Trigger Mortis Page 11

  The spiral staircase occupied most of the space within the tower with just a few alcoves and storage spaces on the sides. The walls were bare brick with tiny, slit-like windows that provided a glimpse of the night sky. There was no route back into the main castle from here. They might find somewhere to hide but it would do them no good. Sin’s men would systematically search every inch of the place and it was inevitable that they would be found. They climbed past the third floor and continued, curving round on themselves. At last they came to a solid wooden door, locked. Bond positioned himself a few steps away. He lashed out with his foot. The lock shattered on the second blow. They stepped out into the night breeze.

  They were at the very top of the tower, trapped in a circular space with a low wall and the lake three floors or about fifty yards below. It was a long way but Bond was remembering what Sin had told him. ‘The lake is very cold and very deep.’ Well, the second part of that equation would be useful to him now. He already knew he was going to have to jump. If the tower were a clock face, then from midnight until four o’clock was clear, with the water directly below. From where he was standing, he could see the jetty and the main entrance. Just as he had expected, several guards had taken up their positions outside but there were two elements in his favour. First of all, they were gazing into the castle, waiting to challenge anyone who came out. None of them was looking up or out towards the lake. And the band was still playing. Bond could hear the music seeping out into the darkness. That was a mistake on Sin’s part. Provided he could enter the water without making too much of a splash, there was every chance that he wouldn’t be heard.

  He stepped closer to the edge. Next to him, the girl understood what he intended.

  ‘I can’t do this,’ she said, simply. ‘It’s too high.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ Bond demanded.

  The girl hesitated. Then she answered. ‘It’s Jeopardy. Jeopardy Lane.’

  Bond took this in. He knew that, this time, she was telling the truth. ‘All right, Jeopardy,’ he said. ‘It’s a simple choice. You can come with me. Or you’re on your own.’

  ‘You can’t leave me here.’

  ‘I can and I will. It’s been nice meeting you. I hope you get a good story for your magazine – although it might help if you learn a thing or two about racing cars.’

  Bond turned his back on her and went over to the wall. The girl was right. It was a hell of a long way down and in the moonlight the surface of the water looked like polished steel.

  ‘Wait for me, you bastard!’ Jeopardy said.

  Bond looked back. She was already walking over to him. The two stood together on the edge. If she was afraid, she wasn’t showing it. If anything, she was angry, as if this was his fault.

  ‘After you,’ Bond said.

  ‘Hell with that,’ Jeopardy growled.

  They leapt together. Bond was aware of the rush of air, the great expanse of the lake filling his vision as he plunged towards it. He was going to enter feet first. There had been no question of attempting a dive. But he tried to make himself as streamlined as he could, stretching his legs and clutching his hands above his head, so as to enter the water more cleanly, like a knife. Only now, when it was far too late, did the thought flash through his mind that Sin could have been wrong, the lake might be much shallower than he had suggested. There could be rocks, debris of some sort hidden beneath the surface. This adventure could end with Bond shattering his legs – or worse. How long can three seconds last? A whole world of pain and different possibilities suggested itself to Bond as he fell and then came the shock of impact, his feet smashing the black mirror, cleaving a hole for the rest of his body to follow. Down and down he went into a darkness that was absolute and unyielding and a coldness that was not so very different from death. He had been holding his breath but it was almost punched out of him. The lake might actually be a thousand feet deep, fed with the meltwater of glaciers a million years old. Its grip was lethal. Bond’s entire body went into shock, heart palpitating, lungs shrinking, every nerve screaming in outrage. Was he rising or falling? He could feel nothing. He could not even be certain he was still conscious.

  He felt he had stopped moving, hanging in the water as if suspended there, and kicked out with his arms and legs, his jacket and shirt ballooning around him. He needed to breathe. A few more seconds and he would suck in water involuntarily. He kicked again and then, somehow, he had re-emerged. He was breathing air, shards of water falling off his face, the blinding light of the moon in his eyes. He had to remind himself not to thrash around, not to make any noise. If any of Sin’s men had heard them, they could be picked off from the castle – fish in a barrel indeed. He twisted round. Jeopardy had made it. Water was streaming out of her fair hair, which was plastered across her skull like a bathing cap. Her eyes seemed abnormally large. He could hear the short, uneven rasps of her breathing, but otherwise she was silent. Had anyone heard? Had anyone seen? For a few seconds, Bond trod water, aware of the dreadful cavern beneath him. There was nothing. He signalled to Jeopardy and slowly they began to swim away from the main entrance, away from the causeway. That was where Sin’s people would be looking for them, but with every stroke Bond put a little more distance between himself and the castle and that thought alone spurred him on.

  The cold was numbing, sucking all his strength. It was as if the lake, having failed to kill him one way, was determined to do it another. He couldn’t feel his fingers or his hands and his teeth were chattering so loudly they sounded like castanets. At first it seemed that the shoreline refused to get any nearer. Jeopardy was struggling to keep up and it occurred to Bond that she should have taken off her dress before she jumped. The fabric was dragging her down. But there was nothing he could do to help her. He concentrated on what he was doing. At this temperature, he might survive five or six minutes. Any longer and he would be finished.

  After what seemed like an eternity they reached the edge of the lake behind the castle and dragged themselves out. Bond looked back and saw the glow of the chandeliers behind the windows and imagined the guests, still partying with their champagne and canapés, oblivious to the events taking place around them. Just a short while ago Bond had been one of them. Now he stood, shivering, beside the woodland. He held out a hand for Jeopardy and pulled her to her feet. Beads of water, like mercury in the moonlight, clung to her face and neck. She was shivering uncontrollably.

  ‘How did you get here?’ Bond asked. ‘Do you have a car?’

  She shook her head. ‘Cab. My bag, cash . . .’ She jerked round in the direction of the castle. The music was still drifting out across the lake, taunting them.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. We can take mine.’ Bond’s keys were lodged on the front wheel of his car, a precaution he had taken without even thinking about it. The photographs were still in his jacket. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be too damaged. He would look at them later. ‘We’ll go through the trees,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose anyone will be looking for us there. With a bit of luck, they’ll think we’re still hiding somewhere inside.’

  Together, they skirted through the wood and reached the parking area. Bond waited until a couple had climbed into their car and left, then sidled up to the Bentley, found the key and unlocked it. Jeopardy slid into the front seat and closed the door. Bond climbed in next to her and turned the heating on full. Water dripped onto the blue upholstery.

  ‘Where are you staying?’ Bond asked.

  ‘I was going back to Cologne. I had a taxi coming at midnight.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid you’re going to miss your taxi and I don’t think you’ll be getting anywhere near Cologne looking like that.’

  ‘I have no money. I’ve nowhere to go.’

  ‘Then you’d better come back with me. I have a room in a hotel in Nürburg.’

  She nodded but her face was blank. ‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘What were you doing in that room?’

  ‘I was about to ask you the same.’ She turned away
and Bond took pity on her. ‘We can deal with all that in the morning. It’s only a half-hour drive. You’ll feel better after a hot bath. And we can get a couple of brandies from the concierge.’

  He reversed the car. The Schloss Bronsart appeared one last time in the mirror. He was glad to see the back of it. He drove off into the night.

  TEN

  ‘Pick a Card . . .’

  Silence sat in the room, an uninvited guest.

  Jason Sin, still in black tie, had been speaking on the telephone for several minutes. He put down the receiver and stared sullenly at the photographs strewn over the surface of the table. Three men, Germans, stood facing him with their faces purposefully blank, not speaking until they were spoken to. They were his personal bodyguards and knew very well what was about to happen. A fourth man was sitting, slumped in a chair in front of Sin, his eyes cast down. This was the bodyguard that Bond had attacked outside the schloss. His gun had been taken from him. His jacket hung loose.

  ‘It is most unfortunate.’ Sin seemed to have taken several minutes to find the right formulation of words. He took off his wire-framed glasses and laid them on the desk. The brown eyes in the olive-skinned face were neither angry nor disappointed. They gave nothing away. ‘It would seem that half a dozen photographs have been taken. It is unclear whether the intruder knew what he was looking for but I would suspect that the theft was opportunistic. Certain documents are also missing but they were in Korean and were actually insignificant.’ He was speaking in English not German and although the four men were listening intently, it was not clear how much they understood. It didn’t matter. He was turning over the thoughts in his head, assessing the situation more for his benefit than theirs. ‘There was a danger that my associates would consider that the entire operation was now compromised but, fortunately, I have managed to persuade them otherwise.’ He paused. ‘You have let me down very badly, Herr Luther. I have to say I am disappointed.’

  Luther was the man in the chair. He nodded slowly. As a result of the damage that Bond had inflicted on him, it would have been difficult to do otherwise. There was a dark mauve bruise around his neck and he had one arm clasped across his stomach. Even so, a glimmer of defiance remained in the bright blue eyes. Bond had guessed correctly. Luther’s pistol, the Sauer 38H, was a souvenir of the Luftwaffe. Luther had risen through the ranks, not as a flier but as a commander in one of the seven Feldregimenter. He had fought against the Soviets on the eastern front. He was a survivor. ‘I understand you completely, mein Herr,’ he said.

  ‘I really don’t know quite where to begin,’ Sin continued. ‘As Head of Security both at this castle and at my other businesses in Germany, it would have been your responsibility, at the very least, to check the names of the guests invited to this gathering tonight.’

  ‘The invitations were informal. Many of the guests came with friends. I was never given a complete list of names.’

  ‘That may be the case. But you should have demanded it. And as it happens, this man – Bond – was here under his own name.’ The tiniest furrow of anger picked at the skin above Sin’s eye but the rest of his face ignored it. ‘It now turns out that James Bond is well known to my colleagues in Moscow. He is a highly respected member of the British Secret Service. He was doubtless sent here to protect the racing driver Lancy Smith. It cannot be a coincidence that he was involved in the supposed accident at Nürburgring. We can only surmise what it was that drew him here tonight. My guess is that he probably saw me with Gaspanov.’ Once again, Sin spoke to himself. ‘I told him. I did tell him that he was making a mistake, forcing me to meet him here. But would he listen? The trouble is that his organisation has made too many mistakes and as a result he refuses to delegate. He has to go over everything face to face even though a telephone conversation would have more than sufficed. He must see for himself that everything is going according to plan. And what is the result? We draw attention to ourselves and now we have British intelligence on our backs.’

  Sin’s eyes flickered as he remembered the man in the chair. ‘That is why we have to be so careful, Herr Luther. We cannot make mistakes at our end. And yet you have behaved in a manner which has been frankly amateurish.’ He paused. ‘What were you doing outside?’

  ‘I went out just for a minute,’ Luther said.

  ‘A dereliction of duty. I never gave you permission to leave the building. Your place was beside me. I might have been attacked while you were enjoying yourself in the night air and anyway it allowed Bond to creep up on you, to knock you unconscious, to use you as a diversion.’

  ‘I did not see the person. We cannot be sure it was Bond.’

  ‘Please, Herr Luther. Do not insult my intelligence. Who else could it have been?’ Sin ran a tongue along his lips. There was something slightly obscene about the gesture, the little grey knife cutting a slit through the flesh. ‘Bond carried you into the front hall and immediately, without any thought, the guard on the stairs abandoned his position.’

  One of the three men stiffened but said nothing.

  Luther was about to reply but Sin held up a hand. ‘I have almost finished. There were no guards on the upper corridor. The door to this room was unlocked, despite the most sensitive material remaining in plain sight following my meeting with Colonel Gaspanov. ‘Shi bai kepu seck yi!’ Koreans do not often swear but Sin had used one of the filthiest expressions that existed in his language. ‘There were no security measures taken at all.’

  ‘The pressure alarm was activated.’

  ‘Too little, too late. By the time your men reached the room – and it might have been sooner had they not been attending to you – Bond had gone. And just to conclude what had already been a disastrous series of events, they were unable to find him. Do you have any idea where he is now?’

  ‘We do not believe he is in the building.’

  ‘Lamentable. Truly lamentable.’

  ‘This has never happened before, mein Herr.’ The Head of Security knew that his words were futile but spoke them anyway. ‘It will not happen again.’

  ‘Of that much we can at least be certain.’

  Jason Sin put his glasses back on, then reached into his inner pocket and took out a deck of playing cards. As soon as Luther saw them, he swallowed hard, the colour draining out of his face. Sin cleared a space on the table and then spread the cards out so that the backs were showing. They were very beautiful, each one decorated with images of birds, trees and flowers, painted in the Japanese style. ‘You have heard me speak before of Hanafuda,’ Sin continued. ‘They are playing cards which are very popular in Korea and which I often used as a child. Hanafuda translates as flower cards. As you can see, there are forty-eight of them. The suits are represented by the twelve months of the year and each suit has four different flowers. In Korea we used to play Hwatu, which means, literally, “the battle of the flowers,” but there were also other games such as Koi-Koi and Go-Stop.

  ‘These cards are, however, different. I have had them customised to my needs and as you are very well aware, Herr Luther, I am not intending to play with you. These cards are going to decide the manner of your death.’

  ‘Please—’

  Before Luther could say any more, Sin raised a hand. ‘Do not speak. Do not attempt anything rash. I am armed. There are three men, your former colleagues, standing behind you. Let us try to do this with dignity. It may go better for you.’

  He composed himself, his hands crossed in front of him. The High Priest. The fortune teller.

  ‘There is nothing more random nor more certain than death. I will die. You will die. The only questions – and they are very important ones – are when and how? I have had experience of death, Herr Luther. I have come face to face with it in a way that few people could describe and so these questions have become something of a preoccupation. When and how. That is the great power of death. It is what makes death so fearsome. And I have taken that power upon myself.

  ‘Right now, in front of you, there
are forty-five different ways to die. They are printed on the backs of these cards. Some of them demand your own co-operation. You may be asked to take poison or to slit your wrists. Some of them are fast and painless. There is a decapitation card – which is messy but dramatic – and there is also the option of a bullet to the head. A few are prolonged and unpleasant. A month ago, in America, we tortured a man to death, an experience that took several days. In your case, you might be electrocuted or drowned. Let me assure you that I have no particular preference. I have no malice towards you. I am punishing you because you need to be punished but, speaking for myself, I feel nothing.’

  Luther sat there, breathing heavily. He was staring at the colourful backs of the cards with utter loathing, as if they were the ugliest things he had ever seen.

  ‘Pick a card,’ Sin commanded.

  Luther didn’t move. ‘Please, sir, I have worked for you for two years. I have done everything you ever asked me.’

  ‘Do not make me choose one for you, Herr Luther. Because if you do, you’ll make me angry and I can assure you that I will choose something very nasty. But perhaps you have forgotten – I have permitted you a very small chance of escape. I said that there were forty-eight cards but only forty-five of them carry what you might call methods of execution. Three cards are blank. Should you happen to choose one of them, we will forget this whole unpleasant business and say no more about it. A one in sixteen chance. Not great odds, but better than no chance at all. You have thirty seconds to make your choice.’

  Still Luther seemed to take an age to decide. His chest rose and fell as he stared at the row of brightly coloured illustrations, almost trying to see through them. Nobody spoke. There was no clock in the room. Time was measured by heartbeats. At the last moment, almost without thinking, Luther reached out and turned over a card near the centre of the spread. It was not blank. There were two words printed in capital letters, in English.