Devil May Care - Sebastian Faulks [93]
‘ Tell him to strip to his underclothes.’
Scarlett looked away while Bond stripped naked and put on the man’s suit. There was a wallet in the inside pocket, from which he extracted the cash.
‘How much is this?’
Scarlett counted it. ‘Enough for food and drink.’
‘Petrol?’
‘Yes. But not clothes.’
‘ Tell him to wait here for ten minutes before he moves. Tell him we’ll leave his car in Moscow. And say I’m sorry.’
Bond and Scarlett ran back to the Volga and took off with a screech.
‘When we get to Moscow,’ said Scarlett, ‘will we go to the British embassy?’
‘No,’ said Bond. ‘As far as the embassy’s concerned, the Service doesn’t exist. Especially in Moscow. I can’t use their protection. You can, though.’
‘But without my Russian, you won’t make it.’
‘I might.’
‘I’m not leaving you, James. Not now.’
‘All right, but if so you’d better get some sleep. This bench seat can turn into a double bed. The Russians are very proud of it. They’ve shown it often at the London Motor Show.’
An hour later, Bond woke her. They were at a petrol station, where an old man came out to work the pump.
Inside the car, Bond said, ‘Get out to stretch your legs and tell him I’m going inside his hut to pay.’
The man nodded as Scarlett spoke to him, and Bond walked inside the building. A woman in a headscarf sat behind a counter. Bond took the Luger and pointed it at the cash drawer, at the same time raising a finger to his lips. The terrified woman pulled open the drawer and Bond filled his pockets with the notes inside as well
as some loose change for the telephone. He motioned to the cashier to take off her headscarf, cardigan and shoes and to hand them over.
Then, raising his finger once more warningly to his lips, he ran back to the car and called to Scarlett to get in.
As she closed her door, Bond engaged the clutch and drove off, leaving the old man holding his stilldripping pump in amazement. Bond drove fast for two more hours, till it was starting to grow dark.
‘Look!’ said Scarlett. ‘ There’s a telephone box. Let’s try it.’
Bond watched from the car while she wrestled with the primitive Soviet system. After ten minutes, she returned, downcast and frustrated.
‘I managed to speak to an operator, but the idea of making an international call was completely out of the question. She didn’t even seem to understand the idea of it.’
‘You’ll have to go the embassy in Moscow after all. It’s the only way. I’ll get us there as fast as I can. We won’t be able to find petrol at night, so we’ll have to stop somewhere and start again in the morning. But we’ll try to find some food once we’re past Kazan.’
Scarlett nodded unhappily, and snuggled down against Bond on the bench seat. He had to wake her for help with the Cyrillic signposts at Kazan, but once they were on the western outskirts they saw a truck-drivers’ restaurant set back from the road. They sat alone beneath a strip-light, while a large woman brought them soup and black bread with tea. There was some stew afterwards, though neither of them could manage much of it.
‘I can see why there are no other patrons,’ said Bond.
‘It’s not quite what you fantasized about, is it?’ said Scarlett.
‘Not quite.’
‘Will you come and see me in Paris, James? I’ll cook you that dinner you described.’
‘I thought it was meant to be in a hotel.’
‘All right. Do you know what day of the week it is?’
‘No. Why?’
‘Let’s make a date for the first Saturday we’re free. You call my office on the Friday and tell me which hotel.’
‘It’s a deal. Look. There are two lorries stopping outside. Time to go.’ Bond threw some notes on the table as they left.
When it was night, and they were deep in the Russian countryside, miles from any town, Bond turned off the main road on to a minor one for a mile or so, then on to a cart track. He pulled over and turned off the engine.
He took Scarlett by the hand and opened the boot of the car. Inside was a small suitcase which contained a clean shirt and men’s underwear. There was also a razor