Raymond Benson - Doubleshot

Tanner and Mread it together. One of the men was wanted in Israel for a bombing. The Union had later claimed responsibility for it.

“The Union,” M said flatly. “Of course.”

“They’re trying to stir things up between Britain and Spain,” Tanner suggested.

“But why? What’s in it for them?”

Tanner shrugged. “Revenge?”

“We need to get this information to the PM and to Spain. It might help alleviate the tension if they know that the Union was behind this attack, not Britain,” M said.

“I’ll get on the phone right away,” Tanner said.

“What about Double-O Seven?” Hodge asked.

M set her jaw. “We have to hope that all of this is a tremendous error, but we also have to assume the worst. We must accept the possibility that Bond has joined the Union. They’ve been successful in recruiting our people before. I would be remiss in my responsibilities if I didn’t issue an all-points alert for the apprehension of Double-O Seven.”

FOURTEEN

JOURNEY BY RAIL

THE TRAIN ROLLED OUT OF TANGIER AND HEADED SOUTH ALONG THE coastline toward Rabat. Bond stared wearily at the passing scenery, which grew flatter as the journey progressed. For the first time in hours, he had a chance to sit and mull over the events of the past two days. He wished that he could relax, but he was wound up like a coil.

It wasn’t long before he craved a cigarette. He got up and left his compartment, made his way through the narrow corridor and stepped out onto the rumbling platform at the back of the train. He removed the gunmetal case, took a cigarette, and lit it.

Had his career finally come to an end? he asked himself. Was it time to give it up? Had he begun to pay the price for living on the edge for so long? He had seen it in other agents. Something in them finally snaps and they have to put in for early retirement. Was this happening to him? Was he absolutely certain that he could beat this thing on his own? What if he really was going insane?

Stop it! he commanded himself. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s some kind of Union plot … it’s obviously some kind of Union plot.…

Bond’s thoughts were interrupted when an attractive blonde opened the door and joined him on the platform. She didn’t look at him or speak; she dug into a handbag, found her own cigarettes, and attempted to light one.

“Allow me,” he said. He produced the Ronson lighter and cupped the flame close to her face.

She got it lit and said, “Thank you.”

For a moment, they stood there in the open air, enjoying that exhilarating sensation of watching the tracks rush away from the train.

“I get claustrophobic on trains,” she said. “Smoking in the corridor isn’t cool even though everyone does it. I’m in a smoking car, but it’s just too crowded. I like to smoke but I don’t like to live in a cloud of it. I had to get some air.”

She had an American accent. She seemed to be in her mid- to late twenties.

“I know what you mean,” Bond said. “You’re welcome to join me in my compartment. It’s nonsmoking, I’m afraid, but there’s no one else in there.”

She eyed him up and down, then smiled. “That was the quickest pickup line I think I’ve ever heard.”

“Forgive me,” Bond said. “I didn’t mean it that way. My name’s Cork. John Cork.”

She looked him up and down again, then smiled once more. “Hello, John Cork. My name is Heidi Taunt.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Bond said. “What brings you to Morocco from the States?”

“How do you know I live in the States?”

“I assumed that you’re American.”

“I’m a California girl, born and raised, but I don’t live there,” she said. “We live in Tokyo.”

Hell, Bond thought. She was married.

“My sister and I,” she added. Heidi looked back through the window into the corridor. “What about you? You sound English.”

“I live in London,” Bond admitted.

“You don’t look English.”

“How does one look English?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I just meant that you don’t look English here, in Morocco. You have that ‘dark, handsome foreign stranger’ quality.” She shrugged and smiled.

She was flirting with him!

Heidi Taunt was tall and well built. She was wearing designer jeans, which tightly outlined her long legs without revealing too much and offending the social sensibilities of the Moroccans. She had on a white blouse with the sleeves rolled up. The top two buttons were undone, exposing substantial cleavage.

Her shoulder-length blond hair was fine and straight, parted in the middle. She had dark brown eyes that exhibited intelligence and a sense of humor. Bond found her incredibly sexy.

“So what brings you from Japan to Morocco?” Bond asked.

“My sister and I are travel guide writers. We’ve done a series of books on various countries. Perhaps you’ve seen them? The Small World books?”

“I can’t say that I have. Sorry.”

“That’s all right,” she said. “We’ve only done four. This is our fifth. We’re published in America and Britain.”

“That sounds like a fun job.”

She finished her cigarette and tossed the butt onto the tracks. “It is. It’s more work than you think, though. It’s not just traveling to exotic places. The business side of it is overwhelming. But you’re right, it’s great fun to travel. We hope to visit every country in the world, my sister and I.”

“That’s quite an ambition.”

“I know, it’s impossible, but we like to imagine it.”

“Where are you going? Rabat?”

“No, to Casablanca. To Marrakesh after two nights. Rabat on the way back. What brings you here?”

“I’m an importer and exporter,” Bond replied.

“What do you import and export?”

“Junk, mostly. A whole lot of nothing.”

She laughed.

Bond offered the cigarette case to her, but she shook her head. “No, thanks, I’m going back inside. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Cork.” She held out her hand. Bond took it.

“Call me John. It was a pleasure, Heidi. Where are you staying in Casablanca?”

Her hand was smooth and cool. She allowed him to hold it.

“The Royal Mansour Meridien.”

“What a coincidence!” Bond said. “That’s my hotel, too.”

“Small world,” she said, smiling wickedly.

Actually, Bond hadn’t thought about where he would stay, but he knew the hotel. It was one of the best in Casablanca. Staying at a large five-star hotel like that might be what the authorities looking for him would least expect him to do. And if he happened to have a girlfriend … ? A perfect cover, one the police weren’t looking for …

She withdrew her hand, turned and opened the door. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”

“Heidi,” Bond said, stopping her. “Would you care to have dinner with me at the hotel tonight? It has a lovely Moroccan restaurant.”

“Why, thank you, John, that sounds terrific. I’ll see you later, then.”

And she was gone.

Bond congratulated himself. His way with women had not changed. Screw the headache, he thought. There was desire in that girl’s eyes!

Bond finished his cigarette and went back inside the train. He made his way back to his compartment, which was still empty, and he collapsed heavily into his seat. He put his feet up on the opposite seat and looked out the window at the passing rows of cacti, which seemed to be more plentiful as the train went farther south. The color of the earth changed, too, as the climate became hotter and more arid.