't recall having applied for a job. Not with anybody."
"Oh, really? No, I suppose you haven't." There was mocking ingenuousness in Simon's voice. "But you're out of work, Commander Bond. That's true, surely?"
"Yes."
"And, by nature, you're not an idle man. We wanted to - how would you say it? We wanted to put something your way.
Bond eyed the man intently. "Wouldn't it have been more civilised to make your offer by invitation in England instead of this abduction?" "The Officer Commanding Erewhon wishes to talk to you,' Simon said with a winning smile, as if that explained everything.
Bond appeared to think for a moment, then he nodded. "I'll see your O.C. then."
"Good." Simon rapped on the door and one of the men outside opened up. As they stepped out, the two guards took station either side of Bond. He sniffed the air. It was warm, but clear.
Rare. They must be fairly high above sea level. They were also in a small depression, the flat bed of a hollow, surrounded by hills.
On one side the hills were low, a curving double mound, like a woman S breasts, but pitted with rock among the dry, sandy earth.
The rest of the circle was more rugged, crests and peaks, running up several hundred feet, with outcrops of forbidding rock. The sun was high, almost directly above them.
Along the flat sand bottom of the hollow was a series of low white buildings - one long rank with divisions, and another terrace with three shorter ranks at right angles, like a large letter E. Hard under the high ground there were other, similar buildings, though not so regimented.
Simon led them across the five or six hundred yards towards one of these latter blocks.
Smoke drifted up from some of the smaller buildings.
To Bond's left there was a firing range, with a group in uniform preparing to use it. Towards the round-topped hills, the sound of heavy explosions and small arms fire suddenly erupted from a clutter of gutted brick houses, which looked almost European. Figures dashed between these houses as though fighting a street battle.
As he turned at the noise, Bond also caught sight of some kind of bunker dug into the rock towards the top of one of the hills. A defensive position, he thought, almost impossible to attack from the air, though helicopter borne landings presumably would be feasible.
"You like our Erewhon?" Simon asked cheerfully.
"Depends what you do here. You run package tours?"
"Almost." Simon sounded quite amused.
They reached a building about the size of a modest bungalow.
There was a notice, neatly executed, to the right of the entrance.
OFFICER COMMANDING it said in several languages, including Hebrew and Arabic. The front door opened into a small, empty ante-room.
Simon crossed to the one door at the far end, and knocked. A voice called out "Come', and Simon gestured, smartly barking out, "Commander James Bond, sir." With everything that had been going on, and with a myriad of questions unanswered, Bond would not have been shaken to find General Zwingli on the other side of the door, but the identity of the man seated behind the folding table which dominated the large office made him catch his breath with surprise. There was certainly some connection between this man and Zwingli, for the last time Bond had seen him was in the Salles Prive'es at Monte Carlo.
"Come in, Commander Bond. Come in. Welcome to Erewbon,' said Tamil Rahani. "Do sit down. Get the Commander a chair, Simon.
TERROR FOR HIRE
THE ROOM was functionally furnished: the folding table, four chairs and filing cabinet could have been found in the quartermaster's stores of any army in the world.
The furnishings also appeared to reflect the character of Tamil Rahani. From a distance, when Bond had seen him briefly in Monte Carlo, Rahani had looked like any other successful businessman - sleek, well-dressed, needle-sharp and confident. At close quarters, the confidence was certainly there, but that sleekness was clearly superficial. What stood out was a kind of dynamism harnessed, and controlled. It was the air of self-discipline found in most good military leaders, a kind of quiet calm, and behind it an immense, unflinching resolve. Rahani certainly exhibited authority and a firm belief in his own ability.
As Simon brought the chair, and took one for himself, Bond quickly glanced around the office. The walls were lined with maps, charts, large posters displaying the silhouettes of aircraft, ships, tanks and other armoured vehicles. There were also year- and month-planners, their red, green and blue markers the only splashes of colour in the austere room.