Licence Renewed

21 AIRSTRIKE

THE PREVIOUS DAY M had set up his own operations' room, next to his suite of offices on the ninth floor of the headquarters' building overlooking Regent's Park. He dozed fitfully, half dreaming of some odd childhood incident: running along a beach with water lapping at his feet. Then the familiar sound, which began in his dream as his long-dead mother ringing the bell for tea, broke into M's consciousness. It was the red telephone by the camp bed. M noted it was nearly five o'clock in the morning as he picked up the handset and answered with a throaty 'Yes?'

Bill Tanner was on the line, asking if M would come through to the main operations' room. 'They've surrendered.' The Chief-of-Staff made no attempt to disguise his excitement.

'Who've surrendered?' M snapped.

'The terrorists. The people holding the nuclear reactors. All of them: those here, in England, the French groups, the two in the United States and the Germans. Just walked out with their hands up. Said it was over.'

M frowned. 'Any explanation?'

'It only happened a short while ago.' Tanner's voice now resumed its normal, calm tone. 'Reports are still coming in, sir. Apparently they said they'd received the code message to abort the mission. Our people up at Heysham One say the terrorists seem to think their operation's been successful. I've spoken to one of the interrogators. He believes they've been given the call-off by mistake.'

M grinned to himself. 'I wonder,' he grunted. 'I wonder if it was an engineered mistake?'

'007?' the Chief-of-Staff asked.

'Who else? What about the Starlifter?' M was out of the camp bed now, trying to hang on to the 'phone and wrestle with his trousers at the same time.

'Still keeping station. The French are going in now. Two sections of fighters are on their way. They held off just long enough to get the okay from the technicians at the nuclear reactors, which all appear to be safe and operating normally, by the way.'

M paused. 'The French fighters? They're briefed to force the Starlifter down?' His grip on the receiver tightened.

Tanner's voice now became very calm: almost grave. 'They're briefed to buzz it into surrendering, then to lead it back to Perpignan.'

'And…?'

'If that doesn't work, the orders are to blast it out of the sky.' 'I see.' M's voice dropped almost to a whisper. 'I know, sir.' The Chief-of-Staffwas fully aware of what must have been going through M's mind. 'We just have to hope.' Slowly, M cradled the receiver.

Bond did not stand a chance of getting to the revolver, which was still lying on the console. Murik's chief lieutenant was enraged, and dangerous as a wounded bull elephant. His roar had changed into the bloodcurdling cry of a fighting man who could only be stopped by a fusillade of bullets, as he seemed to take off through the air and catch Bond, half-way across the cabin. Bond felt his breath go from his lungs as the weight of the brute landed on him with full force. Caber was yelling obscenities and calling on the gods for vengeance. Now he had Bond straddled on the floor, his legs across Bond's thighs and the enormous hands at his victim's throat. Bond tried to cry out for Lavender's help as the red mist clouded his brain, but Caber's pressing fingers prevented him. Only a croak emerged. Then, with the same swiftness of Caber's attack, the whole situation changed.

The Starlifter's engines, which until now had been only a steady hum in the background, changed their note, rising and straining in a roar, while the deck under the struggling men lurched to one side. Bond was conscious of the aircraft's attitude altering dramatically as he rolled, still locked with Caber, across the cabin floor. He caught a glimpse of Lavender, all arms and legs, being flung forward, as a great buffeting of the airframe ensued. Then the Star-lifter lurched again, wallowing like a great liner plunging in a heavy sea. This action, followed by yet another sudden and violent change of attitude, as though they were making a steep downward turn, threw Caber free.

Bond swallowed, his throat almost closed by the pressure of Caber's hands, then heard Lavender calling that there were aircraft attacking. 'Fighters,' she yelled. 'They're coming in very close.'

Bond's ears started to pop, and he swallowed painfully again, trying to get to his feet and stay upright on the unstable deck, which was now angled downwards, juddering and bucking as though on a rollercoaster ride. He finally managed to prop himself against the forward door and began to make for the revolver. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Lavender appeared to have been thrown some distance, and was lying huddled near her console. There was no time to do anything for her now. Caber, on his hands and knees near Murik's console was bracing himself for another attack, an arm stretched out towards the revolver.

The giant leaped forward, landing unsteadily on the rolling floor, his mask of fury giving way to a smile of triumph. 'I'd rather do it another way,' he shouted. 'Not by the bullet. I ken a bullet's too guid for ye.' His hand almost hid the Python revolver, which pointed directly at Bond's chest, motioning his victim to the other side of the cabin, towards the large hatchway marked out in red, and bearing the legend DO NOT ENTER IF RED LIGHT IS ON.

'Ye'll get over there,' Caber growled, keeping his balance, even though the aircraft was undoubtedly in a nose-down attitude, descending rapidly.

There was no way to avoid the order without ending up with his chest torn away by the Python's bullets. Bond crabbed across the cabin towards the hatchway.

'Now' – Caber had managed to get close behind him, but not near enough for Bond to try a tackle – 'now ye'll slide that thing open, and hold it until ma own hand's on it.'

Bond did as he was bidden; felt the revolver barrel jab at his back and saw Caber's hand take over the weight of the sliding hatchway as, together, they stepped through into the high sparred and girdered rear of the Starlifter. The aircraft made another fast and unexpected turn, throwing them apart, so that Bond banged his right arm against a rising, curved spar.

'I'm still behind ye, Bond, with the wee shooter, so dinna do anything daft. There's a wee bit of a lever I have to pull over here.'

The rear loading bay was cold: a bleak airborne hangar of metal, smelling of oil and that odd plastic scent of air that you get inside aircraft. The buffeting was worse here, almost below the high tail of the Starlifter. Bond had to grip hard on the spar to keep his balance, for the big aeroplane seemed to be turning alternately left and right, still going down, with occasional terrifying bucketing and noise – which Bond now clearly recognised as other aircraft passing close and buzzing them.

'There we go,' Caber called, and Bond heard the solid sound of a large switch going down. It was followed by the whine of hydraulics and an increased reverberation. Bond twisted around, to see Caber leaning against a bulkhead just inside the hatchway, the revolver still accurately aimed, while his left hand was raised to an open metal box inside which a two-foot double knife-switch had just been pulled down and was locked into the 'on' position. There was another great wallowing as the huge plane dropped a couple of hundred feet, and both men clung hard to their precious holds. Caber laughed. 'The Laird had some daft idea of pushing ye out an' trailing ye along with the pick-up line when we went fur the ransom. I'm gawn tae make sure o' ye, Bond.'

There was a distinct decrease in temperature. Bond could feel air blowing around him. Looking back towards the tail end of the hold, he saw the rear sides of the fuselage moving away, long curved sections, slowly pivoting outwards, while an oblong section of the deck gently dropped away to the increased whine of the hydraulic system. The ramp was going down. Already he could see a section of sky.

'It'll tak aboot twa minutes,' Caber shouted. 'Then ye'll have a nice ski slope there. Ye'll be goin' doon that, Bond. Coin' doon it tae hell.'

Bond's mind raced. If he was to die, then Caber would have to kill him with the gun. It was not likely that he could even get within grappling distance of the man. They were a good twenty feet from each other, and the Starlifter, still with its nose down, was yawing and performing what he recognised as evasive action of the most extreme kind. Perhaps it was his imagination, but Bond thought he could hear the metal plates singing and stretching with near human cries of pain as the aircraft was flung about the sky.

There is a dread, deep within most people, of falling to their death from a great height. James Bond was no exception. He clung on to his spar, transfixed by the quickly widening gap between metal and sky. Sudden death had never bothered him – in many ways he had lived with it for so long that it ceased to bring nightmares. One minute you would be alive, the next in irreversible darkness. But this would be different. He felt the clammy hand of death on his neck, and the cold sweat of genuine fear closed over him.

With a heavy rumble and thump, the ramp locked down, sloping away and leaving a huge open hole the size of a house in the rear of the aircraft. The sky tilted behind the opening, then swerved as the Starlifter went through yet another manoeuvre.

'This is where we say fare ye weel – For auld lang syne, Bond. Now git ye doon that ramp and practise flying wi'out wings.'

'You'll have to shoot me down it,' Bond shouted. He was not going without some show of a fight. Letting go of the spar, he aimed himself at Caber just as the Starlifter dipped lower, the tail coming up at a precarious angle. Bond lurched forward, almost losing his balance, going down out of control towards Caber. In this heart-stopping moment Bond saw the smile broaden on the man's face, his gun hand coming up to point the Python straight at O07's chest.

Again the deck jerked under them and Bond staggered to one side as the aircraft dipped and the door to the hatchway slid open. For a second, Bond thought it was the movement of the aircraft. Then, still pushed forward by the angle of descent, he saw Lavender, the dirk from the dead guard's stocking firmly in her hand, raised to strike.

Caber tried to turn and bring the revolver to bear, but the instability of the deck combined with the unexpected assault gave him no chance. Almost with a sense of dread, Bond saw the dirk flash down – Lavender's left hand joining her right over the hilt as she plunged it with all her strength into Caber's throat. Even with the noise of rushing air, the buffeting and roar of engines, Caber's gurgling rasp of terror echoed around the vast hold. The revolver fell to the deck as he scrabbled at his throat, from which the blood pumped out and down his jersey. Then Caber spun around, still clamping hands to his neck, fell, and began to roll like a piece of freight broken loose in a ship's hold.

Bond reached the door, making a grab for the man as the aircraft once more changed its attitude, the nose coming up and the engines changing pitch in a surge of power as it started to gain altitude. Bond grasped Caber, but he could not hold the heavy man, who slipped away, rolling towards the point where the deck dipped into the long-angled ramp. Lavender turned her head away, hanging on to Bond, as Caber tumbled like a stuffed effigy, trailing blood, towards the ramp, hesitating fractionally as he began to fall. He must be almost dead already, Bond thought; but the horrible gargle of blood from the dirk-slit throat turned into a bubbling scream of terror as Caber slid down the ramp -a chilling and hideous sustained note.

As he reached the far end of the ramp, the big man's body seemed to correct itself, the gore-streaked face looking up towards Bond, arms outstretched, fingers clawing at the metal. For a second their eyes locked, and even though Caber's already held the glaze of death, they also contained a deep, dark hatred reaching out from what would soon be his grave. Then Murik's giant lieutenant slid over the edge, out of sight, into the air beneath the Starlifter.

'I killed him.' Lavender was near to a state of shock.

'An obvious statement, Dilly darling,' Bond still had to shout through the noise. 'What matters to me is that you saved my life.' He reached up to the big knife-switch, grasping the wooden handle and pulling it up, into the 'off' position.

The hydraulic whine began again, and the ramp started to move. Then, as Bond turned, he saw Lavender looking towards the closing gap, her eyes widening and lips parted. In the space still visible, a pair of Dassault Super Mirages could be seen hurtling in towards the Starlifter. As they watched, Bond and Lavender saw the bright flashes at the nose of each aircraft. The Mirage jets had passed, in a clap of air, with the crack and thunder of engines, before the Starlifter felt any effect from the short bursts of fire.

There followed a series of massive thuds, small explosions and the rip of metal. The deck under their feet began a long wave-like dance and the Starlifter appeared to be poised, hanging in the air. Then the engines roared again, and the deck steadied.

Bond's nose twitched at the acrid smell of smoke.

Pushing Lavender to one side, he slid open the hatchway to be met by a billow of smoke. Two or three of the small-calibre shells from the Mirages had passed through the roof, slamming into the main console, from which the flames flicked upwards, while smoke belched out in a deadly choking cloud.

Bond yelled at Lavender to keep out of the way. Already, during the tension in the rear hold, his subconscious had taken in the fact of two large fire extinguishers clipped into racks on either side of the sliding hatchway. He grabbed one of the heavy red cylinders, smashed the activating plunger against the nearest metal spar, slid back the door and pointed the jet of foam into the control room.

Coughing and spluttering from the fumes, Bond returned for the second cylinder. It took both the extinguishers at full pressure before the fire was out, leaving only eye-watering, throat-cloying fumes and smoke to eddy around the cabin.

Keeping Lavender close on the hold side of the door, Bond waited for the smoke to clear. He was now conscious of the Starlifter settling into a more natural flying pattern. Then came the heavy grind and thump as its landing gear locked into place. The one short burst of fire from the French fighters had done the trick, he thought. The international symbol for an aircraft's surrender was the lowering of its landing gear.

Inside the control cabin, the air was less foul, leaving only a sting in the nostrils. Lavender went straight towards one of the oval windows and, sliding up the blind, reported that they seemed to be losing height. 'There're a pair of fighter aircraft on this side,' she called.

Bond made for the other window. Below, the coastline was coming up, and they were in a long wide turn. On his side as well two Mirages kept station. He peered down, looking for landmarks until he saw the familiar shape of the Canigou. The fighters remained in place, lowering their undercarriages and flaps. They were making an escorted final approach to Perpignan.

Bond looked around. The bodies of the two technicians had been thrown across the cabin, but of Anton Murik there was no sign. Lavender said that, perhaps, when he came round, the Laird of Murcaldy had gone forward to give instructions to his crew. But when they landed at Perpignan and the police, together with M's envoys, came aboard, Murik had disappeared.

In the briefing that followed, one of the Mirage pilots reported seeing a man fall from the rear ramp: undoubtedly Caber. Another thought that a crew member may have baled out, but in the general melee he could not be certain.

The jets had come in fast and to start with the Starlifter had only taken evasive action, refusing to comply with their orders. It was only as a last resort that two of the fighters had fired one short burst each. It was after this show of strength that the Starlifter had surrendered. It was also after the firing that the jet pilot thought there might have been a parachute descent into the sea, but, he maintained, it was difficult to be sure. A lot of smoke was coming from the rear of the transport for a while, and there was light, scattered cloud.

'If he did jump,' one of M's officers said, 'there wouldn't be much chance of survival in the sea.'

In the aircraft back to London, Lavender voiced the view that she would never be convinced of her guardian's death until she had actually seen his body.

It was, then, with a certain number of unanswered questions, that Bond reported to M that evening at the Regent's Park headquarters.