Nobody Lives for Ever

sleeping, like May.

Bond drew back and nodded.

‘I’ll take you to your final resting place, then, James.’

Any compassion had disappeared. They went back the way they had come, this time stopping before not a door but an electronic dial pad set into the wall. Nannie again made him take up a safe position against the wall as she punched out a code on the numbered buttons. A section of wall slid back, and Bond was ordered forward.

His stomach turned over as they entered a large, bare room with a row of deep comfortable chairs, like exclusive theatre seats, set along one wall. There was a clinical table and a hospital Gurney trolley, but the centrepiece, lit from above by enormous spots, was a very real guillotine.

It looked smaller than Bond had expected, but that was probably due to the French Revolution movies filming the instrument from a low angle, with the blade sliding down between very high, grooved posts. This instrument stood barely two metres high, making it look like a model of all the Hollywood representations he had seen.

There was no doubt that it would do the job. Everything was there, from the stocks for head and hands at the bottom, and an oblong plastic box to catch them once dismembered, to the slanting blade waiting at the top between the posts.

A vegetable – a large cabbage, he thought – had been jammed into the hole for the head. Nannie stepped forward and touched one of the upright posts. He did not even see the blade fall, it came down so fast. The cabbage was sliced neatly in two and there was a heavy thud as the blade settled. It was a macabre and unnerving little episode.

‘In a couple of hours or so . . .’ Nannie said brightly.

She allowed him to stand for a minute, to take in the scene. Then she pointed him towards a cell door at the far side of the chamber, similar to those in the passage. It was directly in line with the guillotine.

‘They’ve done it quite well, really,’ said Nannie, almost admiringly. ‘The first thing you’ll see when they bring you out will be Madame La Guillotine.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘And the last thing too. They’ll do you proud, James. I understand that Fin is to do the honours, and he’s been instructed to wear full evening dress. It’ll be an elegant occasion.’

‘How many have received invitations?’

‘Well, I suppose there are only about thirty-five people on the whole island. The communications people and guards will be working. Ten, possibly thirteen if you count me, and should the Colonel want the hostages present, which is unlikely . . .’

She stopped abruptly, realising that she was giving away too much information. Quickly she regained her composure. It did not matter if he knew or not. In two hours the blade would come thudding down, separating Bond’s head from his body in a fraction of a second.

‘Into the cell,’ she said quietly. ‘Enough is enough.’ As he passed through the door she called, ‘I suppose I should ask if you have a last request.’

Bond turned and smiled. ‘Oh, most certainly, Nannie, but you’re in no condition to supply it.’

She shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not, my dear James. You’ve had that already – and very pleasant it was. You might even be pleased to hear that Sukie was furious. She’s absolutely crazy about you. I should have brought her along. She would have been glad to comply.’

‘I was going to ask you about Sukie.’

‘What about her?’

‘Why haven’t you killed her? You’re a pro. You know the form. I would never have left someone like Sukie lying around, even in a drugged stupor. I’d have made sure she was silenced for good and all.’

‘Maybe I have killed her. The dosage was near lethal.’ Nannie’s voice dropped, sounding slightly sad. ‘But you’re quite right, James. I should have made certain. There’s no room for sentiment in our business. But . . . well, I suppose I held back. We’ve been very close, and I’ve always managed to hide my darker side from her. You need someone to like you, when you do these kind of things: you need to be loved, or don’t you find that? You know, when I was at school with Sukie – before I discovered men – I was in love with her. She’s been good to me. But you’re right. When we’ve finished with you, I shall have to go back and finish her too.’

‘How did you manage to engineer that meeting between Sukie and me?’

Nannie gave a tiny explosion of laughter. ‘That really was an accident. I was playing it very much by ear. I knew where you were because I’d stuck a homer on your Bentley. I had it done on the boat. Sukie really did insist on making that part of the journey alone, and you did save her. I was going to set up something, depending where you were staying, because I knew you were heading towards Rome, as she was. It’s funny, but the pair of you played right into my hands. Now, anything else?’

‘Last requests?’

‘Yes.’

Bond shrugged. ‘I have simple tastes, Nannie. I also know when I’m beaten. I’ll have a plate of scrambled eggs and a bottle of Taittinger – the ’73, if that’s possible.’

‘In my experience, anything’s possible with SPECTRE. I’ll see what I can do.’

She was gone, the cell door slamming shut with a heavy thump. The cell was a small room, bare but for a metal bed covered with one blanket. Bond waited for a moment before going to the door. The flap over the Judas squint was closed, but he would have to be quick and careful. The silence of the place was against him; someone could be outside the door without his even knowing it.

Slowly, Bond undid the waistband of his slacks. Very rarely did he leave things to chance these days. Nannie had removed his belt and found Q Branch’s Toolkit. The extra piece of equipment he had taken from his briefcase back at the Pier House had been the spare one he now needed. The black slacks were also made by Q Branch, and contained hidden compartments stitched into the waistband. They were well nigh undetectable. It took him just over a minute to remove the equipment from its secure hiding places. At least he knew there was a fair chance of his being able to release the cell door so that he could get as far as the execution chamber. After that, who knew?

He reckoned he had half an hour before they brought the food. In that time he must establish whether he could open the cell door. For the second time in a matter of days he went to work with the picklocks.

Unexpectedly, the cell lock was simple, a straightforward mortice that could be manipulated easily by two of the picks. He had it open and closed again in less than five minutes. Opening it the second time, he pushed at the cell door and walked out into the execution chamber. It was eerie, with the guillotine standing there in the centre of the room. He began a reconnaissance, and soon discovered he could find the main door only because he remembered roughly where it was located. It was operated electronically and fitted so well into the wall that it appeared to be part of it. If he placed the explosives correctly he might just do it, but the chances of finding the right position to blow the electronic locks would be more a matter of luck than judgment.

He returned to the cell, locked the door behind him and pushed the Toolkit out of sight under the blanket. He realised that the chances of blowing the execution chamber door were remote.

Bond racked his brains in an attempt to come to some resolution. He even considered destroying the guillotine itself. But he knew that this would be a hopeless act of folly, and a waste of good explosives. They would still have him, and there was more than one way of separating a man from his head.

The food was brought to him by Nannie herself, with the balding guard in attendance, the knuckles of his hands white as he grasped the Uzi.

‘I said nothing was impossible for SPECTRE,’ Nannie said without smiling as she indicated the Taittinger.

Bond simply nodded, and they left. As the cell door was closing, he felt he had been given one tiny morsel of hope. He heard the balding man mumble to Nannie,

‘The old man’s sleeping. We’re going to bring him through now.’

Rahani was to be brought up in good time, so that he could wake from his medication already in position. As long as the nurse did not stay with him, Bond might just do it. The idea now formed in his mind as he ate the scrambled eggs and drank the champagne. He was glad he had asked for the ’73. It was an excellent year.

He thought he could hear sounds from the other side of the door and he put his ear hard against the metal, straining to catch the slightest noise. Almost by intuition, he knew there was somebody approaching the door.

Quickly Bond stretched himself on the bed, still alert for any sound, until he was sure that he heard the Judas squint move back and then into place again. He counted off five minutes, then took out the Toolkit, leaving the