The pick-up’s lights showed its progress, wild and careering, as it hurtled down the slope. Then they heard the first crunch as the truck hit the trees. Its lights seemed to dance their beams into the air, then down, in a rolling, Catherine-wheel effect – their movement accompanied by an attendant clattering and grating as the vehicle began to fall apart.
It took about twenty seconds. Then the whoosh, followed by a crump as the truck finally piled up, its tank catching fire in the impact.
‘The trees look like they’re alive,’ murmured Cedar.
‘Ancient peoples held them to be very much alive and sacred,’ Bond said. He also felt there was something old and terrifying about the strange shadows and odd movement created by the fire. ‘Modern people too – some of them. Trees are living things. I know what you mean.’
‘We’d better go.’ Cedar slipped her arm free and turned abruptly on her heel, as though not able to watch the wreck any longer. ‘The whole place’ll see that fire. We’ll have visitors before you know it.’
Bond caught up with her, striding towards the clearing and the cabins.
‘We’ve got a lot to think about,’ she said, as they reached the door of Sand Creek.
‘A great deal, Cedar. Makes me wonder if we shouldn’t turn and run for it now, give the authorities what we have and see if they’ll come in force.’
As he said it, Bond knew this was not the way.
‘It wouldn’t worry me if we got out here and now.’ Cedar gave him a kiss on the cheek, then tried to move in closer, but Bond gently held her off. She gave a long sigh. ‘I know. I know, James. Just like I know you won’t really leave this place until we have concrete evidence, with all the ends tied up.’
Bond said that was really the way of it. ‘Okay.’ Cedar shrugged. ‘As long as you have the Dragon Lady tied into it as well. That would make me really happy. Goodnight, James. Sleep well.’
Bond started to walk past the Saab, back towards Fetterman. His hand was on the door knob when Cedar began screaming from the other cabin.
14
REPELLENT INSECTS
The VP70 automatic was in Bond’s hand as he reached the door of Cedar’s cabin, seconds after the first scream.
His right leg came up in a vicious kick, smashing the handle and almost ripping the door back from its hinges. Bond jumped into the doorway, then to one side, the VP70 in the double-hand grip and the word ‘Freeze’ already on his lips.
But there was only Cedar, standing in the bedroom doorway, shrinking back in revulsion, her body shaking with fear.
Bond crossed the living room. He grasped her shoulder, ready to fire at anything – animal, reptile, or man – inside the bedroom.
Then, he also took an involuntary step back. The room was alive with them – large, dark, creeping, and malevolent ants. They covered the floor, walls, ceiling. The bed itself had turned black, a constantly moving sea of the creatures.
There were hundreds of them, the smallest a good inch in length, squirming together, fighting to get to the bed where the dummy was now a dark seething lump.
Bond slammed the door, behind them, then looked to see how much space remained between it and the floor.
‘Harvesters, I think, Cedar. Harvester ants. Out of their environment and looking for food.’
If they were Harvesters, Bond thought, they had not come in by accident. Harvesters live in arid areas and store seeds for food. They could never have drifted in from the desert – at least not in such large numbers.
The other fact he hesitated to mention was that one sting from a Harvester ant could be painful, it could even in the right circumstances be lethal. But hundreds – maybe a few thousand – of the large insects, out of their natural environment, excited, possibly searching for food, was another matter. Several stings from enraged Harvester ants would be deadly.
‘There’s only one way to deal with them.’ Bond bundled Cedar out of the cabin, swiftly looking behind him to make certain none of the ants had advanced into the living room. He closed the door behind him.
Bond hurried the girl across to his own cabin, one arm around her. Once inside he told her to stay in the main room – ‘And keep down. Right?’ – while he dashed to the bedroom for the briefcase.
Flicking the tumbler locks, Bond opened up the case, then slid and lifted the false bottom to reach what he needed: a small detonator and a couple of inches of fast-burning fuse. Quickly he inserted the fuse into the little metal core of the detonator, and, breaking all the rules, crimped the detonator to the fuse with his teeth. His old instructors would have winced. ‘You can lose your teeth and kissing equipment that way, Mr Bond,’ they used to tell him.
Reaching deeper into the briefcase, Bond retrieved one of the bags which contained plastic explosive. He tore off a small section and rolled the plasticine-like material until he had something roughly the size and shape of a golf ball.
Keeping fuse and detonator well away from the plastic, Bond ran out of the room again. With a further caution to Cedar to stay where she was, he raced full-tilt out of the cabin towards the Saab. Working with speed, he unlocked the alarm sensors, then the boot, which he searched rapidly.
He found the spare container immediately. For years now, Bond had rarely travelled without at least a couple of spare gallons of petrol in a plastic container, held in place in the large boot by restraining webbing.
At the door of Sand Creek, Bond unscrewed the container’s cap, and moulded the plastic ball around the lip. Still keeping detonator and fuse well clear, he paused at the bedroom before pushing the detonator hard into the plastic. The only problem now was to light the fuse without igniting the petrol fumes.
Gently, Bond opened the bedroom door, his flesh creeping at the sight of an entire room moving, in obscene waves, with the fat crawling insects. Placing the container just inside the door, he took out his Dunhill lighter. He held it low, well clear of the vaporising petrol, and thumbed the wheel. The flame appeared. Quickly Bond applied it to the fuse, which spluttered immediately.
Closing the door softly to prevent the home-made bomb from being knocked over, Bond walked slowly out of the cabin. Walk, never run, they taught you: running increased the possibility of falling near a planted charge.
He had just reached the door of Fetterman when the crude device blew with a hollow roar. The explosive shot the petrol up in a fireball, straight through the cabin roof, a hand of brilliant flame clawing at the air, then fanning out inside so that the interior of Sand Creek became an inferno within seconds.
The door of Fetterman was wrenched open. For a moment, Bond thought it was blast effect, as the knob was pulled from his hand. But he saw Cedar standing there, rooted to the spot. Bond pushed her inside, sent her sprawling, and landed on top of her. Outside, flaming and smoking débris arched and showered across the clearing.
‘Just keep down, like I told you, Cedar.’ Bond realised he was pinning the girl down, lying almost astride her.
‘If you stay like this, James, I’d be glad to.’ Even in the aftermath of shock – first the ants, and then the sudden blast from the bomb – Cedar managed to laugh.
Quickly Bond rolled away. ‘Just keep down,’ he ordered, then headed for the door again.
Bits of burning débris littered the area. With admirable thought for priorities, Bond quickly checked that no heavy pieces of wood, or burning material, had slammed into the Saab. Next, he turned to the cabin called Fetterman, circling it, making absolutely certain that no secondary fire had started there.
It was only then that two vital facts came into sharp focus. The first Bond had already realised: such a large colony of Harvester ants could not possibly have got into the cabin by accident. But the second was even more revealing: the ants were, of course, meant to sting and kill, and the target was Bond himself. Had he not told Bismaquer that he was staying in Sand Creek, and precisely to protect Cedar, whom he had considered the more vulnerable?
Already he could hear the sound
of motors: vehicles were approaching below them. When help – if you could call it that – arrived, one of two things would happen: Bismaquer and his henchmen, finding both Bond and Cedar unharmed, would either try to dispense some fast, rough justice, or they would take advantage of the situation and split them up, moving either Bond or Cedar from the cabins to Tara. Whatever happened, it was unlikely they would be given the opportunity to be alone together during the next day or so. Some quick planning had to be done and now, before anyone came near.
Swiftly, Bond made his way to the cabin, where Cedar sat with a stiff drink in her hand. ‘My clothes,’ she said woefully, before Bond had a chance to speak. ‘Everything we bought. Up in smoke. James, I haven’t even got a pair of panties left.’
Bond could not resist the obvious: ‘Don’t worry, my dear, I’m sure Nena Bismaquer will fit you out.’
Cedar started to retort, but Bond silenced her with a quick word. If they were separated, he said, there would have to be some means of communication. Handing over the one spare key to the Saab, he told her where the car would be hidden if he suddenly went to ground. She would have to devise some means of getting away from wherever she was lodged.
‘If you’re right, and the delegates for this conference start arriving tonight, I shall try to get into the Conference Centre in the early hours of tomorrow morning.’ Bond hesitated, suddenly recalling the assignation he had made with Nena Bismaquer for what was now tonight. ‘Midnight,’ he said, ‘midnight tomorrow. If I’m not there, make it the following night. If the car’s gone, you’ll know I had to leave you in the lurch; but Cedar, that’ll be a last resort, and I’ll be back – probably with a horde of FBI, CIA and State Troopers. So just stay put.’
Bond was still making Cedar repeat details of the car’s hiding place, and their meeting arrangements when two pick-up trucks and a car hurtled into the clearing.
‘Hey . . . Hey there! James, Cedar . . . are you okay.’ Bismaquer’s voice boomed from outside, to an undercurrent of shouts and orders.
Bond went to the door. ‘We’re taking cover in here. This is no way to treat your guests, Bismaquer.’
‘What?’
Bismaquer appeared in all his bulk, a few feet from the door. Behind him, Bond caught sight of Nena’s face and thought he detected a look of relief when she saw he was safe.
‘What in hell happened here?’
Bismaquer waved towards the smouldering skeleton that had once been Sand Creek cabin. People milled around the ruins, and Bond noticed that Bismaquer’s men had come prepared, for one of the pick-ups was fitted with a large tank of pressurised foam. Already a group in Bismaquer’s livery had started to smother the embers.
‘There were . . .’ Cedar began.
‘There were a few bugs around,’ said Bond, casually leaning against the door jamb, ‘so I came out to the car, in which I always carry a small first aid kit. I wanted some insect repellent. Cedar heard me and thought I was an intruder.’ He laughed. ‘Funny really. I must explain – when we told you earlier that I was in Sand Creek and Cedar in Fetterman, we’d got them muddled. In fact, it was the other way round. But when we got back tonight, Cedar decided she preferred Fetterman after all. She didn’t like the picture in Sand Creek. We were tired and, apparently, both sleep in the raw, so we didn’t bother to move our things. Thought we’d change over properly in the morning. All Cedar’s stuff was in there.’ He nodded towards the ruins. ‘My stuff’s intact, but Cedar’s only got the clothes she’s standing . . .’
‘The prints?’ Bismaquer interrupted. ‘Are they okay? You didn’t have . . . ?’
‘The prints are fine, I promise you.’
‘Thank the good Lord for that.’
‘Markus,’ Bond snapped sharply. ‘You sound like an alcoholic in a shipwreck— “Is the brandy safe?” instead of “How many have we saved?” ’
‘Yes.’ Nena moved close to the group by the door. ‘You really are callous, Markus. James could’ve been killed.’
‘Very nearly was. What do you use for cooking in these cabins? Bottled gas?’
‘As a matter of fact . . .’ Bismaquer began.
‘Well, some idiot must have left a faulty cylinder. I lit a cigarette; left it on an ashtray in the bedroom. I only got as far as the car, then, whomp, up it went.’
‘Oh, James, I wouldn’t have had this happen . . . It’s terrible!’ Nena was looking at him in a way that brought back the smell of her hair and the shared kiss among the dense trees. Bond found it genuinely difficult to tear his eyes away. Then he realised that another car was coming up the slope.
Bond took a step towards Bismaquer. ‘While we’re at it, Markus,’ he assumed an aggressive tone, ‘what about those damned bugs?’
‘The bugs?’ Bismaquer looked around him, as though about to be attacked by a plague of hornets.
‘Yes, the bugs. Big, black nasty creatures – like huge ants.’
‘Oh my God.’ Bismaquer took a pace back. ‘Not Harvesters?’
‘I think so.’ Bond started to pour on the anger. ‘Do you get a lot of those around here, Markus? If so, why didn’t you warn us? Can’t Harvesters . . . ?’
‘They can kill you, yes.’ For a second, as he said it, Bismaquer seemed to have shed any fear.
‘Well? Do you often get them?’
Bismaquer did not meet Bond’s eyes. ‘Sometimes. Not many though.’
‘There were hundreds. We could’ve both been stung to death. I think you’re taking it a shade casually, Markus.’
Whatever Bismaquer might have replied was cut off by the brisk arrival of the other car. Luxor was at the wheel, with two security men in attendance. They had hardly stopped – in a braking cloud of dust – when Luxor shouted for Bismaquer.
Bismaquer went over a shade too fast for Bond’s peace of mind. Was Luxor in command, he wondered? The two were in close conversation, the gash in Luxor’s skull head moving in rapid monologue.
‘Will you be okay here, tonight, James?’ Nena had come into the cabin.
‘We can both stay here,’ Cedar chimed in. ‘We’ll toss for the sofa.’
‘I wouldn’t hear of it, my dear.’ Nena smiled sweetly. ‘You’ll have the guest room at Tara. And we’ll do something about clothes for you first thing. If I get your sizes, one of my more intelligent girls can make a trip into town. I’d lend you some of mine, but I fear they’d be too long, and maybe a little tight for you.’
‘You’re so kind,’ mouthed Cedar so that they could hardly hear her.
Nena turned, as Bismaquer approached them. ‘Cedar’s coming back to the house for the night, Markus.’
‘Good.’ He spoke almost as an aside. ‘James, something else has happened. Unpleasant as hell. The guy who brought you up here, the one you followed – the one in the pick-up . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘What happened when he left you?’
Bond shrugged, frowning. ‘What do you mean? He waved us goodnight and off he went.’
‘Did you hear anything after?’
Bond thought for a minute. ‘No. We went into my cabin, put on some music, and had a drink. That was when we decided to change cabins. Cedar said she liked this one better than Sand Creek. I think it was the picture that did it. I know what she means – a lot of white men riding around killing off boys, women, and children. But why the questions, Markus?’
Bismaquer scowled. ‘Your guide was a hell of a good man . . .’
‘Fisher?’ asked Nena, with a trace of anxiety.
Bismaquer nodded. ‘Yep. One of the best we had.’
‘What happened?’ Nena Bismaquer was now definitely alarmed and could not hide it.
Markus took a deep breath. ‘It seems he blew it tonight. Trouble with Fisher was that he – well, he liked the juice from time to time.’
‘Partial to a few glasses when the mood took him. I know the syndrome.’ Bond sounded unconcerned.
‘I may as well tell you. Fisher’s job was to – how do I put it?
– well, to look after you. His instructions were to stay in the trees, make sure there were no problems; like animals. There are a few around.’
‘Like Harvester ants?’ Bond asked.
‘Animals,’ Bismaquer repeated.
‘And he went for a drink instead?’ Cedar prompted.
Bismaquer shook his head. ‘Not the first drink, anyway. He’d probably already had a few. Maybe he was going for more.’
‘Was?’ from Nena.
‘The pick-up went off the road. It’s burned out in the trees at the bottom of the hill. We were in such a hurry getting up here, we didn’t spot it. Walter did.’
‘And Fisher?’ Nena’s mouth was half open.
‘Sorry, honey. I know you liked him around the place. Fisher got burned.’
‘Oh my God. You mean . . . ?’
‘As a doornail. Most unpleasant.’ Bismaquer looked from Bond to Cedar, and back again. ‘You sure you heard nothing?’
‘Not a thing.’
‘Nothing at all.’
‘Poor Fisher.’ Nena turned away, her face creased. ‘His wife . . .’
‘It would be best if you broke it to her, my dear,’ Bismaquer said peremptorily, turning away.
‘Of course, Markus. First, we’ll settle Cedar at Tara.’ Nena moved towards her husband. ‘Then,’ a small sigh, ‘then I’ll go and break the news to Lottie Fisher.’
‘Good. Yes.’ Bismaquer’s mind was clearly elsewhere. ‘You’ll be okay, then, James?’
Bond said he would be fine, then, smiling asked if the Grand Prix was still on. ‘I mean after all this?’
In the light from the cabin and the headlights, he might have imagined a cloud crossing Markus Bismaquer’s face, before the bear of a man spoke. ‘Oh yes, James. This has been unfortunate, sure, but the Grand Prix’s definitely on. Ten in the morning. Walter’s looking forward to it I am sure.’
‘I’ll see you there, then. At the track. ‘Night, Cedar. Sleep well, and don’t worry about any of this.’
‘Oh, this is the last thing I’ll worry about.’ Cedar flashed him a false smile. ‘Good night, James.’