"On the roof? No."
"Move back. Take a look. You know what he said - no second chances." The sound of feet on the gravel again.
"I can't see any "You think we should go and . .
Bond's hand inched towards the ASP.
"There's nobody there. Might have been a cat - Hey, Hans, look at that." The scuffle of feet could be heard moving back off the gravel.
Bond turned his head, and saw the clear silhouettes of The Balloon Game the two guards below, in front of the house. They were close to one another, looking up like a pair of astronomers studying a new planet, eyes fixed on the windows, out of sight to his right.
Carefully he started to move towards the centre of the roof where he knew the skylight lay. Then, suddenly, he dropped flat again as the guards also moved - his own breathing sounding so loud that it must draw them to him. But the two men were now backing away from the house, heads tilted, trying to get a better view of what was happening just inside Cindy's lighted open window.
Again Bond edged forward, going as fast as safety would allow, conscious of each minute slipping away.
Though probably less than a minute, it seemed to take an eternity to reach the skylight, which moved at his first touch. Very gently he slid it back, staring down into the darkness below.
They had made it easier for him by parking the white Mercedes directly underneath. One Swing and he was down, fret on the car's root, head less than a foot below the edge of the skylight.
Crouched there, Bond slipped the ASP from its holster. If they had put a man inside the garage, plans might just have to change. Once more he waited, stock still, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness.
No sound could be heard but the beating of his own heart. The long outline of the Mulsanne could just be made out parked to his right.
He dropped to the floor, padded around the rear of the Mercedes, one hand still grasping the ASP, the other now clutching the keys to the Bentley.
The lock thumped open, and there was that solid, satisfying sound as the catch gave way to his thumb and the heavy door swung back.
The Bentley's interior came alive with light, and he slid into the driving seat, leaving the door open as he checked the connections around the Super 1000 long range telephone, which Communications Control Systems had provided for the electronics wizards at RollsRoyce to wire in. Closing the door, he picked up the handset, letting out a breath of relief as the small pin of red light came on to show the telephone was active. His main fear had been that Holy's men had cut the connections. Now, all he could do was pray that nobody was monitoring the closed waveband.
Quickly he punched out the number, and, before the distant end had time to say "Transworld Exports,' he rasped out, "Predator! Confuse!" hitting the small blue scramble button as he said it, then counting to twenty, waiting for the distant to come up again.
the voice of the Duty Officer at the Regent's Park Headquarters said clearly.
"I say this once only. Predator, emergency . . . and Bond launched into a fast two-minute message which he hoped would be clearly intelligible if Jay Autem Holy really intended to send him out from Endor to steal the United States EPOC frequency within the next few days.
Putting the telephone back into its cradle between the seats, he retrieved the ASP which had rested above the polished wooden dashboard only inches from his hand, and returned it to his holster Now he had to get back to Cindy's room as fast as possible. The thought of the girl slowly stripping, singing to herself was highly erotic in his heightened state of mind, bringing the picture of Percy Proud to him quickly, as though she were very close. A trick of the subconscious he decided, closing the Bentley's door as quietly as its weight allowed and locking the car.
The interior lights remained on for a few seconds, then the garage was once more consigned to darkness. He turned, to head back to the Mercedes, when a sharp double metallic click brought him to a halt.
There was an old game - remembered from his training back in the Second World War - which they still played in the school. You sat in darkness while tapes of noises were run. The object was to identify each noise.
Often they ran the distinctive cocking action of an automatic pistol with the sounds of door handles, toys, even metal snap fastenings. The sharp double click which he heard now came from the far side of the Mercedes, and Bond would know it anywhere. It was that of an automatic pistol being cocked.
He had the ASP in his hand again, like a master conjurer producing a wand from midair. But as the gun came up, a spotlight flashed on and a very familiar voice spoke softly.
"Put that nasty thing away, dear. It's not really worth it, and neither of us wants to get hurt, do we?" - 1(3EPOC BOND COULD SEE him quite clearly, outlined against the lighter colouring of the wall. In a fraction of a second, his brain and body calculated the situation and made a decision.
Normally, with all his training, and the long built-in reflexes, Bond would have taken him out with one shot, probably straight from the hip. But several factors were weighed in an instant and stayed his hand.
The voice was not aggressive, indicating room for negotiation; the words had been plain, simple and to the point - . . . neither of us wants to get hurt, do we?" More important, there was no silencer fitted to the ASP. A shot from either side would bring Holy's people into the garage. Bond reckoned that Peter was as anxious as he was himself to keep the wolves at bay.
"Okay, Peter. What's the score?" As Peter Amadeus came closer, Bond sensed more than saw that the small pistol, just visible, held away from the body, was waving around like a tree in a gale. The precise little man was clearly very nervous.
"The score, Mr. Bond, is that I want out. And as far away from here as possible. I gathered from your conversation that you're thinking of going as well."
"I'm going when I'm told - by your boss.
Does he know you're out, by the way?"
"If the gods happen to be on my side, nobody will notice. If the hue and cry is raised, I just pray they won't come looking here."
"Peter, you won't get out at all unless I go back the way I came pretty damned quickly. Wouldn't it be better for you to stay put?" The pistol sagged in Amadeus's hand, and his voice edged one more note towards hysteria. "I can't, Bond! I can't do it. The place, those people - particularly Finnes - terrify me. I just can't stay in the house any longer!"
"Right,' said Bond soothingly, hoping the young man's voice would not rise too high. "If we can think of a way, would you help? Give evidence if necessary?"
"I've got the best evidence in the world,' he said in a calmer voice. "I've seen the Balloon Game run. I know what it's about, and that's enough to terrify any large size policeman, let alone me."
"What's in it? Tell me."
"It's my only ace. You get me out and I'll give any help you might need. Is that a deal?"
"I can't promise." Bond was acutely aware that time was slipping by. Cindy would not be able to distract the two guards much longer.
He told Peter to put the gun away. "If they're letting me out to do a bit of their dirty work, it's pretty certain they'll go through the Bentley with the finest of toothcombs. You've also got to realise that your absence puts a lot of people at risk."
"I know, but. .
"Okay, it's "~ri,' now. Listen, and listen carefully As quickly as he could, Bond told Amadeus the best way to hide under the other cars in the garage. Then he pressed the keys into the young man's hand. "You use these only after they've played around with the Bentley.
It's a risk. Anything could happen, and I haven't any assurance they'll let me go in my own car. One other thing. If you're found here, you get no help. I completely deny having anything to do with you. Right?" Bond told Amadeus he should hide in the boot after the car had been examined - "For all I know they'll send one of their people with me, armed to the teeth." Then Bond gave him a final instruction should all else fail, or if Bond himself were prevented from going. He patted the little programmer's shoulder, wishing him luck, then climbed back on to the roof of the Mercedes and hauled himself up through the skylight.