Nobody Lives for Ever

5

NANNIE

All things considered, Bond thought, Sukie Tempesta showed that she was an uncommonly cool lady. He dropped the Happi-coat on to the bed, ready to pack later, and caught sight of his naked body in the long mirror. What he saw pleased him, not in any vain way, but because of his obvious fitness: the taut muscles of his thighs and calves, and the bulge of his biceps.

He had showered and shaved before Quinn’s arrival, and now he dressed as he worked out a viable plan to deal with Sukie. He put on casual slacks, his favourite soft leather moccasins and a Sea Island cotton shirt. To hide the 9mm ASP, he threw on a battledress-style grey Oscar Jacobson Alcantara jacket. He placed his case and the two briefcases near the door, checked the gun, and went quickly downstairs, where he settled both his own and Sukie’s accounts. He then went straight up to her room.

Sukie’s Gucci luggage stood in a neat line near the door, which she opened to his knock. She was back in the Calvin Klein jeans, this time with a black silk shirt which looked to Bond like Christian Dior.

Gently he pushed her back into the room. She did not protest, but said simply that she was ready to leave. Bond’s face was set in a serious mask, which made her ask, ‘James, what is it? Something’s really wrong, isn’t it?’

‘I’m sorry, Sukie. Yes. Very serious for me, and it could be dangerous for you too.’

‘I don’t understand . . .’

‘I have to do certain things you might not like. You see, I’ve been threatened . . .’

‘Threatened? How threatened?’ She continued to back away.

‘I can’t go into details now, but it’s clear to me – and – others that there’s a possibility you could be involved.’

‘Me? Involved with what, James? Threatening you?’

‘It is a serious business, Sukie. My life’s at risk, and we met in rather dubious circumstances . . .’

‘Oh? What was dubious about it? Except for those unpleasant young muggers?’

‘It seemed as though I came along at a fortunate moment, and that I saved you from some unpleasantness. Then your car breaks down, conveniently near where I’m staying. I offer you a lift to Rome. Some might see it as a set-up, with me as the target.’

‘But I don’t . . .’

‘I’m sorry, I . . .’

‘You can’t take me to Rome?’ Her voice was level. ‘I understand, James. Don’t worry about it, I’ll find some way, but it does present me with a little problem of my own . . .’

‘Oh, you’re coming with me, maybe even to Rome eventually. I have no alternative. I have to take you, even if it’s as a hostage. I must have a little insurance with me. You’ll be my policy.’

He paused, letting it sink in, then, to his surprise, she smiled and said, ‘Well, I’ve never been a hostage before. It’ll be a new experience.’

She looked down and saw the gun in his hand.

‘Oh, James! Melodrama? You don’t need that. I’m on a kind of holiday anyway. I really don’t mind being your hostage, if it’s necessary.’ She paused, her face registering a fascinated pleasure. ‘It could even be exciting, and I’m all for excitement.’

‘The kind of people I’m up against are about as exciting as tarantulas, and lethal as sidewinders. I hope what’s going to happen now isn’t going to be too nasty for you, Sukie, but I have no other option. I promise you this is no game. You’re to do everything I say, and do it very slowly. I’m afraid I have to ask you to turn around – right around – with your hands on your head.’

He was looking for both a makeshift weapon and one more cunningly concealed. Sukie wore a small cameo brooch at the neck of her shirt. He made her unpin the brooch and throw it gently on to the bed, where her shoulder bag lay. Then he told her to take off her shoes.

He kept the cameo; it looked safe, but he knew technicians could do nasty things with brooch pins. He performed the entire examination deftly with one hand, while he held the ASP well back in the other. The shoes were clean, as was her belt. He apologised for the indignity, but her clothes, and person, were the first priorities. If she carried nothing suspicious he could deal with the luggage later, making sure it was kept out of harm’s way until they stopped somewhere. He emptied the shoulder bag on to the bed. The usual feminine paraphernalia spilled out over the white duvet – including a cheque book, diary, credit cards, cash, tissues, comb, a small bottle of pills, crumpled Amex and Visa receipts, a small Cacharel Anaïs Anaïs spray, lipstick and a gold compact.

He kept the comb, some book matches, a small sewing kit from the Plaza Athénée, the scent spray, lipstick and compact. The comb, book matches and sewing kit were immediately adaptable weapons for close-quarter work. The spray, lipstick and compact needed further inspection. In his time Bond had known scent sprays to contain liquids more deadly than even the most repellent scent, lipsticks to house razor-sharp curved blades, propellants of one kind or another, even hypodermic syringes, and powder compacts that were miniature radios, or worse.

Sukie was more embarrassed than angry about having to strip. Her body was the colour of rich creamed coffee, smooth and regular, the kind of tan you can get only through patience, the right lotions, a correct regimen of sun, and nudity. It was the sort of body that men dreamed of finding alive and wriggling in their beds.

Bond went through the jeans and shirt, making sure there was nothing inserted into linings or stitching. When he was satisfied, he apologised again, told her to get dressed and then call the concierge. She was to use his exact words, saying that the luggage was ready in her room and in Mr Bond’s. It was to be taken straight to Mr Bond’s car.

Sukie did as she was told. As she put down the receiver, she gave a little shake of the head. ‘I’ll do exactly what you tell me, James. You’re obviously desperate, and you’re also undoubtedly a professional of some kind. I’m not a fool. I like you. I’ll do anything, within reason, but I too have a problem.’ Her voice shook slightly, as though the whole experience had unnerved her.

Bond nodded, indicating that she should tell him her problem.

‘I’ve an old school friend in Cannobio, just along the coast . . .’

‘Yes, I know Cannobio, a one-horse Italian holiday resort. Picturesque in a touristy kind of way. Not far.’

‘I’m afraid I told her we’d pick her up on our way through. I was meant to meet her last night. She’s waiting at that rather lovely church on the lakeside – the Madonna della Pietà. She’ll be there from noon onwards.’

‘Can we put her off? Telephone her?’

Sukie shook her head. ‘After I arrived with the car problems, I telephoned the hotel where she was supposed to be staying. That was last night. She hadn’t arrived. I called her again after dinner, and she was waiting there. They were fully booked. She was going in search of somewhere else. You’d said we might be late setting off so I just told her to be at the Madonna della Pietà from twelve noon. I didn’t think of getting her to call back . . .’

She was interrupted by the padrone himself, arriving to collect the luggage.

Bond thanked him, said they would be down in a few minutes, and turned his mind to the problem. There was a big distance to cover, whatever he did. His aim was to get to the Klinik Mozart, where there would be a certain amount of police protection because of the search for May and Moneypenny. He had no wish to go into Italy at all, and from what he could recall of the centre of Cannobio, it was the perfect place for a set-up. The lakeside road and the front of the Madonna della Pietà were always busy, for Cannobio was a thriving industrial centre as well as holidaymakers’ paradise. The square in front of the church was ideal territory for one man, or a motorcycle team, to make a kill. Was Sukie, knowingly or not, putting him on the spot?

‘What’s her name, this old school friend?’ he asked, sharply.

‘Norrich.’ She spelled it out for him. ‘Nannette Norrich. Everyone calls her Nannie. Norrich Petrochemicals, that’s Daddy.’

Bond nodded. He had already guessed. ‘We’ll pick her up but she’ll have to go along with my plans.’ He took her firmly by the elbow, to let her know he was in charge.

Bond knew that the trip to Cannobio would hold him up for only an hour, thirty minutes there, and another thirty back, before he could head off towards the frontier, and Austria. If he took the risk, it would mean two hostages rather than one, and he could position them in the car to make a hit more difficult. There was also comfort in the thought that it was only his head that would gain the prize. Whoever struck would have to do it on a lonely stretch of road, or during a night stop. It was easy enough to sever a human head. You did not even have to be very strong. A flexi-saw – like a bladed garrotte – would do it in no time. What would be essential to accomplish the task was a certain amount of privacy. Nobody would have a go in front of the main church in Cannobio, beside Lake Maggiore.

Outside, the padrone stood, at the rear of the British racing green Mulsanne Turbo, waiting patiently with the luggage. From the corner of his eye, Bond spotted Steve Quinn’s man, who had been standing above the rocks, begin to saunter casually back along the cars towards the Renault. He did not even look in Bond’s direction, but kept his head down, as though searching for something on the ground. He was tall, with the face of a Greek statue that had been exposed to much time and weather.

Bond contrived to keep Sukie between himself and the car, reaching forward from behind her to unlock the boot. When the luggage was stowed, they shook hands with the padrone with due solemnity, and Bond escorted Sukie to the front passenger side.

‘I want you to fasten the seatbelt, then keep your hands in sight on the dashboard,’ he said with a smile.

At the end of the line of cars the Renault’s engine started up. Bond settled in the driving seat of the Bentley.

‘Sukie, please don’t do anything stupid. I promise that I can act much faster than you. Don’t make me do anything I might regret.’

She smiled coyly. ‘I’m the hostage. I know my place. Don’t worry.’

They backed out, headed up the ramp and seven minutes later crossed the Italian frontier without incident.

‘If you haven’t noticed, there’s a car behind us.’ Sukie’s voice wavered slightly.

‘That’s right.’ Bond smiled grimly. ‘They’re babysitting us, but I don’t want that kind of protection. We’ll throw them off eventually.’

She nodded.

He had told her that Nannie would have to be handled carefully. She should not be told anything except that she could go on to Rome under her own steam. Plans had changed and they had to get to Salzburg in a hurry. ‘Leave it to her. Let her make up her own mind. Be apologetic, but try to put her off. Follow me?’

There was a lot of activity going on around the Madonna della Pietà when they arrived. Standing by a small suitcase, looking supremely elegant, was a very tall young woman with hair the colour of a moonless night, pulled back into a severe bun. She wore a patterned cotton dress which the breeze caught for a second, blowing it against her body to reveal the outline of long, slim thighs, rounded belly and well-proportioned hips. She grinned as Sukie called her over to the passenger side of the car. ‘Oh, how super! A Bentley. I adore Bentleys.’

‘Nannie, meet James. We have a problem.’

She explained the situation, just as Bond had instructed her. All the time, he watched Nannie’s calm face – the rather thin features, the dark grey eyes peering out brightly, through granny glasses, full of intelligence. Her eyebrows were unfashionably plucked, giving the attractive features a look of almost permanent sweet expectation.

‘Well, I’m easy,’ Nannie said in a low-pitched drawl, giving the impression that she did not believe a word of Sukie’s tale. ‘It’s a holiday after all – Rome or Salzburg, it matters not. Anyway, I adore Mozart.’

Bond felt vulnerable out in the open, and could not allow the chattering to continue long. His tone implied urgency.

‘Are you coming with us, Nannie?’

‘Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ Nannie had the door open, but Bond stopped her.

‘Luggage in the boot,’ he said a little sharply, then very quietly to Sukie, ‘Hands in sight, like before. This is too important for games.’

She nodded and placed her hands above the dashboard, as Bond got out and watched Nannie Norrich put her case into the boot.

‘Shoulder bag as well, please.’ He smiled his most charming smile.

‘I’ll need it on the road. Why . . .’

‘Please, Nannie, be a good girl. The problems Sukie told you about are serious. I can’t have any luggage in the car. When the time comes, I’ll check your bag and let you have it back. Okay?’

She gave a curious little worried turn of the head, but did as she was told. The Renault, Bond noticed, was parked ahead of them, engine idling. Good, they thought he planned to go on through Italy.

‘Nannie, we’ve only just met and I don’t want you to get any ideas, but I have to be slightly indelicate,’ he said quietly. There were a lot of people around, but what he had to do was unavoidable. ‘Don’t struggle or yell at me. I have to touch you, but I promise you, I’m not taking liberties.’

He ran his hands expertly over her body, using his fingertips and trying not to make it embarrassing for her. He talked as he went through the quick frisk. ‘I don’t know you, but my life’s at risk, so if you get into the car you’re also in danger. As a stranger you could also be dangerous to me. Do you understand?’

To his surprise, she smiled at him. ‘Actually, I found that rather pleasant. I don’t understand, but I still liked it. We should do it again sometime. In private.’

They settled back in the car and he asked Nannie to fasten her seat belt as there would be fast driving ahead. He started the engine again and waited for the right amount of space in the traffic. Then he put the Bentley into reverse, spun the wheel, banged at the accelerator and brake, and slewed the car backwards into a skid, bringing the rear around in a half circle. He roared off, cutting in between a creeping Volkswagen and a truck load of vegetables – much to the wrath of the drivers.

Through the mirror he could see that the Renault had been taken by surprise. He increased speed as soon as the Bentley was through the restricted zone, and began to take the bends and winds of the lakeside road at a dangerous speed.

At the frontier he told the guards that he thought they were being followed by brigands, making much of his diplomatic passport, which he always carried for emergencies. The carabinieri were suitably impressed, called him Eccellenza, bowed to the ladies, and promised to question the occupants of the Renault with vigour.

‘Do you always drive like that?’ Nannie asked from the rear. ‘I suppose you do. You strike me as a fast cars, horses and women kind of fellow. Action man.’

Bond did not comment. Violent man, he thought, concentrating on the driving and leaving Sukie and Nannie to slip into talk of schooldays, parties and men.

There were some difficulties on the journey, particularly when his passengers wanted to use women’s rooms. Twice during the afternoon they stopped at service areas, and Bond positioned the car so that he had a full view of the pay telephones and the women’s room doors. He let them go one at a time, making pleasantly veiled threats as to what would happen to the one left in the car should the other do anything foolish. His own bladder had to be kept under control. Just before starting the long mountainous drive into Austria, they stopped at a roadside café and had some food. It was here that Bond took the chance of leaving the other two alone.

When he returned they both looked entirely innocent and even seemed surprised when he took a couple of benzedrine tablets with his coffee.

‘We were wondering . . .’ Nannie began.

‘Yes?’

‘We were wondering what the sleeping arrangements are going to be when we stop for the night. I mean, you obviously can’t let us out of your sight . . .’

‘You sleep in the car. I drive. There’ll be no stopping at hotels. This is a one-hop run . . .’

‘Very Chinese,’ Sukie muttered.

‘. . . and the sooner we get to Salzburg, the sooner I can release you. The local police will take charge of things after that.’

Nannie spoke up, level-voiced, the tone almost one of admonition. ‘Look, James, we hardly know one another, but you have to understand that, for us, this is a kind of exciting adventure – something we only read about in books. It’s obvious that you’re on the side of the angels, unless our intuition’s gone seriously wrong. Can’t you confide in us just a little? We might be more help to you if we knew some more . . .’

‘We’d better get back to the car,’ Bond said flatly. ‘I’ve already explained to Sukie that it’s about as exciting as being attacked by a swarm of killer bees.’

He knew that Sukie and Nannie were either going through a transition, starting to identify with their captor, or were trying to establish a rapport in order to lull him into complacency. To increase his chances of survival he had to remain detached, and that was not easy with two young women as attractive and desirable as they were.

Nannie gave a sigh of exasperation, and Sukie started to say something, but Bond stopped her with a movement of his hand.

‘Into the car,’ he ordered.

They made good time on the long drag up the twisting Malojapass and through St Moritz, finally crossing into Austria at Vinadi. Just before seven-thirty, having skirted Innsbruck, they were cruising north-east along the A12 autobahn. Within the hour they would turn east on the A8 to Salzburg. Bond drove with relentless concentration, cursing his situation. So beautiful was the day, so impressive the ever-changing landscape that, had things been different, this could have been a memorable holiday indeed. He searched the road ahead, scanning the traffic, then swiftly checked his speed, fuel consumption and the temperature of the engine.

‘Remember the silver Renault, James?’ said Nannie in an almost teasing voice from the rear. ‘Well, I think it’s coming up behind us fast.’

‘Guardian angels,’ Bond breathed. ‘The devil take guardian angels.’

‘The plates are the same,’ Sukie said. ‘I remember them from Brissago, but I think the occupants have changed.’

Bond glanced in the mirror. Sure enough, a silver Renault 25 was about eight hundred metres behind them. He could not make out the passengers. He remained calm; after all, they were only Steve Quinn’s people. He pulled into the far lane, watching from his offside wing mirror.

He was conscious of a tension in the two girls, like game that has sensed the hunter. Fear suddenly seemed to flood the interior of the car, almost tangibly.

The road ahead was an empty, straight ribbon, with grassland curving upwards on either side to outcrops of rock and pine and fir forests. Bond’s eyes flicked to the wing mirror again, and he saw the concentration on the face of the Renault’s driver.

The low red disc of the sun was behind them. Perhaps the silver car was using the old fighter pilot tactic – out of the sun . . . As the Bentley swung for a second, the crimson fire filled the wing mirror. The next moment. Bond was pressing down on the accelerator, feeling the proximity of death.

The Bentley responded as only that machine can, with a surge of power effortlessly pushing them forward. But he was a fraction late. The Renault was almost abreast of them and going flat out.

He heard one of the women shout and felt a blast of air as a rear window was opened. He drew the ASP and dropped it in his lap, then reached towards the switches that operated the electric windows. Somehow he realised that Sukie had shouted for them to get down, while Nannie Norrich had lowered her window with the individual switch.

‘On to the floor!’

He heard his own voice as his window slid down to the pressure of his thumb on the switch and a second blast of air began to circulate within the car. Nannie was yelling from the rear, ‘They’re going to shoot’, and the distinctive barrel of a pump-action sawn-off Winchester showed for a split second from the rear window of the Renault.

Then came the two blasts, one sharp and from behind his right shoulder, filling the car with a film of grey mist bearing the unmistakable smell of cordite. The other was louder, but farther away, almost drowned by the engine noise, the rush of wind into the car and the ringing in his own ears.

The Mulsanne Turbo bucked to the right as though some giant metal boot-tip had struck the rear with force; at the same time there was a rending clattering noise, like stones hitting them. Then another bang came from behind him.

He saw the silver car to their left, almost abreast of them, a haze of smoke being whipped from the rear where someone crouched at the window, with the Winchester trained on the Bentley.

‘Down, Sukie!’ Bond yelled. It was like shouting at a dog, he thought, his voice rising to a scream as his right hand came up to fire through the open window. He aimed two rounds accurately at the driver.

There was a lurching sensation and a grinding as the sides of the two cars grated together, then drifted apart again, followed by another crack from the rear of the car.

They must have been moving at 100 kph, and Bond knew he had almost lost control of the Bentley as it swerved across the road. He touched the brakes and felt the speed bleed off as the front wheels mounted the grass verge. There was a sliding sensation, then a rocking bump as they stopped. ‘Get out!’ Bond shouted. ‘Out! On the far side! Use the car for cover!’

When he reached the relative safety of the car’s side he saw Sukie had followed him, and was lying as though trying to push herself into the earth. Nannie, on the other hand, was crouched behind the boot, her cotton skirt hitched up to show a stocking top and part of a white suspender belt. The skirt had hooked itself on to a neat, soft leather holster, on the inside of her thigh, and she held a small .22 pistol in a two-handed grip, pointing across the boot.

‘The law are going to be very angry,’ Nannie shouted. ‘They’re coming back. Wrong side of the motorway.’

‘What the hell . . .’ Bond began.

‘Get your gun and shoot at them,’ Nannie laughed. ‘Come on, Master James, Nannie knows best.’