Doubleshot

by Raymond Benson

  The bull, confused by the additional pain of having the lance’s barbs tear out of its wound, stopped. It trotted to one side of the ring, staking out what was called a querencia, an area of the bullring where the bull felt secure. Many times in a real bullfight, a bull might retreat to this area and refuse to leave. It was up to the matador to draw it out to fight.

  Bond used the momentary lull to thrust the lance’s handle into the soft dirt, with the point sticking up. Even with his hands behind him, Bond managed to angle the lance so that he could reach the barbs with his wrists. He rubbed the bindings against the barbs.

  “Hey, that’s against the rules!” Glyn shouted.

  The other men shouted at the bull, trying to provoke it into attacking before Bond could cut the binds.

  The barbs cut into his hands as he did it, but Bond was finally successful in freeing himself before the bull charged. Somehow, it had sensed that Bond was about to gain an advantage over it.

  Bond pulled the lance out of the ground and pointed it at the bull. Now aware that the strange polelike object brought pain, the bull slowed its charge and moved away.

  The men booed the bull. One of them climbed on top of the fence and sat on it, his feet dangling over the now-flat shield.

  A gunshot rang out, reverberating in the enclosed bullring. The jeering stopped as the men looked around.

  The man on the fence clutched his chest and fell over into the ring.

  The others immediately jumped into action, pulling out their weapons and looking around the seating sections.

  “James!” came Heidi’s voice. “Here!”

  An object flew down from the darker area of the upper stands and landed on the dirt near Bond. He picked it up and found that it was her high-powered OC pepper spray canister.

  Peredur Glyn fired his weapon into the stands but missed the girl.

  “Get her! Don’t let her escape! I’ll deal with the prisoner!” he shouted.

  The two other men raced up the stands as another shot ricocheted around the ring. Bond could now see Heidi as she ran from the seats to the exit, into the pasillo.

  Meanwhile, the bull, frightened and confused by the sudden loud noises, seemed to pick up a second wind. It charged full speed at Bond.

  Bond opened the canister, aimed, and sprayed the bull head-on.

  The bull bellowed and tripped on its own front legs. It fell over with a crash, blinded and in pain. It managed to pull itself up, shaking its head, then sauntered around the ring in a daze. The fight had gone out of it for now.

  Peredur Glyn jumped into the ring from the top of the fence. He was holding the thin sword that could pierce the hide of a thousandpound bull. Running it through a human being would be like slicing butter.

  Bond readied the lance as he came face-to-face with his mirror image.

  Meanwhile, Heidi had run into the pasillo and around to the passage she had found when she had come looking for a way in. She ran through it as bullets whizzed past her. She turned and fired her USP45, but it was too dark to see anything. She kept running and eventually found herself in the slaughterhouse.

  The stench was overwhelming, and the place was a nightmare of hanging carcasses, animal body parts—bulls, cows, horses—and slimy, foul vats where the beasts were dismembered and skinned.

  Heidi searched frantically for a way out, but the sound of the men behind her forced her to duck between two hanging bull carcasses.

  The men entered the room, muttering to each other in Spanish. They paused a moment, then split up. One man moved to the right, the other to the left, so that they could cover the entire room in a circular sweep.

  As soon as one man was in her sights, Heidi aimed and squeezed the trigger. The blast knocked the man into a table covered in offal and blood. She ducked just as the remaining guard leveled his gun and fired a succession of shots in her direction. The bullets penetrated the hanging carcass with a thump-thump-thump. Heidi ran, keeping low, but a burning, knifelike pain shot through her left shoulder as one of the bullets connected. She fell back into a carcass and bounced. The gun slipped from her hand and slid across the concrete floor.

  Heidi was in terrible pain. The bullet had entered her body just below the collarbone. It was a perilous wound. She didn’t know if her lung had been pierced or not. Using every bit of strength that she could muster, she reached down to her calf and took hold of the object that was secured to her leg. Then she lay very still.

  The guard cautiously approached her, gun in hand. Was she dead? He stepped up to her body and nudged it with his foot. Blood was spreading all over the floor and her eyes were closed. She had to be dead.

  He made the fatal mistake of bending down to see if she was still breathing.

  The hunting knife swung up and perforated the man’s heart. His gun discharged into the air as he fell over next to her.

  Heidi attempted to sit up, but the room was spinning. The pain was unbearable. God, don’t let me die here, she prayed.

  She tried to stand, but couldn’t. Blood was pouring out of her wound like tap water.

  The last thing she was aware of before blacking out was that she had still not found her sister.

  Back in the bullring, James Bond and Peredur Glyn circled each other with their respective weapons. The bull, curious but wary of the two humans, stayed at the edge of the fence to let them fight it out. It was still smarting from the pepper spray.

  Bond thought it was one of the most unsettling sensations he had ever felt. Here he was, facing an enemy that was, to all outward appearances, himself. If ever he had needed a clear head, it was now. Unfortunately, the throbbing in his head had taken over and his heart was pounding from the exertion and anxiety.

  Glyn charged at Bond like the bull, the sword held straight in front of him. Bond feinted, swung the lance, and caught the imposter in the stomach. Glyn doubled over and dropped the sword. Bond broke the lance over Glyn’s head, but the man merely fell to his knees and shook it off. He reached out, grabbed Bond’s legs, and tackled him.

  They rolled together on the dirt, their hands clutching at each other’s throats.

  Glyn managed to get on top. Bond was exhausted from the ordeal with the bull, and his increasingly disorienting condition was not making it any easier.

  The man who looked like Bond whispered through his teeth, “When you see … your double … it mean you’re … going to die.…”

  Both grips tightened as each man attempted to strangle the other before their strength gave out.

  Then the hazy dark cloud that had been plaguing Bond for months began to descend again.

  No! Not now! Bond screamed to himself. I mustn’t black out now!

  His enemy’s fingers dug into his throat. The lights in the ceiling spun above the imposter’s head, bringing on nausea and the inevitable feeling that death was mere seconds away.

  Bond fought the blackout with every ounce of willpower he could summon from the depths of his soul … but it was no use.

  The dark curtain fell with a crash and then there was nothing.

  TWENTY - THREE

  BLOOD AND LUST

  MARGARETA PEERED THROUGH THE PEEPHOLE AND SAW THE BLOND WOMAN sitting in a corner of the room, her knees folded in her arms. With the guards accompanying Espada to Gibraltar, the compound had been left unattended for a night. Margareta wanted to make sure that everything was secure and that none of the girls could escape. Everything appeared to be all right, she thought.

  The rest of them were in their rooms, quietly enduring the long hours of waiting for the times when they would be called upon to perform their duties. Some of them who were literate would read books, others might sew. Some slept, some watched television, while others simply sat and stared at the wall, wondering if they would ever see freedom again. Some of them looked forward to their new life away from poverty and hunger, but most of them knew that they had been sold to a fate worse than their most horrid nightmares.

  Margareta was satisfied
that the girls were safe. She closed and locked the door, then went through the corridors and out of the foyer. She relocked the front door of the compound, then crossed the yard to the house. It was hauntingly quiet with everyone gone. In just a few hours, she, too, would leave with the assassin and join the others at the border.

  She went to her room and checked the bag that she had packed. Now she would take a quick shower and get ready for bed. Sleep would probably be elusive, though, for she felt tense about the upcoming events. She needed something to relax her, so she pulled a bottle of red wine off a shelf, uncorked it, and poured a glass.

  Margareta undressed and went into the bathroom to start the water. She waited until it was hot, filling the room with steam, then she got in the shower stall.

  Margareta had finished washing her hair when the knock startled her. Someone was in the bedroom, just outside the bathroom door.

  “What is it?” she called.

  “It’s me,” came the voice. Peredur Glyn.

  “Just a second,” Margareta said. She rinsed, turned off the water, and stepped out of the stall. She wrapped a towel around her body and opened the bathroom door.

  The imposter was standing in the middle of her room. There was a cut above his eye, and red marks were evident around his neck.

  “What happened to you?” she shouted. “You look terrible!”

  He laughed. “It was the prisoner,” the man said in the distinctive Welsh accent. “We had a scuffle. It’s all right, though. You won’t be hearing from him anymore.”

  “What happened?”

  “The guy passed out in my hands,” Glyn said. “Just fainted dead away. I said, ‘To hell with this,’ and let the others handle it. I left him with them, they were going to take him to the slaughterhouse. The job should be finished by now.”

  “You need to get cleaned up. It won’t look right if your face is messed up tomorrow,” she said, leading him to the bathroom. She ran water in the sink, took a washcloth, and dabbed the wound on the assassin’s head.

  She smiled as he winced. “That plastic surgeon did an incredible job. I have to admit that James Bond was a handsome man.”

  “You mean is. That’s who I am now,” Glyn said as he slipped his hand inside the towel, feeling her firm breast.

  “Right,” she said, ignoring the gesture. He wondered if that, in itself, was an invitation to continue.

  Instead, though, he said, “Sorry, Miss Piel, but tonight I have a date with a certain American blonde, if I remember correctly.” He withdrew his hand.

  “Hmmm,” Margareta said. “I suppose you do. Well, don’t overdo it. You need your wits about you in the morning. Don’t stay up all night.”

  “I can come back and do you again after I’m finished,” he suggested.

  “Last night was lovely, dear, but I do need my beauty rest,” she replied. “But if I can’t sleep …”

  Glyn grinned lecherously, then left the room.

  The phone woke her two hours later.

  Margareta grabbed it and answered, “Que?”

  “Something bad has happened.” It was the imposter. He sounded out of breath.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “She’s dead.”

  “What? Who?” Margareta had to fight the clouds of drowsiness away.

  “The girl. The blond American.”

  “Dead? How?”

  “I don’t know.…” he stammered. He sounded upset. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.… It was an accident.…”

  “I’ll be right there.” Margareta slammed down the phone and put on a silk robe over her naked body. She removed the Glock from her bedside table and stormed out of the bedroom.

  By the time she got to the compound, she could hear the cries of the girls. They were bemoaning their predicament in Spanish. One was demanding to know what had happened to the “new girl.”

  Margareta told them to shut up, then went straight to the American’s cell. She gasped when she opened the door and saw the bloody mess that was inside.

  The imposter Bond was sitting on the bed with an odd expression on his face. He looked like the naughty boy who had just been caught with his fingers in the cookie jar, and his hands and chest were covered in blood.

  The blond girl was lying on the floor. She was wrapped in a redsoaked bedsheet.

  “Peredur, what happened?”

  “My name is James Bond,” the man said, choking back a sob.

  “Fine, James, tell me what happened.”

  “She wouldn’t cooperate,” he said. He held up a bloody knife. “I only wanted to scare her with it. She fought me. When I forced her to … you know … she pushed herself against the blade. She stabbed herself. It made me very angry. So I … stabbed her some more.…”

  “You damned fool,” Margareta said. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Domingo won’t like this. You have to get rid of her. Clean up this place. Take her body to the slaughterhouse and get rid of it. Throw her into the vats. Do you hear me?”

  The imposter nodded.

  “Get one of the others to help you. Where are they?”

  Glyn shrugged. “I suppose they’re still in the annex. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

  “Never mind that. Just get her out of here. Then get cleaned up. I think I had better keep my eye on you for the rest of the night. We have to leave very early tomorrow. Come to my room when you’re finished.”

  The man stared at the body on the floor.

  “Do you hear me?” she demanded.

  “Yes,” he muttered.

  She walked out and slammed the door closed.

  It was after midnight when the knock came.

  “It’s open,” Margareta said.

  Glyn walked in. He had showered and was dressed in a terry-cloth robe. The earlier persona of little-boy helplessness had disappeared. Now he was all man, handsome, virile, dangerous.…

  “Well?” she asked.

  “It’s done,” he said, sitting on the sofa. “The place is clean. There is no trace of her.”

  “There had better not be. What made you do that? You really are one sick hombre. ”

  He shrugged. “I kill. It’s what I do.”

  Despite the savagery of his act, Margareta couldn’t help but feel a twinge of excitement as she gazed upon his magnificent body. His animalistic nature appealed to her and she felt the stirrings of desire. The compulsions that had given rise to her nickname of Mantis Religiosa were not about to dissipate anytime soon.

  He was a lot like her, this Union assassin. Sex and murder were intrinsically linked in their psychological makeup. Margareta knew full well that she and Peredur Glyn weren’t … normal.

  Margareta loosened the sash around her robe and let it fall open. She stood in front of him, then ran her fingers through his hair.

  “That’s not all you do well, Peredur,” she said.

  Glyn looked up at her and replied, “My name is James Bond now.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” she said. “Mr. Bond.”

  A smile played around his lips. He slipped his hands inside of her robe and felt the soft warm flesh. His right hand snaked around her waist and rested on her buttocks. He squeezed a cheek, then pulled her closer to him. He nuzzled his face between her breasts, kissing them, licking them.…

  Margareta sighed as she straddled his lap. Men who had the capacity to kill had always excited her. Her first lover had been a Spanish bandit who was notorious for robbing grocery stores and murdering the staff. She had accompanied him on a few of his sprees, but the police had never caught up with her. She had been fourteen years old at the time.

  She took the assassin’s chin and raised his mouth toward hers. Their lips met, then she pushed him back on the sofa.

  They both needed a relief of tension to prepare for the big day.… She climbed on top of him and took the initiative. She found that the anticipation of the next
morning’s violence served to enhance her pleasure.

  It was unlike anything she had felt before.

  TWENTY - FOUR

  BACK TO THE BEGINNING

  THE RECEPTION WAS SCHEDULED FOR 10:00 A.M.

  Margareta Piel and the assassin left Espada’s estate at 6:30 and drove into Marbella, and then on to La Linea, where Espada and Agustin were waiting for them. Jimmy Powers was already in Gibraltar. Nadir Yassasin was making his way to the Rock by way of Tangier. They would assume the identities of the slain delegates from Washington.

  During the journey, Margareta had sight. She wasn’t quite sure how to deal with it. If her suspicions were correct, it could mean that the Union’s plan might end in disaster. On the other hand, it was possible that she could be able to use her newly gained knowledge to her own personal advantage. She had been eager to break away from Espada for a long time. The opportunity to join the Union was a welcome one. This could be her chance to show them her resourcefulness. She decided to play it by ear, see how the morning progressed, and make her move when the time was right.

  A Governor’s aide, an attractive brunette who might have been a Miss Gibraltar at one time, met them at the airport. The four Spaniards and the man from Britain piled into a limo and then went to the Convent. Main Street had been closed, blocked off to all traffic, both pedestrian and otherwise. It was 9:45 by the time they stepped through the impressive brick facade that framed the main entrance to what was at one time an old Franciscan convent. The name had stuck.

  Security was extremely tight. Officers from the Gibraltar Regiment were everywhere. The four of them were directed to produce their papers, walk through a metal detector, and submit their bags to be searched. The assassin’s passport and documents bore the name “Peter Woodward.” One of the security officers spent a long time examining at the passport. There was a moment when Margareta doubted if any part of the Union’s plan could be pulled off. Finally, the imposter Bond was allowed to go through.