Raymond Benson - Doubleshot

“Reclaiming Gibraltar for Spain has been an ambition of mine since my days with Franco. Bless his soul, he shared my views on the matter. I made a promise to him that one day I would do something significant to further our cause in that regard. Tomorrow, that dream will be fulfilled. It is Spain’s destiny. And … I am willing to die for the cause, if that is the final outcome.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Domingo,” Margareta said. “Mr. Bond here is a professional. He will not miss his targets. And Nadir, Jimmy, and I will be there, too, just in case something goes wrong.”

“And I will not let anything happen to you,” Agustin said, “if I can help it.”

What the hell were they planning to do? Bond wondered. Keep talking! What were the details of their terrible scheme?

But before he could learn more, a guard entered the dining room and whispered something to Espada.

“Bring her in, let’s have a look,” Espada said aloud. The guard went out of the room. “It seems we have another guest. An uninvited one.”

After a moment, the guard brought in Hedy. The wig was gone. Her blouse was torn, revealing a white bra, and her hands were tied behind her back.

Oh no! Bond thought. Which one was she? Heidi or Hedy … ?

The guard held her as Espada addressed her in English. “Who are you, my dear?”

She kept silent.

“Oh, not talking are we?” The guard tossed some things onto the table. They were her identification, microphone, and earpiece. Espada picked up the ID.

“Hillary Taunt. Travel writer,” he read. “What makes you want to spy on my house, eh? You’re not really writing about a private property, are you?”

The girl continued to glare at him.

“She’s with the CIA,” Yassasin said. “We know all about her. She’s based in Casablanca.”

“She’s beautiful,” Margareta said. “So blond … nice figure …”

“Yes, indeed,” Espada agreed. “CIA, eh?” He addressed the guard. “Take her to the compound. I think I might keep her a while. She’s a little older than what I’m accustomed to, but she might provide some amusement for a few nights before she’s discovered missing. After that …” He shrugged.

The guard pulled her away and out of the room. Espada turned to the imposter Bond and asked, “Perhaps you would like to try her out tonight? She will be my gift to you in appreciation for what you are going to do for me tomorrow.”

The imposter Bond smiled lecherously and said, “Why, thank you, Señor Espada. I might just do that.”

Nadir Yassasin cleared his throat. “Whatever happens, we must not be late for the boat. Domingo, you and Agustin and the rest of the men are expected in La Linea by midnight. We have some final preparations to do with Mr. Bond, and he and Margareta will join you in the morning for the border crossing into Gibraltar. Jimmy Powers and I will arrive separately. Remember, when we’re all together at the Convent, you do not know us.”

“I’m no fool,” Espada said. “Very well. Shall we go?”

He stood and held out his hand to the imposter Bond. “I will see you in the morning, then.”

“Thank you, sir, for this opportunity,” the double said.

Espada said good-bye to Margareta and Yassasin, then started to leave the room. He turned back and addressed them all. “Mr. Bond can have his way with that girl tonight, and then we’ll get rid of her. I don’t need a blond American in my harem.”

After Espada and Agustin left the room, Margareta looked at the camera.

“Dinner is over, Mr. Bond,” she said, addressing him. “It’s time for dessert.”

TWENTY - ONE

DOPPELGÄNGER

THE LOCKS RATTLED AND THE DOOR SWUNG OPEN. MARGARETA PIEL AND the Moroccan entered the room. She was carrying a leather briefcase, which she set on the table.

“Did you miss me, Mr. Bond?” she asked. “This is Nadir Yassasin. Say hola. ”

The tall man bowed slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet the real James Bond after all this time. You have my respect, sir, but not my benevolence.”

Bond spat an obscenity at them both.

“Tsk tsk,” Margareta said, closing the door. “How was the television program? Did you get it all, or would you like someone to explain it to you?”

“Who is that imposter going to kill?” Bond growled.

It was the man who answered. “The Union have worked very hard these last three months in order to humiliate and embarrass your country and your feeble intelligence agency. The leadership decided that you, specifically, had to pay for a certain past Union failure.”

“We call Nadir the ‘strategist,’ ” Margareta said. “He came up with an absolutely brilliant scheme to lure you here so that we can pull a … what do the Americans call it? … a ‘Switcheroo’?”

Yassasin began to walk around the room, his hands clasped behind his back. “Think about it, Mr. Bond. Think back to how you felt when you returned from the Himalayas. We knew that you would want to go after us just as much as we wanted our hands on you.

Lucky for the Union, you had some medical difficulties. Am I right?”

Bond didn’t answer.

“You see, Mr. Bond,” he continued. “We knew you were on medical leave. This made you particularly vulnerable. Mr. Bond, I profiled you the way the FBI in America profiles serial killers. I got to know you personally. I studied your history, I had you followed, I know what you like and don’t like.…We even knew what medications you were taking for your condition. Let’s just say that … we tampered with them a bit.”

Bond squinted at Yassasin. Tampered with the medicine? How? What had they done to him?

“You became so psychologically unstable that you were able to play right into our hands. By the power of suggestion, we provided you with hints as to how you could avenge your personal assistant’s death. As a result, we were able to lay a trail for you to follow and make it appear that you were doing all the work. You sniffed out every bread crumb we dropped in front of you. It all began with the visit to your neighborhood Chinese restaurant, didn’t it? Our best surveillance man, and one of the Union’s founding members, had his eye on you for a month after the Himalayan business. We learned your daily habits. When you were followed to lunch that day, the fortune you got was planted by a cantankerous customer.”

Bond remembered the rude man with the screaming toddler. He would never have known.… Now he realized that his feelings of paranoia and of being watched, which he had dismissed as part of his ailment, had been genuine.

“We sent you the book that led you to Walter van Breeschooten’s shop in Soho. We let you follow him to Morocco. It was only logical that you would contact your friend in Tangier. The photos of your prey were sent to him just in time for you to see them. That, in turn, led you to the Union training camp in the Rif Mountains.We allowed you to uncover just enough information to lead you to Casablanca, where, of course, we threw Mr. van Breeschooten to you.” Yassasin shrugged. “He had displeased the Union’s management, so he was dispensable. But not before you received the ticket to the bullfight. I knew that you would be headstrong, stubborn, and reckless. I knew that you would show up, one way or another. I honestly didn’t think you’d pick up a ride to Spain with the CIA, and I must say that was very resourceful. We had a more complicated plan to abduct you from the bullfight, but when I learned that one of the bullfighters was your friend, I thought of something better. It was … easy to get you out of the crowd and down below the seats where we could take care of you. Poor Javier … such a fine young matador. Seeing you standing there, dressed as a banderillero, distracted him so much that he became careless. The bull took advantage of that. It’s a pity.”