“Ma’am,” Howard said. “We’ve obtained information that he was seeing Dr. Feare as a patient. He had an evaluation and tests performed two months ago. For psychiatric evaluation and other complaints. You were aware of that?”
“Of course I was,” M answered.
“We’d like to know the results of those tests. I was hoping you might have copies.”
“We have a summary report that the doctor sent to me after seeing Double-O Seven,” M said flatly. “I can let you have a copy of that. But let me ask you this, Inspector. Do you really think Double-O Seven would commit this crime and flee?”
“All of the evidence leads us to believe that Mr. Bond is very unstable,” Howard said. “Look what he did on that ferry, for God’s sake!”
“There is no proof that the man responsible for that horrible act was Double-O Seven!” M said sternly. “That is still under investigation.”
“Well.” Howard sighed, realizing he was fighting a losing battle. “I’m here to deliver this arrest warrant for James Bond. He’s officially wanted by the police for murder.”
Tanner took the documents.
“Thank you, Inspector,” M said. “If we find Double-O Seven, we’ll make sure he gets them.”
“We’ll let you know as soon as we hear anything,” Tanner said.
Howard nodded, stood and walked toward the door. He turned and faced M again. “Ma’am.”
“Yes, Inspector?”
“You wouldn’t be protecting Double-O Seven, would you? For some … reason?”
“He’s a Double-O, Inspector,” M answered. “He doesn’t need me to protect him.”
The Inspector smiled grimly and walked out.
M and Tanner exchanged glances.
“Bill, could it possibly be true?” she asked him.
“No, ma’am,” Tanner said, shaking his head. “It’s not James. It can’t be.”
M gripped the pen in her hand and stared straight ahead. “He sounded quite lucid when we spoke, I’ll give him that. God, I hope I’ve made the right decision. I could lose my job over this.”
“We have to let James work it out,” Tanner assured her. “He always does. When he’s on to something, he’s usually right.”
M repeated her Chief-of-Staff’s words in her head a few times, then said, “Right. Let’s move on. Double-O Seven and the CIA agent will arrive in Spain at what time?”
“Certainly by this evening,” Tanner said. “They’re traveling to Marbella by boat.”
Moneypenny buzzed again.
“What is it?” M asked, punching the button.
“It’s Captain Hodge. He’s here and says it’s urgent.”
M winced. “Send him in,” she said, simultaneously pressing the button that lit the green bulb outside her office.
Hodge came in stiffly and approached the desk.
“Yes, Captain?”
“Ma’am, we’ve just received the guest list for the summit meeting in Gibraltar. As you know, everyone entering the Governor’s Residence is screened in advance. This information is made available to all of the countries involved.”
“Yes?”
“Domingo Espada’s entourage will consist of two assistants and a bodyguard. They’re all Spanish except for the bodyguard. According to the documents, he is a British exile now residing in Spain. His name is Peter Woodward. Have a look at his photograph.”
He handed her a file with a black-and-white head shot attached to it. She inhaled deeply when she saw who it was.
“It’s Double-O Seven,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Tanner leaned in closer to get a better look. He furrowed his brow. “It certainly looks like him,” he concurred.
“We’re going to have to arrest him as soon as he shows his face in Gibraltar,” Hodge said.
“You can’t,” Tanner said.
“Why not?”
M answered for him. “Because he’ll have diplomatic immunity. With Spain.”
Hodge was horrified. “My God, I hadn’t thought of that. What are we going to do?”
M said, “Captain, would you allow me to confer with my Chief-of-Staff privately? For a few minutes?”
“Of course, ma’am,” Hodge said, standing. “I’ll be outside.”
After he had left, M looked at Tanner and said, “This changes things, doesn’t it?”
Tanner looked unsure.
M asked, “What about Double-O One?”
Tanner nodded. “He’s been briefed and is all set to accompany the PM to Gibraltar. They leave early Monday morning.”
“Then you had better give him additional orders.”
“And they are?”
“If Double-O Seven really accompanies Espada to this meeting, then Double-O One should be prepared for anything. He is to keep close watch on Double-O Seven. If Double-O One determines that Bond is dangerous, he should respond appropriately.”
“Do you mean … ?”
“Yes, I mean,” M said. “If the need arises, Double-O Seven must be eliminated.”
ACT THREE
TERCIO DE LA MUERTE
EIGHTEEN
THE YOUNG MATADOR
“LOOK AT THAT MOUNTAIN!” HEIDI EXCLAIMED AS HEDY DROVE THE 1998 BMW 320i onto the so-called Golden Mile of five-star hotels and resorts in Marbella. Conch Mountain hovered over the city, a magnificent backdrop for the seaside resort.
“It’s a great town if you like golf,” Hedy commented. Among Marbella’s numerous golfing establishments was Europe’s only night course; it was floodlit so that golfers could play after dark.
Hedy pointed to a huge estate on their left and said, “The king of Saudi Arabia built all that.” Beyond expansive gardens was a sparkling white mosque and a mansion that was an exact replica of the White House in Washington, D.C. A large outline of a scimitar made of white stone was embedded in the grass.
“Wow,” Heidi said. “Pretty cool, huh, James?”
Bond was in the backseat, where he was happy to be. It was a pleasure not having to drive or constantly look over his shoulder for a change. It was nice not having to think for a few hours. They had picked up the BMW, apparently a CIA company car, in a discreet garage not far from Tarifa, at the most southern point of Spain. They had stored the boat and had driven up the coast, past Gibraltar, and on to Marbella. Bond couldn’t sleep because of the persistent throbbing in his head, but he was thankful for the rest, even though the twins talked about the scenery along the way. He took four of Dr. Feare’s pills in the hopes that the headache wouldn’t grow worse.
They drove past the restaurant owned by the famous Italian singer Tony Dalli, and Marbella’s hot discotheque, Olivia Valere, and soon pulled in to the entrance of the Marbella Club Hotel on Bulevar Principe Alfonso von Hohenlohe. One of the finest resort hotels on the beach, the Marbella Club offered everything from bungalows to simple rooms.
“Are you sure this guy is here?” Heidi asked Bond.
“When I phoned, he said to look for him on the beach,” Bond answered. “He likes to relax the day before a bullfight.”
“Yuck,” Hedy said. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to watch a bullfight, much less participate in one.”
“Don’t be so quick to condemn it,” Bond said as they parked and got out of the car. “It’s an integral part of Spanish tradition and culture. It’s not a sport. It’s an art.”
“Yeah, right,” Hedy said. “Tell that to the bull.”
Bond decided not to argue. They checked in to the hotel, where the girls had reserved an exclusive bungalow with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a shared living room, and an enclosed patio. They walked through the grounds, which were surrounded by lush foliage and palm trees. When they entered the bungalow, Heidi was ecstatic.
“Now this is the life!” she purred. “We need to get the company to send us on business trips more often.”
“We’ll take this one,” Hedy said, gesturing to the bedroom with twin beds. “You’re in the ot
her one, Mr. Bond. Don’t try any funny stuff. We’re going to guard you in shifts tonight.”
Bond shook his head. “I keep telling you that you don’t need to guard me at all,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Whatever. Let’s go find your matador.”
“Since we’re going to the beach, can I put on my swimsuit?” Heidi asked.
“Jeez, Heidi,” Hedy said, rolling her eyes.
Ten minutes later, all three of them were dressed in beachwear. Bond was wearing a pair of navy shorts, a white polo shirt, sunglasses, and flip-flops. He had asked the girls for his gun, but Hedy refused to give it to him.
Heidi was wearing a yellow and white bikini that revealed just how shapely and athletic she really was. Her muscle tone was perfect and she had an hourglass figure. Hedy chose to wear a red and black bikini, and for the first time, Bond was able to tell them apart. Hedy had a small, sexy mole on her left breast, whereas Heidi had one to the right of her navel. Otherwise, their figures were exactly alike.
“Wait a second,” Hedy announced as they were ready to leave. “One of us should stay here. We have phone calls to make. And we probably shouldn’t be seen together if you’re meeting someone who’s close to Espada.”
Bond saw the logic in that. “So … who’s coming with me?”
“Do we have to flip for it?” Heidi asked her sister.
Hedy waved her hand. “You two go on. I’ll be the responsible one. I’ll get some sun on the patio while I make calls.”
So Bond and Heidi left her, strolled across the hotel grounds, through the beach club and shops, and onto the warm, soft sand. The Mediterranean was calm, creating a flat, blue horizon of serenity. The beach was populated with hotel guests lounging on recliners while staff fetched towels or drinks from the bar.
“Do you see him?” Heidi asked.
Bond peered up and down the beach, and finally spotted a tanned young man lying alone on a lounger some fifty yards away from the rest of the crowd. He was wearing swimming trunks and sunglasses.
“Hola,” Bond said as they approached. Javier Rojo turned his head and smiled. He immediately jumped off the lounger and removed his sunglasses.
“James Bond!” he said enthusiastically. “How are you, my friend?”
They shook hands and embraced.
“I’m fine, Javier, it’s good to see you,” Bond said. “I’m very sorry to hear about your brother.”
Javier lowered his head. “Thank you. I am trying to come to terms with it.”
“Any ideas on how it happened?”
The matador shook his head. “The police are clueless.”
Noting Javier’s unease, Bond quickly changed the subject. “Allow me to introduce you to … Hillary.”
Javier smiled warmly at the beautiful woman. “I should have known that you would be in such company! I’m very pleased to meet you, señorita. ”
Heidi was speechless. Javier was a superb specimen of a Latin male. He had large, round brown eyes and a wicked smile that could melt any woman’s reserve.
Javier held out his hand to Heidi and she took it gingerly, as if she were in a trance.
“Hi …” she muttered.
“Sit down,” Javier said, gesturing to some empty loungers nearby. “Pull them over here. I was trying to stay away from the crowd so no one would recognize me.”
Bond dragged the lounger next to Javier’s and they sat, facing the sea.
“Where have you traveled from?” Javier asked.
“We came from North Africa,” Bond said.
“Ah, that’s a different world over there,” Javier commented. “Nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t live there.”
“I do,” Heidi said.
“Oh? Do you enjoy it?”
“Sometimes,” she answered.
“So, James, how long has it been? Three years?” Javier asked.
“Something like that. Four perhaps?”
“I don’t know. The time, it is flying. Ever since I got my alternativa, the world has been spinning,” the handsome young man said.
“What is that?” Heidi asked.
Bond explained. “It’s like a graduation, when a novillero, or novice, bullfighter becomes a full-fledged matador. It occurs at a special corrida, and the novice is proposed and seconded by senior matadors. It’s almost like a christening.”
“Very good, James,” Javier said. “You remember!”
Bond shrugged. “Javier, I asked to see you because we need some information about Domingo Espada.”
Javier nodded. “I thought so. What do you want to know?”
“Tell us your impressions of him. How close are you to him?”
“Domingo is my manager,” Javier said. “He manages several matadors. In the beginning, he was like an uncle. He was a friend. He looked out for his matadors, and I was no exception. He took on my brother when he was a novice. He has a lot of power in the world of bullfighting. Alas, sometimes he misuses that power. I think he bribes bullring owners. I know he bribes the regulators and the presidents at bullfights. He can make sure that the bulls he breeds are sold for corridas. At the same time, as a manager, he can dictate which bulls his matadors will fight. He is a good manager, but I sometimes question his ethics. Lately, he has started demanding that his matadors publicly support his political causes. I don’t particularly like that.”
“Why can’t you just leave?” Bond asked.
“It’s dangerous to leave Domingo Espada. They call him El Padrino down here. I don’t mind telling you; he’s a crook. He has been linked with organized crime for many years. I never used to pay any attention to it. But now … I have reason to believe he’s a murderer. I think he may be responsible for Roberto’s death.”
“Why?” Heidi asked.
“Because Roberto crossed him. I’m still trying to piece together what happened. You see, I know that Domingo Espada also deals in prostitution. He finds young girls from poor families and literally buys them and trains them to be high-class whores. Sometimes special guests are allowed to ‘try them out’ before they go out to work for real. Espada keeps this all very quiet, of course, and he’s got judges and policemen on his payroll. Anyway, I think Roberto—he was, you know, a ladies’ man, as you say—I think he fell for one of Espada’s girls and helped her to escape from the ranch where they are kept as prisoners. They went to Ronda, where Roberto was supposed to fight in a corrida. Espada was there, doing one of his rallies to recruit volunteers for his army.”
“Excuse me,” Heidi said. “How come he’s allowed to do that?”
Javier shrugged. “Because he’s Espada. He runs the corridas. He can do what he pleases.”
“Go ahead,” Bond urged. “What happened to your brother?”
“He and the girl were found dead in his hotel, minutes before the corrida was supposed to have begun. His throat had been cut. No one knows how the killer got away. The hotel had only one entrance—the front.”
“When you say his throat was cut, do you mean ear to ear?” Bond asked.
Javier nodded, swallowing. “I swear, if I find out that Espada was responsible, I will kill him. I’m thinking of killing him tonight.”
“Javier, don’t do anything rash. Have you ever heard of the Union?” Bond asked.
“Which union?”
“Not a bullfighting union, but a criminal organization called ‘the Union’?”
“I don’t think so.”
“They’re like a mafia, only they operate worldwide. We think Domingo Espada may be associated with them. As you know, he’s stirring up trouble between my country and Spain over Gibraltar. If we can prove that the Union is backing Espada before Monday’s summit conference in Gibraltar, we may have a chance of bringing him down.”
“Being Spanish, I have mixed feelings about that situation,” Javier admitted. “Gibraltar is a part of Spain and always has been.”
“Not according to treaty, Javier,” Bond said. “Gibraltar rightfully belongs to
Great Britain until we decide otherwise. You wouldn’t want a war to break out over it, would you?”
“Of course not.”
Heidi interrupted. “We think Espada and the Union might be planning something catastrophic for Monday. It could affect everyone in this region … Spain, Gibraltar, Britain, North Africa … the whole Mediterranean.”
“What’s he going to do?” Javier asked.
“We don’t know. We’d like you to find out, if you can.”
“Me? What can I do? I’m not that close to Domingo. I’m beginning to hate him. I can’t believe that I’ve treated him like family for years. I feel betrayed. The more I think about it, the more certain I am that he killed Roberto.”
A sharp pain shot though Bond’s chest. The look on his face must have given it away, for Heidi asked, “James? What’s wrong?”
It was the suffocating anxiety again. He suddenly felt disoriented and nauseated. He shut his eyes, willing away the uncomfortable, dreadful feeling.
“I’m all right,” he whispered. He rubbed his brow and lay back on the lounger.
“You don’t look so good,” Heidi said. “Maybe we ought to go back to the room?”
Bond shook his head. “It will pass. Keep talking, Javier. How about it? Will you help us?”
“James, I’m twenty-six years old. My entire career is ahead of me. I can’t afford to cross a man like Espada. I have a fiancée. We plan to get married next year. If Espada doesn’t kill me, he could make things very difficult for me. I might not get to fight at all, and that’s my livelihood. But … Domingo has given the art of bullfighting a bad name lately.”
“All we need is some kind of evidence that Espada is with the Union,” Heidi said. “We need it before Monday. Can you get to his ranch and snoop around?”
“Somehow that seems more risky than killing him,” Javier said. He was obviously frightened, but he took a deep breath and then said with resolve, “It was Pedro Romero, the father of modern bullfighting, who said, ‘El cobarde no es hombre y para el toreo se necesitan hombres.’ ‘A coward is not a man, and for bullfighting you need men.’ I’m certainly not a coward in the bullring, and I’ll be damned if I will be with this. He deserves to die!”
Doubleshot Page 18
