Bond Movies 03 - Licence to Kill by John Gardner Page A

Sanchez would never have had to rig it. Her body, seen at close quarters, was superb.
    Gently he approached the bed, knelt down, then moved fast, slamming his hand down on her mouth, the knife at her throat.
    Lupe came out of whatever she was dreaming into a nightmare that showed in the fear of her wide-eyed look.
    ‘Make a sound, call for help, and I’ll kill you. Got it?’ Bond snarled.
    She nodded vigorously, and he slowly removed his hand. He could see the recognition in her face. The last time had been out at the little airstrip when Sanchez had made his escape.
    ‘You?’ she mouthed.
    He nodded. ‘Krest’s in his cabin. I gather you two don’t get on so well. Now, where’s Sanchez?’
    ‘Not here,’ she whispered. ‘Not on board. I suppose he’s back home – or what passes for home. Back in Isthmus City.’
    ‘You’re his girlfriend, so you should know.’
    ‘That’s probably where he is. He doesn’t tell me a thing. Only do this and do that and do the other thing. Usually it’s the other thing.’
    ‘Well . . .’ Bond began, but was interrupted by sounds from Krest’s cabin next door. Raised voices, then the noise of feet on the deck and a hammering at Lupe’s door.
    Bond motioned with his knife. ‘Answer it.’
    She paused for a second, then grabbed a robe from the foot of the bed, holding it against her as she went over to the door. Bond, knife ready, put his back against the cabin wall on the hinge side of the door as Lupe called out, ‘Who is it?’
    Krest answered loudly, ‘Open up, bimbo. I gotta talk to you.’
    ‘Not again. I’m trying to get some sleep.’
    ‘ Open it!’
    Gingerly she pulled back the door. Through the slit, Bond could see Krest, who looked anxious, full of panic, backed up by two heavy-looking seamen, both armed.
    ‘We’ve got an intruder. Someone slipped aboard. Probably rode in on the probe.’
    ‘You waken me up for . . .’
    ‘To warn you, bimbo. You seen anybody?’
    ‘I’ve been asleep.’
    ‘Okay. Lock your door and stay out of sight. There’s work to be done and I don’t want the crew distracted.’
    ‘And I want to get back to sleep.’ She pulled the door closed, clicked the lock and looked at Bond, whispering, ‘I did okay, yes?’
    He nodded and smiled as she walked across the cabin, the light from the sun’s first rays catching her back. Bond saw the marks with horror, a criss-cross pattern of deep welts, only just starting to heal. ‘Who whipped you like that?’ he asked.
    She shrugged into her robe, not answering. In the background Bond was aware of another boat’s engine which sounded all too familiar.
    ‘Who whipped you?’ he asked again. ‘Was it Sanchez?’
    Another pause. Then, ‘It was my own fault. I know Sanchez and what he does to people who cross him. I crossed him, and I’m lucky to be alive.’
    Outside the engine noise grew louder, and she crossed the cabin, back to the port through which they both looked.
    They heard the voice from somewhere outside, shouting, ‘Clive’s back, Mr Krest.’
    Then the boat came into view, the engine note dipping as she prepared to tie up next to Wavekrest .
    Lupe gave a little moan, and Bond felt anger and horror rise in equal portions. He put an arm around Lupe’s shoulder and turned her head from the sight. Sharky’s fishing boat was abreast Wavekrest , the three scuba divers he had passed under water standing on deck. The fishing boat’s ‘catch’ hung netted from the side. There were two young sharks and, between them, the terribly mutilated body of Sharky.
    ‘Well done, Clive.’ It was Krest’s voice, probably from the bridge.
    The diver in the centre of the three, a short, pugnacious-looking man, waved back. ‘Thank you, Mr Krest,’ he shouted. ‘But, guess what? His name was Sharky. Neat eh?’
    There was laughter, broken by another engine note, further away. Then Krest’s voice again. ‘Best get aboard, Clive. Here comes the plane. We got work to do.’
    Bond