by John Gardner
The blow connected with the side of Trevelyan’s head and sent him sprawling and milling over the catwalk.
Bond looked down, seeing that it was a ten-foot drop to the ~op of the maintenance room below. This time he did not hesitate, but vaulted over the catwalk, landing heavily on the roof.
He scrambled to one side, and let himself down to the entrance.
As he climbed in, there was a whining sound and the whir of an electric motor. Someone was repositioning the antenna.
Down under the earth, Boris was making wild war whoops, almost dancing around, shouting, “I’ve done it.
Yes. I am invincible!” as he typed the final command SEND COMMAND: ABORT RE-ENTRY.
The countdown clock read Re-entry: 07:45.
Then the screen cleared and scrolled out the message.
STANDBY: ANTENNA REPOSITIONING.
The sound Bond heard in the maintenance room was that of the mechanism beginning to operate and reset the coordinates, swinging the long, tapering spike of the antenna to the correct point to regain control of the satellite. He looked around, searching for a fuse box of some kind, but all the equipment in the maintenance chamber was sealed: a large grey metal box took up most of the space, and cables originating from the mechanism in the apex of the structure were encased in protective plastic covers.
As he stood, searching for a way to deal with the electronics, a heavy thud shook the whole room, leaving him in no doubt that Trevelyan had also leaped down from the catwalk.
He expected the mine to detonate at any minute now, but that could fail and he still wanted to make certain the antenna did not aim itself correctly. Outside, he looked down and dropped, landing on the housing that he knew contained the final stage of the mechanism.
There was a hatch into this great circular housing, and he was quickly inside, knowing that Trevelyan was at his heels.
There was little room, for a huge wheel like that of some great clock took up the bulk of the space. But he spotted two other things immediately - a long, oblong fuse box and a telescopic ladder, attached to the wall and directly above a steel trapdoor. This, he was sure, would be the way the engineers were able to get right down to the antenna. He also knew that from this point to the dish itself there were some eighty or ninety feet.
As his mind raced, so he unscrewed the butterfly bolts on the fuse box, flipped it open and began smashing the fuses out in groups of five and six at a time until they were all gone and the whir of machinery stopped.
Trevelyan was close now, he could almost smell the man, just as he could smell his own fear. Leaping towards the telescopic ladder, he unclipped the safety bolts to allow it to fall.
As Trevelyan appeared in the hatchway, so Bond stamped hard on the trapdoor, his hands on the bottom rung of the ladder.
The trapdoor gave way and the ladder uncoiled, ratchetting down through some forty feet and coming to a sickening halt at its fullest extension only a few feet above the top of the antenna.
He thought his arms were about to be ripped from their sockets, but he held on grimly, the ladder swaying and creaking above him as Trevelyan’s face appeared in the trapdoor.
“Need some help getting down, James?” he shouted.
“I’ll be with you in a minute.” Easing himself through the opening, Trevelyan began to make a slow descent as Bond attempted uselessly to pull himself back up the ladder.
Natalya moved into the jungle following the noise she had just heard. She had no desire to look at what she had seen from the edge of the thick trees and fronds - James struggling at the end of a long swinging ladder, some forty feet from the bottom of the dish and directly above the antenna. She moved slowly towards the noise, and came to a halt as she reached a man-made clearing. In the middle of this glade stood a helicopter gunship, its rotors gently idling.
Below ground, in the control complex, Boris stared unbelieving at the screen which now read out, ANTENNA MALFUNCTION. He began to scream and stamp, yelling unintelligible obscenities.
Above Bond, the ladder was swaying as Trevelyan came down, rung by rung. Two rungs above Bond, he took one hand from the ladder and pulled a small throat microphone from inside his shirt, speaking into it rapidly.
In the jungle clearing, Natalya saw the pilot alone in the cockpit. The helicopter gunship began to move, its engine spooling up, ready to lift off. Taking a deep breath, she ran towards the rear door of the machine.
“Now, James, it’s time for our last goodbye, I think.” Trevelyan stepped down to the rung directly above Bond and raised his booted foot to bring it down on Bond’s hand. As he did so, the rung gave way with a sharp crack.
He felt Trevelyan’s body brush against his as he dropped. In a reflex, he grabbed with one hand and caught Trevelyan’s left wrist
The man looked up at him, sweat and terror on his face.
“James,’ he called, his eyes pleading. “Haul me up. For heaven’s sake … for old times’ sake, haul me up.”
“Go to hell!” Bond shouted and released Trevelyan who hit the antenna and, screaming, dropped all the way down to the dish.
At the same moment the apex of the triangle blew out.
The mine had detonated, and the entire structure swayed, pieces of metal and wiring beginning to detach themselves and fall.
Over the noise, Bond thought he could hear a helicopter. Hanging precariously, he saw the gunship, heading straight for him, and as it hovered as near as was feasible, his eyes widened.
The pilot was manoeuvring the gunship closer and closer. Behind him, Natalya stood with her pistol pushed into the side of the terrified man’s head. He was acting under her instructions, which, because of the skeletal edifice they were approaching, were not always practical.
After a minute’s jigging from side to side, he brought the craft’s port landing skid to a point just in front and below where Bond hung.
It was his only chance, for everything appeared to be collapsing around him. He swung himself out and grabbed hold of the skid at the moment the chopper backed off and started to move away.
In the centre of the dish, Trevelyan regained consciousness. His eyes opened and the pain that swept over him, combined with the blood in his mouth, told him that he was near death.
He heard the noises coming from above, cracks, creaks, the clank of falling metal. Looking up, the last thing he saw was the long silver spike that was the antenna detach itself and come hurtling down to impale him.
In the control complex, Boris still raved, but realised that most of the guards were either dead or had disappeared. He seemed to be the only one left alive, and he rushed up to the middle gallery. As he reached the mainframe room, so the liquid coolants suddenly exploded, sending a freezing white mist flying through the shuttered doors.
For a second, Boris knew what was happening as the mist enveloped him, then he felt himself seizing up. After that he died, standing, a frozen statue inside the doomed building.
The gunship came down gently into the clearing. Bond dropped thankfully to the ground and stretched out, his eyes closed.
Inside, Natalya spoke in rapid Russian, telling the pilot that if he tried no tricks, he could leave, then she ran back and jumped from the main door onto the earth next to Bond.
The gunship, with a thankful pilot at the controls, lifted off as she spoke softly. “James ? James ? Are you OK? James, oh please speak to me.” He opened one eye and pulled her down to him. “Yes, he said. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
“You devil,’ she laughed and he pulled her close so that their mouths touched and he rolled on top of her.
“James, no. Not here, James, somebody might see.”
“Don’t be silly, Natalya.” He looked at her lovingly.
“There’s nobody left to see anything.” He only had eyes for Natalya, so could not see Jack Wade rise from the bushes, nor the forty or so marines, in camouflage, appear from the jungle to stand smiling with pleasure.
From far away came the sound of M
arine Cougar helicopters bringing in reinforcements.
Bond needed no backup at this particular time.
FB2 document info
Document ID: f8c0c0ec-5d4c-4357-a682-73314ab148d0
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 22.12.2012
Created using: calibre 0.9.10, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
John Gardner
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