Bond found himself on a ramp leading to the platform where the BMW was parked. He removed the remote control device from his pocket and pressed buttons. The BMW roared into life, pulled out from behind the billboard, and drove toward him, driverless. He rushed to meet it as the second chopper followed, slicing up the walkway behind him. He jumped into the passenger’s seat just as the helicopter veered away.
Now feeling that he had something of a chance, Bond activated the missiles as he watched the helicopter pass behind the factory. Then there was a horrible screeching sound as the car lurched. The first helicopter’s blades ripped through the roof of the BMW, cutting it in half lengthwise.
‘You’ll answer to Q for that,’ he muttered, then pressed the button to fire a missile. A grille on the side of the car flipped open and a foot-long heat-seeking missile slid out on a track. The missile’s fins unfolded and the weapon shot off toward the target.
It was a direct hit. The first helicopter exploded and pieces of it fell onto the walkway. Due to the broken gas pipes, the entire area was set ablaze.
Zukovsky and Christmas went out from back of the factory, only to see the second chopper drop four armed men onto a nearby walkway. They began to fire at Zukovsky’s guards as they ran toward the factory. Zukovsky sheltered Christmas and returned fire.
‘Tell me what you know!’ Christmas yelled.
‘Later, woman!’ he shouted back. ‘I’m fighting for capitalism!’
Bond jumped out of the disabled vehicle and ran back toward the factory. He could see that the others were under attack. The second helicopter was hot on his tail, though, and the men inside opened fire. Bond zigzagged along the walkway, intent on depriving them of an easy target. He managed to outrun the gunfire but a grenade exploded ahead of him, destroying the walkway and hurling him into the water.
The armed men successfully took out Zukovsky’s guards and moved even closer to the couple.
‘Back! Now! Move!’ Zukovsky shouted, pushing Christmas back into the factory.
Two of the assailants followed them. The Bull was inside, blasting away with his own gun. The bullets cut the air over Zukovsky’s head as he held Christmas down behind a table. In the heat of the battle, neither of them noticed that none of the gunfire was being directed at The Bull.
Suddenly, Bond burst through a trap door in the floor between them and the gunmen. Before the two men realised what had happened, Bond shot them.
The place was on fire now. ‘Get out of here!’ he shouted to his friends. He saw a third gunman lurking in the basement below and shot him as Zukovsky pulled Christmas off the floor and ran outside.
The pair made it to the Rolls and jumped in. Zukovksy rammed the car into reverse, just as the helicopter sliced the boardwalk to smithereens behind him. Christmas screamed. Zukovsky was unable to stop. The car flew backwards into the water.
Inside the burning factory, Bond had engaged the remaining gunmen in a furious gunfight. He had to stop once to replace his magazine, and this pause in the action must have given the assailants a false sense of victory. One of them rose from his cover to see if Bond was dead. Bond shot him between the eyes. A barrage of bullets came from the last man, but Bond rolled over a burning ember and got the man in his sight. Two bullets knocked him into oblivion. Before leaving the disaster area, Bond noticed a flare gun mounted on the wall. He grabbed it, then ran outside.
He looked around feverishly for Christmas and Zukovsky and finally heard them splashing in the water. They were swimming to safety, but the helicopter was still hovering above them and shooting. Bond jumped down to a boardwalk at water level and cranked open a gas jet. He stood on the platform and waved at the pilot, daring the helicopter to come at him. He waited for the chopper to line up over the gas jet, then he fired the flare gun. The gas ignited and shot up to engulf the helicopter in an immense fireball. Debris from the aircraft flew everywhere.
Zukovsky pulled himself back onto a walkway and headed for the factory, but two free-flying saw blades from the chopper were sailing right at him. He dived to the side, directly into a caviar pit. The saws stuck into the cabin behind him.
The caviar pit was like quicksand. Zukovsky slowly started to sink, trying to cling to a crate blown in there by the explosion.
Bond and Christmas appeared, soaking wet. ‘Now . . . where were we?’ Bond asked.
Zukovsky was at the point of being swallowed by the caviar, clawing at the crate. ‘A rope! Please!’
‘No. The truth,’ Bond said, coldly. ‘Those blades were meant for you, Valentin. What do you know that she wants you dead for?’
‘I’m drowning! Please!’
Bond turned to Christmas. ‘What’s the atomic weight of caviar?’
‘Probably close to cesium ... He seems to have negative buoyancy,’ she replied.
‘So he will drown.’
‘Sooner, rather than later.’
‘Stop it!’ Zukovsky cried. ‘Get me out of here!’
‘Too bad we don’t have any champagne,’ Bond said.
‘Or sour cream,’ she said, stifling a giggle.
‘All right! All right!’ the Russian yelled. ‘Sometimes I buy machinery for her. Russian stuff.’
‘And the payoff on the tables?’
‘A special job. My nephew’s in the Navy. He’s smuggling some equipment for her.’
‘Where?’
‘No! Get me out!’
‘Not yet. What’s the destination?’
‘This is a family matter!’ Zukovsky pleaded. ‘If Nikolai is in danger, we do it my way, or nothing! ’
Bond didn’t move. The Russian sank further.
‘Okay!’ he yelled. ‘Istanbul! Now get me out!’
Bond pondered this for a moment; then he grabbed Zukovsky’s cane and slammed one end down in the caviar for him to grab. Some of the stuff splattered on his jacket. He wiped it off with his index finger, then tasted it.
‘Excellent quality, Valentin,’ he said. ‘My compliments.’ The Bull burst into the room, ready to fire his gun. When he saw that it was only the three of them, he relaxed, then helped Bond get Zukovsky out of the pit. Zukovsky plopped down onto the floor, gasping.
‘Now,’ Bond said. ‘Let’s go and find your nephew.’
13 - The Maidens's Tower
It was just after midnight.
Renard stood on a balcony in the Maiden’s Tower, looking out over the Bosphorus with binoculars. Beyond the iron balustrades was one of the most fabulous views in the world. On one side were the still waters of the Golden Horn, and on the other were the dancing waves of the unsheltered Bosphorus. In between were the tumbling roofs, soaring minarets and crouching mosques of the Pera district.
A supertanker had just entered the strait and was chugging along toward a port somewhere on the European side. Beneath its belly, however, hugging the tanker’s shadow, was another vessel that had sneaked into the Bosphorus undetected.
It was a Russian Charlie II class nuclear submarine. Officially designated as an SSGN, a nuclear-guided cruise missile submarine, this class of boat was possibly the oldest of its type still retained by Russia. Compared to newer submarines, it was relatively noisy, but it was known to pack a powerful punch with a battery of eight SS-N-9 Siren antiship missiles and six 533mm torpedo tubes with twelve weapons. Submerged, it could travel at twenty-four knots, powered by a Pressurised Water Reactor, with steam turbines driving one five-bladed screw and 15,000 shaft horsepower.
It was just what Renard was waiting for.
He flipped on the walkie-talkie. When she answered, he said, ‘It’s here.’
‘Right on schedule,’ Elektra answered.
Til make the necessary arrangements with the crew.’