Raymond Benson - High Time To Kill

“I understand, ma’am.”

“No, you don’t,” she said. She leaned closer to him and narrowed her cold blue eyes. “Your relationship with that girl nearly cost you your life. It caused a massive security breach in our organization. Didn’t you ever learn that you cannot be romantically involved with colleagues at SIS? Especially your bloody personal assistant! What the hell was the matter with you?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Yes, well, of course you are. Now she’s probably lying at the bottom of the Thames and the Union have a good idea of how we work. This better not happen again, Double-O Seven, do you follow me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s all. Take a week, then we’ll talk about how we can go after this Union.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you,” he said, then got up and left the room. Barbara Mawdsley sighed and shook her head. She should have taken disciplinary action and had his head on a platter.

But that was something she could never do to her best agent.

Bond sat in the sitting room of his flat off the King’s Road, a double bourbon in hand and a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He had sent May away so that he could be alone with his demons. Sometimes they were the only things that could comfort him.

The white phone rang. He was tempted to let it go, but he inexplicably detected an urgency in the pips that forced him to pick up the receiver.

“Yes?”

“James! Thank God, you’re there!”

It was Helena Marksbury.

Bond sat up abruptly, completely alert. “Christ, Helena, where are you?”

“I’m . . . I’m in a hotel in Brighton. I came here a few days ago. I’ve been hiding. I assume you know—”

“Yes, Helena. I know.”

“Oh, God, James . . . James . . .” She started to cry.

“Helena,” he said, attempting to control his rising anger that he knew would be inappropriate. “Tell me what happened. From the beginning.”

She sobbed uncontrollably. “Oh, James, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. . . .”

He waited a few moments for her to get it out of her system. He was unable to detect that any of it might be pretense; her sorrow was genuine.

“It’s best if you tell me everything, Helena,” he said.

She gained control of herself and slowly began the story. “They got in touch with me the night we had that fight, after your golf game at Stoke Poges.”

“The Union?”

“Yes.”

“Go on.”

“They must have been watching my flat. They waited until you left, then two men came to the door. At first I wouldn’t let them in. but they convinced me they were from SIS. But they really weren’t.

“Who were they? What did they look like?”

“One was English. The other was Dutch or Belgian, I think. They told me that they were from the Union. They showed me . . . oh, God, James . . . they showed me photographs . . .”

“Of?”

“My sister. In America. Her two children. Photographs of her dropping them off at school. The men threatened their lives if I didn’t cooperate with them.”

“What did they say?”

“Only that my nephew and niece would meet with a horrible accident, and that my sister would suffer terrible torture.”

“What did they want from you?”

He knew that she was trembling. Her voice shook as she answered him. “They said they wanted to know everything you were going to do with regard to Skin 17. I had to report to them where you would be and when. I had to tell them what the Ministry of Defence were planning at all times. I had to answer any questions they asked.”

“For how long?”

“As long as they deemed necessary, they said. Oh, James . . . I didn’t want to do it. It was extortion, you see that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he said. “But I’m not sure how the Ministry of Defence will see it. You could be in a lot of trouble, Helena. How would you contact them?”

“I wouldn’t. They contacted me.”

“At the office?”

“They had my private number, somehow. They would call and demand to know everything. I tried to put a trace on the calls, but it was never any good. They had some kind of block on the line. They warned me not to alert anyone about them or my sister and her children would die.”

“And you believed them?”

“Of course I believed them! I had no choice but to believe them!”

“They could have been bluffing.”

“I thought about that, but there were the photos. They seemed to know exactly what my sister was doing at any given time. Oh, James, I’ve been a nervous wreck. I’ve been horrible to you. You could have been . . . killed! It would have been my fault!” She broke down again.

Now he knew that her treatment of him those days before he left an assignment had nothing to do with their relationship. He had selfishly thought that she was upset about him, when, in fact, she was in torment over what she was being forced to do.

He might have taken her in his arms, but his heart was quickly cooling toward her. Betrayal was something that never sat well with him.

“I’m in danger,” she said quietly.

“I should think so.”

“A blue van is parked outside on the street. It’s been there for two days. A man has been watching the hotel. They know I’m in here.”

“Is he there now?”

There was a pause as she peered out the window. “The van is, but it doesn’t look like anyone is inside now.”

“Listen to me, Helena,” he said. “Tell me where you are. I’m coming to fetch you. You have to turn yourself in. It’s the only way out of this mess. It’s the only way to protect you.”

“I don’t want to go to prison,” she choked.

“Better that than lose your life. We’ll make sure that the FBI in the States is contacted so that they can get your sister and her family to a safe place.”

“Oh, James, will you help me? Please?”

“I’ll do what I can, Helena. I must warn you, though, that there will be a question of treason. Only the courts can answer that one, I’m afraid.”

He heard her crying again. The poor girl was in agony.

“Helena, you have to surrender. It’s the only way. I’ll take you straight to headquarters.”

After a few seconds of silence she said, “All right.” She gave him the address.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.

He hung up the phone and rushed out of the flat. He drove the Aston Martin recklessly across the river and down to the popular seaside resort, where there are literally hundreds of small hotels He quickly found the street she had mentioned in the less fashionable part of Brighton some five minutes’ walk from the seafront.

He parked in front of the building and looked around. The blue van was nowhere in sight. He got out and went inside the building-

Ignoring the elderly woman at the reception desk, Bond rushed through the small lobby as a feeling of dread poured over him,

He took the stairs two at a time to the second floor, drew the Walther, and peered carefully around the landing. The hallway was clear. He quietly moved to the correct room and listened at the door. A radio inside was broadcasting the second movement of Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony. Bond raised his hand to knock but realized it was slightly ajar. He slowly pushed it open, his gun ready.

Helena Marksbury was lying in the middle of the floor in a pool of blood.

Bond entered and shut the door behind him. He quickly checked the bedroom to make sure he was alone with the corpse, then kneeled down beside her.

The Union had gotten to her first. Her throat was completely severed.

He took a moment to collect his thoughts, then picked up the phone and dialed the emergency number at headquarters. After ordering a cleanup crew, he sat down in a chair and stared at the body of the beautiful girl he had once made passionate love to.