‘Help . . . Sit up . . .’ Rahani croaked.
‘I can’t at the moment. But I’ll press the bell.’
Bond, leaning forward, hands spread against the wall, heard her move, but knew he had no chance of taking precipitate action. Nannie was fast and accurate at the best of times. Now, with her quarry cornered, her trigger finger would be very itchy.
‘You can stand up now, James, slowly,’ she said a couple of seconds later.
He pushed himself from the wall.
‘Turn around – slowly – with your arms stretched out and feet apart, then lean back against the wall.’
Bond did as he was told, regaining a full view of the room just as the door to his right opened. Two men entered with guns in their hands.
‘Relax,’ Nannie said softly. ‘I’ve brought him.’
They were the usual SPECTRE specimens, one fair-haired, the other balding; both big muscular men with wary eyes and cautious, quick movements.
The fair one smiled. ‘Oh, good. Well done, Miss Norrich.’ His English bore the trace of a Scandinavian accent. The bald one merely nodded.
They were followed by a short man, dressed casually in white shirt and trousers, his face distorted by the right corner of his mouth, which seemed permanently twisted towards the right ear.
‘Dr McConnell,’ Nannie greeted him.
‘Aye, so it’s you, Mistress Norrich. Ye’ve brought yon man the Colonel’s always raving about, then?’
His face reminded Bond of a bizarre ventriloquist’s dummy as he spoke in his exaggeratedly Scottish accent. A tall, masculine-looking nurse plodded in his wake, a big, raw-boned woman with flaxen hair.
‘So, how’s ma patient, then?’ McConnell asked as he stood by the bed.
‘I think he wants to see the present I’ve brought for him, Doctor.’ Nannie’s eyes never left Bond. Now she had him, she was taking no chances.
The doctor gave a signal to the nurse, who moved towards the white bedside table. She picked up a flat black control box the size of a man’s wallet, attached to an electric cable that snaked under the bed. She pressed a button and the bedhead began to move upwards, raising Tamil Rahani into a sitting position. The mechanism made no more than a mild whirring noise.
‘There. I said I’d do it, Colonel Rahani, and I did. Mr James Bond, at your service.’ The smallest hint of triumph could be detected in Nannie’s voice.
There was a tired, wheezing cackle from Rahani as his eyes focused. ‘An eye for an eye, Mr Bond. Apart from the fact that SPECTRE has wanted you dead for more years than either of us would care to recall, I have a personal score to settle with you.’
‘Nice to see you in such a bad way,’ Bond said with icy detachment.
‘Ah! Yes, Bond,’ Rahani croaked. ‘On the last occasion we met, you caused me to jump for my life. I didn’t know then that I was jumping to my death. The bad landing jarred my spine, and that started the incurable disease from which I am now dying. Since you’ve caused the downfall of previous leaders of SPECTRE and decimated the Blofeld family, I regard it as a duty, as well as a personal privilege, to see you wiped from the face of the earth – hence the little contest.’ He was rapidly losing strength, each word tiring him. ‘A contest which was a gamble with the odds in SPECTRE’S favour, for we took on Miss Norrich, a tried and true operator.’
‘And you manipulated other contestants,’ Bond said grimly. ‘The kidnapping, I mean. I trust . . .’
‘Oh, the delightful Scottish lady, and the famous Miss Moneypenny. You trust?’
‘I think that’s enough talking, Colonel,’ said Dr McConnell, moving closer to the bed.
‘No . . . no . . .’ Rahani said, scarcely above a whisper. ‘I want to see him depart this life before I go.’
‘Then ya will, Colonel.’ The doctor bent over the bed. ‘Ye’ll have to rest a while first, though.’
Rahani tried to speak to Bond, ‘You said you trust . . .’
‘I trust both ladies are safe, and that, for once, SPECTRE will act honourably and see they are returned in exchange for my head.’
‘They are both here. Safe. They will be freed the moment your head is severed from your body.’
Rahani seemed to shrink even smaller as his head sank back on to the pillows. For a second Bond relived the last time he had seen the man, over the Swiss lake – strong, tough, outclassed – yet leaping from an airship to escape Bond’s victory.
The doctor looked around at the hoods. ‘Is everything prepared? For the . . . er . . . the execution?’ He did not even glance at Bond.
‘We’ve been ready for a long time.’ The fair man gave his toothy smile again. ‘Everything’s in order.’
The doctor nodded. ‘The Colonel hasn’t got long, I fear. A day, maybe two. I have to give him medication now, and he will sleep for about three hours. Can you do it then?’
‘Whenever.’ The balding man nodded, then gave Bond a hard look. He had stony eyes the colour of granite.
The doctor signalled to the nurse and she started to prepare an injection.
‘Give the Colonel an hour, he’ll no be disturbed by being moved then. In an hour ye can move the bed into . . . what d’ye call it? The execution chamber?’
‘Good a name as any,’ the fair-haired man said. ‘You want us to take Bond up?’ he asked Nannie.
‘You touch him and you’re dead. I know the way. Just give me the keys.’
‘I have a request.’ Bond felt the first pangs of fear, but his voice was steady, even commanding.
‘Yes? What is it?’ asked Nannie almost diffidently.
‘I know it’ll make little difference, but I’d like to be sure about May and Moneypenny.’
Nannie looked across at the two armed guards and the fair one nodded and said, ‘They’re in the other two cells. Next to the death cell. You can manage him by yourself? You’re sure?’
‘I got him here, didn’t I? If he gives me any trouble I’ll take his legs off. The doctor can patch him up for the headectomy.’
From the bed, where he was administering the injection, McConnell gave a throaty chuckle. ‘I like it, Mistress Norrich – headectomy, I like it verra much.’
‘Which is more than can be said for me.’ Bond sounded very cool. At the back of his mind he was already doing some calculations. The mathematics of escape.
The doctor chuckled again. ‘If ye want tae get a head, get a Nannie, eh?’
‘Let’s go.’ Nannie came close to prodding Bond with the Uzi. ‘Hands above the head, fingers linked, arms straight. Go for the door. Move.’
Bond walked through the door and into a curving passage with a deep pile carpet and walls of sky blue. The passage, he reckoned, ran around the entire storey, and was probably identical to others on the floors above. The great house on Shark Island, though externally constructed as a pyramid, seemed to have a circular core.
At intervals along the passage were alcoves in Norman style, each containing an
They came to elevator doors of brushed steel, curved to fit the shape of the passage. Nannie ordered him to lean back with his hands against the wall again, while she summoned the elevator. It arrived as soundlessly as the doors slid open. Everything appeared to have been constructed to ensure constant silence. She ushered him into the circular cage of the elevator. The doors closed and although he saw Nannie press the second floor button, Bond could hardly tell whether they were moving upwards or down. Seconds later the doors opened again, on to a very different kind of passage – bare, with walls which looked like plain brick, and a flagstone floor that absorbed the sound of every footstep. The curved passage was blocked off at either end.
‘The detention area,’ Nannie explained. ‘You want to see the hostages? Okay, move left.’
She stopped him in front of a door that could have been part of a movie set, made of black metal, with a heavy lock and a tiny Judas squint. Nannie waved the Uzi.
From what he could see, the interior appeared to be a comfortable but somewhat spartan bedroom. May lay asleep on the bed, her chest rising and falling and her face peaceful.
‘I understand they’ve been kept under mild sedation,’ Nannie said with just a glimmer of compassion in her voice. ‘They take only a second or two to be wakened for meals.’
She ushered him on, to a similar room where he saw Moneypenny on a similar bed, relaxed and apparently
