Van Breeschooten took a stuffed envelope out of his jacket and dropped it.
“You’re making a big mistake,” he said.
“How is that?” Bond asked menacingly.
“The Union are after you in a big way.”
“What else is new?”
James Bond exercised his licence to kill and pulled the trigger. He felt no remorse, but it didn’t give him any satisfaction either. He felt absolutely nothing. Bond had once again transformed himself into the blunt instrument of death, something which he had been able to do at will ever since he began his career in government service. When he did it, Bond shut himself off from every possible emotion and performed the task coldly and objectively.
As for van Breeschooten, his last, terrifying thought was that he now realized that the Union had set him up to die this way. He had been a piece of Yassasin’s plan all along. This was his punishment for the failure of the Skin 17 project.
Looking down at the corpse’s face, Bond used his foot to roll the dead man facedown.
The stuffed envelope was still on the ground. Bond picked it up and opened it. Inside was a map of the Málaga province of Spain, which included the Costa del Sol cities of Málaga, Marbella, and Torremolinos. There was an “X” marked slightly north of Marbella.
Also in the envelope was a ticket to a bullfight in Málaga, scheduled in two days. It was paper-clipped to a flyer announcing a “public rally” by Domingo Espada to take place before the corrida. Bond noted that the headlining matador was Javier Rojo.
Bond holstered his gun, put the envelope in his pocket, and slowly walked away from the bloody scene. He considered what had just happened and the implications of the envelope’s contents.
They meant that the Union were involved with Domingo Espada in this conflict with Britain. Otherwise, what would van Breeschooten have been doing with a ticket to Espada’s rally?
Bond’s thoughts were rocked by the deafening sound of an explosion. It wasn’t far away, just a few streets over. He looked up and saw a billowing black cloud above the rooftops. Bond ran out of the deserted street and retraced his steps back toward Ville de Casablanca. People were running and screaming in sheer panic.
He got to the site of chaos and saw that it was the Union’s building that had been bombed! The berraka was completely gone, replaced by burning rubbish. He could hear sirens approaching, but as the streets were so narrow, the authorities would be running in on foot. A small police cart, however, quickly appeared on the scene. Two officers got off it and immediately began to set up barriers to keep people away.
Bond took refuge behind the fruit barrow he had used earlier and watched the unfolding drama with confusion and wonder. What the hell had happened here?
What was particularly strange, Bond suddenly realized, was that no one was coming out of the burning building. In fact, it appeared to be completely empty.
More officers arrived on the scene and were talking to a few witnesses. Bond recognized the beggar in the crowd of onlookers. The beggar wasn’t watching the building; he was looking right at Bond.
The man then approached one of the officers and said something, pointing at Bond. The policeman spotted Bond and shouted. The other officers looked up and in his direction. All of them drew their weapons and aimed them at him.
Faced with no other choice, Bond slowly put up his hands.
SIXTEEN
CHANGE OF PLANS
BOND PUSHED UP ON THE END OF THE FRUIT CART, CAUSING THE ENTIRE contents to topple to the ground. Oranges, apples, grapefruit, and assorted vegetables spilled across the street. He then shoved the entire cart forward on its wheels, toward the police, blocking their sight lines and giving Bond just the right amount of confusion he needed to make a run for it. A policeman fired his gun, but the bullet zinged off one of the walls. People screamed and parted the way for Bond as he rushed through the crowded bazaar.
Two teenage boys, trying to help the police, attempted to grab him as he ran by. One of them caught Bond’s legs, tackling him; the other one jumped on his back to pin him to the ground. Bond didn’t want to hurt them, but he didn’t want to be captured either. He rolled hard, knocking the boy off his back. He then kicked his legs wildly, preventing the other boy from holding on. Once he had freed himself, Bond got to his feet and continued to run. By now, though, the police had nearly caught up with him.
Bond took a sharp turn through a group of Berber women selling live chickens. The chickens squawked and fluttered, which prompted the women to shout at him and point the way for the police. The Berber men joined the chase, ready to make the rude foreigner pay for what he had done.
Bond ducked into a doorway and found himself in a shoemaker’s shop. The place was covered with all manner of footwear, from Moroccan cherbil slippers to the latest American athletic varieties. Bond looked around quickly and noted a large rack of shoes next to the front door and another door at the back of the shop. The policemen’s shouts were coming closer.
The shoemaker, who was sitting and working on the floor, looked at Bond with bewilderment. Bond said, “Forgive me,” then pulled down the rack of shoes, blocking the front door. He then leaped over the shoemaker and ran to the back door.
It emptied into another part of the twisting medina. Bond ran outside and turned a corner as quickly as he could. Now he was truly lost in the maze, so he simply kept running, turning this way and that, hoping that he could lose the police. Up ahead was a small mosque with scaffolding on one side. Bond tried to go inside the building, but a man standing in front blocked his entrance. Only Muslims were allowed in the mosque.
Bond didn’t have time to argue. He heard the police running at the end of the street, so he leaped onto the scaffolding and began to climb. Another shot rang out, barely missing him, as the police arrived at the foot of the scaffolding. Bond got to the roof and ran across, jumping over a large hole where repairs were being made. At the edge of the building, he found that he could make another leap to the top of the adjoining building.
The horrible smell there was overpowering. It reminded Bond of manure and vomit mixed with chemicals … turpentine or something. A stone staircase led down into a courtyard that was revealed to be part of a small tannery. The pungent odors were coming from the vats where men were up to their knees in red and orange liquids, scrubbing hides. The exotic ingredients used in the process included pigeon dung, cow urine, fish oils, animal fats and brains, chromium salts, and sulphuric acid.
Bond held his breath and leaped over the vats, one by one, causing the men to shout at him in anger. He ran past a wall of hides that had been hung up to dry after they had been scraped of the hair and extraneous flesh and soaked in the putrid dyes. Not seeing a convenient way out, Bond took a running jump and gained a handhold in the cracks in the wall. He swung one leg up and over, but unfortunately wiped the front of his body over one of the wet hides. He dropped down the other side of the wall and was in another street full of people and mule carts.
Bond pushed his way through, slowing his pace so as not to attract too much attention. He could see a horseshoe-shaped arch at the end of the street, one of the medina’s exits. He made his way toward it, but three policemen suddenly appeared there. They were looking intently at the crowd. Bond turned around abruptly and merged with a group of men in jellabas marching in the opposite direction. As soon as he could, Bond rounded a corner and got off the street. Unluckily, it was a dead end, with a wall much too high to climb.
He looked back around the corner and saw that the three policemen were headed his way. Surely they would notice a Westerner emerge from the passageway if he attempted to do so.
A rope suddenly dropped and dangled beside him.
“Up here!” whispered a female voice. Bond looked up. It was one of the Taunt twins! She was standing on the roof of the building and was holding the rope.
“Don’t just stand there. Climb!” she ordered.
Bond did as he was told. He climbed the wall a
nd bolted onto the roof just as the policemen reached the street and inspected it. All they saw was a rope being pulled up the building.
“Am I glad to see you,” he said. She was wearing the same tight blue jeans, but was now dressed in a red silk blouse with the sleeves rolled up.
“Hush up and follow me,” the girl commanded. She ran across the roof to the other side. Bond accompanied her, dazed by this sudden turn of events.
“Which one are you?” he asked.
“I’m Hedy.” She took a sniff and grimaced at the stains on his clothing. “Lovely smell. Come this way.” She took a running start and leaped across the eight-foot gap between buildings, then turned and shouted, “Don’t just stand there. Come on!”
Bond mimicked her action, then they both ran across the second rooftop.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Just shut up and don’t stop. We’re trying to save your ass.”
She led him across two more rooftops until she pointed to a fire escape. “Down, mister. Go in the open window, first floor down.”
Bond climbed down the stairs and slipped into the window. He was in a bedroom with Western furnishings. Hedy slithered inside behind him. She led him out of the bedroom, down a hallway, and into what was some kind of office. Heidi was dressed identically and sitting at a desk, looking at a computer monitor. Neither of them wore the red wig. Filing cabinets, a fax machine, a copier, telephones, and other pieces of high-tech equipment dominated the room.
“What the hell is going on?” Bond asked.
“Welcome to the Casablanca headquarters of the CIA, Mr. Bond,” Hedy said.
Bond’s jaw dropped.
Heidi pointed to the monitor, where a satellite image of the medina was magnified hundreds of times. “We thought they had you there for a second. It’s a good thing you found us.”
“I found you? ”
Bond dropped into a chair. He was trying to project some semblance of composure, but he was, nonetheless, dumbfounded.
Heidi laughed when saw the expression on his face. “We got you good, didn’t we?” Then she noticed the stains. “Pee-uuu … ! What did you get on you?”
“Someone better start explaining. I’m in no mood for jokes,” Bond said.
“We are travel writers,” Heidi said. “But that’s just a cover. Hedy’s a senior agent with the CIA. I’m a junior agent. We don’t live in Japan. We live right here, in this building.”
Hedy added, “I’m the one who went into the CIA first. When they found out I had an identical twin, they came up with an unorthodox plan and made us a proposal.”
“As far as official records go, I don’t exist,” Heidi said.
“And neither do I,” Hedy continued. “But there does exist a Hillary Taunt, CIA agent, who works in the North African sector. Either one of us can pose as Hillary during the course of our work. The boys in Virginia figured that Heidi could be used as a decoy in special cases. We rarely travel together, which is why you never saw us at the same time on the train. We rode in separate cars on purpose. We confuse a lot of people, especially conductors and flight attendants.”
“If we have to be seen in public together, one of us wears the wig,” Heidi said. “The only people that know that we aren’t Hillary Taunt are our bosses at the Company. If, say, your own organization at SIS wanted to find out information about CIA agent Hillary Taunt there would be nothing in her file to indicate she might be an identical twin. This can be very advantageous in the field.”
“I can see that,” Bond said. “So you’ve known who I am all along.”
“Sure,” Heidi said. “We were sent to track you down. We got lucky and made contact with you on the train. If you hadn’t found us this morning, we would have had to come after you. You’re in a lot of hot water, mister.”
“Tell me about it,” Bond said. “I’m not sure what happened back there. The Union headquarters was blown up. Someone made it look like I was responsible.”
“To hell with Union headquarters,” Hedy said. “What about that doctor in London and the ferry in Tangier? What do you have to say about those things? You’re a wanted man. Your chief has put out an all-points alert for your arrest.”
Bond winced. “I didn’t do any of those things.”
“Tell it to the judge,” Hedy said. “Our orders are to escort you to London. We’ve already checked you out of the hotel and we have your things.” She pointed to his holdall on the floor in the corner. “Now, you have to hand over your weapons. All of them.” She held out her hand.
Bond was aghast. “You’re not serious.”
“Please don’t make me use force,” Hedy said. “I’m pretty good at what I do.”
“I believe you,” Bond said. He reached into his jacket.
“Carefully,” Hedy commanded.
Bond froze, then continued in slow motion. He brought out the PPK and tossed it on the desk.
“The knife?” she asked.
“Oh, right,” Bond muttered, and took the sheath off the back of his belt. “This really isn’t necessary, you know. I’d much rather be arrested by you two than the Moroccan police. I’ll be a good boy.”
“We’re just playing it safe,” Hedy said. She was definitely the “bad cop” of the two.
“I seem to have lost a Walther P99 in Tangier,” he said.
“Yeah, you left it on that ferry after killing those civilians,” Hedy said.
“No, I didn’t. I wasn’t there.”
“Sure,” Hedy said with a sneer.
“I’m sorry, James,” Heidi said with sincerity. “We might have had some fun together.”
“We still can,” Bond said. “It’s a long way to London.”
“Hush,” Hedy snapped. “We’ve got a car outside. We’re going to take a drive to the airport. There’s a plane that leaves in three hours. But first you’re going to shower and change out of those stinky clothes.”
“I must know what you think is going on,” Bond said.
“We don’t know what’s going on,” Hedy said. “All we know is that we have to escort you to London and hand you over to your chief.”
“You do know that was the Union headquarters that blew up this morning?” Bond asked.
“We had come to that conclusion but didn’t have proof,” Hedy replied. “Actually, our suspicions were focused on another part of town, the Central Market, southeast from here. Maybe what you found this morning could have been another entrance. Anyway, we were already in the process of coordinating a raid on the Central Market entrance with Interpol and the Moroccan police when all this business with you and the ferry happened. I guess that sorta screwed up our plans.”
“Sorry.”
“We were told that you had gone renegade, had joined the Union,” she added.
“That’s why you were in Casablanca, we thought,” Heidi said.
“Well, it looks like the Union might have suspected something and got the hell out of Dodge,” Hedy continued. “That building was completely empty. The police reports are still coming in. They’ve begun to explore it and apparently there’s some kind of underground complex. If I didn’t have to deal with you, I’d be one of the first officials in there to find out if it really was Union headquarters.” Hedy looked at him out the corner of her eye. “You sure you’re not Union?”
“I’m not a member of the bloody Union,” Bond said.
“I’d like to believe you,” Hedy said.
“I believe you,” Heidi added.
Hedy rolled her eyes. “My sister has a one-track mind.”
“Look,” Bond said. “There’s something … there’s something going on. Some kind of plot that the Union have cooked up. I’m a part of it. I can’t explain it, though. Not yet. If you take me to London, something terrible will happen. My hunches are usually pretty good.”
“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hedy said. “Better hit the shower so we can get going.”
“Wait a minute,” Bond insi
sted. “Listen to me. For the past few days, I’ve felt as if I’ve been knocked here and there like a pinball. Whoever committed those crimes in London and Tangier—he’s some kind of double. I think I’ve seen him. Once, in London. He looks just like me and he’s certainly Union. I’m also pretty damned sure that I’m being manipulated by them; to what end, I don’t know, but I would bet my life that there’s something monstrous behind everything that’s happened. The murder of Dr. Feare … the shootings on the ferry … the explosion in the medina today … They’re all connected somehow, and I think that this Spaniard, Domingo Espada, is involved.”
Heidi and Hedy looked at each other. “What do you mean?”
Bond reached into his pocket and pulled out the envelope he had taken from van Breeschooten. “I got this from one of the Union’s top men. He was responsible for recruiting—and killing—someone close to me at SIS. I tracked him from London to the very location where that explosion occurred this morning. As you can see, he had something to do with Espada.”
The girls looked at the bullfight ticket and the map. “What’s this ‘X’?” Hedy asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
“It’s not far from Marbella,” Heidi observed. “Domingo Espada’s home is just north of there. I think that ‘X’ marks the spot.”
“Hey, I think you’re right, Heidi,” Hedy said. They gave the material back to Bond. “The U.S. government is very concerned about Espada. We’ve been on alert ever since he started all the ruckus in Spain over Gibraltar. We’re afraid your people might get into a nasty scuffle with Spain over it.”
“We’re all afraid of that,” Bond said. “You’ve got to give me the benefit of the doubt. If I’m taken out of the picture, we’ll never know what’s going on. I’m a part of it, don’t you see? The Union needs me for something. If I don’t follow this scheme through to the end, then we’ll never know what it is.”
The girls were silent. Finally, Hedy said, “I want to talk to Heidi in the other room. Don’t try anything.”
“I wouldn’t dare leave,” Bond said. “Being with you two is the safest I’ve felt in days.”
Doubleshot Page 16
