Read Online Bond Movies 03 - Licence to Kill by John Gardner - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Gardner
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to the man, who now turned to look at him with cold grey eyes. The two bodyguards seemed to nudge closer to Bond.
‘Well, Commander Bond, what have you got to say for yourself?’ M – the Chief of the Secret Service – asked. He looked furious, and his hands clenched and unclenched as though he was trying to keep his anger in check.
Bond opened his mouth to speak, but M spoke for him. ‘You were supposed to be in Istanbul two days ago. It was important to your Queen, your country and the Service. That’s why I’ve bothered to spend Lord knows how many hours on aircraft, to come to this tacky little showplace. Instead of dealing with matters in Turkey, I understand you took time off to attend a wedding, which ended up in carnage.’
‘It was Leiter, sir. I’ve worked with him before . . .’
‘And are not scheduled to work with him in Istanbul, Bond. I’ve been here for almost a day and heard some most unsavoury things. The local police suspect you of mayhem, if not murder. I know Leiter was a friend, but from where I stand it looks as though the whole business has clouded your judgement. You have a job to do and I want it doing. Now. Got it? I want you on a plane out of here tonight and whatever connections you can make to Istanbul as quickly as possible.’ All this was said with the stabbing of M’s forefinger, the body language for killing.
‘I’m afraid I haven’t quite finished here, sir.’ Bond was not going to be bullied. The Istanbul business, as he knew only too well, had been on and off the boil for months.
‘You are to leave it to the Americans, Bond. It’s their mess. You will let them clear it up.’ M took a pace back. His two bodyguards seemed to have relaxed and were not crowding Bond so closely.
‘With respect, sir, the Americans just won’t do anything. You know that Leiter put his life on the line for me many times . . .’
‘Enough sentiment,’ M snapped. ‘He knew the risks he was taking. Just as you always know the risks.’
‘And his wife?’
M made a pshawing sound. ‘Do you not realise the other dangers, man? You’re running a private vendetta, and that could compromise Her Majesty’s government. Now, you have an assignment. I expect you to carry out that assignment objectively and professionally as you have many times before.’
There was a long pause, filled only by a laugh from somewhere out in the street. Then Bond clenched his teeth. This was one of the most difficult decisions he had ever had to make. ‘Then you can have my resignation, sir.’
‘This isn’t some country club, Bond. Nor your London club.’
Bond took a deep breath and waited, staring out his old chief.
‘All right,’ M snapped at last. ‘All right. Your resignation. Effective immediately, your licence within the Service, and all that entails, is revoked. I need hardly remind you that you’re still bound by the Official Secrets Act . . .’
‘As is every British citizen, sir. That’s sometimes forgotten.’
M took no notice. ‘I require your personal weapon now.’ He held out his hand.
After a pause, Bond shrugged and removed his automatic from its holster. ‘I suppose it’s a farewell to arms, then.’ As he said it he felt the bodyguards relax once more. Making as though to hand over the pistol to M, Bond whipped around without warning. The grey-suited man caught the full force of the pistol butt under his chin, while his partner received Bond’s knee in the traditional street-fighter’s target and doubled up with a sharp cry of pain.
‘Sorry, sir,’ Bond shouldered past M, jarring him to one side, and vaulted over the veranda railings. It was a longer drop than he had reckoned, but he rolled and came up, pistol at the ready, making his way to the gate. As he reached it, a conch train passed by. The driver/conductor was saying, ‘And on our right we have the most famous house in Key West, if you don’t count the Aububon House and President Truman’s Little White
‘Well, Commander Bond, what have you got to say for yourself?’ M – the Chief of the Secret Service – asked. He looked furious, and his hands clenched and unclenched as though he was trying to keep his anger in check.
Bond opened his mouth to speak, but M spoke for him. ‘You were supposed to be in Istanbul two days ago. It was important to your Queen, your country and the Service. That’s why I’ve bothered to spend Lord knows how many hours on aircraft, to come to this tacky little showplace. Instead of dealing with matters in Turkey, I understand you took time off to attend a wedding, which ended up in carnage.’
‘It was Leiter, sir. I’ve worked with him before . . .’
‘And are not scheduled to work with him in Istanbul, Bond. I’ve been here for almost a day and heard some most unsavoury things. The local police suspect you of mayhem, if not murder. I know Leiter was a friend, but from where I stand it looks as though the whole business has clouded your judgement. You have a job to do and I want it doing. Now. Got it? I want you on a plane out of here tonight and whatever connections you can make to Istanbul as quickly as possible.’ All this was said with the stabbing of M’s forefinger, the body language for killing.
‘I’m afraid I haven’t quite finished here, sir.’ Bond was not going to be bullied. The Istanbul business, as he knew only too well, had been on and off the boil for months.
‘You are to leave it to the Americans, Bond. It’s their mess. You will let them clear it up.’ M took a pace back. His two bodyguards seemed to have relaxed and were not crowding Bond so closely.
‘With respect, sir, the Americans just won’t do anything. You know that Leiter put his life on the line for me many times . . .’
‘Enough sentiment,’ M snapped. ‘He knew the risks he was taking. Just as you always know the risks.’
‘And his wife?’
M made a pshawing sound. ‘Do you not realise the other dangers, man? You’re running a private vendetta, and that could compromise Her Majesty’s government. Now, you have an assignment. I expect you to carry out that assignment objectively and professionally as you have many times before.’
There was a long pause, filled only by a laugh from somewhere out in the street. Then Bond clenched his teeth. This was one of the most difficult decisions he had ever had to make. ‘Then you can have my resignation, sir.’
‘This isn’t some country club, Bond. Nor your London club.’
Bond took a deep breath and waited, staring out his old chief.
‘All right,’ M snapped at last. ‘All right. Your resignation. Effective immediately, your licence within the Service, and all that entails, is revoked. I need hardly remind you that you’re still bound by the Official Secrets Act . . .’
‘As is every British citizen, sir. That’s sometimes forgotten.’
M took no notice. ‘I require your personal weapon now.’ He held out his hand.
After a pause, Bond shrugged and removed his automatic from its holster. ‘I suppose it’s a farewell to arms, then.’ As he said it he felt the bodyguards relax once more. Making as though to hand over the pistol to M, Bond whipped around without warning. The grey-suited man caught the full force of the pistol butt under his chin, while his partner received Bond’s knee in the traditional street-fighter’s target and doubled up with a sharp cry of pain.
‘Sorry, sir,’ Bond shouldered past M, jarring him to one side, and vaulted over the veranda railings. It was a longer drop than he had reckoned, but he rolled and came up, pistol at the ready, making his way to the gate. As he reached it, a conch train passed by. The driver/conductor was saying, ‘And on our right we have the most famous house in Key West, if you don’t count the Aububon House and President Truman’s Little White
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