strong. I've got a feeling it's going to be a long hard day.'
19 ULTIMATUM
THEY CAME ARMED, and in strength. Caber and three of the hoods; Caber carrying an automatic pistol, two of the hoods with trays.
'It's a special breakfast the Laird's been pleased to order for ye. He said ye'd understand.' Caber motioned for the trays to be set down, and Bond vividly recalled his conversation with Murik just after their arrival at Perpignan the previous day: about the condemned man eating a hearty breakfast.
The hoods disappeared and Caber backed into the doorway. 'And ye'll no try coming for us wi' them knives and forks when we collect the trays. All of us have got the wee shooters. Naebody's gonna get away this time.'
One of the hoods brayed with laughter from behind him: 'There's only the one way they'll be gettin' oot, eh Caber?'
'Shut yer gob, cretin.' Caber stepped back, swinging the door. Before he could close it, Bond called, 'What about washing and things?'
'Och aye.' Caber pressed something outside the door before slamming it. The great panel of metal thumped home and at the same time a small section of the wall slid back to reveal a little alcove containing the bare necessities- a washbasin, towels and lavatory. Bond examined it, but the alcove was as solid as the rest of the cell. 'I can't shave,' he said, trying to sound bright, 'but at least we'll both be clean.'
The trays contained steaming plates of bacon, eggs, sausages, two large silver pots of coffee, plenty of toast, butter and marmalade-laid out under ornate covers on the Laird of Murcaldy's personal china. Even the glass butter dishes were engraved. 'Butter in a lordly dish,' said Bond, realising that the Biblical quote had sinister undertones – murder of some kind, he seemed to remember: an Old Testament character smiting someone with a tent peg after bringing in his butter. Caber came with guns, not tent pegs.
Lavender pushed her tray away. 'It's no good, James. I can't eat it. I couldn't swallow.'
Bond went over, catching her by the shoulders. 'Dilly, where's your faith, girl? We'll find a way out -
Lavender swallowed and took in a deep gulp of air. 'Okay,' she nodded.
'At least have some coffee,' Bond said, more kindly.
She gave a little shiver. 'Of course, James. I've come a long way with Anton as well. Let's try and get the bastard.'
Bond set an example, even though he too found it hard to eat. The bacon and eggs stuck in his throat, but he managed to wash it down by consuming cup after cup of coffee, taking in a lot of sugar. At least his body would be provided with something on which to feed; and extra energy was what he needed. Lavender did her best, nibbling on toast and sipping coffee. When they had finished, Bond stretched out on the bed, turning his face away while she completed her toilet and dressed.
He then got himself ready, stripping off and washing from tip to toe. Pity about not being able to shave. If they were to die, he would rather go looking his best. Negative thinking. Bond cursed himself. From now on, it was his duty to be positive and alert; aware of everything going on; ready to take advantage of the smallest chink that showed in Murik's plan or actions.
There was no way of telling the time, but Bond guessed they had been allowed to sleep late. It must now be after midday, French time. The deadline here was one in the afternoon – noon in England. They would not have to wait much longer.
Five minutes later Caber and the other men reappeared. The trays were swiftly removed, and the two prisoners were ordered from the cell at gunpoint. They were taken through silent passages, narrow corridors and finally up steps which led to a metal fire door – Caber striding ahead, opening the door and waving them through.
Bond heard Lavender gasp behind him. They stood in the hangar he had seen on their arrival – a vast structure into which you could have easily fitted a block of houses: huge and echoing, smelling of oil and rubber, its temperature cool from the fans high up among the girders. The most impressive sight, though, was the aircraft standing in the centre, its tail pointing towards the towering roller doors and a yellow tractor already hooked to the nose.
Bond recognised it at once. He also wondered at the sheer size of the aerial monster. It was the massive Lockheed-Georgia C-14-the Starlifter: the great American strategic transport aircraft with a wing span of over forty-eight metres and a length of over forty-four metres, towering to a height of nearly forty feet.
Even the hangar seemed dwarfed by this magnificent brute, decked out in standard United States camouflage, but with the added blue, white, red and yellow insignia of the French Armee de l'Air. Towards the rear of the wide fuselage the words Aldan Aerospace had been added. Below, Bond could see the outline of the huge rear ramp which could be hydraulically lowered, even in flight, for loading or dropping men and materials – tanks, vehicles of all kinds: even helicopters.
Murik could get everything he needed into this beast from technicians to all the electronic equipment he needed for his shielded radio beams. Starlifter was a good name for the aeroplane, Bond thought, saying the word aloud.
'Yes, Mr Bond, the Starlifter.' Murik stood at his elbow, dressed casually in jacket and slacks. 'A good name, I think. Specially modified, of course. You will be interested… It's time to go aboard.'
From the front of the hangar came the sound of the roller doors starting to move. Caber prodded Bond with his pistol, and they began to climb the steps up to the forward doorway, low in the fuselage behind the flight deck.
Murik led the way, and Bond caught sight of the crew through the flight deck window, going through the pre- takeoff check. Two of Murik's men remained at the foot of the steps, while another couple who had been standing near by followed behind Bond, Lavender and Caber.
Inside, the fuselage had obviously been altered to Murik's own specifications. The doorway took them into a brightly decorated canteen with a bar, small round tables and seating capacity for a dozen people. A deep pile carpet lay under their feet and Bond, looking forward, could see two men already at work in a galley.
'I'm afraid you'll not be eating here, with the rest of us,' said Murik, looking from Bond to Lavender. 'That is one pleasure I shall, reluctantly, have to forgo. What will happen in the next hours needs great concentration and timing, so we cannot have you roaming around the aircraft. However, I shall see you do not go hungry or thirsty.' He pointed towards the sliding hatchway leading to the rear of the fuselage. 'I should be grateful if you would take care when passing through the next section. It contains the intestines of my electronic labours, and is, perhaps, the most important part of the whole project.'
On the far side of this hatchway, the fuselage seemed to narrow and the carpet disappeared. The section ran back down the fuselage for about forty feet, its sides crammed from deck to the upper bulkheads with banks of electronic equipment housed in metal units and high cabinets. Towards the centre there was a recess on either side, with two men in clean white coveralls sitting in each, at complex control consoles. As Murik's party passed Bond asked loudly if they could get Beethoven's Fifth. He was rewarded with a jab from Caber, and a filthy look shot at him by Murik.
At the end of this electronic cave there was another sliding hatchway, which was, to Bond's experienced eye, bullet and fireproof. He judged they had covered just over half the length of the aircraft. Murik paused, his hand on the sliding latch. 'My personal preserve,' he announced, tugging the door to one side. They stepped into a circular area lit by shaded lights, giving off a restful greenish glow. 'The nerve centre of my operation.' Murik gave a smug look around him as the door closed with an automatic hiss. 'This is where I shall control Meltdown.'
Two small oval windows, one each side, had their blinds down to keep out any extraneous light. On either side of the door, facing forward, was a pair of wide curved desks, each backed by another complicated array of electronic wizardry.
