Carte Blanche - Jeffery Deaver [28]
He now came off the motorway and proceeded towards March, in the heart of the Fens. He knew little about the place. He’d heard of the ‘March March March’, a walk by students from March to Cambridge in, of course, the third month of the year. There was Whitemoor prison. And tourists came to see St Wendreda’s Church – Bond would have to trust the tourist office’s word that it was spectacular; he hadn’t been inside a house of worship, other than for surveillance purposes, in years.
Ahead loomed the old British Army base. He continued in a broad circle to the back, which was surrounded by vicious barbed-wire fencing and signs warning against intrusion. He saw why: it was being demolished. So this was the work he’d learnt of. Half a dozen buildings had already been razed. Only one remained, three storeys high, old red brick. A faded sign announced: Hospital.
Several large lorries were present, along with bulldozers, other earth-moving equipment and caravans, which sat on a hill a hundred yards from the building, probably the temporary headquarters for the demolition crew. A black car was parked near the largest caravan, but no one was about. Bond wondered why; today was Monday and not a bank holiday.
He nosed the car into a small copse, where it could not be seen. Climbing out, he surveyed the terrain: complicated waterways, potato and sugarbeet fields and clusters of trees. Bond donned his 5.11 tactical outfit, with the shrapnel tear in the shoulder of the jacket and tainted from the smell of scorching – from rescuing the clue in Serbia that had led him here – then stepped out of his City shoes into low combat boots.
He clipped his Walther and two holsters of ammunition to a canvas web utility belt.
If you hit a speed bump, give me a shout.
He also pocketed his silencer, a torch, tool kit and his folding knife.
Then Bond paused, going into that other place, where he went before any tactical operation: dead calm, eyes focused and taking in every detail – branches that might betray with a snap, bushes that could hide the muzzle of a sniper rifle, evidence of wires, sensors and cameras that might report his presence to an enemy.
And preparing to take a life, quickly and efficiently, if he had to. That was part of the other world too.
And he was all the more cautious because of the many questions this assignment had raised.
Fit your response to your enemy’s purpose.
But what was Noah’s purpose?
Indeed, who the hell was he?
Bond moved through the trees, then cut across the corner of a field dotted with an early growth of sugarbeet. He diverted around a fragrant bog and moved carefully through a tangle of brambles, making his way towards the hospital. Finally he came to the barbed-wire perimeter, posted with warning signs. Eastern Demolition and Scrap was doing the work, they announced. He’d never heard of the company but thought he might have seen their lorries – there was something familiar about the distinctive green-and-yellow colouring.
He scanned the overgrown field in front of the building, the parade grounds behind. He saw nobody, then began to clip his way through the fence with wire cutters, thinking how clever it would be to use the building for secret meetings relevant to Incident Twenty; the place would soon be torn down, which would destroy any evidence of its use.
No workers were nearby but the presence of the black car suggested someone might be inside. He looked for a back door or other unobtrusive entrance. Five minutes later he found one: a depression in the earth, ten feet deep, caused by the collapse of what must have been an underground supply tunnel. He climbed down into the bowl and shone his torch inside. It seemed to lead into the basement of the hospital, about fifty yards away.
He started forward, noting the ancient cracked brick walls and ceiling – just as two bricks dislodged themselves and crashed to the floor. On the ground there were small-gauge