Soon, he was jammed in among the crowds, watching the second big event of the day, the Main Street Electrical Parade, winding its way with its music and twenty-two twinkling floats from Fantasyland down Main Street.
Then the fireworks began to burst high above the castle and the wonder and sorcery of dreams and imagination were there to be carried away in the mind, a fairy tale held in the memories of all, from the smallest child to the oldest adult, for ever.
As the crowds began to jostle happily towards the main gates, passing under the arches of the Main Street Station, so Bond walked into the City Hall, showed his pass to one of the attendants and went through a door that led down to the heartbeat of the park: the maze of tunnels, changing rooms, offices, computer stations, and banks of closed-circuit TV screens which monitored every area of the Disney kingdom.
Smiling Ben waited for him in a small office near the large banks of monitors.
`They'll all be gone within the hour,' he said.
`Then the boys'll be doing final tests on the rides, decorating the cars and boats to be used by the royals in the morning, and generally making certain all's well. After that, things'll quieten down for the night.' A line from a half-remembered poem came into Bond's head `And leave the world to darkness and to me.' And to Dragonpol, he added almost aloud, too preoccupied to hear the rest of Ben's sentence.
`Sorry, Ben, what did you say?' `I've put four extra men out there in Frontierland, watching the Riverboat Landing and the water around Rivers of the Far West. They'll be checking in every half-hour.
`Good. I hope they know their job.' `James, nobody's going to get past us tonight.
You can sit with me and watch the screens.
There's no way he's going to meddle with the rides without being spotted.
They drank coffee and sat talking, Bond's eyes never leaving the monitors. He saw the lead boat for Pirates of the Caribbean being decorated with velvet cushions and flowers, specially for the royal guests; and they were doing the same to one of the Doom Cars at Phantom Manor. As he watched, so he came to the realization that his nerves were stretched almost to a taut, breaking point.
`You really think he's going to organize something there?' Ben nodded towards the monitor.
Bond nodded, lips clamped shut.
`Which do you think it'll be, Pirates or the Riverboat?' `I'd go for Pirates. Some kind of device near the galleon, where there's plenty of noise anyway. I'd put it right near the effect of the cannonball hitting the water. But what do I know?' Just before two in the morning, Bond retired to the small changing room where Ben had left the bulky sports bag containing the equipment Q'ute had provided. It was all standard stuff a black wetsuit, without a mask or air bottle, a waterproof holster containing his favourite weapon, the 9 mm ASP automatic, with the guttersnipe sight, and two spare clips of Glaser slugs. While the weapon was technically out of production, Armaments Systems and Procedures still supplied his service with spare parts, and occasional new weapons: after all this was a sophisticated remodelling of the Browning 9 mm and they were certainly still being manufactured.
He also carried a Gerber fighting knife a recent gift from the US Navy Seals and a pack of four waterproof, hand-operated flares. There was nothing fancy here, and nothing that could really go wrong.
`Going for a swim?' Ben asked.
`Not if I can help it. Anything happened?' He picked up the spare radio that Ben had ready for him. `This all set?' `It's tuned, and, yes, all quiet on the Western Front. Not a peep, and the boys out in Frontierland don't seem to have seen anything out of the ordinary.
They sat for the next ninety minutes, still scanning the monitors, with Ben checking in with his people around the lake every thirty minutes.
The check-in consisted of a series of clicks on the radio, denoting each separate man, while Ben responded with a similar number of clicks.
When it happened, it came, as ever, suddenly and unexpectedly.
Nothing showed on the monitors, and Ben kept glancing at his watch.
The check-in clicks had not started on time. Number one should have begun at exactly three-thirty, and the others were due to follow in sequence.
`They're late.' He did not yet sound alarmed, but Bond felt the hair bristle on the back of his neck.
`He's here,' he said with absolute certainty.
Then Ben's radio clamoured a series of rapid clicks which was the alarm signal.
`Jesus, you're right.
`I'm already there.
One of the little electric carts, used by the staff to get around the underground tunnels, had been placed in readiness just outside.
Now Bond was held up for a moment as Ben argued, wanting to come with him.
`Stay where you are. If I need help, I'll call in.
So he was off, whining away along the bare-walled tunnel lined with wiring and sanitation ducts. The underground passages were marked to show exactly where you were in relation to the world above, so navigation was a simple matter.
He reached Central Place and took a hard left which brought him to the Riverboat Landing, leaping from the cart and climbing the metal ladder that would take him right on to the landing.
For a moment he closed his eyes, to adjust to the darkness outside, and waited by the door which he softly pushed open.
He stood in the open air with all senses straining, looking up at the moored riverboats and hearing no unusual sound in the night.
Slowly he inched forward until he reached the edge of the landing stage, moving sideways to get a view of the water. Darkness. Silence.
Nothing. Time, he considered, for some light on the scene so he unclipped the radio from his belt.
He was just lifting it to his mouth, the thumb of his right hand pressing the transmit button, when he felt the metal digging into the back of his neck, and heard the throaty, soft whisper which sent a chill of ice down his spine.
`Thank you for coming, James Bond. I've only incapacitated the other watchers. For you, I have a special treat.' Dragonpol's tone had altered to one of deep and desperate madness. This time he was not acting.
Dropping the radio, hoping that the touch of his thumb on the button would have already alerted Ben, Bond let his body go limp. It was an old trick, learned long ago. If the muscles seem to go inactive, the person threatening you will imagine he has complete dominance. `Okay, David,' he spoke almost in a whisper so that Dragonpol would have to strain to hear him. `Where do you want me to go?' `Shut up. ` Dragonpol began, and Bond sagged at the knees, turning into the pistol touching his neck and bringing his right fist round in a pile driver which went wide, catching Dragonpol on the shoulder.
Come in, the water's lovely, he shouted, reaching for the man's neck, his fingers connecting with a wetsuit not unlike the one he was wearing, heaving and pulling his adversary off balance.
As they fell from the landing stage, their bodies locked together, Dragonpol's pistol went off, and he felt a small burn in his left shoulder as a bullet tore at his wetsuit.
They rolled into the water with Dragonpol trying desperately to get an arm lock on Bond who was struggling to drag the ASP out of its holster, but his fingers were slipping on the waterproof material.
Then he felt himself being pulled under with the actor's fingers clawing at his throat.
He was on his back now, the tall, heavy, muscular Dragonpol on top of him: fingers at his windpipe and the other arm across his chest pushing down. Bond tried to open his eyes, clamping his mouth shut as he was jammed further and further into the water.
He kicked and squirmed, putting every ounce of strength into moving his opponent from above him, but the man's grip simply tightened, and Bond was slowly thrust deeper under the water, lungs bursting and the strength fast leaving his body.
The red-out came first. It was sudden and strange. In the brief tick of consciousness, he thought something had happened to his eyes, then he realized that this was the moment before oblivion. He opened his mouth, felt the water rush in, choking him, darkness filtering into his brain.
As he gagged and choked, so Bond was given a few seconds of clarity, allowing him to make a last, supreme
