Nobody Lives for Ever

14

FROST-FREE CITY

The aircraft was very quiet in flight. Only a low rumbling whine from the jets was audible. Bond, who had managed no more than a quick look before boarding, thought it was probably an Aerospatiale Corvette, with its distinctive long nose. The interior was decorated in blue and gold, with six swivel armchairs and a long central table.

Outside there was darkness, with only the occasional pin of light flashing in the distance. Bond guessed they were now high over the Everglades, or turning to make the run in to Key West across the sea.

The initial shock of finding himself flanked by Quinn and Kirchtum had passed very quickly. One learned to react instantly in his job. In this situation he had no option but to go along with Quinn’s instructions: it was his only chance of survival.

There had been a moment’s hesitation when he first felt the gun pressing into his ribs. Then he obeyed, walking calmly between the two big men who kept close beside him, as though making a discreet arrest. Now he was really on his own. The other two had their tickets to Key West, but he had told them to wait for him. They also had all the luggage, and his case contained the weapons – Nannie’s two little automatics, the ASP, and the baton.

A long black limousine with tinted windows stood parked directly outside the exit. Kirchtum moved forward a pace to open the rear door, bent his heavy body and entered first.

‘In!’ Quinn prodded Bond with the gun, almost pushing him into the leather-scented interior and quickly following him so that he was sandwiched between the two men.

The motor was started before the door slammed shut, and the vehicle pulled smoothly away from the kerb. Quinn had the gun out now – a small Makarov, Russian made and based on the German Walther PP series design. Bond recognised it immediately, even in the dim glow thrown into the car from the airport lights. By the same light he could see the driver’s head, like a large, elongated coconut, topped with a peaked cap. Nobody spoke, and no orders were given. The limousine purred on to a slip-road which, Bond guessed, led to the airport perimeter tracks.

‘Not a word, James,’ Quinn whispered, ‘on your life, and on May’s and Moneypenny’s as well.’

They were approaching large gates set into a high chain-link fence.

The car stopped at a security shed and Bond heard the electronic whine as the driver’s window was lowered. A guard approached. The driver offered him a clutch of identity cards and the guard muttered something. The nearside rear window slid down and the guard peered in, looking at the cards in his hand and then glancing in at Quinn, Bond and Kirchtum.

‘Okay,’ he said at last in a gravel drawl. ‘Through the gate and wait for the guide truck.’

They moved forward and stopped, lights dipped. Somewhere ahead of them there was a mighty roar as an aircraft landed, its reverse thrust blanketing all other sounds. Dimmed lights appeared as a small truck performed a neat turn in front of them. It was painted with yellow stripes and a red light revolved on the canopy. The rear carried a large ‘Follow me’ sign.

Keeping behind the truck, the car moved slowly past aircraft of all types – commercial jets being loaded and unloaded, large piston-engined aeroplanes, freighters, small private craft, the insignias ranging from Pan Am, British Airways, and Delta to Datsun and Island City Flying Service. They made for an aircraft that stood apart from the rest near a cluster of buildings on the far side of the field, pulling up so close that Bond thought for a moment they might touch the wing.

For large men, Quinn and Kirchtum moved fast. Like a well-drilled team, Kirchtum left the car almost before it had come to a standstill, while Quinn edged Bond towards the door, so that he was constantly covered from both sides. Once in the open, Kirchtum kept a steel grip on his arm until Quinn was out. Using an arm-lock, they forced him up the steps and into the aeroplane. Quinn’s pistol was now in full view as Kirchtum hauled in the steps and closed the door with a solid thud.

‘That seat.’ Quinn indicated with the pistol. Kirchtum placed handcuffs on each of Bond’s wrists, which he then attached to small steel D-rings in the padded arms of the seat.

‘You’ve done this before,’ Bond said, smiling. There was no edge in showing fear to people like this.

‘Just a precaution. It would be foolish to be forced to use this once we’re airborne.’

Quinn stood clear, the pistol levelled, as Kirchtum looped shackles around Bond’s ankles, and secured them to similar steel D-rings on the lower part of the seat. The engines rumbled into life and seconds later they were moving. There was a short wait as they taxied in line, then the little jet swung on to the runway, burst into full life and roared away, climbing fast.

‘I apologise for the deception, James.’ Quinn was now relaxed and leaning back in his seat with a drink. ‘You see, we thought you might just visit the Mozart, so we stayed prepared – even with the torture paraphernalia on show, and the Herr Doktor looking like an unwilling victim. I admit to one serious error: I should have ordered my outside team to move in after you entered. However, these things happen. The Doktor was excellent in his role of frightened captive, I thought.’

‘Oscar nominee.’ Bond’s expression did not alter. ‘I hope nothing nasty is going to happen to my two lady friends.’

‘I don’t think you need bother yourself about them,’ said Quinn, smiling happily. ‘We sent them a message that you would not be leaving tonight. They think you’re joining them at the Airport Hilton. I expect they’re waiting there for you now. If they do get suspicious, I’m afraid they won’t be able to do much about it. You have a date around lunchtime tomorrow with what the good old French revolutionaries called Madame La Guillotine. I shall not be there to witness it. As I told you, we have orders only to hand you over to SPECTRE. We take the money and see to the release of May and Moneypenny – you can trust me over that. They will be returned unopened. Even though it would have been useful to interrogate Moneypenny.’

‘And where is all this going to take place?’ Bond asked, his voice betraying no concern about his appointment with the guillotine.

‘Oh, quite near Key West. A few miles offshore. Outside the reef. Unfortunately our timing isn’t brilliant – we’ll have to hole up with you until dawn. The channel through the reef is not the easiest to navigate, and we don’t want to end up on a sandbar. But we’ll manage. I promised my superiors I would hand you over and I like to keep my promises.’

‘Especially to the kind of masters you serve,’ Bond replied. ‘Failure isn’t exactly appreciated in the Russian service. At best you’d be demoted, or end up running exercises for trainees; at worst it would be one of those nice hospitals where they inject you with Aminazin – such a pleasant drug. Turns you into a living vegetable. I reckon that’s exactly how you’ll end up.’ He turned to Kirchtum. ‘You too, Herr Doktor. How did they put the arm on you?’

The doctor shrugged.

‘The Klinik Mozart is my whole life, Mr Bond. My entire life. Some years ago we had – how do I put it? A financial embarrassment . . .’

‘You were broke,’ Bond said placidly.

‘So. Ja. Broke. No funds. Friends of Mr Quinn – the people he works for – made me a very good offer. I could carry on my work, which has always been in the interests of humanity, and they would see to the funds.’

‘I can guess the rest,’ Bond cut in. ‘The price was your cooperation. The odd visitor to be kept under sedation for a while. Sometimes a body. Occasionally some surgery.’

The doctor nodded sadly. ‘Yes, all those things. I admit that I did not expect to become involved in a situation like the present one. But Mr Quinn tells me I shall be able to return with no blot on my professional character. Officially I am away for two days. A rest.’

Bond laughed. ‘A rest? You believe that? It can only end up with arrest, Herr Doktor. Either arrest, or one of Mr Quinn’s bullets. Probably the latter.’

‘Stop that,’ Quinn said sharply. ‘The doctor has been a great help. He will be rewarded, and he knows it.’ He smiled at Kirchtum. ‘Mr Bond is using an old, old trick, trying to make you doubt our intentions, attempting to drive a wedge between us. You know how clever he can be. You’ve seen him in action.’

Again the doctor nodded. ‘Ja. The shooting of Vasili and Yuri was not funny. That I did not like.’

‘But you were also clever. You gave Mr Quinn some harmless injection . . .’

‘Saline.’

‘And then you must have followed me.’

‘We were on your track very quickly,’ Quinn said flatly as he glanced towards the window. Outside there was still darkness. ‘But you changed my plans. My people in Paris were supposed to deal with you. It took some very fast and fancy choreography to arrange this, James. But we managed.’

‘You did indeed.’

Bond swivelled his seat, leaning forward to see out of the window. He thought there were lights in the distance.

‘Ah.’ Quinn sounded pleased. ‘There we are. Lights – Stock Island and Key West. About ten minutes to go, I’d say.’

‘And what if I make a fuss when we land?’

‘You won’t make a fuss.’

‘You’re very confident.’

‘I have an insurance. Just as you had with me, because of Tabitha. I really do believe you will do as you’re told to secure the release of May and Moneypenny. It’s the one chink in your armour, James. Always has been. Yes, you’re a cold fish; ruthless. But you’re also an old-fashioned English gentleman at heart. You’d give your life to save a defenceless woman and this time we’re talking of two women – your own ageing housekeeper and your Chief’s Personal Assistant, who has been hopelessly devoted to you for years. People you care for most in the world. Of course you’ll give your life for them. Unhappily, it’s in your nature. Unhappily, did I say? I really meant happily – for us, happily.’

Bond swallowed. Deep down inside he knew that Steve Quinn had played the trump card. He was right. 007 would go to his own death to save the lives of people like May and Moneypenny.

‘There’s another reason why you won’t make a fuss.’ It was hard to detect Quinn’s smile under that bushy beard, and it did not show in his eyes. ‘Show him, Herr Doktor.’

Kirchtum lifted a small case which lay in the magazine rack between the seats. From it he drew out what looked like a child’s space gun made of clear plastic.

‘This is an injection pistol,’ Kirchtum explained. ‘Before we land I shall fill it. Look, you can see the action.’

He drew back a small plunger from the rear, lifted the barrel in front of Bond’s face and touched the tiny trigger. The instrument was no more than seven centimetres long, with about five for the butt. As he touched the trigger, a hypodermic needle appeared from the muzzle.

‘An injection is given in 2.5 seconds.’ The doctor nodded gravely. ‘Very quick. Also the needle is very long. Goes easily through cloth.’

‘You show the least sign of making a fuss, and you get the needle, right?’

‘Instant death.’

‘Oh, no. Instant facsimile heart attack. You’ll come back to us within half an hour, as good as new. SPECTRE want your head. In the final resort, we would kill you with a power tool. But we’d rather deliver your whole body alive and intact. We owe Rahani a few favours, and the poor man hasn’t long to live. Your head is his last request.’

A moment later the pilot came on the intercom system to ask for seatbelts to be fastened and cigarettes extinguished. He announced that they would be landing in about four minutes. Bond watched out of the window as they dropped towards the lights. He saw water and tropical vegetation interspersed with roads and low buildings coming up to meet them.

‘Interesting place, Key West,’ mused Quinn. ‘Hemingway once called it the poor man’s St Tropez. Tennessee Williams lived here too. President Truman established a little White House near what used to be the Naval Base and John F. Kennedy brought the British PM, Harold Macmillan, to visit it. Cuban boat people landed here, but long before that it was a pirates’ and wreckers’ paradise. I’m told it’s still a smugglers’ heaven, and the US Coastguard operates a tight schedule out of here.’

They swept in over the threshold and touched down with hardly a bump.

‘There’s history in this airport as well,’ Quinn continued. ‘First regular US mail flight started from here; and Key West is both the beginning and end of Highway Route One.’ They rolled to a halt, then began to taxi towards a shack-like hut with a veranda. Bond saw a low wall with faded lettering: ‘Welcome to Key West the Only Frost-Free City in the United States’.

‘And they have the most spectacular sunsets,’ Quinn added. ‘Really incredible. Pity you won’t be around to see one.’

The heat hit them like a furnace as they left the aircraft. Even the mild breeze felt as if it was blowing from an inferno.

The departure from the jet was as carefully organised as the boarding, with Kirchtum close enough to use his deadly little syringe at any moment, should Bond alert their suspicion.

‘Smile and pretend to talk,’ muttered Quinn, glancing towards the veranda where a dozen or so people were waiting to welcome passengers off a newly arrived PBA flight. Bond scanned the faces, but recognised nobody. They passed through a small gate in the wall beside the shack, Quinn and Kirchtum pushing him towards another sleek dark automobile. In a few moments, Bond was again seated between the two men. This time the driver was young, in an open-necked shirt and with long blond hair.

‘Y’awl okay?’

‘Just drive,’ Quinn snapped. ‘There’s a place arranged I understand.’

‘Sure thing. Git y’there in no time.’ He drew out on to the road, turning his head slightly. ‘Y’awl mind if’n I have some music playin’?’

‘Go ahead. As long as it doesn’t frighten the horses.’

Quinn was very relaxed and confident. If it had not been for Kirchtum, tense on the other side, Bond would have made a move. But the doctor was wound up like a hair trigger. He would have the hypo into 007 if he moved a muscle. A burst of sound filled the car, a rough voice singing, tired, cynical and sad:

There’s a hole in Daddy’s arm,

Where all the money goes . . .

‘Not that!’ cracked Quinn.

‘Ah’m sorry. I kinda like rock and roll. Rhythm and blues. Man, it’s good music.’

‘I said not that.’

The car went silent, the driver sullen. Bond watched the signs – South Roosevelt Boulevard, a restaurant alive with people eating, Martha’s. There were wooden, clapboard houses, white with fretted gingerbread decorations along the porches and verandas; lights flashing – Motel; No vacancy. Lush tropical foliage lined the road, with the ocean on their right. They appeared to be following a long bend taking them away from the Atlantic. Then they turned suddenly at a sign to Searstown. Bond saw they were in a large shopping area.

The car pulled up beside a supermarket alive with late shoppers and an optometrist’s. Between the two lay a narrow alley.

‘It’s up there. Door on the right. Up above the eye place, where they sell reading glasses. Guess y’awl want me to pick you up.’

‘Five o’clock,’ Quinn said quietly. ‘In time to get to Garrison Bight at dawn.’

‘Y’awl goin’ on a fishin’ trip, then?’

The driver turned round and Bond saw his face for the first time. He was not a young man, as Bond had thought, despite the long blond hair. Half his face was missing, sunken in and patched with skin grafts. He must have sensed Bond’s shock for he looked at him straight with his one good eye, and gave an ugly grimace.

‘Don’t you worry about me none. That’s why I work for these gentlemen here. I got this brand new face in Nam, so I thought I could put it to use. Frightens the hell outa some folks.’

‘Five o’clock,’ Quinn repeated, opening the door.

The routine did not vary. They had Bond out, along the alley, through a door and up one flight of stairs in a few seconds. They had brought him to a bare room. In it were only two chairs and two beds, flimsy curtains and a noisy air-conditioning unit. Again they used the handcuffs and shackles, and Kirchtum sat close to Bond, the hypodermic in his hand, while Quinn went out for food. They ate melon and some bread and ham, washing it down with mineral water. Then Quinn and Kirchtum took turns in guarding Bond, who, resigned, fell asleep with exhaustion.

It was still dark when Quinn shook him awake. He stood over Bond in the bare, functional little bathroom as he tried to fight off the grogginess of travel. After about ten minutes they led him downstairs to the car.

There were few signs of life so early in the morning. The sky looked hard and grey, but Quinn said it was going to be a beautiful day. They came to North Roosevelt Boulevard, then passed a marina on their left with yachts and big powered fishing boats moored. Water appeared on the right as well. Quinn pointed.

‘That’s where we’ll be heading. The Gulf of Mexico. The island’s out on the far side of the reef.’

At the Harbour Lights restaurant sign Bond was hustled out of the car, along the side of the sleeping restaurant and down on to the marina quayside. A tall, muscular man waited beside a large, powered fishing boat with a high laddered and skeletal superstructure above the cabin. The engines were idling.

Quinn and the captain exchanged nods, and they pushed Bond aboard and down into the narrow cabin. Once more the handcuffs and shackles were put on. The noise of the engine rose, and Bond could feel the swell as the craft started out from the quayside, cruising into the marina and under a bridge. As the boat picked up speed, Kirchtum grew calmer. He put away the hypodermic. Quinn joined the captain at the controls.

Five minutes out, they had really started to make way, the boat rolling slightly and bounding, slapping hard down into the water. Everyone appeared to be concentrating on the navigation, and Bond began to think seriously about his predicament. They had spoken of an island outside the reef, and he wondered how long it would take them to reach it. He then concentrated on the handcuffs realising that there was little he could do to get out of them. Unexpectedly, Quinn came down into the cabin.

‘I’m going to gag you and cover you up.’ Then he spoke to Kirchtum and Bond just made out what he was saying. ‘There’s another fishing boat to starboard . . . appears to be in some kind of trouble . . . The captain says we should offer to help . . . they could report us. I don’t want to raise suspicion.’

He pushed a handkerchief into Bond’s mouth and tied another around it, so that, for a moment he thought he would suffocate. Then, after checking the shackles, Quinn threw a blanket over him. In the darkness, Bond listened. They were slowing, rolling a little, but definitely slowing.

Above, he heard the captain shouting, ‘You in trouble?’ Then, a few seconds later, ‘Right, I’ll come aboard, but I have an RV. May have to pick you up on the way back.’

There was a sharp bump, as though they had made contact with the other boat, and then all hell broke loose. Bond lost count after the first dozen shots. There were the cracks of hand guns followed by the stutter of a machine pistol; then a cry, which sounded like Kirchtum, and thumps on the deck above. Then silence, until he heard the sound of bare feet descending into the cabin.

The blanket was hauled back roughly and Bond tried to turn his head, eyes widening as he saw the figure above him. Nannie Norrich had her small automatic in one hand.

‘Well, well, Master James, we do have to get you out of some scrapes, don’t we?’ She turned her head. ‘Sukie, it’s okay. He’s down here, trussed up and oven-ready by the look of it.’

Sukie appeared, also armed. She grinned appealingly.

‘Bondage, they call it, I believe.’

She began to laugh as Bond let off a stream of obscenities which were completely incomprehensible from behind the gag. Nannie wrenched at the handcuffs and shackles. Sukie went aloft again, returning with keys.

‘I hope those idiots weren’t friends of yours,’ said Nannie. ‘I’m afraid we had to deal with them.’

‘What do you mean, “deal”?’ Bond spluttered as the gag came away. She looked so innocent that his blood ran cold.

‘I’m afraid they’re dead, James. All three of them. Stone dead. But you must admit, we were clever to find you.’