James Bond: The Authorised Biography (37 page)

‘Mr Bond,’ said Heinkel softly, ‘I require that list.’

‘What are you up to, Heinkel?’ Bond replied. ‘Just whose side are you on?’

Heinkel laughed then – not an attractive sound.

‘My own, my friend. It's the most profitable I find. I work for anyone who pays me. During these last few days the money has been good. It will be even better if I can somehow find that last will and testament of 009. Who would pay most for it – your British Secret Service, or the Russians?’

‘That's a dangerous game you're playing,’ Bond replied. ‘But even if there were a list, how could I have it? As you know, 009 was dead when I arrived.’

‘Ah yes. He was most certainly dead. We know that. But you had your orders where to come, and you knew where to look. That list please, Mr Bond. Immediately.’

The hand was on the trigger and Bond recognized the dull flat tone of Heinkel's voice. Heinkel was a killer. Bond tried to bluff.

‘Suppose,’ he said, ‘suppose I had this list you speak of. How much would be in it all for me?’

‘No deals, Mr Bond. Either you give it freely or we use force. If we use force it won't be pleasant. Remember what happened to your friend 009.’

Bond had been coolly working out the line of fire from the sub-machine gun. This was a situation he had often had to face in training. There was a man called Roscoe who was on the staff at Regent's Park. The Service's Armourer had recruited him from a circus. His speciality was dodging bullets and he instructed the 00 section in this invaluable trade. The secret of it lay in speed and creating some diversion. Bond had become quite good at it, but he had never had to use his skill against a man like Heinkel.

Luckily his brain was very clear. Once again he found that danger was a stimulant, and when he moved he moved with the co-ordination of an athlete. His right swung out and sent the whisky bottle shattering against the wall. At the same time he threw his body sideways so that he fell protected by the desk. When Heinkel started firing the bullets were a foot above him.

It was a brave attempt but it was useless. Before Bond reached Heinkel, the woman and two men with automatics had rushed in, and from the floor Bond found himself facing the black muzzles of their guns.

‘D'you want him killed, Heinkel?’ shrieked the woman.

‘Not yet, Rosalie. He deserves something better than a bullet. And he could still be useful. On your feet, Mr Bond. And do be careful. I rarely miss a second time.’

Slowly Bond lifted himself up. Heinkel prodded at his stomach with the sub-machine gun.

‘Now Rosalie. Please search this gentleman – thoroughly.’

It was an obscene performance, but there was nothing Bond could do as the clammy fingers started to undress him. The woman's small red tongue was visible. The eyes were glittering through their spectacles.

‘Take your time, Rosalie,’ said Heinkel, as she started to explore him. Bond closed his mind to what was happening.

Finally Heinkel ordered her to stop.

‘That's enough, Rosalie. It isn't there.’

Bond felt more naked than ever in his life before.

‘Now Mr Bond,’ said Heinkel. ‘I'm feeling generous, but don't abuse my generosity. I'll give you one more chance. We're leaving in the morning. There's nothing else for us in Budapest and we must be getting back for our hero's welcome from the Americans. You have until then to remember where you have hidden that list we want. If your memory improves, you can have your freedom. If not, you stay here till the Russians find you – and I'll make certain that they know exactly who you are.’

He rose to his feet, and paused to light a fresh cigar. One of the men twisted Bond's arm behind his back as if in warning.

‘Oh, and incidentally, Mr Bond. You'll be having company. Be careful how you treat your room-mate. He's bigger than you.’

Bond was dragged out into the main corridor of the monkey house. None of the cages had been cleaned for days – the stench was overpowering – and as Bond passed, small bright nocturnal eyes watched this strange naked ape walking along the wrong side of the bars. Some of them shrieked at him. There were the small grey monkeys, huddled like birds along their perches, gentle orangutangs, neurotic rhebuses, and iron-faced mandrils with their bold backsides. Bond passed them all, and at the far end of the corridor he saw a small steel door. One of his captors slid it open and pushed Bond inside.

‘Sweet dreams, Mr Bond. Your taste in exotic bedfellows is legendary and I am only sorry we are unable to provide you with something more stimulating. But at least we can guarantee you won't be bored. Goodnight Mr Bond, and goodbye.’

A guttural, self-satisfied laugh echoed round the steel cages. Footsteps receded down the corridor. A door clanged shut. Bond strained his ears but could hear nothing.

The straw beneath his feet was moist and spongy and the stench in the cage was overpowering. The stink of accumulated dung fought with the nauseating sweetness of rotting food, but above them both Bond detected the rank and unmistakeable odour that only a terrified animal can exude.

He stood rock still waiting for his eyes to get used to the darkness. Looking up he saw that this part of the cage was open to the sky: low, dense cloud obliterated what light the moon might have shed, but he could make out the bars of the cage and a concrete walk beyond.

Suddenly he heard the straw rustle and a black shape bounded forward and crashed heavily against the bars. The creature shrieked and leapt back into the darkness, and immediately hurled itself again at the bars and shook them violently. Gradually it subsided and after throwing straw in the air and covering its head completely, it returned to its corner.

Bond did not need a zoologist to tell him his cell-mate was a gorilla.

He attempted to assess the situation. So far the animal had ignored his presence, but clearly it was only a matter of time until it turned on him. Something in the back of his mind told him that gorillas were exclusively vegetarian, but in the circumstances it did not seem reassuring. He was naked and unarmed, and his adversary was twice as powerful as any man he had ever encountered.

Shambling across the straw the gorilla crouched again near the bars. For a moment it was still and Bond could see exactly how enormous it was. Beneath its huge, overhanging shelf of a brow two glittering eyes glared balefully into the darkness. Thoughtfully, it clasped a bar in each huge hand and gave them an experimental shake. Nothing moved. It screamed with anger and, moving far faster than Bond had anticipated, raced round the cage scarcely touching the walls or floor but appearing to ricochet off each surface like a huge, shaggy missile.

It settled in its corner and Bond heard it breathing angrily and grumbling to itself. Seconds later it re-emerged into the light. Then Bond saw something white behind it. It was the body of a girl. And as he stared, he saw her hand make a barely perceptible gesture: a thumbs-up signal.

Bond felt a solution was within his grasp. If the girl was alive there was hope for him, for both of them. Probably none of the animals had been fed for days: they were desperately hungry, and bewildered by fear. Just like him, all they craved was freedom.

Bond took a step towards her, but the gorilla saw him and barked with rage and terror. It jumped up and down, leapt from side to side, and beat its chest. In a paroxysm of fury it lashed out at the bars. A small piece of cement fell and rattled on the concrete walk outside. Bond felt he had no choice but to attack, and with both hands clasped rigidly together he chopped down on the ape's neck.

It was a mistake. Hard though the edges of his hands were thanks to his karate training he felt them bruise badly against the solid collar of muscle and hair that protected the ape. Its long arm slashed out and caught him off balance. He fell to the floor, but was instantly on his feet again and ready to ward off the attack which he had foolishly provoked.

To his amazement, the gorilla, instead of savaging him, hurled itself once again at the bars. This time a small avalanche of cement tumbled down and one of the bars visibly buckled.

Bond suddenly knew that his only chance of survival lay in terrifying the animal still further. He filled his lungs and released what he trusted was a blood-curdling imitation of a gorilla's cry. At the same time he pounded the steel door with both his fists.

The animal reacted as he hoped. It screamed back at him but seized the damaged bar and shook it with all the power in its 450-pound body.

Bond screamed, shouted and bellowed until his throat was raw. He thumped and kicked the door until his feet and hands were bruised. He yelled at the girl to join in. She shouted and thumped too. The gorilla seemed in the grip of hysteria. It shook the bars and shrieked with them.

At last, with a crash of concrete, the loose bar fell away, and, as it struck the ground, the gorilla vanished into the darkness.

Bond slumped onto the floor. Seconds passed before either of them would move, and then, without a word, they squeezed out of the cage.

The zoo was deserted except for a single man guarding the ambulances. Bond dealt with him, took his gun, and, more importantly, his clothes. Finally they were away.

It was not until they were racing through the outskirts of the city that Bond had a chance to ask who she was.

‘Who are you?’ she countered.

‘My name is James Bond,’ he replied. ‘A man called Heinkel put me there. And who on earth are you?’

Even as Bond pronounced his name he heard the woman gasp.

‘Bond,’ she said, ‘James Bond? Why did you come so late? We needed you.’

‘Who are you then?’ said Bond.

‘My name is Nashda. I was with 009 when Heinkel killed him. I've been here ever since.

‘Heinkel has no idea I'm alive – he thought the gorilla had killed me. I've been in that stinking cage for two days, just lying there playing dead. I am sure he thought the thing would dispose of you in the same way. In fact, he was as frightened of you and me as we were of him. All he wanted to do was get out of his cage.’

It was a nightmare drive. As they raced through the outskirts of the city, dodging the refugees, the burning tanks and the Russian road blocks, they gradually pieced together what had happened. In the beginning 009 had worked with Heinkel and had trusted him – then, as the rising started to go wrong, he had found out the truth. Heinkel was an adventurer – and a criminal: his followers were members of his gang. For some time now they had pretended to be Hungarian patriots. This got them backing and protection from the C.I.A., but they had merely used the confusion within Budapest as cover for a series of armed robberies. They had been looting unopposed – jewelry, banks. Whilst men were dying in their hundreds Heinkel was enriching himself, and his most ruthless move of all was to use three ambulances he had commandeered. As Bond had seen, he had even dressed up members of his gang as orderlies and nurses, and tomorrow morning they would be driving off to Austria with their loot.

‘What about 009?’ asked Bond. ‘Why did they kill him?’

‘Because he threatened to expose them – and because …’ the woman paused.

‘Yes?’ said Bond.

‘Because they wanted certain information.’

‘And did they get it?’

‘No,’ she replied. ‘It's safe – with me.’

By late that afternoon they made the Austrian frontier, and by evening they were in Vienna. Their first stop was the office of the British Head of Station A in an impressive office block in Dresdnerstrasse. Suddenly the horror of the last few days was over. And for the first time, Bond could concentrate upon the girl. She was Hungarian and young and very pretty with short fair hair and a big generous mouth. From long experience Bond knew how pleasurable she would be to kiss. One of her eyes – they were green and thickly lashed – was larger than the other: this too for Bond was an almost automatic source of attraction. He had to tell himself that she was simply not available. She had been 009's woman. He was dead. It would be unthinkable to begin desiring her in such circumstances. Besides, they both had work to do. Rather than write the list of agents where it could be discovered by an enemy, 009 had made the girl learn it by heart before he died. Bond was impressed by her extraordinary memory.

‘It's simply concentration, Mr Bond,’ she said, smiling demurely. ‘There's really nothing like it.’

Bond, who wasn't certain if she was making fun of him frowned and told her that his name was James.

‘I know,’ she said.

Bond spent some time discussing their arrangements with the Station head. He was a tall, pernickety ex-Foreign Office man. He had already been in touch with London and M.'s orders were that the list was far too valuable to risk transmitting to London – even in cypher and employing the theoretically secure wave-band used by the station. The girl must be brought immediately to London, and to ensure that there was no chance of slip-up, Bond was to bring her personally.

‘M.'s orders are that you're not to let her from your sight for a moment,’ said the Head of Station.

‘That sounds romantic,’ said the girl.

Bond was expecting to fly back with her that evening, but it proved impossible to get a flight. The station clerk booked them both first class aboard the Arlberg Express for Paris.

‘Dear Mr Bond,’ the girl said when he told her. ‘That means that we'll have to share a sleeper – if you're to follow orders.’