James Bond - Licence Renewed Part 7

Bond bent down and kissed her on the lips. 'I'm willing to chance it, Dilly. You're...'

She pulled away again. 'I mean it, James.' Then she smiled, putting a hand up to his cheek. 'Not that I ... Well, perhaps I'm being selfish. If something sinister reallyisgoing on here, you're my one hope - if they don't do for you at the Games tomorrow. I'll get you out, and you can bring in the stormtroopers: rescue the damsel in distress.'

'Some damsel,' Bond laughed. 'How do you get out of this room, then? Or are we forced to spend the night together in separate corners?'

Lavender said she would have to stay now - until early morning, at least, when Bond could ring down and get the locks taken off. 'You can say you want to go for a walk or something, when it's light. They'll let you do that because they can keep an eye on you then.' She giggled: 'We could bundle.'

'Aye, we could do that an' all,' Bond laughed, thinking of the old custom of courts.h.i.+p by sharing a bed, fully dressed, with a bolster to separate the couple.

'I'm for that. I'm b.l.o.o.d.y tired as well.' Lavender stood up. 'I hope there's a spare bolster in that mobile gin-palace the Laird's provided you with.'

They made do with pillows, and Bond found it a frustrating experience, being so near and yet so far from this delightful girl. When they were settled, she asked if he really would go for help if anything came to light.

'I'd be happier if you came as well. But I understand your wanting to stay. In the long run you'll be safer. But, yes, if there is something that means taking urgent action, I'll get the h.e.l.l out as quickly as possible - with your help - and be back to bring your precious guardian to book.' Then, trying to make it sound like an afterthought, Bond asked if he was the only stranger in the castle.

She did not hesitate. 'There's someone else here, but he's become a regular visitor. Anton calls him Franco, and we're all under instructions not to talk about him. When you turned up he was pushed out of sight; but I think he's due to leave early in the morning.'

'You think he's got something to do with what's going on?'

'I'm certain of it. He spends a lot of time closeted with Anton when he's here.'

'How does he come and go?'

'In the helicopter. My guardian has a helicopter pad tucked away behind the old part of the castle.'

'Thank you, Dilly. You just hang on and we'll sort it out; and thanks for the warning,' he reached over the pillows and squeezed her hand.

'If we get out of here, James...'

'Yes?'

'Oh, nothing. There might be no need to get out at all. Sleep, eh?'

For a few moments Bond's mind was in a turmoil of anger, the eye of his personal hurricane centred on Anton Murik: cheat, fraud; a man willing, and ruthless enough, either to kill or buy off his ward's lovers. He was like some Victorian millionaire martinet. Slowly Bond pushed down the anger. It was no good becoming emotionally outraged. Coolness would be the only way to deal with Murik, and he would have to establish himself quickly to gain the man's trust and get him to fill in some of the details of Meltdown. Then he must get word out fast to M - who would have his own problems explaining the source of his information to M.I.5 and the Special Branch.

With this in mind, Bond set his own mental alarm, which seldom failed to work, and drifted into restful sleep, waking accurately at five in the morning, just before dawn.

He roused Lavender and asked about the electronic locks. She told him the door locks on rooms in the castle were made up of three cylindrical bolts, activated by an electro-magnet. When the locks went on, the bolts slid into tightly fitting housings. At the end of each housing the bolt completed an electric circuit, activating an 'on' light in the castle's switchboard room.

Would they notice the light flickering? Probably not, Lavender said. They had experienced cases of momentary malfunction: lights going out completely, then coming on again within a few seconds. She had only intended to stay for a minute of whispered warning on the previous night.

'And there's no way in which you can get hold of one of the inside keys - the oblong strips?'

She told him that was impossible. The castle gates were another matter; but the electronic keys were held only by certain people, and there was never any chance with them. Bond nodded. He now had to turn his mind to gaining Murik's confidence.

He went into the bathroom and changed into slacks and a sweats.h.i.+rt, then dialled the castle switchboard to tell his story about the door being jammed. A detached voice asked why he wanted to leave his room, and he said it was his habit to exercise each morning. The voice told him to wait for a moment.

Within a minute they heard the locks fall back. Bond tried the door, and it opened easily. He kissed Lavender on the cheek, and to his surprise she reached up and kissed him quickly but firmly on the mouth. Then she was gone.

Within a few minutes he had checked the room to make certain nothing incriminating was left lying around. With a final cautious look, he left.

The first hint of dawn was touching the sides of the glen as James Bond went along the corridor, down the stairs and out into the castle grounds. As he emerged, the sound of a helicopter came throbbing in from the west. He waited until the machine - a small Bell JetRanger - came up the glen, turned, hovered, and slowly dropped out of sight behind what had once been the keep of the old castle.

Hunching his shoulders, Bond began to jog around the house, heading for the wide lawns where, only last night, he thought he had glimpsed a marquee set up for the day's Games. He wanted to give his body the best possible work-out. He knew all his reserves of stamina would be needed that day.

11.

The slingshot syndrome

Later Bond was to learn that the four acres of beautifully kept gra.s.s which ran down the far side of Murik Castle bordered with shrubs, gravel paths and topiary work - had been known as the Great Lawn for at least two centuries.

Even at this early hour the estate workmen were out and about, putting the finis.h.i.+ng touches to two large marquees, a number of small tents and an oblong arena the size of a small landing strip.

As he jogged past, Bond reflected it would be somewhere in this arena that he would probably face whatever test Anton Murik had devised for him. He used the jogging as an opportunity first to get the lie of the land, and second to settle his mind and concentrate on the numerous problems he had to resolve.

It was obvious, from what he had overheard of the conversation between Murik and Franco the previous night, that they planned at least five terrorist attacks, in Europe and the United States. The two in America, he knew from the names, were connected with nuclear power stations. Logically, the ones in Europe would be similar targets. He also knew that the codename was Meltdown. If his suspicions were correct, Meltdown could mean only one terrifying thing. What intrigued Bond even more was the codename Anton Murik appeared to have adopted for himself - Warlock.

Jogging around the castle, Bond slowly made up his mind. In spite of what he had said to Lavender, there were two clear choices. Either he could get out now and alert M with the information already in his possession, or stay, face the test and glean the full details of the plot. If he could make a good showing, it was possible that Murik would put more trust in him; maybe even reveal everything. That this final course of action was dangerous, Bond did not doubt; yet it was the path he had to take.

Again he thought about Murik's conversation with Franco the night before. Meltdown, the Laird had said, would begin at twelve noon British Summer Time on Thursday. That would be noon in England, one in the afternoon in France and Germany, seven in the morning at the place they called Indian Point Unit Three, and four in the morning at San Onofre Unit One. The operation was to be held strictly to twenty-four hours, and it involved the blackmailing of governments. For the time being he put the other problem, the contract killing by Franco, to one side. In time all things would be made clear.

After eleven circuits Bond returned to his room in the castle. Things now appeared to be stirring throughout the building. The morning noises of a house coming alive.

Bond could smell his own sweat from the harsh exercise, but as he opened the door to his room, his nostrils caught another scent. Somebody else had been there during his absence.

Quickly he checked the cases. They were out of alignment, but the locks showed no sign of having been forced or tampered with in any way. Murik was checking him out - on the spot as well as through his own, possibly dubious, outside sources. Bond made a mental note to look at the Saab at the earliest opportunity - not that anyone would easily be able to penetrate its secrets. The car certainly looked all right as he had jogged past it, parked between Murik's gleaming Rolls and a wicked black B.M.W. Ml, which was probably Mary-Jane Mashkin's speed.

Returning to his toning up, Bond ran through his usual morning press-ups, sit-ups and leg raising. Then he cleared s.p.a.ce in the room and started that magic, dance-like series of elegant, deadly, movements which make up the firstkata - or formal exercises - of Uechi's style of karate: theSanchinwhich you see men and women performing in parks and gardens, during the early morning or evening, in the East. Bond's body moved in a smooth, prearranged pattern as he went twice through the routine. By the time he had completed the physical and mental exercises, Bond's body was soaked in perspiration. He stripped off, padded through to the bathroom and showered - first under scalding water, then with an ice-cold spray.

After a good rub down and shave, he changed into lightweight slacks with a matching beige s.h.i.+rt and cord anorak. He slipped his feet into comfortable Adidas sports shoes. Normally he would have preferred the soft moccasins, but, as a possible confrontation was imminent, Bond thought it best to choose reliable athletic shoes that would not slide or let him down.

He filled the gunmetal cigarette case - making a resolution that he would not smoke until after the test, whatever it might be - and put it in the jacket, together with his Dunhill lighter. The pen alarm was clipped into the inside of the jacket, while Q'ute's version of the Dunhill was deposited in his right-hand trouser pocket.

Quietly he left the room. Pa.s.sing through the hall, Bond heard voices from the dining room. Breakfast was obviously in progress, but first he had to take a quick look at the Saab.

The car was locked. Perhaps they had not got around to running a full check on it. Certainly, once he was inside, he saw that nothing seemed to have been moved or touched. Slipping the keys into the ignition, Bond started the motor. It fired straight away, and he allowed it to idle for a few seconds. When he switched off, Bond found Donal standing on one side of the car, and the man he recognised from last night as Hamish on the other.

Removing the keys, he put on the wheel lock and activated a switch under the dashboard, then climbed out with a curt 'Yes?' to Donal.

'Breakfast is being served in the dining room, Mr Bond.' The butler's face showed no emotion, and Bond a.s.sumed the man had about as much sensitivity as a block of stone. He replied that he was just going in. Not looking at either of the men, Bond locked the driver's door and stalked into the house.

Lavender and Mary-Jane were both seated at the table when he entered the room, where a sideboard almost groaned with dishes reflecting the old-style expensive life lived by the Laird in his castle. Bond by-pa.s.sed the eggs-fried and scrambled - bacon, kippers, kedgeree and other delights; choosing only two pieces of dry toast and a large cup of black coffee. Breakfast was his favourite meal, but on this occasion he knew it would be unwise to fill his stomach.

Both Mary-Jane and Lavender greeted him with seeming pleasure, and Bond had only just seated himself when Anton Murik came in, dressed, as befitted a Scottish laird, in kilt and tweed jacket, his pugnacious face all smiles. He also seemed pleased to see Bond, and the talk was easy, Lavender giving no sign of what had pa.s.sed between them during the night. All three appeared to be excited about the Murcaldy Games, Murik himself particularly bouncy and full of good humour. 'It's my favourite day of the year, Mr Bond. Even tried to get back here for it whenever I was out of the country. Landowners and people like myself have a responsibility to tradition. Traditional values mean anything to you, Mr Bond?'

'Everything.' Bond looked straight into the lava of the eyes. 'I've served my country and abide by its traditions.'

'Even when it lets you down, Mr Bond? Or should I call you Major Bond?' Murik let out a small cackle of laughter.

So the Laird had swallowed the bait: followed up the one clue available - the Saab registration - and got the facts back, as M had arranged. Bond tried to look puzzled.

'We'll talk later, James Bond.' Again the laugh. 'If you're able to talk. I think your breath may be taken away by the Games. It's quite a show.'

'Quite a show,' echoed Mary-Jane, smiling. She had said little during breakfast, but appeared unable to take her eyes off Bond - an experience which he found disconcerting, for the look she gave him lay half-way between one of feminine interest, and that of a Roman empress sizing up a gladiator. There was no hint of the malice she had shown on leaving his room the previous night.

Bond remarked that things seemed to be starting outside. He was rewarded by Murik, who launched into a complete and lengthy programme of events that would take place throughout the day. 'Almost dawn to dusk. I must get going. After all, the Laird is the host. You will excuse me, I trust.' He turned at the door. 'Oh, Mr Bond, I would particularly like to see you at the wrestling. My man Caber is Champion of Glen Murcaldy - that's the equivalent to being the Laird's Champion around here - a singular honour. He takes challengers at noon sharp. Please be there.'

Bond had no time to answer, for the man was gone, almost with a hop, skip and jump. So that was it: a bout with the giant Caber. Bond turned to the ladies, trying to be gallant, asking them if he could be their escort. Lavender said yes, of course; but Mary-Jane gave her enigmatic smile, remarking that she would have to accompany the Laird. He would, she said, have to 'make do' with Lavender. Bond could not decide if the remark was meant to sound belittling, but Lavender hardly seemed to notice, rising and asking Bond if he would give her a few minutes to get ready.

'The child doesn't get much company.' Mary-Jane slid an arm through Bond's, in a surprisingly familiar manner.

'There aren't many of the right sort around here, and she's impressionable.'

'You make her sound very young and unsophisticated.'

Bond spoke quietly.

'In many ways she is. I've tried - for Anton's sake of course - but I fear unless a good and understanding man arrives in the area, she'll have to go to London or Paris. She needsa good course in sophistication.'

She giggled, 'Perhaps if you please the Laird he'll present her to you as a prize.'

Bond gave her a cool, humourless, look.

'Oh come on, I was only joking.'

She laughed again.

'Look,' said Bond, trying to change the subject, 'I wonder - do you have a library? I realised last night that I came without any reading matter.'

'Of course. I'll take you there before I go out to join the Laird. But what a pity, James, that you won't allow other things to occupy your nights. No hard feeling aboutlast night, by the way.'

'None for my part,' said Bond, puzzled by her friendliness.

'Pity,' she giggled. Then her expression changed, and he glimpsed the face behind the mask. 'For my part there are a lot of feelings. I said you could avoid trouble, but you refused, James, and you'll be sorry. I have suggested a small test at the Games. Anton agrees. In fact he thought it amusing. You will be matched with Caber at the wrestling, and Caber has his blood up. Given his head, he'd kill you.' Another laugh. 'And just for giving him a b.l.o.o.d.y nose. How vain men are. But come, I'll show you the library. You may need it, and a lot of bed-rest, when Caber's finished with you.'

The library backed on to the drawing room, and was decorated in light colours. Three of the high walls were covered with books, and there were library steps on fitted rollers for each wall. The fourth wall contained three large, bay windows, each provided with a padded surrounding seat.

It took Bond a few moments to get his bearings and work out how the books were graded - moving the high steps along each wall until he found what he wanted. First, he quickly chose a book to cover his story - s.n.a.t.c.hing one of his old favourites, Eric Ambler'sThe Mask of Dimitrios,from its place among the novels. Then he made for his real quarry: a thick, beautifully bound copy ofWebster's Dictionary,which he dragged out and placed on a large lectern.

Thumbing the volume to the letter W, Bond ran his finger down the lines of words until he came to Warlock. Rapidly he scanned the entry. It gave the usual definition 1: 'One given to black magic: SORCERER, WIZARD. 2: CONJURER.' Then Bond's eyes slid up to the derivations, and his heart skipped a beat. 'Old English - waelogaone that breaks faith, scoundrel, the Devil.'

One that breaks faith? Bond wondered. Could that be it? Was Murik having his own unholy joke in choosing Warlock as his name for the direction of a terrorist operation he had planned? Was he, in turn, scheming to break faith with the international terrorists he had hired through Franco? A man so obsessed by his own brilliance as a nuclear physicist, and feeling snubbed and cheated of his triumph, might well be forced to such lengths.

He was replacing the heavy copy ofWebster,when a sound made him whirl around, his hand moving naturally to the hip, where he would normally be carrying a pistol, in the field; realising a fraction of a second later that there was no weapon there.

Lavender stood just inside the library door, wearing a pink creation which gave her a cool, poised look. In one hand she carried a large matching hat. As Bond approached, he saw she was pale under the smoothly applied make-up.

She put her finger to her lips. 'James, he's putting you up against Caber in the wrestling.'

Bond grinned. 'I know, the Mashkin told me with great relish, Dilly.'

'It's not funny. He's asked me to take you out there. He wants us to mingle. Caber knows, and he's after you. The business last night: apparently some of the lads have been pulling his leg. Did you really nearly break his nose?'

'Gave it a b.u.t.t in the right place. Made it bleed a bit.'

'He'll pound all h.e.l.l out of you, James. I've seen him in action. He's a rough fighter - knows a lot of tricks. He's got the weight and tremendous strength as well. Making Caber look stupid with a nosebleed could drive him wild with anger.'

'Let me worry about Caber, Dilly darling.' Bond took hold of her hand and squeezed it. 'If you get no other message from me, can you come to my room tonight?'

'I can try.'

'With a way to let me through the main gates?'

'You're going to run?'

'Only if I've got the full story, and it's bad enough to take some definite action. I'll do my d.a.m.nedest to have enough on your guardian and his crew to bring the law - or worse - into this place. If not, then we'll just have to do some more bundling.'

'You'll be lucky if you're not just a bundle yourself by the end of the morning.'

'I told you - just work out a way for me to get through the gates, and leave Caber to me. If not tonight, then tomorrow night will have to do. Okay?'

She replied with a worried nod; and he could feel her body trembling close to his as they went out through the hall and into the sunlight.

The band of a well-known Scottish regiment was playing on the Great Lawn and already the Games were in full swing. Bond thought the village of Murcaldy would be a ghost hamlet today; and certainly there were many people who had obviously made more lengthy journeys to the Murcaldy Games. Murik did not stint his guests on this occasion: there was free food and drink for all, and plenty of entertainment. Bond was cynical enough to wonder what price the local people had to pay in service - and silence to the Laird for this one day of blatantly feudal fun.

Groups of men and women in Highland costume were preparing to dance, while brawny young men were at the far end of the arena indulging in the incredible sports of tossing the caber and hammer throwing.

Several people doffed their bonnets or bowed to Lavender, showing great respect. Bond also noticed that they glanced at him with undisguised suspicion. Out of long habit and caution, he tried to pick out the more dangerous of the Laird's private army - the big young men with watchful eyes, quiet and careful, silent and alert as loyal mafiosi.Of one thing he was sure: there were a lot of them. For the next couple of hours he remained with Lavender, watching with interest the traditional sports and dancing.

Eventually a crowd started to gather around an area at the castle end of the arena, and Bond allowed himself to be led towards it by Lavender, who whispered that this was where her guardian wanted him.

Mats had been laid down, and he saw the little figure of Murik talking to a group of men on the far side, his mane of hair slightly ruffled, but a smile permanently set on the bulldog face. He spotted Bond and waved cheerfully before making his way towards the pair.

'Well, Mr Bond. My champion is almost ready to take on all comers. Do you feel like facing up to him?'

Bond smiled, pretending the Laird was joking.

'I mean it, Bond.' The trickling deadly lava was back, deep in the eyes. 'I want to see what you're made of. If you do well, there may be much in it for you. Can I announce you as the first compet.i.tor?'

Now Bond laughed aloud. 'I hardly think I'm his weight, Laird. He'd lay me out with one finger.'

Anton Murik's face was set, grim as a tombstone. 'That's not the point, Bond. I want to see what stuff you're made of - if you've got the guts to go into a wrestling bout with someone as dangerous as Caber. It's not a question of beating him, but standing up to the man, even avoiding him. Guts, Mr Bond, that's what I'm looking for. Guts.'