The Facts Of Death

by Raymond Benson

  Bond picked up the phone and called Quarterdeck. He spoke to Davison, Sir Miles’s butler and manservant, and said he hoped he could still RSVP. Davison replied that Sir Miles would be very happy to hear that Bond was coming.

  An hour later, Bond drove his ageing but reliable Bentley Turbo R onto the Embankment, then to the gaudy building by the Thames that housed SIS headquarters. Stepping out of the lift onto the fourth floor, he was greeted by Helena Marksbury, his attractive personal assistant. Her warm smile and sparkling large green eyes never failed to cheer him up, even when he was in the darkest of moods. She had recently cut her silky brown hair in a pageboy style that some of the newer fashion models seemed to favor. Bond also found her to be highly intelligent, a hard worker, and easygoing—all of which made her that much more desirable.

  “Good afternoon, James,” she said.

  “Helena, you’re looking lovely,” he said with a nod.

  “James, if you smiled when you said that, I might believe you.”

  Bond managed to form his normally cruel mouth into a grin. “I never lie to women, Helena, you should know that by now.”

  “Of course you don’t, James …” She quickly changed the subject. “There’s a new file on your desk concerning the incidents in Cyprus, and M would like to see you in an hour.”

  Bond smiled, nodded, then turned and walked toward his private office.

  The file on his desk contained a number of reports—the forensic findings from the murder sites in Cyprus and Athens, analyses of the chemical weapons used in the attacks, and various other documents. Bond sat down and studied each report, losing himself in the work so that he might climb out of the dark hole he was in.

  For lack of a better term, the reports now referred to the perpetrators as the “Number Killer” because of the numerals left at the sites. The Number Killer was believed to be several individuals—a team of terrorists—although evidence seemed to indicate that only one person was involved in the actual attacks. Because no communication from the perpetrators had been received, the motives were still unclear. At present, there was no connection between the victims except that two were groups of military personnel on Cyprus. Since three different chemical weapons were used in the attacks, investigators speculated that the terrorists were receiving their supplies from a separate and sophisticated source. In other words, it was unlikely that a Middle Eastern or Mediterranean terrorist group would have the means to manufacture so many different types of chemical weapons. Bond doubted the reasoning behind that report. He believed that there were groups entirely capable of creating such deadly materials. Recipes were widely available in books sold in alternative bookstores and even on the Internet.

  Another document listed known terrorist groups around the world and their bases of operation. Among these were the ones already in the headlines, such as the Islamic militant groups working out of the Middle East, the Aryan Nation factions in the northwestern United States, the IRA, and the Weathermen. Some of the names Bond wasn’t familiar with, such as the Suppliers, an American outfit working out of the southwestern U.S. Bond made a point to study the lists of lesser-known groups, especially those working out of Europe.

  The biggest question was—what were these people after?

  “I assume you’ve read all the relevant reports, 007?” M asked, swiveling around in her chair to face him.

  “Yes, ma’am. I can’t say they’ve added to what I already knew.”

  M made a gesture with her eyebrows as if to say, “Right, of course not.” Since she took over as the head of SIS, James Bond’s relationship with his boss had not always been comfortable. The woman had respect for the man who some said was her top agent, but he always felt she saw him as a loose cannon. She was also more vocal than her predecessor had been in criticizing Bond’s womanizing and sometimes unorthodox methods of working. Still, 007 had proved his worth to her more than once, and she had learned quickly that she had to put up with his lifestyle if she wanted to keep him.

  “All right, then,” she said. “What’s your guess about the terrorists?”

  “There’s not a lot to go on, really,” he replied. “Without knowing their motives, it’s difficult to analyze what it’s all about. I’ll admit I’m baffled by the whole affair.”

  “We’re having some professional profiles drawn up based on the crime scene evidence. There’s something you don’t know about our man Whitten. He was working on something top-secret.”

  “Oh?”

  “As you know, he was a field agent temporarily working out of Station G. About six months ago, the Athens police confiscated two suitcases full of chemical weapons at the airport. They were unclaimed, and they were never traced to their rightful owners. You’ll never guess what the toxins were smuggled in.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Sperm,” she said with a straight face. “Frozen sperm. Vials of frozen sperm. They were in refrigerated cartons—very sophisticated, with timers and locks. Acting on a tip, Whitten had learned of some sort of pipeline of chemicals being shipped to Athens from London. This one, supposedly a second shipment, was confiscated, and Whitten was about to pin down exactly where it had come from. He believed the shipments did not originate in London. That was on the day before his death.”

  “Then Whitten’s murder may have been nothing more than an act to silence him.”

  “Correct. Perhaps he learned more than our terrorist friends wanted him to know. His office and files have been thoroughly searched. So far nothing has turned up.”

  “Any more news on the Cyprus incidents?”

  “Only that there was hell to pay in their security areas. How the assassin and the accomplice hijacked a helicopter is a mystery. There may have been an insider. The Greek Secret Service are very concerned, because an eyewitness described the man holding a gun to the pilot’s head as ‘Greek-looking.’ How did you get on with their agent, by the way?”

  At first Bond didn’t know who M was talking about. “Ma’am?”

  “Mirakos. That was her name, wasn’t it?”

  “Oh, right. She seemed very … capable, ma’am.”

  “Hmpf.” M could see right through him.

  “Other than the possibility of the hijacker being Greek, why are the Greeks so concerned? These were our people.”

  “Cyprus is a very touchy issue with them. You’re aware of all the trouble that island has gone through. When we allowed the Cypriots to form their own country in 1960, it opened up a can of worms. There aren’t many races who hate each other more than the Greeks and Turks. It’s gone on forever, and it’s one of those things that will go on forever, I’m afraid. It’s as bad as Northern Ireland, or Israel and the Arab states.”

  “Do you think the attacks on our troops have something to do with the Cyprus problem?” Bond asked.

  “Yes, I do,” she said. “The Cypriots look at our presence there with disdain. In my opinion, the Greek Cypriots would like to see us out of there, although if it came down to a matter of life or death—such as a further Turkish invasion—then I’m sure they would reverse their stance and be grateful we were there to help. On the other hand, I have a feeling that Turkey doesn’t mind our being there. They want to propagate the notion to the world that they are peace-loving and cooperative.”

  “So you think that Greek Cypriots are behind this?”

  “If the terrorists aren’t Cypriots or Greek nationalists, then their sympathies lie with that side. I think the attacks on our bases were meant to be warnings of some kind.”

  “The numbers would indicate that there will be more attacks,” Bond said.

  “It will be interesting to see what the next target or targets are.”

  “What would you like me to do, ma’am?”

  “Nothing at the moment except study everything you can get your hands on about terrorist factions in Europe and the Middle East. Brush up on the history of Greece, Turkey, and Cyprus. I’m afraid we haven’t much to go on until they strike again.
Just be where I can find you should I need you in a hurry. Don’t go running off.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Good. That’s all, 007.”

  He stood up to leave and she asked, “Will I see you tonight at Sir Miles’s dinner party?”

  “I thought I might make an appearance,” he said.

  “There’s someone I’ll want you to meet,” she said. “Until tonight then.”

  Did he detect a hint of excitement in her clear blue eyes? If he wasn’t mistaken, M had just betrayed the fact that she would be accompanied by a man. Interesting …

  Bond stepped out of the office and caught the ever faithful Miss Moneypenny at the filing cabinet.

  “Penny?”

  “Yes, James?”

  “M’s divorced, isn’t she?”

  “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondering.”

  “James, really. Now I know she’s not your type.”

  Bond leaned in to kiss Moneypenny’s cheek. “Of course not. You know the truth, as always.” He opened the door and turned back to her. She was looking at him expectantly. “I don’t have a type,” he said as he closed the door.

  Major Boothroyd lit the cigarette, puffed once or twice, then threw it as far as he could across the room. The cigarette landed in a pile of hay in the middle of a fireproof container. The hay burst into flames. Technicians immediately rushed in with fire extinguishers to put it out. Boothroyd coughed and gasped for air.

  “I don’t know how you can smoke those things, 007,” he said, wheezing. “Didn’t you cough the first time you inhaled tobacco smoke?”

  “I’m sure I did. I really don’t remember,” Bond said.

  “Well, it’s the body’s natural way of warning you to stay away! I need a glass of water …”

  The major had been with SIS longer than Bond could remember. Boothroyd had run Q Branch with a keen eye for detail and the imagination of a science fiction author. His knowledge of weaponry and technical devices was unmatched. Bond enjoyed teasing him, but the truth was that Boothroyd would always have Bond’s respect.

  “How are you getting on with the P99?” Boothroyd asked.

  “It’s quite an improvement, I must admit,” Bond said. “I like the way I can operate the magazine release, the decocker, or the trigger without changing the position of the gun in my hand.”

  “Yes, Walther has certainly stepped up the technology,” Boothroyd added. “I like the way the magazine release is ambidextrous and can be operated with the thumb or index finger.”

  The Walther P99 9mm Parabellum was a new gun, advertised by Carl Walther GMBH as the gun “designed for the next century.” It was a hammerless pistol with single and double action, developed in strict conformity with the technical list of requirements of the German police. With a high-quality polymer used for the frame and other parts, the weight of the gun with an empty magazine was only 700g. The steel sheet magazine had a capacity of sixteen rounds, with an additional round in the chamber. A very special advantage of the P99 was the ability to fire more rapidly than most other semiautomatic pistols. Due to the missing hammer, the barrel was positioned low over the hand, which reduced recoil. Bond loved the new gun, but he still preferred to carry the thinner PPK in his shoulder holster. He used the P99 when he didn’t need to conceal the weapon under clothing.

  “How’s the new car coming along?” Bond asked.

  “It’s nearly finished. Come and have a look.” Boothroyd led Bond into another area of the laboratory. The Jaguar XK8 coupe sat on a platform as technicians made last-minute modifications to it. It had a solid blue base paint with a zinc coating, giving it a sheen that was undeniably glamorous. Bond had been wary of the car’s future when Ford took Jaguar under its wing, but the move proved to be a wise one. While it remained a British-made and -designed car, Jaguar adapted Ford’s maintenance program. This improved its service reliability immensely in other countries, particularly the U.S.

  Bond had given the XK8 a test drive when they first hit the market in 1996 and he fell in love with it, but the price tag had prevented him from purchasing one himself. When he learned that Q Branch had bought a coupe for company use, 007 took an active interest in it. For once, he made the time to collaborate with Major Boothroyd on the features it would have, something that was unprecedented.

  The vital thing was the engine, a completely new four-liter V-8 of advanced specification that set it apart from Ford and maintained Jaguar’s individuality. The AJ V-8 four-valve-per-cylinder engine normally had a maximum output of 290 horsepower at 6,100 rpm and 284 foot pounds of torque at 4,200 rpm. It was the first V-8 engine designed by Jaguar. Major Boothroyd, however, commissioned Jaguar’s Special Vehicle Operations unit to improve the car’s power to do 400 bhp. The rev limiter, which would otherwise limit top speed to a paltry 155 miles per hour, was removed. The car was equipped with a Z 5HP24 automatic transmission, which offered five forward gear ratios to optimize performance. First through fourth gears were selected for sharp response and effortless acceleration, while fifth was an overdrive ratio for fuel economy. The transmission’s versatility began with two driver selectable gear modes, Sport and Normal. Switching into Sport mode timed the gear changes for peak response. Bond had never cared for automatic transmissions, but the XK8 offered something different.

  “I’m sorry to say that M has decided that you are to be the lucky man to test-drive it in the field,” Boothroyd said. “It was nice knowing this car. I’m sure I’ll never see it again.”

  “Bollocks, Major,” Bond said. “I’m in love with this car. I promise I’ll take good care of it. When can I have it?”

  “It’ll be ready in a day or two. I don’t know where you’ll be, but I’ll have it shipped to you. We want to find out how the car handles in extreme conditions.”

  “So you’re giving it to me.”

  “Right.”

  “I’m glad to hear that everyone thinks so highly of me.”

  “Now pay attention, 007,” Boothroyd said, stepping up to the car and tapping the hood. “We’ve coated the car with chobam armor, which is impenetrable. We use it with reactive skins that explode when they’re hit. This deflects the bullets. It’s a case of an equal and opposite force negating the energy of the bullet.”

  “Naturally,” Bond said.

  “Not only that,” Boothroyd said, very proud of himself, “the metal is self-healing. On being pierced, the skin can heal itself by virtue of viscous fluid.”

  “Remarkable.”

  “We’ve also used certain paints that have electrically sensitive pigments which will change color. Used in conjunction with the electronically controlled standard interchangeable license plate, the car can change identity a number of times.

  “Now, as you know, the Jaguar is fitted with an intelligent automatic gearbox, and gears are changed by means of a combined manual and automatic five-speed adaptive system through a ‘J’ gate mechanism. When you want to use the manual system, you merely select the left hand side of the J gate mechanism and change gear in the normal way, except that there is no clutch pedal. On the right side of the J gate is the switchable adaptive system, which electronically changes to suit individual styles of driving. If you want to wind the engine up and drive aggressively, electronic software will recognize that you’re in a hurry and will allow the engine to reach higher revs before changing to the next gear—thus giving you better performance. Alternatively, if you choose to drive the car more gently, which is highly unlikely in your case, the adaptive system will switch and change up earlier. The gear patterns are computer-controlled, yet driver-dependent.”

  “I knew that,” Bond said smugly.

  “Well, did you know that there are sensors which recognize wheel slip? If that happens, the power will be cut until traction is established again. Sensors on the rack tell the gearbox not to change gear when cutting a corner. You can behave like a complete lunatic and floor the throttle midway through a bend—but you’ll find tha
t the electronics will take over and never permit the car to go out of control. Clearly, the combined gearbox system has advantages over manual only. Specifically, in your case, in conjunction with GPS navigation, it’s a matter of hands off the driving and hands on your female passenger!”

  “I resent that remark,” Bond said. “What about offensive features? Did you get what I asked for?”

  “If you’re referring to satellite navigation … yes. The car will drive to a set of coordinates and can actually drive itself with you in place or not. I daresay that it runs less of a risk on the road without you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Now, look here”—Boothroyd got into the car and pointed to various devices—“the heat-seeking rockets and cruise missiles are used in conjunction with the satellite navigation. They’re deployed to a set of coordinates, or they can follow a moving target selected by the screen and joystick on the dash.

  “Inside the car you have a deployable air bag on the passenger side—guaranteed to smother someone with safety. Notice the windscreen. Optical systems magnify available light or heat at night to produce an image on this screen.” Boothroyd pulled down a sun visor. “You can drive in the dark without headlamps, through smoke, fog, whatever—and because of the satellite navigation and intelligent cruise control, the vehicle will drive, steer, and avoid obstacles electronically. By the way, the car’s microprocessors are stored in a box in the boot.”

  The major released the latch of the center-console armrest storage compartment. “Under the storage tray you’ll find a holster for your P99.”

  “Very handy,” Bond said.

  Boothroyd got out of the car and pointed at the headlamps. “Holograms can be projected from both the front and rear headlamps. Additional holograms can be projected inside the car to give the appearance of a driver when there’s no one there. We have a wide range of holograms that we can project outside the car. You’ll want to go through our library and select a few to store into the computer.”

  “I’ll bet you’re saving the best for last,” Bond said.