by John Gardner
The launch turned almost parallel with the shore, and now it was the General’s turn to curse. Not only was the house on fire, but the fighting was almost over. Men who had seemed undaunted at the briefing were being lined up and shackled together by the sinister-looking black shapes of the Leatherheads in their dark fighting uniforms and ski masks.
Bond made out the Tempesta brothers and the men from COLD under heavy guard being marched away from the buildings by men armed with what appeared to be H&K automatic weapons. He smiled, then, above the engine noise and the slipstream, he heard another roar and saw the two police launches bearing down on their starboard side, streak@lytading in from around a mile’s distance.
Clay had also seen them, for he turned the launch so that its bows were facing the oncoming craft, and as they came within range, he fired several bursts from the for’ard guns, the noise like someone ripping the very sky apart. A long rattle of fire came from one of the police launches, and woodwork was chopped away from the deck above the bow.
‘Enrico! Get them!’ Brutus Clay swung the wheel so that they came side on to the two launches and the rear weapon stuttered out, a stream of tracer going wide as Enrico tried to bring the weapon to bear.
‘James!’ Beatrice shouted.
He looked towards her to see that she had snatched the pistol from Enrico’s belt and thrown it towards him. For a second the weapon seemed to levitate in the air then curved down towards his outstretched hands.
‘General, the . . .’ Tomaso began as his hand went for his own gun, but he did not even finish shouting the warning as Bond’s two fast shots found homes in the man’s throat. He was hardly down before Beatrice was on him, scrabbling for the keys to the handcuffs and pulling the pistol from him.
Clay heard none of this, for his whole concentration was on the two launches moving in for the kill. He took Clay Pigeon around in a long sweeping turn, trying to bring the for’ard guns to bear, and in that movement, Enrico swung back hard against the mounting at the rear of the boat.
‘Jump, Enrico,’ Bond shouted at the man. ‘Over the side or I’ll send you to join Tomaso!’
Enrico hesitated only for a moment, saw the carnage that had once been his partner and heaved himself into the spray and churning wake.
‘Gehere were enou
26
FACING THE MUSIC
They flew into Dublin, using what Bond called ‘the soft route’. From there they took the last available flight into Heathrow, which was quiet at this time of night. Nobody bothered them and he used a public telephone to call Sanusi.
‘Everyone’s going crazy looking for you,’ the perky doctor told him. ‘You’re wanted for about two million contraventions of standing orders. You know M’s retired, and the new M’s a woman? She’s out for blood, it seems. Anyone who lays eyes on you is to bring you in.’ He gave a little chuckle. ‘I fear she’ll give you the worst wigging you’ve ever experienced.’
‘She can only fire me.’
‘From a cannon probably. No, James, I somehow don’t think she’s@ before adf course going to get rid of you. She knows better than that.’
‘Then she really cannot be as bad as the old M.’
‘They say she can curse like a deck-hand.’
‘Heard it all before: seen it; done it. Have you got Freddie’s ashes, doc?’
‘Yes, they’re here, at the clinic. You want me to bring them to you?’
‘I’ll drop in on the way home.’
‘You’ll be okay. There’s nobody else here. I can’t say the same for your flat. They’re probably watching it round the clock.’
‘We’ll see about that. I’m coming straight over.’ He felt tired, dazed and now terribly sad that M had at last retired. It was like some old and familiar building of beauty being destroyed0BU">Clay spun
and turned into a carpark, or left as a wasteland. Hollow men, he thought. It’s all changed now. Straw men.
They took a taxi to the clinic where he picked up the little brass urn. Sanusi again told him to be careful, but he had gone past the point of caring about anything – except Beatrice, of course. He had no regrets.
When they reached his flat in that side road lined with plane trees he saw a van with three aerials parked two doors down. He knew SJGSR">that meant.
Beatrice went straight into the kitchen and made coffee while he sifted through the mail. Nothing there except bills, junk and two official-looking envelopes. One was an invitation to M’s retirement party. The other a direct order, under the new M’s signature. He was to report to her immediately he returned to London. She had ended by saying there were certain serious matters that needed discussing . . . Time is of the essence, she had put. Damn that for a game of soldiers, he thought, sipping his coffee.
The message light was blinking on the answering machine, so he wound back the tape and played it – ‘James, my boy. You’ll have heard that I’ve retired,’ M’s voice, nostalgic. ‘The question is did I fall or was I pushed? Nobody seems to know where you’ve got to, and, of course, I couldn’t give them any help with that. Nip over to see me when you’ve got a minute, will you, there’s a good chap. As for my successor, in confidence her bark is worse than her bite.’
Bewhat
atrice was certainly his kind of woman. She could see that several things were bothering him, so she left him alone.
He went through to the front of the house and suddenly saw them coming for him. He knew them by sight. One tall, muscular, in a pair of slacks and a sports coat with leather patches at the elbows. The other much shorter, fat, a little pompous, walking with the roll of a sailor on leave and wearing a grey lightweight suit. They were both hired thugs, but he had, at one tier, worked with them.
‘We might have to deal with Freddie’s ashes next week.’ He took Beatrice in his arms and kissed her. ‘I think I have an appointment with my new boss.’
The front doorbell rang.
‘That’ll be my car now. If you wouldn’t mind waiting for an hour or so.’
She nodded and pulled him close. ‘I’ll wait as long as it takes. Where shall I put Freddie?’
He felt a small pang of pain: guilt for her death; sadness over the whole business. He knew where she wanted the ashes scattering, but until then . . . ?
‘Look,’ Beatrice had one hand on his arm. ‘Why don’t I put her in me or anoth
By John Gardner
Licence Renewed
For Special Services
Icebreaker
Role of Honour
Nobody Lives For Ever
No Deals, Mr Bond
