Doctor Jones handed the papers back and said, ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a leaking titanium trigger to look after. I’ve just got through removing a sphere of cobalt blue plutonium from a corroding warhead. I lead a very exciting existence.’
Bond smiled and nodded, but quite obviously didn’t know where he was supposed to go.
She gestured to the building. ‘Take the elevator down the hole. Your friends are already down there.’
‘Don’t I need some kind of. . . protection?’ Bond asked. She looked askance, as if Doctor Arkov should know better. ‘Not unless there’s a leaking titanium trigger I don’t know about. Down there are fission bombs. Weapons grade plutonium. Low radiation risk. It’s not hot. Up here we’ve got hydrogen bombs - that your lab built - leaking tritium - which I’ve spent the last six months trying to clean up. So if you need any protection at all, it’s from me.’
‘Right,’ Bond said, sheepishly. ‘And here I thought we’d abandoned the doctrine of mutually assured destruction. Thanks.’
The charm wasn’t working. She pointed to the lift again. ‘That way. They’re waiting.’
He walked toward the elevator, passing a board filled with radioactivity badges.
‘Doctor?’ she called.
Bond turned back to her.
‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’
He realised that he’d made a mistake. It was so basic that he could tell she was suspicious now. He took one of the badges from the board.
‘Right. Of course. Thank you,’ he said. ‘It was a long flight/
He continued toward the lift, when she called after him, in Russian, ‘Your English is very good for a Russian.’
Bond replied, in Russian, ‘I studied at Oxford.’
Christmas watched him disappear into the building and once again wiped the sweat from her brow. Hmmm, she thought. This one was different! Dark and handsome, for a change, if a little screwy'. Something wasn’t right, though . . .
She took another drink of water, then went about her
business.
The lift took Bond down into the ground past three levels. When the doors opened, he found himself completely alone and facing a long, dark, circular corridor. It was dead quiet.
He walked forward until he could hear the sound of machinery and an ominous humming. There was a larger, illuminated room up ahead.
It was a spherical test chamber, surrounded by blast openings designed to channel the fury of a nuclear test to measuring equipment. In the very centre of the chamber was a pit. He was standing in one of several similar tunnels that radiated from the chamber. Bond entered the eerie place, slowly stepped to the middle and looked over into the hole. Four men were working on a device on top of a cart. The head had been removed and much of its guts were exposed. Nevertheless, Bond knew that it was an atomic bomb.
Renard’s voice came from behind. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’
09 - Fire in the Hole
At the sound of Renards voice, Bond whipped out the Walther. The whine of a lift began and Bond saw Renard, dressed in Russian Army fatigues, lowering himself on a platform. Bond stole through the shadows to meet the terrorist, keeping his head down as Renard descended. As Renard stepped off the lift, Bond came face to face with him and smiled. The gun was pointing at Renard’s chcst.
‘Mister Bond,’ he said, obviously surprised.
‘Expecting Davidov perhaps?’ Bond asked. ‘He caught a bullet instead of the plane.’ Bond yanked him away from the lift and shoved him against a wall, out of sight. ‘Keep your mouth shut. Don’t move.’
Renard all but laughed. ‘You can’t kill me, Mister Bond,’ he said. ‘I'm already dead.’
‘Not dead enough for me.’
Finally confronting the man who was responsible for murdering Sir Robert King, 0012 and countless others . . . as well as kidnapping and raping Elektra King . . . Bond had to control himself to keep from blowing Renard’s brains out then and there. It would have been a pleasure. Unfortunately, he needed a bit more time, during which the terrorist might reveal a little of the scheme he had concocted. Such people always did.
Renard had shrugged away his surprise and now appeared to be fully confident. He looked at Bond with a twinkle in his good eye. The other one stared straight ahead, unblinking, cold and lifeless. A smile played on half of Renard’s face, but the other comer of his mouth turned down in a grimace. The shiny red lump at his temple only added to the man’s bizarre appearance.
You could show a little gratitude. I did spare you life in the banker’s office.' Renard was beginning to enjoy himself. ‘Oh! But that’s nght . . . ! I couldn’t kill you. You were working for me! I needed you to deliver the money. To kill King. Thank you for that. Well done. And now you’ve brought me the plane. It seems that I can always count on MI6.’
Bond ignored the taunt. ‘What’s your plan with that
bomb?’
Renard seemed totally fearless. ‘You first. Or could it be you don’t have a plan?’
Unfortunately, he had spoken an uncomfortable truth. Bond needed to buy time in order to work out what to do.
‘That bomb won’t leave this room,’ he said.
‘Neither will you,’ Renard said, chuckling.
Bond risked a glance at the pit to see what the workers were doing with the bomb.
‘How sad,’ Renard continued. To be threatened by a man who can’t grasp what he’s caught up in. You haven’t a clue, have you?’
‘Revenge isn’t hard to fathom from a man who believes in nothing.’
Renard laughed. ‘And what do you believe in? Preservation of capital? You ’re nothing but a dim-witted bouncer at a fancy English club run by your betters. Too busy chasing the member;’ daughters to do your job. Shoot me. I welcome it. The men down there will hear the shot. They will kill you and get away with the bomb.’
‘The fire-fight will bring down half those troops from the surface.’
‘Perhaps. But when a certain phone call isn’t received in twenty minutes. . .’ He said into Bond’s face, ‘Go ahead. Pull the trigger, and you’ll kill Elektra.’
‘You’re bluffing.’
‘Beautiful, isn’t she?’ Renard said. ‘I think you’ve fallen for her. I can see it on your face. Well, my friend, you should have had her before. When she was innocent. Before she was such a whore in bed.’
Bond’s eyes flared in fury. He shoved Renard against the wall again and pressed the gun into his temple.
‘How does it feel’ Renard continued, knowing he had hit a nerve. ‘To know I broke her in for you?’
Furious, Bond struck Renard across the temple with the pistol. The terrorist dropped to his knees. He touched his head, then looked curiously at the blood on his fingers. He felt no pain at all.
Bond screwed on the silencer. ‘I usually hate killing an unarmed man. Cold-blooded murder is a filthy business. But in your case, I feel nothing. Just like you.’ He held the gun down, aiming at Renard’s head.
‘A man tires of being executed,’ Renard said. ‘But then again, there is no point in living if you can’t . . . feel alive.’
Bond was about to squeeze the trigger when the sound of running footsteps interrupted him.
‘Drop the gun,’ Colonel Akakievich commanded. Bond froze. He turned to see the colonel with two armed soldiers and Doctor Christmas Jones.
‘Keep away, colonel,’ Bond said. The soldiers trained their guns on Bond.
‘He’s an imposter,’ Christmas said. She held up a printout. ‘Doctor Arkov is sixty-three years old.’
‘Here’s your imposter,’ Bond said, indicating Renard.
‘Along with the men on the plane outside. They're stealing your bomb, colonel.’
Christmas, surprised by the change in Bond’s accent, listened, but Akakievich cocked his rifle.
‘I said drop it,’ the colonel ordered.
He clearly meant it. Bond delayed another second . . . but had no choice. He pulled the mag
azine from his gun and tossed it down. At that moment, a whirring sound filled the room as machinery in the pit came to life. The cone-shaped bomb, enclosed in a carrying cage, rose into view as Renard’s men quickly manipulated a robot arm to place the extremely heavy device on a wheeled cart. Then they attached the cage to an overhead track with chains so that it could be pushed through the tunnel more easily.
‘Well done,’ Renard said to Christmas. ‘He would have killed us all.’ Then, to Akakievich, ‘I suppose you were the one who allowed him down?’
The colonel looked suitably embarrassed.
So, Bond thought, Renard and the Russian colonel were in this together. But what about the girl? Was she a part of their cabal? From the confused look on her face, Bond guessed not. She was being used, too The doctor was staring at him now, wondering if she had just made a huge mistake.
Bond watched as one of the men referred to a Russian document just like the one he had seen in M’s office and then removed a thin metal rectangular object from inside the bomb. It was the size of a credit card. The man slipped it into his shirt pocket.
‘Take him away,’ Renard said to the colonel. ‘I don’t want him here when we move the bomb.’ He then stepped close to Bond and whispered, ‘You had me. But I knew you couldn’t shoulder the responsibility . . .’
With that, Renard jammed his hand into Bond’s bad collarbone, squeezing hard. Pain jolted through Bond as he dropped to his knees in agony. He held his shoulder and grimaced, but his mind raced. How did Renard know to hurt him there?
Renard then approached Christmas, who was petrified with fear. ‘I'm sorry, my dear, but you have to join our other guest,’ he said. ‘It’s too bad you had to witness all of this.’ He turned to his men. ‘Now, without any further interruptions, let’s get on with it!’
The men manoeuvred the bomb toward the curving passageway.
‘Nyet,’ Colonel Akakievich said. ‘The bomb doesn’t move until I am satisfied. I want my payment. You owe me. All of you, to the surface, now.’
Renard stopped and turned. ‘You’re right, colonel.’ He nodded to two of his men. One quietly slipped away down the tunnel. The other innocently opened a container filled with frozen food packs. He released a false lining in the lid to reveal several machine guns.
‘We’ll all go up,’ Renard said. ‘I admire your devotion to the cause.’
One of the colonel’s men gestured with his gun for Bond to get up. Knowing it was now or never, Bond pushed him away, yanked the pistol from his hand, grabbed Christmas and leapt down into the bomb pit just as Renard’s men opened fire. Colonel Akakicvich and two soldiers were perforated. The bullets ricocheted around the chamber and ceased. One of the men carefully approached the pit, but he was forced back by a grazing shot from Bond’s gun.
‘Forget them,’ Renard said. He spoke into his radio. ‘Shut them in.’
A man at the other end of the radio, next to the lift, turned a switch that activated two red buttons and two green ones. He punched one green button and heavy iris-shaped steel doors sealed all the tunnels but the one leading to the lift. Renard and his three men started to push the bomb cart into this tunnel. It was slow, hard work. After a few minutes,
Renard became impatient and ran ahead. He began to pull the bomb along on the overhead tracks, leaving the cart behind. His henchmen were amazed that he had the strength of three men.
Bond and Christmas heard the hum of the doors closing.
‘They’re sealing us in!’ Christmas said.
‘We’ll find a way out. Quickly!’
‘Who are you?’ she asked.
Bond looked around the pit, forming a plan. ‘I work for the British government.’
Acting quickly, he pointed his wristwatch toward the catwalk above. He pressed a button and the tiny grappling hook shot out with Q’s filament wire. The hook caught on to a metal beam and stuck. Bond gave the line a tug to make sure it was secure, then rappelled up the side of the pit and into the test chamber. He dived through the iris of the doors, just as they slammed shut behind him. The nearest man swung his machine gun around, but Bond got off a shot first. The man fell and Bond ran to him. He was the one who had extracted the rectangular object from the bomb. Bond reached into his shirt, retrieved it, and put it in his own pocket.
Bond ran behind the abandoned cart and fired a couple of shots down the tunnel at Renard. Return fire ripped up the wall next to him. He ducked behind the cart until the barrage subsided. As he lay on his back, he got an idea. He aimed the pistol at the overhead work lights and shot them all out. His end of the tunnel was plunged into darkness; Renard and his men now had no visible target.
Meanwhile, in the pit, Christmas Jones managed to climb up the side to the closed iris door. She found a panel next to it and prised it open, revealing a mess of wiring. She started to work with the only tools she had . . . her fingers.
No longer a sitting duck, Bond inched out from behind the cart and fired toward the dimly lit figures in the tunnel.
A bullet grazed Renard’s arm. He clasped the wound, again noting the blood and the strange lack of sensation. One of his two remaining men sprayed the dark end of the corridor with gunfire. Renard and the other man continued to pull the bomb along the track. Shots from the opposite end of the tunnel whizzed past them.
‘Arrggh!’ Renard’s helper gasped. One of Bond’s rounds had hit him in the back. Moaning, he hung onto the bomb, impeding its progress. Renard tugged at it.
‘Let go!’ he shouted at the man. The wounded thug clung to the device, pleading for help. Renard pulled his gun and aimed it at the man’s head.
‘Here, this should help,’ he said, squeezing the trigger.
Two minutes later, Renard and his one remaining companion managed to clear a second set of blast doors at the midway point. He shouted into his radio, ‘Close the middle doors!’
Bond heard the command. Using all of his strength, he pushed the abandoned cart forward, using it as cover. Suddenly, the doors started closing. Bond realised that he wasn’t going to make it; with a superhuman effort he shoved the cart ahead of him so that it was caught in the closing doors, holding them back for a heartbeat — just long enough for Bond to take a diving leap through before the doors crushed the cart and sealed shut.
As soon as Bond hit the ground on the other side of the doors, he was fired upon. He rolled to the side for cover and shot out a few more lights above him. He then paused to reload.
Inside the pit, Christmas connected two coloured wires. The blast doors began to open. She glanced out and saw that the mid-section doors were still shut. She returned to the control panel and continued working.
Diving and shooting, Bond managed to progress three- quarters of the way up the tunnel. The man at the door controls fired back, attempting to pin Bond down.
Renard and his man were finally successful in getting the bomb past a pile of oil drums and wrestling it into the lift.
‘Let’s go!’ Renard shouted to the man at the controls. The thug raked the switches with gunfire, blowing them out, then raced for the lift. Unfortunately, the clear Lexsan bullet- proofed doors closed on his face before he could get inside. Stunned, he turned to see Bond rushing toward him. The Walther PPK spat fire and the man dropped to the floor.
Through the doors, Bond could see Renard and his man standing next to the bomb. Bond fired at Renard, but the bullets bounced off the Lexsan. The cab began to rise.
Renard smiled and shouted, ‘No hard feelings, Mister Bond! We’re even. Soon, you’ll feel nothing at all!’ He pointed down.
The cab disappeared up the shaft, and in its place was another bomb, rising into view. It wasn’t an atomic bomb, but it looked extremely formidable. The LED was ticking off the seconds: 10 ... 9 ... 8 .. . Horrified, Bond turned to see that the door switch panel was shredded. He was trapped. Then, he heard the familiar hum of the iris doors opening behind him. Doctor Jones!
Looking up, Bond noticed the pulley hook that was use
d to move Renard’s bomb along the overhead track. He made a running jump, grabbed it, and slid on the track toward the iris door.
Behind him, the bomb went off, igniting the oil drums. The fireball expanded, almost overtaking Bond on the pulley. Miraculously, the iris opened and Bond shot through at the right second. He saw that the next door was also open, and Christmas was standing just beyond.
‘Seal the door! Close it!’ Bond shouted.
Christmas’s eyes widened at the sight of Bond hurtling toward her with a massive fireball in pursuit. She turned to the control panel and sparked the wires. The iris began to close just as Bond, followed by two flying oil barrels, sailed through.
The barrels clattered down into the pit and burst into flame. As the fire licked the sides, Bond frantically searched for a way out and saw the arm of the robot lifter stretching toward an old shaft at the top of the ceiling. An abandoned lift? He took the chance that it might still be operational.
‘Up! Go!’ he shouted. He gave Christmas a boost. She grabbed the arm and crawled up and through some girders. Bond jumped up behind her and they emerged onto a catwalk just as the flames spread across the floor of the test centre.
‘No time to stop,’ Bond said, pulling her forward. ‘Those barrels down there will blow.’ They ran to the end of the walkway, where they indeed found an old hydraulic-powered lift.
‘I'm sure this old thing won't work,’ she said, her voice shaking.
‘We’ll never know unless we try!’
They got inside and Bond pushed the ‘Up’ button. The lift rumbled and then started to rise slowly. At that rate, they would suffocate. Bond peered over the side at the hydraulics.
‘Hang on,’ he said.
‘Okay,’ Christmas said. ‘So you’re a British spy. Do you have a name?’
Bond aimed his gun at the hissing hydraulics. He gave her a look out the comer of his eye.
‘The name is Bond . . .’
He fired the Walther. The hydraulic system blew out and the lift shot up through the shaft at breakneck speed, just as the entire pit exploded beneath them. Fire blew up the shaft, kissing the bottom of the cab. Bond lunged, covering Christmas. After a few moments, the smoke cleared.
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