But the heavy-duty motor didn’t stop immediately; the belt continued to carry his friend towards the deadly plates, pulsing relentlessly back and forth.
Oh, God!… Bond holstered his Walther and turned back. He grabbed Leiter and struggled to pull him out of the machinery. But the conveyor-belt was dotted with pointed teeth, to improve its grip, and Leiter’s clothing was caught.
Head lolling, blood streaming into his eyes, he continued to be drawn towards the compactor mechanism.
Eighteen inches away, sixteen… twelve.
Bond leapt on to the belt and jammed a foot against the frame, then wound Leiter’s jacket around his hands and gripped furiously hard. The momentum slowed but the massive motor continued to drive the belt relentlessly under the faces of the plates shooting back and forth.
Leiter was eight inches, then six, from the plates that would turn his feet and ankles to pulp.
His arm and leg muscles in fiery agony, Bond tugged harder, groaning at the effort.
Three inches…
Finally the belt stopped and, with a hydraulic gasp, so did the plates.
Struggling for breath, Bond reached in and untangled the American’s trousers from the teeth on the belt and pulled him out, easing him to the floor. He ran to the loading bay, drawing his weapon, but there was no sign of the man in blue. Then, scanning for other threats, Bond returned to the CIA agent, who was coming round. He sat up slowly, Bond helping, and oriented himself.
‘Can’t leave you alone for five minutes, can I?’ Bond asked, masking the horror he’d felt at his friend’s near fate, as he examined the wound in the man’s head and mopped it with a rag he’d found nearby.
Leiter gazed at the machine. Shook his head. Then his familiar grin spread across his lean face. ‘You Brits’re always barging in at the wrong time. I had him just where I wanted him.’
‘Hospital?’ Bond asked. His heart pounded from the effort of the rescue and relief at the outcome.
‘Naw.’ The American examined the rag. It was bloody but Leiter seemed more angry than injured. ‘Hell, James, we’re past the deadline! The ninety people?’
Bond explained about the exhibition.
Leiter barked a harsh laugh. ‘What a screw-up! Brother, did we misread that one. So Hydt gets off on dead bodies. And he wanted
Bond collected Leiter’s phone and weapon and returned them to him. ‘What happened, Felix?’
Leiter’s eyes stilled. ‘The driver of the Town Car came into the warehouse right after you left. I could see him and that Irishman talking, looking at the girl. I knew something was going down, and that meant she’d know something. I was going to finesse it somehow and save her. Claim we were safety inspectors or something. Before I could move, they grabbed the girl and taped her up, dragged her toward the office. I sent Yusuf around to the other side and started toward them but that bastard nailed me before I got ten feet – the guy from the shopping centre, your tail.’
‘I know. I spotted him.’
‘Man, the SOB knows some martial-arts crap, I’ll tell you that. He clocked me good and I was down for the count.’
‘Did he say anything?’
‘Grunted a lot. When he hit me.’
‘Was he working with the Irishman or al-Fulan?’
‘Couldn’t tell. I didn’t see them together.’
‘And the girl? We’ve got to find her if we can.’
‘They’re probably on their way out to the desert. If we’re lucky, Yusuf’s following them. Probably tried to call when I was out.’ With Bond helping, the agent struggled to his feet. He took his phone and hit speed dial.
And from nearby came the chirp of a ringtone, a cheerful electronic tune. But muted.
Both men looked around.
Then Leiter turned to Bond. ‘Oh, no,’ the American whispered, closing his eyes briefly. They hurried to the back of the compactor. The sound was coming from inside a large, filled bin liner, which the machine had automatically sealed with wire and then disgorged on to the loading-bay platform to be carted off for disposal.
Bond, too, had realised what had happened. ‘I’ll look,’ he said.
‘No,’ Leiter said firmly. ‘It’s my job.’ He unwound the wire, took a deep breath and looked inside the bag. Bond joined him.
The dense jigsaw of sharp metal pieces, wires and nuts, bolts and screws were entwined with a mass of gore and bloody cloth, bits of human organs, bone.
The glazed eyes in Yusuf Nasad’s crushed, distorted face stared directly between the two men.
Without a word, they returned to the Alfa and checked the satellite tracking system, which reported that Hydt’s limo had returned to the Intercontinental. It had made two brief stops on the way – presumably to transfer the girl to another car, for her last trip out to the desert, and to collect Hydt from the museum.
Fifteen minutes later Bond piloted the Alfa past the hotel and into the car park.
‘Do you want to get a room?’ Bond asked. ‘Take care of that?’ He gestured at Leiter’s head.
‘Naw, I need a goddamn drink. I’ll just wash up. Meet you in the bar.’
They parked and Bond opened the boot. He collected his laptop bag, leaving the suitcase inside. Leiter pulled his own small bag over his shoulder and found a cap – branded, so to speak, with the logo of the University of Texas Longhorns gridiron team. He pulled it gingerly over his wound and stuffed his straw-coloured hair underneath. They took the side entrance into the hotel.
Inside, Leiter went to wash and Bond, making sure none of the Hydt entourage was in the lobby, passed through it and stepped outside. He assessed a group of limo drivers standing in a cluster and talking busily. Bond saw that none of them was Hydt’s driver. He gestured to the smallest of the lot and the man walked over eagerly.
‘You have a card?’ Bond asked.
‘Indeed, yes, I do, sir.’ And offered one. Bond glanced at and pocketed it. ‘What would like, sir? A dune bashing trip? No, I know, the gold souk! For your lady. You will bring her something from Dubai and be her hero.’
‘The man who hired that limo?’ Bond’s gaze swept quickly over Hydt’s Lincoln.
The driver’s eyes went still. Bond wasn’t worried; he knew when somebody was for sale. He tried once more. ‘You know him, don’t you?’
‘Not especially, sir.’
‘But you drivers always talk among yourselves. You know everything that goes on here. Especially regarding a curious fellow like Mr Hydt.’
He slipped the man five hundred dirhams.
‘Yes, sir, yes, sir. I may have heard something… Let me think. Yes, perhaps.’
‘And what might that have been?’
‘I believe he and his friends have gone to the restaurant. They will be there for two hours or so. It’s a very good restaurant. Meals are leisurely.’
‘Any idea where they’re going from here?’
A nod. But no accompanying words.
Another five hundred dirhams joined their friends.
