The World Is Not Enough jb-1

by Raymond Benson

  ‘Where it can do the most damage,’ Bond said. ‘Elektra, have your men evacuate that terminal.’

  She bristled at him. ‘Now do you believe me?’

  The look on Bond’s face revealed his inner struggle. Was she right?

  Elektra turned to the technician. ‘Do it. Tell them to evacuate, then clear this room.’ The man immediately got on the phone.

  Bond looked at M. ‘He’s going for the oil,’

  ‘Of course,’ M said, studying the map. ‘The one pipeline the West is counting on to supply our reserves for the next century.’

  The doubt in Bond’s mind still nagged him. ‘But why? What’s in it for him?’

  M shrugged. ‘Revenge, as you say? Who knows, with a man like Renard? Chaos follows him wherever he goes. Do you have an idea?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Bond replied, studying the map. He turned to another technician. ‘How far is that rig from the terminal? And how fast is it travelling?’

  The man checked his read-outs before replying. ‘It’s a hundred and six miles from the terminal. Going seventy miles an hour.’

  ‘We’ve got less than ninety minutes,’ Bond said, thinking quickly. If he could get into the pipeline in front of the rig with the bomb, he just might be able to jump aboard and take care of the weapon. ‘Is there another rig?’

  ‘There are several stored at random locations throughout the pipeline.’ The technician flipped a switch and another light blinked on the pipe map. ‘There’s one parked in the same passageway. Ahead of it.’

  Perfect. Bond turned to Robinson. ‘Can you get me out there? Fast?’

  Before Robinson could say yes, Christmas cut in. ‘Wait a minute. Are you going to try to do what I think you’re going to try to do?’

  ‘What do I need to defuse a nuclear bomb?’ Bond asked.

  ‘Me,’ she said, smugly.

  11 - Pressure in the Pipeline

  The Eurocopter swooped along the pipeline until it came to the nearest access hatch from the parked observation rig. The chopper set down and Bond, Christmas and Robinson jumped out. Bond and Robinson turned the wheel on the hatch and got it open. Christmas, wearing a backpack full of tools, went in first. Bond followed.

  ‘I'll be waiting to hear from you,’ Robinson told Bond, handing him a radio. ‘Good luck.’

  The light from the open hatch illuminated the circular tunnel just enough for Bond and Christmas to find their way a few metres in where they found the rig. It was red and ring- shaped, resembling a doughnut on wheels, with two seats and a storage area for equipment and heavy objects. The thing was filthy with grease and dirt.

  ‘You take the controls,’ Bond said as they climbed aboard. ‘We’ve got to get up to speed before the other rig catches us.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’m guessing we only have a few minutes. Do you know how to drive this thing?’

  She examined the sparse control panel. There were only two toggle switches: ‘on/off' and ‘forward/reverse’.

  ‘It doesn’t exactly take a degree in nuclear physics,’ she replied. She flipped the ‘on’ button and the rig lurched forward. It was slow-moving at first, but it gradually picked up speed on its own. The headlamps adequately lit the dark tunnel ahead of them, but there was something about the ride that was decidedly like a carnival haunted house attraction. Bond half-expected a fake skeleton to jump out and frighten them.

  ‘Is there a way to make it go faster?’ Bond asked.

  ‘Not that I can see,’ she said. ‘It just gains speed on its own. Unless someone at the control centre stops it or we manually throw it into reverse, I imagine it’ll get up to sixty or seventy miles an hour pretty soon.’

  Bond looked behind them but saw nothing but darkness. There were no tail lights on the rig.

  ‘It won’t be long before we hear it,’ she said. ‘Can you hear anything?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  They both involuntarily gripped the sides of the noisy, clattering cart as they sat silently in anticipation and watched the speedometer rise from thirty to forty miles per hour. At one point, Christmas glanced over at Bond and studied his face in the dim light. He was certainly handsome, she thought.

  She was beginning to appreciate the unfortunate circumstances that had brought them together.

  Elektra and M stood together in the pipeline control room, anxiously watching the map on the wall. M’s bodyguard, Gabor and two of Elektra’s men hovered a discreet distance away.

  ‘Bond is in the pipeline,’ a technician announced. ‘And Mister Robinson is on the way back.’

  They watched as the two blips on the map moved along the course. The one with the bomb was travelling faster, it wouldn’t be long before it caught up with the second rig.

  M thought that she had been prematurely harsh with Double-0 Seven. Although he had disobeyed orders and left Elektra alone, he had discovered information that saved their lives. And here he was again risking his life to stop a horrible catastrophe. He certainly had courage . . . unless, of course, he was just trying to save face for suspecting Elektra King of killing her father. What nonsense!

  She watched the young woman to see how she responded under pressure. Elektra was standing in front of the map, gnawing on a thumbnail. She had become very quiet since Bond left.

  While they were waiting, the police officer in charge of the investigation made a preliminary report to Elektra. Renard’s strike had caused a great deal of damage.

  ‘From what we can fathom,’ he said, ‘four or five men armed with automatic weapons attacked the site. It was meticulously planned, for the gang carried it off in less than an hour. During that time they killed two security guards and three technicians. Plastic explosives took out the electricity and crippled the site vehicles. They also got hold of an observation rig.'

  ‘They wired it so that it couldn’t be shut off from the control centre,’ a technician said.

  ‘Mmmm,’ the officer continued. ‘They apparently placed the bomb in the rig and sent it towards its destination. Upon leaving, they set the control room on fire.’

  ‘Thank you, detective,’ Elektra said. ‘I’d appreciate it if your men leave us alone now. We’re in a bit of a crisis. I’ll be in touch soon, all right?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ the officer said. Elektra King apparently had a lot of authority, even over the local police. He quickly gathered his men and left the control room. Now M was completely alone with her bodyguard, Elektra, Gabor and his men, and a few technicians.

  Without a hint of underlying defensiveness, M approached Elektra and offered an apology by way of explaining, ‘If there’s even the slightest chance, Bond will succeed.’ She paused, then added, ‘He’s the best we have.’

  Elektra replied, noncommittally, ‘I hope you’re right.’

  M continued to watch the blips on the map. A thought occurred to her that she hadn’t considered. How did Renard and his men know how to use the observation rig? Did they have help from someone in King Industries?

  She looked around the control room and wondered if anyone standing nearby might be the insider who had switched King’s lapel pin. Elektra’s bodyguard? One of the technicians?

  M suddenly began to feel uneasy. She hoped Robinson would hurry back.

  Meanwhile, MI6’s best and Christmas Jones waited expec- tantly for the other rig to catch up with them. The speedometer on their rig read 50 mph. Finally, a whooshing noise interrupted the tense silence. Lights reflected on a bend. They looked behind them and saw the bomb-laden rig tearing through the pipe.

  ‘Faster!’ Bond cried. ‘Get our speed up!’

  Christmas pressed forward, as if leaning against the dash would make the rig go faster.

  ‘There’s not a damned thing I can do about it!’ she called.

  Bond got in the back of the rig and extended his legs out toward the approaching one. Its rumbling echoed louder in the tunnel as the lights came closer . . . closer . . .

  Their vehicle jolted as the other rig made contact. Bond c
ushioned the blow with his feet as best he could, then held his legs straight against the front of the rig in an attempt to slow it down. He waited a moment until the other rig was travelling at a steady speed behind them, then he carefully climbed over onto it.

  ‘Give me your hand!’ he shouted. He helped Christmas across, but just as she shifted her weight onto the second rig, her foot slid off the surface and she almost fell in between the two can. Bond caught her shoulders just in time and hauled her up.

  ‘Whew, thanks,’ she said. Once they were safely in, both rigs were travelling together at the same speed. The ride, however, was extremely bumpy.

  Christmas went straight for the bomb, which was sitting in the rig bed, daunting and deadly. She removed her backpack, took out some tools and examined the bomb. She attached a hand-held computer the size of a transistor radio to some terminals on the device’s LED panel and made some quick calculations

  ‘It’s a tactical fission device. Low yield,’ she said.

  ‘How do we stop it?’

  ‘ We, Doctor Arkov? Move over. Hold me steady.’

  ‘You’ve defused hundreds of these, right?’

  ‘Yeah. But they’re usually standing still.’

  Bond smiled ironically and said, ‘Life is filled with small challenges.’

  She shot him a look, then set to work. Bond put his hands on her waist to help steady her. She didn’t protest. The timer on the bomb read ‘1:45 Minutes’ and the seconds were ticking down.

  ‘Less than two minutes?’ Bond asked, surprised. ‘The thing will go off before it arrives at the oil terminal. Did they make a mistake setting the timer?’

  Christmas used a screwdriver to remove a plate.

  . . . 1:30 . . .

  ‘I don’t know . . .’ she said, concentrating, ‘. . . but I sure don’t want it blowing up in our faces, do you?’

  She clipped wires inside the warhead.

  . . . 1:20 . . .

  ‘Look,’ Bond said, pointing to the sphere that contained the core. ‘Those screws. The heads are stripped.’

  ‘Somebody’s tampered with the bomb,’ she agreed. ‘The core’s been removed and put back in. That’s weird.’

  She reached into her pack for the core extraction tool, but the rig shot down a dip in the pipeline track. Christmas almost - flew off, but Bond saved her by yanking the tool in her hand and pulling her back in. They exchanged sighs of relief then she set back to work.

  ‘They need seatbelts in these things,’ she said.

  As the ng sped through the tunnel, Christmas manipulated the extraction tool to carefully lift the plutonium core from the sphere. It took longer than Bond had hoped.

  . . . 0:55 . . .

  ‘Look at this!’ she said, surprised. The thing looked mangled. ‘Half the plutonium core is missing.’

  Bond opened a plastic bag for her. She dropped the core inside.

  ‘So it won’t go nuclear?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘But there’s still enough explosive in the casing to kill both of us if the trigger charge goes off.’ He closed the bag and put it in the backpack.

  . . . 0:44 . . .

  ‘Don’t worry, I can defuse it in time,’ she said. Bond’s mind raced as he peered around the ghostly tunnel. Christmas continued to work.

  . . . 0:40 . . .

  It was very mysterious . . . the timer had been set to go off before reaching the oil terminal. . . half of the plutonium was missing so that the bomb would only do minimal damage to the pipeline . . .

  ‘Let it blow.’ he said suddenly.

  About to snip a wire, she looked up, astonished. ‘But I can stop it.’

  ‘I said let it blow.’

  She couldn’t believe what he was saying. His eyes shot to an inspection hatch that was illuminated by tunnel lights up ahead.

  ‘Trust me. Leave it.’ He grabbed her and wrenched her away from the bomb. ‘Get ready to jump.’

  ‘Jump? Jump where?’

  As the rigs zoomed past the exit hatch, Bond leapt off, taking her with him. They tumbled along the pipe, choking for a moment in the dust left by the two vehicles. Bond sprung to his feet, pulled her up, and then they ran like hell for the hatch.

  . . . 0:10 . . .

  The wheel on the hatch was stuck. Bond used every bit of his strength to budge it. Come on, damn it! he screamed in his head.

  . . . 0:05 . . .

  It creaked and turned! They got it open and climbed out just as the bomb exploded, demolishing a section of the pipe. Debris rocketed in every direction. They felt the force in the ground beneath them as they rolled away from the hatch and lay face down with their hands covering their heads.

  Back in the pipeline control centre, red concentric circles pulsed outward from the point of impact on the map. A monotone beep echoed in the large room. Everyone was frozen and shocked, Gabor had a radio to his ear, listening intently to Robinson, who was flying over the site. The others looked at him in anticipation. Finally, he nodded.

  ‘The bomb was a dud,’ he said. ‘But the triggering charge blew out a fifty yard section of pipe.’

  ‘How bad is the damage?’ Elektra asked.

  He shrugged. ‘Difficult to say at this point.’

  ‘And Bond?’ M asked.

  The alarm beep sputtered and died.

  ‘Nothing,’ Gabor replied.

  M couldn’t hide the crestfallen expression on her face. After a moment, Elektra stepped to her and said, Tin so sorry.’

  M nodded curtly.

  Then, with a hint of a smile, Elektra continued, ‘But I have a gift for you.’

  M blinked, thinking this was an odd thing to say.

  ‘Something that belonged to my father,’ Elektra said. ‘He would have wanted you to have it.’

  ‘Perhaps this isn’t the time . . .’ M began.

  ‘Please.’

  She placed a small box in M’s hand and untied the ribbon for her.

  ‘He often spoke of how . . . compassionately you advised him on the best course of action during my kidnapping,’ she

  said.

  M opened the box. Inside was the original Eye of the Glens lapel pin.

  ‘It’s very valuable, you know,’ Elektra said. ‘I just couldn’t let it explode with the rest of him.’

  M was horrified.

  Elektra gave a small nod to Gabor, who drew his gun and shot M’s bodyguard at point blank range. The man’s chest exploded in a mass of red tissue. The other men surrounded M and aimed rifles at her.

  M’s only reaction was to give Elektra a blood-curdling glare. So Bond’s instincts were on target after all. The change in Elektra’s demeanor was like night and day. She was no longer the frightened victim, the helpless daughter . . . Now she was back in control, a harpy with blood in her eyes.

  ‘You advised my father not to pay the ransom,’ she said. ‘MI6 . . . the great protector of the free world. And I thought you were like family, M. You were more interested in catching your terrorist than freeing me. And my father went along with it!’

  ‘We would have freed you with a little more time, ’ M said.

  ‘Oh, that’s rich,’ Elektra spat. ‘After I’d been raped and treated like an animal for three weeks? I was terribly upset when the money bomb didn’t kill both of you,’ she said to M. ‘I didn’t think I’d get another chance. Then you dropped the answer right in my lap. Your man Bond. It was so easy to use him to lure you here, just as you used me during my kidnapping. How does it feel? How does it feel to know that he was right about me after all? As you say, he’s the best you have. Or should I say had?’

  M slapped her hard. The men lunged and restrained her.

  Elektra rubbed her cheek lightly but otherwise revealed no emotion.

  Take her to the helicopter,’ she ordered the men.

  Gabor and another man took hold of M’s upper arms, but she roughly shrugged them off. Still glaring at the girl who had betrayed her, M held her head high and marched out of the room with
her captors.

  Renard received the call en route to Istanbul in Truhkin’s Land Rover.

  ‘It’s done, Elektra said. ‘Your plan was brilliant.’

  He breathed a sigh of relief. It was good to hear her voice. ‘And what about Bond?’

  ‘You won’t be hearing from him. He was killed in the pipeline, trying to stop your bomb.’

  ‘That’s excellent news,’ he said.

  ‘I have another surprise for you when I see you,’ she said. ‘When will you arrive in Istanbul?’ He was glad that she sounded so happy.

  ‘It won’t be long,’ he said. ‘Hurry. I want to see you.’

  ‘We’re on our way.’

  Renard rang off and turned to Truhkin. ‘Are you sure you know what to do with the plutonium we took?’

  ‘Sure, no problem,’ said the Russian. ‘We mould it into the shape of a rod with the extruder. I’ll use the dimensions that your man provided.’

  ‘How long will it take?’

  ‘A few minutes once we have the extruder. As soon as we get to Istanbul, I’ll start work. Are you sure the extruder will be there?’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s coming,’ Renard said.

  He was satisfied. Renard tried to relax as Truhkin drove, then glanced back at the heavy shielded case that was carrying their half-core of plutonium. Inside was the future of the world, he thought. At last, he was going to be a part of it. All his life he had attempted to make a difference . . . fighting for causes he believed in, inciting others to commit violence in his name, forcing governments to listen to him . . .

  In two days, he would be dead, but Renard took comfort in the knowledge that his love would live on through the woman he was doing all this for. Some might say that it was hatred that was responsible for the destruction and loss of life that would result from his coming actions.

  To hell with what they thought.

  This was about love.

  Bond and Christmas sat in the dirt, catching their breath. The sun beat down on them. The ruptured, smoldering break in the pipeline was not far away.

  ‘Do you want to explain why you did that?’ she asked. ‘I could’ve stopped that bomb. You almost killed us.’