Doubleshot

by Raymond Benson

  TWENTY - ONE

  DOPPELGÄNGER

  THE LOCKS RATTLED AND THE DOOR SWUNG OPEN. MARGARETA PIEL AND the Moroccan entered the room. She was carrying a leather briefcase, which she set on the table.

  “Did you miss me, Mr. Bond?” she asked. “This is Nadir Yassasin. Say hola. ”

  The tall man bowed slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet the real James Bond after all this time. You have my respect, sir, but not my benevolence.”

  Bond spat an obscenity at them both.

  “Tsk tsk,” Margareta said, closing the door. “How was the television program? Did you get it all, or would you like someone to explain it to you?”

  “Who is that imposter going to kill?” Bond growled.

  It was the man who answered. “The Union have worked very hard these last three months in order to humiliate and embarrass your country and your feeble intelligence agency. The leadership decided that you, specifically, had to pay for a certain past Union failure.”

  “We call Nadir the ‘strategist,’ ” Margareta said. “He came up with an absolutely brilliant scheme to lure you here so that we can pull a … what do the Americans call it? … a ‘Switcheroo’?”

  Yassasin began to walk around the room, his hands clasped behind his back. “Think about it, Mr. Bond. Think back to how you felt when you returned from the Himalayas. We knew that you would want to go after us just as much as we wanted our hands on you.

  Lucky for the Union, you had some medical difficulties. Am I right?”

  Bond didn’t answer.

  “You see, Mr. Bond,” he continued. “We knew you were on medical leave. This made you particularly vulnerable. Mr. Bond, I profiled you the way the FBI in America profiles serial killers. I got to know you personally. I studied your history, I had you followed, I know what you like and don’t like.…We even knew what medications you were taking for your condition. Let’s just say that … we tampered with them a bit.”

  Bond squinted at Yassasin. Tampered with the medicine? How? What had they done to him?

  “You became so psychologically unstable that you were able to play right into our hands. By the power of suggestion, we provided you with hints as to how you could avenge your personal assistant’s death. As a result, we were able to lay a trail for you to follow and make it appear that you were doing all the work. You sniffed out every bread crumb we dropped in front of you. It all began with the visit to your neighborhood Chinese restaurant, didn’t it? Our best surveillance man, and one of the Union’s founding members, had his eye on you for a month after the Himalayan business. We learned your daily habits. When you were followed to lunch that day, the fortune you got was planted by a cantankerous customer.”

  Bond remembered the rude man with the screaming toddler. He would never have known.… Now he realized that his feelings of paranoia and of being watched, which he had dismissed as part of his ailment, had been genuine.

  “We sent you the book that led you to Walter van Breeschooten’s shop in Soho. We let you follow him to Morocco. It was only logical that you would contact your friend in Tangier. The photos of your prey were sent to him just in time for you to see them. That, in turn, led you to the Union training camp in the Rif Mountains.We allowed you to uncover just enough information to lead you to Casablanca, where, of course, we threw Mr. van Breeschooten to you.” Yassasin shrugged. “He had displeased the Union’s management, so he was dispensable. But not before you received the ticket to the bullfight. I knew that you would be headstrong, stubborn, and reckless. I knew that you would show up, one way or another. I honestly didn’t think you’d pick up a ride to Spain with the CIA, and I must say that was very resourceful. We had a more complicated plan to abduct you from the bullfight, but when I learned that one of the bullfighters was your friend, I thought of something better. It was … easy to get you out of the crowd and down below the seats where we could take care of you. Poor Javier … such a fine young matador. Seeing you standing there, dressed as a banderillero, distracted him so much that he became careless. The bull took advantage of that. It’s a pity.”

  Bond seethed in anger.

  “While all this was going on, a man named Peredur Glyn created the public impression that you were causing all kinds of trouble,” the Muslim explained. “After it had come to my attention that a Union mercenary working in Africa was a dead ringer for you, we had extensive photos made. No, you weren’t identical twins by any means, but Glyn was the same weight and height; he had the same body type, and he had similar enough features that one might mistake him to be a member of your family.

  “So we turned to Dr. Iwan Morelius, a Swedish plastic surgeonwho is known for his high-priced and elite clientele in Beverly Hills and Hollywood. Perhaps you have heard of him? No? Dr. Morelius arrived in Hollywood with a very unique talent.He’s a true artist, this Dr. Morelius. He is a master of dermabrasion, in which outer layers of skin are removed by “sanding off” or abrading the layers with a carbon dioxide laser. Morelius is an expert with the laser—he can precisely “sculpt” a face. He has such a skilled hand that he can quite literally mold a person’s face into any shape or likeness. He got into a bit of trouble with the Screen Actors Guild when he created two uncanny look-alikes of famous movie stars. The real film stars sued and Dr. Morelius was forced out of business. Luckily for him, the Union learned of his talents and employed him. Dr. Morelius performed the rhytidectomy, or face remodeling, on Glyn. It was expensive, but certainly worth it. Dr. Morelius will no doubt be useful for the Union in the future.

  “Glyn needed a fairly major overhaul for the outcome to be totally believable. Besides a complete dermabrasion, he was subjected to blepharoplasty and rhinoplasty. Fat tissue was removed from his cheeks to make them less full, and from his lips to make them thinner. The remodeling did the trick. Using computer-generated three-dimensional models of your head, adapted from Union file photographs, Dr. Morelius performed a Hollywood miracle.

  “After six weeks, the face had healed. Glyn went through the next three weeks learning to be you—he memorized your daily routine, based on reports provided by Jimmy Powers. It didn’t matter that his voice is dissimilar to yours. It’s the visual effect that counts.”

  “He is a murderer,” Bond said.

  “And you’re not?” Yassasin asked. “Yes, you’re right. First, he murdered poor Dr. Feare, who had the unfortunate luck of being your girlfriend for the night.”

  “You’re all bastards,” Bond muttered.

  “Now, now, Mr. Bond,” Yassasin said. “There’s no need to insult my family. The next thing Mr. Glyn did was to shoot a few British tourists on a ferry. Again, you were blamed. By then, your people were surely convinced that you had become renegade. You had disappeared, disobeyed orders, and are now wanted for a number of crimes. Therefore, it will come as no surprise to the world when ‘James Bond’ commits a few more terrible crimes tomorrow morning.” He nodded to Margareta. She opened the door and the man whom Bond had dreaded meeting walked in.

  “Mr. Bond,” she said, “meet James Bond.”

  The man glared at Bond, the cruel mouth turning into a snarl.

  Bond stared back and examined the imposter’s features up close and in bright light for the first time. The clear blue eyes, the black hair, the scar on the right cheek … it was all correct and flawless. Anyone who actually knew Bond would most assuredly perform a double take if they saw the imposter.

  “How does it feel to meet your double, Mr. Bond?” the man asked. “Your doppelganger? And you know what they say happens to you when you meet your doppelgänger, Mr. Bond? It means you’re going to die.” With that, he punched Bond hard in the face. Blood spurted out of Bond’s nose and ran down his mouth.

  “How does it feel to be hit by you?” he asked, laughing.

  “That’s enough, Peredur,” Margareta said.

  “Stop it with that Peredur crap. I’m James Bond now,” Glyn said roughly.

  “Of course, James,” Yassasin said, h
umoring the imposter. “That will be all. Meet us in the ring in ten minutes.”

  The imposter smiled coldly at Bond, then left the room.

  Yassasin seemed pleased with himself. “As you can see, the results are most extraordinary. With the aid of a little brainwashing, Mr. Glyn will now do anything I command. He would perform a suicide mission, if he was told to do so.”

  Yassasin stared fiercely into Bond’s eyes. “And he was told to do so.”

  “Who’s he going to kill?” Bond asked, fighting back the horrible anxiety that was beginning to envelop him.

  Yassasin nearly smiled. “The primary targets are two men. The Governor of Gibraltar and Britain’s Prime Minister. And their bodyguards, of course. He will kill the Spanish Prime Minister if he has to, for he will then follow Domingo Espada’s orders. Espada will make demands, such as the ceding of Gibraltar to Spain and his appointment as the new Governor. If the Spanish Prime Minister doesn’t sign the pact with Espada, he will die, too. The rest of the U.N. delegates, including me, will be held ‘hostage’ until Espada gets what he wants. We’ll make sure Miss Piel gets out alive. If the antiterrorist forces manage to free the hostages and kill Espada, so be it. The foolish man is willing to die for his cause.”

  “Domingo has a martyr complex, that’s for certain,” Margareta said. “He doesn’t like becoming old. It’s what he really wants.”

  “Domingo wants to make a political statement that will be heard the world over,” Yassasin said. “That’s all he cares about. That’s enough for him to justify the enormous amount of money he raised to finance his coup.”

  “You’ll never get away with it,” Bond said.

  “Correction, Mr. Bond,” Yassasin said. “Peredur Glyn will never get away with it, but he doesn’t know that. He thinks the escape plan is foolproof. Such is the power of suggestion. It is expected that he will die in that room in Gibraltar tomorrow. In fact, someone that he least expects will kill him. As for the rest of us, we will be released as soon as we provide our statements as to what happened. Diplomatic immunity is a powerful weapon. At any rate, after tomorrow ‘James Bond’ will be a blight on the history of British intelligence.”

  “They’ll know he’s not me,” Bond said. “Anyone examining his corpse will know.”

  Yassasin conceded. “Oh, you’re absolutely right. Fingerprints and dental records cannot be changed. But it will be at least a day or two before someone from London identifies the body, or rather, fails to identify the body. By then, though, the damage will be done.”

  “All we have to do now is to make sure that there is no trace of you,” Margareta said.

  “We thought we’d leave that unpleasant task to Mr. Glyn,” Yassasin continued. “He’s convinced that there can be only one James Bond, and you’re not him. Therefore, he wanted to see you perish personally.”

  “Let’s go, amigo,” Margareta said. “You have an appointment with destiny.”

  Heidi moved as silently as possible toward the barbed-wire fence. After she had lost communication with Hedy, she abandoned the BMW and crept in the dark toward the front gates of the estate.

  She had to roll into the ditch when she heard several vehicles start their engines. Headlights shone on the road ahead, and the guards ran to open the gate. Heidi raised her head just enough to watch as two Land Rovers, a Rolls-Royce, and the minivan drove out of the compound. It looked as if everyone in the place was leaving!

  Of course, Heidi remembered. They were going to Gibraltar.

  The guards were about to close the gate behind the caravan. Heidi crawled back to the road and walked calmly toward them. She drew a Heckler & Koch USP45 and held it loosely in her right hand.

  The two guards looked up and were momentarily confused by the sight of a beautiful blonde walking up the road. Before they could speak, Heidi asked, “Where’s my sister, creeps?” and then raised her arm and shot both men in their chests. They flew backward, landing with thuds on the ground.

  Heidi walked through the open gate and went inside.

  TWENTY - TWO

  BULLRING

  THEY LED HIM THROUGH THE BULLRING ENTRANCE AND SHOVED HIM TO THE soft dirt in the center of the bullring. With his hands still tied behind his back, there was not much that Bond could do to fight back. Peredur Glyn, the man who looked like James Bond, stood against the fence. Three Spanish guards were at the shields, watching Bond intently.

  “This is Domingo’s practice bullring,” Margareta said. “It’s a marvelous facility. The annex is equipped with everything one needs to breed fighting bulls. Domingo also uses part of the complex as a slaughterhouse. Have you ever seen what those vats of acid do to the remains of animal parts, Mr. Bond? The acid melts the skin right off the bones, and before long, the bones disintegrate as well. You get to experience this once-in-a-lifetime sensation firsthand!”

  Yassasin addressed Glyn. “After you’ve had your fun, make sure there is nothing left. Report to Margareta when you’re finished, then you can have your blond American.”

  “Yes, sir,” the imposter Bond said, not taking his eyes off the man he was going to kill.

  Yassasin turned to Margareta and said, “I’m off to Gibraltar. Needless to say, make sure he makes it to the meeting on time.” He indicated Glyn.

  “Don’t worry,” she replied. “That American girl will keep him occupied. We’ll set off bright and early.”

  The pair began walking back through the door. Yassasin turned and said, as an afterthought, “Good-bye, Mr. Bond.” The door closed and Bond was alone with his double and the three men.

  Bond struggled to his feet and looked at his captors. What now? he wondered. He prepared himself for a beating, for he was certain they would want him alive when they were ready to use the acid. Bond scanned the ring for any sign of an escape. The shields were well covered by the guards.

  One of the men said something in Spanish that Bond didn’t catch. Glyn nodded, then all of them moved behind a shield. One man remained in the ring, moved to the bull’s gate, and opened it.

  A full-grown, fighting-mad black bull charged into the ring. The guard closed the door behind the animal, then quickly ran to the safety of the shield.

  Bond froze, knowing full well that if he moved, the bull would charge. The bull was agitated. It ran to and fro, looking for a way out of this strange pen. Then it saw Bond, standing in the middle of the ring. Bond held his breath, but it was no good. The bull sensed the human’s fear, and it charged at full speed.

  Bond broke into a run across the ring, but the bull was fast. It attempted to slam into its moving target, but Bond sidestepped the animal just in time. The bull dug its front hooves into the dirt and skidded to a stop. It turned around and charged again. This time Bond ran to a shield, but the guard there thrust a spike at him. The sharp barb jabbed Bond’s shoulder, causing him to recoil in pain. He fell back against the fence, only to see the bull charging straight for him. Bond spun around and away just as the bull’s horns smashed into the fence. The men laughed and taunted Bond in Spanish. Peredur Glyn shouted, “If I were you, Mr. Bond, I would let the bull kill you. That would be preferable to watching your skin fall off in a vat of acid, don’t you think?”

  The bull recovered from the missed attack, then charged at Bond again. Bond ran along the fence, searching for anything that might cut the binds around his wrists.

  Suddenly, the bullring entrance opened, and a picador, carrying a pair of lances, entered on horseback. The bull, seeing the horse, forgot about Bond momentarily and charged at it. The picador expertly maneuvered the horse around the bull and successfully thrust a lance into the bull’s withers. The bull snorted and bellowed, becoming even angrier.

  Bond could feel the bull’s immense power even from across the ring. There was no other beast quite like it. It was a galloping locomotive weighing over a thousand pounds. It had one intention, and that was to destroy what it perceived to be its enemy.

  The picador galloped his horse around the ri
ng, leading the bull in a chase. Bond managed to get out of the way, but the bull’s concentration was on the horse at the moment. In a surprise turn, the picador doubled back and threw the second lance into the bull.

  The bull, confused and angered by the pain, stopped to take stock of its situation. The gate opened again, and the picador rode out, leaving the bull alone with Bond again.

  It turned to Bond, breathing heavily. A crimson stream flowed down its side.

  Bond turned his back on the bull and walked slowly toward the fence. As long as he didn’t make any sudden movement, perhaps he could continue to avoid the bull until it tired out.

  But he had no such luck. The bull pawed the dirt, snorted, and bolted toward him. Bond ran to the shield, but he heard Glyn shout something in Spanish. The sound of machinery echoed in the ring as the shield suddenly moved back into the fence, blocking off the safety zone. In fact, all of the shields in the ring had slid back and were now flush with the fence. There was no way out.

  Glyn and the others were now behind the fence, whistling and taunting Bond.

  Bond ran along the fence, the bull close on his heels. Bond zigzagged, attempting to throw the bull off its concentration, but the animal stayed with him. He ran faster, but he could hear the pounding of the bull’s hooves on the ground coming closer and closer behind him.

  The force of the impact took Bond by surprise. He felt a hammer-like slam in the small of his back, and for a moment he was in midair. The bull had butted him and thrown his body into the air like a paper cup. Bond landed hard on the ground, knocking the wind out of him. The bull turned and charged with its head down and horns pointed forward.

  Bond rolled out of the way with split-second timing, avoiding a terrible goring.

  The men laughed and jeered.

  Bond got to his feet and stood in front of the bull, attempting to adapt a matador’s stance. He stared at the bull, daring it to make another move. The bull hesitated just a moment, then charged again. This time Bond was ready. He allowed the bull to broadside him close enough so that Bond could perhaps grab one of the lances sticking out of the bull’s back. It was an awkward maneuver with his hands tied behind him, and the first time he tried it, he missed. Bond beckoned to the bull again, and this time he spun around as the bull passed him and took hold of the lance with his right hand.