Bond Movies 06 - The World Is Not Enough by Raymond Benson Page B

placed the stool upright and sat down.
    ‘Tourists. . .’ he grumbled. The bartender refilled his glass and commiserated with him.
    Bond hadn’t seen Valentin Zukovsky since the GoldenEye affair a few years ago. An ex-KGB official, Zukovsky had made a name for himself as a ‘freelancer’, mainly in the Russian Mafia, although he refused to call it that. Bond had a run-in with him before the fall of the Soviet Empire, giving the man his now-famous limp. Since then, the two men had reluctantly performed favours for one another, almost as if competing to keep the other indebted.
    Bond found Zukovsky sitting with two gorgeous women on his lap. He was spoon-feeding them caviar. He was as elephantine as ever, and his moon face was red from alcohol and the attention he was getting from the girls.
    ‘BondJamesBond!’ he said, heartily. ‘Do come in! Meet Nina and Verushka.’
    ‘Lose the girls, Valentin,’ Bond said. He knew that he had to play it tough with Zukovsky, or else he’d never get anything out of him. He gestured toward The Bull. ‘And the toy bodyguard, too. We need to talk.’
    The big man grunted.
    ‘Why am I suddenly worried I’m not carrying enough insurance?’ Zukovsky asked. ‘Chill out. Try your luck in my new casino.’
    ‘Only if you’re willing to place a bet on your knee — the one I didn’t shoot out.’
    Zukovsky addressed the girls on his lap. ‘Do you see what I have to put up with? I'm out of the KGB ten years and —’
    But a cold, no-nonsense look from Bond stopped him. Bond drew his gun and aimed for Zukovsky’s leg. ‘How is your knee. The good one, that is . . .’
    The Bull drew his gun and aimed it at Bond’s head. Bond held his ground.
    Finally, the Russian sighed loudly. ‘Okay, ladies. Scram. Beat it. I have business. It’s all right, Maurice.’
    ‘But Valentin,’ one of the girls whined. ‘You promised we could play!'
    Zukovsky gestured to the big man. ‘Bull, give them an inch.’
    The bodyguard peeled off a wad of cash and held it high. The two girls leaped off Zukovsky’s lap and jumped for the money like trained seals. They snatched it, squealed and ran out of the room.
    ‘And make sure they lose it in this casino!’ Zukovsky said to The Bull, who moved toward the door to keep watch on the girls. He turned back, smiling broadly to reveal the sparkling gold teeth. ‘I will see you later, Mister Bond.’
    ‘I can see you put your money where your mouth is,’ Bond said. The Bull flexed, ready to fight again, but Zukovsky waved him off.
    ‘Mister Bullion doesn’t trust banks,’ he said. ‘It’s all right, Maurice.’ The Bull made a face and left them alone. Bond holstered his gun.
    ‘You’ll have to excuse The Bull. He’s my chauffeur and —’ Zukovsky said, shrugging his stocky shoulders.
    ‘Yes. I know all about Maurice Womasa. Crushes men with his bare arms and gives them a bright smile at the same time. Not to be confused with the other wild beasts and upstanding citizens floating through your casino - the Russian Mafia, Chinese gangsters, Turkish war lords —’
    ‘And diplomats, bankers, oil executives, and anyone else who wants to do business in Baku.’ Zukovsky turned to the table and spooned some caviar onto a small plate. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Double-0 Seven, but I’m a legitimate businessman now. Care for some caviar? My own brand. Zukovsky’s finest.’
    ‘I want some information. About Renard.’
    Zukovsky frowned. ‘Renard? Renard the Fox?’
    ‘How does a terrorist like Renard get his hands on the latest Russian military equipment? State-of-thc-art Parahawks?’ Zukovsky shook his head. ‘That is not possible.’
    Bond produced the shred of parachute and showed it to him. ‘I think you know the characters. It's the Russian special services division of the atomic weapons branch.’
    ‘The Russian Atomic Energy Department. Where did you get this?’ Zukovsky asked genuinely curious about the fabric.
    ‘Off a