Gardner, John (26 page)

'Why?' Bond stabbed in the dark. 'Why? Because she is the rightful heir to your title, estate and money?'

Anton Murik raised his eyebrows. It was a movement which made the pugnacious face even more repellent. 'Astute,' he said, sharply, uttering the word clearly, in two distinct syllables. 'Most astute. There's no harm, I suppose, in you knowing; for there is very little to prove it. Yes, she is the rightful heir. I came to my own position by devious means, you see . . .'

'You mean the business with your grandfather? And then the doubts about your own mother being the rightful wife to your late lamented father?'

For the first time in the whole conversation, Murik looked bewildered, then angry. 'How do you know this?' His voice began to rise.

Bond, feeling he was gaining a small ascendency, took his mind back to the moment M had explained the chequered and dubious history of the Muriks. 'The business in Sicily? It's common knowledge, Laird. The graves at — where was it? — Caltanissetta? Those of your father and your mother's maid? The facts about that are well enough documented. I should've thought you'd've known. After all, the Lord Lyon King of Arms has been carrying out a very lengthy investigation . . .'

Murik's face twitched, then his voice returned to normal.

Even the smile came back. 'Ah, maybe. But nothing can be proved.'

'Oh, I don't know. Your own mother was your father's maid, wasn't she, Anton?' It was the first time Bond had dared use the familiarity of his Christian name.

Murik nodded. 'But I was
his
son.'

Once more, Bond stabbed in the dark: 'But you had a brother —a half-brother anyway. By your father and his true wife. A brother born at the time of the bandit episode in Sicily, when
your
mother, the maid, was already pregnant. What did he do? Come back to haunt you?'

'He came back with a wife, child, and every possible legal document,' snapped Murik.

'And died, with his wife, in an air disaster.'

Murik chuckled. 'Oh, most certainly. He was what you might call intrepid: a man of many parts. Or at least he was when he died.' A further chuckle. 'The Sicilians have faults, but they love children. The bandits kept him, trained him, made him one of their own, and then told him the truth-after making sure he had been moderately well educated. Like myself, he was good at waiting. But not so good at judging character. Of course I told him I would relinquish Murcaldy and Murik Castle to him. He believed me. A mad flyer. Such a pity. They said it was a fractured fuel line or something; I forget the details.'

'But you made certain his wife was with him.'

'How could I stop her?'

'Why didn't the child - Lavender - go along?'

Murik's eyes took on a distant look, as though he could see back into the past. 'He wanted a new aeroplane. I encouraged him to buy it. After all, he was inheriting the money. He actually flew it into the glen: only a light thing. Wanted to give it a good test the next day, show it off to his wife and the child. I was not there, of course. I had to go to Edinburgh to see the lawyers about relinquishing my title: they had to peruse the documents. The child was taken ill; with a colic, as I remember it. They said it was terrible. You know, he avoided crashing into the castle by a matter of feet. Very brave. They both died instantly. At the time, everybody said the infant had a lucky escape.'

Bond nodded. 'You had to get back quickly, so the lawyers never saw the documents?'

Murik shook his head, in mock sadness. 'No, they did not see them. Nobody's seen them. They lie safe in the castle, where nobody will find them. But they'll not be needed. Not after tomorrow. So now you know. And if you've been doing a little work on behalf of the Lord Lyon King of Arms, he's out of luck. Just as you and Lavender have run out of luck —and time.' His hand reached for a button by the telephone. 'We all need a little rest. Tomorrow will be quite a day - or today, I should say, for it is very late, almost three in the morning. I'm afraid our facilities here are cramped. You'll have to share the one secure room with my ward; but you'll find she's not been harmed. As yet. There's always tomorrow.'

Just before Caber came in to lead him away, Bond asked the final question. 'You said we would be leaving here.'

'Yes?'

'And that I'd have a ringside seat.'

'Yes?'

'Where?'

Murik pecked forward. 'Of course, you don't know. I mentioned the powerful transceivers we'll be using; well, tomorrow my company here will be conducting tests with just such equipment —on another frequency, of course. Several influential people are interested. You see, not only are they incredibly powerful but, like my nuclear reactor design, they're ultra-safe. My clever associates here have developed high-frequency transceivers which have what we call a safety-screened beam; this means their signals
cannot
be monitored. Nobody, Mr Bond, can listen in, or even detect them. We have a large aircraft,' he gave another little chuckle, 'provided, incidentally, by the United States. It is our flying testbed, and not only can it carry all the equipment we need, but also stay aloft for a little more than twenty-four hours. Extra fuel tanks. All the time we need. That's where you'll get your ringside seat.'

Caber and one of the other men arrived, took orders from the Laird and led Bond away down a series of passages. They handled him roughly, but Caber undid the shackles once they reached what he referred to as 'the secure room'.

'Ye'll no be gettin' oot o' here,' Caber sneered. Bond could not fault Caber's confidence, for the place was simply a narrow cell with no windows and only a tiny ventilation grille set well back high in the wall. The door was of eight-inch steel, with no handles on the inside, and so hung that it became part of the wall when closed. It was like being pushed into a large safe - a use the room was almost certainly put to on occasions. There were two beds and one small light, which burned perpetually behind thick glass and a mesh cover, flush with the ceiling.

Lavender had been dozing on one of the beds, but woke with a start as soon as they shoved Bond into the cell. She leaped up, then, with a little squeal, grabbed at her blanket, embarrassed by the fact that she wore only her tiny lace underwear.

All modesty seemed to disappear when she realised it was Bond. 'James!' She dropped the blanket and was in his arms. 'Oh God, they caught you. I hoped that you, at least, had got away.'

'No such luck. Not in the car; and not now . . .'

She looked up at him. 'James, you do know I had nothing to do with how they caught you - with the car, I mean?' He nodded, allowing her to go on. 'The first thing I knew about it was when the Laird told me you had been in a driving accident. I was forbidden to have any contact with you. They threatened, and Mary-Jane . . . Did you know she was dead? She's had a heart attack.'

This time Bond stopped her talking with a kiss that developed, just as it had done on the last occasion he had been with her, saying farewell on the night of his abortive escape in the Saab.

She began to move backwards. On the bed she looked up at him. 'Oh, James. I really thought you'd get away and bring some help. Terrible things are going on . . .'

'You can say that again.' Bond smiled down at her. 'Really terrible,' he mused. 'I don't know how long I can stand it.'

The worried look on her face turned to one of delight. 'It
is
terrible, isn't it? As far as I can see there's only one answer.' She began to remove what little she was wearing.

An hour or so later, they lay together on the bed, side by side, their faces turned towards each other. 'James,' she whispered. 'If we ever get out of this . . . ?'

He stopped her again, with a kiss. She was a tough young girl, under that soft frilly exterior, and Bond felt it only right that she should know the truth. 'Listen, Dilly,' he began, and then with tact - missing out only the tiny details - told her the real facts of Mary-Jane Mashkin's heart attack, and how it had been meant for her. He also briefly outlined Murik's plans for the morning.

She lay silent for a time. Speaking at last with a voice that was calm and almost resigned, she said, 'Then it looks as if we've had it. Darling James, thank you. You saved my life; but I wonder if it would have been better to go then. At the Palace. Suddenly, Anton's a reptile, and I should imagine he has something very very nasty planned for us.'

Bond put a finger to her lips. 'It hasn't happened yet.' He tried to make light of things, saying that there was still time for help to arrive, that even he could find some way out. 'Anyway, Dilly, I've never been thrown out of an aeroplane before. Could be exciting. Like being here with you: at least we'll be together.'

She bit her lip and nodded bravely, then pulled his head down to hers so that they were again united by passion. To Bond it felt as though they had both escaped from time and trouble and were floating with increasing joy towards a whirlpool of earthly delights. Later, they fell asleep, entwined on the small bed.

It was almost six in the morning before Bill Tanner returned to M's office with the bad news that, because of it being the middle of the night, they had not yet received a positive trace on the number from which James Bond had dialled.

'They'll have it for you before nine o'clock,' he said wearily.

M looked washed out, his skin like parchment and deep creases of worry around discoloured eyes. 'Nobody seems to know the meaning of urgency any more,' he growled. Deep inside, M had a nasty feeling that they were close to something terrible; even catastrophic. Logic told him that Anton Murik's disappearance, Bond's telephone call, and the fact of the F.B.I, having no trace on Franco, were all linked. Maybe they now stood on the edge of a precipice, constructed during all those meetings between the international terrorist and the former nuclear physicist.

'Duggan's the same,' he snorted. 'Got shirty with me when I reversed my views about him going into Murik Castle. But the issue's been forced now. They had to get some magistrate out of bed to sign the search warrant. Anyway, they've all buzzed off like a swarm of daft bees — Duggan, his men, and a load of Special Branch to lead the way.' He gave a sigh. 'Even so, they won't be able to do anything much before nine either.'

Bill Tanner, worried as he was, tried to make light of it, 'Should've sent a gunboat in the first place, sir.'

M grunted. 'Send some coffee, that's more like it. Get some coffee up now, Chief-of-Staff. Black, hot, sweet and strong. I've got a feeling it's going to be a long hard day.'

THEY CAME ARMED, and in strength. Caber and three of the hoods; Caber carrying an automatic pistol, two of the hoods with trays.

'It's a special breakfast the Laird's been pleased to order for ye. He said ye'd understand.' Caber motioned for the trays to be set down, and Bond vividly recalled his conversation with Murik just after their arrival at Perpignan the previous day: about the condemned man eating a hearty breakfast.

The hoods disappeared and Caber backed into the doorway. 'And ye'll no try coming for us wi' them knives and forks when we collect the trays. All of us have got the wee shooters. Naebody's gonna get away this time.'

One of the hoods brayed with laughter from behind him: 'There's only the one way they'll be gettin' oot, eh Caber?'

'Shut yer gob, cretin.' Caber stepped back, swinging the door. Before he could close it, Bond called, 'What about washing and things?'

'Och aye.' Caber pressed something outside the door before slamming it. The great panel of metal thumped home and at the same time a small section of the wall slid back to reveal a little alcove containing the bare necessities— a washbasin, towels and lavatory. Bond examined it, but the alcove was as solid as the rest of the cell. 'I can't shave,' he said, trying to sound bright, 'but at least we'll both be clean.'

The trays contained steaming plates of bacon, eggs, sausages, two large silver pots of coffee, plenty of toast, butter and marmalade—laid out under ornate covers on the Laird of Murcaldy's personal china. Even the glass butter dishes were engraved. 'Butter in a lordly dish,' said Bond, realising that the Biblical quote had sinister undertones — murder of some kind, he seemed to remember: an Old Testament character smiting someone with a tent peg after bringing in his butter. Caber came with guns, not tent pegs.

Lavender pushed her tray away. 'It's no good, James. I can't eat it. I couldn't swallow.'

Bond went over, catching her by the shoulders. 'Dilly, where's your faith, girl? We'll find a way out —
I'll
find a way out: cling on to that. Murik'll be only too happy if you're frightened and show your fear. You have to fight with strength. Come on.' He had no idea how they could possibly escape, or even stop the events which were now, he knew, rolling inevitably towards what could be a holocaust of tragic and catastrophic proportions. Yet all Bond's experience told him Murik would only be beaten by some show of character.

Lavender swallowed and took in a deep gulp of air. 'Okay,' she nodded.

'At least have some coffee,' Bond said, more kindly.

She gave a little shiver. 'Of course, James. I've come a long way with Anton as well. Let's try and get the bastard.'

Bond set an example, even though he too found it hard to eat. The bacon and eggs stuck in his throat, but he managed to wash it down by consuming cup after cup of coffee, taking in a lot of sugar. At least his body would be provided with something on which to feed; and extra energy was what he needed. Lavender did her best, nibbling on toast and sipping coffee. When they had finished, Bond stretched out on the bed, turning his face away while she completed her toilet and dressed.

He then got himself ready, stripping off and washing from tip to toe. Pity about not being able to shave. If they were to die, he would rather go looking his best. Negative thinking. Bond cursed himself. From now on, it was his duty to be positive and alert; aware of everything going on; ready to take advantage of the smallest chink that showed in Murik's plan or actions.