the Marines.” For the first time, the pilot leaned down, gesturing to Wade to hurry up. “My chauffeur’s getting anxious.” He clapped Bond on the shoulder and kissed Natalya on the cheek. “Just hang a right at the end of the runway. It’s only a short ride to Cuba from there. Good luck. I’ll pick up the BMW at Dominicci in the morning.
“Well, try not to touch any odd buttons in it.”
“I was just going’ to bomb around in it for a while.
“Exactly.”
“James, you can take Janus out. I have all the faith in the world, because you know all that guy’s moves.”
“The problem is that he knows all of mine as well. We worked together for a very long time.’ “You’ll still take him, Jimbo.” Wade leaped out of the range of Bond’s closed fist and climbed back into the Piper Archer, which slowly began to taxi away.
That night, Bond checked out Q’s briefcase in the privacy of the beach house. It contained a new watch and six small magnetic charges which could be controlled by it.
He packed them away among the kit he would be wearing the next morning.
Outside, on the beach he sat down near the surf, wrapped in thought as he was lulled by the noise of the sea. He thought of all the years he had spent living in secret yet enjoying everything that his hedonistic life had to offer.
What had he become, he asked himself. Was he just a killing machine? Did his superiors let him get away with all kinds of excesses both on and off missions because they understood the kind of strain his work produced? He knew that some people turned a blind eye to certain aspects of his way of life, just as he knew that they paid him more than most of the regular officers of the Secret Intelligence Service.
He went back over so much of his life that he wondered if he were getting maudlin about things, like a drunk ready to cry into his beer.
He really had to snap out of this, it was not doing any good.
Natalya came barefoot across the sand, turning her face towards the sea breeze as she stood close to him. Presently she reached down and tousled his hair, but he did not move, and even seemed unaware of her presence until she spoke, squatting on the sand next to him.
“Janus was your friend, wasn’t he?” he asked.
“Several lifetimes ago, yes.
“And now he is your enemy. So tomorrow you’ll go and kill him.
It’s that simple, yes?”
“Yes.” She drew in breath through her nostrils.
The sound made him look at her and he saw the anger in her eyes.
“No, James. No, it’s not that easy.” She tried to get up from the sand, but he grabbed her arm and drew her back to him.
“I hate you,’ she spat like an angry cat. “I hate you. I hate all of you. Your kind’ve caused so much grief all over the world, with your guns and your instruments of death.” She began hitting at him, pummelling his chest He enveloped her in his arms, holding her tightly as her fighting became less violent and she began to cry softly. “So many of my friends,’ she sobbed. “My friends, members of my family. So many have died because of people like you.
“There have to be people like me.” He hugged her close.
“I do a necessary job. If I didn’t do it, someone else would.
I simply have to level things off so that one day there will be some true kind of peace in the world.” After a while, her sobbing stopped, and he helped her to her feet. Together they walked back to the house.
Inside, the air was cooled by two overhead fans; the lights were turned down to a pleasant dusk-like glow; the stereo was playing the late Miles Davis’ evergreen “Sketches of Spain’: the soft lush sound of the waves breaking on the beach outside counterpointing the music.
They stood close together, all senses merging, hands touching, their nostrils gathering up the pleasant smell of island flowers combining with faintly aromatic scents of the dish, which Bond had set to cook slowly in the kitchen.
When he kissed her, he tasted the aftermath of sweet fruit. When she kissed him back, her tongue sliced into his mouth, caressing the inside of his cheeks, coming away with the slight tang of the champagne he had sipped less than an hour before.
He took her by the hand and she followed him, eyes downcast as though she were completely innocent of men, which would have been a lie. In front of the bed they slowly undressed each other. She wore no bra under her T-shirt, and only the flimsiest garment was revealed as her skirt dropped to the floor.
She gave a little giggle and whispered, “More romantic than the schoolgirl pants, eh?”
“And softer on the skin.” The little white froth of nylon fell to the floor and she stepped forward, yanking at his belt and stripping the thin lightweight pants from his legs.
In the distance, she seemed to hear her mother, flustered, Natalya have you no shame when, years ago, she had caught her with a local boy.
She allowed him to turn her and lift her onto the bed.
He slid quietly on top of her, taking his weight on his forearms, and Natalya suddenly sucked in air as her hands enfolded him.
Embracing him with her fingers, she pulled him to her lips and kissed him, then pushed him back so that his manhood lay across her belly.
She felt his hands slide under her buttocks, pressing, stroking and kneading them as he bent his mouth to kiss first one breast and then the other. Her hands guided him down and he slid into her, thick and long so that she lifted her buttocks in his hands and let out a sharp breath of pleasure.
They had become one person, locked and moving slowly through the wonder of that great pleasure only woman can give to man, and man to woman.
Both of them had dreamed of nights like this from the first moment of meeting though neither would have ever admitted it, as they found the rhythm, lost it, then discovered a natural movement belonging only to them. Two people, locked as one.
She murmured something as he thrust deep into her a Russian expression for loving he thought - then their mouths closed on each other and they were swept away in that dance which neither ever wanted to end. Yet eventually it reached its peak in a kind of explosion and cleansing, sweeping them to the shore of some place beyond this planet, far from their previous experience.
In the sweat-soaked, pulsing, exhausting moment, their eyes locked, so they both knew that should this be the last time either was consumed in passion it did not matter, for they had tasted everything possible, good, lasting and memorable in physical love.
Later, in the afterglow, she clung to him.
“James. ?” Her voice husky.
“Yes?”
“On the train. When you told them to kill me, that I meant nothing to you, did you mean that?”
“Of course.
She propped herself on one elbow and looked at him, lines of concern raking across her brow.
Then Bond laughed. “Natalya, my darling girl, it’s a basic rule.
Always call their bluff.” She grabbed a pillow and swung at him with it, almost shouting, her voice high and full of joy -“You lying devil, James.” He fended off the pillow and drew her back to him for a long kiss which seemed to go on until their lungs reached bursting point.
Presently, she asked him if he knew this island well.
“Why?”
“Oh, I just had a feeling that you knew where you were going when we were out driving this afternoon.
He lay, silent for a moment. “I know it,’ he said softly.
“In some ways I have reason to hate it, but now there is a new reason for me to love it.”
“Something sad happened to you here?”
“Something I shouldn’t talk about, I’m afraid.” Once more a long pause.
“There was a woman, she said, bluntly. “It’s OK, James.
