by John Gardner
Looking back again, he saw as quickly as possible.AFbb that the launch was slowly making headway, catching up with them, while Toni was apparently oblivious to what was going on. Pouring on power and easing away to his right, Bond started one of the most dangerous moves a jet-skier can make. If you can’t beat ’em, he thought, then you have to join them.
As he went into the hard turn, it was as though he were riding the side of a race track, curved upwards. The difference was that the surface on which he rode was insubstantial and could give way, swallowing him and toppling the jet-ski. Too much speed, or too steep an angle and the water would swing him out of control, spit him out then draw him in.
Bond was anxious to complete the manoeuvre without being unglued from the jet-ski, and this caused him to make the turn wider than he wanted. The ski bumped and juddered under him, and, as soon as he straightened up, his right hand came off the steering bars, reached for the zippered pocket, curling around the butt of the ASP automatic.
The motor launch had changed direction by around three points, beginning to angle towards him, but keeping the searchlight on Toni. He was around thirty feet from the craft when he saw another burst of tracer rip across the water, sending up a spray dangerously close to her machine.
He had the pistol out now, feeling very unsafe in the knowledge that while riding this bone-jarring little craft the chances of knocking out the man with the semi-automatic were very slim. He was steering at speed with one hand as his pistol came up, pointing in the general direction of the shooter, and he was vaguely aware that the man at the wheel was shouting a warning. He squeezed off four rounds, two quick pairs of shots, and almost lost control as Filippo’s arms flew upwards, as though he were surrendering. The silhouette of the man danced a macabre jig, feet slipping, arms flailing and body starting to spin, then lifting and going over the side.
The bow of the launch turned directly towards him, and appeared to rise from the water as it increased speed. He wrenched at the steering bars of the jet-ski and roughly hauled it around. The response was sluggish as he increased the power and angle of turn, the machine juddering under him as though it would stall. Then he saw the bows miss him by a couple of feet, and he was caught in the spray of the white roil of water surging from the stern.
Again, he hauled on the steering bars: once more the jet-ski shuddered as though it would slip sideways and so let the water cover him. He felt the nose going down, and at the same moment had a spray-covered view of the motor launch’s stern. His right hand came up and he squeezed the trigger, some five or six shots in quick succession, one of which must have penetrated the side of the craft and, burning hot from the velocity, pierced the petrol tank.
Even over the engine noise and the rushing sound of water, he heard a dull thump as though from under the lake. Then the gas tank ignited in one huge explosion of fire, leaping upwards – a great plume of flame rising from the centre of what looked like a blossom: the opening of a fiery flower. The blast hit him and the jet-ski felt as though it had risen from the lake’s surface – slewing, sideways on, aquaplaning away from the spray and pieces of wood and metal that seemed to be raining down around him.
The remains of the launch were foundering and burning some hundred yards away by the time he had gained control of the jet-ski. Through the flames he caught a glimpse of Toni’s ski standing off around fifty yards on the far side of the wreck. He opened the throttle and headed towards her, happy to see her move a hand in a thumbs-up sign. He eased back and could make out that she was instructing him to follow her. She obviously wanted him to do this as fatext-indent: tadst as possible, for her jet-ski lurched to one side and she began to accelerate across the lake. For a second he hesitated, then began to pour on power until they were both roaring forward at a very uncomfortable speed.
It took around thirty minutes before they reached the edge of the lake. By this time the moon had shaken itself free of the clouds, and he could see the bank, trees and shrubbery coming up very quickly. He thought she was heading them both straight into land, but at the last moment he glimpsed the opening that led into a wide canal. They both slowed to a more sedate pace as they passed into the canal, with its banks of overhanging foliage and grass.
He thought that by day and in summer this would be an idyllic place. For a while he steered on instinct alone, his mind slipping away to thoughts of being here, perhaps with Toni Nicolletti, in a motorized barge possibly, just drifting under warm blue skies with the scent of summer around them.
He was dragged back to the present by the sound of a deep pounding of engines from in front of them, and he caught Toni’s hand signal to pull in close to the bank and cut the engine.
There were two of them, going at speed, sending out a long choppy bow wash as they travelled with the occasional blare of a klaxon and red warning lights flashing: a pair of police patrol boats heading to see what carnage had occurred on the lake. The men in charge were obviously focused only on getting out to the flaming wreckage, for they passed by without even looking towards the two jet-skis and their riders.
‘Lights, I think,’ Toni called back to him, so they started off again with lights spreading out from the front of the machines, still keeping up a moderately slow pace. Within another fifteen minutes they came to the junction of the canals, turning left and heading towards the Port of Viareggio. Ten minutes later the lights of the harbour became visible, together with small craft and the odd seagoing ship anchored within the port.
Nobody challenged them as they moved into the main channel and then out beyond the breakwater, turning right as they felt the sea begin to lift and drop the jet-skis. Toni led the way inshore, picked up speed and headed towards the lights that were the coastal town.
The pine woods came up first and Bond followed Toni’s lead, cutting his engine as they drifted towards a narrow beach backed by the thick, sweet-smelling trees. They literally stumbled up the beach and into the trees. It had been a long time since Bond had felt this unsteady. The rolling, bumping and hard splashing of the jet-ski had set him very much off balance, and Toni clung to him trying to walk in a straight line. The blind leading the blind, he thought.
When they appeared – with a whispered ‘Bill?’ and their answer of ‘Hilary’ – the grey men were far from grey. Both were dressed in slacks, rollnecks, and sports coats: one a tall and muscular fellow with sandy hair, they eventually discovered; the other a short, slightly pugnacious African-American.
‘The car’s waiting,’ the sandy-haired one spoke softly and with some urgency.
‘C’mon,’ the other one ordered. ‘Ain’t got all night. Move it.’
It was a long dark vehicle that Bond could not even put a name to. Not that they were given time to examine it, for the two men hustled them into the back, the sandy-haired man – who liked to be called Charley – slid in beside them, while their other bodyguard sat next to the driver whose face they did not see clearly – then or later.
‘Just sit back as far as you can,’ Charley told them. ‘We’ve got nearly a two-hour drive but I gmargin-left: tadot coffee here if you want some.’
‘Black with no sugar,’ Bond said quickly. He was beginning to feel the cold.
‘Me too,’ from Toni.
‘Okay. Just lean back and enjoy. We don’t need to talk. Save the talking for the Fibbees.’
Bond shot a quick glance towards Toni who whispered, ‘Guess we’re going to be sent to the Principal’s office.’
He sipped his coffee and was surprised that the ride was smooth, for they were driving at a fair speed. He leaned back and thought about the last few hours. Had he accomplished anything? Doubtful. What had started as an anti-terrorist operation following Harley Bradbury’s Flight BD 299 explosion at Dulles International, had turned into something quite different. First there had been Sukie’s arrival back into his life, then her sudden and horrific death, which had led him to work under FBI control with his own chief’s blessing.
He reflected
on the sinister brothers Tempesta and their supposed link with the Children Of the Last Days, whose object in life appeared to be a complete reworking of the United States of America, with draconian changes, and the principles of organized crime to keep the citizens happy. Then the Tempestas’ obvious attempt to do away with Toni and himself. No, he had definitely failed there, as had Toni. Their job had been to lure the brothers into the United States so that the authorities could prise COLD out of the woodwork and put the Tempestas away; preferably for life.
Somehow Bond did not think they had done much in the way of setting themselves up as an attractive lure.
He thought about Harley Bradbury and his part in all this, and as he thought, he became drowsy. Somewhere far away he heard music. He looked around to find that he had been transported to some magnificent masked ball. He knew instantly that he was in Venice, and recalled that during the day he had found a shop which specialized in hand-made paper. Later he had tried to find the shop again, but it seemed to have disappeared. That was the way with Venice, he considered. One square would look wonderful and clear in the morning, yet when you tried to find it again, later in the day, it had changed: a trick of the light. There was nowhere else in thagainst him, o
10
KIDNAP
They were allowed to go upstairs to change. Bond found that a small suitcase containing some of his own clothes – obviously lifted quietly from his flat off the King’s Road – had been brought over, presumably by M. He tidied up before going downstairs again to find Toni already there, perched on the edge of one of the easy chairs, holding court. She was now dressed in a heavy blue skirt with a shirt of a lighter shade of blue, and a knotted silk scarf at the neck.
‘Ah, good. You’re sometimes more fussy than a woman, James. Like to take your time, eh?’ M rose from his chair and gestured towards a table set for five.
They ate a simple meal of omelettes and pommes frites, with long crisp bread, all washed down with a thirst-quenching Galestro. When the coffee arrived, Eddie Rhabb began what was obviously to be some kind of debrief—
‘So what happened out there on the lake?’
‘We had to make a fast getaway, using jet-skis, and they were foolish enough to follow in a motor launch.’ Long ago, Bond had learned the art of sticking to the main points and saving the detail under later.
‘It happened faster than we expected,’ Toni said quietly.
‘Told you,’ snapped the wild MacRoberts. ‘When we briefed you, Toni, I said it would happen very quickly once Bond turned up.’
‘Could someone actually tell me what this is about?’ Bond felt that something had passed him by. ‘I understood that the idea was to get the Tempestas’ confidence and lure them to the States so that you could lock them up and throw away the key.’ He nodded towards Rhabb and MacRoberts.
‘Well, that’s just about what you did, isn’t it?’ from Rhabb. ‘They were friendly, welcoming, and gave you a contact: someone who might have been involved in Sukie Tempesta’s murder – Clay.’
‘You been talking?’ He looked, a little crossly, at Toni, who shook her head. ‘They knew about that almost the moment the brothers put it to you. I’d spiked the dining room and was getting it all in my office. Essential pieces of conversation were nipping through the air to Eddie and Mac, here.’
‘And from them to me,’ M said quietly.
‘You see, James,’ Eddie leaned back, head up, out of the bull charging position, ‘we figured that, as y">‘I didnat stepmotherou had known Sukie so well, and simply because you were there, at Dulles, you would be immediately suspect. To the Tempestas, if they had no hand in the murder, you were the one possible choice. I imagine they were pretty shaken when they heard you had met Toni.’
‘They seemed not to believe my story about flying to Kansas City.’
‘Why should they? Toni was already a questionable member of the household. We knew that when we sent her in again. But I believe they were convinced she was material from regular organized crime. It wouldn’t surprise me if she was quietly followed, and then lost, in the States. That’s why they probably knew she didn’t go anywhere near Kansas City. I think the general plan was to get rid of you there and then . . . the pair of you.’
‘That’s what it felt and looked like.’
‘How did they actually set you up?’ M asked, his face bland with innocence.
‘You don’t know, sir?’
‘No, but I’d bet it was a woman. Knowing you as I do, I’d put money on it being a female of the species.’ His eyes closed and he appeared to have nodded off.
‘Just for your peace of mind, sir, she came to me, not vice versa.’
MacRoberts gave a humourless laugh. ‘Giulliana. I’d put money on her.’
‘Yes, Giulliana, and her husband really seemed upset about it.’
‘Luigi Tempesta is always upset with her – if it’s not royalty or money making a play for her.’ Eddie grunted. ‘If it’s someone like Harley Bradbury, he couldn’t care less. In fact, he probably gets all the pillow talk. Luigi is a man of rather bizarre tastes. As for his wife, if it’s male and wears trousers she’ll lock onto it like a missile.’
‘So,’ M seemed to have woken up again. ‘They wine and lunch you, then what?’
‘After lunch, they fed me General Clay and his merry men who roam the Idaho mountains.’
‘They make any suggestions?’
‘That I should get in touch with him. Even gave me his contact number. The bait was that the general had something to do with Sukie’s death.’
‘Then they turned you loose with the lovely Giulliana?’
‘Not quite. Early in the evening, they were suddenly called away. I had a very dreary dinner – begging your pardon, Toni.’
Toni laughed. ‘I could hardly get a word in. Giulliana was giving you the steamy eye, and letting you know that when her husband was away she was available.’
‘But they came back, eh?’ from MacRoberts.
‘Just as she was trying to rape me.’
‘Then the old badger game?’ Eddie asked.
Bond nodded. ‘In storms Luigi, ready to shoot me.’
‘I wonder if he would’ve done that?’ M mused.
Silently, MacRoberts shook his head. ‘Doubt it.’
‘You weren’t facing his gun. I was immobilized.’
‘Then Toni came riding in like a white knight and saved you,’ said Eddie Rhabb.
Toni laughed. ‘The new A15 tranquillizer darts work a treat. Stopped him dead. I’d already had some practice with Angelo.’
M opened one eye. ‘So you – what’s the expression? – hightailed it out of there?’ loss of erbb
‘On the jet-skis, yes,’ Bond nodded, ‘And bloody bumpy they are as well.’
‘Watch your language!’ snapped M, who had a thing about even the mildest of bad language.
‘What I don’t understand is if they intended to kill us there at the villa, why did they bother to set me up with Clay?’ Bond’s forehead wrinkled.
‘Because the brothers Tempesta are very careful men.’ MacRoberts took a long draft of wine. ‘Clay’d be their backup. The Tempestas always have a secondary plan. They know things can go wrong, so they cover their backsides. That’s excellent for them, and bad news for us.’
‘The guys in the launch seemed to be playing it for keeps.’ Bond described the battle on the lake.
Eddie nodded. ‘That’s the other problem with the Tempestas. Their men are not well disciplined, unlike the members of COLD who are trained to obey orders first and last.’
‘Clay?’ Bond asked.
‘What about him?’
‘They gave the impression that his was a solo outfit, strongly attached to President, country and the Declaration of Independence. Nothing to do with COLD.’
‘They would,’ muttered MacRoberts. ‘They would never let an outsider even hear a casual mention of COLD, but I’d stake my life on the general being at least a conduit to COLD
. It’s well known that he has no time for the militia movement who are geared to fighting the government. COLD wants to be the government, and I should imagine that the general wants to be Secretary of Defence.’
‘So what have we really accomplished, and what do we do now?’ Bond appeared to be challenging them.
‘Well, James.’ It was M who answered. ‘If our FBI friends will allow me to put you in the picture – because my time here is limited . . .’
Rhabb glanced at his watch and said something about him having almost an hour.
‘Military jet,’ M explained. ‘Fast devils. Got me over here faster than Concorde. Right, what have you accomplished? You’ve stirred up a little hornets’ nest to begin with. Ms Nicolletti and yourself have become loose cannons. The brothers Tempesta probably see you as a large threat. It is even possible that they will both follow you into the States. You’ll be going tomorrow. In plain sight. Ms Nicolletti will fly to DC, while you, James, will fly to San Francisco and then up to Spokane. They’ll be expecting that, just as they’ll be fairly sure you’ll make a play for the general. That’s another of their problems: in spite of what happened on the lake, they’ll think you’ve fallen for their story about the general’s involvement in their stepmother’s death. Won’t think twice about it. They are your basic psychopaths, they never learn from their mistakes. I should imagine our FBI friends will already have a watch on General Clay.’ His head snapped towards Rhabb. ‘Right?’ he asked.
The FBI man shrugged. ‘We do have someone there keeping a lookout.’
‘So, you’ll be reasonably protected.’ M smiled, seraph-like, at Bond.
‘With respect, sir, it’ll be me out there and, from what everyone says, these people play for keeps.’
‘Then you’ll be in your element, James, won’t you?’ M let this last sentence hang in the air.
Bond breathed a long sigh and said he supposed he would be in his element, muttering, ‘Nortitle {font-size: riIQ rain of bullets, nor sleet of nerve gas, nor hail of fire, nor death of night, shall halt the males from SIS. I must get through.’
