Devil May Care

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 helpof 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