Devil May Care - Sebastian Faulks [37]
‘Isn’t he just doing what his bosses at Langley tell him?’
‘Probably. But you know as well as I do, James, that even a secret agent has a choice. In fact, a secret agent especially has a choice. Follow the line of short-term profit in a bank and the worst is that you’re a small cog in a dull machine. But if you fail to exercise your judgement as a licensed agent with a gun on foreign soil . . .’
Bond smiled. ‘You’re quite a sentimentalist, Darius.’
‘No, James. I don’t believe in sentiment, I believe in class. It’s easy for a children’s doctor, say, to have what they call ‘‘soul’’. Save the kid’s life, well done, you’re a good guy. But put a man like you, James, in a place like this with just that Walther under your armpit and – ’
‘You – ’
‘I saw the shape, I guessed the make.’ Darius shrugged. ‘What I mean is, the more your life is in the shadow, off the record, the more you need to have a compass. With guns pointed at your head, in
one split second, you must make decisions far more complicated than that children’s doctor. For him, it’s operate or not. He’s got time to work it out. You’ve got no time in which to choose between ten shades of grey. And you, James, I can tell you have the class, the sense of truth in you. My father had a phrase for it. The man who has what it takes, he used to say, is a ‘‘citizen of eternity’’.’
‘Whatever you say, the Americans have been with us since Pearl Harbor,’ said Bond. ‘I operate alone, but it’s good to know they’re there.’
‘Sure,’ said Darius. ‘Like a big, dependable puppy.’
After the waitress had returned once more to the table and gone back to the kitchen with their plates, Darius said, ‘You like her, don’t you, James? I can ask her to join us at the cabaret, if you like.’
‘I’m in your hands tonight, Darius. Do what comes naturally.’
Bond was thinking how, for all his talk and geniality, Darius had never stopped observing, either in the car or in the restaurant.
The girl returned with a bottle of araq, a harsh aniseed liqueur to go with a bowl of cantaloupe and peach, served with honey and pistachio cakes. Coffee followed, sweet and thick, then Darius spoke quietly to the waitress.
‘Zohreh is happy to come with us, James,’ he said.
‘I told her we’d bring her back in two hours’ time.’
‘Zohreh?’
‘Yes, it’s a pretty name, isn’t it? It means Venus.’
‘ The goddess of love?’
‘No, the planet, I suspect. But you never know your luck. Let’s go.’
Farshad was standing by the car, finishing a plate of rice and kebabs that had been sent out to him. He put it down quickly and ran round to open the back door for Zohreh.
When Farshad started the car engine, Zohreh spoke to him in Farsi. He chuckled happily and slotted the gear lever into first.
‘She’s telling him where to go,’ said Darius. ‘Some special place she knows. It’s just opened. A kind of East meets West, I gather.’
‘In the New Town?’
‘Certainly not, James. South Tehran, maybe, but a classy place, I promise you. It’s just opened. It has a lot of gimmicks and a lot of Western money behind it.’
As they moved off, Bond saw the lights of the black Oldsmobile come on behind them. He gestured with his thumb and Darius nodded.
Farshad drove rapidly down narrow, tree-lined streets. There were fewer cars in this part of town
and it was nearly midnight, so the roads had started to empty.
‘Hold tight, James,’ said Darius, then barked an order to Farshad, who swung the wheel and took them down a side alley. The wing of the big Mercedes clipped a dustbin and sent it clanging over the cobbles. Farshad stamped on the accelerator, took them blind through a junction, right with a tearing of rubber into an unlit back-street, then three more lurching turns until they emerged on to a wide boulevard, where he dropped his speed and sat back with an evil-sounding laugh.
‘ Thank you, Farshad,’ said Darius, drily, in English. He put his hand on Zohreh’s to reassure her, but she seemed unperturbed.