Raymond Benson - High Time To Kill

“That’s right,” she said. “You’re doing great! Right foot . . . left foot . . . !”

They continued in this manner until they reached the tents. She opened the flap, pushed Bond inside, then crawled in after him.

This time, the Q Branch bivouac sack saved their lives.

TWENTY-FIVE

HUMAN MACHINES

“ARE YOU AWAKE?” SHE ASKED HIM.

They were both inside the bivouac sack. Bond moved slowly and groaned. He had slept the sleep of the dead.

Sunlight oozed through the top of the tent. Hope didn’t know how long they had been asleep, but it was obviously the next day. She put on her boots and opened the tent to inspect the damage. The entrance was completely blocked by snow and ice. She took a snow shovel and began to dig her way out.

Bond heard the scraping and sat up. “What year is it?” he asked. His voice was hoarse.

“It’s the year they’ll put on our tombstones if we don’t dig ourselves out of here and get moving, what do you say?” She continued to scrape. “How do you feel?”

“Terrible. How did I get here? The last thing I remember was leaving the summit.” He then noticed a large bandage wrapped around the wound that Marquis had made with the ice ax.

“Your fairy godmother took care of you,” she said. She stopped and put down the shovel. “I suppose I should boil some water before exhausting myself.”

The few hours of sleep had worked miracles. Bond recovered quickly.

His shoulder was extremely sore, but he could manage. He pulled his down jacket over him and together they cleared the entrance to the tent. While Hope continued to drag bodies out of the fuselage, Bond dug his way into Paul Baack’s tent to use the satellite phone. He wanted to make another call to London before they made the descent to Camp Four. He also wanted to alert Ang Tshering at the Base Camp that they were on the way.

As soon as he entered, Bond felt a burst of adrenaline.

The satellite phone was not sitting on Baack’s portable table. Someone had been in the tent before the storm had hit.

The body was still there, covered by the brightly colored parka. If he remembered the tents contents correctly, there was a pack missing, but the rest of the Dutchman’s belongings seemed to be intact.

On an impulse Bond stooped over Baack’s pack, which had been stored in the corner of the tent with other things. He dug in the clothing and found pieces of a rifle: a stock, barrel, telescopic sight— and 7.62mm cartridges. It was a gas-operated sniper rifle much like a Belgian FN FAL.

A chill slithered down Bond’s back. It couldn’t be! This was the weapon used to shoot at Bond and Chandra during the trek. The gun that killed young David Black. The sniper had been Paul Baack!

He turned to the body on the tent floor. Bond took hold of the parka and yanked it off the corpse.

It wasn’t Baack at all. It was a Sherpa, one of the new men who had come up from the Base Camp to help haul. His throat had been cut, like all the others.

Bond leaped to his feet and ran outside.

“Hope?” he called. She wasn’t out by the plane. Bond tromped as fast as he could through the deep snow. He could now clearly see another set of footprints other than Hope’s around the fuselage.

Paul Baack was standing in the open hatch, holding a Hechler and Koch VP70 to Hope’s head.

“Hello, James,” he said. “Raise your hands. Now. Where I can see them.”

Bond did so. Carefully, his gun still trained on Hope, Baack ordered, “Dr. Kendall, please take Mr. Bonds pistol out of that little pouch on the side of his parka. Pick it up with your thumb and index finger, please.”

She did as she was told and held it gingerly.

“Throw it over there,” Baack commanded. Bond watched as his Walther sailed several feet away, landed with a plop, and sank into a soft snowdrift. Baack pulled her next to him again and repositioned his gun to her head.

“I heard you were still at Camp Five,” Baack continued, “so I thought I’d pay you a visit. It’s a pity that Otto didn’t kill you and our good doctor like he was supposed to.”

“Let her go, Baack.”

“No, James, I have to finish the job that Otto botched up. He was working for me, you see. I hired him. In the eyes of my superiors, if he fails, then I fail. I have to make sure they don’t see me as a failure. It could damage my reputation. That damned Roland Marquis. I didn’t count on him being a free agent in this mess. He screwed up my plan.”

“So that’s it,” Bond said. “I didn’t count on two Union operatives infiltrating the team. Schrenk was the muscleman and you were the brains, right?”

“If you say so,” Baack said. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Bond’s eyes narrowed. “And you had constant contact with London. You knew my every move. You hired the hit man in Kath- mandu and had me followed.”

“He was a disgraceful amateur. I apologize for that,” Baack said.

“You knew where we were going to be and when. Where were you hiding all this time?”

“I went down to Camp Four to wait for Otto, but he never showed. As you say, I overheard your conversation with London that you were still alive. That’s the problem with mobile phones. They’re very easy to eavesdrop on. I waited for you and Hope to descend, but you insisted on staying here through those dreadful storms. So I came up here to surprise you this morning.”

Bond was furious. “Did you recruit my personal assistant? Do you know what’s happened to her?”

Baack laughed. “Miss Marksbury? I had a part in recruiting her, yes. As for her whereabouts, do you think I’ll tell you? Forget it. If she’s not dead already, she will be soon. Now give me the pacemaker.”

“It’s gone,” Bond lied. “Roland had it. It went down the mountain with him.”

Baack studied Bond’s face. Finally he said, “That’s very disappointing. And too bad for you. Now let’s march to the edge of the plateau over there. You two are going on a thrill ride that beats anything they have at Disneyland.”

“Why don’t you just shoot us?” Bond asked. “Or cut our throats? Isn’t that the Union’s preferred method of disposal?”

“Oh, this will be much more fun,” Baack said with a smile. “I want to hear that wonderful scream that fades out when someone falls, like you hear in the movies. You know, Aaaaaaaiiiiiiiieeeeeee!” He laughed at his sound effect, then wiped away the smile. “Now, move.”

Bond turned and walked through the deep snow toward the edge. Baack shoved Hope out of the plane but kept hold of her. “Follow him,” he said.

When they got to the cliff, Baack said, “It’s high time to kill, James. You first.”

“You’re making a big mistake, Paul,” Bond said. “How are you going to get down the mountain by yourself?”

“I’m an experienced mountaineer. I’ll be fine. You’ll get there before me, though. You’re going headfirst.”

Bond turned to face him. Baack was still holding the gun to Hope’s head.

“You’re going to have to push me,” he said.

“Either you jump off the edge, or you get to see me blow a hole in her head. Which is it?”

Bond looked at Hope and peered through the goggles. He could see a flicker of understanding in her eyes. Bond blinked twice.

Hope raised her right boot and kicked Baack hard in the shin. The sharp points of the crampon dug through his clothing and into his skin.

Baack screamed. Hope pushed the gun away and dropped to her knees. At the same time, Bond lunged for the big man. They fell together and rolled. The VP70 arced through the air and made a deep hole in the snow.

Bond hit Baack hard in the face, cracking the goggles. Baack roared like a bear, grabbed Bond’s hood, and pulled it off. The cold air felt like needles on Bond’s skin and head. Baack’s large hand fixed on Bond’s face, his fingers digging into the skin and pushing him back.