Bond 10 - The Spy Who Loved Me (16 page)

I got up and ran to James Bond. He was kneeling down in the grass with one hand to his head. As I came up he took the hand away, looked at it and swore. There was a big gash just below the hairline. I didn’t say anything, but ran to the nearest window of the lobby building and smashed it in with the butt of my gun. A burst of heat came out at me, but no flames, and, just below, almost within reach, was the table the gangsters had used, and on it, among some smouldering remains of the roof, the first-aid kit. James Bond shouted something, but I was already over the sill. I held my breath against the fumes, grabbed the box and scrambled out again, my eyes stinging with the smoke.

I wiped the wound as clean as I could, and got out merthiolate and a big Band-aid. The cut wasn’t deep, but there would soon be a bad bruise. He said, ‘Sorry, Viv. I made rather a hash of that round.’

I thought he had too. I said, ‘Why didn’t you just shoot them down? They were sitting ducks with those sets in their hands.’

He said curtly, ‘Never been able to in cold blood. But at least I ought to have been able to blast that man’s foot off. Must have just nicked it, and now he’s still in the game.’

I said severely, ‘It seems to me damned lucky you’re in it too. Why didn’t Sluggsy kill you?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine. It looks as if they’ve got some kind of a headquarters over at Number 1. Perhaps he left his armament there while they did the job on the lobby. He may not have liked carrying live bullets around with him so near to the flames. Anyway, war’s declared now, and we’re going to have quite a job on our hands. Main thing is to keep an eye on their car. They’ll be pretty desperate to get away. But they’ve somehow got to kill us first. They’re in a nasty fix and they’ll fight like hell-cats.’

I finished fixing the cut. James Bond had been watching cabin Number 1. Now he said, ‘Better get under cover. They may have got something heavy in there, and they’ll have finished fixing the Horror’s foot.’ He got to his feet. He suddenly yanked my arm, and said, ‘Quick!’ At the same time I heard the tinkle of glass away on the right and a deafening rattle that I supposed was some kind of machine-gun. On our heels, bullets whipped into the side of the lobby building.

James Bond smiled. ‘Sorry again, Viv! My reactions don’t seem all that smart tonight. I’ll do better’. He paused. ‘Now, let’s just think for a minute.’

It was a long minute, and I was sweating with the heat from the burning lobby. Now there was only the north wall and the bit we were sheltering behind as far as the front door. The rest was a mass of flames. But the wind was still blowing the fire southwards and it seemed to me that this last bit of masonry might stand up a long while yet. Most of the cabins were on their way to burning out and, on that side of the clearing, there was a lessening of the glare and sparks. It crossed my mind that the blaze must have been visible for miles, perhaps even as far as Lake George or Glens Falls, yet no one had turned up to help. Probably the highway patrols and the fire services had enough on their hands with the havoc caused by the storm. And, as for their beloved forests, they would reckon that no fire could spread through this soaking landscape.

James Bond said, ‘Now this is what we’re going to do. First of all, I want you somewhere where you can help but where I don’t have to worry about you. Otherwise, if I know these men, they’ll concentrate on you and guess that I’ll do anything, even let them get away, rather than let you get hurt.’

‘Is that true?’

‘Don’t be silly. So you get on over the road under cover of this bit of building and then work back, keeping well out of sight, until you’re just about opposite their car. Stay quiet, and even if one or both of them gets to the car, hold your fire until I tell you to shoot. All right?’

‘But where will you be?’

‘We’ve got what are known as interior lines of defence – if we consider the cars as the objective. I’m going to stick around here and let them come at me. It’s they who want to get us and get away. Let ‘em try. Time’s against them.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s nearly three. How long before first light around here?’

‘About two hours. Around five. But there are two of them and only one of you! They’ll do a sort of what they call “pincers movement”. ’

‘One of the crabs has lost a claw. Anyway, that’s the best I can do for a master plan. Now you get on across the road before they start something. I’ll keep them occupied.’

He went to the corner of the building, edged round and took two quick shots at the right-hand cabin. There was a distant crash of glass and then the vicious blast of the sub-machine-gun. Bullets splatted into the masonry and whipped across the road into the trees. James Bond had pulled back. He smiled encouragingly. ‘Now!’

I ran to the right and across the road, keeping the lobby building between me and the end cabin, and scrambled in among the trees. Once again they tore and scratched at me, but now I had proper shoes on and the material of the overalls was tough. I got well inside the wood and then began working along to the left. When I thought I had gone far enough I crept down towards the light from the flames. I ended up where I had wanted to, just inside the first line of trees with the black sedan about twenty yards away on the other side of the road and a fairly clear view of the flickering battlefield.

All this while, the moon had been dodging in and out through the scudding clouds – in turns lighting everything brightly and then switching itself off and leaving only the changing glare that came mostly from the blazing left half of the lobby block. Now the moon came fully out and showed me something that almost made me scream. The thin man, crawling on his stomach, was worming his way up the north side of the lobby block and the moonlight glinted on the gun in his hand.

James Bond was where I had left him and, to keep him there, Sluggsy now kept up a steady stream of single shots that flicked every few seconds at the angle of the wall towards which the thin man was worming his way. Perhaps James Bond guessed the significance of this steady fire. He may have known that it was meant to pin him down, because now he began moving along to the left, towards the burning half of the building. And now he was running, bent low, out across the browned grass and through the billowing smoke and sparks towards the charred, flickering ruins of the left-hand line of cabins. I caught a brief glimpse of him diving through one of the car-ports at around Number 15 and then he was gone, presumably into the trees at the back to work his way up and take Sluggsy in the rear.

I watched the thin man. He was nearly at the corner of the building. Now he was there. The single shots ceased. Without taking aim, and firing with his left hand, the thin man edged his gun round the corner and sprayed a whole magazine, blind, down the front wall where James and I had been standing.

When no answering fire came, he jerked his head round the corner and back again, like a snake, and then got to his feet and made a sweeping motion with his hand to show that we had gone.

And now there came two quick shots from the direction of cabin Number 1 followed by a blood-curdling scream that stopped my heart, and Sluggsy came backing out on to the lawn, firing from the hip with his right while his left hand dangled down at his side. He continued to run backwards, screaming with pain, but still firing his machine-gun in short bursts, and then I saw a flicker of movement in one of the car-ports and there came the deep answering boom of the heavy automatic. But Sluggsy switched his aim and James Bond’s guns went silent. Then they began again from another place and one of the shots must have hit the machine-gun because Sluggsy suddenly dropped it and began to run towards the black sedan where the thin man was crouching, giving long-range covering fire with two guns. James Bond’s hit on the sub-machine-gun must have jammed the mechanism for it went on firing, jerking round like a flaming Catherine wheel in the grass and spraying bullets all over the place. And then the thin man was in the driving seat and I heard the engine catch and a spurt of smoke came from the exhaust, and he flung open the side door and Sluggsy got to it and the door was slammed on him by the forward leap of the car.

I didn’t wait for James. I ran out into the road and began blazing away at the back of the car and heard some of my bullets wham into the metal. Then the hammer clicked on nothing, and I stood and swore at the thought of them getting away. But then came the steady crash of James’s gun from the far side of the lawn while fire spat back from the front window of the car. Until all of a sudden the black sedan seemed to go crazy. It made a wide swerve and looked to be heading across the lawn straight for James. For a moment he was caught in its great lights as he stood there, the sweat gleaming on his naked chest, and fired, in the classic stance of the dueller, as if at a charging animal. I thought he was going to be mown down and I began to run across the grass towards him, but then the car veered away and, its engine roaring in bottom gear, made straight for the lake.

I stood and watched, fascinated. Thereabouts the lawn was cut to the edge of a low cliff, about twenty feet high, below which is a fishing pool, and there were some rough-hewn benches and tables for people to sit and picnic. The car tore on, and now, whether or not it hit a bench, its speed would certainly get it to the lake. But it missed all the benches and, as I put my hand up to my mouth in horrified excitement, it took off over the edge and landed flat on the water with a giant splash and crash of metal and glass. Then, quite slowly, it sank, nose down, in a welter of exhaust gas and bubbles, until there was nothing left but the trunk and a section of the roof and rear window slanting up towards the sky.

James Bond was still standing, gazing at the lake, when I ran up to him and threw my arms round him. ‘Are you all right? Are you hurt?’

He turned dazedly towards me and put his arm round my waist and held me tight. He said vaguely, ‘No. I’m all right.’ He looked back towards the lake. ‘I must have hit the driver, the thin man. Killed him, and his body jammed the accelerator.’ He seemed to come to himself. He smiled tautly. ‘Well, that’s certainly tidied up the situation. No ragged edges to clean up. Dead and buried all in one go. Can’t say I’m sorry. They were a couple of real thugs.’ He let go of me and thrust his gun up into its holster. He smelled of cordite and sweat. It was delicious. I reached up and kissed him.

We turned away and walked slowly across the grass. The fire was only burning fitfully now and the battlefield was almost dark. My watch said it was three thirty. I suddenly felt utterly, absolutely finished.

As if echoing my thoughts, James said. ‘That’s worked the Benzedrine off. How about getting a little sleep? There are still four or five cabins in good shape. How about 2 and 3? Are they desirable suites?’

I felt myself blushing. I said obstinately, ‘I don’t mind what you think, James, but I’m not going to leave you tonight. You can choose either 2 or 3. I’ll sleep on the floor.’

He laughed, and reached out and hugged me to him. ‘If you sleep on the floor, I’ll sleep on the floor too. But it seems rather a waste of a fine double bed. Let’s say Number 3.’ He stopped and looked at me, pretending to be polite. ‘Or would you rather have Number 2?’

‘No. Number 3 would be heavenly.’

C
ABIN
N
UMBER
3 was airless and stuffy. While James Bond collected our ‘luggage’ from among the trees, I opened the glass slats of the windows and turned down the sheets on the double bed. I should have felt embarrassed, but I didn’t. I just enjoyed housekeeping for him by moonlight. Then I tried the shower and found miraculously that there was still full pressure, though further down the line many stretches of the pipes must have melted. The top cabins were nearer to the main. I stripped off all my clothes and made them into a neat pile and went into the shower and opened a new cake of Camay (‘Pamper your Guests with Pink Camay – With a scent like costly French Perfume… blended with Fine Cold Cream’ I remembered, because it sounded so succulent, it said on the packet) and began to lather myself all over, gently, because of the bruises.

Through the noise of the shower, I didn’t hear him come into the bathroom. But suddenly there were two more hands washing me and a naked body was up against mine and I smelled the sweat and the gunpowder and I turned and laughed up into his grimy face and then I was in his arms and our mouths met in a kiss that seemed as if it would never end while the water poured down and made us shut our eyes.

When my breath was almost exhausted, he pulled me out from under the shower and we kissed again, more slowly, while his hands wandered over my body and desire came in waves of dizziness. I simply couldn’t stand it. I said, ‘Please, James! Please don’t! Or I shall fall down. And be gentle. You’re hurting me.’

In the moonlit dusk of the bathroom, his eyes were only fierce slits. Now they relaxed into tenderness and laughter. ‘I’m sorry, Viv. It’s not my fault. It’s my hands. They won’t stay away from you. And they ought to be washing
me
. I’m filthy. You’ll have to do it. They won’t obey me.’

I laughed up at him, and pulled him under the shower. ‘All right then. But I shan’t be gentle. The last time I washed anyone it was a pony when I was about twelve! Anyway, I can hardly see which bit of you’s which!‘ I got hold of the soap. ‘Put your face down. I’ll try not to put too much in your eyes.’

‘If you put any in, I’ll…’ My hands stopped the rest of the sentence and I set about scrubbing his face and hair and then moved on down his arms and chest, while he stood bowed and holding with both hands to the water pipe.

I stopped. ‘You’ll have to do the rest.’

‘Certainly not. And do it properly. You never know. There might be a world war and you’d have to be a nurse. You might as well learn how to wash a man. And anyway, what the hell’s this soap? I smell like Cleopatra.’

‘It’s very good. It’s got costly French perfume in it. It says so on the packet. And you smell delicious. Much better than your gunpowder smell.’

He laughed. ‘Well, get on. But hurry.’