John Gardner - Licence Renewed

'Now we pray.' He looked towards Lavender, still strapped helplessly in her seat. Bond's hands went to the buckle on his belt in order to reassemble the small knife concealed in its various components — the knife he had used to strip off the section of the money belt in Perpignan. He worked calmly, though it was a frustrating business. As he glanced towards Lavender, smiling and giving her a few words of confidence, he saw the means to his quick escape were very near the girl, if only she were free.

The technician who had been watching the radar screen when Bond's bullets had swept him from existence lay slumped in his seat, turned slightly towards Lavender. The man's trouser leg had ridden up on the right side, revealing a long woollen stocking into which was tucked a Highland dirk, safe in its scabbard. Bond had fleetingly feared, when amongst the festive crowds in Perpignan, that death would come silently by means of a dirk like this. It was the obvious weapon for these people to carry. Now, just when he needed the weapon, it was out of reach. As he completed fitting his own small knife together, he drew Lavender's attention to the dirk.

'Just get on with that handy little gadget you've produced from Lord knows where, James.' Her face betrayed her frantic state of mind. 'Caber's already been gone for nearly fifteen minutes. If you're not free by the time...'

'Okay, Dilly. Nix panicus, as my old Latin master used to say.' He was already attacking the webbing straps binding him to the seat. The small blade was sharp, but its size did not make for speed: one slip and he could slash himself badly.

As he worked there were no sounds about them except for his own breathing counterpointed with that of the unconscious Laird of Murcaldy. Bond wondered how badly he had damaged Murik. If his aim had been really accurate the man would now be dead from a shattered trachea.

The first cross-strap came clear, but he was still not free. Bond sawed away at the second belt — an easier task, for with the first strap gone, he had more room in which to move. It still seemed an age before the tiny blade ripped its way through the tough webbing. It only remained for Bond to unclip the seat belt and he was completely out of the harness, springing up and flexing his muscles to get the blood flowing again.

In a second he was with Lavender, on his knees, feeling under the anchored chair to find the release mechanism, which he undipped, so that her restraining harness fell away. Another couple of seconds to undo the wrist strap and she too was free.

'Hadn't you better stand by with that gun?' She nodded towards the other console, where Bond had left the Python.

'Don't worry, Caber's not going to cause us much...' He stopped, seeing her eyes turn towards the sliding door, widening with a hint of fear.

Bond whirled around. Caber had returned and now stood in the doorway, one huge hand still holding the partition open, while his eyes darted around the control room, taking in the carnage. Both Caber and Bond were frozen for a second, looking at each other. Bond's eyes flicked towards Murik's console, and the Python; and, in that second, Caber also saw the weapon.

As Bond came up from his crouched position, so Caber let out a great roar — a mixture of fury and grief for his master — and launched himself at Bond. For the first time, Lavender expressed her pent-up fear in a long, terrified shriek.

The previous day M had set up his own operations' room, next to his suite of offices on the ninth floor of the headquarters' building overlooking Regent's Park. He dozed fitfully, half dreaming of some odd childhood incident: running along a beach with water lapping at his feet. Then the familiar sound, which began in his dream as his long-dead mother ringing the bell for tea, broke into M's consciousness. It was the red telephone by the camp bed. M noted it was nearly five o'clock in the morning as he picked up the handset and answered with a throaty 'Yes?'

Bill Tanner was on the line, asking if M would come through to the main operations' room. 'They've surrendered.' The Chief-of-Staff made no attempt to disguise his excitement.

'Who've surrendered?' M snapped.

'The terrorists. The people holding the nuclear reactors. All of them: those here, in England, the French groups, the two in the United States and the Germans. Just walked out with their hands up. Said it was over.'

M frowned. 'Any explanation?'

'It only happened a short while ago.' Tanner's voice now resumed its normal, calm tone. 'Reports are still coming in, sir. Apparently they said they'd received the code message to abort the mission. Our people up at Heysham One say the terrorists seem to think their operation's been successful. I've spoken to one of the interrogators. He believes they've been given the call-off by mistake.'

M grinned to himself. 'I wonder,' he grunted. 'I wonder if it was an engineered mistake?'

'007?' the Chief-of-Staff asked.

'Who else? What about the Starlifter?' M was out of the camp bed now, trying to hang on to the 'phone and wrestle with his trousers at the same time.

'Still keeping station. The French are going in now. Two sections of fighters are on their way. They held off just long enough to get the okay from the technicians at the nuclear reactors, which all appear to be safe and operating normally, by the way.'

M paused. 'The French fighters? They're briefed to force the Starlifter down?' His grip on the receiver tightened.

Tanner's voice now became very calm: almost grave. 'They're briefed to buzz it into surrendering, then to lead it back to Perpignan.'

'And?..'

'If that doesn't work, the orders are to blast it out of the sky.'

'I see.' M's voice dropped almost to a whisper.

'I know, sir.' The Chief-of-Staffwas fully aware of what must have been going through M's mind. 'We just have to hope.'

Slowly, M cradled the receiver.

Bond did not stand a chance of getting to the revolver, which was still lying on the console. Murik's chief lieutenant was enraged, and dangerous as a wounded bull elephant. His roar had changed into the bloodcurdling cry of a fighting man who could only be stopped by a fusillade of bullets, as he seemed to take off through the air and catch Bond, half-way across the cabin. Bond felt his breath go from his lungs as the weight of the brute landed on him with full force. Caber was yelling obscenities and calling on the gods for vengeance. Now he had Bond straddled on the floor, his legs across Bond's thighs and the enormous hands at his victim's throat. Bond tried to cry out for Lavender's help as the red mist clouded his brain, but Caber's pressing fingers prevented him. Only a croak emerged. Then, with the same swiftness of Caber's attack, the whole situation changed.

The Starlifter's engines, which until now had been only a steady hum in the background, changed their note, rising and straining in a roar, while the deck under the struggling men lurched to one side. Bond was conscious of the aircraft's attitude altering dramatically as he rolled, still locked with Caber, across the cabin floor. He caught a glimpse of Lavender, all arms and legs, being flung forward, as a great buffeting of the airframe ensued. Then the Starlifter lurched again, wallowing like a great liner plunging in a heavy sea. This action, followed by yet another sudden and violent change of attitude, as though they were making a steep downward turn, threw Caber free.

Bond swallowed, his throat almost closed by the pressure of Caber's hands, then heard Lavender calling that there were aircraft attacking. 'Fighters,' she yelled. 'They're coming in very close.'

Bond's ears started to pop, and he swallowed painfully again, trying to get to his feet and stay upright on the unstable deck, which was now angled downwards, juddering and bucking as though on a rollercoaster ride. He finally managed to prop himself against the forward door and began to make for the revolver. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Lavender appeared to have been thrown some distance, and was lying huddled near her console. There was no time to do anything for her now. Caber, on his hands and knees near Murik's console was bracing himself for another attack, an arm stretched out towards the revolver.