Raymond Benson - Doubleshot

“What if I don’t believe you, Inspector?” M asked.

“Ma’am?”

“I cannot believe that Double-O Seven would do something like that unless he had a damned good reason. It’s not his style.”

“Ma’am,” Howard said. “We’ve obtained information that he was seeing Dr. Feare as a patient. He had an evaluation and tests performed two months ago. For psychiatric evaluation and other complaints. You were aware of that?”

“Of course I was,” M answered.

“We’d like to know the results of those tests. I was hoping you might have copies.”

“We have a summary report that the doctor sent to me after seeing Double-O Seven,” M said flatly. “I can let you have a copy of that. But let me ask you this, Inspector. Do you really think Double-O Seven would commit this crime and flee?”

“All of the evidence leads us to believe that Mr. Bond is very unstable,” Howard said. “Look what he did on that ferry, for God’s sake!”

“There is no proof that the man responsible for that horrible act was Double-O Seven!” M said sternly. “That is still under investigation.”

“Well.” Howard sighed, realizing he was fighting a losing battle. “I’m here to deliver this arrest warrant for James Bond. He’s officially wanted by the police for murder.”

Tanner took the documents.

“Thank you, Inspector,” M said. “If we find Double-O Seven, we’ll make sure he gets them.”

“We’ll let you know as soon as we hear anything,” Tanner said.

Howard nodded, stood and walked toward the door. He turned and faced M again. “Ma’am.”

“Yes, Inspector?”

“You wouldn’t be protecting Double-O Seven, would you? For some … reason?”

“He’s a Double-O, Inspector,” M answered. “He doesn’t need me to protect him.”

The Inspector smiled grimly and walked out.

M and Tanner exchanged glances.

“Bill, could it possibly be true?” she asked him.

“No, ma’am,” Tanner said, shaking his head. “It’s not James. It can’t be.”

M gripped the pen in her hand and stared straight ahead. “He sounded quite lucid when we spoke, I’ll give him that. God, I hope I’ve made the right decision. I could lose my job over this.”

“We have to let James work it out,” Tanner assured her. “He always does. When he’s on to something, he’s usually right.”

M repeated her Chief-of-Staff’s words in her head a few times, then said, “Right. Let’s move on. Double-O Seven and the CIA agent will arrive in Spain at what time?”

“Certainly by this evening,” Tanner said. “They’re traveling to Marbella by boat.”

Moneypenny buzzed again.

“What is it?” M asked, punching the button.

“It’s Captain Hodge. He’s here and says it’s urgent.”

M winced. “Send him in,” she said, simultaneously pressing the button that lit the green bulb outside her office.

Hodge came in stiffly and approached the desk.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Ma’am, we’ve just received the guest list for the summit meeting in Gibraltar. As you know, everyone entering the Governor’s Residence is screened in advance. This information is made available to all of the countries involved.”

“Yes?”

“Domingo Espada’s entourage will consist of two assistants and a bodyguard. They’re all Spanish except for the bodyguard. According to the documents, he is a British exile now residing in Spain. His name is Peter Woodward. Have a look at his photograph.”

He handed her a file with a black-and-white head shot attached to it. She inhaled deeply when she saw who it was.

“It’s Double-O Seven,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Tanner leaned in closer to get a better look. He furrowed his brow. “It certainly looks like him,” he concurred.

“We’re going to have to arrest him as soon as he shows his face in Gibraltar,” Hodge said.

“You can’t,” Tanner said.

“Why not?”

M answered for him. “Because he’ll have diplomatic immunity. With Spain.”

Hodge was horrified. “My God, I hadn’t thought of that. What are we going to do?”

M said, “Captain, would you allow me to confer with my Chief-of-Staff privately? For a few minutes?”

“Of course, ma’am,” Hodge said, standing. “I’ll be outside.”

After he had left, M looked at Tanner and said, “This changes things, doesn’t it?”

Tanner looked unsure.

M asked, “What about Double-O One?”

Tanner nodded. “He’s been briefed and is all set to accompany the PM to Gibraltar. They leave early Monday morning.”

“Then you had better give him additional orders.”

“And they are?”

“If Double-O Seven really accompanies Espada to this meeting, then Double-O One should be prepared for anything. He is to keep close watch on Double-O Seven. If Double-O One determines that Bond is dangerous, he should respond appropriately.”

“Do you mean … ?”

“Yes, I mean,” M said. “If the need arises, Double-O Seven must be eliminated.”

ACT THREE

TERCIO DE LA MUERTE

EIGHTEEN

THE YOUNG MATADOR

“LOOK AT THAT MOUNTAIN!” HEIDI EXCLAIMED AS HEDY DROVE THE 1998 BMW 320i onto the so-called Golden Mile of five-star hotels and resorts in Marbella. Conch Mountain hovered over the city, a magnificent backdrop for the seaside resort.

“It’s a great town if you like golf,” Hedy commented. Among Marbella’s numerous golfing establishments was Europe’s only night course; it was floodlit so that golfers could play after dark.

Hedy pointed to a huge estate on their left and said, “The king of Saudi Arabia built all that.” Beyond expansive gardens was a sparkling white mosque and a mansion that was an exact replica of the White House in Washington, D.C. A large outline of a scimitar made of white stone was embedded in the grass.

“Wow,” Heidi said. “Pretty cool, huh, James?”

Bond was in the backseat, where he was happy to be. It was a pleasure not having to drive or constantly look over his shoulder for a change. It was nice not having to think for a few hours. They had picked up the BMW, apparently a CIA company car, in a discreet garage not far from Tarifa, at the most southern point of Spain. They had stored the boat and had driven up the coast, past Gibraltar, and on to Marbella. Bond couldn’t sleep because of the persistent throbbing in his head, but he was thankful for the rest, even though the twins talked about the scenery along the way. He took four of Dr. Feare’s pills in the hopes that the headache wouldn’t grow worse.

They drove past the restaurant owned by the famous Italian singer Tony Dalli, and Marbella’s hot discotheque, Olivia Valere, and soon pulled in to the entrance of the Marbella Club Hotel on Bulevar Principe Alfonso von Hohenlohe. One of the finest resort hotels on the beach, the Marbella Club offered everything from bungalows to simple rooms.

“Are you sure this guy is here?” Heidi asked Bond.

“When I phoned, he said to look for him on the beach,” Bond answered. “He likes to relax the day before a bullfight.”

“Yuck,” Hedy said. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to watch a bullfight, much less participate in one.”

“Don’t be so quick to condemn it,” Bond said as they parked and got out of the car. “It’s an integral part of Spanish tradition and culture. It’s not a sport. It’s an art.”