John Gardner: Nobody Lives for Ever

She shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not, my dear James. You’ve had that already – and very pleasant it was. You might even be pleased to hear that Sukie was furious. She’s absolutely crazy about you. I should have brought her along. She would have been glad to comply.’

‘I was going to ask you about Sukie.’

‘What about her?’

‘Why haven’t you killed her? You’re a pro. You know the form. I would never have left someone like Sukie lying around, even in a drugged stupor. I’d have made sure she was silenced for good and all.’

‘Maybe I have killed her. The dosage was near lethal.’ Nannie’s voice dropped, sounding slightly sad. ‘But you’re quite right, James. I should have made certain. There’s no room for sentiment in our business. But . . . well, I suppose I held back. We’ve been very close, and I’ve always managed to hide my darker side from her. You need someone to like you, when you do these kind of things: you need to be loved, or don’t you find that? You know, when I was at school with Sukie – before I discovered men – I was in love with her. She’s been good to me. But you’re right. When we’ve finished with you, I shall have to go back and finish her too.’

‘How did you manage to engineer that meeting between Sukie and me?’

Nannie gave a tiny explosion of laughter. ‘That really was an accident. I was playing it very much by ear. I knew where you were because I’d stuck a homer on your Bentley. I had it done on the boat. Sukie really did insist on making that part of the journey alone, and you did save her. I was going to set up something, depending where you were staying, because I knew you were heading towards Rome, as she was. It’s funny, but the pair of you played right into my hands. Now, anything else?’

‘Last requests?’

‘Yes.’

Bond shrugged. ‘I have simple tastes, Nannie. I also know when I’m beaten. I’ll have a plate of scrambled eggs and a bottle of Taittinger – the ’73, if that’s possible.’

‘In my experience, anything’s possible with SPECTRE. I’ll see what I can do.’

She was gone, the cell door slamming shut with a heavy thump. The cell was a small room, bare but for a metal bed covered with one blanket. Bond waited for a moment before going to the door. The flap over the Judas squint was closed, but he would have to be quick and careful. The silence of the place was against him; someone could be outside the door without his even knowing it.

Slowly, Bond undid the waistband of his slacks. Very rarely did he leave things to chance these days. Nannie had removed his belt and found Q Branch’s Toolkit. The extra piece of equipment he had taken from his briefcase back at the Pier House had been the spare one he now needed. The black slacks were also made by Q Branch, and contained hidden compartments stitched into the waistband. They were well nigh undetectable. It took him just over a minute to remove the equipment from its secure hiding places. At least he knew there was a fair chance of his being able to release the cell door so that he could get as far as the execution chamber. After that, who knew?

He reckoned he had half an hour before they brought the food. In that time he must establish whether he could open the cell door. For the second time in a matter of days he went to work with the picklocks.

Unexpectedly, the cell lock was simple, a straightforward mortice that could be manipulated easily by two of the picks. He had it open and closed again in less than five minutes. Opening it the second time, he pushed at the cell door and walked out into the execution chamber. It was eerie, with the guillotine standing there in the centre of the room. He began a reconnaissance, and soon discovered he could find the main door only because he remembered roughly where it was located. It was operated electronically and fitted so well into the wall that it appeared to be part of it. If he placed the explosives correctly he might just do it, but the chances of finding the right position to blow the electronic locks would be more a matter of luck than judgment.

He returned to the cell, locked the door behind him and pushed the Toolkit out of sight under the blanket. He realised that the chances of blowing the execution chamber door were remote.

Bond racked his brains in an attempt to come to some resolution. He even considered destroying the guillotine itself. But he knew that this would be a hopeless act of folly, and a waste of good explosives. They would still have him, and there was more than one way of separating a man from his head.

The food was brought to him by Nannie herself, with the balding guard in attendance, the knuckles of his hands white as he grasped the Uzi.

‘I said nothing was impossible for SPECTRE,’ Nannie said without smiling as she indicated the Taittinger.

Bond simply nodded, and they left. As the cell door was closing, he felt he had been given one tiny morsel of hope. He heard the balding man mumble to Nannie,

‘The old man’s sleeping. We’re going to bring him through now.’

Rahani was to be brought up in good time, so that he could wake from his medication already in position. As long as the nurse did not stay with him, Bond might just do it. The idea now formed in his mind as he ate the scrambled eggs and drank the champagne. He was glad he had asked for the ’73. It was an excellent year.

He thought he could hear sounds from the other side of the door and he put his ear hard against the metal, straining to catch the slightest noise. Almost by intuition, he knew there was somebody approaching the door.

Quickly Bond stretched himself on the bed, still alert for any sound, until he was sure that he heard the Judas squint move back and then into place again. He counted off five minutes, then took out the Toolkit, leaving the explosives and detonators hidden for the time being. For the second time, he went to work on the lock. When the door swung open he found the chamber in darkness but for the glow of a bedside lamp, by which he could just see Tamil Rahani’s electronically operated bed.

He crossed the chamber swiftly. Rahani lay silent and sleeping. Bond touched the control pad for the bed, discovered that its wire came from below the mattress, and followed it under the bed. What he saw gave him hope, and he crossed back to the cell to fetch the Toolkit, explosives and pin-light torch.

He slid quickly under the bed on his back, and in the darkness sought out the small electronic sensor box which moved the bedhead up and down to raise and lower Rahani. The cable ran to a switching box, bolted more or less centrally on to the underside of the bed. From it a power lead was laid to a mains plug in the wall. Wires ran from the switching box to the various sensors which adjusted each section to different angles. He was interested in the wires which connected the switching box to the bedhead sensor. Stretching forward cautiously, Bond turned off the power switch in the wall and then began to work on the slim bedhead sensor wires.

First he cut them and trimmed off about a centimetre of their plastic coating. Then he collected together every piece of plastic explosive he had managed to bring in. This he moulded to the edge of the sensor, finally inserting an electronic detonator, its two wires hanging loose and short from the plastique.

All that remained now was to plait together the wires as before, only this time adding a third wire to each pair – the wires from the detonator. In the Toolkit there was a minute roll of insulating tape no wider than a single book match. It took a little time, but he succeeded in insulating one set of wires from the others, thereby making sure that no bare wire could touch another by somebody moving the bed.

Finally, he gathered up all the contents of the Toolkit, turned on the mains power again and returned to the cell. He locked the door with the picks and once more hid the Toolkit.