'A bit better than that.' Litsas had dumped De Graaf's body in a corner of the room. He now held a revolver, a sawn-off Smith & Wesson Centennial Airweight. 'We should get- ' He broke off abruptly.
They all heard distant footsteps crossing the stone-paved hall and beginning to mount the stairs.
'That's our second man,' said Bond.
As he stood for a moment irresolute, Ariadne sprang into action. She swung her fist and cracked Doni Madan hard under the jaw. Doni's head jerked back and hit the headboard of the bed. Within five seconds Ariadne was under her coverlet again. Litsas had put himself out of view beside a battered wardrobe and Bond had slipped behind the door.
Evgeny had no chance at all. He crossed the threshold, caught sight of De Graaf's body, exclaimed, began to move forward and took the knife under the fifth rib, his mouth muffled by Bond's left forearm.
'Great - but too quick and clean,' said Ariadne, looking down at the bodies. 'Anyway, I hope it hurt like hell for both of them - the bastards!'
Bond caught her hand again. 'Forget about them,' he said. 'Now listen. The house is clear for the moment. I'm going to get my chief along here. Where's the key of this room?'
'It'll be in the pocket of the tall one.'
'You and my chief are to lock yourselves in and stay till I come for you. No,' - as Ariadne started to protest - 'we've only one gun and one knife and we're two to one already. Niko will explain. Gag that girl and tie her up.'
'It'll be a pleasure.'
When Bond returned with M, Doni Madan, still senseless from Ariadne's blow, had been dealt with and a sheet thrown over the two bodies. M was clearly dazed with strain and a sleepless night. He had obeyed Bond's summons and followed him along the passages in total silence. He sat slumped on the edge of the bed, a nerve jumping in his neck. Bond looked anxiously at him.
Ariadne caught the look. 'He'll be all right, I promise you.' She put her arms round Bond and kissed him. 'Now go finish them.'
'What now?' asked Litsas as they moved off.
'Trench mortar operated by von Richter. His boy-friend on the hill spotting for him.'
'Clever, eh? But easy to miss.'
'They've trained a lot. Look, there.'
A window on the landing gave a view of the firing-point. By now there was enough light to make out the stubby shape of the trench mortar, two and a half feet of canted-over stovepipe clamped to the rectangular base-plate. There was a movement in the shadows that must have been von Richter. The possible plans were few. Bond picked the quickest one. 'Take the gun, Niko, go out by the terrace at the back of the house and work your way round above him. You'll be able to get a shot at him from there. I'll come at him from the sea end. If I can't get close enough to rush him I can certainly distract his attention from you.'
'Be careful. I'll have to be close with this bloody sawn-off barrel, or I might hit you. Has he got a gun?'
'Don't know.'
'Give me five minutes.'
'No more - the timing's tight.'
In the hall they shook hands in silence and parted. Bond walked quickly through the sitting-room where he had first regained consciousness, out on to the terrace and along to the west corner of the house. From here he took a careful look.
Von Richter was in the act of opening a box of ammunition on the firing-point. This, on its raised natural platform, was about twenty yards away, across mainly broken ground but not so much so as to give any cover for a direct approach. The only possibility was to move parallel with the sea into the shelter of the edge of the cliff, which would mean crossing the open in full view of anyone facing that way. At the moment, von Richter's position was such that the tail of his eye might just pick up this manoeuvre. But soon, surely, he must turn his back to look out for Willi at the hillcrest. The man seemed in no hurry. A minute went by while he laid out a row of bombs on the ground, took the canvas cover off the mouth of the mortar, straightened up and lit a cigarette. At last he swung round and began studying the skyline. Bond moved.
Before he had covered more than a third of the distance to the corner of the cliff his foot struck a loose chip of stone and immediately the German wheeled and saw him. Bond changed direction and made straight for the firing-point. With his feet stumbling and slipping on the smooth hummocks of rock, he expected a bullet at any moment. What he had not expected were the immense shuddering explosions from the mortar, driving into his ears: one - two - three.... Then von Richter turned and waited for him, arms extended, with all the advantages of a higher and more secure foothold. But Bond caught him out of position by going for the mortar, not the man. He flung himself forward and brought barrel and base-plate and all toppling over sideways, ruining any immediate prospect of further aimed shots. The pain lunged at him. He was halfway to his feet when his head seemed to dissolve and everything stopped.
Litsas was there. His voice came through an invisible wall. 'James. Come on. We've work to do.'
'How long...?'
'A minute. He kicked you and was looking round for a rock to drop on your head, so I fired at him. The range was too much, but I must have been close. He forgot you and ran into the house. Can you manage?'
On his feet again, Bond steadied himself. 'Yes. Let's go and get him. Together this time.'
'But with me first. Don't forget he's mine, James.'
They went in by the side door. The rooms opening off the passage there were empty. They made for the stairs, then stopped dead as a motor started up in the anchorage.
Litsas was in front when they burst on to the terrace and ran to the edge of the tiny quay. The dinghy with the outboard was swinging away, but the inexpert hand on the tiller brought the stern and its crouching occupant almost under their feet, and Litsas had no trouble in dropping lightly into the boat. He spoke without looking up. The Smith & Wesson was levelled at von Richter's chest.
'The major and I will have a little sail, James. We're in not much hurry now. There's the major's boy-friend to deal with, but he's got some way to travel. I'll be back to help you dispose of him.'
Von Richter cut back the throttle and turned his head. In the grey light, the patch of damaged skin looked ghastly, the product of some loathsome disease. 'This man means to kill me, it appears,' he drawled. 'I'm quite helpless, as you can see. You're an Englishman, Mr Bond. Do you approve?'
'You're beyond any law, von Richter,' said Bond slowly. 'After what you did at Kapoudzona.'
'Clearly, argument is useless. Emotion has taken over.' The man gave a faint shrug. 'Very well. Let us go for our sail.'
The boat began to move away. Abstractedly, Bond watched it receding for a couple of minutes, then sauntered back into the house. He had reached the hall before he noticed the blood-spots.
There was a group of them at the corner of the passage, as if somebody had rested there for a moment, and another near the side door. Bond turned in his tracks and rushed to the kitchen.
The trap-door had been flung aside. Below, Luisa lay on her back with her eyes open, a metal meat-skewer through her heart. Dr Lohmann was sitting on the floor against the wall, his knees drawn up. Beside him was his black case and a shattered hypodermic. There was no colour at all in his face. He opened his eyes and spoke in a slurred voice.
'He forgot,' he said. 'He forgot that morphia can do quite a lot for a man with holes in his guts. It never occurred to him.'