Carte Blanche Part 39

'When does the fighting start?'

'In about an hour and a half. As soon as the food planes are in the air and the s.h.i.+ps are in international waters, the invasion of eastern Sudan begins.' Felicity looked at her demure Baume & Mercier watch. She supposed Gregory Lamb would arrive soon. 'Now, I need to broker something else: your co-operation.'

He laughed coldly.

'If you don't, your friend Bheka Jordaan will die. Simple as that. I have many friends throughout Africa who are quite skilled at killing and happy to put those talents to work.'

She was pleased to see how this troubled him. Felicity Willing always enjoyed finding people's weaknesses.

'What do you want?' he asked.

'You send a message to your superiors that you've confirmed Gregory Lamb is behind an attempted cruise-s.h.i.+p bombing. You've managed to stop the plot and you'll be meeting with him soon.'

'You know I can't do that.'

'We're negotiating for the life of your friend. Come on, James, be a proper hero. You're going to die anyway.'

He turned his eyes to her and repeated, 'I really thought it might work out between us.'

A s.h.i.+ver ran down Felicity Willing's spine.

But then Bond's eyes grew stony and he snapped, 'Okay, that's enough. We have to move fast.'

She frowned. What was he talking about?

He added, 'Try to use non-lethal force on her . . . if you can.'

'Oh, Christ, no,' Felicity whispered.

A tidal wave of light the overheads came on and, as she started to turn towards the sound of running feet, the Walther was ripped out of her hand. She was slammed on to her belly by two people, one of whom knelt hard in the small of her back and secured her hands expertly behind her with handcuffs.

Felicity heard a crisp voice, a woman's: 'In accordance with Section Thirty-five of the Const.i.tution of South Africa, 1996, you have the right to remain silent and to be advised that any statements made to your arresting officers can be used as evidence in trial against you.'

68.

'No!' Felicity Willing gasped, her face a mask of disbelief. Then the word was repeated in rage, nearly a scream.

James Bond looked down at the pet.i.te woman sitting on the floor in about the same place that he had been a moment before. She shouted, 'You knew! You son of a b.i.t.c.h, you knew! You never suspected Lamb at all!'

'I lied, didn't I?' he said coldly, throwing the words back at her.

Bheka Jordaan was also gazing down unemotionally, a.s.sessing her prisoner.

Bond was rubbing his wrists, from which the cuffs had been removed. Gregory Lamb was nearby, on his mobile. Lamb and Jordaan had arrived before Bond to plant microphones and monitor the conversation, in case Felicity took the bait. They'd hidden in the workers' caravan; Bond's flash of the torch earlier had verified they were invisible and alerted them that he was going inside. He hadn't wanted to use radio transmissions.

Jordaan's phone rang and she answered it. She listened, jotting information in her notebook, then said, 'My people have raided Ms Willing's office. We've got the landing locations of all the planes and the routes of the s.h.i.+ps delivering the food.'

Gregory Lamb looked over her notes and relayed the information into his phone. While the man did not instil confidence as an intelligence agent, apparently he indeed had his contacts and he was using them now.

'You can't do this!' Felicity wailed. 'You don't understand!'

Bond and Jordaan ignored her and stared at Lamb. Finally he disconnected. 'There's an American carrier off the coast. They've launched fighters to intercept the food planes. And RAF and South African attack helicopters are on their way to turn the s.h.i.+ps.'

Bond thanked the big sweating man for his efforts. He'd never suspected Lamb whose odd behaviour stemmed from the fact that he was essentially a coward. He admitted that he'd disappeared during the action at the Green Way plant to hide in the bushes, though stopped short of confessing he'd shot through his own sleeve. But Bond had thought him the perfect bait to lay before his suspect, Felicity Willing.

Bheka Jordaan took a call too. 'Back-up's going to be a little delayed bad accident on Victoria Road. But Kwalene says they should be here in twenty or thirty minutes.'

Bond looked down at Felicity. Even now, sitting on the filthy floor of this decrepit construction site, she radiated defiance, a caged, angry lioness.

'How . . . how did you know?' she asked.

They could hear the soothing yet powerful sound of the Atlantic cras.h.i.+ng on the rocks, birds calling, a far-off car horn bleating. This place wasn't far from the centre of Cape Town but the city seemed a universe away.

'A number of things made me wonder,' Bond told her. 'The first was Dunne himself. Why the mysterious funds transfer to his account yesterday, before Gehenna? That suggested Dunne had another partner. And so did another intercept we caught, mentioning that if Hydt was out of the picture, there were other partners who could proceed with the project. Who had that been sent to? One explanation was that it was somebody entirely independent of Gehenna.

'Then I remembered Dunne travelled to India, Indonesia and the Caribbean. At the fundraiser you said your charity had opened offices in Mumbai, Jakarta and Port-au-Prince. Bit of a coincidence, that. Both you and Dunne had connections in London and Cape Town and you'd both had a presence in South Africa before Hydt opened the Green Way office here.

'And I made the NOAH connection on my own,' Bond continued. When he was in SAPS headquarters he'd found himself staring at her card. IOAH. He'd suddenly realised there was merely one letter difference. 'I checked company records in Pretoria and found the group's original name. So when you told me you'd heard Lamb referred to as Noah, I knew you were lying. That confirmed your guilt. But we still needed to trick you into telling us what you knew and what Incident Twenty was.' He regarded her coldly. 'I didn't have time for aggressive interrogation.'

Purpose . . . response.

Not knowing Felicity's goal, this deception had been the best response he could put together.

Felicity eased herself towards the wall. The movement was accompanied by a glance out of the window.

Suddenly several thoughts coalesced in Bond's mind: the s.h.i.+ft of her eyes, the 'accident' blocking Victoria Road, Dunne's genius for planning and the car horn, which had sounded about three minutes earlier. It had been a signal, of course, and Felicity had been counting down since it had blared in the distance.

'Incoming!' Bond cried and launched himself into Bheka Jordaan.

The two of them and Lamb tumbled to the floor as bullets crashed through the windows, filling the room with shards of glistening confetti.

69.

Bond, Lamb and Jordaan took cover as best they could, which wasn't easy because the entire north wall of the room was exposed. Table saws and the rest of the construction equipment provided some protection but they were still vulnerable, since the work lights and overheads gave the sniper a perfect view of the rooms.

Felicity hunkered down further.

'How many men does Dunne have with him?' Bond snapped to her.

She didn't answer.

He aimed close to her leg and fired a deafening shot, which spat splinters of wood into her face and chest. She screamed. 'Just him for now,' she whispered quickly. 'He's got some other people on the way. Listen, just let me go and-'

'Shut up!'

So, Bond reflected, Dunne had used part of his money to bribe security forces in Mozambique to lie that he'd been spotted in the country while he had remained here to back up Felicity. And to hire mercenaries to extract them, if necessary.

Bond glanced round the breakfast room and the nearby lobby. There was simply no way to get to cover. Aiming carefully, he shot out the work lights but the overheads were still bright and too numerous to take out. They gave Dunne a perfect view of the interior. Bond rose but was rewarded with two close shots. He'd seen no target. There was some moonlight but the glare inside rendered outdoors black. He could tell Dunne was shooting from high ground, on the Apostles range. Yet the Irishman could be anywhere up there.

A moment or two pa.s.sed, then more bullets crashed into the room, striking bags of plaster. The dust rose and Bond and Jordaan coughed. Bond noted that the angle of those shots had been different; Dunne was working his way into a position from which he could begin to pick them off.

'The lights,' Lamb called. 'We've got to get them out.'

The switch, however, was in the pa.s.sage to the kitchen and to get to it one of them would have to run past a series of gla.s.s doors and windows, presenting a perfect target to Dunne.

Bond tried but he was in the most vulnerable position and the instant he rose slugs slammed into a pillar and the tools beside him. He fell back to the floor.

'I'll go,' said Bheka Jordaan. She was gauging distances to the light switch, Bond saw. 'I'm closest. I think I can make it. Did I tell you, James, I was a star rugby player at university? I moved very quickly.'

'No,' Bond said firmly. 'It's suicide. We'll wait for your officers.'

'They won't be here in time. He'll be in position to kill us all in a few minutes. James, rugby is a wonderful game. Have you ever played?' She laughed. 'No, of course not. I can't see you on a team.'

His smile matched hers.

'You're better placed to give covering fire,' Bond said. 'That big Colt of yours'll scare the h.e.l.l out of him. I'm going on three. One . . . two-'

Suddenly a voice called, 'Oh, please!'

Bond looked toward Lamb, who continued, 'Those countdown scenes in movies are such dreadful cliches. Nonsense. In real life n.o.body counts. You just stand up and go!'

Which was exactly what Lamb now did. He leapt to his meaty legs and lumbered towards the light switch. Bond and Jordaan both aimed into the blackness and fired covering rounds. They had no idea where Dunne was and it was unlikely that their slugs went anywhere near him, yet whether they did or not, the rounds didn't deter the Irishman from firing a spot-on burst when Lamb was ten feet from the switch. The bullets shattered the windows beside him and found their target. A spray of the agent's blood painted the floor and wall and he lurched forward, collapsed and lay still.

'No,' Jordaan cried. 'Oh, no.'

The casualty must have given Dunne some confidence because the next shots were even closer to their mark. Finally Bond had to abandon his position. He crawled back to where Jordaan crouched behind a table saw, its blade dented by Dunne's .223 rounds.

Bond and the policewoman now pressed against each other. The black slits of windows glared at them. There was nowhere else to go. A bullet snapped over Bond's head it broke the sound barrier inches from his ear.

He felt, but couldn't see, Dunne moving in for the kill.

Felicity said, 'I can stop this. Just let me go. I'll call him. Give me a phone.'

A muzzle flash, and Bond shoved Jordaan's head down as the wall beside them exploded. The slug actually tugged at the strands beside her ear. She gasped and pressed against him, s.h.i.+vering. The smell of burning hair wafted around them.

Felicity said, 'n.o.body'll know you let me escape. Give me a phone. I'll call Dunne.'

'Oh, go to h.e.l.l, b.i.t.c.h!' came a voice from across the room and, staggering to his feet, gripping his b.l.o.o.d.y chest, Lamb rose and charged to the far wall. He swept his hand down on the light switch as he dropped once more to the floor. The inn went dark.

Instantly Bond was on his feet, kicking out one of the side doors. He plunged into the brush to pursue his prey.

Thinking: four rounds left, one more magazine.

Bond was sprinting through the brush that led to the base of the steep cliff, the Twelve Apostles ridge. He ran in an S pattern as Dunne fired towards him. The moon wasn't full but there was light to shoot by, yet none of the slugs. .h.i.t closer than three or four feet from him.

Finally the Irishman stopped targeting Bond he must have a.s.sumed he'd hit him or that he'd fled to find help. Dunne's goal, of course, wasn't necessarily to kill his victims, but simply to keep them contained until his a.s.sociates arrived. How soon would that be?

Bond huddled against a large rock. The night was now freezing cold and a wind had come up. Dunne would be about a hundred feet directly above him. His sniper's eyrie was an outcrop of rock with a perfect view of the inn, the approaches to it . . . and of Bond himself in the moonlight, had Dunne simply leant over and looked.

Then a powerful torch was signalling from the rocks above. Bond turned to where it was pointed. Offsh.o.r.e a boat churned towards the beach. The mercenaries, of course.

He wondered how many were on board and what they were armed with. In ten minutes the vessel would land and he and Bheka Jordaan would be overrun Dunne would have made sure that Victoria Road remained impa.s.sable for longer than that. Still, he pulled out his phone and texted Kwalene Nkosi about the impending beach landing.

Bond looked back up the mountain face.

Only two approaches would lead him to Dunne. To the right, the south, there was a series of steep but smooth traverses narrow footpaths for hikers that led from the back of the Sixth Apostle Inn past the outcrop where Dunne lay. But if Bond went that way, he'd be exposed to Dunne's gunfire along much of the path; there was no cover.

The other option was to a.s.sault the castle directly: to climb straight up a craggy but steep rock face, one hundred vertical feet.

He studied this possible route.

Four years nearly to the day after his parents had died, fifteen-year-old James Bond had decided he'd had enough of the nightmares and fears that reared up when he looked at mountains or rock walls even, say, the impressive but tame foundation of Edinburgh Castle as seen from the Castle Terrace car park. He'd talked a master at Fettes into setting up a climbing club, which made regular trips to the Highlands for the members to learn the sport.

It took two weeks, but the dragon of fear had died and Bond added rock climbing to his repertoire of outdoor activities. He now holstered the Walther and looked up, reiterating to himself the basic rules: use only enough strength for a sufficient grip, no more; use your legs to support your body, your arms for balance and s.h.i.+fting weight; keep your body close to the rock face; use momentum to peak at the dead point.

And so, with no ropes, no gloves, no chalk and in leather shoes quite stylish but a fool's footwear on a damp face like this Bond began his ascent.

70.

Niall Dunne was making his way down the face of the Twelve Apostles ridge, along the hiking trails that led to the inn. His Beretta pistol in hand, he carefully stayed out of sight of the man who'd masqueraded so cleverly as Gene Theron the man Felicity had told him an hour or so ago was a British agent, first name James.

Although he couldn't see him any longer, Dunne had spotted the man a few minutes ago ascending the rock cliff. James had taken the bait and was a.s.saulting the citadel while Dunne had slipped out of the back door, so to speak, and was moving carefully down the traverses. In five minutes he'd be at the inn, while the British agent would be fully occupied on the cliff face.

All according to the blueprint . . . well, the revised blueprint.

Now there was nothing for it but to get out of the country, fast and forever. Though not alone, of course. He would leave with the person he admired most in the world, the person he loved, the person who was the engine of all his fantasies.

His boss, Felicity Willing.

This is Niall. He's brilliant. He's my draughtsman . . .