Bond Movies 03 - Licence to Kill (2 page)

‘Asleep, patron. On the steps: you can see him from here. And I think the others are asleep also. They were up until four this morning. At least lights were burning until then. I stayed on watch as you ordered.’

‘You’ve done well. It won’t be forgotten. Follow us after we go in.’ He nodded at the man in the jeep. Then, to the others, ‘It’s a short walk, and a pity to wake them. However . . .’ he jerked his head in the direction of the house.

A few yards from the steps Sanchez motioned to Perez, nodding towards the sleeping guard and sliding a finger across his own throat. Perez smiled and moved ahead, his hand reaching into the inside of his jacket from which he extracted a short length of cord.

The sleeping man neither heard nor felt a thing. Perez looped the cord around the guard’s neck in the classic garrotting motion, pulling quickly and hard. It was so well done that the man’s neck was broken before he suffered any pain from a slow strangulation.

Quietly, with Sanchez in the lead, they went up the steps and into the house. For a moment, Sanchez stood in the cool of the hallway, as though instinctively seeking out his prey, finally jerking his head towards a door to the left. Silently he opened it and entered the room.

Alvarez slept on the far side of the bed, his hair tousled and his face in repose. Sanchez prided himself on his knowledge of human frailty, and he understood the younger man’s motives. Women had always been Alvarez’s weak point. Often Franz Sanchez had told him they would lead to his death. As for the beautiful Lupe, whose long dark hair spread across the pillow like a thick question mark, well, she could be forgiven. After all she was only a woman and women had a habit of falling for younger men with glib tongues, and a good line of chat. Sanchez had often remarked to Alvarez that he should not promise his women so much, ‘Your problem, my friend,’ he had said, ‘is that you always have to tell them you love them. It is a great folly this, because they all have a tendency to believe you. One day you will say this to the wrong woman.’

That day, he thought, had now come.

His eyes moved back to the sleeping man. There was a pistol within reach on the bedside table. Quietly Sanchez drew his own automatic and began to whisper. ‘Alvarez . . . Wake up . . . Alvarez . . . time to start work.’ Then, louder, ‘Alvarez!’

The sleeping man’s eyes popped open, fear crossing his face as he locked eyes with Sanchez. Then he moved, grabbing out towards the night table.

Sanchez fired twice and the table leapt into the air, sending the weapon skittering across the room. Perez and Braun, taking their cue from their chief, hauled the young man from the bed, holding him in an arm lock, so that he stood naked between them, his eyes full of the terror reflected by the screams coming from the now wide-awake Lupe.

‘Hush, pretty one. Ssssh.’ Sanchez put away his pistol and stepped towards her. ‘Don’t be afraid. It’s me . . . Franz. I wouldn’t harm you. You know that. Punish you, perhaps, but never harm you.’ Then his eyes flicked up towards Alvarez who, in spite of the warmth of the room, was shivering between Dario and Braun.

‘What did he promise you, honey?’ he asked Lupe. ‘Did he promise you his heart?’

The silence was unbearable: the group frozen like some waxwork tableau. Then Sanchez spoke again, harsh and commanding. ‘Give the lady what our friend Alvarez promised her.’

Dario and Braun looked at him blankly.

‘Give her this fool’s heart.’

Dario’s eyes widened, seeming to plead for a moment.

‘Do it! Now!’ snapped Sanchez.

From under his jacket Dario produced a long serrated hunting knife.

‘Out there!’ Sanchez nodded towards the door through which his two hoodlums hustled the now whimpering Alvarez.

Taking three steps away from the bed, Sanchez closed the door, then returned to Lupe who also shook with terror, sitting bolt upright with only the flimsy sheet held in front of her to cover her breasts, which showed clearly through the material: her nipples erect as though the terror and violence aroused her.

‘Franz . . .’ she managed to say, her voice cracked, the throat dry with terror. ‘Franz, I didn’t mea . . .’

Sanchez smiled down at her, ruffling her thick hair with his hand. ‘It’s okay, baby, we all make mistakes,’ his voice soothing.

‘I only . . .’ she began again.

‘Sssssh, my dear. Not a word. Not another word.’ His hand twisted on her head, so that she turned her whole body to relieve the pressure. The sheet fell away exposing the wonderful shoulders and the slim curve of her back. Her skin, Sanchez often thought, looked to have the texture of silk.

Sanchez slid his right hand inside his jacket again, drawing a whip from his belt. It had been fashioned from the long tail of a stingray and he laid it, almost lovingly across Lupe’s naked back before lifting it and bringing it down with a terrible crack. The girl shuddered and screamed, again and again as Sanchez brought the whip down covering her smooth back with ugly bloody stripes, painting a picture of surrealist violence on the canvas of her skin. Yet, even as she sobbed and screamed with pain, Lupe’s voice was drowned by the blood-curdling shrieks of Alvarez in the hallway.

A few seconds later, the screaming stopped and the unmistakable sound of a helicopter’s engine, growing louder, rumbled and clattered from the sky.

Sanchez flung the girl away from him across the bed. ‘Get some clothes on. Quick. We must move.’

The coastguard chopper came in low over the beaches, then crossed the airstrip, the pilot juggling with the cyclic and collective controls, his feet moving on the rudder bars like a dancer so that the large machine seemed to stand on its aft rotor, then turned to sweep back across the area.

‘There,’ yelled Hawkins above the chattering din of the rotors, his hand outstretched. They could all see the jeep in front of the low house and, as they passed, something was thrown from one of the far windows.

‘Jesus,’ Leiter swallowed hard. ‘That looked like a mutilated body. Head for the Learjet.’

Hawkins made signals to the pilot who turned again and brought his machine hovering in to block any attempted take-off by the jet.

As they reached the ground, Leiter, Hawkins and the agent called Mullins, who had done nothing but smile amiably since the take-off from Seven Mile Bridge, grabbed at the rack of weapons fitted to the starboard side of the cabin, each selecting an M16 carbine. Leiter saw the look in Bond’s eyes and, smiling, passed him an automatic pistol. ‘Only if absolutely necessary,’ he cautioned.

Bond shrugged and checked the magazine and action of the Browning 9mm.

Mullins was first out of the door, followed by Leiter who shouted that he wanted Sanchez alive. ‘I have to take him back breathing,’ he called after Mullins whose bulk was already in the doorway of the jet. Hawkins covered the two pilots who quietly raised their hands, showing they were neither armed nor looking for trouble.

‘Nobody in the airplane.’ Mullins returned, and in the breath of silence that followed, they all heard the noise of the jeep, audible above the slowly-turning rotors.

‘That’ll be them!’ Bond pointed to a dust cloud moving fast from the direction of the house.

‘Upstairs!’ Leiter was already scrabbling back into the chopper which was hovering as Bond, bringing up the rear, eased himself to the door.

The jeep was a couple of hundred yards away, weaving through the dusty ground between patches of dark-green undergrowth. The vehicle swung, skidding dangerously from side to side as the chopper, nose down, approached low, trying to block its escape.

They could see several men aboard, and Felix put a few rounds from his M16 in front of the vehicle. Instead of stopping the jeep, the shots brought a hail of fire from its occupants. Inside the helicopter the agents flinched as the thuds and metallic whines battered at the fuselage. The pilot spun the machine on its axis and began to hover, descending in front of the jeep. At the height of the firefight, nobody saw Sanchez roll free of the jeep into the scrub, turning, crouching and running, bent close to the ground, back towards the house.

As the chopper came to about ten feet from the ground, Bond, who had been standing in the doorway, leapt out, rolled and brought the pistol up in a one-handed grip, loosing off three sets of double shots, aimed at the wheels.

Two of the tyres exploded and the jeep went into a long uncontrolled skid, slamming sideways, starting to roll, then ending up on its side.

As the jeep came to a standstill with a grinding crunch, so Bond moved forward, both arms outstretched and the pistol a simple extension of his hands. He fired another couple of shots as he glimpsed figures flitting into the undergrowth, shouting a ‘Come on? This way!’ to the others.

There was a girl in the jeep. Alive, conscious but looking shocked and with tear stains damp on her cheeks. Bond rested his hands on her shoulders, asking if she needed help. But the girl simply glanced towards the undergrowth into which the men had disappeared and shook her head.

‘You need a doctor,’ he said, looking closer. There was something very wrong with this beautiful young woman.

‘Keep your hands off me. Get away. Get right away. Don’t you dare touch me!’ she spat at Bond, and at that moment Hawkins reached the jeep.

‘They’re in the bushes somewhere.’ Bond let go of the girl and took two steps towards the undergrowth.

‘Stop!’ The shout was from Leiter who was signalling the helicopter forward. ‘There! There!’ He pointed, and, for the first time they saw, and heard, the little Piper Cub which had been parked near the house. It was gathering speed and the pilot raised his hand in a salute.

‘Sanchez!’ Leiter was white with anger. ‘We’ve lost him. He can be in Cuban airspace in twenty minutes.’

The helicopter reached them just as the Cub became airborne.

‘We can outrun him in this.’ Bond was already clambering back into the helicopter. To the pilot he shouted, ‘Can you keep up with that Piper?’

The pilot nodded and the machine began to rise again.

‘You’re supposed to be an observer, James. What’re you trying to do, get yourself killed?’

‘If I don’t get you to the church within a reasonable margin of time, Della’s going to kill me anyway,’ he said with an almost studied nonchalance. ‘And in twenty minutes you’ll be right on time, only it’s going to take us at least an hour and a half, not counting stopping time to pick up Sanchez. Prepare for squalls, Felix.’

Leiter’s brow creased as he saw Bond reach out for the winching gear, complete with hook and line.

‘What the hell’re you doing?’

‘Just what Sharky advised. I’m going fishing. Sanchez’s just below us now. I’m going to give you a wedding present. Operate the winch, Felix, and instruct the pilot.’ With a smile, Bond swung out on the line, wrapping it around his leg with a practised flick.

The airflow caught his body and he swung backwards in a stomach-rolling twist. Glancing down, the world twirled, spinning, and Bond wondered what in heaven’s name he thought he was doing. This was not only damned uncomfortable, but also bloody dangerous. Some forty feet below him was the Cub’s red tail-fin, and he motioned to Felix who started to winch him down.

Slowly the light aircraft grew larger and Bond began to be caught in both its slipstream and the downdraught of the rotors. Below the aircraft there was the best part of a thousand-foot drop into the sea. He felt his hair being blown around, and it was necessary to close his eyes because of the forces eddying about his face.

Bond grabbed towards the airplane’s tail, missed, swung sideways, grabbed again and missed again.

Behind him there was a flapping noise which distracted him until he realised it was simply the tails of his morning coat blowing and cracking in the wind. In spite of the fear that engulfed him, Bond began to laugh. He was thinking that he must look a ludicrous sight, like some movie stuntman doing a particularly daring act for the cameras.

Suddenly the chopper seemed to put on speed and Bond threw his arms around the top of the tail-fin, his body crashing painfully into the rudder.

In the cockpit, Sanchez felt the weight and fought the controls, deftly tinkering with the trim tabs to restore the airplane’s balance.

But Bond had begun to inch himself down the rudder, making the plane yaw to and fro, his body swinging from side to side as Sanchez made sharp corrections. Bond traversed lower, feeling for the towing-ring set behind the tail wheel.

His hands were sore, burning with pain, and he fought desperately to pull at the line which hung below his foot, trailing backwards in the wind with the hook jerking at the rope. It seemed to take hours, a few minutes in reality, to draw the line upwards and grasp the hook, one arm wrapped around the tail, the other hand on the hook, fighting the pressure until he had brought it up and around the Piper Cub’s tow-ring. But, at last it was done. Bond hung on, his head straining upwards trying to see if Felix and the pilot had the right idea.

They had. The big helicopter slowed and the rope took the strain. Bond, clinging on like the proverbial grim death, prayed that there had been no parachute in the Cub’s cockpit. Not that it would have mattered much. Jumping into the sea in these waters would almost certainly mean a blow-out for the sharks.

Sanchez would have been a fool if he had not worked out what the helicopter and its crew were attempting. He had bucked the aircraft from side to side, tried reducing power and then slamming the little Lycoming engine through the gate. Nobody, he thought, could possibly remain on the tail, but he continued to feel the drag increasing. Then, to his horror, he found the aircraft was beginning to wallow. Even with the engine at full throttle, the controls had become mushy and the airspeed began to bleed-off steadily.

At stalling point, Sanchez, who was not known for fear, cried out. The controls went slack and the horizon began to rise above him as the airplane’s nose dropped sickeningly, then stopped, the ground below swinging and spinning, yet the force of gravity having no effect.

It took Sanchez a full minute to realise that he was sitting in an airplane suspended from a helicopter’s winch which was slowly being drawn upwards.