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London had about it the urgency of a bomb threat.
He slammed down the receiver, turned on one heel, and started to run back
toward the University Arms. He was less than twenty yards away when he saw Sir
Max Tarn's Rolls, accompanied by one of the Rovers, moving out from under the
hotel's porte-cochère, nosing its way into the traffic.
He slowed to a walk and sauntered into the foyer. "Sir Max leaving us?" he
casually asked of one of the porters standing by the door.
"Sudden call back to London. You never know with these wealthy folk. Always on
the go." The porter was looking at a five-pound note his tip from Tarn, no
doubt. He appeared to be considering it as paltry.
Bond did not use the lift, but went up the main staircase, two stairs at a
time. The door to their suite was slightly ajar, a room-service table outside.
"Did you . . . ?" he began as he entered the room, pulling the door wide open.
"Shut it, Bond." He was looking into the circular little mouth of an automatic
pistol, held left-handed by the young thug whose hand he had injured on their
arrival. What had Flicka called him? Mr. Archie?
Across the room Archie's partner, Cuthbert, had one arm around Flicka's neck;
the other held a small weapon Bond recognized as a little Beretta .22, not
exactly a stopping weapon.
"Don't do anything stupid, will you, old chap?" from Archie. "Sir Max so
wanted to be here for this. Sends his apologies and all that. Called away
unexpectedly. Him and Lady Trish. Very disappointed, as were Mr. Goodwin and
Connie. They all wanted to be in on this."
7 - Mr. Cuthbert and Mr. Archibald
Bond remained absolutely still, balancing on the balls of his feet, not moving
a muscle as he tried to calculate the risk involved in any immediate action.
The man who had spoken kicked the door closed, then moved in behind Bond. His
breath was warm and the quiet voice full of menace. The hard cold touch of the
automatic on the back of his neck banished all thoughts of any instant attempt
at turning the tables.
"Now, Mr. Bond, sir. We're going to take a little trip. A short journey by
car. Just the four of us. Very cozy and nothing to be concerned about." The
voice was low, though there was something curious about the pitch.
"Take me." Bond matched the volume of his voice to that of his captor. "Just
take me. Leave Fräulein von Grüsse out of it."
"Very chivalrous." The man holding Flicka moved slightly, pressing the muzzle
of his pistol harder into her neck. "Don't you think that's chivalrous, Mr.
Archibald? Something you rarely come across these days." The timbre of his
voice was almost identical to that of his partner.
"Exceptionally unselfish, Mr. Cuthbert. What a pity it's not in our power to
grant such a plea."
Flicka had been very accurate in her description of these two men. As the one
called Archibald moved around Bond, coming into his line of vision, he saw
that the pair looked like escapees from a cartoon. In spite of their
immaculate turnout, they presented a bizarre couple. Both had dark hair, cut
very short in a style once favored by the Beatles, and the hair coloring
seemed at odds with their pink, almost feminine, complexions. The pair were
obviously related, for each had unnaturally thick pale lips, while their
eyebrows were clownish inverted thick Vs which made them look as though
they were permanently asking questions.
"I really think it's time we got moving." Archibald moved again. "Let me tell
you what we're going to do."
"Excellent thought, Mr. Archibald. I was about to suggest the same thing."
"We're going out of this room," Archibald continued, "and down the service
stairs. It's five floors down and though it sounds a shade melodramatic if
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either of you makes a wrong move, both of you will die."
"Instantaneously, wouldn't you say, Mr. Archibald?"
"Couldn't have put it better myself, Mr. Cuthbert."
"And what happens then?" Bond tried to sound casual as he desperately thought
of some way of immediate escape that would pose no threat to Flicka.
"We head for the service exit, don't we, Mr. Archibald?"
"Right again, Mr. Cuthbert. The service exit, outside of which there should be
a car, complete with driver."
"Then we take this cozy little journey?"
"You're very quick, Mr. Bond. That's about it. Into the car and away. At this
time on a Sunday evening it's unlikely we'll be seen by anyone."
"Aren't the two of you going to miss choir practice?" Flicka asked with no
trace of fear.
"Very droll, Fräulein von Grüsse, but we'll have plenty of time for that
later. Actually, we do have rather fine voices. Maybe we'll get a chance to
sing at your funerals."
"Well, that's very nice for the pair of you." Bond shifted a little to his
right. "But what if we don't really want to make the journey?"
"Mr. Bond, you have no option." Archibald hefted the pistol uncomfortably in
his left hand, and Bond could see the bandages showing under the cuff of his
right sleeve. It was clear that he was not happy using a weapon held in his
left hand.
"Oh, no, Mr. Bond. Please don't even think about it." Archie moved back a
couple of paces as he saw Bond's eyes take in the damaged right wrist. "You
actually broke a bone, did you know that?"
"Only one?"
"Very painful. But I'm quite good at pain. I can take it and inflict it, as
you'll probably see. Now, could you move over to your lady friend." He made a
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| Cytat |
Dobre pomysły nie mają przeszłości, mają tylko przyszłość. Robert Mallet
De minimis - o najmniejszych rzeczach.
Dobroć jest ważniejsza niż mądrość, a uznanie tej prawdy to pierwszy krok do mądrości. Theodore Isaac Rubin
Dobro to tylko to, co szlachetne, zło to tylko to, co haniebne.
Dla człowieka nie tylko świat otaczający jest zagadką; jest on nią sam dla siebie. I z obu tajemnic bardziej dręczącą wydaje się ta druga. Antoni Kępiński (1918-1972)
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