Again the deck jerked under them and Bond staggered to one side as the aircraft dipped and the door to the hatchway slid open. For a second, Bond thought it was the movement of the aircraft. Then, still pushed forward by the angle of descent, he saw Lavender, the dirk from the dead guard's stocking firmly in her hand, raised to strike.
Caber tried to turn and bring the revolver to bear, but the instability of the deck combined with the unexpected assault gave him no chance. Almost with a sense of dread, Bond saw the dirk flash down Lavender's left hand joining her right over the hilt as she plunged it with all her strength into Caber's throat. Even with the noise of rushing air, the buffeting and roar of engines, Caber's gurgling rasp of terror echoed around the vast hold. The revolver fell to the deck as he scrabbled at his throat, from which the blood pumped out and down his jersey. Then Caber spun around, still clamping hands to his neck, fell, and began to roll like a piece of freight broken loose in a ship's hold.
Bond reached the door, making a grab for the man as the aircraft once more changed its attitude, the nose coming up and the engines changing pitch in a surge of power as it started to gain altitude. Bond grasped Caber, but he could not hold the heavy man, who slipped away, rolling towards the point where the deck dipped into the long-angled ramp. Lavender turned her head away, hanging on to Bond, as Caber tumbled like a stuffed effigy, trailing blood, towards the ramp, hesitating fractionally as he began to fall. He must be almost dead already, Bond thought; but the horrible gargle of blood from the dirk-slit throat turned into a bubbling scream of terror as Caber slid down the ramp a chilling and hideous sustained note.
As he reached the far end of the ramp, the big man's body seemed to correct itself, the gore-streaked face looking up towards Bond, arms outstretched, fingers clawing at the metal. For a second their eyes locked, and even though Caber's already held the glaze of death, they also contained a deep, dark hatred reaching out from what would soon be his grave. Then Murik's giant lieutenant slid over the edge, out of sight, into the air beneath the Starlifter.
'I killed him.' Lavender was near to a state of shock.
'An obvious statement, Dilly darling,' Bond still had to shout through the noise. 'What matters to me is that you saved my life.' He reached up to the big knife-switch, grasping the wooden handle and pulling it up, into the 'off' position.
The hydraulic whine began again, and the ramp started to move. Then, as Bond turned, he saw Lavender looking towards the closing gap, her eyes widening and lips parted. In the space still visible, a pair of Dassault Super Mirages could be seen hurtling in towards the Starlifter. As they watched, Bond and Lavender saw the bright flashes at the nose of each aircraft. The Mirage jets had passed, in a clap of air, with the crack and thunder of engines, before the Starlifter felt any effect from the short bursts of fire.
There followed a series of massive thuds, small explosions and the rip of metal. The deck under their feet began a long wave-like dance and the Starlifter appeared to be poised, hanging in the air. Then the engines roared again, and the deck steadied.
Bond's nose twitched at the acrid smell of smoke.
Pushing Lavender to one side, he slid open the hatchway to be met by a billow of smoke. Two or three of the small-calibre shells from the Mirages had passed through the roof, slamming into the main console, from which the flames flicked upwards, while smoke belched out in a deadly choking cloud.
Bond yelled at Lavender to keep out of the way. Already, during the tension in the rear hold, his subconscious had taken in the fact of two large fire extinguishers clipped into racks on either side of the sliding hatchway. He grabbed one of the heavy red cylinders, smashed the activating plunger against the nearest metal spar, slid back the door and pointed the jet of foam into the control room.
Coughing and spluttering from the fumes, Bond returned for the second cylinder. It took both the extinguishers at full pressure before the fire was out, leaving only eye-watering, throat-cloying fumes and smoke to eddy around the cabin.
Keeping Lavender close on the hold side of the door, Bond waited for the smoke to clear. He was now conscious of the Starlifter settling into a more natural flying pattern. Then came the heavy grind and thump as its landing gear locked into place. The one short burst of fire from the French fighters had done the trick, he thought. The international symbol for an aircraft's surrender was the lowering of its landing gear.
Inside the control cabin, the air was less foul, leaving only a sting in the nostrils. Lavender went straight towards one of the oval windows and, sliding up the blind, reported that they seemed to be losing height. 'There're a pair of fighter aircraft on this side,' she called.
Bond made for the other window. Below, the coastline was coming up, and they were in a long wide turn. On his side as well two Mirages kept station. He peered down, looking for landmarks until he saw the familiar shape of the Canigou. The fighters remained in place, lowering their undercarriages and flaps. They were making an escorted final approach to Perpignan.
Bond looked around. The bodies of the two technicians had been thrown across the cabin, but of Anton Murik there was no sign. Lavender said that, perhaps, when he came round, the Laird of Murcaldy had gone forward to give instructions to his crew. But when they landed at Perpignan and the police, together with M's envoys, came aboard, Murik had disappeared.
In the briefing that followed, one of the Mirage pilots reported seeing a man fall from the rear ramp: undoubtedly Caber. Another thought that a crew member may have baled out, but in the general melee he could not be certain.
The jets had come in fast and to start with the Starlifter had only taken evasive action, refusing to comply with their orders. It was only as a last resort that two of the fighters had fired one short burst each. It was after this show of strength that the Starlifter had surrendered. It was also after the firing that the jet pilot thought there might have been a parachute descent into the sea, but, he maintained, it was difficult to be sure. A lot of smoke was coming from the rear of the transport for a while, and there was light, scattered cloud.
'If he did jump,' one of M's officers said, 'there wouldn't be much chance of survival in the sea.'
In the aircraft back to London, Lavender voiced the view that she would never be convinced of her guardian's death until she had actually seen his body.
It was, then, with a certain number of unanswered questions, that Bond reported to M that evening at the Regent's Park headquarters.
22
Warlock's castle
'You ran it a bit too close for comfort, 007.' M sat at his desk, facing Bond.
'For whose comfort, sir?' James Bond was weary after the long debriefing, which had begun almost as soon as he had arrived back in London during the late afternoon. Since then Bond had gone over the story from the very beginning a number of times, and suffered the constant interruptions and cross-questioning that were par for the course. The lengthy conversation had been taken down on tape, and Bill Tanner joined Bond and M, while one of the senior female officers looked after Lavender and, no doubt, grilled her as well, thought Bond.
'Even then you let him get away.' M sounded irritated.
'Too close for whose comfort, sir?' Bond repeated.
M waved the question to one side. 'Everybody's. What concerns me now is the whereabouts of Anton Murik, so-called Laird of Murcaldy.'
The white 'phone bleeped on M's desk. Following a brief exchange, M turned to his Chief-of-Staff. 'There's a signal in from Perpignan. Bring it up, will you?'