johngardner.rollofhonor-第15部分

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ese　slugs；　fired　from　the　ASP；　is　over　1700　feet　per　second。
　They　will　penetrate　body　armour　before　blowing；　and　a　hit　from　a　Glaser　on　any　vital　area　of　the　body　is　usually　fatal。
　Bond　fired　two　rounds　from　the　lowered　window　almost　before　the　car　had　e　to　a　halt。　　He　kept　both　eyes　open；　looking　down　the　revolutionary　backmounted　Guttersnipe　sight；　its　triangular　yellow　walls　giving　instant　target　recognition。
　Through　the　trees　and　bracken　he　could　see　several　men　leaving　the　cars。　Others　were　trying　to　get　the　vehicles　off　the　road。　　Bond's　rapid　shots　were　aimed　at　the　clear　outline　of　a　tall　man　in　a　dirty…white　raincoat　who　was　making　for　the　Bentley。　　He　did　not　stop　to　find　out　what　happened　to　the　target；　but　opened　the　door　and　rolled　into　the　undergrowth。
　Twigs　and　branches　caught　on　his　clothing　and　scratched　his　face；　but　Bond　kept　moving；　determined　to　get　as　far　away　as　possible　from　the　Mulsanne　Turbo。　　He　rolled　to　the　right；　putting　about　twenty　yards　between　himself　and　the　car。　　Twisting　round；　flat　on　his　belly；　he　brought　the　gun　up　and　ready；　his　eyes　constantly　moving　to　cover　a　wide　sweeping　sight…line。
　The　other　cars　had　been　backed　off　the　road　and　he　guessed　they　now　contained　only　their　drivers。　　Two　figures　were　visible；　but　almost　by　intuition　he　reckoned　there　had　to　be　at　least　four　others　fanning　out；　moving　low　and　trying　to　encircle　him。
　Bond　lay　quite　still；　allowing　his　breathing　to　settle。　　If　his　pursuers　were　methodical　…　and　they　probably　were　they　must　eventually　find　him。　It　was　even　possible　they　could　call　up　reinforcements。
　Certainly　there　had　to　be　more　men　available。　　How　could　they　have　been　certain　of　picking　him　up　on　the　road；　unless　the　Bentley　had　a　location　homer　stuck　on　to　it？　　Who　were　they？　　Some　of　Jay　Autem　Holy's　men？　There　had　to　be　a　connection；　yet　Holy　would　have　had　a　better　opportunity　to　deal　with　him　that　evening；　at　Endor。　　Unless　。。　　。　　unless　Cindy　had　set　him　up；　or　been　caught。　　If　the　latter；　a　watch　had　been　put　on　him　very　quickly。　　At　all　events；　Bond　decided　they　would　find　him　later　rather　than　sooner。　　What　he　needed　was　time　to　make　good　his　escape。
　It　had　begun　raining　quite　hard　and　you　could　hear　the　steady　pattering　from　the　branches。　　To　attempt　a　move　now　would　be　suicidal。
　He　was　at　least　a　hundred　and　fifty　yards　from　the　road；　and　even　if　he　reached　the　other　cars　without　being　intercepted　which　was　unlikely　he　would　still　be　outnumbered　three　to　one。　　He　must　wait；　try　to　follow　their　search；　and　make　sure　nobody　bounced　him　from　behind。
　He　moved　his　head　continually；　looking　from　far　left　to　far　right；　then　gently　turning　to　watch　the　rear；　all　the　time　straining　to　catch　any　sound。　　The　two　men　originally　visible　to　his　front　had　disappeared；　and　the　sounds　of　movement　would　now　be　successfully　blotted　out　by　the　rainfall。
　Bond　had　been　lying　in　cover　for　the　best　part　of　fifteen　minutes　before　he　got　a　positive　fix　on　any　of　his　assailants。　　The　sharp　crack　of　a　dead　branch　and　a　flicker　of　movement　on　the　far　left　caught　his　ear　and　eye　at　the　same　moment。　　Slowly　he　turned　his　head。　　There；　not　more　than　twenty　paces　away；　a　man　crouched　against　a　tree；　looking　to　the　right　of　where　Bond　lay。
　From　the　economical；　alert　manner；　the　way　he　kept　low；　using　the　bottom　of　the　tree　trunk　for　cover；　the　small　revolver　held　steady　in　the　right　hand　against　left　shoulder；　the　man　looked　like　a　professional；　a　well　trained　soldier。　　He　was　searching　in　the　calm；　cautious　manner　of　a　hunter；　examining　every　square　foot　of　ground　within　a　specified　arc。　That　meant　there　was　probably　another　like　him　to　his　left；　or　right；　or　both。
　What　was　more；　it　could　only　be　a　matter　of　time　before　his　eyes　came　to　rest　on　the　ground　where　Bond　lay。
　The　searcher　wore　olive　green　denim　trousers　and　shirt；　and　a　military…style　jacket。　　Moving　each　limb　about　half　an　inch　at　a　time；　Bond　began　to　turn。　　He　wanted　to　get　at　least　one　shot　in　before　anyone　closed　on　him。
　There　was　another　movement；　this　time　to　the　right。
　Bond's　reflexes　and　intuition　warned　of　danger；　and　he　brought　the　ASP　up　in　the　direction　of　this　new　threat。
　The　triple　yellow　walls；　which　angle　to　form　the　Guttersnipe　sight；　fell　automatically　into　their　pattern；　right　on　target；　showing　another　figure　running　low　between　the　trees；　and　much　too　close　for　fort。　From　the　corner　of　his　eye；　he　saw　the　first　man　bringing　his　revolver　up　in　a　two…handed　grip。　　Then　he　heard　the　unmistakable　click　of　a　revolver　hammer　being　drawn　back；　very　close　behind　him。　　The　sharp　burning　cold　of　a　muzzle　touched　the　side　of　his　neck　gently。
　〃Drop　it；　Mr。　Bond。　　Please　don't　try　anything　silly。　　Just　drop　the　gun。
　Bond　had　no　desire　to　get　himself　killed　at　this　point　in　his　career。　He　tossed　the　ASP　on　to　the　ground。
　〃Good。〃　The　voice　was　soft；　slightly　lilting。　　〃Now；　hands　on　the　head；　please。〃　The　two　men　who　had　been　in　Bond's　sights　were　now　standing；　ing　forward；　the　one　to　his　left　with　arms　outstretched；　holding　a　snub…nosed　revolver　in　the　two　handed　grip；　the　arms　steady　as　iron　bars。　　His　eyes　never　left　the　captive。　　Bond　was　in　no　doubt　that　two　bullets　would　reach　him　fast　if　he　made　any　wrong　move。　　The　other　came　in　quickly；　scooping　up　the　fallen　ASP　like　a　predatory　bird　swooping　on　to　its　prey。
　〃Right；　now　get　to　your　feet　very　slowly；'　the　voice　continued；　the　gun　muzzle　detaching　itself　from　just　behind　Bond's　ear。　　There　was　the　sound　of　feet　shuffling　as　the　man　stepped　back。　　〃That　manoeuvre　was　rather　good；　wasn't　it？　　We　knew　roughly　where　you　had　gone　to　ground；　so　it　was　just　a　matter　of　showing　you　someone　with　stealth　and　another　with　speed。　　The　lads　went　through　that　little　farce　three　times　before　they　found　the　right　place。　　It's　the　kind　of　fieldcraft　we　teach。　Please　turn　around。〃
　〃Who　teaches？〃　Bond　demanded　as　he　turned　and　faced　a　tall；　well…built　man　in　his　mid…thirties　with　tight；　curly　hair；　dark　above　matching　jet　eyes；　a　square　face；　a　large　nose　and　full　lips。　　Women　would　find　him　attractive；　Bond　thought。　　The　dark　plexion　was　overlaid　with　a　hard；　sunbaked　tan。　　It　was　the　eyes　that　really　gave　him　away。　　They　had　that　particular　look；　as　it；　for　years；　they　had　searched　horizons　for　the　telltale　sign　of　dust；　or　the　sky　for　a　speck；　or　an　outcrop　of　rock　for　movement；　or　doorways　and　windows　for　muzzle　flashes。
　Those　eyes　had　probably　been　doing　that　kind　of　thing　since　childhood。　Nationality？　　Who　could　tell？　　One　of　the　Middle　Eastern　countries；　but　whether　he　came　from　Jerusalem；　Beirut　or　Cairo　was　impossible　to　tell。　Possibly　a　hybrid；　Bond　thought。
　〃Who　teaches？〃　he　asked　again。
　The　young　man　lifted　an　eyebrow。　　〃You　might　get　to　find　out；　Mr。　Bond。　Who　knows？〃　The　smile　was　not　unfriendly。　　〃Now；'　he　said；　〃we　have　to　move　you；　and　I　cannot　be　certain　you'll　sit　still。〃　He　gave　a　short　laugh。
　〃I　rather　think　my　superiors　want　you　alive　and　in　one　piece；　so　would　you　take　off　your　jacket　and　roll　up　your　sleeve？〃　Two　more　figures　rose　from　the　bushes　as　the　senior　man　holstered　his　weapon；　reaching　into　a　hip　pocket　to　bring　out　a　hard　oblong　box。
　One　of　the　newers　helped　remove　Bond's　jacket　while　the　other's　hands　rested　firmly　on　his　shoulders。
　Unresisting；　Bond　allowed　them　to　roll　up　his　sleeve　while　the　leader　filled　a　hypodermic　syringe；　lifting　it　so　that　the　needle　pointed　upwards。　　A　tiny　squirt　of　colourless　liquid　arched　into　the　air。　　Bond　felt　a　damp　swab　on　the　upper　part　of　his　arm。
　〃It's　okay；'　the　leader　said　with　a　smile。　　〃We　do　want　you　in　one　piece；　I　assure　you。　　As　the　actress　said　to　the　bishop；　just　a　little　。　。　　。　　er　。　　。　　。　　a　little　jab。〃　Somebody　gave　a　loud　laugh；　and　Bond　heard　another　say　something　in　a　language　he　did　not　recognise。　　He　did　not　even　feel　the　needle　slide　home。
　At　first　he　thought　he　was　in　a　helicopter；　lying　flat　on　his　back　with　the　machine　bucking　under　him。　　He　could　hear　the　chug　of　the　engine　turning　the　rotor　blades。
　Then；　far　away；　came　the　rip　of　automatic　firing。　　For　a　time；　Bond　drifted　away　again；　then　the　helicopter　sensation　returned；　acpanied　by　a　series　of　loud　explosions　near　at　hand。
　Opening　his　eyes；　he　saw　an　electric　fan　turning　slowly　above　his　head；　and　became　aware　of　white　walls　and　the　simple　metal　bedframe　on　which　he　lay；　fully　dressed。
　He　propped　himself　on　one　arm。　　Physically　he　felt　fine：　no　nausea；　no　headache；　eyes　focused　properly。　　He　held　out　his　right　hand；　fingers　splayed。　　There　was　no　tremor。
　The　room；　bare　of　furniture　apart　from　the　bed；　had　just　one　door　and　a　window　covered　with　mesh　inside　and　bars　on　the　outside。
　Sunlight　appeared　dimly　through　the　aperture。
　As　he　swung　his　feet　on　to　the　floor　he　heard　another　distant　explosion。　He　stood　up　and　found　his　legs　steady。
　Halfway　to　the　door；　there　came　the　sound　of　more　machine…gun　fire　…　again　at　a　distance。　　The　door　was　locked；　and　he　could　make　out　little　through　the　window。
　The　mesh　on　the　inside　was　a　thick　papery　adhesive　substance；　which　had　been　applied　to　the　panes　of　glass；　making　it　impossible　to　get　any　clear　view。　　It　would　also　prevent　fragmentation　from　blast。
　Bond　was　convinced　he　was　not　in　England。　　The　temperature　inside　the　little　white　room；　even　with　the　fan　turning　round　and　round；　was　not　induced　by　the　kind　of　heat　you　ever　got　in　England；　even　in　the　most　brilliant　of　summers。
　The　sounds　of　small　arms　fire；　punctuated　by　the　occasional　explosion；　suggested　he　was　in　some　war　zone。
　He　tried　the　door　again；　then　had　a　look　at　the　lock。　　It　was　solid；　well…made；　and　more　than　efficient。　　There　would　almost　certainly　be　bolts　on　the　outside　too。
　Methodically　he　went　through　his　pockets　but　found　nothing。　　They　had　cleaned　him　out。　　Even　his　watch　was　missing；　and　the　metal　bedframe　appeared　to　be　a　one…piece　affair。　　Given　time；　and　some　kind　of　lever；　he　might　be　able　to　force　a　piece　of　thick　wire　from　the　springs；　but　it　would　be　an　arduous　business　and　he　had　no　way　of　knowing　how　long　he　would　be　left　alone。
　When　in　doubt；　do　nothing；　Bond　thought。
　He　went　back　to　the　bed　and　stretched　out；　going　over　the　events　still　fresh　in　his　mind。　　The　attempt　to　get　away