John Gardner - Licence Renewed

The giant leaped forward, landing unsteadily on the rolling floor, his mask of fury giving way to a smile of triumph. 'I'd rather do it another way,' he shouted. 'Not by the bullet. I ken a bullet's too guid for ye.' His hand almost hid the Python revolver, which pointed directly at Bond's chest, motioning his victim to the other side of the cabin, towards the large hatchway marked out in red, and bearing the legend DO NOT ENTER IF RED LIGHT IS ON. 'Ye'll get over there,' Caber growled, keeping his balance, even though the aircraft was undoubtedly in a nose-down attitude, descending rapidly.

There was no way to avoid the order without ending up with his chest torn away by the Python's bullets. Bond crabbed across the cabin towards the hatchway.

'Now,' — Caber had managed to get close behind him, but not near enough for Bond to try a tackle, — 'now ye'll slide that thing open, and hold it until ma own hand's on it.'

Bond did as he was bidden; felt the revolver barrel jab at his back and saw Caber's hand take over the weight of the sliding hatchway as, together, they stepped through into the high sparred and girdered rear of the Starlifter. The aircraft made another fast and unexpected turn, throwing them apart, so that Bond banged his right arm against a rising, curved spar.

'I'm still behind ye, Bond, with the wee shooter, so dinna do anything daft. There's a wee bit of a lever I have to pull over here.'

The rear loading bay was cold: a bleak airborne hangar of metal, smelling of oil and that odd plastic scent of air that you get inside aircraft. The buffeting was worse here, almost below the high tail of the Starlifter. Bond had to grip hard on the spar to keep his balance, for the big aeroplane seemed to be turning alternately left and right, still going down, with occasional terrifying bucketing and noise — which Bond now clearly recognised as other aircraft passing close and buzzing them.

'There we go,' Caber called, and Bond heard the solid sound of a large switch going down. It was followed by the whine of hydraulics and an increased reverberation. Bond twisted around, to see Caber leaning against a bulkhead just inside the hatchway, the revolver still accurately aimed, while his left hand was raised to an open metal box inside which a two-foot double knife-switch had just been pulled down and was locked into the 'on' position. There was another great wallowing as the huge plane dropped a couple of hundred feet, and both men clung hard to their precious holds. Caber laughed. 'The Laird had some daft idea of pushing ye out an' trailing ye along with the pick-up line when we went fur the ransom. I'm gawn tae make sure o' ye, Bond.'

There was a distinct decrease in temperature. Bond could feel air blowing around him. Looking back towards the tail end of the hold, he saw the rear sides of the fuselage moving away, long curved sections, slowly pivoting outwards, while an oblong section of the deck gently dropped away to the increased whine of the hydraulic system. The ramp was going down. Already he could see a section of sky.

'It'll tak aboot twa minutes,' Caber shouted. 'Then ye'll have a nice ski slope there. Ye'll be goin' doon that, Bond. Coin' doon it tae hell.'

Bond's mind raced. If he was to die, then Caber would have to kill him with the gun. It was not likely that he could even get within grappling distance of the man. They were a good twenty feet from each other, and the Starlifter, still with its nose down, was yawing and performing what he recognised as evasive action of the most extreme kind. Perhaps it was his imagination, but Bond thought he could hear the metal plates singing and stretching with near human cries of pain as the aircraft was flung about the sky.

There is a dread, deep within most people, of falling to their death from a great height. James Bond was no exception. He clung on to his spar, transfixed by the quickly widening gap between metal and sky. Sudden death had never bothered him — in many ways he had lived with it for so long that it ceased to bring nightmares. One minute you would be alive, the next in irreversible darkness. But this would be different. He felt the clammy hand of death on his neck, and the cold sweat of genuine fear closed over him.

With a heavy rumble and thump, the ramp locked down, sloping away and leaving a huge open hole the size of a house in the rear of the aircraft. The sky tilted behind the opening, then swerved as the Starlifter went through yet another manoeuvre.

'This is where we say fare ye weel — for auld lang syne, Bond. Now git ye doon that ramp and practise flying wi'out wings.'

'You'll have to shoot me down it,' Bond shouted. He was not going without some show of a fight. Letting go of the spar, he aimed himself at Caber just as the Starlifter dipped lower, the tail coming up at a precarious angle. Bond lurched forward, almost losing his balance, going down out of control towards Caber. In this heart-stopping moment Bond saw the smile broaden on the man's face, his gun hand coming up to point the Python straight at 007's chest.

Again the deck jerked under them and Bond staggered to one side as the aircraft dipped and the door to the hatchway slid open. For a second, Bond thought it was the movement of the aircraft. Then, still pushed forward by the angle of descent, he saw Lavender, the dirk from the dead guard's stocking firmly in her hand, raised to strike.

Caber tried to turn and bring the revolver to bear, but the instability of the deck combined with the unexpected assault gave him no chance. Almost with a sense of dread, Bond saw the dirk flash down — Lavender's left hand joining her right over the hilt as she plunged it with all her strength into Caber's throat. Even with the noise of rushing air, the buffeting and roar of engines, Caber's gurgling rasp of terror echoed around the vast hold. The revolver fell to the deck as he scrabbled at his throat, from which the blood pumped out and down his jersey. Then Caber spun around, still clamping hands to his neck, fell, and began to roll like a piece of freight broken loose in a ship's hold.

Bond reached the door, making a grab for the man as the aircraft once more changed its attitude, the nose coming up and the engines changing pitch in a surge of power as it started to gain altitude. Bond grasped Caber, but he could not hold the heavy man, who slipped away, rolling towards the point where the deck dipped into the long-angled ramp. Lavender turned her head away, hanging on to Bond, as Caber tumbled like a stuffed effigy, trailing blood, towards the ramp, hesitating fractionally as he began to fall. He must be almost dead already, Bond thought; but the horrible gargle of blood from the dirk-slit throat turned into a bubbling scream of terror as Caber slid down the ramp — a chilling and hideous sustained note.

As he reached the far end of the ramp, the big man's body seemed to correct itself, the gore-streaked face looking up towards Bond, arms outstretched, fingers clawing at the metal. For a second their eyes locked, and even though Caber's already held the glaze of death, they also contained a deep, dark hatred reaching out from what would soon be his grave. Then Murik's giant lieutenant slid over the edge, out of sight, into the air beneath the Starlifter.

'I killed him.' Lavender was near to a state of shock.

'An obvious statement, Dilly darling,' Bond still had to shout through the noise. 'What matters to me is that you saved my life.' He reached up to the big knife-switch, grasping the wooden handle and pulling it up, into the 'off' position.

The hydraulic whine began again, and the ramp started to move. Then, as Bond turned, he saw Lavender looking towards the closing gap, her eyes widening and lips parted. In the space still visible, a pair of Dassault Super Mirages could be seen hurtling in towards the Starlifter. As they watched, Bond and Lavender saw the bright flashes at the nose of each aircraft. The Mirage jets had passed, in a clap of air, with the crack and thunder of engines, before the Starlifter felt any effect from the short bursts of fire.