by John Gardner
Logically, Anton Murik would be making demands at some very early point. From what the little man had said, the demands obviously concerned money or valuable convertible items alone. It would be a lot of money; and, if Murik was as shrewd as he seemed, the time limit had to be minimal. Whatever the governments of countries like Britain, the United States, France and Germany had said about never giving in to terrorist blackmail, Meltdown would present them with the gravest dilemma any country had yet faced.
With hostages, aircraft, embassies and the like, governments could afford to gamble and sit it out-establish a dialogue and find a way to stall matters. Yet if this situation arose, the governments would be left with no option. The hostages would consist of large tracts of land; cities; seas; rivers; and millions of people-all caught in a deadly pollution that would be devastating, and could even alter the whole course of the world for decades to come.
It was, Bond decided, the ultimate in blackmail – worse even than the threat of a thermonuclear device hidden in the heart of some great city. For this very real threat meant- technically at least- that six nuclear cores would not only wreck six plants, throwing their radioactive filth over large areas, but also bore their way, gathering heat, through the earth itself – possibly producing radioactive expulsion at other locations on the way, and certainly at the final point of exit. Anton Murik was thorough. He would have worked out every move, down to the smallest detail, from the takeover by the terrorist squads, and the making of his demands, right down to the collection of the ransom, and the point where Bond would rid him of Franco-and he would rid himself of Bond. Yet there was still one factor for which Murik had not accounted: the circumstances Bond had considered earlier- the trigger-happy, death-wish uncertainty of any terrorist group under pressure. This thought – above anything else – strengthened Bond's commitment to get out and back to M as quickly as possible.
It was almost one in the morning before he heard the click of the electronic lock. Bond sprang like a cat from the bed, the strip of plastic in one hand, the other scooping up the trio of ball bearings. Gently he pulled back on the door, allowing Lavender to enter the room. Raising a hand, he signalled silence, then slipped one ball-bearing into each of the circular bolt housings, softly tapping all three, so that the bearings rolled gently to the far ends of the housings. If Bond's thinking was accurate the metal bearings would make contact at the bottom of the bolt housings. By rights the 'on' lights would be activated in the castle switchboard room. If luck was with them the flicker as Lavender unlocked the door would have gone unnoticed.
Bond then inserted the thick plastic strip over the bolt heads, to prevent them locking back into place. Only then did he partially close the door.
Lavender was still in the dress she had worn at dinner. In one hand she carried what looked like a pocket calculator, and, gingerly in the other, one of the duelling pistols, which Bond recognised as coming from the valuable set in the hall. 'Sorry I'm late,' she whispered. 'They've only just gone to bed. A lot's been happening. Caber came up to the house with some of the men. The Laird's been giving them instructions, Lord knows what about, but Caber's in a fury. I heard them talking in the hall. It's a good thing you're going, James. Caber is threatening to kill you; but I heard Anton say, "Not yet, Caber, your turn will come." Have you any idea what's going on?' 'A fair amount, Dilly: enough to call in help. Yes, it is serious, I'd be foolish not to tell you that much. While I'm away, I want you to keep to yourself as much as possible. If things get bad, try and hide somewhere – and would you please not point that thing in my direction?' He took the duelling pistol from her. She told him it was safe: the hammer was down. 'I just thought you should have some kind of protection – some weapon; and I know how to load these. Anton showed me years ago. There's a ball in it, and powder, and a percussion cap.' 'Just hope it doesn't blow up in my hand if I have to use it.' Bond looked with some misgivings at the piece. Lavender said it was fine. 'The Laird tests them regularly – about once a year. He told me once that he shouldn't, but he seems to enjoy it. That one's Monro's pistol, by the way. The man who won.' Bond nodded, trying to hurry her along by asking about the main doors, and the best way out. She told him there was a red button high up on the top right-hand side of the main door. 'You'll find a small switch just beneath it in the down position. Move it up, and the alarm system'll be disconnected. Then just press the button, and the main door locks will come off. They'll know in the switchboard room straight away, so you won't have much time. I've checked, and your car's still in the same place outside.'
'And that?' Bond pointed to the flat black object.
'The main gates,' she told him. They apparently had a permanent guard on the gates, which were also equipped with electronic locks. 'Both Anton and Mary-Jane carry these in their cars.' She demonstrated that the flat box had two controls, marked Open and Close. The rest was obvious. If you started to press the Open button at around fifty yards from the gates they would unlock and swing back of their own accord. 'That's about all the help I can give you. 'It's more than enough, Dilly, darling. Now I'm going to let you have about three minutes to get well clear, and back to your room, before I start. If everything goes to plan, I'll have help here, and there'll be some unmasking to do. I fear your guardian could end up in the slammer for a long time.' 'Just take care, James. Dear James.' She put her arms around his neck and he kissed her. This time there was no doubt about her intentions as she pushed close to him and their mouths locked. It was no way, Bond considered, to start out on a wild dash to safety. 'Take care,' she whispered again, and he opened the door – holding the plastic strip in place – wide enough for her to get out. Bond slipped the remote control for the gates into a hip pocket, then slid the hard barrel of the duelling pistol into his waist band, making sure the hammer was right down, and thinking of the dangers he would be running if it wasn't. Next he picked up his car keys and the flat box of his own. This was also a remote operator -one of the many extras provided by Communication Control Systems for the Saab. With this, he could turn on the ignition and have the motor running almost before he was out of the main castle doors; that was unless somebody had wired a bomb to the ignition – the true security reason for having a remote starter anyway.
Taking several deep breaths, Bond clutched the car keys, remote ignition control, and the suitcase in his left hand, leaving the right free. Opening the door, he allowed the thick plastic to fall and pulled the door closed behind him. The bolts shot home, and he waited anxiously to see if the mechanism would jam against the ball bearings. It didn't.
For a few seconds Bond stood in the darkness of the corridor, letting his eyes adjust. Then, slowly, he moved towards the gallery.
A low wattage safety lamp burned at the top of the stairs. Bond stopped, peering down into the hall and along the gallery. The old building creaked twice. Quietly he made his way down the staircase, keeping to the side of the steps, where the wood is always more solidly based and unlikely to make any noise.
Once he got to the hall there was the normal desire to move too fast, an overwhelming need to get it all over. But long discipline made Bond cross to the door at a slow, tiptoe pace. He could see the small panel with the red button and switch quite plainly. Reaching up he flicked off the alarm and pressed the button. There were three heavy bolts on the main door, and the whole trio clunked back in unison, like a pistol shot. In the night silence of the house it was enough noise to waken the dead, he thought; and, at that very moment, with the door swinging back and the fresh air carrying the unique scent of the gardens and Glen Murcaldy into Bond's nostrils, all the lights went on and a voice told him to put his hands up.
It was Donal. Bond recognised the voice, and judged the butler to be somewhere just to the left of the stair bottom. Trusting his own experience and intuition, Bond's hand grasped the duelling pistol, cocking the hammer as he drew it from his waistband. He whirled around as the end of the barrel came clear.
It was a risky shot, and t
he pistol made far more noise than he had bargained for, the metal jerking in his hand like a trapped snake and a cloud of white smoke rising from the explosion. But Bond's senses had been accurate. Donal was just where his ears had placed him. A pistol of some kind clattered over the floor as the butler wheeled in a complete circle, clutching his shattered shoulder where the ball had struck and whimpering in a high-pitched squeal, like a terrified animal.
Of this Bond had only a brief and blurred picture, for he was already out of the main door, pressing his own remote ignition control and dropping the duelling pistol so that he could grasp the keys to the Saab. He had the impression of lights coming on and the shadows of running figures rising from the lawns near the great gravel sweep and heading towards the Saab as its motor sprang to life.
Almost dragging the case behind him, Bond sprinted to the car. The motor was ticking over gently as he thrust the key into the door lock. The key turned in the lock and came away as he pulled at the door. Throwing the case into the rear, he slid behind the wheel, slamming the door and flicking down the lock.
The click of the lock came almost at the same moment as one of the shadowy figures closed on the car. It was time to test C.C.S.'s special fitments. Working quickly, Bond unlocked the two hidden compartments, threw the Browning on to the ledge above the instrument panel and grasped the spare set of Nitefinder goggles.
There were at least five men around the car now; even before he had the goggles in place, Bond could see two of them carried what looked like machine pistols, pointing towards him. He thought Caber was there in the background, but he was not going to hang around to find out. One of the men was shouting for him to get out of the car. It was then that Bond hit the tear gas button.
One of the safety devices – a standard fitment in the C.C.S. 'Supercar', as they call it – consists of tear gas ducts placed near all four wheels. At the press of a button, the gas is expelled enveloping the car, and anyone attempting to assault it.
Bond heard the thud and hiss as the canisters opened up, then saw the effects as the five men began to reel away and the angry white cloud rose around the windows. There was a portable oxygen unit, with masks, within reach, in case the gas penetrated the car or the air ran out; but Bond was more concerned with getting the Nitefinder set around his head, slipping the remote control for the main gates on to his lap and putting some distance between himself and the castle. He snapped on the seat belt, slammed the machine into gear, took off the hand brake. Holding down the foot brake, he slowly pressed the accelerator, building up power. Then, suddenly taking his foot off the brake, Bond let the car shoot forward, skidding wildly on the gravel. Straightening as he gained control, he drove at breakneck speed away from the castle. Through the rearview mirror he could see the men coughing and reeling about, shielding their eyes, bumping into each other, and one huge figure – it could only be Caber – lunging into their midst, as though reaching out for a weapon.
He did not see the flashes; only felt the heavy bumps as a burst of automatic fire hit the rear of the Saab. Best not to be concerned about that: there was enough armour plating and bullet-proof glass around him to stop most kinds of weapon. Maybe an anti-tank gun would have some effect, but certainly not automatic fire.
Bond changed up, still with his foot hard on the accelerator. Then touching the brake, he took the turn in the drive too fast, and sent up a great spray of gravel as he slid outwards, before regaining control. There were two more heavy thuds. One of the tyres, he thought. No problem there: Dunlop Denovos – puncture and split-proof.
He could see the gates in the distance, and one hand went to the locking device on the gun port built in just below the dash. A turn and slide, and the port was open. Bond removed the old and unauthorised heavy Ruger Super Blackhawk -44 Magnum, pushing it into a spot where he could easily grab the butt.
He changed to third, the gear stick moving with comforting, firm precision. The gates were coming up fast, and Bond's hand now went to the remote control given him by Lavender. It flashed through his mind that this might not work and he would have to run at the gates full-tilt, relying on the stressed steel ram bumpers fitted to front and rear. After the experience with Donal and the waiting men in front of the castle, Bond had begun to doubt Lavender and her instructions. So far, the events had all the marks of a set-up; so it was with some relief that he saw the gates start to move as he pressed the control button.
Then, from the right, he caught sight of a figure running towards the gates, one arm raised. A small yellow flash, followed by a thud; then another. The gatekeeper was firing at him. Bond went for the Blackhawk and, still keeping his eyes on the opening gates, thrust the muzzle through the gun port, twisting the weapon to the right to allow himself the most extreme field of fire.
The gates, still opening, came up with alarming speed as Bond let off three shots in quick succession, the noise and smell of powder filling the car and battering at his eardrums. The figure of the gatekeeper was now out of sight, but the slowly opening gates were on him. He felt both sides of the Saab scrape against the metal. There was one long ripping sound and he was free, changing up again, and hurtling along the metalled road away from the castle.
The speedometer showed well in excess of 85 m.p.h.; there was no moon, but the view was clear as day through the Nitefinders. In a moment the Saab would be off the metalled road and on to the wide track leading to the village. Time, Bond thought, to give M some warning. He reached for the pen alarm.
At first he imagined it had merely slipped inside his pocket, so often had he checked it. More than thirty seconds passed before he realised that the alarm was missing – dropped outside the castle, or rolling around somewhere inside the Saab. As the stark fact penetrated Bond's mind, he glimpsed the lights of another car, far back towards the castle. Mary-Jane's B.M.W., he would guess, crammed with Caber and the boys, carrying machine pistols and automatics.
Bond had to make up his mind in a matter of seconds. The village would have been alerted by this time. He reasoned that the most dangerous path lay straight ahead. The answer would be to take the Saab around, going back on his own heading, following the track which ran parallel to the castle-the way he had come to reconnoitre the previous night. Without lights, the Saab would be difficult to follow and he reckoned that, even on the rough track, it would not take long to make the road to Shieldaig. At some point there would be a telephone. A call to the Regent's Park building would bring all hell down upon Murik Castle in a very short time.
The car was bucketing badly along the uneven road, but Bond held his speed. In the mirror, the twin beams of the chase car did not seem to have grown any larger.
Keep the speed up, he thought. Hold her straight, and try for a feint at the village, which was now visible, and appeared uncannily close – the bulk of the kirk and other houses sharp against the sky, standing out like fists of rock.
Would they be waiting? Bond tried to picture the junction near the kirk, with its little wooden signpost. Watch for the signpost and drag the car around.
Without warning a light came on, then another: twin spots from near the kirk. The reception committee; the spots wavered, then homed in on the Saab, like spotlights following the demon king in a pantomime. Bond started to pump the brakes, changing down, slowing, but still travelling at speed. Slow just enough to let them think you're going to run straight through. Make them think the spots are affecting vision. That was the godsend about the Nitefinder.
Bond took in a gulp of air as he saw the first flicker of automatic fire from near the kirk, coming from between the spots. Then the slow, coloured balls curved towards him-tracer, lazy, but deadly. Once again he shoved the Black-hawk through the gun port, stood on the brakes and wrenched at the wheel, slewing the car to one side and blasting off two more rounds as he did so. Then one more shot. That was the Blackhawk empty. He reached for the Browning, clawing it from the shelf as he saw, with some elation, that one of the spots had gone out.
; Now, his subconscious seemed to yell. Now-drive straight at them. The Saab kicked and jarred on the rough heather and gorse as Bond spun the wheel to right and left in a violent Z pattern.
The remaining spot lost him, then caught the Saab again as a second burst of tracer began its arc towards him. Bond squeezed the Browning's trigger in two bursts of two, loosing four shots through the gun port as it came into line with the spot. For a second the firing ceased, and he realised he was driving flat-out towards the village, ears bursting with the noise and the car filled with the acrid reek of cordite. Get it as near as you can, then skid-turn on to the other road. In his mind he saw the pattern as a hairpin with himself travelling fast along the right hand pin. He had to negotiate the bend on to the left pin, and there was only one way to do that while still leaving the reception party wondering if he was going straight on-presumably into a second road block in the village itself. At speed it was a dangerous confidence trick. One sudden or misjudged action and he could easily run right out of road, or spin the car over on to its back.
He saw the little wooden signpost almost too late. There were figures of people running, as though afraid he would smash into them. Wrenching the wheel and doing an intricate dance between brake and accelerator, Bond went into the violent skid turn. The world seemed to dip and move out of control as the Saab started to slew round, the tyres whining, as though screaming because they had lost their grip on the rough surface of track, or heather. For a second, as the car spun sideways on, Bond knew that all four wheels had left the ground, and he had no flying controls. Then he felt a judder as the wheels took hold of the earth. He spun the wheel to the right, put on full power, in a racing change down, and began to slide, broadside on, towards the sign post. The car must have torn the post straight out of the ground. There was a teeth-jarring bump as the nearside door hit the sturdy sign. For a second Bond knew he was at a standstill; then he had his foot down again, heaving the wheel to the left. The Saab plunged like a horse, shuddering, shaking its tail violently, then smoothly picked up speed again. Briefly, in the midst of the noise, Bond thought he heard another engine running in time with his own. He sighed with relief. He was now moving fast up the track which he had followed with such caution the night before. At least the dirt track was minimally smoother than the one he had just negotiated. There was no sign of the following lights, which he had assumed to be the B.M.W. He changed up, feeling confidence grow with every second. He needed as much speed as possible to cover the ground parallel to the glen and Murik Castle. He would not be happy until he was completely clear of the castle area, away somewhere to his left, on the far side of the rise. For reassurance he felt down, touching the butt of the Browning, at the same time glancing towards the panel -something he rarely did; but with the lights off and instruments dimmed right down, the head-up display was not as clear as normal. He looked up again and immediately knew he was in trouble. A shape showed through the Nitefinder goggles, above and just ahead. Automatically, he changed down and pumped the brake. Then the shape moved, splaying a great beam of light across his path and he heard the engine noise he thought he had imagined back at the turn near the kirk. The helicopter. He had not counted on the helicopter. But there it was, backing away slowly like some animal gently retreating, uncertain of its prey.
