Doubleshot

by Raymond Benson

  After signing the guest register, they were led up the red-carpeted wooden stairs to the first floor and upper Cloister. Margareta noticed a copy of the original Grant of Arms to Gibraltar by Queen Isabella of Castille in 1502. The first British Governor of Gibraltar later used these arms, which were eventually adopted as the castle and key symbols on the coat of arms of the City of Gibraltar. The colony’s flag, of course, grew from this.

  They were led into the ballroom, where a number of people had already gathered.

  It was a lovely room, surrounded by a collection of royal portraits of British monarchs commencing with Queen Victoria. Sparkling chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, and large mirrors reflected the illumination. There was a stage at one end with a string quartet playing Mozart; at the other end was a table set up as a bar.

  Margareta saw Nadir Yassasin near the bar, standing alone. Should she tell him about her suspicions? Their eyes met briefly, but she then made a point of ignoring him throughout the remainder of the reception.

  Jimmy Powers was in an animated conversation with two other men who appeared to be American. She slowly made her way toward them so that she could overhear what they were saying.

  “Mr. Bunyon, I’ve been with the State Department for ten years,” one gray-haired man was saying, “and I simply can’t recall your face. Forgive me. I thought I knew everyone in the Bureau of Mediterranean Activity.”

  Powers chuckled and said, “Sir, I’ve been around since the Reagan administration. I’m often out of the country.”

  Margareta was satisfied that Powers could handle the grilling. She moved on and asked a servant behind the bar for a glass of orange juice. A couple of men smiled at her, probably hoping she would introduce herself to them. One man staring at her was the Spanish Prime Minister. She gave him her best come-hither look and watched him swallow visibly.

  An Arab woman in a full-length caftan and veil was sitting alone, near the quartet. Every part of her body was hidden, except for her brown eyes. Margareta decided to approach her and say hello. The woman introduced herself as a delegate from Morocco, but she didn’t offer much more information than that. Margareta made an excuse to continue mingling.

  Espada, Agustin, and the assassin sat down near the bar and surveyed the room. Espada sat with his arms folded as if he were bored and annoyed with the entire proceedings.

  What if she didn’t report her suspicions to Yassasin? Would the Union punish her if something went wrong? The important thing, she thought, was to save her own skin if it did.

  To hell with it, she thought. She had better speak to Nadir. She approached him casually and said, “Hello, I’m Margareta Piel. I’m with Domingo Espada. I saw you standing here alone and thought I would introduce myself.”

  He shook her hand. “Said Arif. I’m from Morocco, but I live in America.”

  “I think we need to talk,” she said, lowering her voice.

  His eyes narrowed. “Are you mad? What about?”

  Before she could answer, a heated exchange in Spanish was heard in Espada’s corner of the room. The Spanish Prime Minister was standing in front of him. Everyone in the room turned to look at them, especially at the man who had caused all this trouble. Espada stood and glared at the Spanish PM and for a moment there was complete silence. Finally, the Spanish PM muttered something to the effect that he hoped their differences could be resolved today, and then he walked away.

  Margareta had to admit that Espada looked splendid. He was wearing a uniform of his own design that closely resembled that of a Spanish officer at the time of the Second World War. Agustin, at his right, and the imposter James Bond, at his left, were dressed in smart Brioni suits. The assassin looked comfortable and relaxed, if a bit out of place as a bodyguard to Espada.

  Espada noticed that he had the room’s attention. He cleared his throat and managed to say in English, “Thank you all for coming. I am happy to be here.”

  The room seemed to relax then, and the conversations resumed. Margareta watched the assassin as he stayed close to Espada and kept his eyes on everything.

  Perhaps she was wrong? Margareta wondered.

  “What was it you wanted to say?” Yassasin asked.

  “Never mind,” she said.

  The aide-de-camp entered at 10:00 and made an announcement.

  “We have arranged a small tour of the Convent for you that will commence at this time. If you do not care to join the tour, you may remain here. His Excellency the Governor and the British Prime Minister are due to arrive at ten thirty, at which time we’ll move into the Banqueting Room.”

  Margareta slid next to the Americans from the State Department and introduced herself as they walked out of the ballroom to follow the brunette who had picked her up at the airport. Yassasin, Powers, and Espada’s entourage joined in as well.

  The group of nearly twenty people paraded downstairs, passed the main entrance, then down another five steps to the open-air ground floor Cloister. The square was surrounded by an arched covered way, and a well had been built in the center. A black wooden statue of General Sir George Eliott, the Governor of Gibraltar during the Great Siege, was the dominating ornament in the Cloister. All around the square were samples of different kinds of shells and shot used during Gibraltar’s various skirmishes. The gardens were especially beautiful, boasting the largest “dragon tree” in all of Europe. Planted in 1484, the dragon tree has a skinlike texture and bleeds red sap when poked with a sharp stick.

  The brunette lectured in English but was able to answer any questions in a variety of other languages.

  The tour went through the Duke of Kent Room, back upstairs to the Drawing Room and Billiard Room, then back down to the main entrance. At this point, the group turned north, went through a small white door, and entered the King’s Chapel.

  The guide told the tour participants that they had ten minutes to wander freely around the chapel and examine the various memorials and artwork. She even encouraged them to use the time for silent meditation. Some of the guests remained to do so, while others chose to go back upstairs.

  Jimmy Powers casually sat in a specific pew, reached down, and removed the white silk bag he had planted there the day before.

  Margareta walked slowly around the back of the chapel and sat down on a pew, pretending to examine a stained-glass window. She, too, groped for and found the bag that was meant for her.

  Nadir Yassasin had become engaged in a discussion with delegates from the Middle East. He tactfully led them to the pew where his weapon had been planted, and they sat there for a moment. Just as the tour guide announced that the ten minutes were up, Yassasin retrieved the silk bag and put it in his waistband.

  Espada and Agustin were also successful in picking up their planted weapons. It was easier than Espada had imagined. With so many delegates in the chapel, no one was paying any attention to what the others were doing.

  The man who had entered the building as “Peter Woodward,” obviously an expat now working as a bodyguard for Espada, found his weapon under the designated pew. The weight was familiar—it was the Walther PPK. He placed the bag in his waistband under the jacket. As he walked back up the stairs to the first floor of the Convent, he carefully undid the string on the silk bag and removed the gun. Once he was led back into the Ballroom, the Walther was loose in his waistband with the safety off, ready to be fired.

  There was still another ten minutes before the British PM and the Governor were scheduled to arrive. Nadir Yassasin found Jimmy Powers by the string quartet and spoke to him.

  “They are wonderful, aren’t they?”

  Powers shrugged. “If you like that kind of music … me, I prefer good ol’ American rock ’n’ roll.”

  Yassasin lowered his voice, even though the music was loud and the acoustics of the large room assured that they would not be overheard. “So, this is the moment of truth, yes?”

  Powers shrugged again, as if he were hedging on a political opinion.

  Yas
sasin seemed to be talking to himself, as Powers certainly knew the drill. “Timing is crucial. First, the assassin takes out the PM’s and Governor’s bodyguards, then immediately shoots the PM and Governor. Espada and Agustin will draw their weapons and shoot any other guards in the room. They believe that they will secure the room and hold everyone else hostage until the Spanish Prime Minister signs a pact with Espada. Unfortunately, that’s not going to happen.”

  “Has the alternative plan been approved?” Powers asked.

  “Yes. Le Gérant has given the order. Espada is to die. The assassin will kill him as soon as the PM and Governor are dead. Then Miss Piel will kill the assassin if the remaining guards in the room don’t blow him away first. The fool really thinks he’s going to get away with this.”

  Powers shrugged again. “Such is life.”

  “No, my friend,” Yassasin replied. “Such is death.”

  At 10:30, everyone moved into the exquisite Banqueting Hall. Espada, Agustin, Margareta, and the assassin sat at the east end of the table. Espada took the seat at the head of the table. Agustin was on his right, the assassin on his left. Margareta sat next to the imposter Bond. The other delegates took various seats, but left designated chairs for the PM and Governor.

  Margareta eyed the man sitting next to her and struggled once again with the resolve to make herself known. The man was a killer. He was unpredictable. If she didn’t defuse the situation right now, there was no telling what kind of carnage might erupt.

  A minute went by, and she finally decided to confront the assassin with what she suspected.

  Now.

  TWENTY - FIVE

  FAENA

  MARGARETA LEANED OVER AND WHISPERED IN THE ASSASSIN’S EAR. “ALL right, Mr. Bond, I know it’s you. You think I can’t tell the difference between you and Peredur Glyn in bed? You gave yourself away last night with the one area of your body that the doctor in Hollywood didn’t alter.”

  Nadir Yassasin was looking at the two of them with a furrowed brow. Bond swallowed but remained stone-faced. He had to keep his cover or the entire operation would be blown.

  “Now, here’s the deal,” she continued as he felt the gun barrel digging into his kidney. “You’re going to do exactly what you’re supposed to do. Kill the PM and the Governor, as planned. If you don’t do it, I’m going to shoot you in the back, and then my cohorts will do it anyway. My job here was to kill Peredur Glyn after the assassinations. Whether it’s you or him makes no difference to me. That’s my ticket out of here. I’ll be the hero. You will lose, no matter what, the PM will be dead, and the Union’s plan will succeed. This isn’t about Espada. This is between the Union and your pitiful country.”

  She sat back in her chair. An avalanche of doubt fell on Bond and smothered him.

  She knew! Was the plan ruined?

  He suddenly felt his heart accelerate as a wave of panic enveloped him. The pounding in his head was excruciating. Masses of darkness clouded his vision.

  No! he willed. I must not black out now!

  The aide-de-camp remained in place by the open door. Activity could be heard in the corridor as the PM, the Governor, and their bodyguards approached. Two Gibraltar Regiment soldiers entered the room, armed and alert.

  Bond clenched his fists and shut his eyes, struggling against the attack.

  The operation could still work! Concentrate, damn it!

  Espada looked at Bond in anticipation, but Yassasin could see that something was terribly wrong. He glanced at Powers, who was also narrowing his eyes at Bond and Margareta. He reached for his weapon, ready to draw it at a second’s notice.

  Bond opened his eyes as a tall, distinguished gentleman with white hair entered the room—the Governor of Gibraltar. Right behind him was a man in a suit whom Bond recognized as 001. Their eyes found each other and they shared a quick and silent acknowledgment, even though 001 could see the pain in Bond’s eyes.

  The British Prime Minister stepped into the room and stood beside 001. He was a short man with a bright face and charming smile. He virtually lit up the room.

  The aide-de-camp announced, “His Excellency, the Governor of Gibraltar, and the Prime Minister of Great Britain.”

  The door had remained open. Another figure entered the room and stood beside the Prime Minister.

  She was one of the Taunt twins, dressed in a smart business suit.

  Margareta, Yassasin, Espada, and Agustin gasped simultaneously.

  Agent 001 shouted, “Everyone down!” and time suddenly seemed to stretch into a slow, dreamlike eternity.

  In the first second, 001 pulled the Prime Minister to the floor. At the same time, the soldiers tackled the Governor. Some of the delegates began to scream. Powers drew his gun, not sure whom to shoot first.

  During the next second, Bond slammed his upper body forward onto the table as he pulled the Walther from his waistband. This maneuver provided a clear view of Margareta Piel. Nadir Yassasin began to draw his weapon.

  At the beginning of the third second, the veiled Arab woman sitting across the table from Bond swung her right arm out from under the caftan. She was holding a Heckler & Koch USP45. A single round caught Margareta in the chest and threw her backward.

  Halfway through the same second, Bond, still leaning forward over the table, angled his body onto his right shoulder and shot Powers with one bullet through the man’s right temple. Powers fell against the State Department delegate, who shrieked in horror. By the end of the third second, some of the delegates jumped out of their seats and dived for the floor. The others were frozen in fear.

  The fourth second. With a bloodcurdling scream, Margareta crashed through a stained-glass window and fell to the cloister below. Espada and Agustin, momentarily frozen by the sudden turn of events, jolted into action at the sound of the shattering window. Their guns were in hand, but Bond was faster. Bond swung his arm across the tabletop and shot Agustin in the forehead at point-blank range. Yassasin, his hand shaking, aimed his Browning at Bond.

  Five seconds. Espada leveled his Super Star at Bond, but the Walther exploded first. The round caught Espada in the cheek and the man fell back in his chair. Yassasin’s gun erupted, but the bullet whizzed past Bond’s head and into the wall. The Taunt twin was immediately behind the strategist, a Beretta M93R poking the back of his head. She ordered Yassasin not to move. “Drop your weapon on the table,” she commanded.

  Yassasin did so and slowly raised his hands, and time equivocally returned to its normal rate of duration. Only six seconds had elapsed since 001 had shouted the order to launch the operation.

  Bond knelt beside Espada, who was choking and splattering blood all over the carpet.

  “That was for the matadors,” Bond said through his teeth.

  Espada’s eyes exhibited fear and hatred, but eventually they rolled up into his head as the choking ceased.

  Bond finally stood and said, “It’s all over, everyone.” The waves of nausea and panic were subsiding. He had fought against them and had won.

  The Taunt twin turned to the aide-de-camp and indicated Yassasin. “He’s all yours, sir.” The Regiment soldiers immediately handcuffed the Union strategist and frisked him. The Governor, the PM, and the other delegates were slowly rising to their feet and wiping their brows. Suddenly the room was full of chatter, tears, prayers, hugs, and relief.

  Agent 001 gave Bond a thumbs-up. Bond nodded at him, then looked at the blonde.

  “Nice work, Hedy,” Bond said. He turned to the Arab woman in the veil and whispered, “You too, Heidi.”

  The debriefing took place in the Governor’s Drawing Room, where the day’s participants could relax in a friendly environment after the terror of the morning’s events. Present were the Governor, the British PM, the Spanish PM, 001, Hedy Taunt, and James Bond.

  Hedy was attempting to explain how she escaped from Espada’s compound without blowing “Hillary’s” cover when the Spanish PM interrupted her. “Wait a second. I’m confused. I thought Double-O
Seven was a captive. What happened to the double? How did you get off the property?”

  Bond spoke up. “If I may? I’m not sure what happened during the fight with Peredur Glyn, but I had another one of the blackouts I have been experiencing. I continued to function, however, even though I have no memory of it. When I came to, the imposter was lying dead on the ground, strangled. I collected myself and went back to Espada’s house. I thought I might be able to fool anyone still there that I was Peredur Glyn. I succeeded, except for, er, one minor detail that eventually gave me away.”

  Hedy almost laughed and averted her eyes.

  Bond continued. “After convincing the Piel woman that I was Glyn, I went to the place they call the compound and found H—uhm, Miss Taunt. Since Peredur Glyn was reputed to be some kind of homicidal maniac, we concocted a rather unique plan to get her out. I went to the slaughterhouse to fetch a bucket of blood—animal blood.”

  He neglected to say that he had also found Heidi Taunt there. She was bleeding badly from the bullet wound in her shoulder and was drifting in and out of consciousness. Bond had administered first aid as best as he could, then told her to sit tight and that he would be back with her sister.

  “I took the bucket of blood back to the compound and we staged Miss Taunt’s death. The Piel woman ordered me to get rid of the body, as I suspected she would, so I carried Miss Taunt out of the compound and went straight to the slaughterhouse.”

  Again, he left out the sequence in which he and Hedy helped Heidi out of the slaughterhouse and into one of the Land Rovers that was parked outside.

  “We were lucky that almost the entire staff had gone with Espada. The guards at the front gate were dead. We quickly made a plan. Miss Taunt drove to Marbella and I went back to the house to see the Piel woman.”