Ichabod Sexbeast posted:

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Later Bond felt that he must have looked like a ninny, standing there in M’s office, jaw dropped, staring at the girl. She was something to stare at, even dressed in the casual denim skirt and shirt. Her face, like her brown eyes, showed a tranquillity which, Bond sensed, belied a fast-working mind — accurate and deadly as the body. The girl was an expert. Indeed she should be, when one considered her father.

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‘Well,’ was all Bond could muster.

Cedar’s face blossomed into a smile that reminded him, almost painfully, of his old friend Felix. It was a devil-may-care look, one eyebrow raised as if to say, get it right or go to hell.

M grunted. ‘You’ve not met Miss Leiter before, then, 007?’ M still spoke of Bond as 007, even though the famous Double-O Section with its licence to kill had long been disbanded.

Bond had known Felix was married, but when they had worked together, his old C.I.A. friend — later turned private investigator — had never spoken of his wife or children.

‘No,’ Bond replied somewhat tersely, for the full implication had just hit him. ‘How is Felix?’

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Cedar’s eyes clouded slightly, as though she had suffered a quick physical pain. When she spoke, the voice was low, husky and without a hint of what the British think of as an American accent. Mid-Atlantic, they would call it.

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‘Daddy’s fine. They’ve fixed him up with the latest thing in artificial limbs.’ Her momentary sadness disappeared, and the smile returned. ‘He’s got an incredible new hand, says it can do anything. Spends a lot of time shooting and practising quick-draw techniques. I’m sure he’d want me to say hello.’

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In a split second, Bond relived that time in his life he would rather banish into oblivion — the time when Felix had lost an arm and half a leg, as well as suffering other damage which called for years of work by plastic surgeons. James Bond often blamed himself for Felix Leiter’s predicament, though they had both been after a black gangster whose sadistic madness was almost unique. Buonaparte Ignace Gallia: Mr Big. In any case, as Felix would have been the first to admit, he was lucky to be alive at all after the shark attack engineered by Mr Big; while Bond took consolation in the fact that, in the end, he had put the gangster away for good — and in the most unpleasant way possible, letting the punishment fit the crime.

Quickly, Bond came out of his reverie, catching up on Cedar Leiter’s last sentence: ‘. . . he’d want me to say hello.’ She cocked her head. ‘If he knew I was here.’

M grunted once more. ‘I think we’d better get down to business, 007. Miss Leiter is a sleeper, just brought to life. She arrived in the early hours.’ He hesitated, with a slight frown of displeasure. ‘On my doorstep. I’ve listened to what she had to tell me: Chief-of-Staff’s just checking her out now, with a cipher through the U.S. Embassy.’

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Bond asked if he could sit, and received a tense nod from M. ‘I’ve already been through it. Miss Leiter will put you in the picture,’ M continued.

‘Oh, please call me Cedar, sir . . .’ She broke off at M’s withering look, realising that she had made the gaffe of all time. M strongly disapproved of easy familiarity, particularly in Service matters.

‘Start, Miss Leiter,’ M snapped.

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Cedar’s career had begun, when she was eighteen, as a secretary in the State Department. Within a year she was approached by the Central Intelligence Agency. ‘I suppose it was because of my father.’ She did not smile this time. ‘But I was warned that he was never to know.’ She kept her job at State, but went through a comprehensive course during vacations, weekends, and on certain evenings.

‘They didn’t want me active. That was made clear from the start. I was to be trained and take regular refresher courses, but to keep my job at State. They specifically told me that I’d eventually be called.

‘Well, the call came last week. I suppose they keep tabs on you. I was planning a short trip to Europe. As it’s turned out, it’s an official trip, and I’ve been used because I’m not what you call a “face”.’ Cedar meant that she was unknown to any of the world’s intelligence communities. ‘There’s one key word that M has to relay to Langley, and a key word in response, to show I’m on the level — I guess that’s what we’re waiting to clear now.’

M nodded, adding that he had no doubt Miss Leiter was ‘on the level’, as she put it. Certainly the documents, and the request she had brought made sense.

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M glanced at the papers in his hand and rattled off the details of Bismaquer’s life and background: Born 1919, New York City. Only son of mixed parentage, German and English. Both American citizens. Made his first million before the age of twenty, multi-millionaire within three years. Avoided military service during the Second World War by nature of being classified ‘undesirable’ — ‘He was, apparently, a firm and convinced member of the American Nazi Party. Something he has since tried to keep quiet, but with little success.’ M made a noise which could only be interpreted as a sign of disgust. ‘Sold out all his business interests, at great profit, in the early 1950s and has lived like a Renaissance prince ever since. Rarely seen away from his own principality, as it were . . .’

‘His own what?’ Bond frowned.

‘Figure of speech, 007. Miss Leiter will explain.’

Cedar Leiter took a deep breath.

‘Bismaquer owns 150 square miles of what was once desert, about eighty miles southwest of Amarillo, Texas; and M is right to call it his principality. He’s irrigated the area, built on it, and virtually sealed it off. No roads run into Rancho Bismaquer. You get in by one of two ways: there’s a small airstrip, and he has his own private mono-rail system. There’s a closed station fifteen miles out of town — Amarillo, that is — and you have to be very well connected with Mr Bismaquer to take a ride on the mono-rail. If you’re really desirable you can take your own car — they have car transporters on the rail system, and there are roads out at the ranch; but within the compound. It’s a hell of a place — huge house; auxiliary buildings; automobile race track; horses; fishing; everything your heart desires.’

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‘You’ve been there?’

‘No, but I’ve seen all the pictures — from the satellites, and the high-fly reconnaissance. Langley has a 3-D mock-up. They showed it to me as part of my briefing. I have photographs with me. The whole area — all hundred and fifty square miles — is heavily fenced off, and Bismaquer has his own security outfit.’

‘So what’s he done wrong?’ Bond took out his gunmetal cigarette case, looking at M for approval. M just nodded and began to load his pipe. Cedar refused a cigarette. ‘What’s he done wrong? Apart from making a mint of money.’

‘That’s the problem.’ Cedar looked uncertainly at M.

‘Oh, you can go ahead, Miss Leiter. 007’s got to know it all before we finish.’

‘Until a few months ago it was all very vague,’ Cedar continued, folding her legs under her on the leather buttoned chair. M looked towards the ceiling as though appealing to the deities for good manners, and posture, in the girl. ‘Politically, Bismaquer’s always been suspect, but nobody’s apparently worried too much, because he stays so far from the action. There is very firm evidence that he’s — how do you put it? — run with the hare and hunted with the hounds?’

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Bond nodded. ‘That’s how Bismaquer’s operated over the years — looking for an “in” — a way to be accepted for political office. Nobody’s ever taken him up.’ She laughed, and Bond was reminded again of Felix. ‘They’ve taken his money, but not him. In the Watergate backlash, it came out that money from Bismaquer went into the famous slush fund. Not peanuts, either. But successive administrations have kept him at bay.’

‘Reasons?’

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She gave a little shrug, as though to say it was obvious. ‘There is also evidence that Bismaquer has been searching for a way into any administration, with a view to making a takeover bid.’

It was Bond’s turn to laugh. ‘Take over what? The United States Government?’

‘I know it must sound far-fetched, but that’s exactly what the feeling has been.’ Cedar looked at him coolly. ‘You think some of those Arabs, and their retinues, are wealthy? Well, there are families in Texas who do live like royalty. There are a few — like in any country — who live with dangerous fantasy. When you combine fantasy with immense wealth . . .’

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Both Bond and M nodded, taking her point.

‘The Nazi ideology still in him?’ Bond blew a stream of smoke towards the ceiling.

‘That’s what the Agency thinks.’

‘But a nutter like that can’t be really dangerous unless . . .’

‘Unless he’s doing something. Yes?’ Cedar looked directly at Bond. ‘Yes, I agree, but there has been trouble — or a hint of it. Bismaquer’s received a large number of very odd visitors at the ranch over the last year. He’s also increased security, and enlarged his staff.’

Bond sighed, looking at M for help — ‘This is crazy. A fellow living out his own fantasies . . .’

‘Hear her out, 007,’ M said quietly.

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‘He’s up to something, all right. The F.B.I. were monitoring him, checking on the visitors and the equipment that went to the ranch. They decided to pass some of their findings on to the Internal Revenue Service. They in turn came up with some possible tax dodges. That gave the I.R.S., and the F.B.I., something to work on. Last January, four agents — two from each branch — went in to try and talk with Bismaquer. They disappeared. The F.B.I. sent in two more. They did not come back. So the cops in Amarillo called on him and carried out an investigation. Friend Bismaquer knew nothing, could tell them nothing. No evidence. So the cops came out, and the Agency sent a girl in. They did not hear from her again.

‘Then, a week or so back, a body turned up in some marshland near Baton Rouge, Louisiana. It was kept quiet — not a whisper from the media. Apparently the corpse was in a bad state, but they ID’d it as the Company girl. Since then, all the bodies have turned up, near the same place. Two can’t be identified, but the others have been — by their teeth mostly. Every officer who set out to nail something on Markus Bismaquer, in Texas, has turned up dead in Louisiana.’

‘And that’s our business?’ Bond did not like the sound of it. Bismaquer seemed like a psychopathic maniac, with money to burn, a private army, and a king-sized case of folie de grandeur.

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‘Very much so.’ Cedar Leiter looked at M. ‘Will you show him, sir?’

M delved among the papers neatly stacked in front of him, extracted one, and passed it over to Bond.

It was a clear photostat of a torn fragment of paper, the typewritten words plainly visible. Bond’s face darkened as he read:

ans should, of course, be destroyed. But he wished
make certain you had full knowledge of our substan-l backing, world-wide.
The initial thrust will most telling in Europe, and the Mid-East.
But,
ntually, it will leave the United States wide pen. With careful manipulation
we can successful
ivide and rule — or at least
I look forward to our next meeting.

Then the scrawled, but plainly decipherable, signature:

Blofeld

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Bond felt a clawing at his intestines. ‘Where . . . ?’ he began.

‘In the rotting lining of our C.I.A. girl’s clothes. Taken from the body,’ Cedar answered, her voice level. ‘The analysts at Langley think Bismaquer’s working in conjunction with a terrorist organisation known as SPECTRE. I was told you are an expert, Mr Bond . . .’

‘Blofeld’s dead.’ Bond was equally cool.

‘Unless, 007,’ M removed the pipe from his mouth, ‘unless there was progeny? Or a brother? Or someone else? You’ve spent considerable time convincing me that SPECTRE’s active again, and behind these wretched hijackings. Now there comes evidence that a Blofeld, of some kind, is still around and consorting with a very rich, mad Texan. That piece of paper’ — he gestured towards the photostat — ‘suggests that Bismaquer, and SPECTRE, are embarking on some kind of venture that may set the world ablaze. God knows, there’s enough danger of that with the governments, unrest, political ineptitude, recession, and the draining of resources — on an official level. Some big freelance operation could be catastrophic; and we already know, from past experience, that SPECTRE can cause international problems.’

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‘Yes.’ Bond already felt the adrenalin stirring. ‘Yes, of course I’ll go. But I’ve a couple of questions for Miss Leiter. What’s Bismaquer’s marital status?’

‘Married three times,’ she answered. ‘First two died. Natural causes — an automobile accident and a brain tumour. His present wife’s considerably younger than him. Stunning, elegant: Nena Bismaquer, formerly Nena Clavert. French by birth. Lived in Paris, where she first met Bismaquer.’

‘Can we check if that’s absolutely snow white?’

M nodded, giving Tanner a quick glance — an order without words.

‘And the second question?’ Cedar unwound her legs.

‘How did Bismaquer make his first million? I presume the rest followed by careful investment.’

‘Ice cream.’ Cedar grinned. ‘He was the first great ice cream king. Came up with things you’d never believe. One of the big chains finally bought him out, but it’s still a passion with him. He even has a lab out at the ranch. Apparently he’s determined to find a completely new, untried method of making the stuff. Always coming up with elaborate recipes and flavours.’

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M cleared his throat. ‘Getting close is going to be the problem, that’s obvious.’

‘Apart from his wife and ice cream, Bismaquer has one other weak point,’ Cedar offered.

They looked at her expectantly.

‘Prints. Rare prints. He has a terrific collection — or so the information goes. And it really is a weakness. I understand the top brass at Langley interrogated one of the few clean people ever to get into, and out of, Rancho Bismaquer in recent years. He was a well-known dealer in rare prints.’

‘Know anything about rare prints, 007?’ M looked cheerful for the first time since Bond had entered the office.

‘Not at the moment, sir.’ Bond lit another cigarette. ‘But I’ve got a feeling I’m going to learn quite quickly.’

‘So is Miss Leiter.’ M allowed himself a rare smile as he reached for the telephone.

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‘Know anything about rare prints, 007?’ M looked cheerful for the first time since Bond had entered the office.

‘Not at the moment, sir.’ Bond lit another cigarette. ‘But I’ve got a feeling I’m going to learn quite quickly.’

‘So is Miss Leiter.’ M allowed himself a rare smile as he reached for the telephone.

Runcible Cat posted:

Boo, I wanted them to go in undercover as Ben and Jerry. Or cunning industrial espionage agents selling the secret Haagen-Dasz recipes.

Booooo I say!

chitoryu12 posted:

Don't worry, Bond gets a disguise in this book!

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James Bond was always amazed by New York. Other people said it was getting worse, going downhill fast. They talked about how dirty and dangerous it was. Yet, every time Bond was sent there on an assignment, he found New York little changed from when he first knew it. Certainly, there were more buildings, and — like every city — more places you kept away from at night. But there was no denying that, as a city, it gave him more of an emotional charge than his beloved London.

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This time, though, he was not in New York City as James Bond. His passport was in the name of Professor Joseph Penbrunner, whose occupation was listed as art dealer. Cedar Leiter had also changed her name — to Mrs Joseph Penbrunner — and the couple had received attention from the media: M and his Chief-of-Staff had already seen to that.

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The evening of Cedar Leiter’s arrival in London, Bond had taken her from the headquarters building to a safe house in a Kensington mews, one easily observed by the team of nursemaids assigned to them. Bill Tanner had arrived within the hour to give the pair a quick rundown on the cover chosen for them. Cedar, being unknown in the trade, needed no disguise; but Bond would have to undergo some changes in appearance, and Tanner had brought along a few ideas.

Disguise, as Bond knew well enough, was best when kept to the minimum — a change of hairstyle, some new mannerism in a walk, contact lenses, maybe the fattening of cheeks with rubber pads (a device not often used as it causes difficulty in eating and drinking), spectacles, or a different mode of dress. These were the easiest things, and, on that first night, Bond learned that he would be equipped with a greying moustache, heavy-framed glasses — with clear lenses — together with a careful thinning, and complete greying, of the hair. It was also suggested that he develop a scholarly stoop and slow walk, as well as a rather pompous style of speech.

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For the next few days, Bond travelled straight to the Kensington safe house each morning to work with Cedar.

M brought in a small, humourless cipher of a man, an expert in prints, especially rare English work. His name was never mentioned. The crash course he gave Bond and Cedar made them at least superficially knowledgeable in the subject.

Within the week they learned that from the early, simple woodcuts of Caxton until the middle of the seventeenth century, there were no English printmakers of any stature. Real brilliance came from the Continent, with masters like Dürer, Lucas van Leyden, and the like. They were tutored in Holbein the Younger, the first English copper plates of John Shute, and on into Hollar, Hogarth and his contemporaries, through the so-called Romantic Tradition, up to the revival and high standards of etching, and print-making, of the nineteenth century.

On the third day, M came to Kensington, asking that their instructor concentrate on Hogarth. The reason was revealed that night, when M turned up again, with Bill Tanner and a pair of his personal watchdogs in tow.

‘Well, I think we’ve done it,’ M announced, seating himself in the most comfortable chair and wrinkling his nose in a gesture of distaste at the wallpaper. Like all Service safe houses, the place had the bare amenities of a low-rated hotel.

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‘Two things,’ M went on. ‘Nena Bismaquer née Clavert appears clean. Secondly, you, Professor Penbrunner, are not in good odour with certain people in the art world. Tomorrow the Press could well go mad. They are, in fact, searching for you right now.’

‘And what am I supposed to have done?’ Bond felt distinctly wary.

‘Not much.’ M resumed his most professional voice. ‘You’ve come across a set of hitherto unknown, signed Hogarth prints, not unlike “The Rake’s Progress”, or “The Harlot’s Progress”, come to that. Six in all, beautifully executed and entitled “The Lady’s Progress” — causing a stir, I can tell you. They’ve been fully authenticated. You’ve been trying to keep it quiet, but the cat’s out of the bag now. The story goes that you’re not even putting them on offer in England but taking them to the United States. Oh, there will be questions in the House, no doubt.’

Bond chewed his lip. ‘And the prints?’

‘Beautiful forgeries,’ said M, beaming. ‘Very hard to prove otherwise, and they’ve cost the Service a mint. They’ll be brought in tomorrow, and I’ll see the Press are tipped off just before you leave for New York next week.’

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‘Then I’ve got one more favour to ask.’

‘Ask, and it just might be given.’

‘The Silver Beast.’ Bond looked straight into M’s eyes, noting the flicker of doubt. ‘The Silver Beast’ was the nickname members of the Service had given to Bond’s personal car — the Saab 900 Turbo: his own property, with the special technology built into it at his expense. Jibes about it being Bond’s ‘toy’ received only a polite smile from 007; and he knew that Major Boothroyd, the Armourer, had constantly sniffed around the machine in an attempt to discover all its secrets: the hidden compartments, tear gas ducts, and new refinements recently built into the bullet-proofed vehicle. Even Q’ute, doubtless put up to it by Boothroyd, had tried a Mata Hari on Bond to wheedle out the secrets. At the time, 007 had merely slapped her playfully on the bottom, and said she should not meddle. Now he was about to place what could be his salvation in M’s hands.

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‘What about the Silver Beast?’

‘I need it in America, sir. I don’t want to be at the mercy of public transport.’

M gave a fleeting smile. ‘I can arrange for you to hire a car — with the proper left-hand drive as well.’

‘That’s not the same, and you know it, sir.’

‘And you know your Saab’s not a Service vehicle. Heaven knows what you’ve got hidden in that thing . . .’

‘I’m sorry, but I need that car and the documentation, sir,’ Bond retorted.

M thought, his brow creased, ‘Have to sleep on it. Let you know tomorrow.’ Sucking on his pipe, and grumbling under his breath, M left.

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Professor and Mrs Joseph Penbrunner’s arrival with their Saab had, in fact, been quite something. With his voice changed to a donnish, pompous, and rather plummy timbre, Bond neatly parried the media’s questions at New York’s JFK airport: the media had ‘assumed’ he was selling the newly-discovered Hogarth prints in America. Well, he was saying nothing yet. No, he did not have a particular buyer in mind; this was a personal visit to America. No, he did not have the prints with him, but yes, they were already, he could reveal, in New York.

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Privately, the disguised Bond was pleased with the vocal tones which he had based, from long memory, on those of his old housemaster during those two unfortunate halves at Eton. The man had been a pain — in all senses — to Bond, and now he took delight in mocking him. At the same time, Bond made certain Professor and Mrs Penbrunner would hit the evening news as well as the headlines by his turning crusty and rude. The media were not really interested in art, he said, only the trouble they could stir up. ‘When it all comes down to it,’ he added, pulling Cedar through the throng, ‘you fellows’ll only be concerned with the price. Dollars, dollars and more dollars. All you’re after — the price.’

‘That means you are here to make a sale, Professor?’ one of the contingent asked sharply.

‘That’s my business.’

At Loew’s Drake Hotel on 56th and Park, the briefcase awaited them. Bond unpacked carefully, quickly separating the prints from the weaponry. The prints would go to the hotel safe. As for the hardware? Well, he would carry the VP70, while the knives went into the specially sprung compartments — made years ago by Q Branch — in his own briefcase. Bond was so engrossed in sorting out these matters, that he failed to notice the coolness which had started to build, like a weather front, around Cedar.

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During the days in the Kensington safe house she had insisted on calling him plain ‘Bond’. When he had politely, and with his usual charm, asked her to address him as James, Cedar flatly refused. ‘I know you and my father were buddies,’ she had said, not looking at him, ‘but we’re into a professional relationship now. I call you Bond — except in public when we’re playing husband and wife. You call me Leiter.’

James Bond had laughed. ‘Okay, you can keep it like that. But I’m afraid I shall go on calling you Cedar.’

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On returning from depositing the prints, Bond found her standing in the middle of the room, arms folded and foot tapping — a most attractive posture, whether she intended it to be or not.

‘What’s up?’ he asked breezily.

‘What d’you think’s up?’

Bond shrugged. A creature of habit, he had started to unpack in the usual way, even dumping his towelling robe on the large double bed. ‘Haven’t a clue.’

‘That, for one,’ pointing out the robe. ‘We haven’t even settled who’s going to use the bed and who’s sleeping on the couch. As far as I’m concerned, Mr James Bond, the marriage is over once we’re in private.’

‘Well, of course I take the couch.’ Then, heading for the bathroom, Bond flung over his shoulder, ‘Don’t worry, Cedar, you’ll be safe as a nun with me. And you can take the bed every time. I’ve always preferred to live rough anyway.’

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He could sense her petulance behind him, but when he came out, Cedar still stood by the bed, looking almost contrite. ‘I’m sorry, James. I’m really sorry to have thought that of you. My Dad was right. You’re a gentleman, in the real sense of the word.’

Bond did not blush, even though ‘gentleman’ was scarcely a word ladies used to describe him.

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‘Come on, then, Cedar. Let’s go out and have a good time — or at least have dinner. I know a place not far from here.’

They walked to the elegant Le Périgord, on East 52nd.

‘If you want French food in this city, you do get the authentic thing here,’ Bond told Cedar, not even noticing the slight tilt of her eyebrows, or the smile that crossed her face, on hearing an Englishman telling her, American born and bred, about the best places to eat.

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She admitted he was right, though, for the meal could not have been bettered — although Bond chose the simplest of dishes: asperges de Sologne à la Blésoise — plump and tender asparagus in a sauce of cream, lemon and orange rind, with a dash of Grand Marnier, mixed into a hollandaise base — poached fillets of sole au champagne; and a mouth-melting tarte de Cambrai, made with pears.

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Sharing a bottle of Dom Pérignon ’69 — which Bond pronounced ‘safe’ — Cedar relaxed and began to enjoy herself, experiencing as she did so a strange sensation. For though Bond did not once slip out of character as Joseph Penbrunner, she thought she could see the man behind the disguise, the man her father had spoken of so often: the blue, unforgettable eyes; the dark, clean-cut face which had always reminded her father of Hoagy Carmichael in his younger days; the hard, almost cruel mouth which could soften so unexpectedly. A magnetic attraction, that was the only phrase for what she felt, and she couldn’t but wonder how many others had felt it before her.

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The meal over, they walked back to the Drake, collected the room key and took the elevator up to the third floor.

The three heavily-built men in sharp, neatly-cut suits, converged on the couple as the elevator doors closed behind them. Before Bond could even reach inside his jacket to snatch at the butt of the VP70, a hand closed around his wrist, while another removed the pistol.

‘We’ll go quietly to the room, honh, Professor,’ one of them said. ‘No problems. We’re just delivering an invitation from somebody who wants to see you, okay?’

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The work Cedar and Bond had done together, at the Kensington safe house, included devising a series of signals and moves to be used in a situation such as this. Bond nodded towards the heavy who had spoken, scratched his right temple and coughed. To Cedar this meant, ‘go along with them, but watch for my lead.’

‘No problems, honh?’ The spokesman was the largest of the three men, a few inches taller than Bond, with the muscular frame and barrel chest of a weight-lifter. The others looked equally hard and fit. Professional hoods, Bond thought, professional and experienced.

The big man had taken the room key from Bond. Now he calmly opened their door and ushered the couple inside. A quick hard shove propelled Bond into a chair and hands which felt like twin monkey wrenches held his shoulders from behind. Cedar was treated in similar fashion.

It was a moment before Bond noticed the fourth man, standing by the window, occasionally glancing down into the street. He must have been in the room already as they entered. Bond recognised him at once as the slim athletic man with a neat military moustache, looking altogether overdressed in a maroon tuxedo, who had approached him earlier in the hotel lobby and pressed a gold-edged card into his hand. The man had introduced himself as Mike Mazzard, had said something about being at the press reception at the airport and wanted a private talk about the prints. Bond had been rather brusque and brushed aside the suggestion of a quiet drink at some casino or other, taking the man for a journalist after an exclusive interview — though he hadn’t mentioned a paper. Bond hadn’t even looked at the card properly but simply pushed it into his pocket saying that he wouldn’t be seeing anyone until they had had a night’s rest.

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‘So, Professor,’ said the big man, who had taken a position in the centre of the room and was idly tossing the VP70 from hand to hand like a gorilla playing with a stone. ‘You’re carrying a piece, honh? D’ya know how to use it?’

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Bond, still in character, let out a pompous splutter, meant to convey outrage. ‘Of course I know how to use it,’ he blustered. ‘Let me tell you that in the War . . .’

‘What war would that be, friend?’ croaked the man holding him. ‘The American Revolution?’ The three heavies brayed with laughter.

‘I was an officer in the Second World War,’ Bond said with dignity. ‘I’ve seen more action than . . .’

‘The Second World War was a long time ago, friend,’ the big man interrupted, weighing the VP70 in his hand directly in front of Bond. ‘This is a pretty lethal piece you got here. Why’re you carrying it anyway?’

‘Protection,’ snapped Bond in his best Penbrunner manner.

‘Yeah, I figured that. But protection from what?’

‘Muggers. Thieves. Ruffians like you. People intending to steal from us.’

‘When’re you going to learn some manners, Joe Bellini?’ said the cool, measured voice from the window. ‘We’re here with an invitation, not to put Professor Penbrunner through a third degree in his own room. Remember?’

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‘Steal from you? We’re not here to steal from you,’ the heavy man called Bellini went on with feigned politeness, his face displaying affronted innocence. ‘You got some pictures, right?’

‘Pictures?’

‘Yeah, some kinda special pictures.’

‘Prints, Joe.’ The man by the window spoke in a more commanding manner.

‘Yeah, prints. Thanks, Mr Mazzard. You got some prints by a guy called Ho-something.’

‘Ho-garth, Joe,’ prompted Mazzard without taking his eyes off the street below.

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‘I own some Hogarth prints,’ Bond said firmly. ‘Owning them and having them aren’t quite the same thing.’

‘You got them here, we happen to know,’ Joe Bellini said with mock patience. ‘In the hotel safe.’

Mike Mazzard, at the window, turned to face Bond, who now realised that he was by far the most dangerous of the four. He carried himself with a certain sleekness and authority.

‘Let’s get it straight,’ he said. ‘No one’s going to hurt either of you. We just want you to understand the situation. We’re here to represent Mr Bismaquer, who wants to see those Hogarth prints. Call it an invitation. But he doesn’t figure on waiting till tomorrow for an answer. You got his card — the one I gave you in the lobby. I guess he wants to make you an offer . . .’

Joe Bellini chuckled. ‘An offer he can’t refuse, honh.’

Mazzard was not amused. ‘Be quiet, Joe. It’s a straight offer. All you have to do is call the front desk and get them to send up the prints, and then we can get it moving.’

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Bond shook his head. ‘Can’t be done,’ he said with a smile. ‘I have one key. They have the other. As in a bank. The prints are in a safety deposit box,’ he lied. ‘No one but the duty officer and myself can get at them. Not even my wife . . .’

With relief, Bond congratulated himself on his last-minute change of mind, when he had decided that the prints would be even safer in the Saab’s secret compartment, especially if they needed to leave in a hurry.

quote:

‘Like Mr Mazzard says,’ Joe Bellini went straight on, all politeness now gone, ‘we don’t want to hurt nobody. But if you don’t co-operate, then Louis and the Kid here’ — indicating the man holding Bond — ‘can get very unpleasant with your little lady.

Mazzard left the window, walked around Joe, who still toyed with the VP70, and halted in front of Bond.

‘Professor Penbrunner. May I suggest you and Joe here take a walk downstairs, collect the prints, then we can all get to Kennedy. Mr Bismaquer has sent his own private jet to collect you, specially. He had hoped you’d join him for dinner. It’s a little late for that now. But we can make up for lost time, and you and Mrs Penbrunner can still get a good night’s rest at the ranch. You’d be more comfortable there than at this dump, I can assure you. Now, what d’you say?’

quote:

‘Look here, Mazzard,’ Bond spluttered. ‘This is an outrage! I already told you earlier, we are not making any engagements before tomorrow. If you really represent the man — Bismaquer, did you say his name was . . .?’

‘Save it for posterity,’ interrupted Bellini, ‘and let’s split. And don’t try anything stupid.’ He moved across to Cedar, and, with a casual flick of his hand, tore her dress from neck to waist, revealing the fact that she wore no brassière.

‘Nice,’ breathed Louis, looking down over the shoulder he still held in a firm grip. ‘Very nice.’

quote:

‘Cut it out,’ commanded Mazzard. ‘There’s no call for that sort of thing. I am sorry, Professor, but you see, Mr Bismaquer isn’t used to having no for an answer. Now, I’ll collect your things together while you and Joe get the prints. We can be at Kennedy and away sharp if we get moving now.’

quote:

Bond nodded. ‘All right,’ he said quietly, disconcerted because, for a second or so, he too found it impossible to take his eyes from Cedar’s partially revealed breasts. ‘But my wife will need to change. We can collect the prints on the way out . . .’

quote:

‘We’ll get the prints now,’ Mazzard said flatly, brooking no further argument. ‘Stop waving the Professor’s gun about, Joe. Put it away in the closet, you’ve got your own.’

Joe Bellini produced a small revolver from his coat. Having shown Bond that he was armed, he pocketed his own gun again and placed the VP70 on the bedside table.

Mazzard nodded to the Kid and the twin wrenches relaxed on Bond’s shoulders. Bond moved his arms gingerly, trying to restore the circulation as quickly as possible. At the same time, he gave a small cough and flicked an imaginary thread from his lapel — the body language for Cedar to be ready. Aloud he said he would need his briefcase.

‘My key’s in it.’ He gestured to where the case stood beside the collapsible steel and canvas luggage rack.

Mazzard picked up the briefcase, weighed it, and gave it a couple of quick upward jerks of the hand. Satisfied, he handed the briefcase over to Bond. ‘Just the key, and go along with Joe.’

The case was a version of his original elaborate Swaine & Adeney bag, modified by Q’ute for 007’s use on this present operation. Its main features — a more effective device based on one of the hidden compartments in the Bond original — were two spring-loaded slim compartments sewn into the inner lining on the right-hand side. At a setting of treble three on the left tumblers, and treble two on the right, the springs would operate at five-second intervals, delivering the handles of Bond’s Sykes-Fairbairn knives through the bottom of the case.

quote:

As he took the briefcase on to his lap, Bond assessed the situation. They were certainly in a tight spot, for it now dawned on Bond that not only was there no option to complying over the night safety deposit box, but neither could he allow these hoods to discover the secrets of the Saab. For a fleeting moment, he considered the possibility of getting rid of Joe before they reached the car. Dealing with one in the open would be much easier than trying to tackle four in the confined room. But what then would happen to Cedar? If he raised an alarm, who could tell what they would do to her? He couldn’t risk it. The alternative — turning the tables here and now on the four — seemed against all the odds. Could he rely on swift action from Cedar? A glance in her direction, a fractional meeting of the eyes, told him she was ready.

Mazzard was nearest to him and would have to go first, Bond decided, carefully turning the left-hand tumblers to treble three, then twisting the briefcase sideways so that two slim concealed knife apertures lay directly over his right thigh. Once Mazzard was taken out, he must tackle Joe Bellini and trust to luck and surprise for the other two. It all depended on three things: his own accuracy, Cedar’s readiness, and how quickly the Kid moved.

quote:

He shifted the case slightly, then turned the right-hand tumblers to treble two. There was no sound as Bond moved the case again, sliding his hand to the underside ready to receive the first knife after the initial five-second delay. He felt the handle slip down into his right hand, and, with the knowledge that he only had five seconds before the next knife would be ready, made his move.

Throwing knives are so finely balanced that even an expert has difficulty making the weapon behave as intended. An agile throw, correctly performed, should always bring the point of the blade into a forward, horizontal position as it reaches its target.

quote:

Bond wanted nobody injured unless it proved unavoidable. To do this, both his throws had to be exceptionally accurate and at least one beat off so that the heavy pommel, above the grip, would reach the point aimed at before the razored edge.

Hardly moving in his chair, Bond flexed his wrist, putting maximum force behind the first throw, then reached down just in time for the second knife to be delivered from the case.

The first knife was aimed faultlessly, the pommel catching Mazzard with a thud — slap between the eyes. He could have known nothing as his head jerked back soundlessly, the knife falling to the floor and the body following it. Cedar moved at the same moment as Bond, pushing down with her feet and, with all her weight, toppling her chair back against Louis, who was caught off-guard, diverted by Mazzard’s sudden fall. Bond was aware only of the grunt and crash as he went over, propelled by Cedar and the heavy furniture.

By this time, the other knife was in Bond’s hand, his body turning minutely to position himself for Joe, whose reactions were considerably faster than 007 had anticipated. Luckily the big man only managed to move a few inches to his left, so that the pommel of the second knife landed heavily beside his right ear.

As though frozen in time, Joe Bellini stopped in his tracks, one hand half way to the pocket containing the revolver. The knife fell away awkwardly, slicing at his ear and almost severing it. He let out a strangled cry, staggered forwards and toppled across Cedar and Louis as they struggled on the floor.

quote:

The Kid moved indecisively behind Bond, who dropped the case and, putting full weight on the balls of his feet, sprang from the chair and leaped for the VP70 lying waiting on the bedside table.

He went for the weapon with a wild karate shriek, expelling the air from his lungs, covering the three paces in less than two seconds. Even as his hand grasped the pistol butt, thumb flicking at the safety catch, Bond swivelled, arms outstretched, ready to fire at the first target to spell danger.

quote:

The Kid’s right hand was half way inside his jacket when Bond shouted, ‘Hold it. Stop!’ The Kid showed an intelligent sense of survival. He stopped, hand wavering for a second, then — eyes meeting Bond’s — obeyed.

Just then Cedar broke free, leaped to her feet with startling speed and brought both hands down, in a vicious double-chop, to the sides of Louis’s neck. The man grunted and slumped to the floor. Bond walked up to the Kid, smiling, reached into his jacket, removed the weapon he had been preparing to use and then administered a sharp tap behind the ear. Whereupon the Kid joined his friends in oblivion.

‘Change your dress, Cedar,’ Bond said quietly; then, on second thoughts, ‘No, give me a hand with this lot first.’

quote:

Together they stripped the four hoods of their weapons, Cedar apparently unaware that her breasts were on full display. Bond fished into the special compartment of his briefcase and brought out a small sealed plastic box which he forced open. He drew out the chloroform pad and administered it to the four men who lay spreadeagled about the floor.

‘Crude and not very effective, but it’s easier than trying to get tablets down them,’ Bond said. ‘It’s only meant for emergencies such as these. Old and tried methods are often best. At least we’ll be sure of half an hour.’

They secured the hands and feet of the four men with their own belts, ties and handkerchiefs. It was then that Cedar saw what Bond’s knife had done to Joe Bellini’s ear — the top half-inch sliced through, leaving a bloody flap dangling and joined by only a thin strip of tissue on the outer edge. Bond fetched some ointment from the all-providing case to help staunch the blood flow. Deftly Cedar fitted the flap back in place and bound it up as best she could with lint and sticking plaster from the bathroom cupboard.

quote:

At last she realised that she was half naked and, with no embarrassment, stripped to her tight white briefs and plunged her legs into a pair of jeans, pulling on a shirt as Bond threw their things roughly into their bags. Suddenly he remembered the gold-edged card that he had thrust into his pocket at that first meeting with Mike Mazzard in the hotel lobby. He pulled it out and examined it.

On one side was a sort of crest, incorporating an elaborate letter B, with the words ‘Markus Bismaquer’ underneath, embellished with curving flourishes. Below that in tiny block capitals were the words: ENTREPRENEUR — AMARILLO, TEXAS. Scrawled on the back of the card in a sloping hand was a brief message:

Prof & Mrs Penbrunner —
Honor me by being my guests for a few days. Bring the Hogarths. It will be worth your while. My Security Manager, Mike Mazzard, will see you to my private jet at Kennedy.

M.B.

Squashed in at the bottom, written as if an afterthought, was an insistence they make it for dinner that night and a telephone number to ring should there be any problems. Bond handed the card to Cedar.

quote:

‘To Amarillo, then. By car, I think,’ he said curtly. ‘They won’t expect that. Have you got all your things?’

Bond saw a furrow of worry cross Cedar’s face. ‘Your reputation will go before you, James.’ There was a small twinkling smile as she used his first name.

‘You mean an old man like Penbrunner doing a knife-throwing act and a few karate moves?’ Bond said, replacing the knives into their spring clips in the briefcase.

‘Quite.’

He thought for a moment. ‘Bismaquer’s after us. He will know shortly that we’re no pushovers. It’ll be interesting to see how he reacts. Now, let’s get a move on.’

quote:

‘What about them? Will you call the police?’

‘We don’t want to start a hue and cry now. I’ll leave some money and the key in an envelope in the laundry room. I noticed they leave it open. Lucky we have the sort of old-fashioned lock on this door you can’t undo from the inside without a key. They won’t be in a hurry to ring down to the desk, and it’ll take them quite a time to pick their way out.’

Bond bent down to see if he could find another key in Mazzard’s pocket and produced a skeleton that he must have got by bribing one of the chambermaids.

‘Time to go,’ he snapped. ‘We’ll take the back stairs.’

Selachian posted:

The bit with the throwing knives inevitably reminds me of Modesty Blaise, whose sidekick, Willie Garvin, is an incredibly skilled knife thrower; hitting someone with the pommel of a throwing knife to knock them out is straight out of Willie's playbook.

quote:

They did not stop to look back across the river at that magnificent skyline twinkling with lights from the sharp outlines of skyscrapers, the vast twin towers of the World Trade Center dwarfing everything else. They needed to put distance between themselves and Bismaquer’s hoods. Bond also had to have time to think. If, as they suspected, Bismaquer was part of SPECTRE, and, possibly, the new Blofeld himself, their adversary could already be one step ahead of them.

quote:

Bond had learned never to underestimate SPECTRE. Now, his duty was to out-think the enemy and his first inclination was to head for Texas and face Bismaquer — playing it dangerously, by ear. On reflection, as he slid the Saab neatly through the traffic, Bond decided it would be best to hide somewhere for a couple of days.

quote:

‘If we watch each other’s backs,’ he told Cedar, ‘and keep very low profiles, we’ll soon find out if Bismaquer’s really out for blood. Anyone with SPECTRE connections would have an army of underworld informers searching for us by now.’

It was Cedar who suggested Washington. ‘Not the metropolitan area or Georgetown. Somewhere near by, though. There are plenty of big motels we could use, just off the main highway.’

The idea made sense. Once on the turnpike, Bond put his foot down, winding the turbo up to a safe and legal maximum, then flicking in the cruise control. They reached the District of Columbia around three in the morning, both watching for any possible tail. Bond took them around part of the Capital Beltway, then finally located the Anacostia Freeway, where they spotted an exit with a motel sign.

The place they had chosen was certainly large enough to get lost in for days — some thirty storeys high, with an underground car park where the Saab could be tucked away. They registered separately, as Ms Carol Lukas and Mr John Bergin, and were given adjoining rooms on the twentieth floor with balconies giving a view across the green belt of Anacostia Park and the river. Cedar pointed out, in the distance, the Anacostia and 11th Street bridges, with the Washington Navy Yard a smudge against the landscape.

quote:

Two days, Bond calculated. Two days lying low and keeping their eyes open. Then they could head west, and, to use his own words, drive like hell. ‘With luck we should get to Amarillo within forty-eight hours. One night’s stop somewhere, to conserve energy, and, by that time, we should know if Bismaquer’s put a tail on us. If not . . .’

‘Straight into the lion’s den,’ Cedar finished for him. She seemed cool enough about the prospect, though neither of them could fail to remember the fate of their colleagues — dragged dead and putrefied from the Louisiana marshes.

quote:

On Bond’s balcony, as the dawn came up over distant Washington, they made plans.

‘Time for a reverse in disguises,’ Bond announced.

The management had them registered in new names, but had seen Bond in what he liked to call his ‘Penbrunner hat’. Now he washed the grey from his hair, removed the moustache and spectacles, and — apart from the thinner hair, which would grow again quickly enough — looked almost his old self.

quote:

Cedar would be easily recognised by Bismaquer’s lieutenants, so she worked for an hour or so on her own appearance — restyling her hair, darkening her eyebrows, adopting severe pebble-lens spectacles. These simple devices changed her looks completely.

The main problem, as Bond saw it, was keeping a careful watch for Bismaquer’s men. ‘Six hours on and six hours off. In the main lobby,’ he decided. It was the only way. ‘We find suitable vantage points, and just mark faces. If one, or all, of that unholy quartet turns up, then we take the necessary action. Two days, and I reckon we’ll have thrown them.’ They then made the final decision — to leave the motel late the following evening. Bond was to stay out of his disguise, and Cedar would change back to her normal appearance before starting the journey.

quote:

The routine began straight away. They tossed for the first watch, and Cedar lost, heading down to the lobby to keep her six-hour vigil.

Before taking a rest, Bond quickly checked his luggage, the most important piece being the briefcase. The knives were back in their slots, but he removed one, strapping it to his left forearm before going through the other items in the case: Q Branch’s personal survival kit.

The upper section contained papers, a diary, and the normal accoutrements of any businessman — calculator, pens, and the like. In the lower section, which was accessible by both hinged and sliding panels, Q’ute had assembled what she called back-up material: a small, snub-nosed S & W ‘Highway Patrolman’ with the four-inch barrel and spare ammunition; a series of toughened steel pick-locks, gathered together on a ring, which also held a slim three-inch jemmy and other miniature tools, all built to Q’ute’s specifications; a pair of padded leather gloves; half a dozen detonators, kept in a compartment well-removed from a small lump of plastic explosive, and a length of fuse.

quote:

Originally Q Branch had planned to include an electronic device for detonation purposes, but at the last moment it was decided that thirty-five feet of nylon half-inch rope, together with a couple of miniaturised grappling hooks, would be more likely needs. Even though the rope was slim and easily concealed, it took up space, leaving no room for any more sophisticated climbing gear. If put to it, Bond would be using the bare minimum. Everything in the hidden compartment was protected by moulded foam rubber.

quote:

After checking the VP70 and spare magazines, 007 stretched out on the bed, quickly dropping into a deep, refreshing sleep from which he was awakened, five hours later, by the alarm call he had ordered: ‘This is your three o’clock alarm call, the temperature is 67 degrees and it is a pleasant afternoon. Have a nice day . . .’ Bond replied, ‘Thank you,’ and the voice chattered on, ‘This is your three-o-one alarm call, the temperature is 67 degrees and it is a pleasant afternoon. Have a nice day . . .’

‘And you,’ Bond mouthed at the computerised voice.

Bond showered, shaved and changed into dark slacks and one of his favourite Sea Island cotton shirts, then slipped his feet into a pair of heavy rope-soled sandals. A short, battledress-style navy jacket hid his holster and VP70 automatic. Right on time, he took over from Cedar in the motel lobby.

quote:

They did not speak; merely a glance and nod effected the change-over. Bond soon discovered that you could view the lobby from a seat at the coffee shop counter, as well as from the bar.

On that first spell of duty — during which 007 ate a large portion of ham, two eggs sunny-side up with pan-fried potatoes, and visited the bar for a disciplined single-vodka martini — there was no sign of anyone showing photographs to the reception staff, for identification purposes; neither did any of the four heavies from New York make an appearance.

quote:

So the time passed, without a hint of any tail. Between shifts, both Bond and Cedar monitored the television newscasts. There was no story about men being found bound and gagged, at the Drake Hotel in New York; or of Professor and Mrs Penbrunner and their prints going missing.

Bismaquer was either playing a waiting game, or his henchmen were carrying out a fruitless search.

quote:

Neither Cedar nor Bond were to know that a sharp-eyed bellboy had noted their punctual comings and goings in the hotel lobby. The bellboy waited for twenty-four hours and, instead of reporting the fact to the management, made a telephone call to New York.

During the call, he was closely questioned about the appearance of the man and woman. At the other end of the line, the man to whom he had reported sat back and thought for a while. He was one of the many agents on the payroll of a large consortium, the criminal nature of which remained unknown to him. What the private eye did know was that the consortium was on the look-out for a man and woman. The descriptions were different from those he had been given, but, with a few simple changes, this pair might well be those for whom a handsome bonus was being offered.

It took him some ten minutes to make up his mind. At last he picked up the telephone and dialled. When a voice came on the line, the private eye asked, ‘Hello, is Mike there?’

quote:

‘We’ve either thrown them,’ Bond said at the motel, on the second evening, ‘or they’ll all be waiting for us somewhere along the route to Amarillo.’

He took a bite out of a large tuna fish sandwich, washing it down with a draught of Perrier water. Cedar had brought food up from the coffee shop after her last watch. Tuna fish sandwiches were hardly Bond’s style, but they seemed to be Cedar’s favourites. She was very silent, combing out her hair, returning to her normal appearance.

quote:

‘Something worrying you?’ Bond asked, noticing the look of concern on the girl’s face, reflected in the mirror.

She took a long time to answer. Then: ‘How dangerous is it going to be, James?’

So far, Cedar Leiter had shown no sign of anything but utter professionalism. ‘Not losing your nerve, Cedar?’ he asked.

Again a pause. ‘No, not really. But I’d like to know the odds.’ She turned from the mirror, crossing the room to where he sat. ‘You see, James, this is all kind of unreal for me. Sure, I’ve been trained, well-trained, but the training always seemed, well, kind of fantastic to me. Maybe I’ve been behind a desk too long — and not the right desk at that.’

Bond laughed, nevertheless feeling the twitch in his own stomach, for he was not without fear when facing a threat from SPECTRE. ‘Believe me, Cedar, it’s often far more dangerous to stalk the corridors of power. I’m never really at my best sitting in at those endless meetings, sharing secrets with the Whitehall mandarins — in your case the people from State — or the military. Back in London, my firm all look like grey faceless men. You never know where you stand. But in the field, it’s still the old story: you have to be blessed with nerve, cheek, and a lot of luck.’

quote:

He took another sip of the Perrier. ‘This one is trouble, for two reasons. First, we have no proper back-up team, nobody we can turn to at the last minute.’

‘And second?’ the girl asked.

‘That’s the worse part. If it really is SPECTRE we’re up against, they’re a hard and ruthless enemy. Also, they hate me personally. I killed their original leader, so they’ll be out for blood; and when SPECTRE has a blood lust, nothing is done by halves. You can’t expect it to be quick and painless with them. If they get the upper hand, SPECTRE will make sure we suffer either stark terror or what the books used to call a painful and lingering death. Cedar, if you want to get out, tell me here and now. You’re a great partner and I’d like you with me. But if you can’t make it . . . well, better we should split up now.’

quote:

Cedar’s large brown eyes melted into a look which Bond recognised as both appealing and dangerous.

‘No, I’m with you all the way, James. Sure I’m nervous, but I won’t let you down. You’ve kept your part of the bargain.’ It was her turn to laugh. ‘I was worried to start with, I admit it. My Dad painted a pretty lurid picture of you — a swashbuckling Lothario, he called you once. I guess you’re still a bit of a swashbuckler. As for being a Lothario, I haven’t had time . . .’

She moved closer, looping an arm around his neck. Bond took hold of her hand and gently removed the arm. His smile was touched with sadness.

‘No, Cedar. And don’t think I’m not both flattered and tempted. It would be tremendous. But you’re the daughter of one of my best friends — and one of the bravest men I know.’

quote:

Still, in a different place and time, James Bond knew he would have taken Cedar Leiter to the bed across the room and slowly, languorously, made love to her.

quote:

‘Come on, let’s get going,’ he said, hearing the huskiness of his own voice. ‘When we get downstairs, I want you to pay the bill, while I bring the car around to the front.’

Cedar nodded, picking up the phone and alerting reception: they would be leaving in about fifteen minutes. ‘Can you have our checks ready, please? And send someone up for the luggage in ten minutes.’

Bond was already completing his packing. ‘You can do the map-reading, too,’ he grinned. ‘And what do we want a bellboy for? To take the luggage down? That’s usually my partner’s job.’

He ducked, just in time, as Cedar tossed a hair brush at his head.

quote:

While Bond and Cedar were thus engaged, a black limousine pulled up at the main entrance, twenty floors below. Bond, himself, could have described the occupants precisely. A dark, tanned and agile man, with a slightly hooked nose, was at the wheel. Next to him, sat a large, tall and barrel-chested figure, dressed in a dark suit and a somewhat old-fashioned, broad-brimmed fedora. In the rear lounged a man with rodent-like features, the thinness of his face out of balance with the broad shoulders and large hands. A fourth man whom Bond might have expected, with a military moustache, in ostentatiously expensive clothes, was not in the car. This was strictly Joe’s business, and Mazzard could go to hell if he didn’t like it. No creep could make a mug of Joe Bellini and get away with it.

‘Just do your jobs,’ Joe Bellini ordered. ‘Louis and me’ll go through the routine cop act. Okay?’

quote:

Joe and Louis got out of the car, walked into the lobby and, eyes taking in anything that moved, went up to the reception clerks, to whom they flashed leather-walleted police badges. The badges were followed by a few terse questions and the handing over of photographs for identification.

Two of the clerks immediately identified Professor and Mrs Penbrunner, adding their room numbers and the fact that they had checked in under different names. ‘Is there something wrong?’ one of the girls asked, looking concerned.

Bellini gave her a dazzling smile. ‘Nothing serious, honey. Nobody has anything to worry about. We’re just supposed to be looking after them. The Professor’s an important man. We’ll stay out of their way and be discreet.’

quote:

He went on to say that he had another man in the car outside and would deeply appreciate it if his boys could have the run of the place — just to check it out.

That would be perfectly okay. The receptionists would report it to the duty manager. Was there anything else they could do to be of help? Yes there was. Joe Bellini fired a dozen questions at them, and in less than five minutes had the answers he wanted.

Back in the car, Joe went through the plan once more. ‘We only just made it,’ he told the Kid at the wheel. ‘They’re leaving in the next few minutes. You got the walkie-talkie?’

His ear throbbed under the neat, fresh plaster. They had done their best with it at the hospital, but were fearful it would not heal as Joe had left it too long before getting proper attention. His hand kept going up to the wound as he detailed the Kid to watch the elevators, which luckily were grouped and could be seen easily from a hidden vantage point on the twentieth floor. There were no back stairs, so it would be that way out or by the fire escape.

‘Louis and me’ll be in the maintenance complex under the building. Don’t get seen and don’t miss ’em. Just use the walkie-talkie. Got it?’

Joe Bellini, with Louis in attendance, clutching a high-powered walkie-talkie, again left the limo and entered the building. The Kid parked the car and followed the other two.

quote:

Having been given precise directions by staff anxious to co-operate with the police, Joe and Louis descended the four sections of concrete steps into the basement complex from which all the utilities — electricity, heating, air conditioning and the elevators — were monitored.

The engineer on duty was a smart, fresh-faced young man, who looked puzzled when the two strangers entered, and even more puzzled as he crumpled into unconsciousness, following a chop from Louis’s right hand.

quote:

Bellini worked quickly, checking off the various banks of instruments and switches controlling the smooth running of the hotel’s utilities, rather like the engine room of an ocean-going liner. It took him two minutes to find the section which controlled the elevators. Producing a small oblong box from his pocket, he located the sections he needed to work on, then opened the box, revealing a set of electrician’s screwdrivers.

Each of the four elevators was operated by a separate bank of controls, the elevators themselves being standard, electrically-propelled cars with a supplementary system for each unit: generator; motor; final limit switches; counter-weights; drum, and secondary sheaves; plus the usual safety devices, designed to cut off power and apply clawlike brakes. Each electrical component was triple-fused, so the likelihood of all the fuses failing, on one elevator, was minimal.

Carefully, Joe Bellini began to unscrew the fuse boxes for each elevator car. As he did so, Louis took a pair of heavy wire-cutters to the thick metal seals on the four levers marked ‘Drum Release. Danger,’ at the top of the banks of instruments and fuses. The drum releases unlocked the governors controlling the drums that wound, and unwound, the elevators’ main cables. Unlocking a drum would immediately allow it to spin freely. Only maintenance engineers would need to release the drums in this fashion, and then, only when the car in question had been isolated and placed at the foot of the shaft, against the special buffer.

To release the drum when a car was in motion would mean certain death for any occupant were it not for the safety devices, with their back-ups.

quote:

As he did so, the Kid’s voice echoed around the maintenance room, far below. ‘Car three! They got into car three!’

Joe Bellini quickly flicked every fuse out of the banks controlling car three. As he did so, Louis hauled down on the drum release lever for the same car.

Bond smiled at Cedar. ‘Here we go then. Heading West.’

‘Wagons roll . . .’ Cedar’s words were cut short as the lights went out, and they were both thrown to one side. The elevator car lurched, then began to drop down the shaft at a sickening, gathering speed.

quote:

Cedar opened her mouth in a scream, but there was no noise, only her face contorting in terror. Bond, seeing her dimly in the gloom, did not know if the sound was blotted out by the terrible crash and banging as the elevator plummeted, swaying and smashing against the sides of the shaft.

In those seconds, though, Bond seemed to hear her — a horrible diminishing shriek of terror, as if he stood apart, still at the top of the elevator shaft. It was a strange experience, in which half of his mind remained detached.

‘Hold on!’ Bond’s yell was drowned by the cacophonic crash of metal and wood, combined with a rushing windlike noise and pressure on his ears. When the car had started its fall he had his palm loosely on one of the hand rails which ran along three sides of the car. Pure reflex tightened his grip at the first jolt, before the long drop began.

A picture of the car, splintered, and shattered out of all recognition at the bottom of the shaft, flashed in and out of Bond’s mind.

From the twentieth floor, with increasing speed, they went past the fifteenth . . . fourteenth . . . thirteenth . . . twelfth . . . eleventh . . . unaware of their position in the shaft, only knowing the final horror would soon be on them.

Then, with a series of shaking bangs, as the sides rattled against the metal runners, it happened.

quote:

Down in the maintenance complex, Bellini and Louis had already taken to their heels. Their getaway would be simple in the panic which would follow — at any moment — when the elevator car disintegrated against the huge buffer at the bottom of its shaft. But Joe Bellini had no way of knowing that the motel elevators were built with one, old-fashioned, extra safety device which did not depend upon complicated electronics.

Two metal cables ran down the length of the shaft, their use unaffected by loss of power. These thick, hawser-like ropes were threaded loosely through the claw safety brakes under the car itself. The very action of the car overspeeding on a downward path caused the hawsers to tighten, exerting pressure inwards, with the result that two of the claws were activated, one on either side at the front of the elevator car.

In the first few seconds of the downward plunge, one of these ‘last chance’ automatic devices, on the right of the car, had been sheared off by the buffeting of metal against metal. The left-hand cable held, slowly pressing inwards. At last, as they streaked past the eleventh floor, the safety brake clicked, and the claw automatically shot outwards. Like a human hand desperately grasping for a last hold, the metal brake hit one of the ratchets in the guide rail, broke loose, hit a second, then a third.

quote:

Inside the car, there was a series of reverberating, jarring bumps. The whole platform tilted to the right, and each jolt seemed to slow the downward rush. Then, to the sound of tearing wood and metal, the car tipped to the right. Bond and Cedar, both trying to keep a grip on the hand rail, were conscious of part of the roof being torn away, of the ripping as they slowed; then of the final, bone-shuddering stop which broke the forward section of the floor loose.

Cedar lost her grip.

This time Bond heard the scream, and, even in the dimness, alleviated by light coming in through the splintered roof, saw Cedar sliding forward, her legs disappearing through the hole in the floor. Still gripping the rail hard with one hand, he lunged outwards and just managed to grasp her wrist insecurely with the other.

quote:

‘Hang on. Try to get some kind of a hold.’

Bond thought he was speaking calmly until he heard the echo of his distraught voice. He leaned forward at full stretch, allowing his hand to loosen its grip for a second, then tighten on Cedar’s wrist.

The whole car creaked under them, its floor sagging downwards like a piece of cardboard so that almost the entire length of the shaft below became visible. Slowly, giving her encouragement, goading her into trying to get her other hand on to his arm, Bond began to pull Cedar back into the car.

quote:

Though she was not heavily built, Cedar Leiter felt like a ton weight. Inch by inch, he hauled her back. Together they balanced precariously, almost on tiptoe, clinging to the hand rail.

How long the car could stay as it was, insecurely jammed in the shaft, was impossible to tell. Bond was sure of only one thing: unless some of their weight was removed, their chances diminished with every minute that passed.

‘How are they going to . . . ?’ Cedar began, in a small voice.

‘I don’t know if they can.’

quote:

Bond looked down. He saw that his briefcase was, miraculously, still with them, trapped behind his feet. Moving gently, pausing after each shift in position, he reached down for the case.

Even this simple action proved the urgency of their situation, for, every change of attitude caused the car to groan, rock, and creak.

Quietly he explained what he was about to do. Balancing the briefcase at an angle against the hand rail, Bond sprang the tumbler locks. Carefully he delved into the hidden compartments for the nylon rope, gloves, the set of picklocks and tools and one of the small grappling hooks.

quote:

The hooks would take immense weight. In the closed position, each of them was about seven inches long, roughly three inches from the point of the hook to the base, and a couple of inches in thickness. It was necessary to go through a three-part unlocking sequence to unspring one of them, which then shot out to form a circle of some eight claws, all running from a steel securing base.

With the gloves on, tools and pick-locks hanging from a large thong and clip on his belt, and the rope coiled over one arm, Bond closed the case. He passed it to Cedar, telling her to hang on to it at all costs, then secured the nylon rope to the grappling hook. He leaned forward, one hand still on the hand rail, to peer down through the ripped and broken floor. The sides of the shaft, with its criss-cross of metal girders, were plainly visible.

Taking the bulk of slack on the rope and coiling it into his left hand, Bond dropped the grappling hook through the gaping mouth which formed the forward end of the floor. It took three or four swings on the rope before the claw clamped into place around one of the strengthening girders some five feet below the car. Gently Bond payed the rope out, trying to gauge the exact length that would take him clear of the car and past the grappling hook.

Bond went through the scheme for Cedar, trying to give her as many tips as possible. Then, with a grin and a wink, he took hold of the rope and wound it around himself in the simple old abseil fashion — the rope merely being passed under the right arm, down his back and through the legs, being taken up again in the left hand, and coming in under the arm. There was no time for improvised safety karabiners or double rope techniques.

quote:

Slowly he allowed himself to slide forward, feeling the car move; shuddering, as his weight shifted. It was now or never. Then, as he neared the final gap, the whole car began to vibrate. There followed a rasping noise, as though the metal holding it in place would give way at any moment. Suddenly, he was clear and falling, trying to control the drop, keeping his body straight and as near to the side of the shaft as he dared. Metallic vibrations from the car seemed to surround him and the fall seemed to go on for ever, until the sudden jerk on the rope cut into his back, arms, and legs.

As Bond had feared, the weight of his fall pulled the nylon tight, then the tension released, and he felt himself rising again like a yo-yo. It only needed too much of a backward spring on the rope for the grapple to become unhooked.

Winded, and not quite believing it, Bond found himself hanging, swinging hard against the concrete and girdered wall. He felt his muscles howling in protest. The rope cut deeper as his wrists and hands struggled to hang on.

The small, enclosed world gradually swung into focus: dirty cement; girders, with traces of rust; oil, and, below, the dark cavern that seemed to descend into hell itself.

Bond’s feet were firmly against the wall now, and he was able to look up. The car was jammed across the shaft, but for how long was anyone’s guess. Already the upper section of woodwork had developed a long crack. It was only a matter of time before the whole section split. The car would then drop heavily on its side.

It would be a hideous way for them to go. But it was SPECTRE’s way, Bond was certain of that. He took a deep breath and called up to Cedar.

‘Be up for you in a minute.’

quote:

Kicking out from the wall, he allowed his hands to slide on the rope, bringing his feet within touching distance of the nearest girder. As the bottoms of his rope-soled shoes slammed into the metal, Bond hauled on the rope, grabbing for support from the big oily guide rail.

The latticework of girders was reasonably easy to negotiate, and Bond climbed it with speed, keeping the rope firmly around himself, until he reached the grappling hook. There he paused for breath, the car rattling in the breeze that came up the shaft’s tunnel. Vaguely, among the creaking, metallic noises, he thought he could hear other sounds — shouting and steady hammering.

The sagging floor of the car was some five feet from his head. Unhooking the grapple, he climbed higher, eventually finding a suitable place among the girders to refix the hook; this time less than a foot below the car.

Turning his body so that he could lean back against the wall, Bond once more shouted to Cedar, giving orders in a voice designed to command immediate obedience.

‘I’m going to throw the rope in. Tie the briefcase on, then let it down slowly. But don’t lose the rope. Keep hold of it until I tell you.’

quote:

She came quickly. Too quickly. Bond saw her legs emerge and the rope drop past him. Then he felt the blow as the side of her shoulder hit him.

He was conscious of the grapple taking the strain, and of the car shifting just above his head. But by that time his balance had gone, and he was suddenly scrabbling for the swinging rope in front of him.

He wrapped his hands around the nylon, and they were both swinging gently, one above the other, bouncing off the walls of the shaft.

quote:

‘We’re going to have to go down one above the other,’ he called, short of breath. ‘Just straight rope climbing stuff to the ledge on the next floor. The rope’ll just about make it.’

Cedar’s voice came back, breathless and excited. ‘I only hope it’ll hold our weight.’

‘It’ll do that all right. Just remember not to let go!’

‘You really think I’d forget?’ she shouted back, starting to move, hand over hand, the rope wrapped around her ankles as she went.

quote:

Bond followed Cedar’s lead, trying to imitate her rhythm on the rope in order to reduce the swing. He had been bruised and battered enough from bumping against the girders. Finally he saw that below him Cedar had made it, and was standing on the narrow ledge, both hands still tight on the rope, her feet spread out and body leaning forward.

She was calling something up to him.

‘There’s someone on the other side of the doors,’ he heard her shout. ‘I’ve told them we’re here.’

Nodding, Bond continued his climb down until he felt his feet touch the ledge. Even as they did so, there was a hiss and the outer doors opened. A fire chief, and three other uniformed, helmeted men stood aside, mouths agape, as Cedar and Bond stepped into the corridor.

‘Ah, thank you,’ Bond said as though a commissionaire had just held the door open for them. Then he staggered, feeling the strain hit him. Cedar grabbed his arm, and he took a deep breath.

The firemen and motel staff gathered around them. Bond waved away a doctor and asked that they be taken straight downstairs. ‘We’ve got a plane to catch,’ he added.

quote:

As they went, he whispered instructions to Cedar: ‘Pay the bill and get what information you can. Then slip away and meet me at the Saab. We don’t want too many questions, and certainly no cameras.’

When the party reached the crowded and noisy lobby, Bond was no longer with them. Even Cedar did not see him go. ‘One of my disappearing tricks,’ he told her later. ‘Easy when you know how.’

In fact it was relatively easy. Bond always worked on the principle that, in a crowd that was confused and uncertain, all you had to do was to be positive: a determined move, in a definite direction, assuming the look of a man who knew precisely where he was going and why. It worked nine times out of ten.

quote:

In the underground parking lot, Bond did not go straight to the Saab, but waited, out of sight, behind another car directly opposite. It was over half an hour before Cedar appeared, running from the service elevator.

Bond emerged as soon as he saw she was alone. ‘I told them I had to go to the john,’ she said. ‘They want you as well. Questions and more questions. We’ll have to move fast.’

quote:

In a matter of seconds they were in the Saab, and, a few minutes later, out and away, roaring down the Anacostia Freeway.

‘You’re the navigator,’ Bond told her. ‘We want Amarillo, Texas.’

As she directed him, Cedar gave Bond what information she had gleaned. ‘Definitely our friends from New York,’ she told him. ‘I got their descriptions.’ She went on to explain how they had come in posing as detectives, asked for directions to the maintenance complex, and how the duty man had been found unconscious. ‘Apparently they’d stripped the controls for all the elevators,’ she added. ‘Whichever one we used, they had us.’

Bond smiled grimly. ‘I told you. When SPECTRE wants you dead, they don’t like doing it clean. Well, at least we know what we need to know. First Bismaquer wanted us as his house guests, then he tried to have us killed. I guess he’ll have to settle for the first.’

quote:

As he said it, the delayed shock took hold. Bond felt his heart pumping and hands shaking on the wheel. He slowed slightly and, after a minute or two, the reaction passed. Taking a deep breath, he glanced at Cedar.

‘We’ll have to stop and buy some new luggage on the way. But at least we’ve got the essentials, including the prints.’ The prints remained hidden in one of the many-secret compartments in the Saab.

‘So, my dear Cedar’ — he grinned again, then relaxed and his mouth reformed into its hard, cruel line — ‘so now the fun really starts.’

quote:

Bond always worked on the principle that, in a crowd that was confused and uncertain, all you had to do was to be positive: a determined move, in a definite direction, assuming the look of a man who knew precisely where he was going and why. It worked nine times out of ten.

quote:

They drove steadily through the night, skirting Pittsburgh around dawn, then heading west again. The Saab, set on its cruise control, gobbled up the ribbon of road, and during that first long day they stopped only for snacks and gasoline. The car, tuned to perfection before being flown to America, took to the broad four-lane highways like an unleashed jet.

Just before nightfall, they were already nearing Springfield, Missouri. Bond pulled off the highway and drove into a small motel, where they registered in separate cabins, Cedar as Mrs Penbrunner, and Bond under his own name.

quote:

Already, before the incident with the elevator, he had explained their tactics to Cedar. ‘Even if Bismaquer doesn’t know my true identity, I have to go in as myself.’

Cedar was concerned. ‘Isn’t that pushing our luck, James? You’ve already told me SPECTRE has a private and personal grudge against you. Why not keep the Penbrunner role going as long as possible . . .’

Bond shook his head. ‘It’s not going to fool them for long — even if it’s done so already, which I doubt. Now, you are really not known. Mrs Penbrunner will probably pass, and we may just get some advantage by making them believe I’m here to look after you.’

quote:

She was still concerned about this when they reached the motel. ‘You’re setting yourself up as a target. Doesn’t that worry you?’

‘Of course,’ said Bond, ‘but I’ve done it before. Anyway, Cedar, do you really believe that the great Markus Bismaquer would go to all the trouble of having us removed, by way of an elevator shaft, if he didn’t know it was me? Think about it: first the fearsome foursome turn up with an invitation: Bismaquer requests the pleasure of seeing the Hogarth prints before anyone else. Then we manage to disappear. True to form — SPECTRE’s old form, that is — they winkle us out near Washington, and without the aid of any law enforcement agencies. Think about it, Cedar, and you’ll see how good they are. They always were in the past. So they find us and try to give us the fast elevator trip. No niceties about the Hogarth prints. Just death, sudden, and a very nasty way to go.’

quote:

She nodded agreement. ‘I suppose you’re right. But it still sounds crazy — the idea of just turning up at Bismaquer’s Rancho Notorious . . .’

‘Tethered goats have been known to catch tigers.’

‘And goats often end up sacrificial,’ Cedar countered. ‘With their throats cut.’

‘Tough on us goats.’ Bond gave a sardonic smile. ‘Remember, Cedar, we go with knives as well. The fact is I have no option. Our job is to find out if Markus Bismaquer’s running the show. If it really is a reconstituted spectre it’s most important to discover what they’re up to. We’re snoops, like the others. They got chopped. Why?’

The conversation went on in their rooms and in the car, when they drove into Springfield to provide themselves with new clothes, and again over a meal in a small restaurant, where Bond declared the chicken pie one of the best he had ever tasted and Cedar insisted that he try Apple Jonathan, a delicious baked concoction of green apples, cream, maple syrup and eggs.

quote:

Back at the motel, they unwrapped their parcels, filled the newly-purchased suitcases, and arranged a series of signals to be used in the event of trouble during the night.

Bond quietly checked out the motel, and its surroundings, paying special attention to the parked cars. Satisfied, he returned to his cabin, laid out a new pair of jeans, shirt, boots, and a windbreaker. He then luxuriated under a shower — scalding hot, followed by a fine spray of ice cold water. Thus refreshed, he slid the VP70 under his pillow, placed a chair against the door, and secured the windows before getting into bed.

quote:

Almost as his head touched the pillow, he was asleep. He had long ago learned the art of resting, allowing the problems and anxieties to be swept from his mind, yet never dropping into really deep oblivion while he was on an assignment. Sleep he certainly had; but his subconscious remained active, ready to prod him into instant awareness.

The night passed without incident, and by noon the next morning they had circumvented Oklahoma City. The Saab, cool with its interior air conditioning, whined at high turbo power along the flat endless terrain of prairie and desert leading to the edge of the Great Plains and the panhandle of Texas.

quote:

Once more they stopped as little as possible, and, around nine in the evening, negotiated Amarillo, circling the city so as to enter from the west, on the assumption that any watchers would be looking out for the Saab along the eastern access roads.

Again, they chose a small, obscure motel, and as they climbed from the car, the heat hit them like a blast furnace. It was already dusk, lights were coming on, and the cicadas sang a constant aria among the trees and dry grass. Both men and women wore jeans, boots and large-brimmed stetsons. With a shock, Bond realised they had really hit the West.

quote:

The manager drawled them into an adjoining set of rooms, said there was a saloon and diner across the street — if they did not want to use the motel’s coffee shop — then left them to their own devices.

‘Well, Cedar,’ said Bond, smiling, ‘how about food?’

The food turned out to be the best bowl of chili either of them had tasted in a long time. But Cedar looked nervous as they said goodnight at her door, and Bond, sensing her anxiety, told her not to worry.

quote:

‘Just remember all they taught you,’ he said, ‘and all we’ve worked out together. It’ll only need one of us to get out if we strike gold. One alert — to your contacts, or mine, or both. We’re equal partners in this, Cedar. Our job is to pin them down; get proof, and, if they’ve got some nasty work on hand, stop them. Now, remember, six o’clock in the morning.’

She bit her lip.

‘Nothing wrong is there?’ Bond searched for clues in her eyes.

She gave a heavy sigh. ‘Of course there is, and you know it.’ She smiled, reaching up to kiss his cheek. ‘And you’re right. Dead right. So if it can’t be, then I wish my Dad was here. He’d love to be working with you again.’

‘Stop getting sentimental, Cedar. You’re as good as your father ever was; and I suspect you’ll prove it in the next day or so. Now let’s get some sleep.’

quote:

Bond stretched out on his bed fully clothed, with the automatic near at hand. He dozed, slept, and woke with an alert start, as the alarm call came through at five-thirty.

Showered, shaved, dressed, Bond was just in time to greet Cedar, who arrived at the door, bearing a flask of coffee and hot waffles with syrup on a tray. The coffee shop did a twenty-four hour service, she explained. At six o’clock promptly, perched on the bed, sipping coffee, Bond dialled the number on the card he’d been given by Mike Mazzard.

The telephone rang for almost thirty seconds. Then a male voice answered, although it took Bond a moment to realise a man was speaking, for the voice was thin, reedy, pitched very high and inclined to squeak in the upper register. ‘Rancho Bismaquer.’

‘Put me on to Markus Bismaquer.’ No please or any of the other courtesies.

‘I guess he’ll still be asleep. He doesn’t get up until six-thirty.’

‘Then get him up. This is very important.’ A long pause. Then, ‘Who wants him?’

‘Just say that I represent Professor Penbrunner. I have Mrs Penbrunner with me, and I’m anxious to speak with Bismaquer.’

Another silence.

‘The name was . . . ?’

‘I didn’t say. I’m only acting for the Professor, but if you want to tell Bismaquer, you can say my name’s Bond. James Bond.’

quote:

007 was not certain, but he thought he detected a slight intake of breath at the other end. Certainly the reply came back fast as a bullet. ‘I’ll wake him right away, Mr Bond. If you’re acting for Professor Penbrunner, I’m sure he’ll want to know.’

There was a long wait, then another voice came on the line: soft, gently drawling and friendly, with a deep, pleasing chuckle.

‘Markus Bismaquer.’

Bond nodded to Cedar. ‘My name’s Bond, Mr Bismaquer. Mrs Penbrunner’s here with me. I have power of attorney for Professor Penbrunner whom, I understand, you wished to meet.’

‘I did, that’s right. Mr — er — Bond did you say? Yes, yes, I invited the Professor and Mrs Penbrunner to fly out here in my private jet. I guess it wasn’t convenient for them. May I ask if you have the Hogarths with you?’

‘Mrs Penbrunner and the prints. Both.’

‘Ah. And power of attorney? Which means we could make a deal?’

‘If that’s what you really want, Mr Bismaquer.’

quote:

Bismaquer chuckled. ‘If the prints are all they’re cracked up to be, that’s the only thing I want. Where are you?’

‘Amarillo,’ Bond replied.

‘At a hotel? Let me send Walter Luxor — he’s my partner — out to pick you up . . .’

‘Just give me directions. I have a car, and good locational bumph.’

‘I see. Okay, Mr Bond . . .’ The deep voice gave simple instructions for leaving Amarillo, and slightly more complicated ones from the point at which they had to leave the main highway and follow secondary roads to the mono-rail station.

‘If you can be there at ten, I’ll see the train is waiting for you. There’s a section for automobiles. You should bring yours with you to the ranch.’ Once more the chuckle. ‘You’ll need it to get around the place.’

quote:

‘We’ll be there at ten o’clock sharp.’ Bond hung up and turned to Cedar. ‘Well Mrs Penbrunner, he sounds very relaxed. We take the mono-rail at ten. So he’s putting the ball neatly back in his own court. Sounds a very smooth gentleman.’ He added that they were to be met by Bismaquer’s partner, one Walter Luxor. ‘Know anything about him?’

Cedar said there was a file. He appeared to be an innocent stooge, no more than a boy when Bismaquer took him into the old ice cream business. ‘Been with him ever since. We don’t know much more about him. Something of a glorified secretary really, though Bismaquer always calls him his partner.’

By nine-fifteen they were on the road once more. Cedar followed the instructions Bond had scribbled during the conversation with Bismaquer. Five miles out of town, they reached the turn-off. They had also collected a tail.

In the golden haze which had come with the sun, both Bond and Cedar could clearly make out the black BMW 528i riding at a comfortable distance behind them, two men unidentifiable in the front seat.

quote:

‘Guard of honour?’ Bond asked aloud. Silently he thought, guard of honour, or a hit team? Quietly he leaned across Cedar to press one of the square black buttons on the dashboard. A compartment slid open to reveal the large Ruger Super Blackhawk .44 Magnum he always carried in the car, part of the private, and most secret, ‘gee-whizz’ technology built into the vehicle without even the Armourer’s knowledge.

The .44 Magnum was not just a man-stopper. Bond liked to think of it as a car-stopper if necessary. One properly placed bullet from this magnificent, single-action revolver could wreck an engine.

‘Hey, that’s . . . big,’ breathed Cedar.

quote:

‘Yes it is. A little extra protection if we need it.’

As it turned out, however, they had no use for the Blackhawk. The mono-rail station became visible at a good ten miles’ distance — a low building, set behind wire fencing.

When they reached the fencing, they saw it was some twenty feet high — double-banked cyclone, with large red notices attached

DANGER. THIS FENCE AND THE FENCES AHEAD ARE
DANGEROUS. TOUCHING OR TAMPERING WITH THEM
WILL CAUSE INSTANT DEATH BY ELECTROCUTION.

Under this friendly warning there was a red skull, and the double lightning-flash international sign for electricity. The fence could be breached only through a pair of firmly bolted, heavy steel gates. On the far side of the gates was a small blockhouse and a large concrete area leading to what they now saw was an oblong station building.

quote:

Two men, uniformed in fawn slacks and blue shirts bearing the insignia Bismaquer Security, appeared from the blockhouse. They carried hand guns holstered on their hips, and pump-action shotguns under their arms.

Bond let down one of the electric windows. ‘We’re expected. Mrs Penbrunner and Mr Bond.’

‘Ten o’clock the mono’s expected.’ The men looked like identical twins, spawned by a pair of Epstein’s larger human sculptures. Both were close to seven feet in height: big, tanned, and mean around the eyes.

quote:

Through his driving mirror, Bond could see the BMW still standing well back. Its lights winked twice, and one of the guards spat.

‘Guess it’s okay,’ he said in a Texas drawl. Then he looked at his companion. ‘Turn the juice off,’ nodding towards the blockhouse.

‘Is that for real?’ asked Bond, pointing at the sign.

‘Bet your rear end.’

‘Ever kill anyone?’

‘Plenty. They got permission for it up on the ranch. Nothin’ any law can do if someone gits hiself kilt. Place’s lit up at night. Only take the power off when people’re comin’ in or out. If you want privacy here, buddy, you got it — if y’can pay fer it.’

The other man came out of the blockhouse, unlocked the heavy bolts on the gates, and the two guards swung them open.

‘Quick as y’can,’ shouted the one to whom Bond had been talking. ‘They don’t like us leavin’ the juice off longer’n need be.’

With care, Bond rolled the Saab into the yard, watching as the guards closed the gates. One of them went back to the blockhouse. Through his mirror, Bond saw that the BMW had disappeared. A watcher, he concluded. Once the Saab was within Bismaquer’s domain, the nursemaids could be quietly withdrawn. All part of the service. Typical — Bond thought — of SPECTRE’s thoroughness. He pressed the button on the dashboard again. There was a hiss and the Blackhawk compartment slid back into place, just as the first guard came up to the driver’s side.

quote:

‘You got the steerin’ on the wrong side, buddy, y’know that?’

Bond gave a polite nod. ‘English car,’ he explained. ‘Well, not the car, but the steering.’

‘Yep. I heared they drive on the wrong side over there.’ The giant Texan thought for a moment. ‘Jist point the nose at those doors and sit. Okay? Don’t git out, or you end up dead as a frozen ox. Right?’

‘Right,’ agreed Bond. Large metal doors were built into the facing end wall of the oblong building. Bond shrugged and raised his eyebrows at Cedar.

‘Guess y’don’t argue none,’ he muttered, breaking the tension and causing Cedar to giggle.

quote:

Cedar’s briefing had reflected the tight security on Rancho Bismaquer, and Bond already had some idea of what to expect if SPECTRE was involved. But the scale of this operation could only bring a sneaking admiration. No roads led into Bismaquer’s large ranch, only the mono-rail protected by deadly electric fences, high as prison walls, together with automaton-like guards. Bond also wondered about the tail car, the BMW. Had they, in fact, been under discreet surveillance from the time they left Washington after the elevator incident?

quote:

Wrapped in these thoughts, Bond took out his gunmetal cigarette case, offered one to Cedar, who refused, and lit a Simmons for himself. He felt an itch of concern. It had not been there when he had begun the long trek from England; and, since then, life had been full of incident: the attempted kidnap in New York; the falling elevator; and then the long, fast drive to Texas. Now, poised on the brink of entering Bismaquer’s world, Bond knew he should not dwell on the more morbid possibilities. As M would say, ‘Worry at it, 007; don’t worry about it.’

They did not have long to wait. Just on ten o’clock, Bond felt the car vibrate slightly. He slid his window down and heard the heavy whine of a turbine. Bismaquer’s system would, of course, be a split-rail suspension: one huge rail with the train riding on it, so that it appeared the train was impaled, hanging on the rail. Yes, naturally, Bond repeated to himself: nothing but the best for Mr Markus Bismaquer.

quote:

The turbine whine grew louder. They could not see the vehicle arrive, but one of the guards walked slowly over to the doors facing them, unlocked a metal box in the wall, and pressed a button. Silently the doors slid back.

A long ramp sloped upwards. The guard waved them on, and Bond started the engine, taking the ramp in first.

They climbed a good twenty feet before the ramp flattened to become a gently-curving tunnel, like a very large version of the jetties used for boarding aircraft. In turn, this tunnel took them into the train itself.

Men in similar uniforms to the guards — but with the symbol Bismaquer Services in gold on their blue shirts — guided Bond into position. When the car was correctly parked, one of them approached and opened the door. He addressed them politely without accent: ‘Mrs Penbrunner. Mr Bond. Welcome aboard. Please leave your car here, with the handbrake on.’

Another of Bismaquer’s men opened the passenger door for Cedar. As it closed again, Bond — who had already put on the automatic device for securing the engine — clicked down the passenger door lock. Then he climbed out, briefcase in hand, and locked his own door.

‘The keys’ll be safe with me, sir.’ The man stood waiting.

Bond did not smile. ‘Safer with me, always,’ he said. ‘If you want it moved, come and get me.’

The man’s face remained impassive. ‘Mr Luxor’s waiting for you, sir.’

quote:

Standing at the end of the vehicle compartment was a man who was especially noticeable for the rake-thinness of his body, and a face which looked like a skull over which thin, almost transparent, skin had been tightly stretched. Even the eyes were sunk back deep into their sockets. In personal appearance, Walter Luxor looked like the walking dead.

‘Mrs Penbrunner. Mr Bond. Welcome.’

The voice was the same, high-pitched squeak Bond had heard on the telephone that morning. Now this mobile skeleton held out a bony hand. Bond saw Cedar wince as she shook it. A second later, Bond knew why: it was indeed like clasping the palm of a corpse — cold, limp and clammy. Press too hard, he thought, and you would end up with a handful of powdered bone.

quote:

Luxor ushered them into a beautifully-designed coach, with upholstered leather swivel chairs; tables anchored to the floor, and an attractive hostess ready to serve drinks.

No sooner were they seated than the turbine whined, dropping in volume as they slid from the station and smoothly gathered speed.

Even at this height, Bond could see the protective, electrified cyclone fences on either side of the track. Above and beyond them the desert and plain stretched to the horizon.

The hostess came over, asking what they would like to drink. Bond asked for a very large vodka martini — shaken, not stirred — giving her the precise instructions. Cedar took sherry, as did Luxor. ‘An excellent choice,’ Luxor said. ‘A very civilised drink, sherry.’ He smiled, but there could be no humour in a face like his, only the grim joke of death.

quote:

As though to put them at ease, Walter Luxor continued talking. ‘Markus only had the vehicle transporter and club coaches on the rail today. Perhaps, when you leave, he’ll let you make a choice.’

‘A choice of what?’ Bond asked.

‘Mono-rail cars.’ Luxor spread out the crab-bone hands. ‘Markus has had several famous replicas made to fit the system — one of his little idiosyncrasies. He even has a replica of your own Queen Victoria’s special railroad car, one of the Presidential car, a perfect one of the state railroad car used by Tsar Nicholas, and a copy of the coach in which the 1914–18 war armistice was signed. That one doesn’t exist at all now. Hitler made the French sign their separate peace in it; it was destroyed later.’

quote:

‘I know,’ Bond said abruptly. The face was bad enough, but the strangulated, high-pitched voice was almost unbearable. ‘Why replicas?’ he asked shortly.

‘Well, that’s a good question,’ said Walter Luxor. ‘Markus is a great collector, you know. He prefers the real thing. He tried to buy Queen Victoria’s railroad coach to have it converted, but they weren’t selling at the time. He did the same with the others. No sale. If a good one comes on the market, well, he’ll probably be the top bidder. He usually is. You wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want the Hogarth prints.’

‘We nearly weren’t here,’ Bond observed, but Luxor chose either not to hear or to ignore the remark.

The hostess arrived with the drinks. Bond approved: it was one of the best martinis he’d had, excepting those he made for himself. Luxor talked on to Cedar, while Bond stared out of the huge window. The mono-rail must have reached a speed of well over a 150 miles per hour, yet they appeared to glide effortlessly over the plain. It was not unlike low flying, but without any buffeting or turbulence.

quote:

The journey took just over fifteen minutes. Then, gently, the speed was reduced. Bond saw three or four long sections of cyclone fence reaching away into the distance, then a high thick wall, wired at the top and reaching to at least twenty feet.

As they passed the wall, the mono-rail car slowed to a standstill. Most startling of all, the scenery changed dramatically — a fleeting glimpse of green, with trees, before they were enveloped by the curved white walls of a station.

‘Would there be room in your car for me?’ Luxor looked at Bond, who was repelled to find that, even when you stared hard into the sunken eyes, there was little hint of life there.

‘Plenty of room,’ Bond replied.

‘Good. I will direct you from the station. The Bismaquer ranch is quite large, though of course you can’t miss the big house. It’s right near the station.’

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Once down the disembarking ramp they could have been outside any small American railroad stop. Doubtless this was another part of Bismaquer’s collection: a small turn-of-the-century station, probably removed from a ghost-town.

Bond glanced around. Only minutes before he had been looking at dry rock and brown, sunbaked, desert grass. Now, with the great wall sweeping away to left and right, they could have been in a different country. There were grass and trees, tarred roads leading off from the station, tree-lined avenues, and even a small bridge crossing a creek.

‘Turn right,’ Luxor said, ‘and straight down the main drive.’

Bond heard Cedar give a startled intake of breath. Facing them, set amid lush lawns, was a huge white house. Wide steps led up to a portico where square columns rose to a flat roof. The main roof was pitched back over the rest of the house, its red tiles a splash of colour against the overall whiteness. There were dogwood trees in front of the house, flanking the drive, and Bond thought, vaguely, that he had seen it before.

‘Tara,’ whispered Cedar. ‘It’s Tara.’

‘Tara?’ Bond was lost.

‘Gone With the Wind. The movie — Margaret Mitchell’s book. It’s the house from the movie. You know, James, Vivien Leigh, Clark Gable . . .’

‘Ah,’ said Bond.

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‘How very clever of you.’ The squeak rose excitedly from Walter Luxor. ‘It usually takes people longer. They think they’ve seen pictures of it. Markus fell in love with it when he saw the movie, so he bought the designs from MGM and built it here. Ah, here’s Markus now.’

Bond had pulled the Saab up in front of the broad steps, down which a great bear of a man came, his face wreathed in smiles. The voice, in direct contrast to Luxor’s was deep, gruff and embracing.

‘Mrs Penbrunner! Why couldn’t your husband come too? Ah, this must be Mr Bond. Come on, let’s go on to the veranda and have a drink. There’s plenty of time before luncheon.’

The face was pink and chubby: the face of a well-scrubbed baby, or an elderly cherub. Or, Bond speculated, a devil? Slowly he climbed out of the Saab. Bismaquer must have been in his late sixties, with wispy, soft, silver hair and clad in crumpled white suit, full of energy, laughing with childlike enthusiasm in a manner clearly designed to make people like him at first meeting. Could this be the new Blofeld? The head of the resurrected SPECTRE?

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‘Come, Mrs Penbrunner,’ he heard Bismaquer say, ‘. . . come, — Mr Bond. I know we’re in Texas, but I make the best mint juleps in the world. How about that? Mint juleps, Texan style!’ Once more the infectious, growling laugh. ‘You just fill the glass up with crushed ice, load in the gin and add a sprig of mint on top.’ Bismaquer roared at his own recipe, then turned to watch Bond coming up the flat steps from the car.

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Yes, Bond thought, seeing the happy gleaming eyes of this pink, white, and silver billionaire. Yes, the new Blofeld could easily be just this sort of man.

Then he saw the sliver of Walter Luxor, the skull face ghastly in the shadow pattern on the portico. Or Luxor? Living in the shade of all this wealth, with easy access to power?

Bond’s real work was only just starting — with a vengeance.

Psion posted:

what the hell is even going on with this plotting

Psion posted:

what the hell is even going on with this plotting

Yond Cassius posted:

If you're a superfan with money to burn (or know one and give really extravagant Christmas gifts), Sotheby's has auctions going of rare Bond books, many from Fleming's personal collection

quote:

James Bond politely declined Markus Bismaquer’s lethal mint julep, choosing instead another vodka martini.

‘Of course, of course!’ Bismaquer exclaimed. ‘Anything you like! I never force a man to eat or drink what he doesn’t want. As for women . . . Well, that’s different.’

‘Meaning?’ Bond cut in tersely.

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A white-coated servant had appeared through the main doors and stood waiting behind a large trolley-bar. But Bismaquer was content to serve his guests himself. He looked up over the bottles, hands poised, his cherubic face a mask of surprise.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Bond. Did I offend you?’

Bond gave a shrug. ‘You said one should never force a man to eat or drink something he does not want; then you implied it was different for women.’

Bismaquer relaxed. ‘A joke, Mr Bond. Just a joke, among men of the world. Or, maybe you’re not a man of the world?’

‘I’ve been accused of it.’ Bond did not let his mask slip. ‘I still don’t see why women should be treated differently.’

‘I only meant that they have to be coaxed sometimes.’ He turned to Cedar. ‘Don’t you sometimes like to be coaxed, Mrs Penbrunner?’

Cedar laughed. ‘That depends on the coaxing.’

quote:

The high-pitched voice of Walter Luxor joined in. ‘I think Markus was trying to make a joke based on the old saying that when a woman says “no” she means maybe” …’

‘And when she says “maybe”, she means “yes”,’ Bismaquer chimed in.

quote:

‘I see.’ Bond took the proffered martini, flattening his voice to give the impression that he was a man without humour. When playing someone like Bismaquer, he calculated — all growl and laughs — it was better to take on an opposing role.

‘Well, here’s to us.’ Bismaquer raised his glass. ‘Then, perhaps, Mr Bond, we can look at the Hogarths. There’s time before luncheon.’

Bond nodded silently, then observed, ‘Time is money, Mr Bismaquer.’

‘Oh, the hell with time,’ said Bismaquer with a smile. ‘I’ve got the money, you’ve got the time. Or if you don’t, I’ll buy it. When guests come all this way, we like to entertain them.’ He paused, as though appealing to Cedar. ‘You’ll stay for a few days, won’t you? I’ve even arranged for the guest cabins to be opened up.’

quote:

‘A day or two won’t matter, will it, James?’ Cedar looked at him in a pleading manner, giving just the right emphasis.

Bond sighed, turning down the corners of his mouth. ‘Well, I suppose . . .’

‘Come on, James. I can always call Joseph if you want me to.’

‘It’s up to you,’ Bond said, feigning surliness.

‘Done.’ Bismaquer rubbed his hands together. ‘Now, could we . . . er . . . would it be possible to see the prints?’

Bond looked at Cedar. ‘If that’s all right with you, Mrs Penbrunner?’

Cedar smiled sweetly. ‘You have the last word on that, James. My husband put it into your hands.’

Bond hesitated. ‘Well, I see no harm. I think you should examine them inside the house, though, Mr Bismaquer.’

‘Please,’ Bismaquer appeared to hop, his large body moving from foot to foot, ‘please call me Markus. You’re in Texas now.’

quote:

Bond again nodded. He took out his car keys and went down the steps to the Saab.

The prints were in a special, heat-proof folder, neatly secured in a slim, false compartment under the movable shelf in the Saab’s large boot. Without giving the men on the portico a chance to see the hiding place, Bond removed the folder, then locked the boot.

‘Nice little car,’ Bismaquer said from the portico, giving the Saab a condescending look which seemed somehow out of character.

‘It’d show a clean pair of heels to most commercial cars in its class,’ Bond said flatly.

‘Ah.’ Bismaquer gave a broad smile. An almost tangible ripple of happiness passed through the large frame. ‘Well, we’ll have to see about that. I’ve got a few cars myself, and a track. Maybe we could organise something? A local Grand Prix.’

‘Why not?’ Bond motioned with the folder, looking towards the house.

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‘Oh, yes. Yes!’ Bismaquer all but trembled with excitement. ‘Let’s leave Mrs Penbrunner in Walter’s safe hands. After luncheon, I’ll see you’re taken over to the guest cabins. Then we’ll arrange a guided tour of Rancho Bismaquer — of which, Jim, I’m pretty proud.’

He gestured towards the tall doors, allowing Bond to pass into the huge, cool, parquet-floored hallway, with its imposing gallery staircase. Whatever else, Markus Bismaquer had a certain style.

‘The print room, I think.’ Bismaquer led the way down a wide, airy corridor, opening a pair of double doors at the end.

Bond almost gasped with surprise. It was not a large room, but the walls were high and screens jutted from them at intervals. Almost all the wall space was covered, and, even from the limited education he’d had in the Kensington safe house, Bond could identify some of the prints which hung there.

There were at least four very rare Holbeins; some priceless, though rather crudely coloured, playing cards; a signed Baxter colour print (which Bond’s instructor had pointed out as almost unobtainable) and a set of what appeared to be original Bewicks, from the famous General History of Quadrupeds. Prints covered the jutting screens as well as the walls. Somewhere, from hidden speakers, baroque music filtered into the room, giving it a pleasant, peaceful atmosphere. The floor was of highly-polished wood, the only furniture high-backed chairs set at intervals and a large table in the bow of the room’s one tall window at the far end. These too, Bond supposed, must have been priceless antiques.

quote:

‘You’d have to call this a pretty handsome collection, wouldn’t you, Jim?’ Bismaquer waited patiently at the end of the room, visibly proud of his showpiece.

‘People call me James,’ Bond corrected him, remaining sombre. ‘But, yes, I’d say these are considered, and sensible, acquisitions. Joseph Penbrunner told me you had two passions in life . . .’

‘Only two?’ Bismaquer raised an eyebrow, the quizzical cherubic expression looking somehow incongruous on such a large body.

‘Prints and ice cream.’ Bond reached the table as Bismaquer gave a bellow of laughter.

‘Your Professor Penbrunner has had bad information. I have many more passions than prints and ice cream. But, I’m lucky enough to have made my pile while I was young. Walter Luxor is an experienced investment counsellor as well as a friend and colleague. The original fortune has doubled, trebled, quadrupled. In fact, the man’s a genius. The more I indulge my tastes, the more my holdings multiply!’

Bismaquer gestured in the air, as though imitating the accumulation of wealth. He held out a pudgy hand, reaching for the prints. For a second, Bond wondered if the man was knowledgeable enough to spot them immediately as forgeries. But it was too late to worry about that in any case. Then, quite suddenly, Bismaquer changed the subject.

quote:

‘You must, by the way, forgive Walter’s strange appearance. He looks like a dry stick, I know, like you could break him in two. But looks are deceiving. I don’t suggest you try it. Really, he’s strong as a horse.

‘A car accident,’ Bismaquer went on. ‘I spent a fortune getting him rebuilt from top to bottom. His body was severely damaged, and the burns were God awful. We got the best surgeons money can buy. They had to regraft the face almost completely. One of Walter’s passions is speed. He is a very good driver. In fact, when we organise that little Grand Prix I spoke of, you’ll be up against Walter.’

Skin grafts and an entirely new body? Bond wondered. True, Blofeld had been choked to death, but he did not know what might have happened after that. Could it possibly be that . . . ? No, better to let things take their course and learn as much as he could along the way.

quote:

‘The Hogarths, please, James.’

With great care, Bond opened up the folder, taking each print with its covering tissue, and placing them in order on the table before removing the tissues.

‘The Lady’s Progress’ was a typical Hogarthian subject. The first two prints depicted the Lady living in idle luxury. The third was her downfall, when the husband — now dead — was revealed to have had a multitude of creditors, so that she was left penniless. The final three prints showed the various stages of the Lady’s disintegration, drink turning her into a common whore, so that she finally ended as a horrible image of her former self: raddled, craving, and foul, among the seventeenth-century sinks and sewers of London’s poor.

quote:

Bismaquer leaned over the prints in an attitude of reverence.

‘Remarkable,’ he breathed. ‘Quite remarkable. See that detail, James, those faces. And the urchins, there, peeping out from that window? Oh, you could spend a lifetime just looking at these! You’d find something new every day! Tell me, what’s your asking price?’

But Bond would not commit himself. Professor Penbrunner was still uncertain about selling. ‘You’ll be the first to admit, Markus’ — he did not care for the easy familiarity — ‘that it’s very tricky to value items such as this. They’re unique. No other set seems to have survived. But they’re genuine. I have the authentication documents in my car.’

‘I must have them,’ Bismaquer said, enthralled, ‘I simply must . . .’

‘What must you have, Markus?’ The voice — low, clear and with a tantalising trace of accent — came from the door, which neither Bismaquer nor Bond had heard open.

quote:

They both turned from the table, Bond almost doing a double-take, as Bismaquer gave a delighted growl. ‘Ah! Come and meet James Bond, darling. He’s here representing Professor Penbrunner. James, this is my wife, Nena.’

Bond was already prepared for Nena Bismaquer to be younger than her husband, but not this much younger. The girl — for she could at most have been in her mid-twenties — paused in the doorway, the sunlight from the great window pouring towards her like a floodlight. It was the entrance of an actress.

Dressed in exceptionally well-cut jeans and a royal blue silk shirt with a bandanna knotted at her neck, Nena Bismaquer gave Bond a smile calculated to make even the most misogynistic male buckle at the knees.

quote:

She was tall — almost matching Bond’s height — with long legs and a firm, striding walk. As she crossed the room, Bond saw in an instant that Nena Bismaquer would be at home and comfortable anywhere. She had that special poise which combined all the attributes he most admired in a woman: style, grace, and the obvious ability to take on the athletic pursuits of what is known as the great outdoors.

As she came closer, he felt a charge, an unmistakable chemistry, passing between them, the charge which said she would also be more than athletic in the great indoors.

If such a thing as black fire could exist, it was there in her eyes, an ebony matching the long hair which fell to her shoulders and was pushed casually back on the left side, as though by the brush of her hand. The dark fire blazed with knowledge reaching beyond her obvious youth. Her face appeared perfectly balanced with her body — a long, slender nose and rather solemn mouth, the lower lip a fraction thicker than the upper, giving a hint of sensuality which Bond found more than engaging. Her grip, as they shook hands, was firm — a hand which could caress, or hold hard to the reins of a horse at full gallop.

quote:

‘Yes, I know who Mr Bond is. I’ve just met Mrs Penbrunner, and it’s a pleasure to meet you . . . may I call you James too?’

‘Of course.’

quote:

‘Well, I’m Nena; and to what extravagance are you tempting my husband, James? The Hogarth prints?’

Bismaquer allowed a rumble of laughter to come from the back of his throat and break, like a waterfall. He gave his wife a bear hug, lifting her off the ground and swinging her around like a doll. ‘Oh, and who’s talking about extravagance?’ He shook with happy laughter — a summer-time Santa Claus without the beard.

Bond could not help seeing the shadow cross Nena Bismaquer’s face as her husband set her down, arms still around her, pulling her towards the table. She almost seemed to flinch at his touch.

‘Just look at these, my darling! The real thing. No others like them in the world. Look at that detail — the face of that woman. Look at the men there, drunk as skunks . . .’

quote:

Bond watched as she examined the prints, one by one, the trace of a smile starting at the eyes and dropping to her lips, as a long, beautifully manicured finger pointed to the last picture. ‘That one could have been drawn from life, chéri.’ A glissando laugh, harp-like, and without malice. ‘He looks just like you.’

Bismaquer gave a playful bellow of simulated rage, lifting his hands high.

‘Bitch!’ he crowed.

quote:

‘So, how much are you asking?’ said Nena Bismaquer, turning to Bond.

‘There’s no price tag.’ He gave her a steady smile, staring unflinchingly into her eyes. For a second, he thought he detected mockery in them. ‘I cannot even promise they’re for sale.’

‘Then why . . . ?’ Her face remained calm.

‘Markus invited the Professor and his wife here. He wanted to be first to look at the prints.’

quote:

‘Come on, James. First to make an offer, you mean.’ Bismaquer did not seem to have changed, yet there was something between husband and wife: intangible, but there.

Nena hesitated, then said lunch would be ready shortly. ‘We’ll take you over to the guest cabins later . . .’

‘And a grand tour, how about that, my little darling?’

She paused at the door. ‘Marvellous, Markus. Why not? You can charm Mrs Penbrunner, and I’ll show James around. How about that?’

Bismaquer chuckled again. ‘I’ll have to watch you, James, if I leave you alone with my wife.’ He gave his cherub beam.

quote:

Nena, though, had disappeared. Get the knife in quickly, Bond thought, and, before giving Bismaquer a chance to continue talking, he asked bluntly: ‘Markus, what about your invitation to Professor Penbrunner?’

The pink and white face turned towards him, a mixture of puzzlement and innocence. ‘What about it?’

‘Penbrunner asked me to take it up with you. To be honest, he didn’t want Cedar — Mrs Penbrunner — to come at all. It was she who insisted.’

‘But, why? I don’t . . .’

‘The story, as I have it from both the Penbrunners, is that your invitation was delivered by force.’

‘Force?’

‘Threats. Guns.’

Bismaquer shook his head, puzzled. ‘Threats? Guns? All I did was send the jet to New York. And I asked Walter to organise it with a firm we sometimes use — a private investigation and bodyguard service. Just a plain, simple invitation; and a guard to see the prints and the Penbrunners got safely to the plane.’

‘And the name of the firm?’

‘The name? It’s Mazzard Security. Mike Mazzard’s . . .’

‘A hood, Markus.’

‘A hood? I wouldn’t say that. He’s taken care of lots of little things for us.’

quote:

‘You’ve got your own security people, Markus. Why use a New York agency?’

‘I don’t think . . .’ Bismaquer began. ‘But God! Guns, threats? My own people? But they’re local boys, I’d never use them except here. You mean, Mazzard’s men actually threatened the Penbrunners?’

‘According to Mrs Penbrunner and the Professor, Mazzard himself did the talking and three armed heavies backed him up.’

‘Oh God!’ His mouth dropped. ‘I’ll have to talk to Walter. He arranged everything. Is that really why the Professor wouldn’t come?’

quote:

‘That, and an attempt on his life. And on Mrs Penbrunner’s.’

‘Attempt? Jesus Christ, James! You’re damned right I’ll find out what happened! Maybe Mazzard misunderstood? Maybe Walter said something . . . ? God, I’m sorry. I had no idea! If we have to, we’ll get Mazzard down here. You bet your rear end we’ll have him here before the day’s over!’

It was quite a performance, Bond gave him that. Friend Bismaquer was an actor of no mean talent. He could also afford to make little mistakes about invitations, afford to deny responsibility. Bond would have to brief Cedar to drop in the full facts concerning the attempt in the elevator.

A gong sounded discreetly, from somewhere in the house. ‘Lunch,’ Bismaquer announced, visibly shaken.

quote:

Before they went into the cool, pleasing dining room, with its shaded windows, silently moving servants and colonial American furnishings, Bond slipped out to the Saab, returning the prints to safety. The meal turned out to be animated, if wearing. Bismaquer, Bond discovered, liked holding the centre of the stage all the time, so that his éminence grise, Walter Luxor, and Nena Bismaquer became merely part of his court.

Their host was inordinately proud of the ranch, and they learned a great deal about Rancho Bismaquer before actually viewing it. He had purchased the large tract of land soon after making his first big killing — the sale of the ice cream business.

‘The first thing we did was build the airstrip,’ he told them. The airstrip had since been much enlarged. ‘Had to be. Most of the water, for domestic use anyway, is flown in every two days. We have one pipeline underground, right out of Amarillo, but there’ve been problems with that, and we use it mainly for irrigation.’

quote:

Once work began, Bismaquer had put his priorities in the right order. A third of the land was for grazing purposes — ‘Landscaped and everything. We’ve a fine herd out there. Unusual, but actually it pays for a lot of the fun.’ The fun, as he liked to call it, was contained in the remaining hundred square miles which had also been irrigated and landscaped, with massive loads of fertile soil and fully-grown trees, either flown in or brought overland by tractor. ‘You said, James, that you’d heard I had only two passions — collecting prints and ice cream. Well, there’s more to it than that. I guess I’m a collector of just about everything. We’ve got a fine stable of cars, from ancient to modern, and some good horses too. Yes, ice cream is something I still tinker with . . .’

‘There’s a laboratory and small factory, right here on the ranch.’ This was about the only time Luxor managed to get a word in.

‘Oh that.’ Bismaquer smiled. ‘Well, I suppose we make a little money from that too. I still act as consultant to several companies. I like creating new flavours, new tastes for the palate. I tinker. Make the odd bulk load, then ship it off. Sometimes the companies turn it down. Too good, I guess. Don’t you find people’s palates are getting blander?’ He did not wait for an answer, but went on to tell them about the special quarters built for the staff, which housed over two hundred men and women, and the luxury Conference Centre, which took up a couple of square miles. It was sheltered from the main tracts by a thick swathe of well-tended plants and trees: ‘A jungle really, but a jungle kept in check.’

The Conference Centre was yet another source of revenue. Large companies used it, but only as often as Bismaquer chose, which was four or five times a year. ‘In fact there’s some conference due in a couple of days, I think. Right, Walter?’

Luxor nodded agreement.

quote:

‘And there’s this, of course. Tara, my very proud possession. Quite something, eh, James?’

‘Fascinating.’ Bond wondered what was really going on in Bismaquer’s mind. How long it would take him to make an offer on the prints — if he really wanted them? After that, what plans had he for his guests? Though Bismaquer had acted in the most natural way possible, he must, by now, know who Bond was — the name itself would mean a great deal to Blofeld’s successor. And what was this conference in a couple of days' time? A meeting of SPECTRE’s leading lights? The Rancho Bismaquer was just right for the new leader of SPECTRE — a flamboyant world, in which fantasy could mingle neatly with the harsh realities of extortion and terrorism.

quote:

When something particularly unpleasant happened, Bismaquer could, like all good paranoids, forget about it: tinkering with new ice cream flavours, driving around his private race track, or just basking in the true Hollywood fantasy of the great screen house, Tara. Gone with the wind.

‘Well, you folks’ll want to freshen up,’ Bismaquer said abruptly ending the meal. ‘I have something to discuss with Walter — you know what I mean, James. I’ll get a guide to take you over to the cabins, then we’ll pick you up for the grand tour around four — say four-thirty. Is that okay?’

Both Bond and Cedar said it would be fine, and Nena spoke for the first time: ‘Don’t forget, Markus, I’ve got a prior claim on James.’

The now-familiar guffaw. ‘Of course. You think I’d miss the chance of spending some time alone with our delightful Cedar? It’s the two cabins you’ve arranged, dear, isn’t it?’

quote:

Nena Bismaquer told him that was so and as they left the dining room, she brushed against Bond and said with a look which was more than a simple pleasantry, ‘I look forward to showing you around the place, James. And talking to you.’

There was no mistaking it: Nena was giving him some kind of message.

Outside, a pick-up truck waited in front of the Saab, a scarlet flag flying from a rear antenna. ‘The boys’ll lead you to the cabins,’ said Bismaquer with a beam. ‘Meanwhile, don’t worry, James. I’m going to get to the bottom of what you told me. Oh, and tonight I want to talk business with you. An offer for the prints. Don’t think I didn’t notice, by the way, how neatly you took them out again.’

quote:

‘My job, Markus.’ Bond thanked them for the delicious meal, and as they set off in the Saab, Cedar started to giggle. ‘Wow, what a set-up!’ she exclaimed.

‘Set-up is the word,’ Bond answered.

‘You mean the invitation to stay for a couple of days?’

‘That, among other things.’

‘Everything to make us feel at home and put us at ease.’

quote:

‘Just fine,’ said Bond. ‘Markus is quite the king. He was innocent as a new-born babe about the goons in New York.’

‘You tackled him about that?’ Cedar frowned as Bond ran through his conversation with their host.

They had gone about a mile from the house now, trailing the pick-up which moved steadily ahead of them.

‘Whatever the quarters are like,’ Bond warned her, ‘we have to presume they’re wired. The telephones too. If we want to talk, we should do it in the open.’ When they were given the tour, Bond said, they should single out places to reconnoitre. ‘The Conference Centre sounds like a natural. But there’ll be others. Time could be shorter than we think, Cedar, and we’d better begin straightaway.’

‘Like tonight?’

‘Just like tonight.’ Cedar laughed again, ‘I think you may find yourself otherwise occupied.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning Nena Bismaquer. She’s ready to drop her expensive shoes under your bed any time you feel like it, James.’

quote:

‘Really?’ Bond tried to sound innocent, but he vividly remembered Nena’s look and the way she spoke to him. Being married to Markus Bismaquer would obviously have its compensations; but maybe there were things that the fantasy of the ranch and Tara could not supply. ‘If you’re right,’ he mused aloud, ‘if there’s any truth in that, Cedar, I’ll see we’re not disturbed tonight. Heaven can wait.’

Cedar Leiter gave him a hard look. ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘But can Hell?’

The landscape had gone through a couple of changes already. ‘Think of everything that man had ferried into this place,’ said Cedar, shaking her head in amazement. They had covered about ten miles and were now climbing to a ridge crested by a thick copse of fir trees. The truck signalled a left turn, taking them along a path directly through a thicket of evergreens, then, with dramatic suddenness, into a broad clearing.

The two log cabins stood facing one another, about thirty feet apart. They were beautifully built, with small porches and neat, white paintwork.

‘They’re making sure,’ Bond muttered.

‘Sure of what?’

‘That we’re neutralised here. Only one entrance through the trees. Surrounded and easy to watch. It’s going to be difficult, Cedar: difficult to get out of. I’d put my last dollar on TV monitors and electronic alarms; plus a few live bodies in the trees. I’ll take a look later. You armed, by the way?’

Cedar shook her head dismally, knowing Bond was right. The cabins were merely places where guests could be easily monitored.

quote:

‘I’ve got a Smith & Wesson in the briefcase,’ Bond continued. ‘I’ll let you have it later.’

The driver of the pick-up was leaning out of his cab.

‘Take your pick, folks,’ he called. ‘Have a nice stay.’

‘It makes a change from the motels,’ Bond said happily, ‘but I’d feel safer at Tara.’ Cedar grinned at him. ‘Frankly, dear James,’ she replied, ‘I don’t give a drat.’

quote:

‘Mazzard Securities,’ a voice at the New York number answered.

‘I want Mike. Tell him it’s Leader.’

A few seconds later, Mike Mazzard was on the line.

‘You’d better get down here fast,’ Blofeld commanded. ‘We have problems.’

‘I’m already on my way,’ Mazzard chuckled, ‘but there’re other things to deal with for the conference. I’ll be there in a couple of days. Sooner if I get through.’

‘As quickly as possible.’ There was no doubt about the anger in Blofeld’s voice. ‘You’ve bungled enough already. And we’ve got Bond here like a sitting duck.’

quote:

‘As soon as I can. You want everything right, don’t you?’

‘Just remember, Mazzard, the house on the bayou has very hungry guardians.’

Blofeld cradled the telephone and sat back, thinking about the next moves in SPECTRE’s game. So much time and planning and then that cretin, Mazzard, had almost wrecked it. No orders had been given for Bond to die, and Mazzard was always far too trigger-happy. Eventually, Blofeld thought, something would have to be done about Mr Mike Mazzard.

quote:

HOUND. Blofeld smiled at the word. High above the earth, at this very moment, the Americans had their hounds out in force, with more in reserve. They claimed none of these weapons was in space, but this was merely a subterfuge. Within days now, SPECTRE would lay its hands on every piece of data concerning these hounds of heaven, the Space Wolves — and what a plan, what ingenuity, what profits! The Soviets alone would pay a fortune for the information.

From the conception of HOUND there had been the need for one major scapegoat, and, in the back of Blofeld’s mind, Bond had always fitted the part. Now James Bond was in Texas — trapped, lured, snared. Ripe for the allotted role, and the ignominious death Blofeld had planned for him.

The business in Washington — though unscheduled and contrary to instructions — must have shaken the Britisher; but Blofeld had other things in mind, other activities to keep Bond off balance. Only in the end would death come to Mr James Bond.

Blofeld began to laugh aloud.

poisonpill posted:

Just catching up, and I want to make sure I have the plot straight in my head:
-CIA wants to investigate this guy in Texas because he has a big, weird house
-Everyone they send is found dead, so they go find James Bond, who knows about this guy
-This guy knows James Bond, so they disguise him as a professor with rare woodprints, which they fake
-The Texas sends four thugs to attack the professor and bring the woodprints to him, but Bond uses throwing knives to knock them all out
-Bond then abandons his disguise completely and travels to a random hotel hundreds of miles away
-They find Bond anyway, and try to kill him by turning off the elevator, but there is a safety catch
-Bond goes to Texas and shows up at the guy's house, both abandoning his cover and also perpetuating it
-Bond meets the target, as himself secret agent James Bond (knowing they know this) and also under cover of selling the woodprints
-Bond takes a nap in the guest house

Strategic Tea posted:

I guess I thought the books by an actual commando might be a bit more... grounded?

But hell, Fleming was in wartime intelligence so there we go

quote:

The cabins were identical except for their names — Sand Creek and Fetterman. If Bond remembered correctly, these were the names of two bloody massacres during the Indian wars of the 1860s. Sand Creek, he seemed to recall, was the scene of an act of revolting treachery, leading to the butchery of old men, women, and children. Pleasantly chosen names for guest cabins.

quote:

It was in true Blofeld fashion, though, as was the whole ranch. Neither was Bond surprised to find the interiors of the cabins as spacious and well-appointed as everything else. Each had a large sitting room with television, stereo and VTR; a bedroom which would put even the most grandiose hotels to shame; and a large bathroom, furnished with shower and sunken jacusi. The only difference lay in the paintings. Sand Creek sported a large reproduction of Robert Lindneux’s canvas depicting the massacre, while the other cabin contained a blow-up reproduction of the Harper’s Weekly engraving of the Fetterman battle.

quote:

There were telephones which, they soon discovered, connected with the main house and nowhere else. It would be impossible to call each other, and Bond was also disturbed to find that neither of the cabins was provided with lock or key. No privacy for these guests.

quote:

They tossed a coin for cabins, Bond getting Fetterman. He helped Cedar move her luggage into Sand Creek.

‘They’re not picking us up until four-thirty,’ he told Cedar, ‘so I’ll give you ten minutes, then we can do a short reconnaissance.’

It was essential, Bond thought while unpacking, to discover the secrets of Rancho Bismaquer as soon as possible. At least there was the Saab. Their equipment could stay in the locked car and remain safe. A normal Saab was difficult enough for any would-be thief. Bond’s personalised model — with its heavy bullet-proofing and other extras — was fitted with sensors which activated alarms, should anyone even attempt to tamper with it. For the time being, though, he was more concerned for their personal safety, having no illusions about the manner in which they had been isolated on this high, wooded knoll.

Cedar, taking her cue from Bond, was ready — in fresh jeans, shirt, and a fringed Western jacket — within the allotted time. Bond had also changed, and emerged in a lightweight cream suit bought in Springfield. He was, like Cedar, wearing leather boots, and he had altered the holster position for the VP70 — attaching it to his belt, to the rear of his right hip.

quote:

Alone in his cabin, he had unlocked the briefcase. Now he gave the small revolver, with ammunition, to Cedar.

‘Ready for anything,’ Cedar said, batting her eyelids at him.

‘Let’s play at being emotionally entangled,’ Bond said quietly, taking her hand as they walked towards the dirt track between the trees.

‘I don’t have to play, James.’ She glanced at him, gripping his hand tightly and moving closer.

Bond once more sensed the unthinkable temptation. Cedar, with those great saucer brown eyes, could have seduced a saint.

‘Don’t, sweetheart,’ he murmured. ‘It’s hard enough already. Your father’s my oldest American friend, and you are the apple of his eye, I’ve no doubt. Please don’t make it more of a problem.’

quote:

She sighed. ‘Oh James, you can be a fussy devil. Nobody thinks twice about things like that any more.’ She stayed silent until they were well into the trees, then added, through gritted teeth, ‘And you watch it with the Bismaquer woman. She’d eat you alive, make no mistake.’

For the sake of any real, or electronic, watchers, they made it seem like a casual stroll, but both of them stayed alert, their eyes searching everywhere. Still, they spotted no surveillance gear.

‘Perhaps they keep a watch with radar — or some other system — straight from Tara,’ Bond said, thinking aloud as they broke cover from the trees.

The knoll gave them a superb view across the ranch. About eight miles below and ahead stood a veritable small town of brick and adobe buildings — the living quarters, Bond supposed, for Bismaquer’s retainers; while off to the right the stark blazing white of a T-shaped building glared in the sun. They could see that this large structure lay close to the protecting boundary wall and was encircled by a thick layer of greenery.

‘The controlled jungle,’ Bond said nodding towards the complex. ‘That must be the Conference Centre. We have to get a look at that.’

‘Through the jungle?’ Cedar raised her eyebrows. ‘I wonder what they’ve got hidden in all that stuff. See? There’s some kind of pit on the outer edge, and fencing near the buildings.’

quote:

In the very far distance, covered by a bluish haze, lay grazing land; and, from their vantage point, they could make out the tiny dots of cattle. It was also apparent that the knoll was not the highest ground. To the left of the Conference Centre, Bismaquer’s land sloped gently upwards to a broad plateau upon which the airstrip had been built, a plateau large enough, they both judged, to accommodate very big aircraft.

Almost as though for their benefit, there was a sudden blast of engine noise, drifting across the thirty or forty miles, and, as they watched, a Boeing 747 hurtled into the air.

quote:

‘If they can take Jumbos, they’ll be able to fly almost anything in and out.’ Bond’s eyes narrowed against the harsh, hot light. ‘That’s another target. Let’s tick them off, Cedar: we need a good look at the Conference Building; Bismaquer’s laboratory; the airfield . . .’

‘And the mono-rail station at this end.’ Cedar’s grasp tightened on his hand. ‘Just in case we have to get out that way. At least we know what we’d be up against at the other end.’

‘The Dracula brothers, and a quick burn-up on the fence.’ Bond’s mouth tightened into a cruel smile. ‘All full of joy and money, Bismaquer may well be; but the whole place stinks like a dung hill. He’s got a small army on the spot, and a nice fun palace, plus the race track, wherever that may be, plus the cattle. Bismaquerland, Texas’s answer to Disneyland. But do you know, Cedar, behind all the fun and frolics I can almost smell SPECTRE. This place has all the outrageous splendour that would have appealed to its late and unlamented founder, Ernst Stavro Blofeld.’

quote:

Bond wished he had some field glasses with him, or materials with which to make a map. After a while, Cedar asked if he thought they could get out.

‘We only try that after we’ve made certain of two things, and you know it.’

She nodded, her face set hard. ‘What SPECTRE’s up to, if this is their base . . .’

‘It’s their base all right.’

‘. . . and who the real culprit is.’

‘Right.’ Bond’s face remained impassive. ‘Who do you reckon? Bismaquer or Walter Luxor . . . ?’

‘Or Lady Bismaquer, James.’

quote:

‘Okay, or Nena Bismaquer, why not? But my money’s on Markus himself. He has all the paranoid symptoms: a Chris Cringle cover, an obsession with wealth and possessions, always wanting more. I vote for him, with Walter Luxor as his chief eunuch.’

‘Don’t be so sure about the eunuch bit.’ Cedar swallowed. ‘I sat next to him at lunch. Those hands tend to wander.’ She shivered at the thought. ‘And I can’t lock my door.’

quote:

Bond moved her away from the edge of the knoll to inspect the woods once more. ‘They must have some kind of monitoring system,’ he said after half an hour’s further search had produced no clues. ‘I think we try and shake any watchdogs they give us tonight, then go on a little tour of our own. Hallo . . .’ He stopped still as the sound of a motor engine drifted up from the road below the knoll, and took Cedar’s arm. ‘That’ll be the grand tour party. Don’t forget, they’ll split us up now, but after dinner at Tara we stick together. Right?’

‘You’re on, Mr Bond.’ Cedar raised herself on her toes to give him a quick peck on the cheek. ‘And don’t forget what I said about the Dragon Lady.’

‘No promises.’ Bond’s serious mask broke for a moment. ‘My old nanny used to say that promises are like pie crust — made to be broken.’

‘Oh, James . . .’

They broke cover, walking into the clearing just as Bismaquer, huge behind the wheel of an open racy-looking red Mustang GT, drove in with a flourish of dust. The Mustang screeched to a halt behind the Saab. Circa 1966, Bond thought, recognising the car. Probably with the 289 V-8 engine.

quote:

Nena sat next to her husband, hair wind-blown and face radiant, flushed by what had probably been a fast drive. She vaulted out of the Mustang in a graceful, single movement, her long legs clearing the door with agile ease.

‘Nice little motor car,’ Bond grinned. ‘I wouldn’t mind taking it on, if you’ve still got the Grand Prix in mind.’

‘I can offer you competition livelier than this, James,’ Bismaquer announced, ‘Oh, it’s on, okay. Everything’s fixed. I’ll show you what you’ll be up against later. Are you folks all organised? Who’s in which cabin? Or are you sharing?’ He chuckled wickedly but without the trace of a leer.

‘Cedar’s in Fetterman, and I’ve got Sand Creek,’ Bond said quickly, reversing the cabins before Cedar could blurt out the truth. If Luxor was a lecher it might be better for him to come groping after Bond in the night.

quote:

‘You all set, James?’ Nena Bismaquer’s eyes, dancing a moment ago, suddenly turned serious as she looked into Bond’s face.

‘Do you want to risk the Saab?’ he replied.

‘She’ll risk anything,’ said Bismaquer, bubbling with laughter. ‘Come on, Cedar. I’ll show you some real driving — and quite a bit of prime Bismaquer land.’

Bond unlocked the Saab, handing Nena into the passenger seat. According to Bismaquer, the whole ‘Grand Tour’ took around three hours, but they would cut it short. Dinner was at seven-thirty. ‘I want half an hour with you and those prints first, James. Let’s meet at the track, about a quarter to seven. Nena will lead you there. Be good, and if you can’t be good . . .’

quote:

Bond lost Bismaquer’s last words in the deep roar of the Saab’s ignition. Then, with a wave, he shut the door, and the noise softened to a rumble.

Nena Bismaquer turned towards him in her seat. ‘Okay, James, I’ll show you the best of Markus’s pride and joy.’

‘I can see it from here,’ said Bond with a smile. Certainly she looked fantastic, the healthy, sun-browned complexion vying with her incredible black eyes.

She laughed, the same musical note, sliding down the scale. ‘Don’t you believe it. The Rancho Bismaquer’s his one and only pride and joy. Come on, let me give you the tour, via the scenic route.’

They drove out, taking the road towards the small town which housed the ranch staff. There were neat lawns, a small park where children played, and Bond could see men and women going about the usual chores of any town — shopping at the large store, working in their yards, hanging out washing. The air of normality was almost sinister. Like everything else around the ranch, the town looked like a movie set.

quote:

Nena waved to people as they drove through, and Bond noticed a patrol car, with the Bismaquer Security flashes on the side.

‘Highway police?’ he asked.

‘Certainly. Markus believes in law and order. He thinks it makes people forget they’re living in an enclosed area. These people very rarely leave here, you know, James.’

quote:

Bond made no comment, just drove on, following her directions. They went out to the edge of the grazing land, then turned back, taking the airport road. It was clear Cedar and he had been right: this was no simple landing strip in the converted desert, but a full scale operational airport.

‘It’s called Bismaquer International, would you believe that?’ Nena’s tone sounded like blatant mockery.

‘I’d believe it. Where next?’

She gave instructions, and soon they were coasting close to the jungle-like thicket surrounding the Conference Centre. Bond asked if this was intended to keep people out, knowing very well, from the observations made on the knoll, that it was just that.

‘Oh, keep-out, or keep-in. Keep-in really. We get the strangest people here for conferences, and they tend to get nosey. Markus enjoys his privacy. You’ll see. Once he’s done a deal with you, and shown off all his toys, he’ll have you out and away before you know it.’

Bond slowed the car, glancing constantly at the high, impenetrable greenery. ‘Looks nasty. You’ve got a pit around it as well. Are there dragons in there to discourage the inmates?’

‘Nothing as bad as that; but you can’t get through without a machete, and some skill. There’s half a mile of thicket — some of it quite dangerous. And a high fence. We can get in, though.’

‘Well, somebody has to. Presumably you provide the staff. Unless you lift them in and out by chopper?’

‘Conference delegates are in fact taken in by helicopter. But here, I’ll show you. You follow the green belt for about two miles more.’

‘What’s a lovely French girl doing in a dream world like this?’ Bond said, as though to himself.

There was a moment’s pause, during which 007 cursed himself, thinking he had moved too soon.

quote:

‘I wonder about that myself.’ Nena’s voice dropped, the sparkle gone. ‘All the time.’ There was another silence before she said, ‘Oh, it’s a long, involved, and not very edifying story, James. I come out of it something of a gold-digger. Did you know that gold-diggers always get their just desserts?’

‘I thought they got diamonds, mink coats, smart cars, luxury flats and — most evenings — zabaglione, crêpes suzettes, or profiteroles for their just desserts.’

quote:

‘Oh, they get that too. But they pay a price. Here, straight ahead. Start slowing down.’

The road had circled almost to the high fencing and walls, on the other side of which, Bond knew, there was nothing but arid land, dry grass and rock, stretching almost as far as Amarillo.

‘Pull up here,’ Nena ordered.

Bond brought the Saab to a halt, then following Nena’s lead, got out of the car.

She crossed to the side of the road and knelt down, as though afraid of being seen. ‘I shouldn’t really be giving away the family secrets.’ Her smile, as she lifted her head, seemed to go like a lance to Bond’s heart. This was madness, he told himself, sheer and utter. Nena Bismaquer had been unknown to him until, literally, a few hours ago; yet already he felt envy for the bear-like Markus Bismaquer. He had a surge of desire to know everything about her: her past, childhood, parents, friends, likes and dislikes, thoughts and ideas.

quote:

Warning signals rang in his head, pulling his mind back to the reality of the moment. Nena Bismaquer knelt beside what appeared to be a small, circular metal cover about a foot in diameter that looked as though it had something to do with drainage. A metal ring was recessed flush with the centre of the cover, and Nena prised it open with ease, lifting out the thick round plate as though it were light as plastic.

‘See?’ She showed him a U-shaped handle, lying in the revealed recess. ‘Now watch.’ As she pulled at the handle, a block of stone at the edge of the roadway slowly sank, as though on a hydraulic lift. The block was about five feet square. When it had dropped to around a foot below the surface, the distant hiss of hydraulics became clearly audible. The slab slid to one side, revealing a wide, tiled chamber beneath. Metal hand and foot holds ran down the wall nearest the road.

‘I don’t think we should go down.’ A hint of nervousness came into her unusually calm voice. ‘But the chamber leads to steps and a tunnel which comes out in a janitor’s closet over in the main building. There’s an opening and closing device down there, and another one when you get to the far end. Just one of Markus’s little devices. Few people know about it. The staff we use in the Conference Centre, of course, always go in this way, about a day before a delegation arrives. Food’s ferried in by helicopter; and this is always here as an emergency escape route in case of trouble.’

Her choice of words seemed odd to Bond. ‘What kind of trouble?’ he asked.

‘I told you: we get some very strange characters among conference delegates. Markus has this thing about security. He’s quite right, of course. Oh, maybe I shouldn’t have shown it to you. Come on, let’s get out of here.’

quote:

She reached down and pulled the lever back. The slab of stone, on its hydraulic jacks, went through the reverse procedure. When it was settled in position, Nena put the small circular cover back in place and kicked dust over it with her foot.

Back in the car, she seemed edgy. ‘Where now?’ Bond asked, giving the impression that the show with the hidden entrance was an interesting, but unimportant event.

She looked at her watch. They had a good three-quarters of an hour before meeting Bismaquer. ‘Take the road towards the cabins.’ She spoke quickly. ‘I’ll show you where to turn off.’

Bond pointed the Saab in the direction of the wooded knoll. Instead of taking the track up through the trees, though, she told him to skirt the knoll to the left. Ahead, Bond saw there was another track leading up the other side of the rising ground, wide enough for cars or trucks.

Half way up the far side, Nena pointed to an exit among the trees, on the right, and in a few moments they were in a small clearing: dark and surrounded by trees, with just enough room to turn the car around.

quote:

‘Have you got a cigarette?’ she asked after he switched off the ignition.

Bond produced his gunmetal case, lighting cigarettes for both of them. He noticed that her fingers were trembling. Nena drew hard on the cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a long stream. ‘Look, James. I’ve been foolish. I’m sorry; I don’t know why I did it, but please don’t tell Markus I showed you that entrance to the Centre.’ She shook her head, repeating, ‘I don’t know why I did it. You see, he’s . . . well, he gets into a state about these things. I was carried away — a new face, someone nice, you know what I mean?’ Her hand seemed to drift towards his, fingers interlocking his fingers.

‘Yes, I think I know.’ The touch of her hand was like a tiny electric shock.

Quite suddenly she laughed. ‘Oh dear. I’m not really very bright, am I? I could always have blackmailed you, Mr James Bond.’

‘Blackmailed?’ Concern, razor-sharp, sliced through Bond’s nerves.

quote:

She raised her hand, lifting Bond’s arm with hers, fingers tightening. ‘Don’t worry. Please. You don’t tell Markus I gave away a state secret, and I won’t mention the fact that you’re a . . . Oh, what do they call it? A con merchant? A confidence artist? There’s another slang name over here . . .’

‘A flim-flam man?’ Bond offered.

‘That’s good.’ Again the glissando laugh. ‘A good description — flim-flam.’ She pronounced it deliciously as ‘fleem-flem’.

‘Nena, I don’t know . . .’

‘James.’ She shook a finger at him with her free hand. ‘You’re in my power, my dear, and heaven knows, I need a good man in my power.’

quote:

‘I still don’t know what you’re . . .’

She shushed him. ‘Look. Markus is always the big expert. He knows about cars and horses, he certainly knows about ice cream. In fact ice cream is really the one thing he does know about. But prints? He has books, he knows what he likes, but he’s no expert. I, on the other hand, am an expert. Until a few years ago, when I became Mrs Bismaquer, I studied art. In Paris, I studied since twelve years of age, and my speciality was prints. You have a set of unknown Hogarths. Unique, Markus keeps telling me. Worth a fortune.’

‘Yes. And authenticated. And I haven’t said they’re for sale yet, Nena.’

She gave her brilliant smile. ‘No, and don’t think I’m unaware of that being one of the oldest tricks in the book, James. Dangle them, yes? Be uncertain about a sale? Look.’ Still talking, she took his hand, locked with her own, and thrust it between her thighs. The gesture was so natural, as if she scarcely realised what she had done, but Bond felt a sudden difficulty in breathing naturally. ‘Look, James. You know there are no new, undiscovered sets of Hogarth prints. You know it. I know it. Just as I know the ones you have are a set of very, very good fakes. They are so good that I’ve no doubt future generations will believe they’re Hogarth originals. They’ll become real Hogarths. I know how the market works. A fake work of art, if handled properly, actually becomes the real thing. Somehow you’ve already managed to convince some people that they’re real; you have authentication, provided that’s not forged too . . .’

quote:

‘It’s not.’ Bond knew he should admit to nothing illegal. ‘But what makes you so certain those are forgeries? You only had a quick look at them.’

She moved closer so that their shoulders touched, her head leaning so near that he could smell her hair — not a distilled scent, made in some expensive factory, but the real thing, human hair, cared-for, and containing its own elusive fragrance.

‘I know they’re forgeries, because I know the man who did them. In fact I’ve seen them before. He’s an Englishman called — variously — Miller, or Millhouse, or maybe it’s Malting?’

Nena then proceeded to give Bond an accurate and detailed description of the little expert who had so diligently put Cedar, and himself, through their paces at the Kensington safe house.

Blast, Bond thought to himself. M had been uncharacteristically careless. On the other hand, his chief was a sly old fox, quite capable of preparing a trail for SPECTRE to follow, regardless of the danger to Bond.

quote:

‘Well, Nena, it’s all news to me,’ he bluffed, hoping that no sign of the shock showed in his face or eyes.

When she spoke next, Nena’s voice gave the impression that she too was short of breath.

‘James. I’m not going to say anything. Just, please, don’t tell him about the tunnel. I really should not have shown that to you; and . . . Oh, James, sometimes he terrifies me . . .’ Her hand untwined from his, her arms reaching up as she pulled his lips down on to her own.

There was a moment, just after their lips touched, when Bond thought he heard the distant voice of Cedar telling him, ‘She’d eat you alive, make no mistake.’

quote:

James Bond, however, had reached the stage when he would gladly have been eaten alive by the amazing Nena Bismaquer. In all his not inconsiderable experience, he could not remember ever having been kissed like this. It began as a caressing touch, as their lips met, then a tingling sensation — her mouth in constant motion — as they opened their mouths as one, the tips of their tongues touching, then retreating, and touching again: like two animals exploring one another; until, at last, both capitulated willingly. Gradually, the kiss became almost everything the whole act of sex should be: the lips, mouths, and tongues ceased to have separate identities — becoming one, reaching out, exploring: extending into a passion of their own.

Bond unconsciously reached for her body, but Nena’s hand caught his wrist, holding him away until, breathless, they slowly surrendered each other’s mouths.

‘James,’ she spoke almost in a whisper. ‘I thought the art of kissing was dead.’

‘Well, it seems to be alive, well, and living in a Saab motor car in the middle of a ranch in Texas.’ It was not meant to be flippant; and the way Bond spoke it did not come out that way.

quote:

She glanced at her watch. ‘Oh, dear James, we’ll have to go soon.’ Her eyes shifted from him briefly. ‘I have to ask one thing.’ She looked away from him, staring out through the windshield. ‘You and Mrs Penbrunner — Cedar . . . ?’

‘Yes?’ ‘Are you? . . . Well, is there . . . ?’

‘Are we lovers?’ Bond helped her.

‘Yes. I think, around here they would ask — are you a scene?’

‘No. Very definitely no. Cedar’s husband happens to be one of my best and closest friends. But, Nena, this is crazy. Markus . . .’

‘Would kill you.’ She sounded very calm about it. ‘Or have you killed. Maybe he’ll kill you anyway, James. I was going to warn you, whatever. Now I’m doing it against my will, because I’d like nothing better than for you to stay here forever. But I’d rather have you here alive. Darling James. Let me give you advice: go. Go as soon as you can. Take Markus for what you can get, but do it tonight, and then leave as quickly as possible. There’s evil here. More evil than you could dream of.’

‘Evil?’

quote:

‘I can’t tell you about it. To be honest, I don’t know that much myself, but what I do know terrifies me. Markus may seem a nice buffoon — a rich, boisterous, amusing and generous teddy bear. But the bear has claws, James, terrible claws, and powers that reach out far beyond this ranch. Far beyond America in fact.’

‘You mean he’s some kind of criminal?’

‘It’s not that simple.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t explain. Can I, perhaps, come to you — tonight? No, I can’t tonight. There’s no way. If you’re still here tomorrow — though if you take my advice, you’ll be gone — but, if you’re here, can I come to you?’

‘Please.’ Bond could find no eloquent words. Nena seemed at the edge of some precipice, lying, hidden, within her.

‘We must go. He’ll be all smiles even if we’re late, but I’ll go through hell afterwards.’

Silently Bond wiped his mouth, while Nena made use of the vanity mirror to brush off her lips and run a comb through her hair. As they drove off, Bond asked if she could explain her part in things. ‘Just the bare facts.’

quote:

‘It wasn’t until he brought me here that I found the real man behind that generous nature. Yes, there’s a criminal — a terrible — connection. But there are other things too: his violent temper, which only those close to him see. And his predilections, of course . . .’

‘Sexual?’ ‘He’s amazing for a man of his age, I have to admit it. But, he’s sexually . . . what do you say, James? . . . ambivalent? Why do you think he has that terrible death’s head, Walter Luxor, here all the time? It’s not just the cleverness with money. He’s . . . well . . . he and Luxor. . .’

Her voice trailed off, then regained its habitual calm.

‘Sometimes he doesn’t come near me for months. Then it all changes. Oh, he can plough a long furrow when he wishes . . . You turn right here,’ she ordered. ‘I must stop talking, or he’ll see I’m in a state. Don’t give him a hint, James. Not a hint.’

quote:

They followed a minor road, taking them around the back of the smooth lawns surrounding Tara, then through a belt of trees, high and thick, which explained why Cedar and Bond could not see the racing circuit from their vantage point on the knoll.

The trees screened everything — a device Bismaquer employed throughout the ranch’s entire layout. This time they hid a huge oval circuit, wide enough to take three or four cars. The bends at the end nearest to the house were gentle curves, but half way down the far side there was a nasty chicane, followed by a crucifying right-angle turn, while the next bend — at the distant end of the rough oval — was almost a Z in shape.

The track must have been all of eight miles in full circuit, and Bond picked out its hazards, the very real danger points, with a practised eye.

On the far side stood a banked wooden grandstand; below there were pits and garages. The red Mustang was just arriving under the grandstand, the skeleton figure of Luxor standing ready to greet Bismaquer and Cedar.

Bond took the Saab right around the access road which ran parallel to the circuit. As he and Nena approached, Bismaquer and Cedar became plainly visible, standing next to a car that was silver in colour, like Bond’s Saab, with Walter Luxor now at the wheel.

quote:

‘Be terribly careful, James.’ Nena seemed to have regained her self-control. ‘Once behind the wheel, Walter’s a dangerous man to play around with. He’s an expert, he knows this track like his own hand, and he can clock up incredible speeds. What’s worse, since his own accident he’s felt no fear — neither for himself nor any opponent.’

‘I’m not bad myself,’ Bond said, hearing the anger he felt towards Bismaquer and Luxor etched deeply into his voice. ‘If they’re set on this race, I think I can teach Walter Luxor a thing or two, especially if they match me properly. I’ll only drive against my own class . . .’ He stopped as they came up to the group and identified the other silver car. ‘And it looks as though they’re giving me a reasonable chance, with room to spare.’ He braked the Saab to a halt, opened the door and went around to help Nena Bismaquer from her seat as Markus came over, slapping him on the back, emitting another of the now infuriating guffaws.

‘Did you enjoy it? Isn’t it great? You see why I’m so proud of Rancho Bismaquer?’

‘It’s quite a place. Makes any one of England’s home counties seem like a small farm.’ Bond smiled, looking across to Cedar: ‘Eh, Cedar? Isn’t it tremendous?’

quote:

‘Something else,’ she answered. Nobody but Bond could have understood the tinge of irony; and only Bond noticed the dagger looks aimed directly at Nena Bismaquer.

‘Tomorrow,’ Bismaquer said loudly, with a flourish towards the parked silver car. ‘Do you think you’re well-matched, James? Walter’ll drive against you. Tomorrow morning, I think. How about it?’

Bond looked towards Luxor, who sat at the wheel of the Mustang variant — the Shelby-American GT 350. This had been a most popular high-performance competition car in the late 1960s: with a lightened body, free-flow exhaust, and the 289 V-8 engine.

‘It’s souped up a little, of course,’ Bismaquer chuckled. ‘And it’s all of thirteen years old. But I guess it’ll give you a run on this track, even with that turbo of yours. You on, James?’

quote:

Bond reached out a hand. ‘Of course I’m on. Should be fun.’

Bismaquer turned his head, calling back to Luxor. ‘Tomorrow, Walter. About ten in the morning, before it gets too hot. Eight laps. Okay, James?’

‘Ten, if you like.’ If it was bravado they wanted, then he was game.

‘Good. We’ll invite some of the boys. Nothing they like better’n a good road race.’ Then, with a quick change of tone, Bismaquer turned to Nena. ‘Let’s get back then. I have one or two things to do tonight, and I’ve got to talk with young James, here, before dinner. I expect the ladies’ll want to freshen up a little as well.’

Nena gave Bond an unperturbed smile. ‘Thank you for putting up with my lecture on the wonders of Rancho Bismaquer, James. I enjoyed showing you around.’

‘My pleasure.’ Bond opened the door for Cedar, who called her thanks in turn to Bismaquer. Engines fired, and Bismaquer led the way back to Tara, his wife at his side.

‘Thank you very much for putting up with my lecture, James,’ Cedar mimicked. ‘Oh, my pleasure, Nena; my pleasure. You’re a creep, James Bond.’

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‘Possibly.’ Bond spoke sharply. ‘But I’ve learned a great deal. For instance, Nena Bismaquer may be the only friend we have here. Also, we can take our time over the Conference Centre. There’s a way in, directly off the road. No problem. I think tonight’s activities have to be confined to that laboratory and the building behind it. Did you enjoy Bismaquer’s company?’

Cedar, momentarily silenced by Bond’s news, appeared to be counting to herself. ‘One hundred . . .’ she finished. ‘To be honest with you, Bond, I wouldn’t trust any of them; and if it wasn’t for that predatory Nena woman, I’d put Bismaquer down as a human being.’

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‘Right first time,’ Bond said.

‘Lawks-a-mercy.’ Cedar gave a satisfied smirk as they turned into Tara’s main drive. ‘I’se sick, Mizz Scarlet, I’se sick.’

quote:

James Bond sat, a large vodka martini in his hand, facing Markus Bismaquer on the veranda. Walter Luxor hovered in the background.

‘Now come on, James.’ Bismaquer had — for the moment — put his hearty personality aside. ‘The prints are either for sale or they’re not. I want a straight yes or no. We’ve fenced around, and now I’m ready to make you an offer.’

Bond took a sip of his drink, placed the glass on a side table, and lit another cigarette. ‘All right, Markus. As you say, the fencing’s over. I have very precise instructions. The prints are for sale . . .’

Bismaquer let out a sigh of relief.

‘. . . They’re for sale by auction, in New York, in one week’s time.’

‘I’m not going in for any auction . . .’ Bismaquer began. He stopped as Bond held up a hand.

‘They’re for sale at public auction in New York, in one week’s time, unless I’m offered a certain price before that. Further, my instructions are that there is a very firm reserve on the whole set; and I am not to disclose that reserve to any prospective buyer.’

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‘Well . . .’ Bismaquer began again. ‘I’ll offer you . . .’

‘Wait,’ Bond cut in. ‘I have to warn you further that the first bid for the prints, outside the auction, will be the only one taken. Which means, Markus, that if you come in below the secret reserve, you lose for all time. My principal will instruct the auctioneer to accept no bids from a person or persons connected with anyone who has already made a private bid. In other words, you have to be very careful.’

For the first time that day, Bond thought he could detect a trace of malevolence in Bismaquer’s face.

‘James,’ he began, finally, ‘can I ask two questions?’

‘You can ask. I shall answer at my discretion.’

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‘Okay. Okay.’ Bismaquer appeared to be rattled. ‘The first one’s easy. Every man, in my experience, has a price. I presume you’re corruptible?’

Bond shook his head. ‘No, in this matter, nobody can bribe me. Mrs Penbrunner’s on the premises. In any case, I’m under a legal obligation. What’s the second question?’

‘Is the reserve based on a true value?’

‘There is no true value. The prints are unique. But, to give you hope, the reserve is based on a price calculated to be the mean between a minimum and maximum that would be achieved at an open auction. I don’t understand computers myself, but that’s how they arrived at the figure.’

The cicadas had opened up their chirping music all around. Dusk was starting to close in and, far away, the moon began to show, big and yellow, against a clear darkening sky. In the silence, Bond heard Bismaquer cough.

‘Okay, James, I’ll take a shot at it. One million dollars.’

Bond had in fact been playing it by ear, with no figure in mind. Now he smiled inwardly as he spoke: ‘Right on target, Markus. They’re yours. What do you propose? Do I call the Professor? Do we shake on it, or what?’

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‘Oh, you’ve sure given me a hard time, James, my friend, I think we have to take it a step further. Tell me, could you scrape together a million bucks? I mean now, this minute?’

‘Who, me personally?’

‘It’s you I’m asking.’

‘Not now this minute. But in a day or so, yes. Yes, I could.’

‘Are you a gambling man?’

‘It has been known to happen.’ Bond thought of the many chemmy tables, poker games, casinos, and private clubs in which he had played.

‘Okay. I’m going to give you the biggest chance you’ve ever had. Tomorrow you’re going out there to race against Walter. A late 1960s car against your fast turbo. I’ve offered one million dollars for those prints. If you beat Walter on the track, I’ll gladly pay the million and add another million for your pains.’

‘That’s very generous . . .’

But Bond stopped as Bismaquer held up his hand.

‘Whoa there, boy. I haven’t finished. I’ve offered a million. If Walter beats you out there, you get nothing for your pains; I get the prints, and you do my paying for me.’

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It was a subtle scheme — a gamble based on the knowledge Markus Bismaquer had of Luxor, the Shelby-American GT, and the track, but a gamble none the less. Except, Bond knew, if Bismaquer was the new Blofeld — or even if Luxor were — nobody was going to get anything for the prints. Bismaquer was playing with him, counting on Bond going for the bait and, in all probability, killing himself out on the hot circuit with its dangerous bends.

Whereas, if he refused . . . ?

Giving Bismaquer his most charming smile, Bond reached out in the gathering darkness to grasp the big man’s hand.

‘Done,’ said James Bond, knowing the word might well be his own death warrant.

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Back in the car, she seemed edgy. ‘Where now?’ Bond asked, giving the impression that the show with the hidden entrance was an interesting, but unimportant event.