Raymond Benson - Doubleshot

Powers walked out of the chapel onto Main Street, ignored the guards as he strolled past the front of the Convent, then climbed the hill to the Rock Hotel, where he would spend the rest of the evening enjoying dinner and a good book.

The minivan zipped through Torremolinos and made it to Marbella in an hour. The sun was setting as the van turned north to drive into the hills. Margareta had stayed silent during the trip, but the way she stared at Bond unnerved him. She had a glint behind her eyes that he recognized all too well. He had seen it many times before, and it meant bad news. This woman was a killer. His experience had taught him how to identify that particular trait in a person. She might be beautiful and refined, but Margareta Piel was probably as dangerous as they come.

When the minivan pulled into the drive in front of the ranch, two guards peered inside. They saw Margareta and waved the van through as they opened the gate. Bond was impressed with the spread. It was a beautiful location here, up in the hills overlooking the Mediterranean. They drove past enclosed fields full of bulls, and a large barnlike structure that looked as if it was some kind of slaughterhouse. Bond noted the circular annex to the building, and guessed that it was probably a practice bullring of some kind.

The dirt road curved up and around a small hill, and the main estate loomed ahead of them. It was a splendid mansion built in a Roman tradition with Arab influence and Mudéjar decoration. It was a flat-roofed structure common in cortijos, built of earth, mud, and lime. Wood was only used as a framework for the walls, for the roof, and as beams. The windows and doors were framed. The overall impression was that it was a modern version of an eighteenth-century neoclassical palace.

The minivan turned and drove on a side road around behind the barn. Eventually the driver stopped at the back of the building, out of sight from the main road.

Margareta leveled her gun at Bond and said, “Get out. No funny stuff.” The driver opened the door for him. The other passenger had already got out and walked into the building before Bond could get a good look at him. He could have sworn that the man had been wearing Bond’s clothes. Was he really a double, or had Bond’s eyes been playing tricks on him again?

The woman marched him inside, through a passageway, and into a small room furnished with a table, chairs, and a television. The walls were covered with old bullfight posters.

“Sit there,” Margareta said, pointing to the largest chair in the room, facing the television.

“You’re not so cruel that you’re going to make me watch Spanish television, are you?” he quipped.

“Shut up.” The driver shoved Bond into the chair and then secured him to it with leather straps.

“So, señorita, how long have you been with the Union?” he asked.

Margareta expected that he would know and would have been disappointed if he had not figured it out. “Not long. In fact, I won’t officially be a member until after tomorrow. That’s when I get my tattoo.”

“Your tattoo?” Bond asked.

Margareta drew a sharp intake of air. She suddenly wasn’t sure how much Bond knew about the Union. The laser-implanted tattoo on a new member’s right retina was a part of the initiation. How secret was it?

“I thought I told you to shut up,” she said.

“What happened to our bullfighting friend?” he asked. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch his name.…”

“You’ll meet him formally in a while. First, though, you’ve been invited to have dinner with Señor Espada. Unfortunately, you won’t get to taste the wonderful food his chef prepared for tonight’s feast. However, you do get to watch it on TV.”

Margareta turned on the television. It was a closed-circuit picture of a dining table. A servant girl was placing silverware and glasses at the settings.

“Virtual dinners, I love them,” Bond said. “Low on calories.”

Margareta stepped closer to him and took his chin in her hands. “You won’t be making jokes too much longer, Mr. Bond. This is the end of the line. I’m sure you’ve been traced here, which is exactly what we want. You’ve walked right into the trap. It won’t be long before your people in London know that you’re at Domingo Espada’s home.”

“So?”

Margareta smiled. “In time you will know all.…” With that, she leaned over and kissed him hard on the mouth. He let her do it, but he didn’t reciprocate at all. When she was done, she licked her lips and said, “Mmm, not bad, Mr. Bond. You taste … like fresh meat.”

She turned to go. The driver held open the door for her.

“Don’t try to escape. You’re heavily guarded. I’ll be back after dinner,” she said. “Enjoy the show.”

With that, she left. The driver slammed the door shut and Bond heard the locks turn.

Heidi and Hedy pulled over about a mile away from Espada’s ranch.

“He’s there, no doubt about that,” Heidi said. “What do we do now?”

“I wish we knew if he went willingly or not.” Hedy thought for a moment. “Should we call for backup?”

“Who’s gonna come?” Heidi asked. “Our operatives are in Madrid, Barcelona, and Seville. By the time anyone gets here, the show, whatever it is, will be over.”

“You’re right.” Hedy opened the glove compartment and removed a pair of binoculars. She got out of the car, adjusted the glasses for infrared vision, and put them to her eyes. She had a fairly good view of the entire estate, save for a portion of the main house that was blocked by the large annex.

“I see some men at the gate,” she said. “I don’t see the minivan. It might be behind that barn.” She scanned the buildings and then said, “Oh no.”

“What?”

“I see him,” Hedy said. “It’s James. He’s walking from that other building to the main house. Look.” She handed the glasses to Heidi.

Sure enough, James Bond was entering the front door, accompanied by other men and the Spanish woman.

“Goddamn him!” Heidi said. “Do you think he really is in cahoots with Espada? He walked in there like he owned the place! And that woman! Who the hell is she?”

“Heidi, I think he fooled us.”

Heidi looked as if she might cry.

Hedy took back the binoculars. “I wonder if there’s another way around. You know, an approach from the back.”

Heidi peered at the road ahead and pointed. “Look,” she said.

“There’s some kind of trail there. See? It leads down to that valley. You think maybe there’s another trail that leads up and around?”

“I don’t think the car will make it. I’ll have to go on foot. Let’s split up.”

“Why you? I should go.”

“No, I’ll go.”

“Let’s flip for it.”

“Forget it, Heidi, I’m going!”

“Well, what’s our plan?” Heidi asked. “We gotta have a plan.”

“I’m making it up as we go along,” Hedy said. “You stay here. Is your communicator still working?”

“Of course.”

“If you see anyone come out of the house, let me know.” She handed the binoculars to her. “If you get into trouble, just press the panic button. I’ll do the same thing. Either way, we come running, all right?”

“How the hell will I know where you are?”

“I’ll scream,” Hedy said, shrugging. “If nothing happens, let’s meet back here at midnight. If he’s not out by then, we’ll call London.”

“Okay,” Heidi said hesitantly.

Hedy checked her weapon and ammunition, and gave her sister a peck on the cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” Before Heidi could respond, Hedy had set off down the road toward the trail.

The pain in James Bond’s head had increased tenfold since he had been tied to the chair, exacerbated by the recent blow. He had to force himself to concentrate on his surroundings and search for a way out of his predicament. The bindings were terribly tight, but he could scoot the chair across the floor if he wanted to. That wouldn’t do much good, unfortunately. Perhaps it was best to let them play out the game. They had some kind of a plan in mind, and he was part of it. He couldn’t intelligently plot a course of action without knowing what it was.