He even did a quick search of the other drawers in Helmut's desk to see if there was an extra tape for the answer-phone. Eventually he found a small packet of these tucked away beside the instrument itself and cursed that he had not looked more carefully to start with.
Now all he had to do was get back to the hotel, pay his account, and head for Munich. If he managed to get that far, it was possible that, by then, Tarn's men could be watching out for him, which would pose a new and difficult threat.
There was still no sign of life outside the offices of Saal, Saal u. Rollen, and as he quietly made his way down the stairs, Bond at last began to think that maybe he would get away with it.
He reached the bottom of the stairs when the lights came on.
"So, Mr. Boldman, or should I call you Mr. Bond? Would you like to talk with me for a while?" She looked as tempting as ever, in a military-style raincoat. The only thing he did not like about her now was the lethal little automatic she held in her right hand, very close to her delicious body.
"Heidi? Hi," he said, allowing a smile to creep over his face. "So you got my note. I didn't really expect you to come." He showed no sign of having seen the pistol as he walked forward, his arms outstretched as though to embrace her.
"Your note? I… What're you talking about, Mr…?" His greeting had thrown Heidi just enough for her to pause before doing anything – like pulling the trigger.
Bond kept on going, straight toward her. "Heidi, I'm so pleased. Now where would you like to have dinner?" By this time he was only two steps away and could clearly see the puzzled expression.
He moved in close, and her right hand brushed his left side so that he could trap the wrist and gun with his left arm, cutting in like a vise. She opened her mouth just before he brought up his right elbow and struck her violently on the side of the jaw.
"I do hate striking women, Heidi, but you should have stayed a good little girl." The pistol dropped to the floor as he applied more pressure with his left arm, while the next blow was a hard chop to the base of the neck with the heel of his right hand.
She went down completely, sprawled at his feet. Quickly he felt the pulse in her neck to make sure she was still alive, which she was, though she would probably remain unconscious for a good ten minutes, maybe even more.
Scooping up her pistol, he headed straight to the rear of the building, letting himself out and quietly closing the door behind him. At a steady jog trot he made for the parking lot, now more conscious of the dog bite in his right forearm. Trying to banish any thought of the pain from his mind, he made the car in three minutes flat, realizing that he did not have the time for such niceties as collecting his luggage or paying the bill at the Paulanerstuben.
He had just started the engine and was pulling out of the space beside the main exit when a black BMW roared in front of him and a similar-colored Mercedes-Benz blocked off the exit.
Two men leaped from the Merc, and a third hit the ground running as the BMW came to a jolting stop. All three men were armed, and he saw that one of them was the huge Kurt Rollen he had seen that morning.
He let out the brake and pushed hard on the accelerator, pointing the VW straight at the lone man who had jumped from the BMW. He muttered to himself – "I don't know your name, but I call you the lone idiot" – for the approaching figure obviously considered himself invincible. Bond slewed the car to the right, braking hard and letting the offside door swat the foolhardy man. There was a sickening thud, and he just caught a glimpse of the mouth open in a scream and eyes wide with sudden terror. He was also almost sure that his target had been thrown several yards, but he would soon find out. He put on more speed and then performed a perfect wheel-and-brake turn that brought him back facing the two men who had come from the Merc. He saw the BMW idiot lying very still a long way off to his right as the first bullets ripped into the Corrado, punching a hole in the shatterproof windshield on the passenger side, ripping into the seat next to him.
The only way to fight armed men when you are trapped in a car is to use the vehicle itself, and he slammed the accelerator hard against the floor so that the car leaped toward Rollen, who had fired the two shots.
The giant had seen what had happened the BMW imbecile, and he obviously did not want to share the same fate. He paused, fired again, the bullet passing over the Corrado as Bond tried to spin the VW and catch Rollen off balance.
The car began the spin, then hit what must have been a patch of oil in the middle of the parking lot. For what seemed to be minutes, he wrestled with the wheel as the VW went completely out of control, snaking its way toward the little wooden fence that separated the parking lot from the road. At one point he saw Rollen's companion suddenly appear on his left side, hands lifted trying to get a shot in, but the Corrado must have brushed him as it went rocketing past, for he heard another bump and then a yell over the sound of the engine.
The long uncontrolled skid ended with the VW crashing straight through the wooden barrier and out onto the road. He whipped the wheel to the right, straightened up as he saw the Merc attempting to back up and cut him off. But he had control of the car again and went barreling past the rear of the Mercedes, screeching around the corner and away.
No, he thought. No, not away. It would be a gamble but he would take it. The alley with its danger signs was coming up fast on his right, so he braked and swung into the narrow road, then put on speed again. He had not fastened his seat belt when the attack had begun, so he was able to hang on to the wheel with one hand, his arm rigid, holding the wheel at twelve o'clock to steer with accuracy, while his left hand began to unlatch the door.
In front of him he saw that the white posts that ran along the top of the cliff face had red reflectors on them. It was simply a question of judgment. He hit a rock and the car lost contact with the ground for a second, landing a little to the left as he regained control.
It was only when he was roughly twenty yards from the line of posts that he gave the car its last burst of speed, then threw open the door and rolled to his left.
He hit the ground hard, winded for a second before he could move toward the nearest piece of cover, a small clump of rocks. Just as he rolled, the Corrado hit the warning poles. He saw it leap forward as though it were trying to grab at air and fly, then the nose dipped and it fell. From his cover he heard the first crunch as the metal hit the rock face, then the sudden boom and whoosh as it hit again, rupturing the gas tank, sending a sheet of flame up to the top of the drop.
The Mercedes and BMW both crept from the alleyway, their drivers obviously well briefed in the danger of driving too fast into this dangerous place. Four men, plus the massive Rollen, were out of the cars as the final crunching and clatter came from two hundred feet below. As Bond sneaked a peep over the rocks he saw that one of the men was Maurice Goodwin.
"My God," one of them said. "He's gone over the edge. Careful, Kurt…" as Rollen walked toward the sheer drop and looked down.
"He's burning," Kurt said in a slow, unbelieving voice. "We've failed. Oh my God, we've failed."
"Kurt," Maurice Goodwin said. "We haven't failed. He's dead. Nobody could have survived in that wreck."
"Then we've not failed." Slow. "We've won, eh, Mo. We've won."
"Please, Kurt, don't call me Mo. My name's Maurice."