others had curtains drawn across them. On top of the building a forest of communications aerials stretched up like some avant-garde sculpture.
Gently, Bond reached into the waterproof pouch and drew out the ASP, slipping off the safety catch. He was breathing normally now, and using the trees and statues for cover he moved stealthily and silently towards the huge modern pyramid. As he got closer, he saw there were several ways into the place. A giant spiral staircase running up through the centre and three sets of metal steps, one on each side, which zig-zagged from one balcony to the next.
He crossed the last piece of open ground and stood to listen for a moment. The voices had ceased; he thought he could hear the patrol boat, far out to sea. Nothing else.
Bond began to climb the open zig-zagging stairs to the first level, his feet touching the fretted metal noiselessly, his body held to the left so that his right hand, clutching the ASP, was constantly ready. Standing on the first terrace, he waited, his head cocked. Just ahead of him there was a large sliding picture window, the curtains only partially drawn, and one section open. He crossed to the window and peered in.
The room was white, furnished with glass tables, soft white armchairs, and valuable modern paintings. A deep pile white carpet covered the floor. In the centre was a large bed, with electronic controls that could adjust any section to any angle, to improve the comfort of the patient who now lay in it.
Tamil Rahani was propped up with silk-covered pillows, his eyes closed, and his head turned to one side. Despite the shrunken face with skin the colour of parchment, Bond recognised him immediately. On their previous meetings, Rahani had been smooth, short and dapper, attractive in a military kind of way. Now the heir to the Blofeld fortune was reduced to this human doll, dwarfed by the seductive luxury of the high-tech bed.
Bond slid open the window, and stepped inside. Moving like a cat to the end of the bed, he gazed down on the man who controlled SPECTRE.
Now I can have him, he thought. Now, why not? Kill him now and you may not ruin SPECTRE, but at least you’ll decapitate it – just as its leader wants you decapitated.
Taking a deep breath, Bond raised the ASP. He was only a few steps from Rahani’s head. One squeeze of the trigger and it would be obliterated, and he could be away, hiding in the grounds until he found a way to get off the island.
As he began to squeeze the trigger, he thought he felt a small gust of air on the back of his head.
‘I don’t think so, James. We’ve brought you too far to let you do what God’s going to do soon enough.’ The voice came from behind him.
‘Just drop the gun, James. Drop it, or you’ll be dead before you can even move.’
He was stunned by the voice. The ASP fell with a noisy thump to the floor and Tamil Rahani stirred and groaned in his sleep.
‘Okay, you can turn around now.’
Bond turned to look at Nannie Norrich, who stood in the window, an Uzi machine pistol held against her slim hip.
18
MADAME AWAITS
‘I’m sorry it had to be like this, James. You lived up to your reputation. Every girl should have one.’
The grey eyes were as cold as the North Sea in December, and the words meant nothing.
‘Not as sorry as I am.’ Bond allowed himself a smile which neither the muzzle of the Uzi, nor Nannie Norrich deserved. ‘You and Sukie, eh? You really did take me in. Is it private enterprise, or do you work for one of the organisations?’
‘Not Sukie, James. Sukie’s for real,’ she replied flatly. Any feelings she might have had were well under control. ‘She’s in bed at the Pier House. I slipped her what the old gumshoe movies would call a Mickey Finn – a very strong one. We had coffee on room service after we left you. And I provided a service of my own. You’ll be long gone by the time she wakes up. If she does wake up.’
Bond glanced at the bed. The shrunken figure of Tamil Rahani had not moved. Time. He needed time. Time for some fast talking, and a little luck. He tried to sound casual.
‘Originally, a Mickey Finn was a laxative for horses. Did you know that?’
She took no notice. ‘You look like a black Kermit the Frog in that gear, James. It doesn’t suit you, so – very slowly – I want you to take it off.’
Bond shrugged. ‘If you say so.’
‘I do, and please don’t be foolish. The tiniest move and I won’t hesitate to take your legs off with this.’ The muzzle of the Uzi moved a fraction.
Slowly, and with a certain amount of difficulty, Bond began to take off the wet suit. All the time, he tried to keep her talking, picking questions with care.
‘You really did have me fooled, Nannie. After all, you saved me several times.’
‘More than you know.’ Her voice was level and emotionless. ‘That was my job, or at least the job I said I’d try to do.’
‘You wasted the German – what was his name? Conrad Tempel – on the road to Strasbourg?’
‘Oh, yes, and there were a couple before that who had latched on to you. I dealt with them. On the boat to Ostend.’
Bond nodded, acknowledging that he knew about the men on the ferry. ‘And Cordova – the Rat, the Poison Dwarf?’
‘Guilty.’
‘The Renault?’
‘That took me a little by surprise. You helped a great deal, James. Quinn was a thorn in the flesh, but you helped again. I was simply your guardian angel. That was my job.’
He finally pulled off the wet suit, standing there in the black slacks and rollneck.
‘What about Der Haken? The mad cop.’
Nannie gave a frosty smile. ‘I had some help there. My own private panic button – Der Haken was briefed; he thought I was a go-between for himself and SPECTRE. When he had outlived his usefulness, Colonel Rahani sent in the heavy mob to dispose of him. They wanted to take you as well, but the Colonel let me carry on – though there was a penalty clause: my head was on the block if I lost you after that. And I nearly did, because I was responsible for the vampire bat. Lucky for you that Sukie came along to save you when she did. But that gave me a hard time with SPECTRE. They’ve been experimenting with the beasts here. It was meant to give you rabies. You were a sort of guinea pig, and the plan was to get you to Shark Island before the symptoms became apparent. The Colonel wants your head, but he wanted to see the effect of the rabies before they shortened you, as they say.’
She moved the Uzi again. ‘Let’s have you against the wall, James. The standard position, feet apart, arms stretched. We don’t want to find you’re carrying any nasty little toys, do we?’
She frisked him expertly, and then began to remove his belt. It was the action of a trained expert, and something Bond had dreaded. ‘Dangerous things, belts,’ she said, undoing the buckle, then unthreading it from the loops. ‘Oh, yes. This one especially. Very cunning.’ She had obviously detected the Toolkit.
‘If SPECTRE has someone like you on the payroll, Nannie, why bother with a charade like this competition – the Head Hunt?’
‘I’m not,’ she said curtly. ‘Not on the payroll, I mean. I entered the competition as a freelance. I’ve done a little work for them before, so we came to an arrangement. They put me on a retainer, and I stood to get a percentage of the prize money if I won – which I have done. The Colonel has great faith in me. He saw it as a way of saving money.’
As though he had heard talk of himself, the figure on the bed stirred.
‘Who is it? What . . . Who?’
The voice, so commanding and firm the last time Bond had heard it, was now as wasted as the body.
‘It’s me, Colonel Rahani,’ said Nannie respectfully.
‘The Norrich girl?’
‘Nannie, yes. I’ve brought you a present.’
