Licence Renewed

22 WARLOCK'S CASTLE

'You RAN IT a bit too close for comfort, 007.' M sat at his desk, facing Bond.

'For whose comfort, sir?'James Bond was weary after the long debriefing, which had begun almost as soon as he had arrived back in London during the late afternoon. Since then Bond had gone over the story from the very beginning a number of times, and suffered the constant interruptions and cross-questioning that were par for the course. The lengthy conversation had been taken down on tape, and Bill Tanner joined Bond and M, while one of the senior female officers looked after Lavender-and, no doubt, grilled her as well, thought Bond.

'Even then you let him get away.' M sounded irritated.

'Too close for whose comfort, sir?' Bond repeated.

M waved the question to one side. 'Everybody's. What concerns me now is the whereabouts of Anton Murik, so-called Laird of Murcaldy.'

The white 'phone bleeped on M's desk. Following a brief exchange, M turned to his Chief-of-Staff. 'There's a signal in from Perpignan. Bring it up, will you?'

Tanner left, returning a few seconds later. The news at least solved part of the mystery. M read it over twice before passing it to Bond. The French authorities had now been over the Starlifter from stem to stern. Among the extra fitments aboard, they had discovered a small hold, accessible from under one of the tables in the canteen section. It was large enough to conceal one man and was kitted out with sufficient rations and other necessities for a few days. There were signs that it had been used; and the exit, through movable plates on the underside of the fuselage, had been opened.

'That settles it,' M snapped, picking up his 'phone. 'Better get this report typed up and signed, Bond. I'll have to alert Duggan and Ross. The fellow's still at large.'

Bond held up a hand as though appealing for M to put down the 'phone. 'With respect, sir, can I ask some questions? Then, maybe, make a couple of requests?'

Slowly M put down the telephone. 'Ask away. I can promise nothing, but be quick about it.' 'The requests will be determined by the answers to questions…'

'Get on with it then, 007. We haven't got all night.'

'Are Duggan's and Ross's men still prowling around Murik Castle?'

'Moved out this afternoon. They'd been over the castle and Murcaldy village with the proverbial toothcomb.' M began to fiddle with his pipe.

'Did they find anything?'

'Made a number of arrests, from what I gather. A baker called MacKenzie; some of the brawnier lads in the village. Took away a number of small arms and a few automatic weapons. Gather they've left the Laird's collection of antique weapons intact. All the modern stuff's been brought back to London.'

'Did they find papers? Legal documents, mainly concerning Miss Peacock? Possibly some convertible stocks, shares, that kind of thing? Well-hidden?'

'Haven't a clue, 007. Hidden documents? Melodramatic stuff, that.'

'Can you find out, sir? Find out without mentioning when my report'll be going to Sir Richard Duggan and Special Branch?'

M raised his eyebrows. 'This had better be good, 007.' He stabbed at the telephone. Within minutes, Bond and Bill Tanner were listening to one side of a conversation, punctuated by long pauses, between M and Sir Richard. At last M put down the 'phone, shaking his head. 'They took away all stray papers. But no legal documents concerning Miss Peacock. There were a couple of safes. Duggan says they'll be going over the castle again in a day or so.'

'And, in the meantime, it's unguarded?'

M nodded. 'Now the requests, eh, Bond?'

Bond swallowed. 'Sir, can you hold my report for about forty-eight hours? Particularly the facts about the Aldan Aerospace Flying Club – the place we took off from en route for Perpignan.'

'Why?'

'Because I don't want Special Branch thumping around there. If Anton Murik's escaped by hiding in the Starlifter, I believe he'll be on his way back to that flying club now. He has a lot of contacts, and his helicopter's there.'

'Then we should have Special Branch waiting for him…'

'No, sir. There are legal documents hidden at the castle, and – as I've said – probably some mad money as a backup. Anton Murik will be heading for the castle. He'll know the time's come to destroy the evidence of Miss Peacock's claim to the title and estates of Murcaldy. I want him caught in the act, alive if possible.'

'Then we should send in Duggan's men with Special Branch.' 'Sir, he should be mine.' Bond's voice was like the cutting edge of a sabre.

'You're asking me to bend the rules, 007. That's Duggan's territory, and I've no right…' He trailed into silent thought. 'What exactly were you thinking of?'

'That the Chief-of-Staff comes with me, sir. That you give us forty-eight hours' freedom, and the use of a helicopter.'

'Helicopter?' 'To get us up there quickly. Oh yes, and just before we go in, I'd like some kind of overflight.' 'Overflight,' M came near to snouting. 'Overflight? Who do you think I am, 007? President of the United States? What do you mean, overflight?'

Bond tried to look sheepish. Bill Tanner was grinning. 'Well, sir, haven't we got a couple of old Chipmunks, fitted with infra-red, and the odd Gazelle helicopter? Aren't they under your command?'

M gave a heavy cough, as though clearing his throat.

'If the Chief-of-Staff and I went up in the helicopter, we'd need an overflight about five minutes before landing. Just to make certain the coast is clear, that Murik hasn't arrived first.'

M fiddled with his pipe.

'Just for safety, sir.'

'You sure you wouldn't like a squadron of fighter-bombers to strafe the place?' Bond grinned. 'I don't think that'll be necessary, sir.' There was an even longer pause before M spoke. 'On one condition, Bond – providing the Chief-of-Staff agrees to this foolhardiness.' He looked towards Bill Tanner, who nodded. 'You do not go armed. In all conscience I cannot, at this stage, allow you to move into Duggan's area of operations carrying arms.'

'You did say the Laird's collection of antique weapons had been left intact, sir?'

M nodded, with a sly smile. 'I know nothing about any of this, James. But good luck.' Then, sarcastically, he added,

'nothing else?'

'Well…' Bond looked away. 'I wonder if Sir Richard's people could be persuaded to let us have the keys to the castle for a while? P.D.Q., sir. Just so that I can recover clothes left there, or some such excuse.'

M sighed, made a grumbling noise, and reached for the telephone again.

It was almost four o'clock in the morning when the Gazelle helicopter carrying James Bond and Bill Tanner reached Glen Murcaldy.

Bond had already been through the landing pattern with the young pilot. He wanted to be put down on the track near to the point where the Saab had gone into the large ditch. Most of all, he was concerned that the Gazelle should be kept well out of sight, though he had armed himself with two sets of hand-held flares – a red and a green – to call up the chopper if there was trouble.

Exactly five minutes before reaching touchdown, they heard the code word 'Excelsior' through their headphones. The Chipmunk had overflown the glen and castle, giving them the all clear. There was no sign of any vehicle or other helicopter in the vicinity.

The rotor blades of the Gazelle had not stopped turning by the time Bond and Tanner were making their way through the gorse and bracken towards the grim mass of Murik Castle below. The early morning air was chill and clear, while the scents brought vivid memories back into Bond's head-of his first sight of the castle and of its deceptive interior, of the attempted escape, Murik's control room with its array of weapons, the East Guest Room and its luxurious decor, and the more unpleasant dankness of the twin torture chambers.

They carried no weapons, as instructed, though Bill Tanner had, rightly, managed to get hold of a pair of powerful torches. M had experienced difficulty with the keys, managing only to obtain those to the rear tradesmen's entrance, which, Duggan told him, was the only door left for access, the rest having been left with the electronic locks on.

It took over half an hour for the pair to get as far as the Great Lawn. Bond, silently making signals, took Tanner alongside the rear of the castle, the old keep rising above them like a dark brooding warning against the skyline. If Bond was right it would be from the helicopter pad behind the keep that Anton Murik would make his final visit to his castle; Warlock's Castle, as Bond now thought of it.

In spite of the place only having been empty for a short time, the air smelled musty and damp once they got inside the small tradesmen's door. Again, recent memories stirred. It was only a few days ago that Bond had been led through this very door and into MacKenzie's van, at the start of the long journey which had ended with a deadly rendezvous over the Mediterranean.

Now he had to find his way down to the Laird's control room and collection of weapons; for Bond was certainly not going to face Anton Murik without some kind of defence. For a while they blundered around by torchlight, until Bond finally led the way down to the long weapon-adorned room in the cellars. Even Bill Tanner gasped as they swung the torches around the walls replete with swords, thrusting weapons, pistols, muskets and rifles.

'Must be worth a fortune by itself,' whispered Tanner.

Bond nodded. They had, for some unaccountable reason, whispered throughout the journey down from the tradesmen's entrance, as though Murik and his henchmen might come upon them unawares at any moment. Outside dawn would just be breaking, streaking the sky. If Murik was going to make his dash for freedom he would either arrive soon, or they would still be waiting for him to come under the cover of nightfall. Bond was running his torch over the weapons when Tanner suddenly clutched at his arm. They stood, motionless, ears straining for a moment, then relaxed.

'Nothing,' said Tanner. Then, just as suddenly, he silenced Bond once more.

This time they could both hear the noise: from a long way off, up through the brick, stone and earth, the faint buzz of an engine.

'He's arrived.' Bond grabbed at the first thing he could lay hands on: a sporting crossbow, heavily decorated, but refurbished, with a thick taut cord bound securely to a metal bow, the well-oiled mechanism including a cranequin to pull back and latch the cord into place. Taking this and three sharp bolts which were arranged next to it, Bond motioned Tanner out of the room.

'Up to the hall,' he whispered. 'The light's not in his favour. He'll want to get hold of the stuff and be away fast. Pray God he'll take it all with him, and we can catch the bastard outside.'

There would be more chance in the open. Bond was sure of that. As they reached the hall, the noise of the descending helicopter became louder. It would be the little Bell Ranger, hovering and fluttering down behind the keep. Standing in the shadows, Bond strained his ears. If the pilot kept his engines running, 007 knew his theory would be right – that Murik planned to remain in the castle for only a short time, leaving quickly with whatever documents he had cached there. But if the engine was stopped, they would have to take him inside the building.

Somewhere towards the back of the house, there was the scratch and squeak of a door. Murik was entering the same way that Bond and the Chief-of-Staff had come, by the tradesmen's entrance. Thank heaven for Tanner, whose wisdom had cautioned the locking of the door behind them. There was a click and then the sound of footsteps moving surely, as a man will move in complete darkness when he knows his house with the deep intimacy of years. The steps were short and quick: unmistakable to Bond. Murik Warlock -was home again.

From far away outside came the gentle buzz of the Bell Ranger's engine, which meant the pilot was almost certainly waiting, seated in his cockpit. Bond signalled with the crossbow, and they set off silently in the direction of the door through which the Laird had returned. Outside it was almost fully light now, with only faint traces of cloud, pink from the reflected rising sun. The noise of the helicopter engine was loud, coming from behind the keep, to which Bond now pointed. Side by side, Tanner and Bond sought the edge of the old stone tower, black and bruised with age, to shelter behind one angled corner, from which they had a view of the castle's rear.

Bond bent to the task of turning the heavy cranequin, panting at each twist of the wheel, as the steel bow drew back and its thick cord finally clicked into place. Raising the weapon skywards for safety, Bond slid one of the bolts into place. He had no idea of its accuracy, though there was no doubt of it being a lethal weapon.

The seven or eight minutes' wait seemed like a couple of hours. Then, with surprising suddenness, they heard footsteps fast on the gravel. Bond stepped from the cover, lifting the crossbow to his shoulder. Anton Murik was running hard, to their right, heading for the far side of the keep. In the left hand he held a thick and bulky oilskin package, while in his right he clutched at something Bond could not quite see. Squinting down the primitive crossbow sights, Bond shouted, 'Far enough, Murik. It's over now.'

The Laird of Murcaldy hardly paused, seeming to turn slightly towards Bond's voice, his right hand rising. There was a sharp crack followed by a high-pitched screaming hiss. A long spurt of fire streaked from Murik's hand, leaving a comet trail behind it, passing so close between Bond and Tanner that they felt the heat from the projectile which hit the side of the keep with the thud of a sledgehammer. A whole block of the old stone cracked and splattered away, sending great shards flying. Tanner gave a little cry, clutching his cheek, where a section of sharp stone sliced through.

Bond knew immediately what Murik was using: a collector's item now, from the early 1950s, the M.B.A. Gyrojet Rocket pistol. This hand-held launcher fired high velocity mini-rockets, propelling payloads of heat-resistant steel like bright polished chrome. The 13mm. bullets, with their rocket propellant, were capable of penetrating thick steel plates. Bond had handled one, and recalled wondering what they would do to a man. He did not think twice about their efficiency. The Gyrojet pistol contained a magazine holding five rockets. He had a one-shot crossbow and no margin for error.

Bond did not hesitate. Before Murik – still running could hurl another rocket from his Gyrojet, he squeezed the trigger of the crossbow. The mechanism slammed forward, its power taking Bond by surprise. The solid noise of the mechanism drowned any hiss the bolt might have made through the air and was, in its turn, blotted out by Murik's cry as the heavy bolt speared the upper part of his chest.

Murik continued to run, as both Bond and Tanner started after him. Then he staggered and the Gyrojet pistol dropped on to the gravel. Swaying and weaving, Murik doggedly ran on, whimpering with pain, still clutching at the oilskin package. He had by now almost reached the rising ground behind the keep, above the helicopter pad.

Bond ran hard, pausing only to sweep up the Gyrojet, and check that there was a rocket in place. Grunting with pain and anguish, Anton Murik was gasping his way up the bank as Bond shouted to him for the second time. 'Stop. Stop, Anton. I don't want to kill you; but I'll fire if you don't stop now.'

Murik continued, as though he could hear nothing, and, as he reached the top of the mound, Bond and Tanner heard the noise of the helicopter engine rise as lift power was applied. The target was outlined against the now red morning sky: Murik teetering on top of the mound, ready to make a last dash down the other side to the Bell Ranger lying just out of sight.

Bond shouted 'Stop' once more. But for Murik there was no turning back. Carefully Bond levelled the Gyrojet pistol and squeezed the trigger. There was a crack from the primer, then he felt the butt push back into his hand as the rocket left the barrel, gathering speed with a shower of flame-a long trace of fire getting faster and faster until it struck Murik's back, with over a thousand foot-pounds of energy behind it.

Only then did Bond know what such a projectile did to a man. It was as though someone had taken a blowlamp to the rear of a cardboard cut-out target; for the centre of Murik's back disintegrated. For a second, Bond could have sworn that he was able to see right through the gaping hole in the man, as he was lifted from his feet, rising into the air before falling forwards out of sight.

Tanner was beside Bond, his face streaked scarlet with blood, as they paced each other up the bank. Below, the helicopter pilot was revving his motor for takeoff. One glance towards Bond and the levelled Gyrojet pistol changed his mind. The pilot shut down the engine and slowly climbed from the cockpit, placing his hands over his head.

Bond handed the weapon to Bill Tanner and descended towards the mangled remains of Anton Murik, lying just inside the pad. He hardly looked at the body. What he wanted lay a short way off- a heavy, thick oilskin package, which he picked up with care, tucking it under his arm before turning to walk slowly up the rise towards the old keep. There Bond stood for a good two minutes, taking a final long look at the castle. Warlock's Castle.