John Gardner - No Deals, Mr. Bond

‘That his name? Robinson? Okay, yes, I kill him. You killed man with fighting iron. I shot this one.’ Han held a very large Colt .45 in his right hand. ‘It was correct that I kill him?’

‘Too damn right it was correct. Hell!’

Bond squirmed, shifting his head to squint down at his left wrist. The Rolex said five-fifteen. Forty-five minutes, or near enough, before Chernov would begin on the others. Shakily he pulled himself upwards, testing his weight gingerly. All seemed well except for the arm.

‘Give me that gun – the one on the ground.’

Han reached out for the Luger.

‘There should be another one,’ said Bond, peering into the grey light. His opponent’s weapon lay to one side of the body. Han picked it up.

‘Quickly,’ Bond urged him. ‘Take out the magazines and put all the cartridges into one. Okay?’

‘It’s okay. Mr Swift taught me much about guns. Said I was good shot.’

‘I agree with him. Look, Han, you know the house to the north of Tung Wan Bay? The house where they kept me?’

‘No,’ the boy said blankly. ‘Swift say you will be here. I watch your back. So, I come here and nobody seen you. I stick around, then late I see these men behaving like they were looking for butterflies in the dark. Very strange. I think, Richard follow these, they are up to no good.’

He would have gone on, but Bond stopped him. ‘Listen, Han, there is this house . . .’ He explained exactly where it was. ‘Get the police. Tell them it is a security matter . . .’

‘Swift give me a police number Hong Kong. He said it was Special Police.’

‘Special Branch?’

‘Yes. I am stupid. I think first it is some kind magic root. Then he explain.’

‘Okay. You can find a telephone on this island?’

‘My father’s fourth sister lives here. Has small shop with telephone. I shall wake her.’

‘Ring your number, but tell him to get local police to that house pretty damned fast, chop-chop. Okay?’

‘They be there very fast. You going?’

Bond took a deep breath. ‘While I’ve got the strength I’m going, yes. You get police there. Tell them to hold everyone.’ Han was already on his way, so Bond had to shout after him, ‘Tell them the people at the house are armed. They’re very dangerous.’

‘Okay. I tell them, heya ?’

Han turned, one arm raised. Then, in the first light of dawn, the scene turned to one of carnage. There were two heavy thumps and Richard Han’s head burst open, spraying a mist of blood high into the air. The body ran three . . . four more steps before it hit the ground.

There was the sudden rattle of a machine pistol. Bullets were chipping and smashing into the Temple Wall around Bond. He reacted automatically, governed by his reflexes and training. The muzzle flash had been quite near, to his right. Expecting another burst of fire any second, Bond wheeled, loosing off two rounds in the direction of the flash. There was a hideous scream, followed by the crash of metal on stone and the noise of a body falling.

Bond dropped on to one knee, waiting, silent and still, straining to pick up any other noises, but only the moans continued. Slowly he raised his right hand, conscious again of the acute pain in his other arm. He gritted his teeth, listening. The moaning had stopped, so once more he rose, and took a pace forward. But he was stopped dead in his tracks by the familiar voice.

‘Move one more muscle and I’ll blow your head off, Bond. Now drop the gun.’

She was very close indeed, to his right.

‘I said drop the gun!’ The order was sharp, commanding.

Bond opened his fingers and heard the Luger hit the steps just as Heather Dare – or Irma Wagen – stepped from the shadows.

‘So?’ Bond breathed, feeling the horror of her deception wash over him.

‘Yes. So. I’m sorry, James, but you didn’t really think the General was going to take any more chances? You did very well. I didn’t think you’d be able to get the better of those men. But Chernov was worried. He seemed to sense the possibility.’

‘Bully for Kolya Chernov.’

He cursed himself for not having seen through it before. The white raincoat in London – that had worried him at the time, for nobody with even the most elementary training would have worn such a garment on the run. Then there was the offer to share her bed. That too had niggled, particularly when he saw her with Smolin, the two lovebirds.

‘No wonder the General was so well advised of our movements,’ he said aloud, hoping to bring her closer.

‘I led him like a dancer – led you as well, James; just as I managed to hook Smolin into revealing his treachery. We’d better get on with it. My orders are to kill you here, though I thought the precious “Robinsons” would have done the job for me.’

‘How long . . . ?’ Bond began.

‘Have I been KGB? A long time, James. Since my early teens. Cream Cake was blown from the start. When we all had to get out, the orders were to leave Maxim and Dietrich in place. They could have been taken at any point, but Centre thought London might use me once I was in England. They didn’t, as you know, so it was decided to deal with all the others. You were a bonus. Chernov came out of safety just for you, James. You find that flattering?’

‘Very.’

‘On your knees, then. We’ll do it the Lubyanka way. A bullet in the back of the head.’

He took a step forward, as though preparing himself. ‘And the attempt on your life in London was . . . ?’

‘A small charade to help you trust me. Mischa underestimated you, though. He’s been very angry. Now he’ll be pleased.’

She took another step closer to him, and Bond shrugged, the pain again angry, tearing at his arm.

‘I’ll lose my balance if I try to get down. That bastard’s smashed my arm badly.’

‘Then just turn around, slowly.’

She was calmer than he expected, but she was coming even closer, as though drawn towards his voice. He started to turn, his mind racing with the chances of his being able to take her with only one arm. Then, as she stepped in, her right hand holding the pistol high, he moved.

Turn in. Always turn in towards the body but away from the weapon. It was what the experts taught, and anyone foolish enough to get close with a pistol deserved all she got. Bond wheeled right, knowing the position was good as he turned like a ballroom dancer executing a complicated step. Although his reactions were slightly impaired by the injured arm, he got it right. Heather’s gun arm remained rigid for just the necessary length of time. As he came close, her arm and weapon were to the right of his neck. He brought his knee up hard. It was never as effective with a woman, but it still caused a lot of pain. He felt the breath go out of her, and could smell her, feel her body close against his.

As Heather doubled slightly from the impact, Bond’s right hand came up to grasp at her wrist. Even with one arm he could execute a lot of force with the downward pull. She gave a little cry when he broke her arm against his knee. The pistol dropped to the ground and bounced away down the steps.

Bond flicked his knee up again. She was off balance and her spine presented an ideal target. His knee caught her in the small of the back so hard that he actually heard the spine go. Then she fell away, her breath coming in little panting jerks. Although she must by now be unconscious, loud whimpering noises came from her throat.

He should have known it was Heather. She had taken the most prized target, Maxim Smolin. He should have seen it from the start. Bond reached out for the Luger. He did not hesitate. One bullet only, straight to the lovely head. He felt no qualms about it. Death was sudden and any nausea came only from the roaring pain in his left arm.