Davidov interjected, ‘Miss King, I wouldn’t recommend’
‘Sasha,’ she said, smiling at him indulgently. ‘I know what you would recommend. But I am going to Ruan. They’re my mother’s people. So prepare the jeep.’ She addressed everyone else in the room. ‘And the rest of you — out. Get back to work, while I deal with our mysterious guest.’
Turning her back on Bond, she opened the door and held it for all of the men to file out. Watching this, Bond found himself intrigued by the woman. He liked her style, the easy way she flirted with the foreman yet got her instructions across. She was settling well into her role as boss.
‘M told me she was sending someone,’ she said, closing the door and attempting to maintain the facade.
‘She has great affection for you,’ Bond said.
‘In many ways, she’s like a mother to me.’ She paused, then said, ‘I saw you at my father’s funeral.’
‘Yes. I’m sorry.’
‘Did you ever meet him?’
‘Once. Briefly.’
‘It’s funny . . . You go through an entire day and do not think about it. Then the tiniest thing - a sound, a smell - a stranger’s face — and it all comes rushing back. Have you ever lost a loved one, Mister Bond?’
‘James.’ He decided not to tell the whole truth. ‘I’ve had to give up loved ones.’
He could feel her searching his face, trying to assess him. Bond did his best not to give anything away and pressed on. ‘M sent me because were afraid you may be in danger.’
She laughed scornfully, walked to the map on the wall and said, ‘My father was murdered. I have a duty to fulfill the company’s goals. I’m trying to finish building his oil pipeline - eight hundred miles of it. Through Turkey, bypassing Iraq, Iran and Syria.’ She pointed to the map. ‘To the north, there
are three competing Russian pipelines and those people will do anything to stop me.’ She turned back to him and said, ‘And you - dear Mister Bond - are here to tell me MI6 thinks I might be in danger?’
In the face of her ironic attack. Bond realised that he had to divulge more than he wished. ‘We think it might be an insider.’
Before she could respond, there was a knock at the door. A large, imposing bodyguard popped his head in. His skin was black as coal and he wore his hair in dreadlocks.
‘Excuse me, Miss King, the jeep is ready,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ she said. The man’s eyes went to Bond, then back to Elektra, before he closed the door.
‘Someone close to me?’ she asked. ‘Do you want to interrogate my bodyguard?’
‘His name is Gabor,’ Bond said, referring to the man they had just seen. ‘He’s from Fiji. A warrior — from Bcqa Island. He’s been protecting you since the kidnapping.’
Elektra’s eyes flashed at the mention of the word ‘kidnapping’. The stranger who was James Bond knew too much, and it angered her.
She turned, ready to walk out. ‘Mister Bond, thank you for coming. But I already have a bodyguard —’
Bond grabbed her by the arm. ‘Elektra —’ He pulled the burnt lapel pin from his pocket and showed it to her.
‘That was my father’s . . .’ she said, stunned. Tears welled in her eyes.
‘No. A duplicate. With a receiver inside that set off the bomb. Someone in your organisation switched the real one with this. I’m here to protect you . . . and find out who was responsible.’
She pushed it away from her. ‘My family has relied on MI6 twice. I won’t make that mistake a third time.’
With that, she opened the office door and left the building. Bond followed her outside to a jeep, where Gabor was holding the passenger door open for her. She turned and said, ‘Mister Bond, I am going to finish building this pipeline. For my father, and for myself.' She got in the jeep and looked at a clipboard that was on the dash. ‘And I don’t need your help. I hope you have a pleasant flight home.’
But Bond had already slipped into the driver’s scat. He reached over her lap and pulled the passenger door shut, leaving a befuddled Gabor standing outside the vehicle. Elektra looked at Bond, speechless.
‘I thought I might visit Ruan on my way home,’ Bond said. ‘Buckle up. It’s safer that way.’
The jeep took off before Elektra King could say a word.
They drove through the oil fields, a blighted, petrified forest of iron. She gave the directions, but otherwise didn’t say much. Attempting to break the ice, Bond commented, ‘I see we’ve taken the scenic route.’
Slightly insulted, she asked, ‘Do you know what you’re looking at? There was a time when this was the most coveted spot on earth.’
Bond nodded. ‘Yes. I know. The oil fields here were discovered at the end of the last century. The Soviets seized them in 1919. Hitler wanted them. Stalin and Khrushchev used them to fuel the cold war.’
She was impressed. ‘I see you’ve done your homework. But your treatise lacks passion.’
Bond waited for her to explain.
‘It was my mother’s people who discovered this oil,’ she said. ‘The Bolsheviks slaughtered them for it. And when the Soviet Union fell, this is the legacy they left us. Some say the oil is in my family’s blood. I say our blood is in the oil.’
It wasn’t long before they heard the sound of a helicopter above them. Bond looked up and saw a Eurocopter Dauphin with the King Industries logo on it. She said, ‘It's Gabor and Sasha. I’m sure they just want to keep tabs on me.’
The jeep passed from the derricks into a rock-strewn terrain. It was a moonscape not unlike the rocky deserts of Arizona in the United States, but with Stonehenge-like formations jutting out from the ground. They soon began to pass signs of civilisation. Amongst groupings of curious three-headed fairy chimneys was a row of souvenir stalls.
Soon they were in the village of Ruan itself, which once was a monastic retreat. The most striking points of interest, Bond noted, were the various churches and primitive cliff dwellings. Elektra explained that archaeologists had discovered cave paintings and other ancient artifacts in them.
‘It’s all pre-history, here. Noah's ark supposedly wound up on one of the mountains not far away,’ she said.
They came to a break in the pipe along the road where King Industries had set up a survey camp. The jeep arrived just in time, for the survey crew were cowering behind a four- wheel drive as men threw stones at them from a village carved into the rock. The people were shouting, ready to come out and storm the camp.
Before Bond could stop her, Elektra got out of the jeep and moved to the crowd. The stoning suddenly ceased when the villagers saw her. They knew who she was. Bond watched protectively as she took a few of the leaders aside and spoke quietly to them in their tongue. After a moment, the crowd parted, making way for an Orthodox priest who motioned to her.
‘Come’
She nodded and followed him through the tribesmen to a stunning Byzantine chapel hewn into the rock. Flames illuminated the mosaics and paintings on the walls. Bond stayed in the shadows, allowing Elektra to handle the situation. She was obviously quite capable at being an arbitrator. As she quietly talked with the priest, Bond stepped out and looked around. Davidov’s helicopter had landed nearby, and he and the bodyguard were walking up to the chapel.
Why did he feel so edgy? It was an all-too-familiar feeling, and Bond was experienced enough to know that in this regard his sixth sense was rarely wrong. Someone was watching them.
Davidov and Gabor scanned the area, too.
‘You had a good vantage point up there. See anything?’ Bond asked.
Davidov shook his head ‘No, I think we’re all right.’ He shook his head in admiration. ‘She certainly has a way with the people. Much more so than her father ever had!’