Moonraker (James Bond - Extended Series Book 3)

by Ian Fleming

  ‘No,’ he looked across at Bond and his eyes held an unusual note of urgency. ‘It looks as if it’s all up to you. And that girl. You’re lucky she’s a good one. Anything you want? Anything I can do to help?’

  ‘No, thank you, sir,’ Bond had said and he had walked out through the familiar corridors and down in the lift to his own office where he had terrified Loelia Ponsonby by giving her a kiss as he said good-night. The only times he ever did that were at Christmas, on her birthday, and just before there was something dangerous to be done.

  Bond drank down the rest of his Martini and looked at his watch. Now it was eight o’clock and suddenly he shivered.

  He got straight up from his table and walked out to the telephone.

  The switchboard at the Yard said that the Assistant Commissioner had been trying to reach him. He had had to go to a dinner at the Mansion House. Could Commander Bond please stay by the telephone? Bond waited impatiently. All his fears surged up at him from the chunk of black bakelite. He could see the rows of polite faces. The uniformed waiter slowly edging his way round to Vallance. The quickly pulled-back chair. The unobtrusive exit. Those echoing stone lobbies. The discreet booth.

  The telephone screamed at him. ‘That you, Bond? Vallance here. Seen anything of Miss Brand?’

  Bond’s heart went cold. ‘No,’ he said sharply. ‘She’s half an hour late for dinner. Didn’t she turn up at six?’

  ‘No, and I’ve had a “trace” sent out and there’s no sign of her at the usual address she stays at when she comes to London. None of her friends have seen her. If she left in Drax’s car at two-thirty she should have been in London by half-past four. There’s been no crash on the Dover road during the afternoon and the A.A. and the R.A.C. are negative.’ There was a pause. ‘Now listen.’ There was urgent appeal in Vallance’s voice. ‘She’s a good girl that, and I don’t want anything to happen to her. Can you handle it for me? I can’t put out a general call for her. The killing down there has made her news and we’d have the whole Press round our ears. It will be even worse after ten tonight. Downing Street are issuing a communiqué about the practice shoot and tomorrow’s papers are going to be nothing but Moonraker. The P.M.’s going to broadcast. Her disappearance would turn the whole thing into a crime story. Tomorrow’s too important for that and anyway the girl may have had a fainting fit or something. But I want her found. Well? What do you say? Can you handle it? You can have all the help you want. I’ll tell the Duty Officer that he’s to accept your orders.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Bond. ‘Of course I’ll look after it.’ He paused, his mind racing. ‘Just tell me something. What do you know about Drax’s movements?’

  ‘He wasn’t expected at the Ministry until seven,’ said Vallance. ‘I left word … ’ There was a confused noise on the line and Bond heard Vallance say ‘Thanks’. He came back on the line. ‘Just got a report passed on by the City police,’ he said. ‘The Yard couldn’t get me on the ’phone. Talking to you. Let’s see,’ he read, ‘“Sir Hugo Drax arrived Ministry 1900 left at 2000. Left message dining at Blades if wanted. Back at site 2300.” ’ Vallance commented: ‘That means he’ll be leaving London about nine. Just a moment.’ He read on: ‘ “Sir Hugo stated Miss Brand felt unwell on arrival in London but at her request he left her at Victoria Station bus terminal at 16.45. Miss Brand stated she would rest with some friends, address unknown, and contact Sir Hugo at Ministry at 1900. She had not done so.” And that’s all,’ said Vallance. ‘Oh, by the way, we made the inquiry about Miss Brand on your behalf. Said you had arranged to meet her at six and she hadn’t turned up.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Bond, his thoughts elsewhere. ‘That doesn’t seem to get us anywhere. I’ll have to get busy. Just one more thing. Has Drax got a place in London, flat or anything like that?’

  ‘He always stays at the Ritz nowadays,’ said Vallance. ‘Sold his house in Grosvenor Square when he moved down to Dover. But we happen to know he’s got some sort of an establishment in Ebury Street. We checked there. But there was no answer to the bell and my man said the house looked unoccupied. Just behind Buckingham Palace. Some sort of hideout of his. Keeps it very quiet. Probably takes his women there. Anything else? I ought to be getting back or all this big brass will think the Crown Jewels have been stolen.’

  ‘You go ahead,’ said Bond. ‘I’ll do my best and if I get stuck I’ll call on your men to help. Don’t worry if you don’t hear from me. So long.’

  ‘So long,’ said Vallance with a note of relief in his voice. ‘And thanks. Best of luck.’

  Bond rang off.

  He picked up the receiver again and called Blades.

  ‘This is the Ministry of Supply,’ he said. ‘Is Sir Hugo Drax in the club?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ it was the friendly voice of Brevett. ‘He’s in the dining-room. Do you wish to speak to him?’

  ‘No, it’s all right,’ said Bond. ‘I just wanted to make certain he hadn’t left yet.’

  Without noticing what he was eating Bond wolfed down some food and left the restaurant at 8.45. His car was outside waiting for him and he said good-night to the driver from Headquarters and drove to St. James’s Street. He parked under cover of the central row of taxis outside Boodle’s and settled himself behind an evening paper over which he could keep his eyes on a section of Drax’s Mercedes which he was relieved to see standing in Park Street, unattended.

  He had not long to wait. Suddenly a broad shaft of yellow light shone out from the doorway of Blades and the big figure of Drax appeared. He wore a heavy ulster up round his ears and a cap pulled down over his eyes. He walked quickly to the white Mercedes, slammed the door, and was away across to the left-hand side of St. James’s Street and braking to turn opposite St. James’s Palace while Bond was still in third.

  God, the man moves quickly, thought Bond, doing a racing change round the island in the Mall with Drax already passing the statue in front of the Palace. He kept the Bentley in third and thundered in pursuit. Buckingham Palace Gate. So it looked like Ebury Street. Keeping the white car just in view, Bond made hurried plans. The lights at the corner of Lower Grosvenor Place were green for Drax and red for Bond. Bond jumped them and was just in time to see Drax swing left into the beginning of Ebury Street. Gambling on Drax making a stop at his house, Bond accelerated to the corner and pulled up just short of it. As he jumped out of the Bentley, leaving the engine ticking over, and took the few steps towards Ebury Street, he heard two short blasts on the Mercedes’ horn and as he carefully edged round the corner he was in time to see Krebs helping the muffled figure of a girl across the pavement. Then the door of the Mercedes slammed and Drax was off again.

  Bond ran back to his car, whipped into third, and went after him.

  Thank God the Mercedes was white. There it went, its stop-lights blazing briefly at the intersections, the headlamps full on and the horn blaring at any hint of a check in the sparse traffic.

  Bond set his teeth and rode his car as if she was a Lipizzaner at the Spanish Riding School in Vienna. He could not use headlights or horn for fear of betraying his presence to the car in front. He just had to play on his brakes and gears and hope for the best.

  The deep note of his two-inch exhaust thundered back at him from the houses on either side and his tyres screamed on the tarmac. He thanked heavens for the new set of racing Michelins that were only a week old. If only the lights would be kind. He seemed to be getting nothing but amber and red while Drax was always being swept on by the green. Chelsea Bridge. So it did look like the Dover road by the South Circular! Could he hope to keep up with the Mercedes on A20? Drax had two passengers. His car might not be tuned. But with that independent springing he could corner better than Bond. The old Bentley was a bit high off the ground for this sort of work. Bond stamped on his brakes and risked a howl on his triple klaxons as a homeward-bound taxi started to weave over to the right. It jerked back to the left and Bond heard a four-letter yell as he shot past.

  Clapham
Common and the flicker of the white car through the trees. Bond ran the Bentley up to eighty along the safe bit of road and saw the lights go red just in time to stop Drax at the end of it. He put the Bentley into neutral and coasted up silently. Fifty yards away. Forty, thirty, twenty. The lights changed and Drax was over the crossing and away again, but not before Bond had seen that Krebs was beside the driver and there was no sign of Gala except the hump of a rug over the narrow back seat.

  So there was no question. You don’t take a sick girl for a drive like a sack of potatoes. Not at that speed for the matter of that. So she was a prisoner. Why? What had she done? What had she discovered? What the hell, in fact, was all this about?

  Each dark conjecture came and for a moment settled like a vulture on Bond’s shoulder and croaked into his ear that he had been a blind fool. Blind, blind, blind. From the moment he had sat in his office after the night at Blades and made his mind up about Drax being a dangerous man he should have been on his toes. At the first smell of trouble, the marks on the chart for instance, he should have taken action. But what action? He had passed on each clue, each fear. What could he have done except kill Drax? And get hanged for his pains? Well, then. What about the present? Should he stop and telephone the Yard? And let the car get away? For all he knew Gala was being taken for a ride and Drax planned to get rid of her on the way to Dover. And that Bond might conceivably prevent if only his car could take it.

  As if to echo his thoughts the tortured rubber screamed as he left the South Circular road into the A20 and took the roundabout at forty. No. He had told M. that he would stay with it. He had told Vallance the same. The case had been dumped firmly into his lap and he must do what he could. At least if he kept up with the Mercedes he might shoot up its tyres and apologize afterwards. To let it get away would be criminal.

  So be it, said Bond to himself.

  He had to slow for some lights and he used the pause to pull a pair of goggles out of the dashboard compartment and cover his eyes with them. Then he leant over to the left and twisted the big screw on the windscreen and then eased the one beside his right hand. He pressed the narrow screen flat down on the bonnet and tightened the screws again.

  Then he accelerated away from Swanley Junction and was soon doing ninety astride the cats’ eyes down the Farningham by-pass, the wind howling past his ears and the shrill scream of his supercharger riding with him for company.

  A mile ahead the great eyes of the Mercedes hooded themselves as they went over the crest of Wrotham Hill and disappeared down into the moonlit panorama of the Weald of Kent.

  20 ....... DRAX’S GAMBIT

  THERE WERE three separate sources of pain in Gala’s body. The throbbing ache behind her left ear, the bite of the flex at her wrists, and the chafing of the strap round her ankles.

  Every bump in the road, every swerve, every sudden pressure of Drax’s foot on the brakes or the accelerator awoke one or another of these pains and rasped at her nerves. If only she had been wedged into the back seat more tightly. But there was just room enough for her body to roll a few inches on the occasional seat so that she was constantly having to twist her bruised face away from contact with the walls of shiny pig-skin.

  The air she breathed was stuffy with a smell of new leather upholstery, exhaust fumes, and the occasional sharp stench of burning rubber as Drax flayed the tyres on a sharp corner.

  And yet the discomfort and pain were nothing.

  Krebs! Curiously enough her fear and loathing of Krebs tormented her most. The other things were too big. The mystery of Drax and his hatred of England. The riddle of his perfect command of German. The Moonraker. The secret of the atomic warhead. How to save London. These were matters which she had long ago put away in the back of her mind as insoluble.

  But the afternoon alone with Krebs was present and dreadful and her mind went back and back to the details of it like a tongue to an aching tooth.

  Long after Drax had gone she had kept up her pretence of unconsciousness. At first Krebs had occupied himself with the machines, talking to them in German in a cooing baby-talk. ‘There, my Liebchen. That’s better now, isn’t it? A drop of oil for you, my Pupperl. But certainly. Coming up at once. No, no, lazybones. I said a thousand revolutions. Not nine hundred. Come along now. We can do better than that, can’t we. Yes, my Schatz. That’s it. Round and round we go. Up and down. Round and round. Let me wipe your pretty face for you so that we can see what the little dial is saying. Jesu Maria, bist du ein braves Kind!’

  And so it had gone on with intervals of standing in front of Gala, picking his nose and sucking his teeth in a horribly ruminative way. Until he stayed longer and longer in front of her, forgetting the machines, wondering, making up his mind.

  And then she had felt his hand undo the top button of her dress and the automatic recoil of her body had had to be covered by a realistic groan and a pantomime of consciousness returning.

  She had asked for water and he had gone into a bathroom and fetched some for her in a toothglass. Then he had pulled a kitchen chair up in front of her and had sat down astride it, his chin resting on the top rail of its back, and had gazed at her speculatively from under his pale drooping lids.

  She had been the first to break the silence. ‘Why have I been brought here?’ she asked. ‘What are all those machines?’

  He licked his lips and the little pouting red mouth opened under the smudge of yellow moustache and formed itself slowly into a rhomboid-shaped smile. ‘That is a lure for little birds,’ he said. ‘Soon it will lure a little bird into this warm nest. Then the little bird will lay an egg. Oh, such a big round egg! Such a beautiful fat egg.’ The lower half of his face giggled with delight while his eyes mooned. ‘And the pretty girl is here because otherwise she might frighten the little bird away. And that would be so sad, wouldn’t it,’ he spat out the next three words, ‘filthy English bitch?’

  His eyes became intent and purposeful. He hitched his chair nearer so that his face was only a foot away from hers and she was enveloped in the miasma of his breath. ‘Now, English bitch. Who are you working for?’ He waited. ‘You must answer me, you know,’ he said softly. ‘We are all alone here. There is no one to hear you scream.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ said Gala desperately. ‘How could I be working for anyone except Sir Hugo?’ (Krebs smiled at the name.) ‘I was just curious about the flight plan … ’ she went into a rambling explanation about her figures and Drax’s figures and how she had wanted to share in the success of the Moonraker.

  ‘Try again,’ whispered Krebs when she had finished. ‘You must do better than that,’ and suddenly his eyes had turned hot with cruelty and his hands had reached towards her from behind the back of his chair …

  In the rear of the hurtling Mercedes Gala ground her teeth together and whimpered at the memory of the soft crawling fingers on her body, probing, pinching, pulling, while all the time the hot vacant eyes gazed curiously into hers until finally she gathered the saliva in her mouth and spat full in his face.

  He hadn’t even paused to wipe his face, but suddenly he had really hurt her and she had screamed once and then mercifully fainted.

  And then she had found herself being pushed into the back of the car, a rug was thrown over her, and they were hurtling through the streets of London and she could hear other cars near them, the frantic ringing of a bicycle bell, an occasional shout, the animal growl of an old klaxon, the whirring putter of a motor-scooter, a scream of brakes, and she had realized that she was back in the real world, that English people, friends, were all around her. She had struggled to get to her knees and scream, but Krebs must have felt her movement because his hands were suddenly at her ankles, strapping them to the foot-rail along the floor, and she knew that she was lost and suddenly the tears were pouring down her cheeks and she was praying that somehow, somebody would be in time.

  That had been less than an hour ago and now she could tell from the slow pace of the car and the noise of other traff
ic that they had reached a large town – Maidstone if she was being taken back to the site.

  In the comparative silence of their progress through the town she suddenly heard Krebs’s voice. There was a note of urgency in it.

  ‘Mein Kapitän,’ he said. ‘I have been watching a car for some time. It is certainly following us. It has seldom been using its lights. It is only a hundred metres behind us now. I think it is the car of Commander Bond.’

  Drax grunted with surprise and she could hear his big body shift round to get a quick look.

  He swore sharply and then there was silence and she could feel the big car weaving and straining in the thin traffic. ‘Ja, sowas!’ said Drax finally. His voice was thoughtful. ‘So that old museum-piece of his can still move. So much the better, my dear Krebs. He seems to be alone.’ He laughed harshly. ‘So we will give him a run for his money and if he survives it we will get him in the bag with the woman. Turn on the radio. Home Service. We will soon find out if there is a hitch.’

  There was a short crackle of static and then Gala could hear the voice of the Prime Minister, the voice of all the great occasions in her life, coming through in broken fragments as Drax put the car into third and accelerated out of the town, ‘ … weapon devised by the ingenuity of man … a thousand miles into the firmament … area patrolled by Her Majesty’s ships … designed exclusively for the defence of our beloved island … a long era of peace … development for Man’s great journey away from the confines of this planet … Sir Hugo Drax, that great patriot and benefactor of our country … ’

  Gala heard Drax’s roar of laughter above the howling of the wind, a great scornful bray of triumph, and then the set was switched off.