The man with the disfigured face, whom she took to be Janus, glanced at Ourumov and then his eyes switched to Natalya, looking her slowly up and down so that she felt he was mentally undressing her. It was a humiliating experience, and for the time this went on, she felt as though this strange man really had the power to see her body through her clothes. She would not look him in the eye, turning away her head in embarrassment.
Finally he spoke to Ourumov, “Either you’ve brought me this perfect gift for our long journey, General, or you’ve made me a very unhappy man.
Ourumov gave a shrug, as though nothing mattered either way.
“That idiot Mishkin got to them before I could.”
“What you’re really trying to tell me is that Bond is alive.” Another shrug. “He escaped.
The scaly and askew side of his face seemed to give a twitch.
“Good for Bond,’ he murmured. Then lifting his head, “But bad for you, General.” Xenia gave an unpleasant croaking laugh. “I told you that if I couldn’t get this man Bond, then you wouldn’t have any success either,’ taunting the general.
Trevelyan shook his head. “Bond has as many spare lives as a cat.
Now, bring her over here.” He motioned towards Natalya.
Ourumov put a hand on her shoulder and propelled her roughly towards Janus/Trevelyan, thrusting her down in the padded chair next to him.
“Just sit quietly, and be a good girl.” Trevelyan spoke softly, and she noticed that he had a very similar accent to that of Bond.
When he leaned forward, his face close to hers, she wanted to pull away. It was not the disfigurement as much as something about the man’s personality.
Not just unpleasant, but bordering on evil.
“You like my friend, James?” he asked.
She gave a noncommittal nod, just the slightest movement of her head.
“Well, my dear, James and I shared everything at one time.” When he smiled it was only with the right side of his mouth, and the left eye seemed to close, its reptilian eyelid sliding down very slowly.
The eye reminded her of a lizard or a chameleon.
As he came even closer she smelled a cologne and coffee, but something else. For a second she could not place it, then realised that it was the smell of burning flesh, and she did not know whether she was imagining this or not. Someone had once told her that when it rained in Berlin you could still smell the burning of that city: the hint of how it had smelled after countless bombings and the final bombardment that had taken place fifty years ago, during the war.
He must have sensed that she was trying to pull back from him.
“We shared absolutely everything, and you must understand that to the victor go the spoils.- You can make your life very pleasant. You can even live in luxury for some time. Eventually you will come to like me very much.” His lips brushed her neck, then he moved a hand, turning her face, lowering his lips to her mouth.
She allowed him to get close, then, like an unpredictable animal, she opened her mouth and snapped at his lip. She felt her teeth going in and saw, as he pulled back with a little cry of annoyance, that she had broken the skin.
Blood was running from the lip.
She did not see his hand come up to slap her hard, only feeling the sting of sudden pain as her head was pushed sideways. “You bastard,’ she spat at him.
“I like a spirited woman.” He gave his warped smile again. “A woman with your kind of liveliness is much more fun than some docile bitch who just lies there like a pillow.
I shall enjoy breaking you, Natalya Fyodorovna.
Her eyes opened wide with surprise. “How do you know my name?” The smile again, this time broader and, therefore, more sinister.
“You’d be surprised at what I know..
As he moved towards her again, there was a shrill, piercing alarm which seemed to surround them like some tangible envelope. She also saw red lights blinking on the roof of the carriage.
He pushed her roughly out of the way and spoke to Ourumov, telling him to stay and watch her. Then he was running fast towards the next carriage, Xenia, with the little Uzi at the ready, following him.
In the short time Bond had available, he had chosen the best possible point for his ambush on a mile length of straight railway track leading into a short tunnel.
The tank had nearly up-ended itself as he went down the embankment close to the place he wanted to use, but finally he manoeuvred the machine into position, lining up its tracks on the rails so that it faced in the direction from which Trevelyan’s armoured train would come.
He opened the hatch, climbed into the gunner’s seat and examined the shells in their racks. The T55 carried three types of shell for the 100mm gun: Smoke, High Explosive and Armour Piercing. Bond did not have to think twice. The gun was easy enough to load, and with the engine at idle, he could swing the turret and depress the barrel so that it was pointing directly at where the train would appear.
It was yet another calculated risk, for Trevelyan might easily play things safe and back up as soon as the tank was spotted: a move that could quickly take the train out of range. He was also gambling on Natalya being held somewhere in the rear of the carriages. He would only have one chance, one shell to take out the engine, and almost as soon as he had depressed the firing button it would be necessary for him to be up and away through the hatch.
Strangely, the only thing worrying him was the very small amount of ammunition in the machine pistol. He thought it would now be about six rounds, which were not enough to take out Trevelyan and his lieutenants.
Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. The Biblical quote came back to him together with familiar scents from the past, the smell of chalk and other boys; of damp grey flannel and the harsh penalties for flouting rules.
Pressing his eye to the forward sight, he saw that the train had already begun to move swiftly into view.
Trevelyan and Xenia had moved forward into the Communications Carriage, filled with state-of-the-art computers and communications electronics which would keep them in touch with the entire world if need be.
At the far end a monitor linked them with a camera set high at the front of the engine. When he saw the tank, stationary on the rails ahead as they closed fast, Trevelyan uncharacteristically sighed, then made a noise which mingled anger with a hint of admiration. “Only James Bond,’ he muttered.
“He’ll derail us. We must stop!” Xenia showed some panic in her usually calm and cool manner.
“No!” from Trevelyan.
“What do we do?” The question came from up front in the train’s cabin, and it was obvious that the driver and his engineer were already slowing slightly. The brakes had started to pump.
“Stop that.” Trevelyan had snatched at a small microphone attached to the wall. “Go for him. Full speed. Ram him.”
“But…” came the driver’s voice.
“Ram him, damn you. You have that damned great battering ram up front. Now’s the time to use it The words and confidence were easy, but the situation had certain very dangerous drawbacks. Trevelyan was experienced enough to know what was going on. He too was a gambler.
Whatever happened now, he thought, the train would be wrecked. Well, that was OK for he would have no difficulty finding an alternative method of transport. It was an irritation, a minor setback, but they would still get to their destination.
He looked up at the monitor and braced himself in his seat.
Opposite him, Xenia was also straining backwards in her seat, the Uzi held across her lap and her legs straight. Above them the monitor showed that they were rushing towards the tank at high speed. About six hundred yards to go and closing very fast
At around two hundred yards Trevelyan began to feel the first nip of fear in the back of his mind. Then there was a flash, followed by a great heaving as though the carriage were being shaken by an earthquake.