tail ready to follow on to the next island. A girl in one place, a happy Greek boy in another; first a student, then a middle-aged English couple; old Volkswagens, brand new Hondas, staid Peugeos. It was all the same to them.
The leader's orders were clear, and when the right moment came, he too arrived.
Bond and Percy spoke much of the future, yet, in the last week, while heading for Corfu, from where they planned to fly to London direct, they still could not come to any decision even though they had talked of marriage.
As the trip drew to an end they found a small bungalow hotel, away from beehive modern glass and concrete palaces. It was close to a secluded beach, which could be reached only by clambering over rocks.
Their room looked out on a slope of dusty olive trees and oddly Victorian-looking scrub.
Each day, in the late afternoon, they would return to their room, and, as dusk closed in and the cicadas began their endless song, the couple would make love, long and tender, with a rewarding fulfilment of a kind neither remembered experiencing before.
On their last night, with their packing to be done, and a special dinner ordered at the taverna, they followed their usual pattern, walking hand in hand up the slope from the beach, entering their room from the scrubby End of the olive grove, and leaving the windows open and the blinds drawn.
They soon became lost in each other, murmuring the sweet adolescent endearments, enjoying a private island of physical pleasure.
They were hardly aware of the darkness or the song of the night coming from the cicadas. Neither of them heard Tamil Rahani's car pull up quietly on the road below the hotel. Nor were they aware of his emissary, who moved, sure-footed in rope-soled sandals up from the road, treading softly through the olives until he reached the window.
Tamil Rahani, the successor to the Blofelds, had decreed they should both die, and he would be in at the death. His only regret was that it must be quick.
The short, sallow-faced man who was the most accomplished of SPECTRE'S silent killers, peered through the lattice of the blinds, smiled and carefully withdrew a six-inch ivory blowpipe. With even greater care he loaded the tiny wax dart filled with deadly pure nicotine and began to slide the end of the pipe through the lattice.
Percy lay, eyes closed, nearest the window.
Her reaction was conceived in long training, for she was like an animal in her instinct for danger. With a sudden move, she slid from under a startled Bond, one hand going for the floor and the small revolver that always lay at her side of the bed.
She fired twice, rolling naked on the floor as she did so - a textbook kill, the man clearly outlined through the blinds lifting back as though in slow motion, his dying breath expelling the wax dart into the air.
Bond was beside her in a second, the ASP in his hand.
As they emerged into the night air, they heard the sound of Rahani's car on the road below the hotel. They needed no telling who it was.
Later, when the body had been removed, calls made to London and Washington, and police and other authorities were satisfied, Bond and Percy drove into Corfu Town itself; to spend the night in one of the larger hotels.
'Well, at least that settles it. We should both know now, Percy began.
'Know?' They had managed to get a meal of sorts in their room, though Bond found it hard to relax.
'The future, James. We should both know about the future after that unpleasant episode.'
'You mean that until Blofeld's successor is dead, neither of us will have peace?'
'That's part of it. Not all, though.' She paused to sip her wine. 'I killed, James, automatically and .
'And most efficiently, darling.'
'Yes, that's what I mean. We're not like other people, are we? We're trained, and tidied, and obey orders fly into danger at a moment's notice.' Bond thought for a moment. 'You're right, of course, darling. What you mean is that people like us can't just stop, or lead normal lives.'
'That's it, my dear James. It's been the best time. The very best. But..
'But now it's over.
She nodded, and he leaned across the table to kiss her.
'Who knows?' Bond asked of nobody in particular.
The next morning they rebooked tickets, and Bond saw her off' watching her aeroplane climb over the little hillock at the end of the runway, then turn to set course for Athens, where she would make her connection for Paris.
In an hour, he would be on his way back to London and one of his other lives, to play some other role for his country.
