Bond Movies 06 - The World Is Not Enough (7 page)

Why did he feel so edgy? It was an all-too-familiar feeling, and Bond was experienced enough to know that in this regard his sixth sense was rarely wrong. Someone was watching them.

Davidov and Gabor scanned the area, too.

‘You had a good vantage point up there. See anything?’ Bond asked.

Davidov shook his head ‘No, I think we’re all right.’ He shook his head in admiration. ‘She certainly has a way with the people. Much more so than her father ever had!’

‘How well did Elektra get along with her father?’

‘They fought all the time.’

‘Really?’

‘Let’s just say that they disagreed on business issues.5

‘Was Sir Robert well-liked in the company?’ Bond asked.

‘No one had any problems with him, as far as I know. I’ve been with the company for seven years. He was a good employer and had innovative ideas. I think the only one who ever argued with him was his daughter!'

‘What's the general feeling in the company about the change in management?'

‘Everyone loves Miss King. You've seen for yourself how she deals with people. As for her management abilities, it’s too early to tell for certain, but I think she'll be just fine.'

Ten minutes later, Elektra and the priest emerged. The priest went to his people and led them away while Elektra, a determined look on her face, strode to the survey crew’s foreman.

‘Reroute the pipe around,’ she ordered.

‘But it will take weeks, cost millions,’ he said. ‘Your father approved this route.’

‘Then my father was wrong,’ she said, it is a sacred burial ground. We have to respect the wishes of the people.’

‘But . . .’

‘Just do it.’

The foreman was surprised. It was the first time Elektra had asserted her authority. He didn’t question her.

She turned to Bond and said, ‘Well, Mister Bond, you’ve seen Ruan. Now you can go home to London and report that I’m fine. Tell M not to worry. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to check the upper lines’

‘I’ve always wanted to see the upper lines,’ Bond said. ‘Gabor will drive you back.’

‘Gabor can take care of himself’

She exchanged a look with Gabor. ‘So can I,’ she said. ‘Then I’m sure Gabor won’t mind.’

She glanced at her bodyguard a second time. The man made a gesture to indicate that he wasn’t offended.

‘You don’t take no for an answer, do you?’ she asked Bond. ‘No.’

She sighed. ‘Look, I have to go up into the mountains. There’s snow and ice up there so I have to do this on skis.’ 

‘Sounds like fun,’ he said cheerfully.

At first she looked as if she might hit him, but then she reluctantly grinned out of the side of her mouth. ‘Come on,’ she said, gesturing toward the helicopter.

Bond’s nagging feeling that they were being watched was not a product of his imagination. Had he or Sasha Davidov been able to peer into a clump of trees on a hill overlooking the village, they would have seen a man dressed in camouflage, perched on a branch and equipped with a walkie-talkie.

Renard put a pair of binoculars to his eyes and watched the entourage prepare to leave Ruan.

Yes, there was the MI6 man, Bond. Renard had been correct in assuming that M would send him. This would be his day of reckoning . . .

His eyes focused on the girl for a moment. She looked as beautiful as ever. An image flashed into his brain her tear- strewn face, her arms bound . . . Those eyes of hers . . . The silky-smooth skin . . . The memory was haunting, but Renard pushed it out of his mind and concentrated on the task at hand.

He waited until the jeep pulled away toward the construction site, then he spoke into the walkie-talkie.

‘Are they headed for the mountains?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ came the reply.

‘Then you know what to do. Proceed as planned. I’ll be waiting for your report’

‘Right’

‘One other thing . . ’ Renard paused for effect. T want to see the snow up there covered in blood’

The Dauphin swooped over the snowy wastes until it reached a mountain peak that Elektra indicated as their destination. The wind was buffeting.

‘Can’t land!’ the pilot shouted. ‘Wind's too strong!'

‘Hold her steady!’ Elektra called back. She moved her goggles down onto her face. ‘We’ll have to jump,’ she said to Bond. ‘You do ski, don’t you?’

‘Ladies first,’ Bond said, lowering his own goggles and putting on the all-mountain-carving skis he had borrowed from Davidov. The security man’s polypropylene jacket, fleece gloves, and ski pants with micro-fleece lining also happened to fit Bond. He slipped on the Q jacket over everything, glad that he had brought it along. Elektra wore a light parka jacket with a fur-lined hood and underarm zippers, down mittens, and ski pants similar to Bond’s. She stepped into her all-mountain skis made especially for women with lightweight core and soft flex pattern. She fitted her boots into the toe-holds and locked them down.

The cold wind rushed in when she opened the door. Without checking to see if Bond was ready, she leaped out and dropped fifteen feet, landing on the move. Bond jumped after her, but she was already way ahead. Her skiing was fearless.

Considering this a challenge, Bond went into the langlauf-  

ing method of sliding forward, something his old instructor, Fuchs, had taught him. It was exhilarating to be on skis once again. The only thing more thrilling than speeding down snow-covered slopes was skydiving. The rush of wind on his body was invigorating as he felt his adrenaline kick in. The skis were good ones: they had a turning radius of twenty-six metres. Two ribs ran the length of the skis to deliver good torsional properties. Bond considered it important to have an excellent front to back flex with minimal bending from side to side, plus a smooth feeling of stability.

He caught up with her just as the slope levelled out. She pulled to the edge of a cliff and stopped cleanly. Bond arrived a moment behind her.

‘Not bad,’ she said. ‘You ski very well, Mister Bond.’

‘You seem to enjoy being chased. Probably happens all the time.'

‘Less often that you might think.’

She pointed to the sparkling, white valley below. A line of survey flags ran down the middle.

‘We’re building from both ends,’ she said, a bit breathless. ‘Four hundred miles in that direction are the new oil fields in the Caspian Sea. Four hundred miles that way is the Mediterranean,’

‘So they meet here,’ Bond said, appreciating the strategy behind the company’s plans.

‘When the Persian Gulf and all the other oil fields have dried up, which mil happen at the rate the world keeps increasing its demand for oil, this will once again be the heart of the earth. We’ll still be pumping our lifeblood. And this will be the main artery.’

‘Your father’s legacy?’

‘My family’s legacy. To the world’

They stood there a moment as she calculated distances in her head and studied the arrangement of survey flags. He watched her, admiring the determination and dedication she had for the work. He liked a girl who was passionate about something and he had to resist the urge to take her in his arms.

Without warning, she pushed off with her sticks and soared down the slope toward the flags. Bond chuckled to himself. The girl really did like to be chased. He saw right through her. This was all for his benefit - a test, perhaps, to see what he was made of. Well, if it was a chase she wanted . . .

He pushed off and followed her, manoeuvring easily between the survey markers. She zigzagged through them as if she were on a professional obstacle course. Bond mimicked her every move and stayed in perfect synchronisation behind her. At one point, she leapt over a ridge, sailed through the air for twenty feet and landed with the form of an Olympic champion. Bond went over the ridge with a little more speed than she did and almost spilled. He caught his balance as he landed, but he was thankful she hadn’t seen the slightly awkward jump.

She had stopped again by another ridge. He pulled up beside her and stopped.

‘You’re not getting tired are you?’ she asked, peering out over another slope of survey markers.

‘Not on your life,’ he replied. What a handful this girl was! He watched her as she studied the positions of the markers and made mental notes. What was especially attractive about her was the way she could appear aloof toward him; yet he could sense that she was watching him out of the comer of her eye at all times. Bond knew enough about women to glean that she was attempting to hide the fact that she was interested in him.

The sound above them interrupted his reverie. It was not the helicopter that had given them a lift. He looked up and saw four dark objects falling from the back of a Casa 212 aeroplane. As they plummeted silently toward the earth, parachutes popped open, slowing their descent. Elektra noticed them, too.

‘Parahawks,’ she said. ‘Four men on Parahawks. ’

They were ingenious, deadly devices. ‘Parahawks’ were essentially low-flying, sleek, all-terrain, all season snowmobiles made of fully welded, lightweight, aircraft grade aluminum frames. They came equipped with high performance parachutes, handle bar steering and thumb throttle control. The parachutes could be adjusted in flight, allowing the pilots to vary speed by about five miles per hour. Powered by Rotax 582, 65 horsepower engines with six blade IVO props, they were able to fly, jump and glide in an uncanny fashion.

Bond looked around for an escape route and noticed a ravine not too far down the mountain. The forest was in the opposite direction.

‘Head for the gully. I’ll lure them to the trees!’ he said. He pulled his gun and pointed her off to one side. Elektra complied and skied away. Bond turned back to the sound of the approaching machines.

Gunfire blasted from the four terrifying shapes. He ducked, then streaked toward the woods as the vehicles shot after him in pursuit.

He assumed his old Alberg crouch, with hands forward of his boots, and headed down-slope as the Parahawks gave chase. Bullets hit around him as he slalomed through the open area toward the trees below.

The noise suddenly grew louder. Bond ducked just as one of the Parahawks swooped low, trying to hit him. He retail led the bullet-like stance, increasing his speed on top of the soft, powdery snow. He thought he was making some headway when the ground erupted in a terrible, deafening noise as he skied over it.

Now they were tossing hand grenades.

Bond performed a Sprung-Christiana, a showy turn that enabled him to swerve around and fire at the Parahawk. Unfortunately, the rounds bounced off the bulletproofed vehicle.

Bond turned again, then slalomed into the forest, whipping in and out of the trees as two Parahawks followed. The gunfire continued, bullets hitting the snow frighteningly close to him.

One Parahawk took the lead and, in rapt concentration, the pilot attempted to fire at Bond from a different angle. The man was too close. Sooner or later he would get lucky.

The skis cut through the ice and snow, creating the high- pitched, scraping sound that in normal circumstances Bond would have considered music to his ears. Instead, he had to make sure that the sound was continuous and rhythmic, which indicated that he was not losing speed or breaking the pattern of his movements. At one point, the left: ski thumped against a tree that came too close. Bond almost lost his balance but he was able to right himself on one ski and sail safely between two boulders and into another stretch of forest.

The lead Parahawk was gaining on him. Bond looked ahead at the terrain. He thought that if he could keep the Parahawk in the same position for a few more seconds, simple geometry and the law of gravity would take over and become his allies. Bond skied toward his goal and turned sharply at the precise moment.

The Parahawk whisked past a large tree, but the parachute caught in its branches, causing the machine to catapult backward into the tree. The vehicle exploded with tremendous force.

Elektra, having made it safely through the gully, stopped at the sound of the explosion. Where was Bond? She peered over the tops of the trees and saw two of the Parahawks still sailing through the air. Should she stay put? Her better judgement told her to wait it out, but she was a stubborn

girl. Elektra threw caution to the wind and decided to ski onward in Bond’s direction.

The sccond Parahawk and a third one continued the pursuit. Bond soared evasively through the trees as grenades were tossed right and left. Then the two vehicles ejected their chutes and hit the ground moving. Without missing a beat, the drivers continued to rip up the snow around Bond with machine guns.

He skied into a clearing, possibly the worst place he could go. He prepared to push with his sticks and increase speed, but realised that he could no longer hear the sound of their motors. Glancing behind him, he saw that the Parahawks had disappeared. What the . . .?

Bond didn’t alter his speed. He headed for the opposite edge of the clearing, then slid into the woods once again. Had he succeeded in losing them so quickly?

The two Parahawks erupted into view, scaring the hell out of him. Bond felt the heat of two bullets whiz just past his face as the gunfire assailed him. The last Parahawk joined them, higher up, and continued to drop grenades.

The Parahawk nearest to him moved ahead so that the pilot could swing around and come at Bond from the front. It headed straight for him, the gun barrel aimed for the centre of Bond's body.

Bond saw him just in time and made a split-second decision that there was only one thing to do. He continued on, directly toward the Parahawk in a seemingly suicidal, head-on move. The pilot's eyes widened as Bond approached at an overwhelming speed. Then Bond hit a snow bank in front of the Parahawk, and leapt over the craft as the pilot opened fire. Bond landed safely on the other side, but the pilot lost control of the vehicle. He smashed into a tree, once again rocking the terrain with a deafening explosion. A fire spread quickly through the trees, creating a wall between him and the other Parahawk.

Two down, two to go. Bond took stock of the situation. One of them was high above him, throwing grenades. Had the wall of flames stopped the other one? He turned to look.