The Facts Of Death

by Raymond Benson

  The lovemaking had eased the earlier tension that had risen between them. They each lit a cigarette, lay in bed and looked up at the white ceiling. They could hear the sound of the sea outside.

  “James, you like me, don’t you?” she asked.

  “Of course I do. Why?”

  “You seem distant, as if you were somewhere else.”

  “Am I?” he asked, but it was true. He was concerned about M and was thinking about the relationship she had with Alfred Hutchinson. Bond knew what it was like when a lover betrayed everything you stood for and believed in.

  “James, listen. I ask nothing of you,” Niki said. “You don’t have to be afraid that I’m going to try and keep this relationship going after the assignment is over.”

  “I wasn’t thinking that at all.”

  “I just—” Niki caught her breath, then continued. “I mean, I’m aware of your reputation, James. You have a girl in every port. It’s all right. I don’t mind being the girl in this one. I just thought you had only one girl in each port.”

  Bond looked at her and took hold of her chin. “Don’t be a silly goose. You are the only girl in this port.”

  “I’m not sure I believe you, but anyway, we have an assignment together and shouldn’t be doing this in the first place. Why would we want to continue it?” She sounded hurt.

  “Niki …”

  “No, really, it’s all right. Just promise me one thing.”

  “What?”

  “Before the very last time we make love … that is, when you know it’s the last time … before you leave Greece … tell me. Don’t just leave without saying a word. All right?”

  “All right.”

  Her lips were slightly open, an inch from his. She kissed him and explored his mouth with her tongue. Then she said, “The assignment isn’t over yet. Put out that cigarette and let’s do it again.”

  “M on hold for you, James,” Bill Tanner said over the phone. The ring had awakened Bond and Niki in the hotel room. Bond looked at his watch. It was 8:10.

  When she got on the line, M said, “We found it, 007, I think we’ve got it.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve been going over and over the events of that night,” she said. “Something compelled me to look inside the handbag I was carrying then. It’s one I don’t usually use. You see, when he was dying, he kept saying, ‘Your hand … your hand …’ He was gasping, he couldn’t speak well. I thought he wanted me to hold his hand. What he was trying to say was, ‘Your handbag … your handbag.’ Well, I hadn’t touched that handbag since the night of the murder. I got it out and looked inside, and found an envelope. Inside were instructions and a key to a safety deposit box at a branch of Barclay’s. The instructions gave the address of the bank and authorization for me to open the box if anything happened to Alfred. He must have slipped the note inside when he insisted on holding it. He knew what had happened to him on the pavement. He knew that he was going to die.”

  “Go on.”

  “I just got back from the bank. Inside the box was a note he wrote to me, a piece of paper with a triangle drawn on it, a marked-up map of Cyprus, and a floppy disk. On the disk we found details of a meeting he had set up with the Rauf Denktash, the President of the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus. He was going to visit the President on their independence day.”

  “That’s tomorrow.”

  “Yes, the fifteenth of November. There are some plans of the Presidential Palace on Tanzimat Street on the disk as well, an invitation to a breakfast celebration tomorrow morning, and something else far more disturbing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Aerial maps of Istanbul. There is one large map of the Aegean, with the longitude and latitude of the city highlighted. There’s a series of numbers on this map, and Bill Tanner confirmed that they were the target coordinates for a missile.”

  “And the note?”

  “It’s personal, but I want you to see it. It clears up the business with the Nazi gold. I’m going to fax all of this to you. Once you’ve had a look, call me back.”

  Niki opened her Compaq laptop and plugged it in. She set it up to receive faxes, and soon the data was being transmitted and downloaded onto her hard drive. Bond read Hutchinson’s letter to M:

  My Dear Barbara:

  If you are reading this, then I am probably dead. I hope you will find all of this material useful in stopping the Decada. I believe they are planning to assassinate the President of the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus on November 15. They have something else planned for Istanbul.

  I took the precaution of placing a copy of this data in my safety deposit box because I recently discovered my computer had been tampered with. The files may have been copied. I have since deleted them.

  You’ll probably learn that I was involved with Konstantine Romanos in a scheme to sell off a large cache of Nazi gold that my father had secreted away after the war. I regret to tell you that this is true. Even though I became a wealthy man from the sale of the gold, Romanos cheated me out of 50% of my share, and I was unable to claim it. I couldn’t go public, for it would have destroyed my political career. The suspicions about my father were damaging enough. The scandal would have been more than I could bear.

  I attempted to extort the money from him, threatening to go to the authorities with the information that Romanos was a terrorist. When I learned that my son was involved with the Decada, I knew it was time to do something aggressive.

  Romanos used my son as a hold over me. He thought he could keep me from talking if Charles was under his wing. Instead, I resolved to give you all of this information.

  The facts of life are such that we are all human and we all make mistakes. Alas, the facts of death do not allow us to properly correct those mistakes. By then it is too late to clear out the dark, dirty secrets from the closets of our souls.

  I want you to know that I love you very much, and once this ghastly business is over, I hope you can forgive me and that your memories of our time together will be pleasant.

  With all my love,

  Alfred

  So the man was somewhat honorable after all, Bond thought.

  Bond studied the rest of the data and decided that the President of the TRNC was definitely one of the three Tetraktys targets. If Istanbul was another one, what was the third? There was no indication of what the Decada planned to do with Instanbul, except that there were cruise missile coordinates written on a map. Had they obtained a cruise missile? Was this the military connection? And what about that virus? Was there a connection to all this?

  “Niki,” Bond said. “Get on to your people and pull any reports from the last few months dealing with arms trading in the area. Look for missiles, anything relevant.”

  He phoned M back and told her that he had gone over the information.

  “Romanos said he had recovered all of Hutchinson’s information after all. I believe he has a missile that he’s planning to use on Turkey. They’re going to try and kill the President of Northern Cyprus in the morning. We have to put together a team and get there as soon as possible,” Bond said.

  “I agree,” M said.

  “We have to go into the north. That will be tricky with our Greek friends. They might refuse to cross the border.”

  “Damn it, convince them that their country will be blown to hell if they don’t stop these fanatics. You’re also going to need the assistance of the Turks. I’ll call Station T in Istanbul and alert them that they are under attack, but not by Greeks or the Republic of Cyprus.”

  “Romanos admitted that his people were creating a virus. That may have been the bug we found in Texas. What’s the status of the epidemics?”

  “Just a minute, Chief of Staff is handing me something.” She was silent as she read for a minute. “Christ.”

  “What?”

  “The death tolls in Los Angeles and Tokyo are rising. There have been new cases reported in New York and London during the past forty-eight h
ours. Do you think this is his virus?”

  “According to him, it wasn’t yet ready for use!”

  “Well, somebody’s using it. All of the infected people have been quarantined, and the clinics where they got the blood have been sealed. Hospitals are on full alert to isolate anyone who comes in with similar symptoms.”

  “Then we need to find him fast. If there’s really going to be an assassination attempt on the Turkish Cypriot president tomorrow, that may be our only chance of tracking him down. What I don’t understand is how he is going to get to the President. It was Alfred that had the invitation to meet with him tomorrow, right?”

  “Yes. He was supposed to be part of the President’s entourage for the day’s festivities. Of course, Manville Duncan had to step in. He’s in Nicosia now at the British Embassy. I’ll get hold of him and see if he can handle this situation with a diplomatic approach.”

  “That would help a great deal,” Bond said. “How is he doing being Ambassador to the World?”

  “Oh, he just complains that he’s not very worldly about food. He’s a picky eater, I suppose. He’s especially at a disadvantage in a meateating country like Cyprus.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You didn’t know? Duncan is a strict vegetarian.”

  A cold chill ran down Bond’s spine. “My God. Ma’am, it’s Manville Duncan who is the member of the Decada. It was never Alfred Hutchinson. Hutchinson wasn’t killed because of the secrets he knew. He was murdered so that Duncan would be free to replace him for this event tomorrow! He’s a traitor, and he’s the one who will try to assassinate the President!”

  TWENTY-THREE

  INDEPENDENCE DAY

  MANVILLE DUNCAN NERVOUSLY LOADED THE RICIN PELLET INTO THE GOLD-plated ballpoint pen that would serve as the method of execution.

  “Are you sure you can handle this?” Hera asked him impatiently.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “You just worry about your job.”

  The sun was rising in Lefkosia, and the two of them had met in Hera’s room in the Saray Hotel on Girne Caddesi, probably the best hotel in Lefkosia.

  “The parade begins at nine o’clock,” she said. “You’ll be meeting with the President at nine-thirty. He’s supposed to address the people at ten. If you’re on time, he’ll collapse of a heart attack in the middle of his speech. Remember to place the number and the statue where they won’t be found for a while. Then get the hell out.”

  Duncan felt his pocket to make sure that the piece of paper with the number “8” on it and the small statuette of Apollo were still there.

  “What about your equipment?” he asked. “Was it here, as arranged?”

  She nodded. “It’s an old American M79 grenade launcher, the kind used in Vietnam.” She pulled it out from under the bed. It was a short, rifled, breech-loading weapon that fired a fixed cartridge. Its maximum range was about 350 yards.

  “And four cartridges.” They were in a metal briefcase, packed in foam, and looked like oversized short and fat bullets. “They’re filled with sarin. I’m firing them at ten oh-five whether the President is dead or not. Make sure you don’t follow him outside. If you breathe this stuff you’ll die.” The rest of her accoutrements—the gas mask, the protective suit and hood, the boots and gloves—already lay spread out on the bed. On the bedside table was a can of red spray paint and a small alabaster statuette of Hermes.

  Duncan watched Hera prepare. He said finally, “I know what you’re up to, Number Two.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know what you and Number Ten and Number Eight are planning.”

  “And what is that, Mr. Duncan?”

  “You’re planning to split off from the Decada and form your own group. You’re planning a mutiny.”

  “Why would we do that?”

  “I don’t know. I know that you and Number Ten were … well, that you were intimate with each other. Number Eight made it a ménage à trois. Am I right?”

  “What if you are?”

  “The Monad won’t like it.”

  Hera suddenly seized Duncan by the throat and squeezed hard. His eyes bulged as he struggled for breath. After allowing him to feel the pain for thirty seconds, she said, “Listen, you worm. If you so much as breathe a word of that to the Monad, I’ll cut out your liver and stuff it in your mouth, do you understand me? If you’re smart, you’ll keep quiet, and maybe we’ll have a place for you when we form the true Decada. I’ve been with the Monad since I was twelve years old. I want to break free. It’s my destiny. The gods have spoken to me too. Pythagoras himself experienced a mutiny among his own followers. This is meant to happen. Besides, the Monad is misguided. We all agree with his goal to teach the Turks a lesson, but after that, we have our own plans. Bigger ones. Once this Tetraktys is completed, we’re moving on. I promise you that what we leave behind us won’t be pretty, so you had better start choosing where your loyalties will lie.”

  She released him, then continued getting ready. Duncan gasped for breath and sat on the bed. He waited a few minutes to regain his composure. Then, as if nothing had happened, he stood up.

  “I had better get going,” Duncan said, clipping the gold pen in his jacket pocket. He straightened his tie and said, “Good luck, Number Two.”

  “You too, Number Three.”

  Manville Duncan left the room for his appointment with the gods.

  It was nine o’clock in the morning. Hundreds of Turkish Cypriots had gathered in the streets of Lefkosia for the parades and celebration. The President of the Republic was due to speak from a stage set up near the Saray Hotel. A few blocks away, he was greeting visiting dignitaries at a special breakfast reception in the Presidential Palace. No one in the streets noticed the British helicopter that flew overhead. After all, British aircraft were seen in the sky all the time.

  Niki Mirakos flew the Wessex helicopter from the RAF base in Akrotiri, carrying four Greek Secret Service commandos and James Bond. M had arranged the whole thing in secrecy with the Greeks. It was best that neither the Republic of Cyprus nor the TRNC knew what was happening for the moment. The government of Turkey, however, had been alerted to the situation.

  They were all dressed in protective uniforms with gas masks hanging loosely around their necks. Armed with AK-47s, the commandos were a highly trained professional antiterrorism unit. Crossing the Green Line was something they had thought they would never have to do.

  Down below, at the Presidential Palace, Manville Duncan was greeted by the President’s aides and brought inside the splendid white building. He was led into a room full of diplomats and other important visitors from Turkey and abroad. Fruit juice, breads, and fruit were laid out on a table. Rauf Denktash, the President of the TRNC, was surrounded by friends and colleagues near a large bay window looking out over the street. The festive atmosphere of the place was infectious.

  “Mr. President,” the aide said, leading Duncan up to him, “this is the Goodwill Ambassador to the World from Great Britain.”

  “Mr. Hutchinson?” the President asked.

  “No, Manville Duncan. I believe my office alerted yours—Mr. Hutchinson died suddenly over a week ago. I was Mr. Hutchinson’s lawyer and have temporarily taken over his duties.”

  “I am sorry to hear about Mr. Hutchinson,” the President said in English. “We had never met but had spoken on the phone. Nice man. But you are just as welcome here, Mr. Duncan.”

  “Thank you. I am here representing Her Majesty’s Government in the interest of promoting peaceful relations between the TRNC and the Republic of Cyprus.”

  The President nodded his head in acknowledgment and said, “Ah, but Her Majesty’s Government refuses to recognize the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus as a nation. What can we do about that, Mr. Duncan?”

  Duncan displayed his most rehearsed, charming smile. “My dear President, now is not the time to get into that discussion, is it?”

  They both laughed. “It is a pleasure to be here,�
�� Duncan continued. “Congratulations. Enjoy your day.”

  “Thank you,” the President said, then rejoined his colleagues.

  Manville Duncan stepped over to the table and picked up a glass of orange juice, then felt his inside jacket pocket to make sure the ballpoint pen was still there. As a precaution, he also wore a shoulder holster with a Smith & Wesson Bodyguard Airweight .38 Special.

  The Wessex flew over the crowds toward the western side of the Venetian wall that surrounded Lefkosia. Looking down, Bond saw quite a different city than what was south of the Green Line. Lefkosia was not nearly as modernized as Nicosia was. The buildings below looked hundreds of years old. As a result, Lefkosia had distinctly more character than its southern counterpart. There were numerous historic monuments dating from the Middle Ages and subsequent eras, including many examples of Gothic and Ottoman architecture.

  “Where do you want me to land this thing?” Niki shouted.

  Bond pointed to a mosque. “There, that’s it. Put it down in the courtyard.”

  He checked the AK-47 he was carrying, and then made sure the P99 was loaded. He had been lucky to obtain extra magazines and ammunition from the Akrotiri base.

  The Wessex descended into the courtyard of the Kanli Mescit Mosque. The commandos jumped out and Bond followed them. He gave the thumbs-up sign to Niki, who then took the Wessex back up into the air.

  For a few moments, nothing happened. Bond and the men waited and watched the walls surrounding the courtyard.

  Suddenly the gates of the mosque opened, and twenty Turkish soldiers poured in, their rifles ready. They were wearing green camouflage uniforms. The men encircled the perimeter of the walls and within seconds had the entire courtyard covered. They knelt and aimed their rifles at the five men. A captain shouted in Turkish for the Greek commandos to lay down their weapons and surrender. For several tense moments, the Greeks and the Turks stared at each other without moving. Face-to-face with their ancient enemies, both sides were unsure how to proceed.