by John Gardner
‘This is it, then.’ Bond gave her a long and loving hug. ‘I’d wear simple clothes, jeans and things. Just use your common sense and don’t precipitate matters too quickly. Keep calm.’
‘And if we’re separated?’
‘Play it by ear.’
They showered together and dressed. Bond retrieved his automatic pistol and pushed it down hard into his waistband, behind his right hip.
Two of the Tempesta bodyguards – Tomaso and Enrico – arrived slightly less than an hour later.
‘You don’ needa da handcuffs this time,’ one of them said. ‘The peoples down there, they gotta plenty guns.’
They were preparing to leave the room when Tomaso spoke sharply, telling Bond and Beatrice to spread their arms and legs, place their hands wide upon the wall and assume the classic position for a search.
‘What’s dis?’ Tomaso’s hand reached the butt of the pistol wedged into Bond’s waistband. ‘Hey, Mr Bond, we’re not allowed da weapons. Dis is-a very naughty. Not allowed.’ He tucked the gun into his own belt, leaving Bond with a feeling of nakedness.
They were led from the room, down the stairs, to the lowest level – to the ballroom. The church had disappeared. Instead, the chairs had been rearranged into a large semi-circle set in front of a raised dais. The room was alive with the buzz of conversation from the fifty or so men present. They were mainly built in the same mould: mostly tall and rangy, with complexions that spoke of long days spent outside in the open air. If you saw any of these men in public places, next to you in a restaurant, or standing in line in a supermarket, you would tag them as former soldiers – veterans of recent past wars. Some of them, Bond noted, wore sidearms.
The bodyguards led them to the back row, seated them together, flanking them. One or two of the men turned around and looked at them, their eyes wary and suspicious.
Beatrice flicked her eyes towards a high mirror running along the wall to their right. She moved, raising her lips to his ear. ‘Push it from this end and it’ll slide back, okay?’ It was the mirror through which they had originally intended to view what was going on in the ballroom.
Enrico snapped, ‘Silencio.’
‘Oh, shut up.’ Bond was in no mood to be badgered by these creeps. By now he was filled with a dreadful anxiety. The people@Coad dle around them all looked like hard fighters, and in his mind he could see that a pitched battle with the Leatherheads could easily go either way. The assault on the Villa Tempesta could end up with many of these people getting away, and their plan – whatever it was – going into operation. This was not how he imagined it: a pushover for those whom he regarded as being on the side of the angels.
They had been in the ballroom for less than five minutes when there was a stir and Brutus Clay entered, walking the length of the room, decked out in battledress showing a chest full of medal ribbons, and the three stars on his shoulder tabs which marked him out as a general.
Everyone shuffled to their feet and began to applaud as Clay walked to the dais. He made motions with his hands for them to sit down. The noise finally stopped as the General waited for silence which came very quickly.
‘Welcome,’ Clay began. ‘We thought long and hard about where to hold this final briefing and came to the conclusion that we should call you – my most important officers – to this place, which is far from the prying eyes and ears of those who might prove difficult. I think it is safe to say that here, in this beautiful villa, is the last place they would expect to find us.
‘Speaking of the villa, I have to thank our good friends, Luigi and Angelo Tempesta, who have not only allowed us to meet here, but also have provided us with the bulk of our weapons for the forthcoming operation. They also suggested the way you should make this trip – coming under the guise of three coach tours. I trust you have enjoyed the visits you have made en route. Just as I hope your wives have a pleasant day today, seeing the local sights under the guidance of Luigi’s and Angelo’s wives.’ He paused, looking around the room before continuing.
‘You’re all aware that I’m not yet back to being my handsome self,’ Clay began, setting off a ripple of laughter. ‘I think it is only fair to tell you that the man who did this to me is here in this room, the man who caused my helicopter to crash. I’m lucky to be alive, and some of you already know that my pilot got me out, minus my legs and with my face almost destroyed. The killer’s name is Bond and he’s sitting at the back. James, why don’t you show yourself? Stand up.’
Slowly, he got to his feet to a horrific barrage of boos and hisses. ‘Sit down again, man,’ Clay commanded. ‘It will not surprise you when I say this man, and his accomplice, are my hostages and, as such, may well come in very useful.’
Applause, and Bond whispered, ‘Author! Author!’ Beatrice smiled, but looked very pale and uncertain. The point now, he thought, was to time the Mayday call. He wanted to be in possession of the main facts of COLD’s plans before sending out the signal. He also considered the length of time it would take for the counterterrorist force to get on the scene. He presumed the troop up in the field behind the house would hold off until the aircraft appeared, and had started their run-in to drop the remaining two troops. It would have to be a matter of instinct, and he would be the sole judge.
‘Operation Blizzard,’ Clay began, ‘Operation Blizzard is the first step in our overall dedicated strategy to turn our great country around, and put the people back on a course that will lead them to the true American Dream.
‘Within days of the first tactical and strategic moves, the people will be behind us, and you all know the indications are that the major law enforcement agencies throughout the country, together with the military – the Army, Navttady and Air Force – are considered by our analysts as allies not enemies. So, we must strike quickly and make our aims and claims known to all.
‘For this reason Operation Blizzard will start on the morning of Christmas Day. The first strikes, which will be massive, are not aimed at killing innocent civilians, most of whom will be gathered around their trees, or watching their children opening their presents.
‘Now, I need each of the area commanders to stand and state their targets. We’ll go first with New York.’
A big man, with a shaved head and a rough commanding presence, got to his feet. ‘We’ve spent a lot of time deciding on targets, sir. The more obvious ones are out as we will need to use them as soon as you take control of the day-to-day running of the country, with the assistance of the President. We have finally decided that our bombs will be set first in the theatre district, around Times Square. As you have pointed out many times, the country has been undermined by radicals and pornographers. We won’t be needing the buildings around Times Square for a while.’
‘How many bombs?’ Clay asked, nodding his pleasure at the choice of targets.
‘Three in all, sir, but they’ll be big enough to cause considerable damage. We also feel that we should detonate another two large bombs close to the United Nations building, but not near enough to cause any structural damage.’
‘Good. Good.’ Clay made the odd bobbing motion with his head. ‘While I think of it, is everybody clear about the fact that we do not – repeat not – use any commercial explosives? We use only the home-made variety. Anybody not clear on this point? Let me see a show of hands from those who already have enough home-made explosives to carry out our first objectives.’
Every hand in the room was raised.
‘The American people must be made aware that these explosions, covering the length and breadth of the land, have been detonated by terrorists – possibly home-grown, though more probably of foreign origin. Only if this ruse is punched home can we expect total co-operation.’
There were murmurs of approval as he went on talking. ‘This is why I’ve made it plain that targets must be chosen with an eye to no significant loss of life. This is also the reason why I have designated Christmas morning for the first strike, and I should say here and now that we w
ant all bombs to explode at the same moment. That is 09.00 in the morning EST, which will be 06.00 Pacific Time. You must be accurate. The detonations must be to the second. Understood?’
A murmur of consent, after which Brutus Clay began checking all the targets that had been chosen. In the major cities they were almost all Government buildings, but with consideration given to the fact that some large structures had to remain standing, as
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25
CLAY PIGEON
Up on the dais, Clay was answering questions from various area commanders regarding the individual actions to be taken in major cities and towns: all the usual minutiae of coups d’état – the securing of radio and television stations; the guarding of major civic buildings, the amount of violence that was authorized against anyone who did not comply with instructions. Then he began speaking again:
‘We must immediately show people how we are going to deal with the most pressing problems.’ He had reached his barking stage now. Snapping the words out and becoming the dictator – the leader he really wanted to be. At last they were seeing the true reason for the entire plan: the greater glorification, and total power of General Brutus Brute Clay.
‘The American people have pleaded again and again for strong leadership; for something to be done about the blot that lies over our country. A serious and sensible solution to our method of government where a President from one party can be held to ransom by a Senate ruled by a different faction. This is an idiotic situation, and we must stop it, change it. We must also be ruthless,’ the voice rising. ‘We must do the unpalatable things that have required doing for decades. The problem of drugs and serious crime – in particular street crime – is to be dealt with from the word go. Anyone in possession of drugs will be shot out of hand, whether it be a small amount of marijuana, or a larger amount of cocaine. There will be no appeal. Shoot them and string them up from lampposts.
‘Rape will be punished by the most obvious method, an immediate removal of the offender’s private parts – no matter if he bleeds to death. Looting and stealing will be similarly treated. The cutting off of a thief’s hand is an old and well-tried method. So you do it. I cannot urge too strongly . . .’ He paused as there was a noise from the doors at the back, behind where Bond and Beatrice were sitting.
A man ran down the aisle to their right, and Bond immediately recognized him as his drunken guard from the previous night, Roberto, who was now talking rapidly into the General’s ear. Clay was suddenly alert, his face flushed with anger. He spoke briefly to Roberto, who came back down the aisle as Clay began to speak:
‘Gentlemen, it appears that we have a small problem. This villa is about to come under attack . . .’ As he said it, so came the sound of two or three random shots from far away above them. ‘There is a contingent of troops moving in from the rear of the house, and two aircraft are dropping airborne troops, ringing the entire villa and its grounds.’ He paused, looking around these, his trusted lieutenants. ‘I see no real danger to Operation Blizzard. There are enough of you – trained soldiers all – to deal with this matter. Go, fight with all the tenacity and skill you possess, then make your way home. I will be in touch by the usual method.’
As he started to move off the dais, so Bond reacted, his arm snaking out towards Enrico’s pistol which was still in the man’s waistband.
‘James!’ Beatrice shrieked, and a second later he froze, feeling the cold metal against his neck.
‘I hate to do dis to ya, Mr Bond, but just stand up.’ Roberto had made a circle and come up close behind him.
Both Enrico and Tomaso were now on@lytad their feet, weapons drawn, waiting as Clay came towards them, his clumping rolling gait more pronounced as he tried to walk quickly. The remainder of the men in the room were moving out very fast indeed, and with the kind of military precision that made Bond’s stomach turn over.
Clay reached the long mirror and his hand went out to grasp its surround, pushing so that the long oblong moved with a rumble to one side. ‘Through here!’ he ordered, looking at Bond and Beatrice. ‘Watch them, lads. Now we need these hostages. Understand?’
The three men grunted their assent and began to herd their captives in the direction of the opening in the wall. Once through, Clay turned left and Beatrice reflexed – ‘That’s the wrong way,’ she shouted.
Clay gave a loud one-note laugh. ‘You know far too much about the villa.’ His hand came back and caught her a heavy blow across the cheek, sending her almost sprawling against the wall. ‘We’re not going to the little cottage,’ Clay rasped. ‘There’s a much better way of making our escape.’ Then, almost as an aside, he commanded, ‘Cuff them.’
Bond felt the clamp of metal on his left wrist and saw that Roberto had one cuff around his own right wrist, once more handcuffing them together. Glancing across, he saw that Tomaso was doing the same to Beatrice.
The high tunnel was lit by lights recessed in the tiled curved roof, and the General strode ahead, as best he could, grunting with every step and goading them on, a Colt .45 automatic in his right hand.
Finally they came to what looked like a solid stone wall, and Clay slammed the palm of his left hand against a crack in the stone. He laughed again and shouted, ‘Open Sesame.’
With hardly any noise the stone wall slid to one side revealing a lift cage which Clay entered, motioning the others to get in quickly. Above them the sounds of fighting became more distinct, machine-gun fire mingling with single shots and explosions.
Roberto hauled Bond in and Clay touched a button. They began to move upwards, eventually stopping in what looked like a broom cupboard.
‘When the Tempestas made changes to this place, they were wise enough to provide several cunning escape routes.’ Clay sounded offhand, as though he were a tour guide. ‘Good. Now everybody out and turn right.’
They were in one of the upstairs passages, leading to the bedrooms. ‘Head for my quarters,’ the General shouted above what was now a cacophony of shots and explosions. At the end of the passage he threw open a door which took them into a sumptuously furnished bedroom. As Bond stepped inside, he froze in shock.
The centrepiece of the room was a huge circular bed: above it a canopy of glass. Sukie Tempesta lay naked and sprawled across the bed, her head twisted oddly to one side and streaks of blood drying rapidly from long slices and cuts criss-crossing her body. ‘You bastard,’ he yelled at Brutus Clay. ‘You sadistic bastard.’
The General turned and looked him straight in the eye. ‘She was no good to me, Bond. Only good for one thing, and that ended last night. You do realize that she was a diagnosed psychopath? Did you know that she actually killed her husband – Luigi’s and Angelo’s father? She killed him as she made love to him, poor old man. Throttled him. Gave much pleasure doing that to old Pasquale. Then, one night it went too far. Like it went too far last night. Come.’ He clumped across the room, Tomaso pulling Beatrice behind him with Enrico pushing her.
Roberto gave Bond’s @&ad dlehand a gentle pull and whispered, ‘Dis guy’s crazy, Mr B. He’ll see us all in hell.’ Bond simply nodded, but the nod contained a wealth of meaning. ‘Then do something about it,’ he was saying.
Clay led them into a dressing room, opened a cupboard door and pressed a button. A panel slid back to reveal another lift cage. ‘Hurry! Hurry! Get in!’ he barked at them, sounding as though his throat was bone-dry. As Roberto and Bond got into the cage behind the others, Clay shut the grille and they began to descend rapidly. ‘If Luigi and Angelo haven’t made it, I’m not waiting for them,’ Clay muttered. Above them an explosion rocked the house. Then another as the cage stopped and the gates opened.
Now they were in another tunnel. ‘Not far to go.’ He was off again in his rolling strange stumping walk, leading them forward. Bond felt Roberto’s hand on his wrist and saw the man unlock the cuff. ‘Pretend we’se still stuck together,’ the hoodlum whispered. In front of them they could glimpse light, while the sounds of battle still r
aged above and behind them.
Quite suddenly they emerged into the boathouse which stood to the left of the house, looking from the main door. Rocking gently on its moorings was a large motor launch, high with a pilot’s cockpit rising from the centre. For’ard of the cockpit two fixed forward-firing MG3 7.62mm machine-guns rested menacingly, while a third MG3 was swivel-mounted in the stern.
‘Cast off those lines,’ Clay was commanding. ‘The Tempesta boys haven’t got here, so we’ll go without them.’ The ground shook to yet another, heavier, explosion, and Clay clambered clumsily on board, hauling himself up the steps to the cockpit, readying the launch. Tomaso and Enrico pulled Beatrice into the aft section which had wooden seating running around the inside of the stern.
Clay put back his head and shouted, ‘You know what this craft’s called?’ He gave another of his one-note laughs. ‘It’s named Clay Pigeon.’ The one-note laugh again. ‘A joke. My own private launch with plenty of firepower to shoot at any pigeon who wants to take on Brutus Clay. Enrico, man the aft gun!’ As he gave the command, and Enrico stepped into position, settling himself into the swivel housing of the MG3, Clay started the motors which, in the confined space, sounded like a bad day at the Monaco Grand Prix. The launch slipped her moorings and turned neatly, pointing out towards the lake as the General operated the automatic doors to the boathouse, then piled on power and allowed the craft to shoot away very fast out into the lake, leaving a twin rooster tail of water behind it.
Enrico was testing the mounting on his gun, while Tomaso looked steadily towards the villa, uttering a short curse as he saw part of the large house was in flames. Bond flashed a look at Beatrice, showing that both his hands were free. She nodded, looking up at Enrico who had stuffed his pistol inside the left of his waistband.
