Carte Blanche - Jeffery Deaver [136]
Bond said, ‘I have an emergency at home. There’s an illness in my family. I wanted to see about it. I asked to borrow Ms Barnes’s mobile and she was kind enough to say yes.’
‘That’s right,’ she confirmed.
‘Well, I think I will take it.’
‘I think you won’t,’ Bond replied.
There was a heavy pause. The man launched himself at Bond, who tossed the phone on to the desk and went into a systema defence position. The fight began.
The man had three or four stones on Bond and he was talented – very talented. He’d studied kick-boxing and aikido. Bond could counter his moves but it took a lot of effort, and manoeuvring was difficult because the office, though large, was cluttered with furniture. At one point the massive guard backed up fast, slamming into Jessica, who screamed and fell to the floor. She lay stunned.
For sixty seconds or so they sparred fiercely, Bond realising that systema’s evasive moves would not be enough. His opponent was strong and showed no sign of tiring.
His eyes focused and fierce, the man judged angles and distances and came in with a kick – or so it seemed. The move was a feint. Bond had anticipated this, though, and when the huge man twisted away, Bond delivered a powerful thrust of his elbow into his kidney, a blow that would not only be excruciatingly painful but could permanently damage the organ.
But, Bond realised too late, the guard had feinted again; he’d taken the hit intentionally so that now he could do as he’d planned and launch himself sideways towards the table where the phone lay. He grabbed the Nokia, snapped it in half and flung the pieces out of the window. One skipped across the surface of the water before it sank.
By the time the man righted himself, however, Bond was on him. He dropped systema and went into a classic boxer’s stance, swung a left fist into his opponent’s solar plexus, doubling him over, then drew back his right and brought it arching down to a spot below and behind the man’s ear. The strike was perfectly aimed. The guard shivered and went down, unconscious. He wouldn’t be out for long, though, even with a solid hit like that. Bond quickly trussed him with lamp cord and gagged him with napkins from a breakfast tray.
As he did so he turned to Jessica, who was getting to her feet. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she whispered breathlessly. She ran to the window. ‘The phone is gone. What are we going to do? There aren’t any others. Only Severan and Niall have one. And he’s closed the switchboard today because the employees are off.’
Bond said, ‘Turn round. I’m going to tie you up. It’ll be tight – we have to make them believe you didn’t try to help me.’
She held her hands behind her back, and he bound her wrists. ‘I’m sorry. I tried.’
‘Sssh,’ Bond whispered. ‘I know you did. If someone comes in, tell them you don’t know where I went. Just act scared.’
‘I won’t have to act,’ she said. Then: ‘Gene . . .’
He glanced at her.
‘My mother and I prayed before every one of my beauty contests. I won a lot. We must’ve prayed pretty well. I’ll pray for you now.’
57
Bond was hurrying down the dim corridor, passing photographs of the reclaimed land that Hydt’s workers had turned into Elysian Fields, the beautiful gardens covering Green Way’s landfills to the east.
It was nine fifty-five in York. The detonation would take place in thirty-five minutes.
He had to get out of the plant immediately. He was sure there’d be an armoury of some kind, probably near the front security post. That was where he was headed now, walking steadily, head down, carrying the maps and the yellow pad. He was about fifty yards from the entrance, thinking tactically. Three men at the security post in front. Was the rear door guarded too? Presumably it was; although there were no employees in the business office, Bond had seen workers throughout the grounds. Three guards had been there yesterday. How many other security personnel would be present? Had any of the visitors