separate at the village, hoping to catch their prey in the open, or among the buildings running the length of the Praya.
Bond had his own plan of campaign. If he could make the Pak Tai Temple, which was a good vantage point, he would wait there. Let them come to him.
His ears still sang from the explosion and he was aware that his clothes were stained with blood, but he reached the rough road without mishap, moving from the stony surface on to the softer grass at the side. He stopped running now and fast marched, taking great gulps of air in an attempt to regulate his breathing.
After ten minutes he thought he could make out the shapes of buildings ahead. Five minutes later he reached the edge of the village, cutting between dark bushes and feeling gently towards a stone wall he knew must be the temple. Working his way to the front of the building, Bond reflected on the fact that at least he had some gods he could pray to now, for Pak Tai is the Supreme Emperor of the Dark Heaven, and the temple in his honour also houses his martial gods, Thousand Mile Eye and Favourable Wind Ear. He could do with the help of all three tonight to detect the remaining two ‘Robinsons’.
The temple faced an open piece of land and for the first time since the flare and explosion, Bond felt his eyes adjusting to the dark. Within a few minutes he could make out the flat square and the shape of the temple steps guarded by traditional dragons. Gently he felt his way towards the top step. Having reached it, he retreated once more into the darkness of the temple doorway to his right. There he waited at a vantage point behind one of the two great stone pillars. Minutes filtered by, and he knew that the ‘Robinsons’ must also be taking their time, moving slowly and silently through the dark streets.
At least one hour passed. Then the best part of another. Self-discipline held him from even glancing at the luminous dial of his watch, as he conducted a careful, regular search from right to left, then left to right, moving his head and eyes very slowly, his body becoming cramped through immobility.
Finally he looked at the Rolex. Ten to five in the morning. Just over an hour before the game was up and Chernov would begin his butchery. Bond’s stomach turned over at the thought. As the horrific picture of Chernov at his work slid through his mind, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. It came from the far right of the square, close to the house. For a second, a fleeting figure, a shadow appeared against the lighter band of the sea.
Slowly Bond moved and lifted the Luger, his eyes riveted to the area where he had seen the shadow. For a moment he thought that he had imagined it. Then there it was again, hard against the wall, moving at snail’s pace, using the cover of darkness. He shifted position again, bringing the Luger up as the shadow detached itself from the wall and began to move nearer to the temple steps. It was then that, for all his training and experience, Bond made his first error of the night. Take him out now, said one part of his mind. No, wait, where’s the other bastard? That one second of indecision produced the ensuing terrifying minutes.
His training overrode all else: take him out now. He centred the Luger’s sights on the advancing shadow. His finger took up the first pressure, then his sixth sense warned of closer danger.
He was standing in the classic side-on position, both arms raised in the two-handed grip and the pain seared through his left arm as though someone had run a burning brand across it. He heard his own scream of pain and felt the gun drop from his right hand as he reached across to his injured arm. And as he swivelled he saw the ‘Robinson’ with the fighting mace poised for a second blow.
The reaction was automatic, but everything seemed to go into slow motion through the blur of pain spreading from his shattered left arm. He could not recall the man’s name, though for some obscure reason his mind wrestled with the problem. He though it was Bogdan, the one who had broken young men’s necks and then tried to dispose of them by cutting them up and spreading the pieces around the forest. He could hear Chernov’s voice quite distinctly: ‘He’s a peasant, but strong and with no moral sense.’ And all the time Bond was looking into the man’s eyes the mace was being lifted very slowly above his head. Then the big steel-spiked ball started to come hard down towards Bond’s skull. His right arm seemed to move very slowly, his right leg going back, his hand grabbing the butt of the Luger in the overall pocket. His finger felt for the safety catch. The spikes hissed through the air, coming nearer. The Luger stuck, then came free, Bond’s hand twisting, his finger curling. Then two sharp explosions – two shots just as they were all trained – and the scent of cordite. The sharp ting as spent cartridge cases clanged against the steps.
Instantly the slow motion ended and the tempo raced.
The two bullets lifted Bogdan off his feet, popping his arms into the air as though he were some grotesque jack-in-the-box. The fighting iron flew back and Bogdan’s body, shedding blood over Bond, fell against the door of the temple.
The pain shrieked back into Bond’s left arm and he heard a quick double crack and thump. Stone chipped off the pillar as the other ‘Robinson’ fired from the square.
Bond doubled up with pain, retching, his vision blurring. He almost keeled over, then saw the shape of the second Luger on the steps. He forced himself to turn, his gun, with two rounds still in the magazine, clutched in his right hand. Turning, he found himself losing his balance, reeling like a drunk with the shock and agony. A voice seemed to whisper near to his ear, ‘Get him. Take him out, now.’ Automatically, he squeezed the trigger, aware that the weapon was up and his right arm straight. Two shots at a ghost, he thought. Drop the gun and pick up the other one. He went through the routine as in reflex, acting by numbers. Just as he ducked down another bullet whined over his head. His hand caught the butt of the Luger, but he couldn’t straighten up.
He dropped on to one knee and raising his head, saw the other man standing over him taking careful aim. He was saying something in Russian and the Luger was huge in Bond’s vision.
Then the explosion came and what Bond imagined was his own last cry echoed around the pillared entrance to the Temple of the Supreme Emperor of the Dark Heaven.
22
DEATH OF A DOUBLE
If you are dead, Bond reasoned, you should not feel pain. His last memory was of the ‘Robinson’ standing a couple of feet away from him with the Luger pointing at his head, ready for the
‘Mr Bond? Mr Bond? Are you okay, Mr Bond?’
He allowed his eyes to open fully. The sheer blackness was giving way to the first light of day. He was lying on his side and into his vision swam the soles of a pair of black trainers and a grey-black hump behind him, which he knew was a body. Beside him he saw toes of another pair of trainers. He turned his head, his eyes travelling upwards from the shoes.
‘Are you okay, Mr Bond?’
From this angle he could not see the face properly. The figure went down on one knee.
‘I think we should get out of here pretty damn chop-chop,’ said the dark-haired Chinese boy, smiling. ‘You remember me, Mr Bond? Richard Han. Swift’s man. Good thing I followed you. Mr Swift say that if anything happen, you might need much help, never mind. He said you would be here, Cheung Chau Island. Also I should watch your back.’
‘You killed the “Robinson”?’ Apart from the excruciating pain in his left arm, Bond felt distinctly better.
‘That his name? Robinson? Okay, yes, I kill him. You killed man with fighting iron. I shot this one.’ Han held a very large Colt .45 in his right hand. ‘It was correct that I kill him?’
‘Too damn right it was correct. Hell!’
Bond squirmed, shifting his head to squint down at his left wrist. The Rolex said five-fifteen. Forty-five minutes, or near enough, before Chernov would begin on the others. Shakily he pulled himself upwards, testing his weight gingerly. All seemed well except for the arm.
‘Give me that gun – the one on the ground.’
Han reached out for the Luger.
