John Gardner (17 page)

“Just sit quietly, and be a good girl.” Trevelyan spoke softly, and she noticed that he had a very similar accent to that of Bond.

When he leaned forward, his face close to hers, she wanted to pull away. It was not the disfigurement as much as something about the man’s personality.

Not just unpleasant, but bordering on evil.

“You like my friend, James?” he asked.

She gave a noncommittal nod, just the slightest movement of her head.

“Well, my dear, James and I shared everything at one time.” When he smiled it was only with the right side of his mouth, and the left eye seemed to close, its reptilian eyelid sliding down very slowly.

The eye reminded her of a lizard or a chameleon.

As he came even closer she smelled a cologne and coffee, but something else. For a second she could not place it, then realised that it was the smell of burning flesh, and she did not know whether she was imagining this or not. Someone had once told her that when it rained in Berlin you could still smell the burning of that city: the hint of how it had smelled after countless bombings and the final bombardment that had taken place fifty years ago, during the war.

He must have sensed that she was trying to pull back from him.

“We shared absolutely everything, and you must understand that to the victor go the spoils.- You can make your life very pleasant. You can even live in luxury for some time. Eventually you will come to like me very much.” His lips brushed her neck, then he moved a hand, turning her face, lowering his lips to her mouth.

She allowed him to get close, then, like an unpredictable animal, she opened her mouth and snapped at his lip. She felt her teeth going in and saw, as he pulled back with a little cry of annoyance, that she had broken the skin.

Blood was running from the lip.

She did not see his hand come up to slap her hard, only feeling the sting of sudden pain as her head was pushed sideways. “You bastard,’ she spat at him.

“I like a spirited woman.” He gave his warped smile again. “A woman with your kind of liveliness is much more fun than some docile bitch who just lies there like a pillow.

I shall enjoy breaking you, Natalya Fyodorovna.

Her eyes opened wide with surprise. “How do you know my name?” The smile again, this time broader and, therefore, more sinister.

“You’d be surprised at what I know..

As he moved towards her again, there was a shrill, piercing alarm which seemed to surround them like some tangible envelope. She also saw red lights blinking on the roof of the carriage.

He pushed her roughly out of the way and spoke to Ourumov, telling him to stay and watch her. Then he was running fast towards the next carriage, Xenia, with the little Uzi at the ready, following him.

In the short time Bond had available, he had chosen the best possible point for his ambush on a mile length of straight railway track leading into a short tunnel.

The tank had nearly up-ended itself as he went down the embankment close to the place he wanted to use, but finally he manoeuvred the machine into position, lining up its tracks on the rails so that it faced in the direction from which Trevelyan’s armoured train would come.

He opened the hatch, climbed into the gunner’s seat and examined the shells in their racks. The T55 carried three types of shell for the 100mm gun: Smoke, High Explosive and Armour Piercing. Bond did not have to think twice. The gun was easy enough to load, and with the engine at idle, he could swing the turret and depress the barrel so that it was pointing directly at where the train would appear.

It was yet another calculated risk, for Trevelyan might easily play things safe and back up as soon as the tank was spotted: a move that could quickly take the train out of range. He was also gambling on Natalya being held somewhere in the rear of the carriages. He would only have one chance, one shell to take out the engine, and almost as soon as he had depressed the firing button it would be necessary for him to be up and away through the hatch.

Strangely, the only thing worrying him was the very small amount of ammunition in the machine pistol. He thought it would now be about six rounds, which were not enough to take out Trevelyan and his lieutenants.

Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. The Biblical quote came back to him together with familiar scents from the past, the smell of chalk and other boys; of damp grey flannel and the harsh penalties for flouting rules.

Pressing his eye to the forward sight, he saw that the train had already begun to move swiftly into view.

Trevelyan and Xenia had moved forward into the Communications Carriage, filled with state-of-the-art computers and communications electronics which would keep them in touch with the entire world if need be.

At the far end a monitor linked them with a camera set high at the front of the engine. When he saw the tank, stationary on the rails ahead as they closed fast, Trevelyan uncharacteristically sighed, then made a noise which mingled anger with a hint of admiration. “Only James Bond,’ he muttered.

“He’ll derail us. We must stop!” Xenia showed some panic in her usually calm and cool manner.

“No!” from Trevelyan.

“What do we do?” The question came from up front in the train’s cabin, and it was obvious that the driver and his engineer were already slowing slightly. The brakes had started to pump.

“Stop that.” Trevelyan had snatched at a small microphone attached to the wall. “Go for him. Full speed. Ram him.”

“But…” came the driver’s voice.

“Ram him, damn you. You have that damned great battering ram up front. Now’s the time to use it The words and confidence were easy, but the situation had certain very dangerous drawbacks. Trevelyan was experienced enough to know what was going on. He too was a gambler.

Whatever happened now, he thought, the train would be wrecked. Well, that was OK for he would have no difficulty finding an alternative method of transport. It was an irritation, a minor setback, but they would still get to their destination.

He looked up at the monitor and braced himself in his seat.

Opposite him, Xenia was also straining backwards in her seat, the Uzi held across her lap and her legs straight. Above them the monitor showed that they were rushing towards the tank at high speed. About six hundred yards to go and closing very fast

At around two hundred yards Trevelyan began to feel the first nip of fear in the back of his mind. Then there was a flash, followed by a great heaving as though the carriage were being shaken by an earthquake.

Bond had banged down on the firing button. The turret bucked under the recoil and the shell penetrated the front of the engine, exploding with a great sheet of flame which seemed to reach out as though trying to devour the tank.

He pulled himself up through the hatch, leaped to the left and rolled away towards the bank, almost at the moment the train’s engine hit the tank, the long telescopic buffer buckling under the impact.

Bond dug himself into the earth as the forward momentum of the engine pushed the tank, now on fire, back into the tunnel.

Then came the second explosion: a thunderous clap of noise and a searing heat which even Bond felt, lying on the ground a good distance away. He raised his head and saw the wide plume of flame and smoke coming from inside the tunnel, the mixture of fuel and explosives rising into the air, as though drawing a deadly question mark.

By the time that happened, Bond was on his feet, the machine pistol in his hand, running full tilt towards the carriages, looking for the easiest way in.

He saw the steps at the door linking the last and middle carriages and threw himself towards them, his hand touching hot metal, his heart set on finishing the business with Trevelyan once and for all.

In the Communications Carriage, both Xenia and Trevelyan had been thrown to the ground; equipment had detached itself from walls and desk tops. Xenia’s Uzi had skittered back along the aisle and, worst of all, they were plunged into darkness.

“Emergency generator!” Trevelyan shouted, and Xenia stumbled forward, feeling her way to the large wall switch which would give them power now that the engine had exploded taking with it their normal source of electricity.

She pulled down on the switch and, as the lights came back on “Just stay absolutely still.” The voice came from behind them.

Trevelyan, half sprawled across a table, did not even bother to look around. “James, why can’t you just die like any other normal person?’ he asked.

Steel-Plated Coffin Alec Trevelyan’s almost casual manner was meant to either anger Bond, or put him off guard. It did neither.

He remembered the many tricks Trevelyan always had up his sleeve back in the old days, when they were cold warriors together. Bond particularly recalled a seminar~ at which Trevelyan spoke of the need for the man in the field never to show any true emotion, and always to appear utterly uncaring about anything if caught out.

Much had obviously happened to Alec in the years between, but he had almost certainly never lost his old way of working. If he appeared relaxed after what had happened in the last few minutes, then he obviously had some surprises in store, so it was necessary to treat him with considerable care.

Both Trevelyan and Xenia stood with their backs towards Bond and a little too close to various switches and buttons that probably meant they could shut off the light, or open doors to go into the carriage forward of the middle one in which they stood.

The train’s engine had uncoupled itself from the three cars as it plunged into the tunnel, and he was uncertain whether Natalya was being held in the carriage forward of where his prisoners stood, or the one behind. He also needed a new weapon and, as the two prisoners remained facing away from him, Bond’s eyes flicked to and fro, finally alighting on a small hand gun - a Beretta, he thought - lying on one of the computer tables which had not suffered damage in the collision and blast

He stepped to one side, picked it up and cocked the mechanism.

The weight of the gun told him it had a full magazine, so working the slide ensured a round was chambered.

“Turn around, with your hands on your head,’ he ordered. “Both of you. Now!” As they obeyed, he saw Xenia’s eyes move towards her Uzi which lay on the floor about three feet away from her.

Kick that towards me, please, Xenia. We don’t want any accidents.

Now, both of you stand well clear of that door.” The Uzi slid towards him, and while his pistol did not waver, Bond caught the machine gun with the side of his foot, sending it under the seats to his right.

Trevelyan gave a mocking laugh. “James, you’ve always been lucky.

But by the same token you’ve always been foolhardy. You perform well under pressure but you never think ahead. You haven’t a chance here.

You have no backup and no escape route. You’re stuck here with us as your hostages. A poet once wrote, “The glass is falling hour by hour Bond continued the quote, ““The glass will fall for ever.

But if you break the bloody glass, you won’t hold up the weather.”

Yes, I know, Alec, and I’m quite aware that you probably have some earth-shattering plan already running..

“Earth-shattering is good. Very good, James. And, no!

No, you cannot stop it now. Unless you can find the source and remove that bad boy Boris within a couple of days, you’re done for, old son. Buggered and bitched. I am the only person who might possibly change the circumstances, but that’s pretty unlikely now. And I hold the trump card here. I hold the bargaining chip, so to speak.”

“Oh?”

“I have the beautiful Natalya.

“So?”

“What do you mean, James, so?”

“Why should Natalya be a bargaining chip?”

“Come on, James. I know you very well.”

“You do?

Where is she, then? Where is she if she’s such an asset?”

“I can get her for you, only you’ll have to let me use the microphone.” His head gestured to where the mike was hanging, attached to a wall mounting.

“I just need your permission to..

“Don’t do anything stupid, Alec. I really don’t want to kill you.

I want to take you home.”

“Oh, yes. Home. By which I presume you mean England, home and beauty?”

“No, I mean England, home and justice.’ Trevelyan gestured towards the microphone once more and Bond nodded, not moving his eyes, but keeping the pistol halfway between Trevelyan and Xenia.

“Ourumov! Bring her in here.” Trevelyan spoke into the mike and then returned it to the wall bracket. “A lovely girl. Tastes like Well, I think she tastes like strawberries. You always had a yen for strawberry-flavoured girls, James.”

“I wouldn’t know what she tastes like.”

“A pity. I know.” He was a clever actor, Bond thought.

In that simple line the man had conjured up a picture of countless nights spent in the arms of Natalya, of every possible kind of fleshly lust studied and practised with her.

The door behind him slid open and Natalya came hobbling in.

General Ourumov had one arm around her throat, pulling her back towards him, while his other hand held a pistol to her head.

Trevelyan laughed. Not simply a laugh of pleasure or mockery, Bond considered. That was the laugh of a madman. “Here we go again, James.’ Even Bond thought that the man was a shade too cool. There had to be something.

Trevelyan was far too relaxed for comfort.

“The good old Mexican standoff, James. Also, if you think about it, we’re back to where we started. You’ve got one choice. Either your little friend with Ourumov, or the mission to see what I have and where it’s hidden.” Keeping the Beretta trained on the other two, Bond turned his head slightly so that Ourumov would know he was being spoken to. “General, tell me, what’s this Cossack promised you?” Out of the corner of his eye he could see a twitch of uncertainty cross Ourumov’s face.

“Details. Details,’ Trevelyan murmured.

“You know, surely, General Ourumov? You know he’s a Lienz Cossack?’ “Long ago and far away. Like a playwright once said about fornication. “That was in another country, and besides, the wench is dead.”’ “This is true?” Ourumov sounded shaken.