It was two thirty in the morning when, with Rushia at the wheel and Bond following the map, they left the airport, heading north.
‘They’re coming back,’ Rushia announced as the Trooper pulled away and picked up speed.
‘Who’s coming back?’ Bond’s mind was ahead of them. Already he was flexing his mental and physical muscles for the showdown with Brokenclaw.
‘Who d’you think, dummy? Dorothy and Toto? Your friends Wolan and Nood . . .’
‘Nolan and Wood. They’re coming back this way?’
‘Certain as the unexpected.’
‘Speak to me, Ed.’
‘Okay. Read my lips. Your two ex-FBI buddies are coming back. The DC-3 crew are waiting for them. They hired a Range Rover and they’ve got twenty minutes’ start on us.’
‘Then . . .’
‘You haven’t heard the best part.’
‘Well?’
‘They’re coming back with another guy. One of them told the pilot. They want him to take them to Bracket Field, the other side of LA. You might like to know that the other guy’s an Oriental gentleman. Old and infirm, they said. Some charter is picking him up from Bracket Field. Right? Happy now?’
In the darkness, Bond smiled.
They drove for ninety minutes, keeping to the Columbia River on their right and the dark mass that was forest and mountains to their left. They went through the town of Chelan and on, until they reached a narrow road to the left.
‘This the one that peters out into a track about twenty miles up?’ Rushia asked.
‘About five miles from the camp, yes. Can you do it without lights?’
‘Not yet I can’t. Not if you want to get there.’
‘Pull over at any sign of lights.’ Bond already had his automatic pistol out.
The road was little more than a track, and both expressed their doubts about getting vehicles past each other. ‘If they suddenly come hurtling down with their Oriental gent on board, we’re in for H’ang Chow Mein,’ Ed chuckled. ‘Or Bondburger.’
The going was slow, and thirty minutes later it was light enough to kill the headlights. Ten after that they saw the Range Rover.
It was pulled hard in to the right of the track and seemed empty and deserted.
‘I guess I’m going to do the famous Rushia backup. Watch out for me, James.’ Slowly the Trooper rolled in reverse, weaving a little until they had moved about thirty yards back, and just around a bend which would hide them from anyone approaching the Range Rover.
‘I don’t suppose you came ready for a shooting war?’ Bond’s finger was itching.
‘You don’t? Well, James, I came prepared for all eventualities.’ Ed jerked at his waistband and drew out a massive Colt revolver with a six inch barrel. ‘.357 Magnum,’ he grinned happily. ‘This is my “Make my year” gun. I also have accessories, like handcuffs. I was going to use them on your good self if I came to the conclusion that you were going to do something really difficult . . .’ He let the sentence trail off at the sight of Bond’s eyes narrowing. ‘No, well, perhaps not. Let’s get ready for these palookas and the famous General H’ang.’
‘When we take them, I want you to drive them down to civilisation and turn them in.’
‘Can’t I hang around and wait for you?’
‘I’d rather you had them in some lock-up. I’m not certain, but I think if they were near me for any length of time, I might just kill all three.’
They moved quietly up the track. There was enough tree cover for Rushia to sink down, hidden by the Range Rover, and Bond to find a nice covert on the far side. From it, he had a view of the path snaking upwards through the trees which, he knew, led to the camp and Brokenclaw.
They waited for almost an hour before the sound of voices began to float down from the track. Neither Wood, Nolan nor the general seemed to have the slightest care in the world. As far as they were concerned, they were invisible. Bond had a sudden nudge of anxiety lest Brokenclaw had sent some of his people from the camp down with the ex-FBI men.
When they came into view, however, there were only three, moving slowly, two of them keeping time for the general’s dot-and-carry-one limp. They let them actually start to get into the Range Rover.
‘I really wouldn’t try anything silly, like going for catapults or shouting rape!’ It was Ed Rushia who broke the silence, and they all froze, for the long barrel of the Colt was placed neatly in General H’ang’s ear. ‘I could deafen him a mite,’ he continued. ‘Also my buddy just behind you, Wood – or Nolan – whichever you are, has a strong conviction that you are all expendable.’
H’ang dropped the briefcase he had been holding.
They came quietly enough, though they were all three carrying pistols. Both of the former FBI men still had handcuffs on them. ‘Needn’t have brought them after all, Ed,’ Bond said cheerfully as they cuffed all three men together, helped them into the rear of the Range Rover and used the last set of cuffs to secure them to part of the metal framework.
‘Commander Rushia’s going to take you boys down to the nearest cops.’ He fiddled with the briefcase, which opened easily enough, the combination lock having been used so often that the numbers almost fell into place by themselves.
Inside was another set of the Lords and Lords Day documents, and when he saw them, Bond realised his hands were trembling. ‘Take this lot, Ed, and burn them the first chance you get.’
‘Okay, buddy. Good luck. I’ll be waiting for you.’
‘I wouldn’t bother,’ one of the ex-FBI men growled. ‘He’s never coming out of there alive. I can promise you that.’
‘You’d be surprised at the places Captain Bond’s come out of alive.’ As he said it, Rushia thought he would possibly interrogate the boys on the way down. He had picked up a wrinkle here and there. If James was going into a certain death situation, it was better for ole Ed Rushia to be warned so he could send in the cavalry.
Bond must have read his mind. ‘Ed,’ he said quietly, ‘only in the last resort. Please promise me that. It has to be very bad. I must do this on my own.’
Rushia nodded, raised a hand and started the Range Rover’s engine as Bond slowly began his hike up the path which rose to lead him to his destiny.
He knew the real danger was only just starting, and after a mile, had that uncanny feeling that there were several pairs of eyes on him.
Slowly, the path flattened out, and then, quite suddenly, he was at the end of the treeline. The woods grew to the edge of an oval depression, about a mile long and half-a-mile wide. Smoke rose from camp fires, teepees were sited neatly in two long rows. At the furthest point, standing apart from the teepees, there was a large circular structure built of hides stretched over wood. It had a high curved roof and a totem stood directly in front of it. The ceremonial Lodge, Bond thought, bringing his eyes back down the lines of teepees. At the end nearest to him was a tent taller and bigger than the rest. ‘Buck House,’ he muttered to himself, stepping from the trees, his arms high over his head, his pistol held by the barrel, to show that he came in peace.
Women, and a few men, had been moving through the camp, doing the usual morning chores of any society, lighting fires, starting to cook. As they saw the white man approach, they stopped and watched, faces expressionless, as he headed on down to the large teepee.
He could smell the woodsmoke mingled with burned meat and expected to be called to a halt at any minute. But the men and women did not move. He realised that, after the initial interest, their combined gaze had now fallen on the teepee which he was nearing from the rear.
He moved slightly to one side, so that he could approach diagonally, and then reach the entrance flap at the front. As he moved, a figure stepped from behind the teepee.
‘Captain Bond, what a pleasure to welcome you to our camp; and what a pity you did not obey my orders two nights ago.’
‘Where is she, Brokenclaw?’ He stood stock still, holding eye contact with the huge man who was now dressed in buckskin and wore a long hunting knife at his belt.
‘Where is she?’ Brokenclaw’s voice was friendly. ‘She is safe, James Bond. She is here and she is safe. Why,
