Graves smiled. It’s not a secret, it’s a surprise. Believe me, all will soon be revealed.’
‘You seem to work non-stop. Is it true that you don t need sleep?'
Graves waved his hand, dismissing the question. ‘You only get one shot at life - why squander it on sleep? While others doze I am thinking of ways to improve the world.’
One reporter tried to needle him. ‘Critics say you’re just purporting to love this country tofool people into liking you. All part of a carefully manufactured image.’
Graves looked at the man coolly. ‘Purporting? I can assure you I haven’t purported in years.’ The crowd laughed. ‘I want my adopted nation to be proud of me and proud of itself.’
'Is that also why you're trying for a place on the British Olympic fencing team? We hear you've been training furiously
‘Oh, I never get furious. As they say in fencing, "what’s the point?".’
More laughter. Graves waved goodbye and turned to get into the car. The young woman held up her hands to keep the reporters back.
‘Thank you, everyone!’ she shouted. ‘You’ll forgive Gustav for not keeping Her Majesty waiting.’ She nodded to three policemen, who took over handling the crowd as the car moved away and through the palace gates.
Bond stepped away from the crowds, reflecting on what he had just seen and heard. The man was an exhibitionist, an extrovert and an egotist; three traits that Bond didn’t care for. For such a man to come out of apparently nowhere struck Bond as highly questionable.
He looked forward to meeting Graves.
10 - Flashing Blades at St James's
The long-standing London gentlemen?s club off St James’s Street was typical of such Regency establishments that had always provided safe haven for their members. Since the eighteenth century, gentlemen had gathered here to dine and read in silence, to gossip and plot and to take advantage of the well-stocked, cavernous wine cellars. Gambling and card-playing was an accepted part of polite English society so long as it took place within a gentlemen’s club and many establishments went beyond this to offer other chances for sport.
The fencing hall, or ‘salle’, has been a habitat of the well-born sportsman since the eighteenth century. Fencing is a pursuit that combines aggression and grace and is therefore perfectly suited to the needs of elegant gentlemen.
Bond climbed the steps to the chib and thought it would be safe for him to appear there. He knew of no one else from the Service who was now a member and it was doubtful that the Immigration Service kept watch on these discreet doors. His membership was a long-standing one and he was able to slip down to the changing rooms without delay.
Modernisation comes slowly to such establishments but this dub had managed to encompass modem plumbing and the introduction of women members without noticeably destroying the charms of the elegant, slightly faded fencing floor.
Bond went straight to the dressing room and changed into his own set of fencing whites. It had been a while since he had done any fencing, but he kept telling himself that it was just like riding a bike.
When he was ready, he walked down to the ornate cavernous hall. The noise and energy of the matches being played was all but palpable.
Bond spotted Graves immediately and saw that there was an audience of nearly a dozen people. The hall was divided into several duelling floors and was decorated with massive display cases full of antique weapons from various cultures around the world.
The bout was in full swing. Two figures, dressed in full fencing regalia and masks, were fighting with intense speed and skill. The players were connected to ‘electronic referees’ by wires that extended from their tunics. Graves’ opponent was a woman and she was a startlingly good fencer. At the moment she was aggressively forcing Graves to back up, putting him on the defensive. However, Graves managed to parry the woman’s sword with a swift manoeuvre called In Quartata, a counter-attack made with a quarter turn to the inside, concealing the front but exposing the back. This allowed him to pull away and regain a position in the centre of the court. Before they could continue the bout, the electronic referees lit up and sounded the end of the match. Graves had won, but only by a little.
Graves removed his mask and was all smiles. The other mask came off and a shock of blonde hair tumbled down. It was the woman Bond had seen outside Buckingham Palace with Graves.
As the pair slapped hands and moved off the floor for a breather, Bond noticed the club’s lovely fencing coach standing in the comer. Verity was tall and thin, had long black hair and appeared to be in her thirties. She was also dressed for fencing, but the laces on her corset were still undone.
He approached her. ‘Verity?’
‘Yes?’
‘James Bond. Your lesson.’
‘Oh, right. I’ve been expecting you.’ She looked him up and down. A hint of a smile indicated that she liked what she saw. ‘You can tell so much about a man from the way he handles his weapon.’
‘Oh, I’m sure there’s lots you can teach me,’ he replied.
She turned her back to him. ‘Do me up will you?’ ‘My pleasure.’ He pulled the laces tight and she winced. ‘I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before.’
‘That makes two of us. I’m here every day. Where have you been?’
‘I’ve been away. Do you fence with other members?’ ‘Sure. Watch and learn. The finest blade in the club’s right there.’
‘Gustav Graves? Have you ever crossed swords with him?’ Bond asked.
‘He only likes to bet,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘What about his opponent? Who’s she?’
‘Miranda Frost, his publicist. A difficult girl to lick. Believe me, I’ve tried. Won the gold at Sydney.’ Bond pulled the laces tighter. His memory stirred, he added, ‘By default, I seem to remember ... ?’
Verity exhaled to accommodate the fit. ‘Yeah, after the one who beat her O.D.’d on steroids. Miranda deserved her gold.’
‘And now she’s teaching Graves how to win one.’
‘He has trouble finding partners. He’s taken so much off the other members that he’s scared them off.’
Bond thought about this a moment and asked, ‘Could you engineer an introduction?’
Verity looked at him as if he were crazy. ‘Without a lesson from me? Are you sure you’re ready for that?’
Bond smiled winningly and shrugged.
They went over to where Graves was towelling the back of his neck.
‘Mister Graves, one of our members wants to meet you,’ Verity said. Graves looked up and smiled at him curiously. ‘And perhaps try a bout with you,’ she added.
‘Bond. James Bond.’ He extended his hand but Graves made no move to accept it. His hands were full; mask in one, sword in the other. Miranda overheard and stepped next to them.
‘Have we met before?’ Graves asked.
‘I think I’d remember,’ Bond replied.
‘Of course you would. My mistake. Are you a gambling man, Mister Bond?’
'When the odds are right..
‘Surely you could risk a thousand against me?’
Bond looked at Miranda. She gave him a cold stare as she disconnected herself from the scoring equipment and handed him the wire. Bond connected it to the back of his protective gear, then attached a wire from his sword’s hilt to the wrist of his jacket.
‘Thank you ..he said, awaiting her name.
‘Frost. Miranda Frost. And I heard. You’re Bond.' She was well spoken but cold as ice. He smiled but she didn’t return it.
‘Be careful of Miss Frost, Mister Bond,’ Graves said. ‘She might bruise more than your ego.’
‘Is your lesson with her over?’ he asked Graves, taunting him a bit.
The man eyed Bond solemnly. ‘Best of three hits?'
Bond nodded.
The two men put on their masks and stepped onto the duelling floor. They assumed the en garde position, waited for the start and engaged. Miranda and Verity watched with interest as the fencers m
oved slowly, warily, sizing each other up. Then the assaults began. A lunge, parry and a feint - and Bond was tagged by Graves’ tip. A light on the electronic referee signalled a hit, accompanied by a loud zap. Verity shook her head to herself. She obviously thought Bond was outclassed.
Next point The men engaged and Graves swiftly performed a froissement, an attack that displaced the opponent’s blade with a strong grazing action. He scored a hit
‘Two nil,' Graves said. ‘I win. Perhaps you’re not at ease with the electronic scoring, Mister Bond. Too... civilised for you?’
‘Oh, I’ll give it another go,’ Bond replied nonchalantly.
‘Let’s up the wager then, shall we? How much can you afford?’
Bond kept his cool. ‘How much can you?’ He pulled one of Zao’s diamonds out of his pocket and tossed it to Graves. ‘Why not play for this? I picked it up in Cuba.’
Graves removed his mask and took a closer look at the gem. Bond detected a slight flash of anger in the man’s eyes.
‘My, they do get around,’ Graves said with control. ‘But then, diamonds are for everyone.’ He tossed the diamond back and locked eyes with Bond. ‘A particularly brilliant specimen. Completely flawless.’
‘And chemically identical to African blood diamonds.’
. Graves raised his blade and said, ‘You’re about to lose something very precious.’ He. lowered his mask and assumed en garde. Bond did the same and the bout began again. Graves immediately engaged Bond’s blade with an envelopment, a manoeuvre that swept the opponent’s sword through a full circle. Bond, however, counter-parried, a move made in the opposite line to the attack. Doing so knocked Graves’ sword away and Bond quickly lunged and scored a hit.
Graves was surprised, as was everyone else.
Bond shrugged, self-deprecating. ‘Pure luck. Like your diamond find.’
This provoked Graves into a reckless lunge that let Bond slash Graves’ wire - and his wrist.
‘Oh, sorry about that,’ Bond said. ‘Accidents will happen.’
Graves threw off his mask and glared at him, sucking blood from the cut. The damaged wire was making the scoreboard zap, zap, zap on Graves’ side, infuriating him.
‘You want to continue?’ Bond asked.
‘Of course I want to bloody continue!’ Calming fast, he severed the remnants of the wire, ripped open his lame and strode to two large ceremonial sabre swords on the wall. ‘But if we’re upping the wager, let’s up the weapons!’ He then removed his tunic, revealing a T-shirt underneath. ‘Why don’t we do this the old-fashioned way?’ He took down the sabres. ‘First blood drawn from the torso.’ He said it as a given, then tossed one of the sabres to Bond.
Bond removed his jacket, too. Then he discarded the mask, throwing it down next to Graves’. Bond nodded at the masks and said, ‘They were slipping anyway.’
The fight commenced ‘dry’, that is, without the electronic judging aids. Bond found the sabre awkward and unwieldy.
Graves advanced with ferocity and surprised Bond with a cross, a movement in which the attacker crossed one leg over the other in order to change directions mid-stride. The back and forth play of the blades in a fencing match is called ‘conversation’, and Bond thought to himself that this particular one was more like a heated argument. The sabres clashed and slashed viciously and Bond was coming off worse. Graves had him on the defensive, backing him against a display case. Graves attempted a thrust, which might very well have skewered Bond had he not spun out of the way. The sword broke the glass on the case, scattering slivers all over the floor.
This didn’t stop them. Graves kept after his adversary, but Bond performed successful parries and attempted to push his opponent’s blade aside with a ‘press’ manoeuvre. As soon as there was an opening, Bond directly attacked Graves but succeeded only in prodding him.
A murmur had begun to spread around the hall as other people realised something serious was happening; They all stopped to watch.
After nearly a minute of fierce engagement, Graves performed a balestra, a forward jump followed by a lunge, but Bond somehow anticipated it and parried out of the way. Graves crashed into one of the massive display cases, knocking it loose. Broadswords, maces, battle-axes and nearly every other conceivable type of bladed weapon fell in a rain of steel.
Now having lost his composure, Graves picked up a broadsword and threw the sabre aside. He was playing for keeps now and Bond knew it, but he wasn’t sure if the spectators understood how earnest the fight had become. Graves attacked with the new sword and for a few moments, Bond’s sabre was outclassed. Graves cornered Bond again near another display case and swung the broadsword in a dangerous arc that might have lopped off his opponent’s head. Bond ducked and grabbed one of the other broadswords that lay at his feet. Bond dropped, rolled and leapt to his feet before Graves’ sword came crashing down.
Bond tried a feint but failed as Graves counterattacked and pushed him against the double doors that led to an elegant courtyard. He fell through and the fight spilled into the sunlight. Graves raised the broadsword high and brought it down hard. Bond rolled and jumped up, just in time to parry another blow. The two men continued to spar vigorously around an ornate running fountain in the middle of the courtyard.
Graves suddenly advanced in double time and performed a coule, an attack that slid his sword along the opponent’s blade. The sword slashed Bond’s torso, drawing blood. Bond parried and nicked the skin on Graves’ ear. The man’s eyes flared. Bond could see that Graves was crazy with anger. He didn’t just want to win the bet - he wanted to kill.
They fought on with Graves backing Bond to the fountain, punching with his hilt. But Bond produced a flurry that cut Graves’ leg, throwing him off balance. The man tried to prevent the fall with his sword but succeeded only in breaking the blade. Graves splashed backwards through the water and ended up with his back against the statue in the centre of the fountain.Bond was immediately there, his blade pressed to Graves’ throat, just as Graves’ own broken blade positioned against Bond’s.
Suddenly a sword hurtled between the two men’s faces, digging into the statue. The incredible speed and accuracy of the move shook them from their battle. They looked along the blade to the wielder of the sword.
‘That’s enough!’ Miranda cried. She glared at Bond intently. After a beat, Bond backed aWay from Graves.
‘Gustav, you forget yourself,’ she scolded.
Graves became aware of the people all around, the faces at the windows and the spectacle he had made of himself. Bond proffered his hand and the mask of good humour slid back over the man’s face. He allowed Bond to help him out of the fountain.
‘Just a little sport, Miranda,’ he said. She handed him a towel. ‘Mister Bond, you fought like a true Englishman. You’ll take a cheque?’
'From you?’ Bond asked. ‘Of course.’
As they headed back to the hall, Miranda attempted to touch Graves’ wound but he brushed her aside.
'You’re a rare challenge, Mister Bond,’ Graves said as they walked. ‘I’m putting on a little scientific demonstration in Iceland this weekend. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? Icarus. I hope you’ll come along? I have lots of fun and games planned. And worthy opponents are so hard to find.’ He turned to Miranda. She knew it was her cue to produce the chequebook. Graves took it and wrote one to Bond.
‘Make the arrangements for Mister Bond to visit us in Iceland. would you?’ he told her as he handed the book back.
Once I've smoothed things over with the club,’ she replied, her displeasure not well hidden.
What would I do without you?’ he quipped, knowing that she would take care of everything without much fuss.
He strode off, leaving Miranda face to face with Bond. She ripped out the cheque and handed it over.
‘Can I expect the pleasure of you in Iceland?' Bond asked smoothly.
She remained as icy as ever. ‘I’m afraid you'll never have that pleasure, Mister Bond.’ With that, she
stormed off after Graves. Bond watched her go and wondered what it was that made her such an ice maiden.
A concierge appeared among the members of staff who had begun bearing away the damaged furniture and artwork. ‘Someone left this for you, sir,' he said, handing Bond an envelope. As he walked away, the man eyed the destruction and muttered, ‘Place needed redecorating anyway.'
Bond weighed the envelope in his hand, recognising the paper stock. He tore it open and out dropped a distinctive iron key.
11 - Reinstated
Bond walked to Whitehall and then skirted south-west towards Westminster Bridge, avoiding the pedestrians that surrounded him. He rarely travelled on foot in this fashion but he had no other choice. He couldn’t very well go to his flat as it was probably being watched. The sensible thing would be to see the game through as it unfolded. They had played a trump card. He had to either make a counter-move or obey the rules and follow procedure. Bond decided on the latter. He took a turn and made his way into the shadows. He carefully looked around to make sure no one had seen him and then he approached the dark, iron door underneath an arch. Bond took the heavy key out of his pocket and used it to unlock the rusty door. It squeaked unmercifully when he opened it He stepped inside and shut the door with a loud clang.
He stood for a moment to allow his eyes to get used to the dark. When he could see fairly well, he moved forward and came upon a metal spiral staircase leading down. Bond descended slowly until he came to a dusty, disused Underground train platform. An otherworldly subterranean network existed beneath London. Since the underground was the oldest subway system in the world, it was only natural that stations, tunnels and entire lines had gone out of commission over the last century. Lords, British Museum and Aldwych are just some of those haunting ‘lost’ stations of London. Some had never even opened, like the ‘Bull and Bush’ station near Hampstead Heath. Some were shut when lines were modernised, such as City Road. Others were abandoned as hopeless cases, such as South Kentish Town, which attracted few passengers.
Bond Movies 07 - Die Another Day Page 8