Devil May Care

God. What are you wearing?’
    ‘Just these.’ Scarlett moved her hips.
    ‘The pink ones.’
    ‘They’re white since you ask. I changed before dinner.’
    ‘What happened in the hangar? I remember when the lights came on. Then …’
    ‘Chagrin came down the top of the fuselage. I thought he was going to kill you. So I fired.’
    ‘At him?’
    ‘No. I shot through the main light cable. It was only a few feet away.’
    ‘Still. A hell of a good shot.’
    ‘The gun kicked like mad. But I did what you told me. Squeeze not pull. I thought maybe you could escape in the darkness.’
    ‘There were too many of them.’
    ‘Now what, James?’
    Bond thought for a moment. ‘Well, I don’t suppose Gorner has had us brought to the middle of the desert for no reason. If they wanted to kill me – or you – they would have done it by now.’
    ‘So?’
    ‘So he must have a use for us. A purpose.’
    ‘Or just information.’
    ‘Perhaps,’ said Bond. ‘Until we find out, I think we should try to rest. And by the way, Scarlett, you never did tell me what on earth you’re doing in Persia.’
    ‘It sounds a bit silly now,’ said Scarlett, and Bond felt her wriggle slightly. ‘Do you promise you won’t laugh?’
    ‘I don’t feel that mirthful.’
    ‘I’m on holiday.’
    ‘You’re what?’
    ‘Even bankers take a rest sometimes. I have three weeks’ annual leave and I took ten days. I wanted to be on hand when Poppy came out of Gorner’s clutches. I couldn’t concentrate at work while you were here. And I wanted to see Persia.’
    Despite what he had said, Bond found himself laughing drily, then wished he hadn’t, as the cuts on his back rubbed against Scarlett.
    ‘Now you’ve seen Persia,’ he said, looking at the sand and rock. ‘Right up close.’
    Light from the corridor was filtering into the cell when the bolt was drawn. Bond groaned as he shifted his weight on the sand.
    Two armed guards came in. One bent down with a knife and cut the ropes that joined them, but kept their wrists bound. The second guard gave them water, which they drank with their shackled hands.
    ‘Go,’ he ordered.
    They were marched at gunpoint down the passageway and into a primitive washroom, where, under close supervision, they were allowed to clean up and use a lavatory in a cubicle.
    ‘Can I have a shirt?’ Scarlett looked down at her bare torso.
    The guard shook his head. He ordered them out, down another corridor to a stainless-steel door.
    ‘Wait.’
    The man entered a code and offered himself to a concealed camera to be recognized. The door slid open. Bond and Scarlett went forward into a spacious air-conditioned room that was painted crimson: floor, ceiling, walls – there was almost nothing in the room that wasn’t poppy-red. Behind a desk stood an old-fashioned swivel chair with a maroon leather seat, and in it sat a man with an outsize gloved left hand.
    ‘For God’s sake, give the woman a shirt,’ said Dr JuliusGorner. There was such disgust in his voice that Bond wondered for a second whether he found all women’s flesh repulsive.
    Gorner stood up and walked round the desk. He wore a cream linen suit, blue shirt and red tie. His corn-coloured hair, driven back from the high forehead, hung over his collar at the neck. He put his face close to Bond, who noted the high Slavic cheekbones and the look of intensely arrogant impatience he had first seen on the dock at Marseille.
    More chilling still was the aloofness – the way that Gorner wouldn’t quite engage with his eyes, as though he knew that being exposed to the demands of others might dilute the purity of his own driving purpose. This slight reserve made him almost invulnerable, Bond thought – with no Achilles heel of pride or lust or pity.
    ‘So, you are my guest again, Commander Bond,’ Gorner said. ‘Don’t make a habit of trespassing on my hospitality. Not cricket.’
    Bond said nothing. A man came in with a grey army shirt for Scarlett. Bond noticed that even after washing, her breasts were smeared with blood – his or hers, he didn’t know. The man handed a similar shirt and trousers to Bond, who quickly put them on.
    ‘Now. Sit down.’ Gorner gestured to a pair of wooden chairs. ‘Listen to me carefully and don’t speak. I am not a sporting person. We won’t be playing any more tennis. No more “Have it again, old chap.” You are here to work. I’m going to show you my factory and then I will give you your operating