by John Gardner
"You were saying?" Bond's face showed nothing, but his hand slipped inside his blazer and he placed an automatic pistol on the console between them.
The Archer taxied on up the road and finally turned left, going through a gap in the trees and coming to a stop in an empty field.
"Do you work at attracting trouble with anything that moves?" Natalya looked puzzled. "It's my natural charm." He still showed no emotion.
"That, combined with a weakness for causing mayhem and often a lot of violence." He braked and turned into the field, drawing up close to the Archer which had the name Lord Geoff! stencilled on its nose.
As they came to a halt, Jack Wade clambered down from the passenger seat, carrying a small briefcase.
"Jimbo!" he greeted Bond.
"I told you never to call me that. And while we're at it, what're you doing here?"
"You wanted the job of finishing off Janus, and I bring tidings from your boss. She says you're to go ahead.
Tomorrow, in fact. Oh, this is a present from what's his name N? R? A?' "That's the one." He handed over the briefcase, sniffing at the air. "Ah, Banyan trees." He paused and then, "Incidentally, I'm not here, capish? The Agency has absolutely nothing to do with this.
No knowledge. Nothing to do with your insertion into Cuba. OK?" Bond nodded.
"I borrowed this little baby from a friend of mine in the Drugs Enforcement Agency. It'll be waiting for you, all ready to go, at the private aircraft parking at San Juan Dominicci, first light tomorrow morning."
"We'll be there." Dominicci is San Juan's domestic airport at which shuttles depart and arrive all day from the outlying towns on the island.
"Just climb aboard and give your call sign, Smiley One.
Now..." He walked them to the door of the aircraft and took some papers from the seat. "We've covered you in every possible way.
Coast Guard, Federal Aviation Authority and Southern Military Command are all in the loop, and when I said first light, I meant it. You'll be cleared at 06.00." He handed over a large manila envelope. "This is the latest Satint from the Puzzle Palace. They say you should be OK as long as you stay at under six hundred feet." Natalya's hand shot forward, plucking the envelope from Bond's hand. "Five hundred feet,' she smiled like a nice, well brought-up Russian girl.
"Who is this?" Wade cocked his head on one side, looking quizzically at Natalya, as though he had never met her.
"I should've introduced you. You brought her clothes in Petersburg, remember?"
"Ah, yes, I remember it well. Natalya Simonova.
Natalya looked from under half closed lids as she ripped the envelope open and began studying its contents of maps and satellite photographs. I have been promoted. Now I'm a deputy sheriff of Mr. Bond's posse." She gave Wade an enormous smile. "You have a very weird taste in certain more intimate garments, Mr. Wade."
"Oh, yes. I hope they were the right size.
"Perfect." Bond looked at them with innocence written all over his face.
"This Russian girl here? You check her out?"
"From head to toe, Jacko.' "Please don't call me..." He stopped as he saw Natalya scrutinising the satellite maps. Leaning over her, he pointed.
"You'll be looking for a satellite dish the size of a football field, I presume? Well, it just doesn't exist
Nobody can light up a cigar in Cuba without the boys at the National Security Agency knowing about it. It just is not there." Natalya gave him a cheeky smile. "Mr. Wade, I know it's there. It's an exact replica of the one at Severnaya." Bond interrupted them. "What if we need backup, Jack?"
"There's a transmitter in the plane. He indicated an area among the instruments in front of the pilot, who remained silent and did not even look in their direction.
"It'll send a warning if the plane comes unstuck. Either way, if you're in trouble, just squawk and I'll send in the Marines." For the first time, the pilot leaned down, gesturing to Wade to hurry up. "My chauffeur's getting anxious." He clapped Bond on the shoulder and kissed Natalya on the cheek. "Just hang a right at the end of the runway. It's only a short ride to Cuba from there. Good luck. I'll pick up the BMW at Dominicci in the morning.
"Well, try not to touch any odd buttons in it."
"I was just going' to bomb around in it for a while.
"Exactly."
"James, you can take Janus out. I have all the faith in the world, because you know all that guy's moves."
"The problem is that he knows all of mine as well. We worked together for a very long time.' "You'll still take him, Jimbo." Wade leaped out of the range of Bond's closed fist and climbed back into the Piper Archer, which slowly began to taxi away.
That night, Bond checked out Q's briefcase in the privacy of the beach house. It contained a new watch and six small magnetic charges which could be controlled by it.
He packed them away among the kit he would be wearing the next morning.
Outside, on the beach he sat down near the surf, wrapped in thought as he was lulled by the noise of the sea. He thought of all the years he had spent living in secret yet enjoying everything that his hedonistic life had to offer.
What had he become, he asked himself. Was he just a killing machine? Did his superiors let him get away with all kinds of excesses both on and off missions because they understood the kind of strain his work produced? He knew that some people turned a blind eye to certain aspects of his way of life, just as he knew that they paid him more than most of the regular officers of the Secret Intelligence Service.
He went back over so much of his life that he wondered if he were getting maudlin about things, like a drunk ready to cry into his beer.
He really had to snap out of this, it was not doing any good.
Natalya came barefoot across the sand, turning her face towards the sea breeze as she stood close to him. Presently she reached down and tousled his hair, but he did not move, and even seemed unaware of her presence until she spoke, squatting on the sand next to him.
"Janus was your friend, wasn't he?" he asked.
"Several lifetimes ago, yes.
"And now he is your enemy. So tomorrow you'll go and kill him.
It's that simple, yes?"
"Yes." She drew in breath through her nostrils.
The sound made him look at her and he saw the anger in her eyes.
"No, James. No, it's not that easy." She tried to get up from the sand, but he grabbed her arm and drew her back to him.
"I hate you,' she spat like an angry cat. "I hate you. I hate all of you. Your kind've caused so much grief all over the world, with your guns and your instruments of death." She began hitting at him, pummelling his chest He enveloped her in his arms, holding her tightly as her fighting became less violent and she began to cry softly. "So many of my friends,' she sobbed. "My friends, members of my family. So many have died because of people like you.
"There have to be people like me." He hugged her close.
"I do a necessary job. If I didn't do it, someone else would.
I simply have to level things off so that one day there will be some true kind of peace in the world." After a while, her sobbing stopped, and he helped her to her feet. Together they walked back to the house.
Inside, the air was cooled by two overhead fans; the lights were turned down to a pleasant dusk-like glow; the stereo was playing the late Miles Davis' evergreen "Sketches of Spain': the soft lush sound of the waves breaking on the beach outside counterpointing the music.
They stood close together, all senses merging, hands touching, their nostrils gathering up the pleasant smell of island flowers combining with faintly aromatic scents of the dish, which Bond had set to cook slowly in the kitchen.
When he kissed her, he tasted the aftermath of sweet fruit. When she kissed him back, her tongue sliced into his mouth, caressing the inside of his cheeks, coming away with the slight tang of the champagne he had sipped less than an hour before.
He took her by the hand and she followed him, eyes
downcast as though she were completely innocent of men, which would have been a lie. In front of the bed they slowly undressed each other. She wore no bra under her T-shirt, and only the flimsiest garment was revealed as her skirt dropped to the floor.
She gave a little giggle and whispered, "More romantic than the schoolgirl pants, eh?"
"And softer on the skin." The little white froth of nylon fell to the floor and she stepped forward, yanking at his belt and stripping the thin lightweight pants from his legs.
In the distance, she seemed to hear her mother, flustered, Natalya have you no shame when, years ago, she had caught her with a local boy.
She allowed him to turn her and lift her onto the bed.
He slid quietly on top of her, taking his weight on his forearms, and Natalya suddenly sucked in air as her hands enfolded him.
Embracing him with her fingers, she pulled him to her lips and kissed him, then pushed him back so that his manhood lay across her belly.
She felt his hands slide under her buttocks, pressing, stroking and kneading them as he bent his mouth to kiss first one breast and then the other. Her hands guided him down and he slid into her, thick and long so that she lifted her buttocks in his hands and let out a sharp breath of pleasure.
They had become one person, locked and moving slowly through the wonder of that great pleasure only woman can give to man, and man to woman.
Both of them had dreamed of nights like this from the first moment of meeting though neither would have ever admitted it, as they found the rhythm, lost it, then discovered a natural movement belonging only to them. Two people, locked as one.
She murmured something as he thrust deep into her a Russian expression for loving he thought - then their mouths closed on each other and they were swept away in that dance which neither ever wanted to end. Yet eventually it reached its peak in a kind of explosion and cleansing, sweeping them to the shore of some place beyond this planet, far from their previous experience.
In the sweat-soaked, pulsing, exhausting moment, their eyes locked, so they both knew that should this be the last time either was consumed in passion it did not matter, for they had tasted everything possible, good, lasting and memorable in physical love.
Later, in the afterglow, she clung to him.
"James. ?" Her voice husky.
"Yes?"
"On the train. When you told them to kill me, that I meant nothing to you, did you mean that?"
"Of course.
She propped herself on one elbow and looked at him, lines of concern raking across her brow.
Then Bond laughed. "Natalya, my darling girl, it's a basic rule.
Always call their bluff." She grabbed a pillow and swung at him with it, almost shouting, her voice high and full of joy -"You lying devil, James." He fended off the pillow and drew her back to him for a long kiss which seemed to go on until their lungs reached bursting point.
Presently, she asked him if he knew this island well.
"Why?"
"Oh, I just had a feeling that you knew where you were going when we were out driving this afternoon.
He lay, silent for a moment. "I know it,' he said softly.
"In some ways I have reason to hate it, but now there is a new reason for me to love it."
"Something sad happened to you here?"
"Something I shouldn't talk about, I'm afraid." Once more a long pause.
"There was a woman, she said, bluntly. "It's OK, James.
I'm not jealous about what happened before we met."
"Yes,' he heard the tiny kink in the back of his throat.
"Yes, there was a woman. She's alive, but she may never walk again. We were dealing with a very bad man."
"As bad as Ourumov?"
"On a scale of one to ten they'd come out about equal." More silence and the foam surfing up the beach.
"Kiss me again, James. Please. Please take me again.
Who knows what's going to happen tomorrow.
His hands stroked her body, legs, thighs, belly, breasts, neck and shoulders. "This is the island I really want to know,' he whispered.
"Then get to know it,' she said. "And to hell with tomorrow.
They came in very low off the sea, crossing the coast and cruising just above the jungle. The lush greenery below looked impenetrable, but they could occasionally glimpse the odd small clearing. There was no sign of life.
"Turn ten degrees south and hold bearing one-eightfour." Natalya had navigated all the way and brought them in right on track. She was just the kind of girl with whom Bond could have happily spent the rest of his life - smart, plenty of initiative, that sixth sense they called intuition, full of loyalty and a ferocious courage. She was not just a very attractive face and body, but a woman he could trust In a very short time, she had come to trust him.
They both knew well enough that their lives depended on each other. They also knew that, within the next few hours, they might die together.
Now, as they skimmed the deep green foliage, their heads and eyes were in constant movement as they searched for something that did not seem to be there even though Natalya insisted it was certainly very close to where they now flew.
He caught a flicker of light some ten miles further on, and headed towards it. As they drew closer he was sure the light was that of the sun reflecting on water.
Finally there, in the middle of the jungle, was a natural bowl, a huge inland lake, its water like glass, and so deep that you could see no trace of the bottom, except at its very edges where the water lapped against a thin strip of sand, before the ground rose softly into hills of vegetation.
He turned the Piper Archer as they reached the far side of the perfect circle of water, knowing it was inconceivable that this could be nature's doing. The lake was too flawless, too geometric, to be anything but man-made.
He banked the aircraft within the bowl, one wing very low, almost reaching a rate five turn as he swung through three hundred and sixty degrees and then turned to follow through in the opposite direction.
The little plane lifted over the jungle once more.
"There's nothing there. Absolutely nothing,' Natalya said.
"Let's give it another go. I'll take her down very close to the drink. Keep your eyes peeled." He extended the aircraft's flaps to allow himself to fly safely at a slower speed, just over the water; curving around the complete circle, looking down on the wingtip which seemed to be only a foot or so above the smooth blue-green tint of the lake.
Still nothing. Maybe Wade was right, Bond thought.
He put on power, then retracted the flaps and climbed, crossing the lake diagonally, then, after gaining height, he pulled her round again and began another run.
"James! Look out! James!" she screamed.
He saw it at exactly the same moment as she shouted.
It came straight up from the deep water, breaking the placid surface with hardly a ripple, and his immediate reaction was that it was a largish fish. Now he pushed the yoke hard to the left, his feet firmly on the rudder pedals to keep the nose up in a desperate attempt to avoid what he thought was probably a 140mm rocket, and where there was one of those, more could easily follow as they usually came in distinctive seventeen rocket packs.
He had never yet heard of a launch of this type of rocket from underwater, but it would not be difficult, and the aircraft was probably being targeted electronically by computer even as he banked right, turning the Archer onto an opposite track as the first rocket passed harmlessly to their left.
"We've got to get out of here,' he shouted, slewing the plane in the other direction. Wrong! Another rocket came hurtling from the water as he turned. It did not explode, but sheared off over half the span of his port wing.
The Piper was too low and everything seemed to happen in slow motion once more. Bond over-corrected and then went out of control.
He had the elevator, rudder, stabiliser and only one aileron. It was a matter of pure luck that, as he tried to corre
ct again and bring the nose up, the belly of the aircraft struck the water.
Hitting water in any aircraft is as good as slamming into a brick wall. They went from around seventy-eight knots to zero in a fraction of a second. He felt the underside of the plane being torn away - a ragged and horrific cracking noise; then the nose went down, the prop churning water.
The shore line came up to meet them and what was left of the fuselage slid up onto the sand.
Natalya had screamed when they were hit. Now, as they rose up the strip of sand, Bond threw one arm across her and his other forearm over his own face.
Then the fire gushed from the engine.
He did not recall hauling her from the wreckage, but the next he knew was that he had carried her into the jungle foliage and had put her down gently in a clearing.
Her head lolled back, then her eyelids fluttered.
He spoke her name, urgently, several times, and finally she was awake. "You OK?"
"I think someone hit me with a hammer." She raised herself from the ground and began to check that she could walk and move her limbs. Bond did the same. "I think we're both in one piece." He flexed his aching shoulders.
"Or at least the pieces appear to be joined in the right places." She nodded and then lost balance again, collapsing in a heap.
Bond had been vaguely aware of something else going on in the background, but was still disoriented. Now he realised that a helicopter was hovering low over the clearing, a rope snaking from it and a figure rappelling down very quickly.
At first he thought Jack Wade had been very quick off the mark in sending help. It was not until he moved towards the rope that he knew he had made a grave mistake.
A boot lashed out and caught him in the face as Xenia Onatopp reached the end of the rope to which she was secured. He managed to get halfway to his feet before she lashed out at him again. Dressed in a tight combat suit with the omnipresent machine pistol strapped to her back, Xenia was on him like a wild animal, her legs closing around his chest, knocking the wind from him and clutching, causing great stabs of pain.
