John Gardner: No Deals, Mr. Bond

‘Good,’ Murray continued. ‘As I was saying, Jacko, it started by playing shove ha’penny on the grave-stones for me, after a fashion; only my game was the horses. The auld, auld joke – slow horses and fast women. The debts and the lady, one night in Dublin, who had me compromised and trussed neat as a turkey at Christmas. I just want you to know it wasn’t a political thing with me, more a matter of money.’

‘Money?’ The disgust showed in Bond’s voice. ‘Money? Then why bother to rescue me from Chernov?’

‘Now that was a bit of cover. None of us ever thinks we’ll blow our cover, do we Jacko? And I was playing it three ways: my own people, you Brits and these fellas. I’m a treble, really, Jacko and I didn’t know the cover was blown until I got you to Dublin airport. So that’s water under the bridge now.’

‘It doesn’t matter, Norm. And don’t tell me not to call you Norm again, because you’re Comrade Norm now.’

‘I suppose you’re right. I don’t know how I’m goin’ to like it in yon country. It’s goin’ to be awful cold there, so it is. But, you see, Jacko, they’re most of them on to me now. Your man M’s on to me for sure, so I’m getting a lift out with Kolya, here.’ He turned towards Chernov. ‘And don’t you think we should be getting a move on, Kolya? The porpoises must be close behind me now. Treading on my tail, so they were, when I left Dublin.’

Chernov nodded gravely. ‘We go as soon as the business is completed.’

During the momentary distraction, Bond was able to twist the two sections of the pen anti-clockwise with the first finger and thumb of his right hand then turn the weapon face forward. His thumb then moved back to the push trigger.

‘Norman!’ he called, swivelling his body so that he was aligned with Murray’s head. He pressed the trigger quickly twice. ‘Sorry, Norman,’ he said as the two steel darts made tiny red pinpoint holes in the Special Branch man’s head, just above the eyes.

‘Jacko!’ The word came as a reflex, for Murray must have been dead as he spoke, pitching forward, the gun dropping from his hand at the instant Bond reached out and retrieved the Luger from the table.

Now it was done. Those who could have caused scandal were dead. Chernov would be a coup. Only the tidying up and some plausible explanations to the Press were needed.

‘Now, Kolya Chernov . . .’ Bond’s voice was not as steady as it might have been, for he had liked Murray, ‘. . . take the keys and unlock these good people.’ He looked at Ebbie. ‘When you’re free, go to the telephone, darling, and dial the number I give you. It belongs to my own Department’s Resident in Hong Kong. You’ll have to cover the General while I speak to him. We must go official on this.’

Chernov began to unlock the shackles and Ebbie went to the telephone. The conversation took no more than three mintues. Meanwhile the others were freed. Jungle and Smolin, using their initiative, secured Chernov with the chains. All the fight seemed to have gone out of him now.

Bond put down the telephone, resting his good hand on the table. There was a light touch on his shoulder and a hand slid down to lie on top of his own.

‘Thank you,’ Ebbie said, her voice breaking. ‘James, I have to thank you so much.’

‘It was nothing,’ he replied.

The pain returned, the dizziness took over, and his legs buckled under him. In a far corner of his mind he welcomed the oblivion.

James Bond came round in a private hospital room. The Service Resident was by his bedside. He was well known to Bond. They had worked together, once in Switzerland and again in Berlin.

It did not take Bond long to realise that his left arm was encased in plaster.

‘It’s broken in two places and there are some torn muscles.’

‘Apart from that,’ said Bond, smiling, ‘how did you enjoy the play Mrs Lincoln?’ It was a very old joke they had shared in the past.

‘M sends congratulations, together with some harsh words about your allowing that girl to travel here with you.’

Bond closed his eyes, feeling very tired. ‘Girls like Ebbie are not easy to stop. Don’t worry, it wasn’t my only mistake.’

‘He wants you back in London. The doctors say you can leave the hospital tomorrow but you’re to stay here for a couple of weeks. Reluctantly our Chief has agreed. The quacks just want to keep an eye on the arm, if you follow me.’

‘What about the others?’ Bond asked.

‘Everything’s tidied up. No mess. No questions. Chernov was flown to London this afternoon. You’ve been out for the best part of a day, incidentally.’

‘Open him up.’ Bond’s mouth turned down, betraying that rare, innate cruel streak.

‘We’re denying all knowledge at the moment. Our people will put him through the mill before we go public – if we ever do. Ms Dietrich, young Baisley and Maxim have gone as well. Smolin’s no use in the field any more, but they’ll find plenty for him to do on the Eastern Bloc desk at Headquarters. You just rest now, James. You’ve wrapped up the last crumbs of Cream Cake and you’ve no more to worry about.’

‘Where’s Ebbie?’

‘I have a surprise for you.’

The Resident winked and left the room. A minute later Ebbie Heritage came in. She stood looking at him, then approached the bed.

‘I put my feet down,’ she said, her face breaking into a smile. ‘I put my feet down and said I would take care of you. My surprise was great. They told me yes, okay. We are very grand, James. We even have bodyguards until you’re well enough to travel.’

‘I guess I might need one.’ He smiled and she laid the palm of her hand on his brow.

‘That feels very nice,’ said Bond. His arm might be damaged, but he knew other parts of his body were in working order. ‘Your hand’s so cool.’

‘There is old Chinese saying,’ she said, looking at him sweetly. ‘Woman with cool palm has fire under skirt.’

‘Never heard that.’ Bond’s eyes twinkled.

‘Really?’

‘Never.’

‘It’s a true saying. I know, because an elderly Japanese gentleman once told me.’

They stayed at the Mandarin, and in spite of the plaster cast enjoyed two very active weeks together.

Eventually they left by Cathay Pacific. As the carpet of lights that was Hong Kong disappeared from sight, the jolly female purser came over to introduce herself.

‘Mr Bond? Ms Heritage? Welcome aboard.’ She had a broad grin and infectious laugh. ‘You had a good time in Hong Kong?’

‘Wonderful,’ said Ebbie.

‘Full of surprises,’ Bond added.

‘Were you on holiday?’ the purser asked.

‘A sort of working holiday.’

‘So now you return to London.’ The purser gave what was almost a guffaw of laughter. ‘This route has a special name in Cathay Pacific, you know.’

‘Really?’ said Ebbie, sipping her champagne.

‘Yes. We call this route from Hong Kong, Chinese Takeaway, ha !’

Ebbie giggled, and Bond gave a wry smile.

‘No doubt we’ll be back,’ he said. ‘One day we’ll be back.’

By John Gardner

Licence Renewed

For Special Services

Icebreaker

Role of Honour

Nobody Lives For Ever

No Deals, Mr Bond

Scorpius

Win, Lose or Die

Licence to Kill

Brokenclaw

The Man from Barbarossa

Death is Forever

Never Send Flowers

SeaFire

GoldenEye

COLD

John Gardner served with the Fleet Air Arm and Royal Marines before embarking on a long career as a thriller writer, including international bestsellers The Nostradamus Traitor, The Garden of Weapons, Confessor and Maestro . In 1981 he was invited by Glidrose Publications Ltd – now known as Ian Fleming Publications – to revive James Bond in a brand new series of novels. To find out more visit John Gardner’s website at www.john-gardner.com or the Ian Fleming website at www.ianfleming.com