"Would you trust him? Really trust him, when the chips are down, as they say?" She gnawed her upper lip. "Only in a real emergency.
Nothing against him. He can't stand St. John-Finnes or Dazzle.
He's been looking for a different job. Says this place is too claustrophobic for him."
"I expect it'll be even more claustrophobic soon,' Bond said. "I'd say you, Peter and myself are destined for oblivion - particularly you and Peter. Anybody who isn't completely in their confidence." Once more he fell silent, his mind slicing through every morsel of information. Jay Autem Holy had indicated that SPECTRE'S current ploy was destined to change history. Afterwards, they would not want anybody around who could name names or draw faces.
Certainly not in the immediate wake of whatever they planned.
"My car,' he snapped suddenly.
"The Bentley? Yes?"
"You took my gear from the boot. How?"
"It was just before the present crowd arrived. I had been through the kitchens and spotted a whole lot of food being loaded into the two big deep freezes. I also heard Old Bald Eagle on the telephone. I knew they were bringing you back. What did happen by the way? They said you were in hospital Bond brusquely told her to get on with it.
She knew the car had been driven back and put into the garage, and she wondered about the micro and drives he had used in the hotel. The Bentley's keys were left in a security cabinet where they kept all the car keys. She had been in and out of that one since she first arrived - and she chose her moment.
"It was a risk, but I only had the keys out for five minutes.
Everyone was busy, so I took the keys, unloaded the boot, and stashed the stuff in the garage. It's not really safe, but it seemed to be the only way. Bad enough doing that, and far too risky to attempt getting it any further away.
"And the car itself? Have they done anything with it?
Gone over it?" She gave her angled negative head shake. "No time.
Not enough troops either. Everyone's been up to their eyes here."
"The keys?"
"Jason will have them."
"And it's still there? In the garage?"
"Far as I know. Why?"
"Can we. .
"Forget it, James. There's no way we can drive out of here in one piece."
"I hope to be going officially. But if they haven't messed about with it, I wouldn't mind spending fifteen minutes in that car now. Possible?"
"The keys? How? Lord, I don't.
"Don't worry about keys. Just tell me, Cindy, can we get into the garage?"
"Well, I can. She explained that her room had a window looking out on the garage roof. "You just drop down, and there's a skylight. Opens upwards. No problem."
"And security?"
"Damn. Yes, they've got a couple of young guys out front." She explained the layout. The garage itself held four cars, and was, in effect, an extension to the north end of the house. Her room was on the corner, just above the flat roof, one window looking down on the garage, two more to the front.
"And these guards? They're out front? Specifically watching the garage?"
"Just general duties. Keeping an eye on the north end.
If we could Wait a minute. If my curtains aren't drawn they can see straight up into my room. I caught one lot at it last night. They just move a shade further down the drive and they have a good view.
How would it be if I gave them a peep show?" Bond smiled for the first time. "Well, I'd appreciate it.
Cindy leaned back on the bed. "You, James, you male chauvinist pig, have the opportunity to appreciate it any time you want. That's an offer."
"I'd love to take you up on it, Cindy. But we have work to do. Let's see how good they've been with my luggage.
He went over to the weekend case and dumped it on the bed beside the girl, then knelt to examine the locks.
After a few seconds he nodded and took out the black gunmetal pen clipped inside his pullover, unscrewing the wrong end to reveal a tiny set of miniature screwdriver heads. These were threaded at their blunt ends, the threads matching a small hole in the pen's cap.
No traveller should be without one,' Bond said. He smiled and selected one of the drivers, screwing it into place.
Carefully he began to remove the tiny screws around the right lock of his case. They turned easily, the lock coming off in one piece to reveal a small oblong cavity containing one spare set of keys for the Mulsanne Turbo, which he slipped into his pocket before replacing the lock and putting away the miniature tool kit.
The plans for Cindy's diversion and Bond's crawl from her window were quickly arranged.
"The diversion's no problem,' she said, lowering her eyelids.
"I've got exceptional quality tart's stuff on under the skirt." She gave a little pout. "I thought I might even turn you on.
She described her room, suggesting that she should enter in the dark, open the side window and pull those curtains before switching the light on. "I'll be able to see exactly where the guards have placed themselves. You'll have to crawl to the side window on your belly." "How long can you . . . well, tantalise them?" If she performed the full act, Cindy said, putting on a throaty voice, she could keep them more or less happy for about half an hour. "To be on the safe side, I guess you d better reckon on ten minutes, give or take five.
He gave her a look usually reserved for the more cheeky jumper and pearls set at the Regent's Park Headquarters, checked the ASP, and said the sooner they got on with it the better. Bond knew that, if Holy's men hadn't yet tampered with the car, it would certainly be given a going over before they let him out - if they let him out.
Nobody appeared to be stirring in the house. While tiptoeing across the landing, they saw men still lounging in the hall, but the rest was quiet, and the corridor leading to Cindy's room at the far end of the house was in darkness. Her smooth palm touched his, their fingers interlocking for a moment as she guided him towards her door.
She was young, supple, very attractive and obviously available to him at least. For a second he wondered, not for the first time, how genuine she was. But the chance to doubt had long since passed. There was nobody else to trust.
Cindy opened her door, whispering, "Okay, down boy." He dropped on to his stomach, beginning to wriggle his way across the floor. Cindy was humming to herself and interspersing the low, tuneful, bluesy sound with soft comments.
"Nobody at the side m closing the curtains okay, going to the front windows . . . Yes they're down there . . . Right, James, get cracking, I'm putting the lights on . . ." And on they flooded, with Bond halfway across the floor, moving fast towards the window, where the curtains billowed and sighed like a sail.
As he reached it, he saw her out of the corner of his eye, standing near the far front window, hands to her shirt, swaying slightly as she sang softly: He shakes my ashes, freezes my griddle, Churns my butter, stokes my pillow My man is such a handyman He threads my needle, gleans my wheat, Heats my heater, chops my meat, My man is such a handyman.
The last words were barely distinguishable to Bond, who was already out of the window, dropping silently on to the garage roof. He had a copy of "Queen' Victoria Spivey's Handman, recorded in the 1920s, so he knew what that was all about.
Flat against the root, his body pressing down as if to merge with the lead surface, Bond lay silent, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Then he froze, hearing first the sound of feet on gravel, then the voices. There were, as Cindy had said, two of them, speaking in heavily accented English. One made a hushing sound.
"What?"
"The roof. Didn't you hear it?"
"What?"
"Sounded like someone on the garage roof.
Bond willed his body into the flat surface, pressing down, his head turned away, pulses thudding in his ears.