James Bond Anthology (16 page)

A woman’s voice was speaking and the words gradually penetrated to him. It seemed to be a kind voice and it slowly came to him that he was being comforted and that this was a friend and not an enemy. He could hardly believe it. He had been so certain that he was still a captive and that the torture was about to begin again. He felt his face being softly wiped with a cool cloth which smelt of lavender and then he sank back into his dreams.

When he awoke again some hours later all his terrors had gone and he felt warm and languorous. Sun was streaming into the bright room and garden sounds came through the window. In the background there was the noise of small waves on a beach. As he moved his head he heard a rustle, and a nurse who had been sitting beside his pillow rose and came into his line of vision. She was pretty and she smiled as she put her hand on his pulse.

‘Well, I’m certainly glad you’ve woken up at last. I’ve never heard such dreadful language in my life.’

Bond smiled back at her.

‘Where am I?’ he asked and was surprised that his voice sounded firm and clear.

‘You’re in a nursing home at Royale and I’ve been sent over from England to look after you. There are two of us and I’m Nurse Gibson. Now just lie quiet and I’ll go and tell the doctor you’re awake. You’ve been unconscious since they brought you in and we’ve been quite worried.’

Bond closed his eyes and mentally explored his body. The worst pain was in his wrists and ankles and in his right hand where the Russian had cut him. In the centre of the body there was no feeling. He assumed that he had been given a local anaesthetic. The rest of his body ached dully as if he had been beaten all over. He could feel the pressure of bandages everywhere and his unshaven neck and chin prickled against the sheets. From the feel of the bristles he knew that he must have been at least three days without shaving. That meant two days since the morning of the torture.

He was preparing a short list of questions in his mind when the door opened and the doctor came in followed by the nurse and in the background the dear figure of Mathis, a Mathis looking anxious behind his broad smile, who put a finger to his lips and walked on tiptoe to the window and sat down.

The doctor, a Frenchman with a young and intelligent face, had been detached from his duties with the Deuxième Bureau to look after Bond’s case. He came and stood beside Bond and put his hand on Bond’s forehead while he looked at the temperature chart behind the bed.

When he spoke he was forthright.

‘You have a lot of questions to ask, my dear Mr Bond,’ he said in excellent English, ‘and I can tell you most of the answers. I do not want you to waste your strength, so I will give you the salient facts and then you may have a few minutes with Monsieur Mathis who wishes to obtain one or two details from you. It is really too early for this talk, but I wish to set your mind at rest so that we can proceed with the task of repairing your body without bothering too much about your mind.’

Nurse Gibson pulled up a chair for the doctor and left the room.

‘You have been here about two days,’ continued the doctor. ‘Your car was found by a farmer on the way to market in Royale and he informed the police. After some delay Monsieur Mathis heard that it was your car and he immediately went to Les Noctambules with his men. You and Le Chiffre were found and also your friend, Miss Lynd, who was unharmed and according to her account suffered no molestation. She was prostrated with shock, but is now fully recovered and is at her hotel. She has been instructed by her superiors in London to stay at Royale under your orders until you are sufficiently recovered to go back to England.

‘Le Chiffre’s two gunmen are dead, each killed by a single .35 bullet in the back of the skull. From the lack of expression on their faces, they evidently never saw or heard their assailant. They were found in the same room as Miss Lynd. Le Chiffre is dead, shot with a similar weapon between the eyes. Did you witness his death?’

‘Yes,’ said Bond.

‘Your own injuries are serious, but your life is not in danger though you have lost a lot of blood. If all goes well, you will recover completely and none of the functions of your body will be impaired.’ The doctor smiled grimly. ‘But I fear that you will continue to be in pain for several days and it will be my endeavour to give you as much comfort as possible. Now that you have regained consciousness your arms will be freed, but you must not move your body and when you sleep the nurse has orders to secure your arms again. Above all, it is important that you rest and regain your strength. At the moment you are suffering from a grave condition of mental and physical shock.’ The doctor paused. ‘For how long were you maltreated?’

‘About an hour,’ said Bond.

‘Then it is remarkable that you are alive and I congratulate you. Few men could have supported what you have been through. Perhaps that is some consolation. As Monsieur Mathis can tell you, I have had in my time to treat a number of patients who have suffered similar handling and not one has come through it as you have done.’

The doctor looked at Bond for a moment and then turned brusquely to Mathis.

‘You may have ten minutes and then you will be forcibly ejected. If you put the patient’s temperature up, you will answer for it.’

He gave them both a broad smile and left the room.

Mathis came over and took the doctor’s chair.

‘That’s a good man,’ said Bond. ‘I like him.’

‘He’s attached to the Bureau,’ said Mathis. ‘He is a very good man and I will tell you about him one of these days. He thinks you are a prodigy – and so do I.

‘However, that can wait. As you can imagine, there is much to clear up and I am being pestered by Paris and, of course, London, and even by Washington via our good friend Leiter. Incidentally,’ he broke off, ‘I have a personal message from M. He spoke to me himself on the telephone. He simply said to tell you that he is much impressed. I asked if that was all and he said: “Well, tell him that the Treasury is greatly relieved.” Then he rang off.’

Bond grinned with pleasure. What most warmed him was that M. himself should have rung up Mathis. This was quite unheard of. The very existence of M., let alone his identity, was never admitted. He could imagine the flutter this must have caused in the ultra-security-minded organization in London.

‘A tall thin man with one arm came over from London the same day we found you,’ continued Mathis, knowing from his own experience that these shop details would interest Bond more than anything else and give him most pleasure, ‘and he fixed up the nurses and looked after everything. Even your car’s being repaired for you. He seemed to be Vesper’s boss. He spent a lot of time with her and gave her strict instructions to look after you.’

Head of S., thought Bond. They’re certainly giving me the red carpet treatment.

‘Now,’ said Mathis, ‘to business. Who killed Le Chiffre?’

‘SMERSH,’ said Bond.

Mathis gave a low whistle.

‘My God,’ he said respectfully. ‘So they
were
on to him. What did he look like?’

Bond explained briefly what had happened up to the moment of Le Chiffre’s death, omitting all but the most essential details. It cost him an effort and he was glad when it was done. Casting his mind back to the scene awoke the whole nightmare and the sweat began to pour off his forehead and a deep throb of pain started up in his body.

Mathis realized that he was going too far. Bond’s voice was getting feebler and his eyes were clouding. Mathis snapped shut his shorthand book and laid a hand on Bond’s shoulder.

‘Forgive me, my friend,’ he said. ‘It is all over now and you are in safe hands. All is well and the whole plan has gone splendidly. We have announced that Le Chiffre shot his two accomplices and then committed suicide because he could not face an inquiry into the union funds. Strasbourg and the north are in an uproar. He was considered a great hero there and a pillar of the Communist Party in France. This story of brothels and casinos has absolutely knocked the bottom out of his organization and they’re all running around like scalded cats. At the moment the Communist Party is giving out that he was off his head. But that hasn’t helped much after Thorez’s breakdown not long ago. They’re just making it look as if all their big-shots were gaga. God knows how they’re going to unscramble the whole business.’

Mathis saw that his enthusiasm had had the desired effect. Bond’s eyes were brighter.

‘One last mystery,’ Mathis said, ‘and then I promise I will go.’ He looked at his watch. ‘The doctor will be after my skin in a moment. Now, what about the money? Where is it? Where did you hide it? We too have been over your room with a toothcomb. It isn’t there.’

Bond grinned.

‘It is,’ he said, ‘more or less. On the door of each room there is a small square of black plastic with the number of the room on it. On the corridor side, of course. When Leiter left me that night, I simply opened the door and unscrewed my number plate and put the folded cheque underneath it and screwed the plate back. It’ll still be there.’ He smiled. ‘I’m glad there’s something the stupid English can teach the clever French.’

Mathis laughed delightedly.

‘I suppose you think that’s paid me back for knowing what the Muntzes were up to. Well, I’ll call it quits. Incidentally, we’ve got them in the bag. They were just some minor fry hired for the occasion. We’ll see they get a few years.’

He rose hastily as the doctor stormed into the room and took one look at Bond.

‘Out,’ he said to Mathis. ‘Out and don’t come back.’

Mathis just had time to wave cheerfully to Bond and call some hasty words of farewell before he was hustled through the door. Bond heard a torrent of heated French diminishing down the corridor. He lay back exhausted, but heartened by all he had heard. He found himself thinking of Vesper as he quickly drifted off into a troubled sleep.

There were still questions to be answered, but they could wait.

20 | THE NATURE OF EVIL

Bond made good progress. When Mathis came to see him three days later he was propped up in bed and his arms were free. The lower half of his body was still shrouded in the oblong tent, but he looked cheerful and it was only occasionally that a twinge of pain narrowed his eyes.

Mathis looked crestfallen.

‘Here’s your cheque,’ he said to Bond. ‘I’ve rather enjoyed walking around with forty million francs in my pocket, but I suppose you’d better sign it and I’ll put it to your account with the Crédit Lyonnais. There’s no sign of our friend from SMERSH. Not a damn trace. He must have got to the villa on foot or on a bicycle because you heard nothing of his arrival and the two gunmen obviously didn’t. It’s pretty exasperating. We’ve got precious little on this SMERSH organization and neither has London. Washington said they had, but it turned out to be the usual waffle from refugee interrogation, and you know that’s about as much good as interrogating an English man-in-the-street about his own Secret Service, or a Frenchman about the Deuxième.’

‘He probably came from Leningrad to Berlin via Warsaw,’ said Bond. ‘From Berlin they’ve got plenty of routes open to the rest of Europe. He’s back home by now being told off for not shooting me too. I fancy they’ve got quite a file on me in view of one or two of the jobs M.’s given me since the war. He obviously thought he was being smart enough cutting his initial in my hand.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Mathis. ‘The doctor said the cuts looked like a square M with a tail to the top. He said they didn’t mean anything.’

‘Well, I only got a glimpse before I passed out, but I’ve seen the cuts several times while they were being dressed and I’m pretty certain they are the Russian letter for SH. It’s rather like an inverted M with a tail. That would make sense; SMERSH is short for smyert shpionam – Death to Spies – and he thinks he’s labelled me as a shpion. It’s a nuisance because M. will probably say I’ve got to go to hospital again when I get back to London and have new skin grafted over the whole of the back of my hand. It doesn’t matter much. I’ve decided to resign.’

Mathis looked at him with his mouth open.

‘Resign?’ he asked incredulously. ‘What the hell for?’

Bond looked away from Mathis. He studied his bandaged hands.

‘When I was being beaten up,’ he said, ‘I suddenly liked the idea of being alive. Before Le Chiffre began, he used a phrase which stuck in my mind … “playing Red Indians”. He said that’s what I had been doing. Well, I suddenly thought he might be right.

‘You see,’ he said, still looking down at his bandages, ‘when one’s young, it seems very easy to distinguish between right and wrong, but as one gets older it becomes more difficult. At school it’s easy to pick out one’s own villains and heroes and one grows up wanting to be a hero and kill the villains.’

He looked obstinately at Mathis.

‘Well, in the last few years I’ve killed two villains. The first was in New York – a Japanese cipher expert cracking our codes on the thirty-sixth floor of the R.C.A. building in the Rockefeller centre, where the Japs had their consulate. I took a room on the fortieth floor of the next-door skyscraper and I could look across the street into his room and see him working. Then I got a colleague from our organization in New York and a couple of Remington thirty-thirty’s with telescopic sights and silencers. We smuggled them up to my room and sat for days waiting for our chance. He shot at the man a second before me. His job was only to blast a hole through the windows so that I could shoot the Jap through it. They have tough windows at the Rockefeller centre to keep the noise out. It worked very well. As I expected, his bullet got deflected by the glass and went God knows where. But I shot immediately after him, through the hole he had made. I got the Jap in the mouth as he turned to gape at the broken window.’ Bond smoked for a minute.