Christopher Wood - James Bond and Moonraker

Crack!

Bond’s eyes were closed, but the flash shone through the lids like torchlight playing on a blind. There was a deafening explosion and a crazed grinding noise that faded with the imperishable resonance of a steel heel being dragged across asphalt. As quickly as it had taken hold, Bond felt the grip loosening. His body detached itself from the seat and he came away like a sticky sweet from its wrapping. Sweat lathered his aching body. He was within half a breath of voiding the contents of his stomach. The hatch snapped open and hands tore at the straps that stopped him from slumping forward. He heard Holly’s voice above the others and pulled up his head to open his eyes.

Holly was looking at him, aghast. ‘What happened?’ It was difficult to doubt the concern on her face.

Difficult but not impossible. Bond opened his dry mouth and tried to find some saliva to lubricate his words.

‘Something must have gone wrong with the controls.’ Holly’s voice was incredulous. She stretched out a supporting hand as Bond started to pull himself out of the seat. ‘Let me help you.’

Bond brushed the hand aside. ‘No thanks, Doctor. I think I’ve had enough treatment for one day.’

6

BED AND BORED

Trudi Parker rested her beautiful blonde head against the pillow and sighed. It was eleven o’clock at night and the novel, closed, with Trudi’s finger inserted between pages 64 and 65, had long since failed to maintain its initial slender promise. It lay against the silk sheets with the author’s face on the back cover looking up at her sadly and reproachfully. In real life it was difficult to believe that any man finding himself where the author was would have had reason for either sadness or reproach. The sight of Trudi’s breasts inadequately concealed behind the fabric of her flesh-coloured silk nightdress might indeed have provided that vital fillip to the style which the book so desperately needed.

Trudi sighed again and wished that she did so because she was tired rather than bored. The writer’s style, though plodding, laboured and tortuous, fell just short of that exquisite tedium which can produce a printed soporific. On the contrary, it lumbered into the category of work that asks questions it cannot answer, raises expectations it can never fulfil and leaves the reader asking not for more, but something; in other words, unsatisfied.

Trudi stuck her tongue out at the lugubrious author and placed him face downwards on the marble-topped bedside table. What the hero’s philandering wife did when she found out that her philandering husband had fallen in love with his philandering secretary would never be revealed to her. The prospect of not sharing any more of their overlapping lives, which seemed to commute between Madison Avenue and the Adirondacks, came almost as a relief.

Trudi studied her even, white nails and reached idly for an emery board. Somewhere in the distance came the-mournful cry of a coyote. A warm desert wind stirred the curtains. Outside, the night was clear, and needle-points of stars shone with uneven degrees of brightness. Trudi put down the emery board unused and stretched out a hand for the bedside lamp.

There was a light tap on the door.

Trudi withdrew her hand and sat up. The door opened and James Bond came in. He closed the door behind him and leant against it, surveying her. He wore a navy blue polo-neck pullover and a pair of similarly coloured tropical worsted trousers. Trudi wondered where he had been and, with more immediate interest, where he was going. She pulled a sheet up before her demurely.

‘Mother gave me a comprehensive list of things not to do on a first date.’

Bond smiled his thin, hard smile and crossed to the bed. ‘Maybe you won’t need it. That’s not what I came here for.’

Trudi conquered her disappointment and hoped that no trace of it showed in her voice. ‘What do you want then?’

Bond sat on the bed and looked at her levelly. This time there was more warmth in his smile. ‘Would your feelings be shattered if I said information?’

Trudi forgot about the sheet that slipped down about her waist. ‘Why should I tell you anything?’

Bond leant forward and kissed her hard on the mouth. ‘Because you like me.’

Trudi shook her head in amazement. ‘Who are you?’ She suddenly remembered how good his mouth had tasted. ‘Do that again.’ She leant forward and Bond’s head tilted obligingly. This time the kiss was long and deep. Delicious premonitions of pleasure stirred through her with the touch of warm fingertips. ‘What do you want to know? Is it to do with what happened this afternoon?’ News of the accident on the centrifuge trainer had quickly spread through the installation. Apparently, by some million-toone chance, two circuit break-offs had been transposed when a simple electrical fault was being repaired.

The corner of Bond’s mouth twisted down ruefully. ‘No. Mr Drax has been very generous with his explanations and apologies. It’s what he hasn’t told me that I’m most interested in.’

Trudi was puzzled. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘What goes on here besides the manufacture of the Moonraker and the astronaut training programme?’

‘I still don’t know who you are.’

Bond took a deep breath and decided to make the lie elaborate.

‘I work for the British Aircraft Corporation. Investigating air crashes is my speciality, I’m afraid. There are a few puzzling features about this one and we can’t rule out the possibility that sabotage was involved. It’s mere supposition at the moment and I don’t want to make Mr Drax alarmed.’

Trudi put her hand on Bond’s arm. ‘You mean, what happened to you this afternoon might not have been an accident?’

Bond tried to look grave. ‘That’s a possibility too. It would help me to get an idea of why someone should want to strike at the Drax Corporation if I knew exactly what they’re developing here. I think Mr Drax might misconstrue my interest and, at the moment, I have no definite evidence to put before him. I’m still waiting on our own lab reports of the Alaska wreckage.’

Bond was glad to see Trudi nodding sympathetically. She would clearly like to help. ‘It’s pretty difficult for me to tell you anything,’ she said. ‘Like I said, I’m just Mr Drax’s personal pilot. I know there was a very "top secret" project in one of the laboratories, but everything has been moved now.’

Bond’s pulse quickened. ‘Where to?’

Trudi shook her head. ‘I don’t know. One morning it had gone. All the technicians too. I was surprised nobody told me about it. I’m normally involved with all the flights that come in and out of here. They must have left from the railhead.’

Bond frowned. ‘Where was the laboratory?’

‘If you’re thinking of going and looking at it, you can forget it,’ said Trudi. ‘It was burned out just after the move.’

Bond’s smile was grim. ‘Accidents do happen around here.’

Trudi folded her arms beneath her bosom and leant back against the pillow. ‘It’s most unusual. Normally, nothing very much happens around here.’

Bond raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’

‘Absolutely. That’s why your visit to my room was such an event.’

Bond looked down at the lambent curve of the soft, sensual mouth. It was difficult not to be aroused by the beauty of this girl. There was a need in her eyes too.

‘What about that list of your mother’s?’

Trudi’s arms uncrossed and reached out to slide round his neck. Her lips parted to receive anything that he might wish to give. ‘What mother?’ she breathed.

7

BEHIND THE CLOCK

An hour later Bond was moving silently along the route he had followed with Drax’s butler. He had left Trudi asleep with a seraphic smile plucking at the corner of her mouth and a sheet pulled tight about her naked body. In that pose she had looked like a small child tucked up snug in its cot. It gave a false impression of what she had been like in her waking moments.