You set a timer for one minute..
“And friend Ourumov shot you before time was up.
What did he offer you, Alec, a seat on the right hand of God? Am I supposed to feel sorry for doing what was necessary?”
“No, James.
No, you’re supposed to die for me.” They stood looking at each other, as though still in the grip of a battle of wills. Then Bond caught a movement to his right, and realised that it was a pencil-thin dot of red light, crawling from his shoulder to his face, then down to his chest A laser sight. Someone, hidden among the grotesque pile of debris, had him literally in his sights.
Trevelyan turned away again, stopped after three paces and spoke over his shoulder. “I did think of asking you to join in our little scheme, James. But somehow I knew your loyalty would always be to government orders and not to friends.” He disappeared into the darkness, and Bond moved, falling flat, firing into the darkness, rolling to the right, then jumping up, running again, searching for cover, but the pinpoint of light stayed on him. From somewhere unseen, a sniper squeezed his trigger.
There was a hiss, like lightning cracking through the air, streaking towards him. He felt a huge blow on his chest, knew somehow that he had been hit by a long range and very powerful stun gun. Once more that day his world went suddenly black and his mind was switched off as though someone had thrown a lever cutting off all thoughts and senses. The last thing he registered was the smell of burning.
He was being banged hard, and regularly, in the back.
Someone was calling to him. A woman, her speech accented. He could not move or open his eyes, and his chest felt as though a mule had kicked him.
He tried to retreat into sleep, after all being asleep was being safe, and he had no desire to face anything unsafe.
“Wake up… Wake up, Mister… Sir, wake up.
Please wake up.” Definitely a Russian accent, and she seemed to be pounding on his back. Finally he struggled to the surface and found himself returning to a very alien world.
He sat in a cockpit. Rows of instruments and switches were in front of him and a canopy around him, but he was bound into the seat tightly. Rope crossed and recrossed his chest and arms. More rope cut into his wrists and his ankles, while even more was bound around his legs. It did not require genius to realise that he sat, absolutely secured, in the forward cockpit of the Tigre helicopter.
The voice, accompanied by banging, came from the rear, electronics/navigation officer’s position. “Wake up Wake up…” it droned on like a mantra.
He managed to turn his head just enough to catch sight of the dark hair and attractive face while her feet kept up their pounding on the back of the pilot’s seat.
“I’m here. I’m here, it’s OK.” His voice sounded slurred and he could feel the parched dryness of his throat. He tried to get his head around so that he could see more, but it was impossible so he concentrated on his restraints which did not seem to give an inch.
“Do something,’ the woman was pleading. “For heaven’s sake, do something.”
“I’m a shade tired. OK.” Pushing with all his strength, Bond managed to reach some of the switches with his face, clocking them on with nose, mouth and forehead. Some of the instruments illuminated and there was a whine as the engine began to spool up, the rotors chop-chopping above them.
A beeping noise attracted his attention and, with the ropes pressing into his flesh causing extreme pain, he leaned forward to peer at the instrument concerned.
It was a flashing display on the weapons’ control panel.
In red it flashed DELAY LAUNCH IN SECONDS TO 17 16 15.
Launch? He thought. Missiles? The chopper itself?
The numbers moved on relentlessly, and Bond wondered if this was his personal countdown to death - for him and the young woman behind him.
07 06…05…04.
The whole cabin began to shake violently and his ears popped as, with great streams of flame, a pair of missiles screeched off from under the stubby weapons bearing wings.
The two missiles moved so fast that by the time he had taken in what was happening, they were flickering flames a mile or so in the distance, running low over buildings, and the lights of St. Petersburg.
Then, in tandem, they lifted upwards, slicing into the sky, crossing each other’s trails.
Noises still came from the weapons’ control panel. A highpitched whine, followed by a growl and an urgent deet-deet-deet sound that he recognised and associated with a target acquisition warning.
Eyes down again and he saw another counter moving.
One set of figures remained set at 003.109.001. That would be the target position, and below it another series of numbers flowed, suddenly stopping at the same coordinates -003.109.001. A match, and he now knew where the target was located. He was sitting in it.
Far away, high in the sky to the left, the rockets had turned and were coming down, like perfectly aimed arrows, pointing directly towards them. He could feel the sweat trickle from his hairline as he frantically looked for the one way of escape. He yelled back at the girl. “I need a square red button. Probably lit up. Can you see it?’ “There.. To your right To your right..
His eyes flicked over and there it was with the words CAUTION EJECT above it, and out of reach.
With a final thrust, summoning all his strength and backing it up with a yell, he slammed his head towards the button and felt his right temple touch. Then the world changed again.
The rotors howled and were thrown away from the helicopter. There was a massive thump from beneath the long cockpit as it was launched into the air, a one-piece cabin capsule which shot to almost two hundred feet before parachutes were deployed.
At the apogee of its surge upwards, the capsule seemed to hover, not moving, in the air, and from below came the devastating explosion as the two missiles smashed into the frame of the helicopter, sending up a great fireball that, for a second, engulfed the capsule.
The girl was screaming behind him, and he knew that his own mouth was open, but could not tell if it was wide in a silent scream, or if he was also shrieking with fear.
The capsule drifted down and hit the earth with a heavy, bone-jarring thud. It was several seconds before Bond realised that the jolt of the ejector rockets, combined with the thud of landing, had loosened the ropes. He struggled, pushing and pulling until, finally, his arms were free, then his hands, so that he was able to reach down and release his legs.
He popped the canopy and began to climb out and along to the rear compartment where the girl sat in shock, bewildered and white knuckled as she clung to the arm rests of the seat. She was held down by straps with buckles at the back; her arms were secured to the seat, and there was a tight strap around her ankles.
He swung around, unlocking her section of the canopy, reaching out to her - swiftly undoing the straps. “Come on. Let me help you out.” He spoke gently, though he later realised that he was probably shouting as his ears were popping from the G forces to which they had been exposed during the ejection.