“Good,” said Number Two. “Number Eight, keep perfecting the virus and the vaccine. Number Ten, you have your assignment. I have my own work for the Monad ahead of me. Ladies, by the time we’re through with this, we shall be wealthy beyond our wildest dreams.”
They hugged each other. Number Eight left the room. Number Two gazed into Number Ten’s eyes.
“I must leave,” Number Ten said. “There’s a plane waiting for me.”
“I know. Take care. I’ll see you soon,” Number Two said. They kissed each other intimately, on the mouth, then parted.
Number Two watched her lover leave, then made her way to her room. As she expected, the Monad was there, waiting in her bed.
SIX
TEQUIL A AND LIMES
LONDON’S COLD, RAINY WEATHER CONTINUED, GIVING WAY TO A BITTER high wind that chilled one to the bone. It was unseasonably cold for the first week of November. Walking outside for more than a few minutes was an ordeal, and people had to make sure every inch of skin was covered to avoid being miserable.
James Bond looked out the window of M’s office on the eighth floor of SIS headquarters and yearned for Jamaica. The weather wouldn’t be perfect there either; it would most likely be raining too, but at least the temperature would be tolerable. He imagined hearing the warm laugh of Ramsey, the young Jamaican he had hired to look after Shamelady during his absence. Ramsey would have cheered him up with his broad smile, white teeth, and good humor.
Bond breathed deeply, attempting to motivate himself to go over the paperwork on his desk once again. The lack of progress on the case was certainly part of the problem, but he knew that the only way he would feel like he was accomplishing something was to get out of London. He was restless and irritable. The previous evening he had put away half a bottle of The Macallan and had woken up in the middle of the night in the armchair of his sitting room. He had crawled into bed, and didn’t wake up until Helena Marksbury phoned him to inquire if he was coming to the office. Now he not only had a pounding headache, but he felt he was coming down with a cold.
“You look terrible, 007,” M said behind him. “What the devil is the matter with you?”
“Nothing, ma’am,” Bond said, turning away from the window. “This weather is dreadful.”
“You’re not catching flu, are you? It’s going around.”
“I never catch the flu,” Bond said, sniffing.
“Nevertheless, I want you to see the doctor. I need you in top form if we get a break in the case,” she said.
Bond sat down in the black leather chair across from her desk. M didn’t look so great either. The stress and heartache she felt at the loss of her lover were all too apparent. To her credit, she had shown up for work every day since Hutchinson’s murder.
“Have you located Charles Hutchinson yet?” she asked.
“No, ma’am, he’s nowhere to be found,” Bond said, suppressing a cough. “I’m thinking it might be a good idea if I took a trip to Texas. There may be some clues at Mr. Hutchinson’s house there.”
Bill Tanner had quickly gathered some useful information on Alfred Hutchinson. He owned a house in Austin, Texas, where he had spent time as a guest professor at the University of Texas. His twenty three-year-old son, Charles, lived and worked there and Hutchinson had continued to make frequent trips there. Hutchinson’s ex-wife was insisting that funeral arrangements be postponed until Charles Hutchinson could be reached. All attempts to contact the young man had failed. Either he was out of the country or something had happened to him.
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” M said. “Yes, I think that’s a good idea. Should I get in touch with the CIA and let them know you’re coming?”
“That won’t be necessary, ma’am,” Bond said. “I know someone in Austin who will be much more helpful than they would be.”
Bond flew to Dallas on American Airlines and changed planes for the short hop down to Austin. It was late afternoon when he arrived, and the weather was better there than in London. The sky was overcast but it was pleasantly warm.
Bond hadn’t spent much time in Texas. He had been to the area known as the Panhandle during the case a few years back that involved the last heir of Ernst Stavro Blofeld, but he had never been to Austin or any of the other more scenic areas in central Texas. He was surprised by the lush greenery, the hills, and the stretches of water that could be seen from the air. He had no idea that any part of Texas could be so beautiful. It was no wonder that his friend and longtime associate Felix Leiter, who actually hailed from Texas, had gone back to settle in Austin.
At the airport, an exotic Hispanic woman dressed in tight-fitting blue jeans and a western shirt with the bottom ends tied together above her bare midriff approached Bond as he came out into the terminal. She appeared to be in her early thirties, had long black hair and small brown eyes that sparkled.
“Mr. Bond?” she asked with a Spanish accent.
“Yes?”
“I’m Manuela Montemayor. I’ve come to pick you up.” The way she said “peek you up” was tantalizing. “Felix is waiting at the house. He’s very excited to see you again.”
“Lovely. I’m all yours,” Bond said with a smile.
Bond collected his luggage and followed Manuela outside into the fresh warm air. She led him to a 1997 red Mitsubishi Diamante LS in the parking lot.
“Felix said you would hate the car, but I like it,” she said.
“Looks fine to me.” It felt good to get into the passenger seat after the long flight from England.
Manuela drove out of the parking lot to Interstate 35, then headed south. Bond looked to his right and saw the expanse of the University of Texas at Austin, an enormous campus well known for its American football team, fine arts department, and beautiful girls. The main building, or UT Tower, stood twenty-seven stories tall, overlooking the campus and city with the grandeur of an all-seeing sentinel.
“You been to Austin before?” she asked.
“Never. I’ve always wanted to come, especially since Felix moved here.”
“We love it. The people are friendly, the music is great, and the climate is perfect.”
“How’s Felix doing?”
“He’s fine. You know he’s not so good on his legs anymore. The one leg with the prosthesis has deteriorated, so he stays in his wheelchair most of the time.”
Christ, Bond thought. He hadn’t known that Felix was in a wheelchair. He wondered how he would feel when he saw his friend in that condition. Bond never forgot that fateful day in Florida when Leiter lost the leg and an arm to a shark owned by Mr. Big and company. At the time, Leiter worked for the CIA. After the mishap, the Texan had been with Pinkerton’s Detective Agency for a number of years. He had then spent a few years with the DEA, before going into private practice as a freelance consultant on intelligence and law enforcement matters.
Eventually, the car crossed the Colorado River, locally known as Town Lake. Manuela turned off of the interstate and headed west, entering the section of Barton Springs Road populated by trendy restaurants and nightspots, and on through Zilker Metropolitan Park.
“Now we are in West Lake Hills,” Manuela said. “It’s where we live.”
This suburb of Austin seemed more fashionable than what Bond had seen along the way. The area was very hilly, and the houses were elegant and impressive. The car turned into a long, narrow drive surrounded by large oak trees that disclosed a wood-and-stone ranch house at the end.
“Here we are,” she said.
As they walked toward the house, the cicadas were making a tremendous racket in the trees. Bond felt he was really out in the wilderness.
“You should hear them in the summer,” Manuela said. “They’re actually pretty quiet now. We have a lot of critters here in Texas.”
A wheelchair ramp had been set up on the steps leading to the front porch. Manuela unlocked the door and held it open for Bond. “Hello!” she called. “Where are you, sweetheart?”
“In
here!” It was a familiar voice, and Bond smiled.
“Put your luggage down,” she said. “Felix is in the den.”
A full-grown dalmatian jumped out from around the corner of the hallway. She immediately growled and barked at Bond.
“Esmerelda!” Manuela commanded. “Stop that. This is our friend, James.”
Bond held out his hand, palm upward, then stooped down to the dog’s level. The dalmatian sniffed his hand, then gave it a solid lick.
“Oh, she likes you already,” Manuela said.
Bond scratched the animal’s head and behind her ears. The tail started wagging; he had made a friend.
Bond and the dog followed Manuela through the long hallway, past a dining room and kitchen area, and into a large wood-paneled room full of furniture and high-tech equipment. There were large windows on two sides of the room, facing out into the woods behind the house. They were open, but the mesh screens kept the bugs out. It was an extremely pleasant atmosphere.
Felix Leiter turned away from the computer terminals and faced Bond with a big grin. He was sitting in an Action Arrow power chair, which silently turned on its wheels, steered by hand controls. Felix was still thin, and the way his knees stuck out from the chair reminded Bond how tall the man was. His straw-colored hair had gone a little gray, and his chin and cheekbones seemed sharper. What hadn’t changed at all were the gray eyes, which had a feline slant that increased when he smiled broadly. The right hook had been replaced by a prosthesis that looked more like a hand, and it seemed to operate quite well. He held out his left hand.
“James Bond, you old horse thief!” he said. The slow drawl was warm and friendly. “Welcome to Texas, you goddamned limey!”
Bond clasped the hand. It was a firm, dry handshake. “Isn’t the word ‘limey’ a bit old-fashioned, Felix?”
“What the hell, we’re old-fashioned,” Leiter said. “You can call me a bloody Yank for old times’ sake, if you want.”
“It’s good to see you, Felix.”
“Likewise, my friend. Sit, sit! Manuela will rustle us up some drinks. You met my lovely Manuela?”
“I did indeed.”
“Hands off, James. She’s mine, and she’s loyal as hell.”
“That’s what he thinks!” Manuela called from the other room.
Bond laughed. “Don’t worry, she couldn’t do better than you. How long have you been together?”
“Two years. She’s great, I tell you. Smarter than me too. She’s a hell of an investigator. She’s a field agent for the FBI. We hooked up when I did some freelance work on one of her cases. We’ve been on it ever since. We make a good team. She does all the dirty work while I stay at home and play with all these toys you see around the room.”
“Glad to hear it. I take it you got my faxes?”
“Yes indeed, and I’ve already got some information for you. But drinks first!”
Bond smiled. It seemed that the most enduring element of their friendship throughout the years was their rather adolescent penchant to try to outdrink each other. He would never forget the barhopping they used to do in New York City, or Las Vegas, or in the Bahamas. Despite the fact that they came from two countries separated by a common language, Bond and Leiter understood each other. They were made of the same material. Both were men who had lived on the edge and survived to tell the tale. Leiter was also a man who, despite his handicap, could never be satisfied with retirement or inactivity.
Esmerelda settled down at Bond’s feet, claiming him as her territory. Manuela brought in a tray with three shot glasses, a bottle of Jose Cuervo Gold tequila, some sliced limes, and a saltshaker. She set the tray on the small coffee table.
“What the hell?” Bond asked.
“You’re in Texas now, James,” Leiter said. “You’re gonna do shots like the Texans do!”
“Oh for God’s sake,” Bond muttered, shaking his head.
“You know how, don’t you?” Leiter asked, laughing. “Manuela, show him how we do it.” Leiter poured tequila into one of the little glasses.
Manuela held her left hand to her face and licked the back of her hand just below where the thumb and index finger meet. She then took the saltshaker and sprinkled a little on the wet spot, so that the salt stuck to her skin. With a sly grin and her eyes glued to Bond’s, she sensuously licked her hand again, this time lapping up the salt. Quickly, she took the shot glass and swallowed the entire measure of tequila in one gulp. She then grabbed a slice of lime and bit hard into it, sucking the juice and savoring it. She closed her eyes and her body shivered for a second.
“Now you try it,” she said, holding out the saltshaker and pouring tequila into a glass.
“Are you serious?” Bond asked.
“You bet we are,” Leiter said. “And later we’ll go out for some real Tex-Mex cooking and have frozen margaritas!”
“Margaritas! You must be joking!”
Leiter laughed. “Come on, James, you’ll love ’em. You know me. I was a hard liquor man like yourself … wouldn’t touch anything but bourbon, whiskey, or vodka … but my Texas blood just took over once I moved back here. We all drink margaritas in Texas.”
“And frozen ones are the best,” Manuela added.
“Fine,” Bond said with sarcasm. He went through the ritual of putting the salt on his hand, drinking the tequila, and biting the lime. It certainly wasn’t the first time he had done it, but he felt a little silly. He had to admit that the tequila was good and strong, and the shock of lime added a burst of flavor which he had forgotten.
“Hell, you did that like an old pro,” Leiter said, taking the bottle and pouring one for himself.
“I wasn’t born yesterday,” Bond said.
“Neither was I, my friend, neither was I,” he said, licking the salt and going through the ritual himself.
The threesome polished off a couple more shots as they continued to talk. Bond and Leiter reminisced about past adventures together, and eventually the conversation got around to the Texan’s condition.
“I got the chair a year ago, James,” Leiter said. “It’s been a big help. Not as much as Manuela, though.”
Manuela blushed and looked down. She was feeling the effects of the alcohol and her face was glowing.
“Invacare is the company that distributes it—and this Arrow model is the top of the line in power chairs,” Leiter said. “The sensitivity of the controls is amazing. Watch this.”
Leiter’s chair suddenly bolted forward and smashed into the coffee table, knocking over the tequila and glasses. Esmerelda yelped and jumped out of the way.
“Felix!” Manuela shouted. Luckily, she caught the bottle of tequila in midair.
Leiter, laughing hysterically, maneuvered the chair to the center of the room and spun it around three times very fast, then stopped on a dime. He popped a wheelie and landed hard, showing off the durability of the shocks, then backed up, spun around three times again, and started chasing the dog around the room. By then, everyone in the room was laughing.
Leiter stopped the chair and drove back to its earlier position. “I can go seven and a quarter miles an hour. That’s fast, man. And I’ve also installed a few features of my own.”
He popped open the right arm to reveal a cellular phone. Then he opened the left arm and had an ASP 9mm handgun in his left hand before Bond could blink.
“Very nice, Felix,” Bond said. “That’s the weapon I was using for a while.”
“It’s a great piece. You’re not using it anymore?”
“No, I went back to the Walther.”
“That old thing? Not much stopping power compared to some of today’s stuff,” Leiter said, replacing the pistol.
“I also use the new P99. It’s a fine weapon.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen that, it’s a beauty. I’ve also got a baton under the seat.” Leiter reached under the chair quickly and produced an ASP expandable police-style baton. ‘They get too close, I’ll just whack ’em on the head.”
&nbs
p; Bond chuckled. “As long as you’re happy, Felix,” he said. “That’s all that matters.”
“What about you? How many women in your life these days?”
“None,” Bond said, lighting a cigarette. He offered one to Leiter, who took it. Manuela refused.
“You’re still smoking this shit?” Leiter asked. “You always liked them gourmet cigarettes. Give me a pack of Chesterfields or Marlboros any day. I want to feel that tar and nicotine poisoning my body!”
“Felix, you haven’t changed a bit,” Bond said. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you.”
“The pleasure’s all mine, James. Oh … while I’m thinking about it …” He wheeled over to a desk and grabbed a cell phone.
“Take this,” he said, handing it to Bond. It was an Ericsson, light and compact. “You might need it while you’re here. My number is programmed into the speed dial. Just punch it and I’ll come running … well, rolling, I suppose. Now … how can we help you?”
“Have you found out anything about Charles Hutchinson?”
“Yeah. Manuela did some digging after we got your fax. Seems like the boy’s gone missing for a few days. He might be on a business trip. He works for a big-deal infertility clinic in Austin, one of those sperm bank things, and we’ve gathered that he travels around the world on their behalf. They’re called ReproCare, and apparently they do business all over Europe and the Far East. It’s owned by a European pharmaceutical company called BioLinks Limited.”
“What a coincidence. One of our people was killed in Athens. He had confiscated a cache of chemical weapons smuggled into the country in frozen sperm.”
Leiter and Manuela looked at each other. “We didn’t know that,” Leiter said. “That just confirms what we’ve been thinking all along. There’s something between that infertility clinic and an underground militant outfit that operates around here called the Suppliers. This is the case we’ve been working on for two years.”
“The Suppliers?” Bond asked. The name rang a bell. Of course!
They were one of the terrorist organizations he had spent some time reading about recently.
The Facts Of Death Page 7