Authors: Sebastian Faulks
‘ These are the speed calculations and this codeword means it’s nuclear-armed. You’re going to have to move fast.’
‘Sure,’ said Silver. ‘How secure is this line?’
‘Who knows?’ said Leiter. ‘But it’s the only one we got, pal.’
Silver hunched over the phone. ‘Just cut me a little slack here, guys. There’s one or two codes I have to put in when I get through that even you guys . . . No offence.’
‘None taken,’ said Leiter. ‘Let’s admire the view, Darius.’
‘Hamid,’ said Darius, ‘will you wait in the corridor outside?’
Felix and Darius stood in the window and looked towards the sea. Felix raised the metal claw he used for a right hand. ‘I’d cross my fingers if I had any,’
he said.
Darius, large and bear-like, put his arm round Felix’s shoulders. ‘It’s all destiny,’ he said. ‘
Kismet
.’
‘Double four six,’ Silver’s voice was saying. ‘Eight seven. Callback.’ With his right foot, he gently pressed down on the telephone line where it went into a wall fixing under the bedside table.
One by one the small internal wires became disconnected under the pressure of his foot. Finally, the entire cable came free from the skirting-board and Silver pushed the frayed end quietly out of sight beneath the bed.
‘You got it, Langley!’ he said enthusiastically. ‘Here we go. Latitude 46.34944. Longitude 48.04917. Latitude 48.8047222. Longitude . . .’
‘Looks like we’re in good shape, Darius,’ said Felix.
‘Now for the airliner.’
17. Carmen’s Song
The VC-10 levelled out at thirty thousand feet, somewhere east of Tehran, and continued on its smooth, level progress north, towards Kazakhstan in the southern Soviet Union. In any other circumstances, thought Bond, as he looked from his window down on to the Elburz mountains, it was a perfect day for flying. Holding the piece of glass in the tips of the fingers of his right hand, he continued the friction against the rope on his left wrist – gently and, with luck, imperceptibly. Thank goodness, he thought, for the space between the first-class seats. In economy, a small vibration would almost certainly have been relayed to the guard in the aisle seat to his left. Bond twisted his body towards the aisle, lowered his head and closed his eyes, as though he was exhausted by his desert ordeal and had submitted to his
destined end. He estimated the remaining distance to Zlatoust-36 to be approximately fifteen hundred miles, depending on where exactly in the desert Gorner’s lair was located. He knew the VC-10 could cruise at over five hundred miles per hour – a figure well publicized in the political squabbles that had surrounded the commissioning of the plane by the British government for BOAC.
They had already been airborne for an hour, he guessed, and if Scarlett didn’t appear within the next sixty minutes, he would have to try to take on four armed men single-handed. Unless, of course, he could do something to enlist the help of Ken Mitchell on the flight deck. It seemed unlikely. Mitchell looked like the kind of man whose idea of action was eighteen holes in the monthly medal at Woking.
Bond twisted his right wrist within the burning constriction of the rope until he could feel the extent to which he had managed to fray the nylon cord. Sharp though the glass from the Jeep windscreen was, it had as yet made little impression. He had no idea when they might summon him
to the controls. Presumably at some juncture they would have to untie his wrists to make it seem that he was in charge of the attack on Zlatoust-36, but by
the time he was on the flight deck it would be far too late. He needed to make a move before then. Glancing at the man beside him, who stared blindly ahead, Bond increased the rate of friction. It was his only chance.
When J. D. Silver had replaced the receiver on the telephone in room 234, he told Darius and Leiter that he had to go back to his car. ‘I won’t be five minutes,’ he said, ‘but we’re getting a call back from Langley, so don’t use the phone while I’m away, okay? We need to keep the line free.’
‘Sure thing,’ said Felix.
‘Good man,’ said Silver, as he went out and shut the door.
‘Well,’ said Darius, ‘I suppose we can expect a big wave in the Caspian some time in the next sixty minutes.’
‘Sure. Silver’s through to Langley. They get on to the Pentagon. USAF scramble . . . Goodbye, Ekranoplan.’
‘But what about this airliner?’ said Darius. ‘Do you think there’s nothing we can do?’
‘Well, we know it’s likely to attack at the same time as the Ekranoplan, so it must be up in the air right now. We also know that every USAF plane in range
is sniffing round the edge of Soviet airspace. More than that, Darius . . .’
‘Nothing?’
Felix spread his arms wide. ‘ Three days ago I was doing a missing-persons in LA. I can’t work miracles. What I really need is breakfast. Do you do eggs easy over in your country, or is it just fruit?’
‘I’m sure they could do an egg,’ said Darius, ‘but we can’t phone down because we’re meant to keep the line free. For Langley to call back.’
‘Well, I guess I could go down to the kitchens and ask,’ said Felix. ‘Or I could fry it myself. A Texan doesn’t go to work on an empty stomach.’
‘It’s infuriating,’ said Darius. ‘I should call Babak so he can radio through to London. They should be updated. We need RAF planes as well in case your men don’t make it. Belt and braces.’ He sat on the end of the bed, shaking his heavy, handsome head in frustration. A few feet away, Felix sat on the little hardwood chair and scratched his cropped hair with his left hand. Three minutes passed as they stared into space, occasionally catching one another’s eye.
Eventually, Leiter said, ‘Where the hell’s Silver? He said he’d be five minutes.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s ten already.’
Darius looked hard at him. Felix stared back.
Another minute passed in silence as Darius’s eyes gazed deep into Felix’s. It was almost as though two half-thoughts were becoming one in the air between them.
‘I’m getting a feeling,’ said Felix.
‘Yes,’ said Darius. ‘When did Langley ever use a telephone line to call back?’
‘Oh, my God.’
In the same instant, both men dived for the telephone. Darius was closer, and it was his hand that lifted up the disconnected cord.
Felix swore loudly.
Darius was already at the door. ‘Hamid!’ he yelled down the corridor. ‘Let’s go!’
There was no time to wait for the lift. The three men went as fast as they could downstairs, Felix limping in the rear, and out to Hamid’s grey Cadillac. Darius was shouting in Farsi as they piled in and Hamid smacked the car into gear. As he let in the clutch and laid a long black streak of rubber down the Noshahr waterfront, Darius turned to Felix. ‘I’ve told him to get us back out of town to an isolated call box I saw. I’m going to get on to Tehran. Babak can radio through on a secure wavelength to London and they can scramble whatever the RAF can manage. I don’t think we can go via Langley.’
Felix swore again. ‘ That way is sure enough shot for the time being. I don’t know if Carmen’s doing what he’s told from Washington or if he’s at some rodeo all his own.’
‘At the moment,’ said Darius, ‘it doesn’t really matter. We just know we’re on our own. In any case, we may find out soon enough about Silver. There’s someone following.’
As Hamid screeched round the corner into a palmlined residential street of white villas, Felix looked through the back window. A dusty black Pontiac was closing in on them.
‘ That’s all we need,’ said Felix. ‘I only got this.’ He took a Colt M-1911 from inside his jacket. ‘Accurate to seventy-five yards, but feeling its age.’
‘Give him a warning,’ said Darius.
‘Another thing,’ said Felix, holding up his hook.
‘ This was my firing hand.’
Darius took the gun, knocked out the rear window and fired a shot at the black Pontiac, which swerved wildly, ran up over the pavement, but then regained the road.
‘
Allahu Akbar!
’ said Hamid.
‘Just drive, pal,’ said Felix, ducking down below the open rear window. ‘Is it Carmen?’
‘I couldn’t see,’ said Darius. ‘Faster, Hamid! Go, go, go!’
The Cadillac came to a small street market where its front wheel clipped an overflowing barrow, sending a cascade of oranges across the street. Hamid sank his right foot and the big car roared on, over an ungated railway crossing and up into the shallow hills behind the town.
Darius raised his head and looked back through the rear window. Holding the Colt carefully in both hands, he let go another round.
It shattered the windscreen of the Pontiac, but the stock of a handgun punched swiftly through the glass, revealing a pale, sweating face of terrier eagerness with reddish hair plastered to its forehead.
‘It’s Carmen,’ said Felix. ‘Let him have it.’
Darius shot again, and the bullet whined off the bonnet of Silver’s car. ‘How many shots have you got?’ he said.
‘Seven plus one in the chamber,’ said Felix. ‘Five left.’
‘We’ll have to keep those in reserve,’ said Darius.
‘You’re going to have to cover me while I make that call.’
‘Better try and lose him, then.’
Darius barked at Hamid, who dropped the wheel to the right so the car, as it drifted and screeched through a right-angle turn, laid a towering dustcloud behind it. Hamid shouted back at Darius over the noise.
‘We’re nearly at the call box,’ said Darius to Felix.
‘He’s trying to kick up more dust. Hold on tight.’
They were off the tarmac and on to a dirt road, where Hamid swung the car from side to side, violently, so they could hear the steel frame groaning against the whipping G-forces and the tyres screaming as they tried to grip the surface. But the big sedan was built for cruising, not for stunts, and as Hamid tried to correct the heavy understeer he hit a white rock and the car flipped over on its side, slewing hard across the road on its doors.
Darius, his head cut, climbed out of the upper rear door and pulled Felix up after him. Felix cursed as he dropped down on his good leg and Darius handed him the gun, then ran ahead to where the track rejoined the tarmac road and they could see the lonely call box.
‘Cover me,’ he shouted to Felix.
Through the swirling dustcloud came a labouringengine noise, then the black Pontiac appeared, and Felix, from behind the barrier of the steaming Cadil
lac, fired straight through the open windshield. The Pontiac braked, swerved and stopped. Silver, bleeding from the shoulder, threw himself out and rolled behind the vehicle.
Felix knew he had only to keep him there long enough for Darius to get through to Tehran with the co-ordinates. But who knew how long that would take? How good was the Persian telephone system? In the box, Darius was talking to Babak. ‘Listen hard. Get on to London on fourteen megacycles. And there’s an airliner . . .’
Felix, holding the gun in his left hand, watched for any sign of movement from the Pontiac. He had four shots left and didn’t want to waste any. If Silver was playing some cat-and-mouse game, that was fine by him – though it was unlikely, since Silver would have guessed that he and Darius were rushing to make contact with London.
From near his feet, he heard groaning. ‘Are you all right, Hamid?’
‘I think so. Cut hands. But all right.’
‘Keep down.’
A bullet cracked off the side of the Cadillac. Hamid began to pray noisily. What alarmed Felix was that the bullet came from above them on the upper road, where the call box was. Somehow Silver had sneaked
out from behind the Pontiac and climbed through the bushes above.
Felix cursed noisily and began to run as fast as his artificial leg would let him.
‘Got that, Babak?’ Darius was saying into the mouthpiece. ‘And the VC-10. Good man, Babak. Now as fast as you – ’
But Darius Alizadeh could not complete the sentence as two rounds of pistol fire went through his heart. His big body crumpled at the knee and fell forward into the dust of his homeland.
Felix came toiling up the hill, dragging his leg behind him. He was too late to see Silver replace the smoking gun in his waistband as he knelt down behind a bush.
Felix let out a cry when he saw Darius and the telephone receiver swinging by its cord. He got down beside him and put his ear to his chest. He was still just breathing, and he opened his eyes. ‘I got through,’
he said. ‘ To Babak. The whole lot. Everything we know.’
He closed his eyes as Felix lifted his head and cradled him in his good arm.
‘J. D. Silver,’ said Darius weakly, and the glimmer of a smile passed over his face. ‘Not what my father called a ‘‘citizen of eternity’’.’
‘Not like you, my friend,’ said Felix. ‘No. JD’s what
my
father called a sonofabitch.’
As Darius’s body went limp, Felix heard a pistol being cocked.
‘Don’t move, Leiter.’
Silver stepped out, both hands steady on the gun. ‘Put your hands up. You don’t have to die. You can go back to your matrimonials and your missing girls. Just do as I say. Put both hands on your head.’
‘Who are you working for?’ said Felix.
‘Same as you. I just got new orders. We want the Brits in Vietnam. We need some help. If this is what it takes. A little reminder from the Russians . . .’
‘You’re out of your mind,’ said Leiter.
‘Shut up,’ said Silver, beginning to frisk him, and stopping when he came to the Colt in Felix’s waistband.
‘Big old thing,’ he said, hauling it out and putting it into his jacket pocket. ‘Now get down on the ground. Face down.’
Felix did as he was told. ‘Did you tell Langley about the goddam plane?’ he said. ‘ The airliner full of explosive?’
‘I don’t know it’s full of explosive,’ said Silver.
‘Neither do you.’
‘What the hell you think it’s got on board? Kids’
toys?’
‘I tell them all I know,’ said Silver. ‘ They decide what to do with it. When the chips are down, Leiter, it’s the man in the White House makes the call. He’s looking at the whole picture. Russia takes a hit, he can live with that. London takes a hit – that’s not so good. But if it gets the Brits off their backside and into Vietnam and makes them take this whole war seriously, then, hey, that’s tactical. Once in a while you take a punch. And if it helps you win the bout, it’s worth it.’