Alligator

by Michael K. Frith

  B*nd whistled softly. The awe-inspiring power of this ridiculous little man with the football-shaped head and the steel teeth left him speechless.

  “But chum, that was, quite literally, only the beginning. The operation upon which you have been sitting in, so to speak—Operation Parlafloat—has involved three years of work, culminating during the past week in the completion of the undermining of Westminister Hall, the positioning of the special flotation tanks, the destruction of the bridges that blocked the building’s path down the Thames, the sending of a certain note to the Queen, and the actual sailing of Parliament across the Atlantic. For this effort, my organization will receive one half of the £100,000,000 ransom, and far more important, I will be made the Fuehrer of the new Fourth Reich!”

  Despite the tenseness of the situation, B*nd had difficulty suppressing a laugh. “You fool, Alligator. The Russians mistrust Germany above all other countries. They would never be foolhardy enough to spur on a new rise of German militarism. They’ll never grant you that promise.”

  “On the contrary, chum. Why do you think they’ve built that wall in Berlin? Why do you think they’ve been mobilizing their East German forces? To put Lacertus Alligator into power, that’s why. Who do you think drafted that secret treaty between Russia and East Germany? Lacertus Alligator! Lacertus Alligator drafted it.” The doll’s eyes blazed passionately, “No chum, there’s no hitch. Lacertus Alligator hasn’t made any mistakes yet and he’s not going to start making them now.”

  B*nd stared at Alligator in utter amazement. This man was a joke, a hollow parody of the typical paperback thriller’s version of a maniacal arch-fiend. And yet he literally held the future of the world in his hands. B*nd laughed bitterly to himself. The shrill voice had died away, and the china blue eyes were staring dreamily off into the corner of the room. For no reason at all, B*nd reached out, plucked from the table the little aerosol can that symbolized the utter horror of Lacertus Alligator, and stuffed it into the breast pocket of his bathwrap. Alligator, lost in his dream world, took no notice; if Pazardzhik had been watching, he evidently did not consider the incident important enough to demand action.

  The harsh voice started up again. “Of course, chum, when you say that the Russians have everything to fear from a militant Germany, you are quite correct. We will crush them within a year. Western Europe will be no more problem to Lacertus Alligator than it was to Hitler. Mark my words: within three years, chum, the world will be strictly the property of Lacertus Alligator.”

  Suddenly the purple face turned back toward B*nd. The faraway look was gone. The eyes blazed. “But enough of this idle chatter. You’ll remember, chum, that when you ordered dinner you were informed that I would specify the dessert. Well, I am proud to announce that the dessert, Mr. J*mes Boone, is you.” Alligator cackled shrilly and clapped his hands three times. Into the room came a gigantic Korean whose hands, B*nd noticed, bore many layers of callouses. The man walked over to the table, and with a sudden movement brought the side of his left hand down sharply on the top of B*nd’s head. There was a resounding crack, and B*nd fell off his chair onto the floor.

  19. Do Not Puncture or Incinerate

  THIRTY minutes later in a tiny room deep in the fourth sub-basement of the Houses of Parliament, J*mes B*nd opened his eyes, sat up in his chair, and found himself staring directly into the tiny black pupils of Lacertus Alligator. And standing by his side, entirely naked and painted purple from neck to knees, stood Anagram Le Galion. So the bitch had betrayed him after all. This knowledge, combined with the new pain that throbbed in his already bruised cranium, boggled B*nd’s mind, and closing his eyes once again, he slumped back in his chair. Alligator stepped froward and kicked him hard in the left shin. B*nd instinctively tried to jerk to his feet to lash out at his attacker, but it was impossible; his legs and arms were tied securely by three ropes that encircled the four legs of his chair.

  “Time to get up, chum,” said Alligator, laughing uproariously at his own joke. He stepped over to the girl and slipped his hairy arm around her slim waist. “Well, toots, Mr. Bood has rejoined the world of the living.” He paused to light a cigarette. “Now, I hope that Mr. Bood is cooperative and answers the little questions we have for him. Don’t you, toots?”

  Anagram nodded slowly. B*nd had to admit it—she had done a brilliant job of acting. But he was furious for allowing himself to be fooled by her. Maybe * was right about his womanizing; it seemed that his insistence on getting involved with this surprising girl might well have doomed the world to death and tyranny for years to come.

  Alligator turned back to B*nd. “My chum,” he said, “I am going to find out who you are and whom you work for. If you tell me willingly, you will have a quick, pleasant death. This, my dear Mr. Botts, is a present I give very few of my captives. It is your reward for being the most effective force that has opposed me, and the organization T.O.O.T.H., in all our history.

  “But, my chum, if you don’t choose to answer, you will be forced to withstand a considerable degree of pain. Pain, as you know, Mr. Bile, was perhaps the most effective persuader of the Third Reich. Under Himmler the art of producing pain reached heights hitherto unattained. I am a great connoisseur of that art, Mr. Bane. Do I make myself quite clear?”

  B*nd stared emptily into the china-blue eyes.

  “Very well, my chum. Now, Mr. Beele, I will ask you. Who are you and whom are you working for?”

  B*nd sat silently. He knew that the only chance he had to stop Alligator was by refusing to talk. If the arch-villain were to discover that the British Secret Service had any clue at all about him, the full forces of T.O.O.T.H. would be mobilized to cover up the trail.

  “So you’re going to be brave, eh, Mr. Bohm?” Alligator chuckled. “O.K., chum.” He suddenly plunged his head down and embedded his steel teeth in B*nd’s right calf. B*nd’s whole body twitched violently, and his mouth opened wide in a soundless scream. Then he sagged back and perspiration began to pour down his face.

  “All right, my chum, now I’ll ask you again. Who are you and whom are you working for?”

  B*nd stared at him quietly. Again the great head came down toward his calf. This time B*nd was ready. As the steel teeth bit into his flesh, B*nd lurched forward and knocked his chair over on top of Alligator. The huge mouth screamed as B*nd’s knee crushed the purple face, screamed again as the football head hit the floor. He rolled out from under B*nd and furiously reached out his right arm towards a small button on the floor. The searing eyes focused on B*nd’s head and he could feel the hatred burning into his skull. The shrill voice was gentle but firm.

  “My dear Mr. B*nd, I see you are not interested in talking business with me. Very well then, you may continue your discussion with Heinrich.” Alligator pushed a button. A trap door under B*nd opened and, still securely tied to his chair, he dropped out of sight.

  After a fall of about five feet he landed with a splash on the sandy bottom of a pool two-and-a-half feet deep. Most of the impact was taken by his left side which flashed a new message of agony to his already dangerously overburdened nerve centre.

  B*nd fought to keep his head above water and looked quickly about him. The trap door had closed and it was pitch dark. Suddenly there was a splashing on his right, and a scant few seconds later two long rows of bayonet-sharp teeth closed firmly on his shoulder.

  B*nd screamed, and his body writhed and contorted. So this was “Heinrich,” the final horrible ace of spades in the master sadist’s hand. The alligator released its grip for a moment and B*nd could feel the warm blood spurt out of his shoulder. This was the end. But suddenly he realized that he had had a fantastic stroke of luck: “Heinrich” had bitten through the ropes that bound his arms to the back of the chair. At least he would have a fighting chance.

  Ignoring the tremendous pain in his right arm, he reached into his pockets. Yes the spoils of his dinner were still there! He withdrew the candle, still wedged in its holder, and the lighter. He was now gett
ing dizzy from loss of blood, and he had considerable difficulty getting the lighter over to the wick. But despite the fact that both were quite wet, he finally succeeded in getting the candle lit. In the flickering light he could see the huge reptile, which, as he had expected, was purple. It was standing quietly about three feet away, apparently content for the time being to chew on the bloody chunk of flesh it had garnered from B*nd’s shoulder.

  B*nd though fast. He realised that if he were going to have any chance against this monster, he would have to take the initiative. Quickly he thrust the burning candle toward the animal’s eye. The flame struck home and the alligator bellowed and jerked its massive head upward. The force of the spasm knocked the candle out of its holder into the water. Again it was totally dark.

  B*nd heard Heinrich move toward him. He raised the stick for a blow, thinking with a wry smile how shocked Jacques Roettiers would have been had he known his creation was being used as a bludgeon. As the savage jaws bit hard into B*nd’s left thigh, he swung mightily, but the sudden pain was too much. His grip loosened, and the candlestick flew uselessly away.

  B*nd struggled with the lighter in his right hand. Perhaps, if he could burn the other eye, he could loosen the paralyzing grip of the beast. But it was hopeless: too much water had become mixed with the fluid. Angrily he tossed the device away. He had wanted to save his knife for the bitter end. Now he had no choice but to use it.

  The pain in his right shoulder was almost unbearable as he pulled the knife from his pocket. Swiftly he drove it toward the area where the alligator’s stomach might be. There was the sound of tearing hide, then a hideous scream as the instrument entered Heinrich’s innards. The beast tore itself away from B*nd, bringing with it a substantial portion of his foreleg and, B*nd realised thankfully through senses clouded by agony, the ropes that bound his legs. He now was free to move about.

  The beast was injured, but not seriously, and the outlook was bleak indeed for B*nd. His last weapon was now gone, lodged inside of Heinrich, and it was just a question of time before the beast finished him off.

  B*nd heard the alligator chomping his meal of flesh in the inky blackness. Then it was turning, coming at B*nd again. This was it.

  Then from somewhere in the depths of B*nd’s subconscious came a message, “DO NOT PUNCTURE OR INCINERATE,” it said. “DO NOT PUNCTURE OR INCINERATE.”

  Of course, thought B*nd, of course. He pulled the aerosol spray can from his pocket, the spray can he had taken not as a weapon, but as a bitter joke. Carefully he gauged the position of Heinrich’s mouth, then he jerked the can forward. He heard the mighty jaws chomp down on the can, and, less than a second later, it exploded. There was an obscene gurgle as the pressurized dye forced itself down the animal’s throat, then a sudden horrible choking as one of the jagged edges of the broken can lodged itself in the windpipe. The long purple body heaved once mightily and lay still.

  B*nd was not a religious man, but at that moment he gazed toward the black ceiling and uttered a silent word of thanks. As if in answer, a flash of blinding yellow light appeared from the ceiling. The trap door had reopened. Without waiting to consider what fate might await him at the other side, B*nd, using virtually his last ounce of strength, vaulted through and collapsed in a heap on the floor. Slowly, painfully, he turned his head to see who had delivered him. There, tied to an overturned chair, was Anagram Le Galion.

  B*nd couldn’t believe his eyes. “I thought you were . . .” he began, but she interrupted.

  “Darling, you look awful! But then again, I don’t know how you ever escaped from Heinrich. But come here and untie me.”

  B*nd pulled himself to his hands and knees, crawled over to Anagram and undid the knots. As soon as her arms were free she threw them around B*nd’s neck. B*nd pulled her still naked body to his, and gently stroked her beautiful blonde hair.

  Tears began to roll down Anagram’s cheeks. “Sweetheart, did you think I’d betray you? I wouldn’t ever hurt you, honestly, I wouldn’t ever.”

  B*nd clutched the quivering body closer. “I believe you,” he said softly, “but why were . . .”

  “He hypnotized me, he hypnotized me. Then he stripped me and painted me purple, and after he dumped you down the hole, he tied me up and then he . . .” She burst into tears again.

  B*nd drew her lips to his and kissed her long and hard. “It’s all right now.”

  “Then he woke me and left me here alone in the room. After he’d gone, I rocked my chair back and forth until it fell over. Then I rolled over until I reached the button for the trap door.”

  B*nd kissed her again. God, he wished he had time to love her now. “Anagram,” he said, “where did Alligator imprison the M.P.’s? If we want to get out of this scrape we’ve got to have their help!”

  “In the ballot room. Can you find it, darling?”

  “Yes. Do the guards know you’re not still on Alligator’s side?”

  “No, I’m pretty sure they don’t.”

  “Do you think you could get them out of the ballot room?”

  “I don’t see why not. They’re used to taking orders from me.”

  “Fine. Then why don’t you get on up there and do it.” He looked at her Cartier wrist watch. “I’ll follow you in three and a half minutes. Is that enough time?”

  “I think so, darling.”

  B*nd kissed her once more, then he helped her scramble to her feet. “Good luck, dearest,” he allied. She threw him a kiss, then turned and raced out the door and down the corridor.

  20. Noon G.M.T. Saturday

  THE morning air was cool and refreshing and Anagram blinked back the wave of tiredness that momentarily swept through her body. She glanced at her watch. It was 7:35, 11:35 in London, where she knew that desperate conferences were taking place, every last clue being sifted and resifted. She thought of the assemblage in the ballot room, waiting tensely for noon and death.

  She tossed her hair back and strode confidently down the corridor, praying that she wouldn’t run into Alligator or the Bulgars. She reached the sturdy, oaken door, threw it open, and walked in.

  The Commons and Lords had divided themselves up as best they could in the confined quarters. Debates were being held in both groups to indignant shouts or cries of “Hear, hear!” She held up her hand for silence. The dozen lounging Purple Shirts snapped to attention and levelled their guns menacingly at the M.P.’s, who looked in surprise at the beautiful, naked, purple girl.

  Anagram raised her voice confidently.

  “There is an emergency ashore. Herr Alligator is awaiting you at a house called Belfield in Somerset.” She turned to the leader of the group. “Kapitan Hammerstein, you are to round up all the men, including the Russian seamen. Herr Alligator has placed you personally in charge. Give me your gun and I will watch these English schweinhunds. Now quickly. Raus.” She threw her arm up in the Nazi salute.

  Hammerstein handed her his gun and saluted smartly. The men echoed her “Seig Heil” and goose-stepped out of the room.

  She looked again at her watch. 7:38. They had allowed three and a half minutes for her to get rid of the Germans.

  “Well done,” said a voice in her ear. B*nd smiled wickedly and brushed the question mark of black hair out of his right eye. “All right, gentlemen. Where is the Prime Minister?”

  A wispy-haired man in baggy tweeds tentatively raised his hand. B*nd squinted sideways at his purple face.

  “It’s a beautiful night for star-gazing,” he said.

  The tensed lines in the man’s forehead relaxed and he smiled.

  “If only the clouds weren’t so low,” he replied.

  “Sorry sir, but I had to check. Secret agent 007, B*nd.”

  The Prime Minister shook his hand warmly.

  “I say, 007, we’re frightfully glad to see you. That madman planned to do some target practice on us in a few minutes. You fellows were a devil of a time getting here weren’t you?”

  B*nd didn’t answer the question. “
It’s not over yet, sir. I’ll have to ask for complete authority until this mess is straightened out.”

  The Prime Minister thought for a moment. “Well, of course. If it’s necessary. But I must say this is all very mysterious.”

  There was a loud knock at the door and a note was slipped under it B*nd picked it up and read it aloud.

  “Herr Alligator requests your presence in the Assembly immediately.” It was signed “Mr. Pazardzhik.”

  B*nd turned to the company. “I’ll need a wig and robes. Sergeant-at-arms, where is the mace?”

  Big Ben chimed the three-quarter hour as the M.P.’s filed into the House of Commons.

  B*nd adjusted the wig and robes and turned to Anagram. “I may need that gun,” he said. She smiled and handed it to him.

  He looked at it with distaste. He had never trusted Lugers. They jammed just when you needed them most. He slipped out the magazine, ejected the cartridge in the chamber, clicked the mechanism twice, and slipped the magazine back in. He stuffed the gun into his belt and pulled Anagram to him. For a brief eternity they embraced passionately. B*nd tore himself away. There was work to be done. He had forgotten his wounds, and, as he lifted the heavy mace, pain shot through his body.

  B*nd smiled grimly at Anagram, and walked slowly and deliberately through the door.

  As he entered, the general hubub died down and a deathly silence filled the great room. He took in the situation at a glance.

  Although the room was packed with both Lords and Commons, the gallery above was empty. The sea of purple faces looked expectantly at B*nd.

  Alligator was seated in the high Speaker’s chair, and before him, in the clerks’ seats, were Kynstondi and Pazardzhik. The Queen and Antony Armstrong-Jones sat on the Tory bench with the Prime Minister and the Cabinet. Alligator was smiling evilly, his steel teeth glinting. B*nd hoped that Alligator’s knowledge of Parliamentary procedure was as small as his.