Dimitrov. The Russian racing driver. Number Three.
‘Bond,’ he said. It would have been impossible to put more venom into a single word.
Bond said nothing. He had been unforgivably careless, parking where he always parked, even though the first rule of fieldcraft is never to repeat yourself, never to fall into a pattern of behaviour that can be interpreted by the enemy. Worse still, he had watched this man walk up to him. Could he have guessed that he was anything other than an innocent passer-by? It didn’t matter. He should have acted – always – as if anything was possible. And now he had been left defenceless. Unless . . .
His mind was already racing ahead, weighing up all the possibilities. His gun, the Walther PPK, was in the secret compartment in the glove box of the Bentley. From where he was standing, it was an arm’s length away and the whole piece of apparatus was designed to release it instantly into his hand. As if to steady himself, he reached inside the car and pressed his hand on the top of the walnut dashboard.
‘Stop! Let me see both your hands.’ Dimitrov raised the gun, standing implacably in the rain.
Why did nobody come along? No. That was the last thing Bond wanted. If anyone approached, the Russian would fire and that would be the end of it. Better that the two of them have a little time together. It was obvious that Dimitrov had things he wanted to get off his chest. What he didn’t know was that Bond had activated a tiny button set into the surface of the dashboard. The secret compartment had opened electronically. He could see his own gun out of the corner of his eye. He was standing on the right of the car. He would have to seize it with his left hand. But the instructor had insisted that Bond should be ambidextrous on the firing range. After hours of practice, he could fire almost as fast with his left hand as with his right. It was a skill he was going to need – assuming he could actually reach the gun.
‘You did this to me,’ Dimitrov said. He spoke schoolboy English. The sort of English every SMERSH agent learned in some shabby room in the back of Moscow, and it was coming out distorted, through blistered lips. His accent was as heavy as the rain.
‘I saved your life,’ Bond replied. ‘I could have left you to burn.’
‘I did burn!’ The Russian was furious. ‘I burn all over!’
‘You lost control. It was an accident.’ It didn’t matter what Bond said. The man was going to kill him anyway. But any dialogue was good. It bought time. It allowed him to make his plan.
‘I know who you are, Mr James Bond.’ He pronounced it ‘Shems’. The moment of truth was coming fast. Bond could tell. The Russian levelled his pistol, water dripping off the muzzle.
‘Do SMERSH know you’re here?’ Bond asked. It was unlikely. Even the Russians didn’t usually send their agents into the streets of London and every instinct told him that it was a private desire for vengeance that had brought Dimitrov here. ‘They’re not going to thank you.’
‘This is not for SMERSH. This is for me.’
Bond knew it was over. This was it. But he also knew what he was going to do. Even as he had been speaking, he had been lowering himself imperceptibly, inch by inch, simply by bending his knees. The rain had helped him. It was driving into the Russian’s eyes. He hadn’t seen what Bond was doing.
The Russian fired at point-blank range. He had been aiming directly at Bond’s chest.
But Bond had been standing behind the Bentley’s door. At the moment the bullet had been fired, the most obvious target was on the other side of a square of glass. And although the Russian couldn’t possibly have known it, the window of the Bentley was bulletproof, one of the modifications that Q Branch had insisted on at the time and which had so annoyed Bond. The glass shattered but the bullet hadn’t passed through and at the same time Bond was diving to one side, his left hand scrabbling for the gun. He grabbed it and now, protected by the lower half of the door, he twisted round and dived down. By the time Dimitrov realised what had happened, it was too late. He had taken aim but Bond had already fired. Three bullets spat their ugly farewells, driving into the Russian’s chest and throat. Bond lay on the ground, sodden, his broken rib pounding. The rain beat down on him. A car drove past, spraying more water over him, but the driver noticed nothing and didn’t stop.
Eventually, Bond stood up. He slipped the Walther PPK into his pocket and walked over to the dead Russian who was lying on the tarmac in a pool of rainwater and blood. He was still holding his own gun, a 9x18mm Makarov pistol, a sophisticated but ugly weapon used by the Russian army and police. He had come close to firing a second bullet. His finger was still curled around the trigger, already stiffening as his muscles began to contract.
Trigger mortis.
Bond remembered the phrase he had heard at the launch site on Wallops Island. It seemed appropriate that it should have all ended this way. As he stood over Dimitrov, he calculated that, even with the bulletproof glass, there could only have been a matter of microseconds between the shot that had killed this man and the shot that had been intended to kill Bond. Perhaps he had been a little faster. But he had been luckier too.
It would not always be that way. Bond knew that there would come a time, a moment in a mission, when his luck would run out. It was a mathematical certainty. No agent had ever survived long in the Double O section and one day someone, somewhere would have the edge and it would be he lying there dead, flat-out in the rain.
But not today.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Let me explain how this book came about.
I was delighted when the Ian Fleming estate approached me in the summer of 2014 and invited me to follow some very distinguished authors in writing a new James Bond novel. But from the very start, I had something that they didn’t.
Searching through Ian Fleming’s papers at the time of the fiftieth anniversary of his death (12 August 1964), his family had rediscovered a number of outlines for a television series which he had been discussing in America. The worldwide success of the first Bond film, Dr No, in 1962 had made the television series redundant and Fleming subsequently used some of the stories in two collections – For Your Eyes Only and Octopussy. But five remained. I was allowed to see them and one of them immediately leapt out at me.
The episode was called ‘Murder on Wheels’ – I have used the same title for Chapter Seven of this book – and it placed Bond in the extremely dangerous world of Grand Prix. Reading it, I was actually quite surprised that although Bond had memorably played bridge in Moonraker, golf in Goldfinger and baccarat in Casino Royale, he had never, in any of the novels, taken part in the much more lethal world of Grand Prix. Better still – and this was really exciting for me – Fleming’s treatment contained a scene with Bond meeting Bill Tanner and M at the Secret Service HQ. This means that some of the description and the dialogue in Chapter Two is actually Fleming’s own work. It only adds up to four or five hundred words, but for me it was both an inspiration and a springboard. The truth is that trying to capture Fleming’s style was not easy and I was grateful for any help I could get.
As has been reported, Fleming’s original story makes Stirling Moss the target of SMERSH at Nürburgring. ‘Switch to an English racetrack. Bond is getting instruction from Moss and we get various racing instruction sequences with Moss, or whoever might be chosen for the role, giving some real inside gen on top-class motor racing.’ As much as I admire Sir Stirling, I decided not to use him in the story – real celebrities do not tend to make appearances in the Bond novels and anyway, he might not have been amused.
A great many people have helped me with Trigger Mortis – without their time and expertise, writing it would have been impossible. (That said, of course, any technical mistakes are entirely my own.) First of all, my friend Nick Mason introduced me to the world of Grand Prix, gave me access to his superb library and allowed me to visit his amazing collection of vintage cars at Ten Tenths near Cirencester. While I was there, I was looked after by Mike Hallowes and Ben de Chair who showed me Nick’s own Maserati 250F in
action and helped me to understand what makes this car such a classic.
I travelled to Nürburgring with Marino Franchitti, one of the world’s fastest sports-car racers and a winner of the Sebring 12-Hours, said to be the second toughest race after Le Mans. He gave me a fantastic insight into professional racing and drove me twice round the 20.8 km circuit – an experience I will not forget!
Doug Miller at the National Science Museum and Dave Wright, an expert on the technical aspects of missile defence and a co-director of the Union of Concerned Scientists, both introduced me to rocket science. Dr Tony Yang at the University of British Columbia gave me his thoughts on structural and earthquake engineering. I visited the impressive display at the New York City Transport Museum and the staff kindly allowed me access to their archive.
And then there were the books. I often wonder if nonfiction writers and academics are annoyed when people like me use their expertise for the sake of a thriller. Well, the least I can do is acknowledge some of the titles that helped me.
War and Peace in the Space Age – James Gavin
Countdown: A History of Space Flight – T.A. Heppenheimer
Vanguard: A History – NASA Historical Series
Space Race: The Battle to Rule the Heavens – Deborah Cadbury
The Limit – Michael Cannell
Maserati 250F, Owner’s Manual – Ian Wagstaff
The Technique of Motor Racing – Piero Taruffi
Remembering Korea 1950: A Boy Soldier’s Story – H.K. Shin
The Bridge at No Gun Ri – Charles J. Hanley
The Korean War – Max Hastings
Working Class New York – Joshua B. Freeman
Ian Fleming – Andrew Lycett
James Bond: The Man and His World – Henry Chancellor
The James Bond Dossier – Kingsley Amis
Finally, a few personal acknowledgements.
At a charity auction to raise funds for London’s Air Ambulance, two bidders – Nigel Wray and Bernardo Hertogs – each paid a very large sum of money to appear as a character, the proceeds going towards the purchase of a much-needed second helicopter. It’s actually shocking that this superb, life-saving service needs to be a charity at all. Nigel Wray subsequently donated his appearance to Henry Fraser who turns up in Chapter Two.
I am, of course, very grateful to Ian Fleming Publications Ltd and The Ian Fleming Estate for entrusting me with this iconic character – and in particular to Corinne Turner who first approached me. This has been a very happy collaboration, helped by Jonny Geller at Curtis Brown who represents the estate and by the ever-watchful Jonathan Lloyd who represents me. I am very fortunate to have had my own Miss Moneypenny in Lauren Macpherson, my assistant, and once again I have to thank my publishers, Orion Books; Kate Mills (my editor), Jon Wood and Malcolm Edwards.
Anyone who has read my work will know how much James Bond has meant to me throughout my life and so finally I have to acknowledge the genius of Ian Fleming, who got a teenaged boy reading and imagining and who has been influencing me ever since. In writing Trigger Mortis, I have tried to stay true to his original vision and to present the character as he was conceived back in the fifties, whilst hopefully not upsetting too many modern sensibilities. It’s been – and I must be honest – a pleasure to write.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
ANTHONY HOROWITZ is the author of the New York Times bestseller Moriarty and the internationally bestselling The House of Silk, as well as the New York Times bestselling Alex Rider series for young adults. As a television screenwriter, he created Midsomer Murders and the BAFTA-winning Foyle’s War, both of which were featured on PBS’s Masterpiece Mystery. He regularly contributes to a wide variety of national newspapers and magazines, and in January 2014 was appointed an Officer of the Order of the British Empire for his services to literature. He lives in London.
IAN LANCASTER FLEMING was born in London on 28 May 1908 and was educated at Eton College before spending a formative period studying languages in Europe. His first job was with Reuters news agency, followed by a brief spell as a stockbroker. On the outbreak of the Second World War he was appointed assistant to the Director of Naval Intelligence, Admiral Godfrey, where he played a key part in British and Allied espionage operations.
After the war he joined Kemsley Newspapers as Foreign Manager of the Sunday Times, running a network of correspondents who were intimately involved in the Cold War. His first novel, Casino Royale, was published in 1953 and introduced James Bond, Special Agent 007, to the world. The first print run sold out within a month. Following this initial success, he published a Bond title every year until his death. His own travels, interests and wartime experience gave authority to everything he wrote. Raymond Chandler hailed him as ‘the most forceful and driving writer of thrillers in England’. The fifth title, From Russia With Love, was particularly well received and sales soared when President Kennedy named it as one of his favourite books. The Bond novels have sold more than sixty million copies and inspired a hugely successful film franchise, which began in 1962 with the release of Dr No, starring Sean Connery as 007.
The Bond books were written in Jamaica, a country Fleming fell in love with during the war and where he built a house, ‘Goldeneye’. He married Ann Charteris in 1952. His story about a magical car, written in 1961 for their only child, Caspar, went on to become the well-loved novel and film, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
Fleming died of heart failure on 12 August 1964.
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ALSO BY ANTHONY HOROWITZ
Moriarty
The House of Silk
The Magpie Murders
The Killing Joke
Mindgame
William S.
ALSO BY IAN FLEMING
The James Bond Books
Casino Royale
Live and Let Die
Moonraker
Diamonds Are Forever
From Russia with Love
Dr No
Goldfinger
For Your Eyes Only
Thunderball
The Spy Who Loved Me
On Her Majesty’s Secret Service
You Only Live Twice
The Man with the Golden Gun
Octopussy and the Living Daylights
Non-fiction
The Diamond Smugglers
Thrilling Cities
Children’s
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
TRIGGER MORTIS. Copyright © 2015 by Ian Fleming Publications Ltd and The Ian Fleming Estate. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Material from Murder on Wheels by Ian Fleming, copyright © The Ian Fleming Estate, 2015.
‘James Bond’ and ‘007’ are registered trademarks of Danjaq LLC, used under license by Ian Fleming Publications Ltd.
The Ian Fleming logo is a trademark owned and used by The Ian Fleming Estate and used under license by Ian Fleming Publications Ltd.
www.ianfleming.com
www.anthonyhorowitz.com
Originally published in Great Britain in 2015 by Orion Books.
FIRST EDITION
EPub Edition SEPTEMBER 2015 ISBN 9780062395122
ISBN: 978-0-06-239510-8
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