High Time To Kill

by Raymond Benson

  Bond turned and walked through the deep snow toward the edge. Baack shoved Hope out of the plane but kept hold of her. “Follow him,” he said.

  When they got to the cliff, Baack said, “It’s high time to kill, James. You first.”

  “You’re making a big mistake, Paul,” Bond said. “How are you going to get down the mountain by yourself?”

  “I’m an experienced mountaineer. I’ll be fine. You’ll get there before me, though. You’re going headfirst.”

  Bond turned to face him. Baack was still holding the gun to Hope’s head.

  “You’re going to have to push me,” he said.

  “Either you jump off the edge, or you get to see me blow a hole in her head. Which is it?”

  Bond looked at Hope and peered through the goggles. He could see a flicker of understanding in her eyes. Bond blinked twice.

  Hope raised her right boot and kicked Baack hard in the shin. The sharp points of the crampon dug through his clothing and into his skin.

  Baack screamed. Hope pushed the gun away and dropped to her knees. At the same time, Bond lunged for the big man. They fell together and rolled. The VP70 arced through the air and made a deep hole in the snow.

  Bond hit Baack hard in the face, cracking the goggles. Baack roared like a bear, grabbed Bond’s hood, and pulled it off. The cold air felt like needles on Bond’s skin and head. Baack’s large hand fixed on Bond’s face, his fingers digging into the skin and pushing him back.

  There was genuine strength behind Baack’s size. Bond fell backward, giving his opponent time to regain his balance and stand. He kicked Bond hard in the chest, the crampons ripping the fabric like tiger claws. The boot came down again, but Bond grabbed Baack’s ankle and twisted it sharply. Baack yelled again and lost his balance. He toppled over, dangerously close to the edge of the cliff.

  Bond wasted no time counterattacking. He leaped on top of the big man and attempted to roll him over. Baack lodged his shoulder against a rock to brace himself, but it was very slippery from ice. As he started to slip over it, he took hold of Bond’s parka and said, “You’re coming with me!”

  Hope jumped into action and held Bond’s legs. “I’ve got you!”

  Bond kept pushing and hitting the man, forcing him closer to the dropoff. Finally, Baack’s waist went over, pulling his legs with it. Now he was hanging on to Bond’s shoulders for dear life. His weight was dragging them both over the cliff. Hope dug her crampons into the ground, trying her best to keep Bond from sliding forward.

  Bond was face-to-face with Baack. Now there was terror in the man’s eyes, but he wasn’t about to plead for mercy.

  “Going down, James?” he said through clenched teeth. “First floor … lingerie?”

  Bond dug his fingers into Baack’s hands, trying to wrench them away from his parka.

  “Christ!” Hope said, gasping for air. “I can’t … hold … much …

  longer!”

  Bond felt his torso slipping forward. Except for his head, shoulders, and arms, Baack’s entire body was now over the edge.

  “The Union … will … crush … you,” he spat out between gasps.

  A blast of cold wind reminded Bond that his hood was off, and that sensation prompted Bond’s next action. He slammed his forehead into Baack’s, inflicting the hardest possible head-butt he could give. Baack’s eyes rolled up into his head as his hands loosened their grip. Bond broke free, sending the man off the cliff and into space.

  “Aaaaaiiiiiieeeee … !”

  Bond inched back onto the ledge and held Hope in his arms as the scream faded into thin air.

  “Just like in the movies …” he said.

  It took themthree days to get to the BaseCamp, where Ang Tsheringmet them with open arms. Since he had heard nothing by mobile phone, he was convinced they were dead. He had resolved to wait a few more days before leading the surviving teammembers back to Taplejung.

  That night they built shrines to the men who had died on the mountain. Bond spent two hours scratching Chandra’s name on a stone, then drove a piton in above it and attached a white prayer scarf through the eye. When Hope made a stone for Roland Marquis, he made no objections.

  They began the long trek back to civilization the next morning. Bond had regained much of his strength after descending the mountain, and the rest at Base Camp worked wonders. Bond and Hope were inseparable, ignoring the disapproving looks of the Sherpas. The Nepalese, shaking their heads, would never understand the decadent ways of the west.

  The couple made the seven-day journey a memorable one, if not by day, then certainly by night. They made love for hours every evening after dinner, knowing full well that they might never see each other again after they left Nepal.

  One night, as they lay naked in the sleeping bag at the Gunsa campsite, Bond lit his first cigarette in weeks, coughed loudly, then said, “You realize that we’ve been to the brink of disaster and lived to tell the tale.”

  “What has it taught you?” she asked. “Other than that you really should give up smoking.”

  “No way,” he said, taking another drag. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about our earlier conversation concerning limitations. Despite what my government thinks, I’m just a man. You don’t realize how mortal you really are until you’re fighting for your life at eight thousand meters.”

  “In my opinion,” she said, “you’re the finest specimen of a man I’ve ever seen. Speaking as a medical doctor, of course.”

  He smiled. “Hope, you saved my life up there. More than once. I’ll be forever grateful.”

  “Don’t mention it. I’ve learned a lot as well.”

  “Such as?”

  She sighed. “I don’t think I have something to prove anymore. Hey, I summited the third tallest mountain in the world, right? I now know that the capabilities of the human machine are far greater than I could ever have imagined. I need not concern myself with limitations anymore, because there are no such things.”

  “Doesn’t one’s mind have a lot to do with it as well?” he asked.“Without the will, the body doesn’t have much of a chance.”

  “Quite right,” she said. She reached between his legs and held him. “Speaking of will, will you please make love to me again?”

  She didn’t have to ask him twice.

  They said good-bye at the Kathmandu airport. She was flying to Bangkok, then on to Auckland. He was traveling in the opposite direction, to London by way of Delhi.

  As her flight was called over the intercom, she said, “Take care of yourself, James. Keep in touch.”

  “I’m not very good at that,” Bond admitted. “But we can try.”

  Hope placed a hand over his face and let her fingers run smoothly over the faint scar on his cheek. She gazed into his clear blue eyes, then pushed the comma of black hair off his forehead. She leaned up and kissed the cruel mouth she had come to know so well. Without another word she turned away, picked up her bag, and walked toward the gate. Bond watched her as a wave of melancholy washed over him. It was a familiar friend, a bittersweet companion for his wretchedly solitary life. Hope handed her ticket to the flight attendant, then went through the door to board her plane.

  She never looked back.

  TWENTY - SIX

  THE COLD STONE

  HEART

  M LOOKED HARD AT BILL TANNER AND SAID, “I DON’T CARE HOW LITTLE time you’ve had. I want your new proposal for security procedures on my desk in the morning!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Tanner said. He stood, glanced at Bond, and left the office. M turned to Bond, took a breath to redirect her thoughts, then said, “Needless to say, the Minister is very happy with your work on this case. Skin 17 was returned to the DERA and they have some new people working on it. I must admit I had my doubts about this one, Double-O Seven, but you pulled through. Well done.”

  Bond sat stiffly across from his chief with a frown on his face. He wasn’t used to such praise. It disturbed him. There also seemed to be an edge to
her voice that wasn’t quite right.

  “I’m supposed to extend an invitation to you,” she continued.“The Minister asked that you come to a dinner tonight. Black tie. Ministry of Defence dining room. Seven-thirty. You’re to receive a commendation, Double-O Seven.”

  Bond didn’t think he had heard right. “Ma’am?”

  “A medal. You’re going to get a medal.” She looked at him, waiting for some kind of response.

  “Ma’am, I’ve never accepted commendations in the past, not even a knighthood. Your predecessor knew that. I thought you did, too.”

  “The Minister thought you might reconsider this time,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but please give the Minister my thanks and my apologies. I have an engagement.”

  M knew he was lying. She was silent for a moment, then said, “It’s just as well. I must admit I didn’t approve of you receiving it, either.”

  Bond now knew what was coming.

  “Double-O Seven,” she said. “I have to turn down your request for two months’ leave. I want you around London in case the Union retaliate. Although you did a fine job in Nepal, I’m extremely unhappy with what has occurred with Miss Marksbury.”

  “I understand, ma’am.”

  “No, you don’t,” she said. She leaned closer to him and narrowed her cold blue eyes. “Your relationship with that girl nearly cost you your life. It caused a massive security breach in our organization. Didn’t you ever learn that you cannot be romantically involved with colleagues at SIS? Especially your bloody personal assistant! What the hell was the matter with you?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

  “Yes, well, of course you are. Now she’s probably lying at the bottom of the Thames and the Union have a good idea of how we work. This better not happen again, Double-O Seven, do you follow me?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “That’s all. Take a week, then we’ll talk about how we can go after this Union.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you,” he said, then got up and left the room. Barbara Mawdsley sighed and shook her head. She should have taken disciplinary action and had his head on a platter.

  But that was something she could never do to her best agent.

  Bond sat in the sitting room of his flat off the King’s Road, a double bourbon in hand and a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He had sent May away so that he could be alone with his demons. Sometimes they were the only things that could comfort him.

  The white phone rang. He was tempted to let it go, but he inexplicably detected an urgency in the pips that forced him to pick up the receiver.

  “Yes?”

  “James! Thank God, you’re there!”

  It was Helena Marksbury.

  Bond sat up abruptly, completely alert. “Christ, Helena, where are you?”

  “I’m … I’m in a hotel in Brighton. I came here a few days ago. I’ve been hiding. I assume you know—”

  “Yes, Helena. I know.”

  “Oh, God, James … James …” She started to cry.

  “Helena,” he said, attempting to control his rising anger that he knew would be inappropriate. “Tell me what happened. From the beginning.”

  She sobbed uncontrollably. “Oh, James, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.…”

  He waited a few moments for her to get it out of her system. He was unable to detect that any of it might be pretense; her sorrow was genuine.

  “It’s best if you tell me everything, Helena,” he said.

  She gained control of herself and slowly began the story. “They got in touch with me the night we had that fight, after your golf game at Stoke Poges.”

  “The Union?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go on.”

  “They must have been watching my flat. They waited until you left, then two men came to the door. At first I wouldn’t let them in, but they convinced me they were from SIS. But they really weren’t.”

  “Who were they? What did they look like?”

  “One was English. The other was Dutch or Belgian, I think. They told me that they were from the Union. They showed me … oh, God, James … they showed me photographs …”

  “Of?”

  “My sister. In America. Her two children. Photographs of her dropping them off at school. The men threatened their lives if I didn’t cooperate with them.”

  “What did they say?”

  “Only that my nephew and niece would meet with a horrible accident, and that my sister would suffer terrible torture.”

  “What did they want from you?”

  He knew that she was trembling. Her voice shook as she answered him. “They said they wanted to know everything you were going to do with regard to Skin 17. I had to report to them where you would be and when. I had to tell them what the Ministry of Defence were planning at all times. I had to answer any questions they asked.”

  “For how long?”

  “As long as they deemed necessary, they said. Oh, James … I didn’t want to do it. It was extortion, you see that, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do,” he said. “But I’m not sure how the Ministry of Defence will see it. You could be in a lot of trouble, Helena. How would you contact them?”

  “I wouldn’t. They contacted me.”

  “At the office?”

  “They had my private number, somehow. They would call and demand to know everything. I tried to put a trace on the calls, but it was never any good. They had some kind of block on the line. They warned me not to alert anyone about them or my sister and her children would die.”

  “And you believed them?”

  “Of course I believed them! I had no choice but to believe them!”

  “They could have been bluffing.”

  “I thought about that, but there were the photos. They seemed to know exactly what my sister was doing at any given time. Oh, James, I’ve been a nervous wreck. I’ve been horrible to you. You could have been … killed! It would have been my fault!” She broke down again.

  Now he knew that her treatment of him those days before he left on assignment had nothing to do with their relationship. He had selfishly thought that she was upset about him, when, in fact, she was in torment over what she was being forced to do.

  He might have taken her in his arms, but his heart was quickly cooling toward her. Betrayal was something that never sat well with him.

  “I’m in danger,” she said quietly.

  “I should think so.”

  “A blue van is parked outside on the street. It’s been there for two days. A man has been watching the hotel. They know I’m in here.”

  “Is he there now?”

  There was a pause as she peered out the window. “The van is, but it doesn’t look like anyone is inside now.”

  “Listen to me, Helena,” he said. “Tell me where you are. I’m coming to fetch you. You have to turn yourself in. It’s the only way out of this mess. It’s the only way to protect you.”

  “I don’t want to go to prison,” she choked.

  “Better that than lose your life. We’ll make sure that the FBI in the States is contacted so that they can get your sister and her family to a safe place.”

  “Oh, James, will you help me? Please?”

  “I’ll do what I can, Helena. I must warn you, though, that there will be a question of treason. Only the courts can answer that one, I’m afraid.”

  He heard her crying again. The poor girl was in agony.

  “Helena, you have to surrender. It’s the only way. I’ll take you straight to headquarters.”

  After a few seconds of silence she said, “All right.” She gave him the address.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” he said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  He hung up the phone and rushed out of the flat. He drove the Aston Martin recklessly across the river and down to the popular seaside resort, where there are literally hundreds of small hotels. He quickly found the street she had mentioned in the less fashi
onable part of Brighton some five minutes’ walk from the seafront.

  He parked in front of the building and looked around. The blue van was nowhere in sight. He got out and went inside the building. Ignoring the elderly woman at the reception desk, Bond rushed through the small lobby as a feeling of dread poured over him,

  He took the stairs two at a time to the second floor, drew the Walther, and peered carefully around the landing. The hallway was clear. He quietly moved to the correct room and listened at the door. A radio inside was broadcasting the second movement of Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony. Bond raised his hand to knock but realized it was slightly ajar. He slowly pushed it open, his gun ready.

  Helena Marksbury was lying in the middle of the floor in a pool of blood.

  Bond entered and shut the door behind him. He quickly checked the bedroom to make sure he was alone with the corpse, then kneeled down beside her.

  The Union had gotten to her first. Her throat was completely severed.

  He took a moment to collect his thoughts, then picked up the phone and dialed the emergency number at headquarters. After ordering a cleanup crew, he sat down in a chair and stared at the body of the beautiful girl he had once made passionate love to.

  The music filled the room as the orchestra on the radio reached an emotionally charged climax.

  He was sorry for her, but he no longer felt any affection for the girl who had been a wonderful part of his life for some time. Just as he had always shut his heart to other women who had betrayed him in the past, Bond forced Helena out of his life then and there.

  As he took out a cigarette and lit it, Bond wondered what was colder—the cruel realm of espionage that had victimized and ultimately destroyed Helena Marksbury, the icy summit of Kangchenjunga, or his own hardened heart.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  HIGH TIME TO KILL

  The author and publishers wish to thank the following individuals and organizations for their assistance in preparing this book:

  Belgian Tourist Office (U.S.)—Liliane Opsomer

  Carolyn Caughey