Devil May Care

that time and experience had wired into his system.
    He liked the silence of this foreign land, and felt the familiar tightening in his gut that preceded danger. He breathed in deeply, and for a moment had a picture of the trainer, Julian Burton, back at the headquarters in London. Was this the kind of breathing exercise he’d had in mind?
    ‘Pull over here.’ The time for reflection was past. ‘You stay right back here, Hamid. Don’t come any closer. Whatever happens, you need to be able to get away cleanly. We’ll see you in half an hour, with any luck. Scarlett, you come with me.’
    The two made their way forward on foot along the main road, then turned off into the yard that held Isfahani Brothers Boat Building. There were a few security lights, but nothing that worried Bond.
    ‘Wait here. Stay behind this truck. Cover me while I go over there.’
    Bond kept to the shadows at the side of the building until he had to break cover. He ran towards the metal hangar and ducked down behind the rubbish skip. His searching hand found the bundled clothes, and within a second he felt the reassuring weight of the Walther against his palm.
    He glanced back across the open area towards the street and the lorry behind which Scarlett was stationed. She had positioned herself so as to cast no shadow. Good girl, thought Bond.
    He made his way round the side of the building to the door he’d run through earlier that day. It was padlocked. With his pocket knife, he set about probing the small levers inside. The lock gave way, and he pushed open the wooden door. Scarlett followed him into the old building and Bond led her swiftly to the stairs. He was surprised by the lack of security – and worried by it. Even the most innocent enterprise should have a nightwatchman, he thought. They went along the gangway to the entrance into the metal hangar.
    Bond put his hand on Scarlett’s wrist. ‘It’s too easy,’ he said. ‘Looks like a trap. I think you should stay here. Have you got the gun? Now cover me. There should be enoughmoonlight from the sea end for you to see me. Take the safety catch off. Right. There’s a second safety here – this metal strip down the back of the grip. It releases automatically if you squeeze it hard enough. Good girl.’
    Bond unlatched the door and went into the main hangar. The outline of the Caspian Sea Monster filled his view. It was an awe-inspiring piece of work. It could only have been made in the Soviet Union, he thought, and it was a frightening reminder of recent days when the West had been falling behind – the period of Sputnik, Yuri Gagarin and the feats of Soviet weapons engineering. Now it seemed the Soviets once again had the ingenuity and the power.
    Bond began to take pictures of the beast. The shutter noise of the Minox was barely audible after the photographic boys had been to work on it. Bond didn’t bother to look through the viewfinder, but just pointed and fired.
    He went down on to the lower gantry to get closer to it. As he raised the Minox once more, he heard a loud voice in the echoing, moonlit hangar.
    ‘More light, Mr Bond!’ It was a Persian accent and a voice unfamiliar to him.
    Suddenly the hangar was drenched in dazzling light. Bond threw his arm across his eyes to shield them. All around him he could hear the thunder of booted feet on the clanging metal walkways.
    The voice came again. It was amplified through a megaphone. ‘Put down your gun, Mr Bond. Put your hands on your head. The party’s over.’
    Bond looked along the length of the illuminated fuselage. As he did so, he saw the top part of the cockpit slide back hydraulically. From the open space appeared a Foreign Legion kepi, followed swiftly by a pair of shoulders and thebody of Chagrin. He hauled himself out, then walked along the top of the fuselage towards Bond, a semi-automatic rifle in his hand.
    He lifted the barrel and pointed it at Bond’s head. He was now close enough for Bond to see the expressionless features in the dead-seeming flesh.
    There was the sound of a single shot and the hangar went suddenly dark. Bond flung himself on to his front. He had no time to work out what had happened, but knew he must put the darkness to good use. He went as quietly as he could along the gantry towards the ladder, but had gone up one step only before a crushing blow behind his ear caused a thick darkness – far deeper than that of the Persian night – to flood his brain.

12. The Belly of the