by John Gardner
“No. The booking was what in the trade is known as clandestine.”
“Our trade as well. Gee, we use the same words; and they say Britain and America are two countries separated by the same language.
After a pause, Bond asked if he understood Wade correctly. “What you’re saying is that nobody’s got the hotel under surveillance?”
“Clean as the proverbial whistle. No pack drill, no names, James.”
“So what else?’ “We can sneak around these lanes and the back streets.
Once we’re in central St. Petersburg there doesn’t seem to be a general alert. These people’re funny. I guess they figure that nobody would be stupid enough to come right into town.”
“And?”
“And that’s the good news. The bad news is that the train stations and airports are crawling with the secret squirrels. You’re both gonna need new passports, and I fear we’re forced to use some old-fashioned remedy, like disguise.” Bond hated disguises; never felt happy wearing them; found it difficult to take on some new role. He made a lame protest, saying he wasn’t going to wear fancy dress, not for anybody.
“Don’t worry, James. We’ll be subtle. We won’t put you in drag.
Just age you a bit, and Natalya can be aged down.
It’ll be cool. Don’t worry.
At the hotel, nobody challenged them. They showered and then waited, wondering if Jack Wade would really come up with the goods.
He was, in fact, surprisingly fast, and at around seven o’clock he arrived at their room with a case full of what he insisted on calling “goodies’ plus a pair of flight bags.
There was an American passport for Bond, complete with a new face which sported large heavy spectacles, grey hair and a chubbier face.
These last changes were simple: a grey rinse for the hair, and foam pads to go into his cheeks.
“Don’t try and drink anything while you’re wearing those in your mouth, James. They tend to suck up liquids so you spray everyone.
“I read that in an upmarket espionage novel somewhere.” He went into the bathroom, rinsed his hair with the special preparation, put the glasses on, and slid the pads into his cheeks. The change in his appearance was really quite remarkable, and he emerged into the sitting room to find Wade with a young schoolgirl he did not recognise.
“She’s meant to be around fifteen. Brit passport with the correct visa, and the school uniform really does exist” Wade gave her an almost lecherous look. “You have real passports for the onward journey.” He dumped a pair of old style British passports on the table.
“You all happy now’?”
“I like the - what do you call it? Gymslip?’ Natalya lowered her eyes, as though embarrassed.
“That’s correct.” Bond looked her up and down, the white knee socks did his libido a power of good.
“What I don’t like is the underwear. Thick, dark blue and feels like serge.
Bond smiled. “Standard uniform issue at British girls’ schools.”
“Only for the flight.” Wade put on an innocent look.
“There’ll be a bag of really nice clothes for both of you when you get to where you’re going. I took the liberty of working out your sizes. In the meantime you’ve got a flight bag each with one or two things that should help.” They separated at the airport where the security forces were all over the place. Bond presented himself at immigration as a crusty, no-nonsense, slightly eccentric ex-military type abroad. He found it worked wonders when he threatened to report an over zealous official.
On the air side his heart skipped a few beats when he saw two large female security officers take Natalya into a curtained off area.
Later, she told him it was the worst moment of her life. “I think there was something funny about them. Very aggressive, until I gave them some dollars. They stopped mauling me after that.” The flight took them to Paris where they had enough time to change back into near normal representations of themselves, and on the flight to Miami sat with each other.
There were no awkward questions on arrival, and they just made the connection to Puerto Rico where they were met by a young man who had CIA written all over him, and who took them through immigration and customs with a minimum amount of bother. The young man, who was stocky, built like a fireplug and answered to the name Mac, had their new luggage with him. He appeared to be very taken with Natalya.
He drove them to a luxurious beach house in an equally luxurious BMW which he said was for their use while they were on the island.
The following afternoon found them on the road, exploring the island, away from all the tourist haunts in San Juan.
“You don’t know what this means to me.” Natalya’s hair was ruffled by the warm breeze as they negotiated empty roads far off the normal guided tour routes. “You know, James, all my life I wanted to come to the Caribbean. I even had a picture of one of the islands - St. Thomas, think - at my work-station at Severnaya. Dreamed about it since I was a small girl, and I can’t believe I’m here.”
“I’m glad we had the opportunity of making your dreams come true.” Bond smiled at her. “I just hope we don’t end up in a nightmare.
She ignored the last remark, sighed, lying her head on his shoulder. “Here we are, on a beautiful island and not another human being in sight.” As she said it, so a loud beeping came from the radio panel.
“That could be our wake-up call.” Bond stabbed at one of the pre-set buttons on the radio and a panel dropped down to reveal a small radar screen with one green blip showing each time the sweep line circled the display. “It appears that we have company.” Bond’s brow wrinkled, and from far away, over the noise of the car, they both became aware of the sound of an approaching aircraft.
He saw it in the rear-view mirror, and Natalya turned to look back, giving a little squeak of surprise, ducking low down in her seat just as a neat little Piper Archer passed low over their heads, flaps fully extended, so that it could land on the road in front of them.
“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 close
d 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.
