by Ted Bell
A big black brute just sitting there on a siding, left in position before heading for Berlin, in a remote part of the yard where his actions would not be noticed. He shut down the Norton and climbed off. As he was mounting the steps up to the engine’s cab, a brilliant white light swept over the locomotive, and a rough voice rang out in the stillness.
“Achtung! Was ist los?” (“Attention! What are you doing?”)
A man was now running rapidly toward him. He had a snarling Doberman on a leash, and Hawke knew that if the yard detective released the dog, he’d be dead in a minute or two. His sidearm was in a leather holster just beneath his armpit. Without showing a trace of alarm or anxiety, he slipped his right hand inside his leather bomber jacket and withdrew the pistol, at the same time leaping up inside the cab. He now had the high ground, and he put it to good use.
There was nothing for it, he thought, turning around with his gun hand extended. At the last second, he realized he had to shoot the dog first. If he shot the guard first, the dog would come bounding and salivating for his throat as soon as the leash was freed.
The guard saw the gun too late. “Gehen-sie, Fritzy! Mach schnell, mach schnell!”
He released the dog, and it came in leaps and bounds toward Hawke. It went airborne at the bottom of the steps up to the cab. Hawke knew he was going to get only one chance at this. The dog was in midair, and in a second, the animal was inside the cab with him, teeth flashing and flinging great loops of saliva that reached Hawke’s face just as he pulled the trigger.
The guard screamed in anger when the dog howled in pain, blown outside once more, and fell dead at the man’s feet. Hawke had shot the dog in the heart. Lead rounds were now ricocheting around inside the cab like angry wasps. There was no way Hawke could rise up and draw a bead on the man, but if not, one of the angry wasps would soon find him—he heard the roar of a motorcycle and saw Fleming coming at full throttle around the rear of the locomotive. He had his left hand on the handgrip and his gun in his right, blazing away.
Ian continued firing on the German and emptied his gun into him as he crumpled to the ground beside his dog.
“Come down from there, Commander. It’s safe now. I can’t leave you alone for ten minutes, can I? Mount up. I found the perfect engine for us on the other side of the yard.”
“I owe you one, Fleming,” Hawke said.
“No, you don’t,” Fleming said. “This is just what we do, old man. Have each other’s backs. Goes with the territory.”
CHAPTER 53
Dragonfire Club, the Bahamas
Present Day
Stoke came back from the pool’s tiki bar with a pair of cocktails in his hands. Piña colada for him, Gosling’s Dark ’n’ Stormy for Hawke. He handed the drink to Hawke and sat back down on the chaise. He said:
“You know what? I just got an idea. Let’s you and me go have us some fun before we skedaddle. Let’s mosey on over to that Castle place Zhang’s always talkin’ about. Got a great steak restaurant, she said. Called Island Prime. Yessir. Aged beef, just like me. And then go take a peek at that nightclub show at the Zodiac Club. Good idea?”
“You and Zhang getting pretty tight these days? Or, rather, nights?”
“Ah, boss. You know me better than that. Besides, my wife, Fancha? Hell, brother, she catch me sneaking around with some strange somebody like Zhang Tang? Hell, she’d Bobbittize me, and I ain’t kiddin’!”
“She’d what?” Hawke said.
“Bobbittize my ass, that’s what.”
Hawke said, “What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean, Bobbittize? Some kind of American hipster slang?”
“Don’t tell me you never heard of Lorena Bobbitt!”
“I’ve never heard of Lorena Bobbitt.”
“Man, that’s amazing. Back in the early nineties, that woman was front-page news all over the world. But I keep forgetting you’re from England. She was a woman who’d caught her old man cheating on her. Cut his damn pecker right off and threw it out the window! That’s what you call gettin’ Bobbittized back where I come from.”
“Oh, come on, Stoke. Your wife would never do that to you. That sweet Fancha? No way.”
“Way. Hell, boss, she’s already told me she’d do it! Shit. Multiple times!”
“Well, listen up. I’ve got dinner plans. But I think you and Harry should go check out the Castle. Just don’t let Zhang take you two down to the dungeon.”
“What dungeon?”
“Told me she’s got a dungeon—that’s all I know.”
“What do they do down there?”
“No idea. Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Sounds like some of that whips-and-chains shit to me, boss.”
“Knowing Zhang’s sexual predilections, I would not be even slightly surprised. . . . What time is it?”
“One o’clock,” Stoke said.
“Your friend Harry lands at two. JetBlue from Miami. If you take the Wally, you can be over there at the airport in half an hour to pick him up. Scoot.”
“Don’t you scoot my ass, boss. I’m on it. So who are you dining with tonight?”
“China. She invited me over to her house for a home-cooked meal.”
“Wait. She’s got a home here?”
“Apparently.”
“Okay. I’m gone. You feel like it, after dinner you and China want to stop by the Zodiac for a nightcap, you’ll find me and Harry at the bar.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Five minutes after the elevator had swallowed Stoke whole, who should appear to Hawke’s wandering eyes but the beauteous Miss Zhang Tang, who must have not realized what time it was because she’d forgotten she was wearing only the bottom half of her swimsuit.
“Hello there, handsome,” she said, smiling at him. “Mind if I sit down?”
“Not even slightly.” Hawke smiled back, forcing himself with some difficulty to keep his wandering eyes above her neck.
She sat down on Stoke’s chaise and said, “Haven’t seen you around much lately. Where have you and your boyfriend been keeping yourselves?”
“Well, let me see. . . . Oh, yes . . . yesterday, we took the boat over to Paradise Island to play golf with a Bahamian friend of mine. And the day before that, we hired a captain with a Hatteras GT Seventy sportfisher to take us out to marlin country. Boat isn’t happy at any speed under forty knots. I’m going over to the dealer in Nassau to order one.”
“So, you’re having fun, are you?”
“How could I possibly have more? This is paradise.”
“Oh, I’m sure I could think of a few ways, Your Lordship.”
“I’m sure you could. . . .”
“Give a girl half a chance, why don’t you?”
“Depends. What have you got in mind?”
“I was thinking I’d like to show you around the Castle tonight. I think you’d find the dungeon interesting. . . .”
“And why would that be?”
“It’s for men with exotic appetites.”
“I’m afraid my appetites, such as they are, are hopelessly vanilla, darling. I find rum raisin frightfully exotic.”
“So, you see? You need to spice things up, don’t you? Will you be my guest? I could pick you up at seven, and we could dine at the steak house before your tour? Sound appetizing?”
“I have to admit I’m intrigued. But I’ll need a rain check.”
“Oh, no. You naughty boy! Are you busy? Dare I ask with whom?”
“I’m quite sure you know. She’s a friend of yours.”
“China? She led me to believe it was all over between you two, the lying little bitch.”
“Don’t let the claws come out quite yet. Perhaps it is over, and she just hasn’t gotten around to letting me in on her secret. Maybe that’s why she’s invited me to dine with her t
his evening? To tell me the news. Who knows?”
“I shouldn’t be so hard on her. It must be fun, actually.”
“What must be fun?”
“Having two beautiful women fighting over you. Come on, admit it. My sources tell me you’re a very popular man-about-town back in London. A little too popular, some women say.”
“It beats taking out the trash bin.”
“Ha-ha, very funny. I’ve got an idea. Have you been over to my sports center yet? At the southern tip of the island?”
“I must have missed that one. Why?”
“We have a boxing gym there. And professional instructors. As a matter of fact, I’ve been taking boxing lessons for over a year. Gotten quite good, I have to say.” She pumped her fists. “Punch! Jab! Left, right, left! Knockout!”
“And?”
“I was just thinking. What if I challenged that little minx to climb into the ring with me? Say, three rounds only. Winner take all, of course.”
“All of what?”
“All of you, silly man, all of you. Would you come watch if I can talk her into it?”
“I’d certainly consider it. I’m sure she’s told you, but she is a kung fu master.”
“Good for her. So am I! It will be great fun!”
“If she’ll do it.”
“Oh, she’ll do it, all right. I can be most persuasive when I really, really want something. Where are you two love doves having dinner? Let me guess, the Castle.”
“At her home, apparently.”
“Surely you jest!”
“Honey, I don’t kid about things like that.”
“I’ve known China for a long time. She’s a man-eater. But I don’t think she’s ever invited a man into her private lair before. Wonder what that’s all about . . . said the spider to your fly.”
Hawke shrugged his muscled shoulders. He said, “We shall see, I suppose.”
“Well, the little whore has but two fetishes. She’ll either fuck you. Or kill you.”
CHAPTER 54
Meissen Rail Yard, Germany
February 1942
Commanders Hawke and Fleming rolled their rumbling motorbikes to a stop on the far side of the yard and got their bearings. Fleming said, “It’s this way, I think. On the other side of that large building. Follow me, old sport!” Ian roared off and Hawke followed in hot pursuit. The swirling fog over here to the north was even thicker than they’d dealt with on the south side. And thanks to the blackout regulations of 1939, the top half of their headlights were masked in black paint. Hawke would never admit this, but he loved fog. He thought it lent an air of mystery and suspense to any situation. Walking through Berkeley Square on a foggy night with a beautiful woman swathed in mink on your arm was far more dramatic and romantic than on a clear night when the nightingales were in full song.
“What do you think, old boy?” Ian asked Hawke as they came around a large stone equipment building. Hawke got his first look at the brutish black powerhouse of locomotion that Fleming had found for them. Towering above them, it was at least half again as large as the one Hawke had nearly died in earlier.
“I think you hit the jackpot, Ian. We’ve now got four of the explosive devices to dedicate to this monster. Plus, the engine in this thing has to be far more powerful, and thus much faster, than the first.”
“It should be. Twenty thousand horsepower it says on this engine cowling.”
“I put my money on this brute to be first to arrive at the Berlin Hauptbahnhof,” Hawke said.
“Right you are!” Ian said, opening his saddlebags. First, spreading on the ground four or five worn padded blankets such as furniture-removal men used to protect the goods. And then, ever so carefully, lifting out first one of the black boxes, then the other and placing them gingerly on the pile of blankets.
He hadn’t told Hawke this, but some of the ingredients the wily old bomb maker had used were notoriously unstable.
“Try not to kick one of those, would you, Commander Hawke? Or, worse yet, drop one. If it’s not too much to ask . . . and for God’s mighty sake, please do mind where you’re going.”
“Aye-aye, Admiral!” Blackie said, extracting the two devices and carefully placing them on Ian’s blankets beside the other two.
“How do you want to handle this next bit, Ian?” Hawke said. “Stowing these things aboard, I mean.”
“With the finesse of a bloody brain surgeon. Very carefully. The problem with detonator devices is that they can blow you to hell and gone when you least expect it. I’ve seen it happen more than once, and it’s quite grim, I assure you. So, here’s how we do this. You climb up into the cab. Sit facing me on the top step. I will hand the four devices up to you one by one, not releasing my grip until you say you’ve got it securely in hand. Good?”
“Makes eminent sense,” Hawke agreed.
“Well, I don’t know about eminent, necessarily, but prudent to be sure. So, up you go, then. Sit facing me. Now, take a deep breath. Tell me when you’re absolutely comfortable and calm, all right?”
Hawke said, “I’m absolutely comfortable and calm, yea, a veritable isle of utter tranquillity in the tempests raging all round me.”
“Are you ever serious, Blackie? I mean, really, you do try my patience at times.”
“Sorry.”
“Here comes number one. This is A, the impact detonator device. I’ll not hand it up until you say you’re ready.”
“I’m ready.”
Fleming stood at the bottom of the steps, legs wide apart, feet planted like trees, and ever so gently raised the heavy device, swathed in one of the thick blankets, upward and within Hawke’s reach.
“Have you got it?” Ian asked as Blackie grasped it. “Don’t let the blanket fall off!”
“I do. I’ve got it, blanket and all!”
“Are you quite sure, my Lord Blackhawke? I mean, you can’t even jiggle the bloody thing. Incredibly sensitive detonators.”
“Yes, yes, for God’s sake! Give it to me!”
Ian held his breath and let the bloody thing go.
When it failed to blow them both to Kingdom Come, Fleming turned and repeated the process three more times.
CHAPTER 55
Dragonfire Club, the Bahamas
Present Day
China, wearing a flowery off-the-shoulder sundress that flattered her glowing sun-bronzed skin and generous figure, reached into the glove box and pulled out a pair of Prada wraparound sunglasses. “Ready to go?” she said, smiling at him from behind the mirrored lenses as she downshifted, going into a tight descending-radius turn.
“Ready. But, China, dear, where, oh, where is that big fat Bentley of yours?”
“Aw, you don’t like my little circus car? That Bentley, for your information, belongs to Zhang. She lets me use it whenever I want.”
“It’s a bloody circus car all right. It’s got no doors. It’s got wicker seats. It’s got bloody fringe on the roof, for heaven’s sake! Pink fringe! Is that an option, or did it come standard with the car?”
“Very funny. That Bentley she drives is just one of a whole Tang fleet of Bentleys for clients. She extended one of them to me as a courtesy, given my position as an official representative of our country. My personal car, for your information, happens to be this extremely rare Fiat. What kind of car do you drive these days, by the way? O Lord High and Mighty?”
“A Bentley, actually.”
“Ah, of course? Like mine?”
“No. Yours is the latest model. I bought mine used. It’s a steel grey nineteen fifty-three Bentley R-Type Continental. Used to belong to the author of the Bond books, Ian Fleming. He drove it all around Cheyne Walk, where he and his wife, Anne, had a splendid flat. Ian did major upgrades under the bonnet, to increase the power. Thing is bad to the bone.”
“Pretty good
choice. You rather admire this Fleming, don’t you?”
“Yes, frankly, I do. He was a great friend of my grandfather’s during the war. They were a team, in fact. Engaged in sabotage behind German lines. You have to remember that when the first Bond book to be filmed, Dr. No, first hit the international movie theaters, England was deep in a horrific depression, even though they’d managed to beat the bloody Nazis to a pulp.
“And Double-Oh-Seven? Why, he was a great British hero the whole country could root for. He lifted the entire spirit of our nation! I read a book way back then. The title was How James Bond Saved England. Enough said.”
“Well, Alex, myself being well acquainted with Double-Oh-Seven’s exploits, I’d guess he’d rather fancy the little Jolly.”
“My dear girl, please don’t get me wrong. I believe it to be a fine automobile. But pray tell, I’m curious. Just what is this thing I’m almost sitting in, may I ask?”
“This thing, as you call it, lover boy, happens to be a Fiat Jolly. Based on the famous Fiat Cinquecento. And I love it. It’s perfect for Dragonfire Club. I wouldn’t want to drive one on the Autostrada around Rome, I’ll grant you. But here? Que bella maccina! May we proceed, or do you prefer to Uber it? Or, as the Americans say, use your thumb?”
“Uber? Here? You’re kidding.”
“Kidding, of course,” she said, somewhat exasperated. Then she turned the key in the ignition, and Hawke listened appreciatively to the throaty growl of the tiny 1250cc, sixty-eight-horsepower engine. They were off.
“Let’s make this trip fun,” she said. “It’s no distance at all, and I can show you places you’ve not seen, off-the-beaten-path sorts of places, and it promises to be a lovely evening.”
“I’m at your command,” Hawke said, trying to get comfortable in the hard wicker seat.
“I like the sound of that!” China said, smiling.
“Just don’t get too bloody used to it, darling.”
The sun was already setting as they roared out of the club property, following the coastal road in the direction of the undeveloped part of the large island. Hawke had to admit she handled the little micro car expertly, pushing the Jolly upwards of sixty, her hair streaming in the wind as she changed through the four gears with the precision of a brain surgeon.