own. She turned hers over. King of hearts.
‘How appropriate,’ Bond said.
Zukovsky flipped his card The ace of clubs.
He smiled. ‘It seems I’ve beaten you with an ace of clubs/
‘How unsurprising,’ Bond said.
One of the dealers removed all her plaques as Zukovsky made a show of folding up her chit and putting it in his pocket.
‘Perhaps you’ll be luckier in love, my dear,’ he said. The crowd reacted noisily to that.
‘Perhaps I will,’ Elektra said. ‘Enjoy your winnings.’
She stood, dignified in defeat. ‘Shall we?’ she asked Bond.
‘Not your lucky night,’ he said, taking her arm and walking her toward the door. There was something strange about the exchange he had just witnessed, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.
‘Who said it was over?’ she dared him.
Gabor was waiting for them near the front. He followed them outside and the three of them stood on the steps, waiting for the valet to bring Bond’s car.
‘What happened to Davidov?’ Bond asked.
‘I gave him the night off,’ Elektra said.
‘And where in Baku would a man like Sasha Davidov go for fun on a night off?’
‘I have no idea.’
Bond thought it might be a wise to find out. He was fairly certain that whoever the traitor was, he was very close to, if not part of, the King Industries’ inner circle. Perhaps he ought to have a look in the security office when he had the chance.
Neither Bond nor Gabor could see the two men on the roof of the opposite building. There was absolutely no illumination there, and they were dressed in black. One of them had a high-powered FN FAL sniper rifle. He had it trained on Bond and waited for the signal. When it didn’t come, he asked the other man, ‘What about Bond? Sir?’
Renard, looking through binoculars, was mesmerised by the sight of Bond’s hand on the small of Elektra’s back. Watching their confident sensuality made him terribly ill at ease, but it gave him an idea. It meant a change of plans. Renard placed a hand on the gunman’s shoulder, indicating that he should relax.
‘Not now, my friend,’ he said.
Although the Syrian doctor had told him that he would feel nothing in the head wound, Renard often felt the bullet moving. He had come to think of it as a living thing with a mind of its own. He felt it now, throbbing, anxious to burrow itself further into his brains, like an earwig might tunnel through the soft tissues of the head and lay its eggs along the way. Renard put a hand to the fleshy mound at his temple and rubbed it. He couldn’t feel any sensation there.
The gunman removed the sight and stock from the gun when they saw the BMW pull around to the front of the casino. Renard watched intently as Bond held the passenger door open for Elektra.
Once again, the girl’s beauty affected him in ways he could not predict. Renard experienced a wave of confusing emotions — jealousy, desire . . .
The memory flashed into his head once more: the lovely young girl, bound in front of him, helpless . . . her skin, so soft . . .
‘Sir?’
Renard caught himself. ‘What?’
‘You said something.’
Had he been talking to himself?
‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘I was just going to say that we’ll let Mister Bond and Miss King enjoy each other for an evening. It’s all part of the change in plan. As usual, Mister Bond’s attention will be focused on the wrong thing, and he won’t go sticking his nose where it shouldn’t belong later tonight/ he said. ‘He’ll get his — and I’ll get him — in due time. Come. We have a plane to catch.’
They didn’t say a word in the BMW on the way back to the villa. Gabor followed at a discreet distance behind. They eventually pulled in through the gate, parked and walked to the front of the house. Anticipation was thick in the air. Bond opened the door for Elektra, and she swept through. She moved to the circular stairway and began to ascend. Bond lingered a moment in the open doorway. His eyes
‘How appropriate,’ Bond said.
Zukovsky flipped his card The ace of clubs.
He smiled. ‘It seems I’ve beaten you with an ace of clubs/
‘How unsurprising,’ Bond said.
One of the dealers removed all her plaques as Zukovsky made a show of folding up her chit and putting it in his pocket.
‘Perhaps you’ll be luckier in love, my dear,’ he said. The crowd reacted noisily to that.
‘Perhaps I will,’ Elektra said. ‘Enjoy your winnings.’
She stood, dignified in defeat. ‘Shall we?’ she asked Bond.
‘Not your lucky night,’ he said, taking her arm and walking her toward the door. There was something strange about the exchange he had just witnessed, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.
‘Who said it was over?’ she dared him.
Gabor was waiting for them near the front. He followed them outside and the three of them stood on the steps, waiting for the valet to bring Bond’s car.
‘What happened to Davidov?’ Bond asked.
‘I gave him the night off,’ Elektra said.
‘And where in Baku would a man like Sasha Davidov go for fun on a night off?’
‘I have no idea.’
Bond thought it might be a wise to find out. He was fairly certain that whoever the traitor was, he was very close to, if not part of, the King Industries’ inner circle. Perhaps he ought to have a look in the security office when he had the chance.
Neither Bond nor Gabor could see the two men on the roof of the opposite building. There was absolutely no illumination there, and they were dressed in black. One of them had a high-powered FN FAL sniper rifle. He had it trained on Bond and waited for the signal. When it didn’t come, he asked the other man, ‘What about Bond? Sir?’
Renard, looking through binoculars, was mesmerised by the sight of Bond’s hand on the small of Elektra’s back. Watching their confident sensuality made him terribly ill at ease, but it gave him an idea. It meant a change of plans. Renard placed a hand on the gunman’s shoulder, indicating that he should relax.
‘Not now, my friend,’ he said.
Although the Syrian doctor had told him that he would feel nothing in the head wound, Renard often felt the bullet moving. He had come to think of it as a living thing with a mind of its own. He felt it now, throbbing, anxious to burrow itself further into his brains, like an earwig might tunnel through the soft tissues of the head and lay its eggs along the way. Renard put a hand to the fleshy mound at his temple and rubbed it. He couldn’t feel any sensation there.
The gunman removed the sight and stock from the gun when they saw the BMW pull around to the front of the casino. Renard watched intently as Bond held the passenger door open for Elektra.
Once again, the girl’s beauty affected him in ways he could not predict. Renard experienced a wave of confusing emotions — jealousy, desire . . .
The memory flashed into his head once more: the lovely young girl, bound in front of him, helpless . . . her skin, so soft . . .
‘Sir?’
Renard caught himself. ‘What?’
‘You said something.’
Had he been talking to himself?
‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘I was just going to say that we’ll let Mister Bond and Miss King enjoy each other for an evening. It’s all part of the change in plan. As usual, Mister Bond’s attention will be focused on the wrong thing, and he won’t go sticking his nose where it shouldn’t belong later tonight/ he said. ‘He’ll get his — and I’ll get him — in due time. Come. We have a plane to catch.’
They didn’t say a word in the BMW on the way back to the villa. Gabor followed at a discreet distance behind. They eventually pulled in through the gate, parked and walked to the front of the house. Anticipation was thick in the air. Bond opened the door for Elektra, and she swept through. She moved to the circular stairway and began to ascend. Bond lingered a moment in the open doorway. His eyes
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