Christopher Wood - James Bond and Moonraker

Bond jerked back his head and felt himself planing through the air. His rate of descent had definitely been slowed. He was like a flat stone wavering from side to side as it sinks through water. He glanced down and saw the unsuspecting co-pilot beneath him. The man had still not opened his parachute. Bond felt a stab of hope. Could he possibly manoeuvre himself close enough to take the man by surprise? He screwed up his eyes against the whiplash of the wind and tried to remember the conversation he had had in the mess at Aldershot. Below him the peaks of mountains were clearly visible. He tilted his body sideways and felt himself starting to slide faster, like a Spitfire peeling off to attack. Not only the cold and the force of the wind were numbing: at every second he expected to lose control and find himself tumbling over and over until the force of impact dashed him to pieces on some jagged, sun-scorched peak of the Atlas Mountains. He folded in his arms and legs and started to drop vertically without the sideways motion. A breast stroke motion of the arms and legs, and he actually felt himself moving forward. It was possible to claw one’s way through the air like some clumsy wounded bird.

He glanced sideways and saw the co-pilot fifty yards below him and to the right. One of the man’s hands was reaching towards his shoulder. He must be about to pull the ripcord. Bond flung his arms and legs wide and tilted his hands like the wing flaps of an aeroplane. He felt himself slicing through air, and the co-pilot loomed up beside him. The man’s head turned and Bond saw his teeth flash white as his mouth opened in surprise. He had no time to react before Bond was on him, feeling the life-sustaining bulk of the parachute against his chest. That was what he wanted. Clinging to the man’s shoulder, he unleashed a crippling blow with the flat edge of his hand and felt the force transmit itself to the vulnerable area behind the ear. The man twitched like a stunned rabbit and offered no resistance as Bond fought against the sickening speed of their descent and the metal clasp that secured the parachute. After what seemed like minutes rather than seconds, he prized it open and pulled one of the straps away from an arm barely capable of resistance. He thrust his own arm through the loop and then kicked clear, dragging the rest of the parachute with him. This was the moment of ultimate despair. With both hands struggling to pull on the parachute and fasten the clasp it was impossible to keep stable in space. He felt himself spinning over and over, the ground beneath him and the sky above blicoming a crazy kaleidoscope as the wind tore through his clothing and dizzy pain whirred through his tortured brain as if stirring it with a white-hot spoon. And then the clasp clicked home and his fingers tore at the ripcord. For a terrible second it seemed that nothing was going to happen, and then the parachute broke open with a crackle like the spinnaker of an ocean-going yacht bursting forth to steal the wind. Bond’s headlong descent shuddered to a near halt and suddenly he was alone and drifting earthwards. To his right were khaki mountains with a distant impression of snow-capped peaks. Directly below him a dusty plain was bisected by a long straight road.

Bond raised his hands to his shoulders and prepared to steer himself towards the road. Marrakesh should not be too far away. It was a pity he did not have time for a night on the town. He thought back to his medical report and smiled grimly. There was clearly life in the old dog yet.

3

a.m. WITH M AND Q

‘Ah, James. There you are.’ There was relief as well as a glow of welcome in the eyes of M’s private secretary.

Bond responded with pleasure to the bowl of winter roses on the desk and the faint upper-class fragrance of some scent he could not place. It was good to be home.

‘My flight was diverted, Moneypenny. What’s going on?’

There was no immediate response as Miss Moneypenny’s head was bent forward announcing his arrival. She flicked up the switch. ‘I don’t know. He’s got the Minister of Defence coming in at any minute. You’re to, go straight in.’ She called after him as he moved towards the door and the telephone on her desk started ringing. ‘Does the Chief-of-Staff know you’re back?’

Bond turned to nod towards the telephone. ‘That’ll be him telling you.’

He went through the door and closed it softly behind him. The layout of the room had not changed. The daik green carpet stretching like a putting green to the heavy, polished wood desk with M behind it. Only the big twin-bladed tropical fan, now stationary in the ceiling above the desk, added an incongruous note. Bond wondered how many times M had needed it during the previous summer.

M waved an impatient hand at the chair opposite his desk. ‘You’ve taken a damnably long time getting here.’

Bond sat down and gave a quick description of recent events. M’s jawline hardened. ‘Somebody obviously doesn’t like you. There was that business at Chamonix before your last mission, wasn’t there?’

‘Yes, sir. I don’t think it was the Russians this time. After the Stromberg affair, I believe they’ll give me a few months’ respite.’

‘You could hardly expect an Order of Lenin,’ said M drily. ‘Whom do you suspect?’

‘Somebody with an old score to settle. There are a number of candidates.’

‘Yes.’ M nodded his agreement. ‘I hope you can steer clear of them for the duration of your next assignment.’

Bond pricked up his ears. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Have you had a moment to glance at the station reports?’ M picked his pipe out of the heavy copper ash tray.

‘No, sir. I came straight to you via the Chief-of-Staff.’

‘What do you know about the Moonraker?’

Bond flicked through the card index in his mind. ‘It’s an American space shuttle. Capable of being launched into space by rocket, orbiting the earth and re-entering the atmosphere to land like a conventional aircraft. They can be used to service permanently manned space stations.’

‘And the Americans are just about to phase them into use in the next stage of their space programme. Did you know that we had one coming over so that Q Branch could take a look at it?’

‘Absolutely not,’ said Bond, the surprise showing on his face.

‘Good,’ said M grimly. ‘You weren’t supposed to know. Nobody was.’

‘May I ask why the mountain was coming to Mohamed?’ inquired Bond.

‘In these particular circumstances you may,’ said M, kneading the soft tobacco into the bowl of his pipe. ‘Q’s boys have come up with something they call S.H.I.E.L.D. —Space Heat Identification and Early Liquidation Device.’ His expression registered his disapproval of the title. ‘Damned if I know why. Everything has to have a brand name like a packet of soapsuds these days. Anyway, as the name implies, once installed in a spacecraft this system will ensure that no intercepting missile can get within miles of it without being destroyed. Apparently it’s infallible and the government refuses to let any details out of the country. The Americans are interested in it for their shuttle programme and that’s why they’ve come to us —’ M’s face grew grim. ‘Or rather —’ he broke off as the telephone rang, and put down his unlit pipe. ‘Very well. Yes. We’ll come immediately.’ He replaced the receiver and turned to Bond. ‘Right, 007. You can hear the rest in the Operations Room.’ He moved purposefully round his desk and Bond crossed.to the door and opened it. Not for the first time, he wondered whether there was any limit to the diverse range of projects that Q masterminded in his quartermaster’s department.

M looked down sternly at Miss Moneypenny as he went past her desk.