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

turned to Lupe, knowing his face was contorted in anger and grief. ‘I want Sanchez,’ he said, grabbing hold of the girl’s shoulders.
    ‘Your name. Please. Your name.’
    ‘Bond,’ he said. ‘James Bond.’
    ‘Mr Bond, I’d truly like to help you. Please believe that. But you must go now . . .’
    ‘Oh, I’m going. We’ve all got work to do. You heard what Krest said . . .’
    ‘. . . If you don’t go now, we’ll both be killed.’
    ‘I’m going. But, like the man said, keep your door locked.’ Cautiously he opened the cabin door and squeezed out on to the deck. Two of the men who had been with the infamous Clive were disappearing down a hatch, while Krest, followed by other men, climbed an external ladder towards the bridge. Bond ran to the lifeboat and looked down over the side of Wavekrest . Sharky’s boat, with its grim cargo had been tied up for’ard while the two catamarans rode in station, about three hundred yards off the port beam.
    The man called Clive had started to climb the gangway. Bond looked to his right, remembering the spear-guns racked against the superstructure. The guns were there, and the rack stood almost opposite the gate leading to the gangway, up which Clive was plodding in his scuba kit.
    He ran forward, glancing at the guns, some were normal undersea C0 2 powered spear-guns, but there were also three loaded, high-powered harpoon guns. Bond had one out of the rack and pointing at Clive just as he reached the deck.
    Krest’s lieutenant, his mask and air mouthpiece hanging around his neck, stopped stock still, face registering surprise more than fear. He smiled, slowly raising his hands, and, as he did so, his eyes drifted upwards towards the bridge. The smile widened slightly, and in that fraction of a second, Bond, knowing he had just been spotted from the bridge, spoke, ‘Compliments of Sharky, Clive.’ He pressed the trigger as he spoke, and the little harpoon hit Clive in the centre of his chest. Everything seemed to stand still for a second, then the harpoon’s small explosive charge went off, leaving the harpoon buried in a large hole of blood, bone and flesh.
    With a half scream, Clive pitched backwards. The harpoon line tightened in Bond’s hands, and, still clinging to the gun, he found himself lifted off his feet and pulled towards the gangway, hurtling through space into the sea below.
    As he fell, he was vaguely aware of shots buzzing past him, and shouts from all around. Then the sea came up and hit him full in the face. The harpoon line had become wrapped around his wrist, so that he was dragged down and down until his lungs began to feel the strain and pain as Clive’s dead body acted as a plummet. It seemed to go on forever, and Bond could think of only one thing: was this to be the end of the manta ray’s journey? Then his brain cleared and he realised there was one hope. Stretching his body into a diving position, he caught hold of the taut line with both hands and began to pull himself down towards Clive’s body, which, as he hauled, came up to meet him.
    There was a bloom of blood around Clive’s chest where the harpoon had struck, exploded and left a great gaping wound. Bond’s lungs were almost at bursting point when he reached the man, splayed out like a huge starfish. He hoped there were no sharks near, for the place would be full of them in minutes if they sensed the blood.
    With Clive’s mouthpiece, clutched from the corpse’s neck, in his own mouth, Bond was now able to breath. Carefully, and with difficulty in the water, he managed to unbuckle the air bottle, get Clive’s mask around his face and strap the whole scuba pack on to himself.
    Above, he thought, they were probably searching for him. Maybe they thought he was dead, either from the shots fired as he had gone overboard, or drowned as he was pulled down by the harpoon line.
    He was aware of the catamarans ploughing up and down above, and of another thrumming noise, the aircraft, he