Devil May Care - Sebastian Faulks [79]
he said, ‘ ‘‘and forbid them not: for such is the kingdom of – ’’ ’
Chagrin kicked his boot into Bond’s ribs and Bond heard a crack of bone. Then, from his shirt pocket, Chagrin withdrew a leather case, and, from inside it, two ivory chopsticks with scarlet Chinese lettering. One guard jerked back Bond’s head by the hair and the other gripped him under the jaw while Chagrin inserted a chopstick slowly and deeply into his left ear.
The guard held Bond in a headlock while Chagrin, with equal care and precision, inserted the second chopstick. Bond could feel the tip work through to his eardrum.
‘You hear bad things you no tell,’ said Chagrin.
‘ This what Pham Sinh Quoc do when man hear bad thing.’
Bond braced himself as Chagrin moved closer and spread his feet. He could see the army boots worming their way into the sand for better purchase as Chagrin spread his stubby arms wide.
As he breathed in deeply, Bond closed his eyes and did not see the face from whose mouth came the single word ‘Stop.’
He looked up, and could see at the open grille of the cell door the long fingers of an outsized white glove. The door was opened and Gorner came in, wearing a crimson silk dressing-gown.
‘ Thank you, Chagrin. You can go. I want Bond to be able to hear instructions when he’s flying. Stand up.’
Bond got to his feet. ‘So,’ said Gorner, ‘the bitch has escaped. The workers are going to be disappointed if I don’t get her back. But I think we’ll manage something even without her, don’t you?’ He smirked.
Poppy, thought Bond. He would make her stand in for her sister, and the workers would never know the difference.
‘Well,’ said Gorner, ‘I suppose I had to expect to sacrifice a pawn in this game. To win a war, you may occasionally lose a skirmish – and, frankly, the girl was a nuisance. The big fish is still in my net. Aren’t you, Bond?’
‘What time do we take off?’
‘I see no reason to change my plans,’ said Gorner.
‘Not for the sake of a girl my men will find within the hour. You board at nine. Your navigator is one of my best men, a former thick-neck from a Tehran bazaar that I’ve trained up. His name is Massoud. He speaks English – or enough to tell you what to do.
The plane has fuel to get to Zlatoust-36, but no more. When you’ve lost height and dropped the bomb, under Massoud’s instruction, you will lose height further and he will leave the plane by parachute. You, Bond, will fly on until there’s no fuel left, and then . . .’ He spread his arms wide.
‘I see.’
‘British planes. Very unreliable. And in case you think you can do something heroic when Massoud has left you, there are three armed guards as well. They won’t know about Massoud’s departure. Or the shortage of fuel. They are men who have displeased me. They’re desperate to get back into my good books and think this is their last chance. They imagine Massoud will turn the plane round and fly home. But they have British passports and they’re going down with you. So you can forget about some story-book crash landing on a Russian highway.’
Gorner looked at his watch. ‘It’s nearly four o’clock. I’m going back to bed. Then I shall rise at six and take breakfast. Poached egg, bacon, coffee.’
‘I should like black pepper on mine,’ said Bond.
‘Cracked, not ground.’
‘Remember the starving Irish,’ said Gorner. ‘A cup of water at eight for you. Sleep well, Bond. Big day tomorrow.’
The cell door clanged shut. Bond lay down and began to search in the sand with his tongue for the shards of glass.
At the same moment, Darius Alizadeh was woken by a telephone call in his room at Jalal’s Five Star in Noshahr. He was dreaming of Zohreh in the mixed hammam.
‘Hi, Darius. Sorry to wake you. This is Felix Leiter, CIA. Something very big’s going to go off. I need your help.’
‘How did you find me?’ said Darius, reluctantly pushing away the image of Zohreh, hot from the steam.
‘Relations haven’t completely broken down in the old alliance. I’ve spoken to people in London. To hell with the politicos.