Raymond Benson - Doubleshot

“All will be clear tomorrow. We can’t leave until … you know …”

“Until he shows up, I know …” Clayton said. “How do we know he will?”

“The strategist is always right,” the Dutchman answered. “Now.

We’ll be splitting up tomorrow. You have the address in Casablanca?”

“Yes, I have it written down. It’s in my pocket.”

“Don’t go to the Central Market. That entrance is closed. You have to go to the medina.”

“We’ve been over this already.”

“I just don’t want you to get lost. We have to be there at eight in the morning, sharp. Day after tomorrow.”

“I know, I know. I have to go and piss.”

“Hurry back.”

Bond heard Clayton leave the building, then crouched below the sight lines of the windows and moved to the edge of the building. Bond stepped out onto the path, assuming a normal stride behind his prey as he headed for the latrine. When Clayton went in, Bond followed him.

The man went into the smelly stall. Bond reached down and unsheathed the commando knife, which he had previously bound to his shin. He waited until Clayton was finished. When he stepped out of the stall, Bond grabbed hold of him and put the blade to his neck. He shoved him into a dark corner of the latrine.

“Mr. Clayton,” Bond said. “Do you know who I am?”

Clayton’s eyes were wide with fear. He nodded.

“I want the address of the Union headquarters in Casablanca. Give it to me or I’ll carve out your Adam’s apple and feed it to the mules.”

“It’s … it’s in my pocket,” Clayton stammered.

“You get it,” Bond said. “No tricks.”

The man reached into his trousers and pulled out a slip of notepaper. Bond took it and noted the address.

“Thank you,” Bond said. “Now you have to answer for Helena Marksbury.”

“Oh, God, please, no!” the man cried. “I didn’t do it, I swear! It was Walter. My partner. He’s the real Union man. He’s one of the commandants. I just work for him. I swear. It was all his doing. I just followed orders.”

“And did you kill her?”

“No, I swear,” Clayton pleaded. “It was Walter. He did it. He does all the dirty work like that. He … he likes it! Please, don’t hurt me!”

“And what about Dr. Feare?”

“Dr. Feare?”

Then Bond remembered. Clayton and van Breeschooten had already left London by the time Kimberley had been killed.

“Do you know who killed her?” Bond applied a little more pressure with the knife. The blade made a small nick in Clayton’s neck.

“I don’t know anything about Dr. Feare! I swear!”

The man seemed to be telling the truth. He was too frightened not to.

“ Why was she killed? Was she Union?”

“I don’t know! Maybe my cousin does! Please have mercy!”

“Who’s your cousin?”

Bond heard voices approaching. At least two men were on their way inside. He had run out of time.

Clayton heard them and started to scream for help. Bond savagely sliced the man’s neck, then stabbed him in the heart.

“There’s your mercy. I made it quick,” Bond spat.

Clayton gasped, his eyes bulging, then fell to the floor. Bond wiped the knife clean on the man’s clothes, then walked out of the latrine just as the two men were stepping inside. One of them said something in Arabic and Bond grunted.

As soon as he was outside, Bond began to run. He heard shouts behind him, and the two men ran out of the latrine in pursuit. Bond zigzagged through the groups of tents and headed toward the hill. Shots were fired, and then a siren wailed.

A big man appeared in front of him and shouted, “Hey!” It was Rodney. Bond kicked, swinging his foot in the shape of a crescent moon. There was a discernable crack as he connected with Rodney’s jaw. The man screamed and fell to the ground. Bond leaped over him and kept running.

Two floodlights snapped on and began to sweep the area. Men were running about in a state of confusion. What’s the trouble? What happened? An intruder? Where?

Bond made it to the cliff just as a floodlight beam passed over him. There was more shouting, and two bullets whizzed uncomfortably close and ricocheted off nearby rocks. He didn’t stop, praying that he could stay ahead of the light. It found him anyway, and it stayed with him as he ascended.

Bond turned with the Walther in hand to aim at the floodlight, but realized that he was out of range. More bullets chopped up the earth around him. He tried to roll out of the spotlight and keep climbing, but the light followed him to the top. Fortunately, he was up and over before any of the men could stop him.

He ran for the bridge, crossed it, and was never so happy to see a Land Rover waiting for him.

“Are you all right?” Reggab asked.

“Yes, let’s get out of here!”

They jumped into the vehicle and fired it up. Reggab spun the wheels and took off. They heard more gunfire behind them. Bond looked back and saw three pairs of headlamps.

“They’re right behind us. Step on it!”

“I’m going as fast as I can!” Reggab shouted.

The Land Rover made it to the main highway. Reggab swerved out of the dirt road and skidded on the gravel, straightened, and sped west toward Ketama. As they passed the landmark berraka, two men with automatic rifles stepped out into the middle of the road and began firing in their direction. Bullets broke the back window and took out a taillight. The three pursuing vehicles were gaining fast. They appeared to be jeeps, but it was really too dark to tell for certain.

Bond leaned out of the window and fired the Walther at them, but the road had too many bends. He couldn’t get a good bead on them.

He sat back in the cab and said, “We’re just going to have to outrun them.”

“No problem,” Reggab said, clutching the steering wheel. “Better fasten your seat belt.”

But one of the jeeps had gained ground and was not far behind. More bullets slammed into the back of the Land Rover. There was a loud boom, the recognizable sound of a blowout. The Land Rover swerved and screeched as Reggab struggled to gain control. To avoid sailing off the cliff into a dark abyss, he pulled the wheel toward the mountain. The Land Rover sideswiped a rough patch of rocks, causing it to topple onto its side. The vehicle slid for twenty feet and crashed into the mountainside.

Bond was dazed. The first thing he was aware of was the sound of the Land Rover’s blaring horn. Then he smelled the petrol leaking out the back. Bond looked over at Reggab. His friend was slumped forward, his head bent grotesquely. There was a bullet hole at the base of his skull.

Without another thought, Bond kicked at the passenger door above his head. He got it open and struggled to pull himself out. The three jeeps had stopped thirty yards away. Men with guns piled out and stood watching him.

Bond fell to the ground and crawled away from the Land Rover. He fought to get to his feet, but the sudden pain in his head and chest prevented him from doing so. He reached up and felt the sticky, wet blood in his hair. He collapsed on the road just as the Land Rover’s petrol tank exploded behind him and the sudden waves of heat rolled over his body.

One of the men in uniform ran to him and dragged him across to the side of the road. Bond was woozy, unable to fight back. He felt his shirt sleeve being unbuttoned and rolled over. There was the prick of a needle, and in a moment he felt nothing.

THIRTEEN

ALL-POINTS ALERT