Death Is Forever

by John Gardner

  Bruin returned, and Bond left the cell, placing himself to the right of the stairs, just out of the sightline of any person coming into the cellar. The gate had been closed. Each member of the team knew what was expected of them.

  They waited.

  A good fifteen minutes passed, then from the top of the stairs came the sound of the lock being taken off, and the voices of Dominic and Dorian floated down. By the sound of it, they relished the job they were about to do.

  Bond kept flat against the wall, glancing towards the cell to see that Bruin and Gus were ready to make the leap from the gate. Praxi and Easy would form the second wave. Praxi had insisted that they draw lots for the various jobs. She and Easy could do just as good a job as the two men, she said. So, in the end, fate, not gender, had ruled.

  Above, the stair light came on, and the sound of two pairs of feet seemed like drum beats.

  ‘Hope you’ve said your prayers,’ Dorian called from halfway down.

  ‘You can say one for us while you’re at it,’ chimed Dominic as he entered the cellar, an Uzi tucked under his arm. ‘I’m going to enjoy this.’

  Weisen’s death squad was almost in the cellar.

  Bond closed his eyes, turning his head away as Dorian flicked the switch at the entrance to the cellar, and a great bolt of light shot from the bulb, with a thunderclap of noise that left ears ringing for a good minute after.

  He leaped, caught Dorian on the side of his head with a punch which had all his strength behind it. The younger man reeled away, yelling and dropping his weapon. Then Bond was on him, hammering him with blow after blow.

  Gus and Bruin were through the gate long before Dominic even knew what had happened. He dropped the Uzi as the explosion ripped out above them, then as he fought to see through the dazzle of blindness, he grabbed at his back, tearing out a handgun. He even managed to fire two rounds which ricocheted, whining in the close precincts of the cellar. By then, Gus and Bruin were on him, both hammering at his head and face.

  Bond only stopped striking Dorian when he heard Praxi shouting, ‘James, quickly! Easy! She’s hurt!’

  The two English thugs lay, sprawled and bleeding on the flagstones, but Easy St John’s body had about it that bent and terrible look of stillness. Even before he touched her, Bond knew she was dead. One of Dominic’s bullets had smashed into her chest, entering near the heart. The exit wound was huge, and as he turned her over, Bond saw that the front of her silk dress was a welling mass of blood, while her face was twisted in shock, her teeth bared in horror. He felt the pulse on her neck and there was none. Then he closed her eyes and gently laid her back on the cell floor.

  Turning, and with a terrible rage, he grabbed at one of the Uzis. ‘Kill those two bastards!’ he commanded. ‘I’m going after their master, and God help him.’

  His eyes were stinging with tears as he raced up the stairs, crashed into the kitchen and came face to face with Harry Spraker.

  18

  A MATTER OF LIFE OR DEATH

  Spraker must have heard the explosion of the ‘flash-bang’, and the shots which followed. Now he was heading full-tilt through the kitchen, straight for the cellar door, an automatic pistol in his right hand.

  Bond took no notice of the pistol, bringing his arm up and smashing Spraker in the face with his elbow, following through with a vicious kick to the groin. Weisen’s lieutenant dropped the gun, doubling up, one hand to his face, the other clamped around the junction of his thighs. Bond kneed him in the face, and felt the man’s teeth dig into his own kneecap.

  Spraker went down, striking his head on the table, moaning and whimpering with pain. ‘You’re a clumsy devil, Harry,’ Bond said, then kicked him in the face. ‘You should really watch where you’re going.’ Harry Spraker and consciousness parted company.

  When Bond looked up, he found himself staring into the nightmare features of Giorgio. The Italian gave a menacing growl, making him sound like an enraged Rottweiler. His lips parted, curling back to show sharp, uneven teeth. It seemed to be his version of a smile, and he had plenty to smile about, for Bond was looking into the dark circle which was the muzzle of a .44 Magnum Smith & Wesson revolver.

  Giorgio gave a little giggle. As his finger tightened on the trigger, he spoke in Italian. ‘Go on, punk. Make my day.’ He thought that was terribly funny and the pistol trembled slightly in his hand.

  ‘No, punk. Make my day,’ Gus said from the top of the stairs, the other Uzi up and ready to remove Giorgio’s head.

  The Italian thug thought about it for a few seconds which, to Bond, seemed like minutes. Finally, Giorgio lowered his revolver.

  ‘On the table,’ Gus ordered, and Bond stepped forward to take the gun, then scooped up Harry Spraker’s automatic from the floor.

  ‘Just ease up, James.’ Gus touched his arm. ‘Let’s not go crazy. I know you want Weisen’s hide, but he has got something going on, and we should keep him in one piece: for a while at least. He’s a dangerous brute – we all know that – and, from what you’ve said, he’s been behaving as though he’s already king of the hill.’

  While working on the lock and booby trap, Bond had given them a brief version of his conversation with Weisen.

  He gave Gus a quick nod, then took a deep breath. Suddenly he felt drained, and saw that his hands were shaking. He had killed, in the line of duty, many times, but during the last few days death seemed to have been as much a part of his life as eating and sleeping. He was sickened by the thought, and the reality of Easy’s death sent a bolt of almost physical pain through him.

  ‘What do we do now, Gus?’ His voice trembled, as if he was on the verge of collapse.

  ‘We finish the job. Bruin and Praxi are taking Easy’s body out of the cell. We’ll see that she has a proper burial later. Let’s get these jokers down there and, more important, find where Weisen’s got to.’

  ‘He went out for a walk.’ Giorgio, faced with a pair of Uzis, was trying to be helpful – as well he might.

  ‘When’re you expecting him back?’

  ‘About an hour. He did not wish to be in the house while Dominic and Dorian executed you.’ He gave a little grin to show that the very idea of the two Englishmen being able to execute anybody was ludicrous.

  ‘I’ll take him down.’ Gus used the Uzi to prompt Giorgio, indicating that he should go through the door and into the cellar.

  The ungainly, ugly man muttered, ‘Scusi, dottore,’ giving Bond a little bow as he did as he was told.

  On the floor, Harry Spraker groaned and moved.

  ‘I’ll be back for him in a minute.’ Gus disappeared down the stairs, goading Giorgio with the Uzi.

  Spraker groaned again, and spat out some blood, together with a tooth, as he tried to prop himself on one elbow. His nose had been broken; if they allowed him to live, he faced many hours of painful dental surgery.

  ‘ ’Ot oo dud, oo batard?’ he tried to ask, but even speaking seemed to cause grave discomfort.

  ‘Just what you deserved, Harry.’ Bond felt warm with delight. Apart from the unctuous Weisen, he disliked Harry more than any of the others.

  ‘’Oo’ll ’ay fo’ ’is, Bon’, ’eisen ’an’t ’ossibly ’ail. Oo’ll ’ay. Ah ’omiss oo’ll ’ay.’

  Bond translated this as a threat: You’ll pay. I promise, you’ll pay. ‘You want some more, Harry?’ He kicked him lightly in the ribs. ‘There’s plenty more where that came from, and when we’ve cleaned up Weisen’s little nest of vipers, I think you’ll find yourself locked away for a very long time. Maybe you’d like me to put you out of your misery now.’

  Spraker tried to say something that was anatomically impossible, then relaxed, putting his head back onto the floor, indicating it was more comfortable for him to lie down.

  Gus returned with Bruin, who picked up Spraker as though he were a sackful of feathers, and carried him away.

  ‘Praxi’s coming up in a minute. It seems you killed Dorian. Dominic’s still in the land of the living, but
he’s going to have one hell of a headache. Bruin’s locking them in, and friend Giorgio’s swearing devotion to us for life.’

  ‘He’d swear allegiance to a snake if he thought it’d do any good.’

  ‘True. You want me to go back and finish off Dominic?’

  Bond shook his head. ‘It doesn’t really matter now.’

  Praxi came up through the door and went straight to Bond, putting her arms around him, squeezing in a long hug. ‘What can I say, James? She’s the second Eagle I’ve lost. I’m so sorry.’

  Bond held on to her for a moment, then disengaged himself and gave her what passed for a smile. ‘The only thing we can do is sweat Weisen.’

  A look of troubled concern crossed her face. ‘James, he’s not alone. Weisen has a very large number of allies out there. We still have to be very, very careful. I know this little man: he looks like a jolly Pickwickian, but he’s one of the vilest people I’ve ever met. Cunning as a bagful of monkeys, deadly as a green mamba. He’s got the conscience of a Great White, and has total belief in the final vindication of Stalinism.’

  ‘You really believe he . . . ?’

  ‘Yes, very dangerous. The man’s a walking bomb, and I imagine a lot of similar extremists follow him. Weisen’s the kind of leader they flock to. I’ve heard him briefing agents. He was amazing. They’d go out willing to die for him, if not for their beliefs. You probably see him as a freak. Don’t be deceived, James. Wolfgang Weisen’s the oddball kind of leader people see as a divine saviour.’

  As though on cue, a door slammed somewhere in the house, and Weisen’s voice called out, ‘Harry? Dominic? Dorian?’

  Bond nodded, cocking his head towards the door. He tucked Harry’s pistol into his waistband, passed the Smith & Wesson to Praxi and walked calmly in the direction of Weisen’s voice. He was still calling to his men as he went up the stairs.

  Bond stood in the hall, Gus and Praxi at his side, watching the strange figure waddle up to the top before he raised the Uzi. ‘Wolfie!’ he called softly.

  Weisen spun around on the landing, saw the group at the foot of the stairs, deliberated about whether he should make a dive for his room, then hesitated.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ Gus called. ‘My friend here would just as soon blow you away now. I’ve persuaded him to wait for a while.’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ Weisen said, like a host who has just accidentally spilled wine on a guest’s expensive suit. ‘Oh, dear,’ he repeated.

  ‘Stay where you are until we come to you.’ Bond had never heard himself sound as threatening and unpleasant. ‘I’d advise you to remain quite still, because if you even fart I’ll send you to the Grim Reaper before you know it.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Weisen still used the same tone of voice, like a needle stuck in the groove of an old-fashioned gramophone record. ‘That would be singularly unpleasant, James.’ He seemed neither afraid, nor surprised. ‘How’re my people?’

  ‘Dorian’s dead, Dominic’s half dead, Harry isn’t feeling at all well, and Giorgio’s thinking about joining the witness protection programme.’ He reached the landing. ‘Just turn around, spread your legs and put your palms against the wall, Weisen. I’m not about to take any chances with you.’

  Praxi and Gus came up the stairs, and the three of them searched the chubby little man who, inexplicably, made an attempt to joke about it. ‘Please, I’m very ticklish,’ he squeaked at one point, then stopped joking when Gus suggested that he might inflict pain by doing something obscenely disgusting with the barrel of one of the Uzis. Gus sounded as though he meant every word. After that Weisen seemed to forget about the jokes.

  ‘We’re going into that nice room of yours, Wolfie. We’re going to sit down and have a long talk about life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.’ Bond caught hold of the fat shoulder and dragged him off the wall.

  ‘That should be interesting.’ Weisen did not sound as though he thought it might be fun. ‘I have my own particular ideas about those subjects, as you know.’

  Bruin plodded up the stairs. ‘You want me to beat the shit out of him, Gus?’

  ‘Maybe. But later. After we’ve talked.’

  ‘Good.’ Bruin sounded happy at the thought.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ Weisen remarked, as though it really did not matter either way.

  They sat him in the chair with the gargoyles and the boar carved on the back, and he immediately started drumming his feet on the floor. Gus told him to sit still, put his hands on the chair arms, listen and only speak when they asked him a question.

  ‘Might I just say one thing before you start?’ His little eyes opened wide and the cheeks seemed to swell, growing more pink by the minute.

  ‘You have to?’ Bruin slapped the palm of his left hand with the fist of his right. The noise would have made a heavyweight boxer uneasy.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I think I do. It’ll save time in the long run.’ Now that he was settled in the chair, Weisen appeared to have conquered any initial shock. He looked unperturbed, and even a little smug.

  ‘Go on.’ Bond thought he might never smile again.

  ‘Well, I’m supposed to leave in about two hours,’ Weisen began.

  ‘You’re not going anywhere,’ from Praxi.

  ‘Let him finish,’ Gus said with quiet reason.

  ‘As I was saying,’ Weisen looked at Praxi as though she had committed some terrible breach of social etiquette. ‘I’m supposed to leave here in two hours, and I would suggest, for your own sakes, that you simply allow me to go. Losing some of my good people to you is unpleasant, I admit. But, as far as the party, and the future, is concerned, the situation here cannot stop the train of events.’ He gave a small, nervous giggle. ‘The train of events cannot be changed. Keep me here by all means, but the final outcome will be the same. In the end, you cannot win.’

  ‘That all?’ Bond asked.

  ‘It is enough. It means I have warned you.’

  ‘About what?’

  A slow, sly smile formed like a slit across Weisen’s hairless face. ‘That’s for me to know, and you to find out.’ He sounded positively amused, so Bruin repeated his earlier offer.

  ‘I didn’t mean to be facetious,’ Weisen added quickly. ‘The point is that you can do nothing.’

  ‘We could kill you, Wolfie.’ Bruin gave him a look that almost cut the man’s heart out on the spot.

  ‘Well, of course, you could do that. Though I still think it wouldn’t have the effect you desire. Monika would simply take my place.’ His voice rose half an octave. ‘The fools in Moscow, in London and Washington tell you Communism’s dead. I promise you it only sleeps, just as Stalinism, the most rarefied version of Communism, has only slept for years. It has lain dormant, in hibernation, and is about to waken. Its rekindling will occur whether I’m there or not.’

  ‘You want to tell us what you’ve got up your sleeve?’ Bond asked.

  ‘I think not. It’ll happen, and I’m not about to let anyone know the details. Do what you like.’

  ‘I’ll tell you exactly what we’re going to do. After this chat, we’re going to take you to the airport and ferry you to London where people will decide where you should be tried.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Murder. Treason. A whole lot of things.’

  ‘So, you’re going to take me to Marco Polo airport?’

  ‘That’s the general idea.’

  ‘Put me on a plane?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘How?’

  ‘How what?’

  ‘How do you propose to do all this? The airport, a flight to London.’

  ‘In the usual way.’

  ‘I think not. You see, James, I am far from being alone. You may have put my close bodyguards out of action, but there are at least ten armed men at Marco Polo airport. I really don’t think you’d stand a chance.’

  ‘We’ll take you out of Venice by train, then.’ Gus shifted the Uzi in his hands, like a man who would get great pleasure out of using
it.

  ‘Same problem.’ Weisen sounded matter-of-fact, as though he was invulnerable, fireproof from any action they might take.

  ‘Then we’ll find another way, Wolfie.’

  ‘It still makes no difference. There is no possible scheme you can devise. No plot. No plan. No diversion. You’re all trapped within something bigger than any of you can comprehend. When my people come to take me over to Marco Polo, there’ll be a little action no doubt. But if you delay them, others will come looking, and others after them. Even if you hold out for a day, it will make not a jot of difference. What is to be will be. Tomorrow, the whole structure of Europe will be changed. Altered out of all recognition.’

  ‘Who’s coming to pick you up, Wolfie?’ Gus gave Bond a glance, suggesting that they might be in a difficult situation after all. ‘The helicopter? Is that the way you’re going?’

  Slowly, Weisen shook his head. ‘I fear, after this morning, my helicopter has been put in mothballs. No, I am to go by the more normal method. In about one hour forty-five minutes.’ The beautiful slim gold watch looked ludicrous adorning the puffy little wrist.

  ‘Then we’d better get you out of here very soon.’ Bond turned to Praxi. ‘Why don’t you go and see if Monika’s left any clothes you can use. It might be a good idea to take a water taxi over to the Cipriani, pay the bill, and get your things together.’

  Weisen made a tutting sound. ‘Wrong.’ He smiled like a child asking riddles. ‘Oh, very wrong.’ The feet began the irritating drumming again. ‘The bill was taken care of this morning, and your things have been removed. That interesting telephone’s at the bottom of the Grand Canal. I wondered if I could use it in some way, but decided against it.’

  ‘Wolfgang, I don’t believe you.’ In his head, Bond doubted his own sincerity. The former spymaster was a very tricksy gentleman, and he could well be telling the truth.