He sat in a cockpit. Rows of instruments and switches were in front of him and a canopy around him, but he was bound into the seat tightly. Rope crossed and recrossed his chest and arms. More rope cut into his wrists and his ankles, while even more was bound around his legs. It did not require genius to realise that he sat, absolutely secured, in the forward cockpit of the Tigre helicopter.
The voice, accompanied by banging, came from the rear, electronics/navigation officer’s position. “Wake up Wake up…” it droned on like a mantra.
He managed to turn his head just enough to catch sight of the dark hair and attractive face while her feet kept up their pounding on the back of the pilot’s seat.
“I’m here. I’m here, it’s OK.” His voice sounded slurred and he could feel the parched dryness of his throat. He tried to get his head around so that he could see more, but it was impossible so he concentrated on his restraints which did not seem to give an inch.
“Do something,’ the woman was pleading. “For heaven’s sake, do something.”
“I’m a shade tired. OK.” Pushing with all his strength, Bond managed to reach some of the switches with his face, clocking them on with nose, mouth and forehead. Some of the instruments illuminated and there was a whine as the engine began to spool up, the rotors chop-chopping above them.
A beeping noise attracted his attention and, with the ropes pressing into his flesh causing extreme pain, he leaned forward to peer at the instrument concerned.
It was a flashing display on the weapons’ control panel.
In red it flashed DELAY LAUNCH IN SECONDS TO 17 16 15.
Launch? He thought. Missiles? The chopper itself?
The numbers moved on relentlessly, and Bond wondered if this was his personal countdown to death - for him and the young woman behind him.
07 06…05…04.
The whole cabin began to shake violently and his ears popped as, with great streams of flame, a pair of missiles screeched off from under the stubby weapons bearing wings.
The two missiles moved so fast that by the time he had taken in what was happening, they were flickering flames a mile or so in the distance, running low over buildings, and the lights of St. Petersburg.
Then, in tandem, they lifted upwards, slicing into the sky, crossing each other’s trails.
Noises still came from the weapons’ control panel. A highpitched whine, followed by a growl and an urgent deet-deet-deet sound that he recognised and associated with a target acquisition warning.
Eyes down again and he saw another counter moving.
One set of figures remained set at 003.109.001. That would be the target position, and below it another series of numbers flowed, suddenly stopping at the same coordinates -003.109.001. A match, and he now knew where the target was located. He was sitting in it.
Far away, high in the sky to the left, the rockets had turned and were coming down, like perfectly aimed arrows, pointing directly towards them. He could feel the sweat trickle from his hairline as he frantically looked for the one way of escape. He yelled back at the girl. “I need a square red button. Probably lit up. Can you see it?’ “There.. To your right To your right..
His eyes flicked over and there it was with the words CAUTION EJECT above it, and out of reach.
With a final thrust, summoning all his strength and backing it up with a yell, he slammed his head towards the button and felt his right temple touch. Then the world changed again.
The rotors howled and were thrown away from the helicopter. There was a massive thump from beneath the long cockpit as it was launched into the air, a one-piece cabin capsule which shot to almost two hundred feet before parachutes were deployed.
At the apogee of its surge upwards, the capsule seemed to hover, not moving, in the air, and from below came the devastating explosion as the two missiles smashed into the frame of the helicopter, sending up a great fireball that, for a second, engulfed the capsule.
The girl was screaming behind him, and he knew that his own mouth was open, but could not tell if it was wide in a silent scream, or if he was also shrieking with fear.
The capsule drifted down and hit the earth with a heavy, bone-jarring thud. It was several seconds before Bond realised that the jolt of the ejector rockets, combined with the thud of landing, had loosened the ropes. He struggled, pushing and pulling until, finally, his arms were free, then his hands, so that he was able to reach down and release his legs.
He popped the canopy and began to climb out and along to the rear compartment where the girl sat in shock, bewildered and white knuckled as she clung to the arm rests of the seat. She was held down by straps with buckles at the back; her arms were secured to the seat, and there was a tight strap around her ankles.
He swung around, unlocking her section of the canopy, reaching out to her - swiftly undoing the straps. “Come on. Let me help you out.” He spoke gently, though he later realised that he was probably shouting as his ears were popping from the G forces to which they had been exposed during the ejection.
The girl grabbed his arm and he helped her to the soft earth.
Almost as they touched the ground, she lashed out, kicking at his shins and trying to escape from him.
“Stop!” He was shouting by now.
“No! Let me go. Take your hands off me!” She clawed at him with her fingernails.
“I’m trying to help you. Stop it now.” They were still grappling when the white spotlights of two helicopters nearly blinded them from above. Near at hand they could hear the wail of sirens and a voice on a loud hailer unit in one of the helicopters told them in Russian to stay exactly where they were.’… If you move, you will be shot where you stand,’ the voice continued.
“I think it would be a good idea to pretend we’re one of these damned statues,’ Bond said, gently wrapping the trembling girl in his arms.
The headquarters of Military Intelligence for the St. Petersburg area lie behind high brick walls near what was once Red Army Student Street. Within the walls the army keeps a large number of vehicles ranging from APCs and the smaller open-topped BTU-152u Command Vehicles, to tanks. The headquarters building is of a dour red brick, in stark contrast with the rest of the city which sports some of the most beautiful buildings and views in the whole of Russia, if not the world. Of all Russian cities, St. Petersburg was rebuilt to closely mirror its former glory following the terrible siege of 900 days during the War.
Bond and Natalya were taken straight to an interrogation cell: bare and uncompromising - the metal door slammed and locked behind them immediately. An unshaded light bulb hung from the ceiling and the furnishings were a simple metal table and three metal chairs. The table and two of the chairs were bolted to the floor. The third, Bond immediately discovered, had been brought in recently and was not secured.
There was no point in even searching for bugs, for they would be invisible these days without an electronic sweeper and even that would not guarantee results. He would have to risk talking anyway, for he needed to work on the girl and coax her back to normal. At the moment she cowered in a corner, her eyes full of fear.
Moving towards her, he said quietly, “We haven’t much time.” She crawled along the wall, moving away from him, almost shouting, “Stay away from me. Don’t come near or I’ll scratch your eyes out. Just stay away.
In the end, he managed to grab her by the wrists and pull her towards him. “Now listen,’ he spoke almost in a whisper - not gentle but flat, urgent and cold. “I work for the British Government. So, you can either take your chances with me, or put your life in the hands of your fellow countrymen - the people who killed everyone at Severnaya.
“Where’s Severnaya? I’ve never been to Severnaya.
“Your watch has.” He twisted her wrist, reading off the frozen time. “Seven-fifteen and twenty-three seconds in the evening. The very moment the electronics everywhere in the vicinity were stopped by the GoldenEye blast”
“The GoldenEye ?” she began, and he saw that she was starting to relent.
“I’d put money on the fact that you were the one who climbed up the remains of the big satellite dish to get out.” It seemed an age before she gave him a little nod of agreement.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Natalya Fyodorovna Simonova. Yes, I am a Level Two programmer, and I know what happened.”
