Bond said, “It’s all right, Honey. Keep behind me.”
He had made up his mind. There was no alternative. Even if death was to come later it couldn’t be worse than this kind of death. Bond reached for the girl’s hand and drew her after him out on to the sand.
The voice howled. “Stop there. Good boy. And drop the pea-shooter. No tricks or the crabs’ll be getting a cooked breakfast.”
Bond dropped his gun. So much for the Smith & Wesson. The Beretta would have been just as good against this thing. The girl whimpered. Bond squeezed her hand. “Stick it, Honey,” he said. “We’ll get out of this somehow.” Bond sneered at himself for the lie.
There was the clang of an iron door being opened. From the back of the dome a man dropped into the water and walked towards them. There was a gun in his hand. He kept out of the line of fire of the flame-thrower. The fluttering blue flame lit up his sweating face. He was a Chinese Negro, a big man, clad only in trousers. Something dangled from his left hand. When he came closer, Bond saw it was handcuffs.
The man stopped a few yards away. He said, “Hold out your hands. Wrists together. Then walk towards me. You first, Limey. Slowly or you get an extra navel.”
Bond did as he was told. When he was within sweat-smell of the man, the man put his gun between his teeth and reached out and snapped the handcuffs o& Bond’s wrists. Bond looked into the face, gunmetal-coloured from the blue flames. It was a brutal, squinting face. It sneered at him. “Dumb bastard,” said the man.
Bond turned his back on the man and started walking away. He was going to see Quarrel’s body. He had to say goodbye to it. There was the roar of a gun. A bullet kicked up sand close to his feet. Bond stopped and turned slowly round. “Don’t be ‘ nervous,” he said. “I’m going to take a look at the man you’ve just murdered. I’ll be back.”
The man lowered his gun. He laughed harshly. “Okay. Enjoy yourself. Sorry we ain’t got a wreath. Come back quick or we give the doll a toastin’. Two minutes.”
Bond walked on towards the smoking clump-of bushes. He got there and looked down. His eyes and mouth winced. Yes, it ha_d been just as he had visualized. Worse. He said softly, “I’m sorry, Quarrel.” He kicked into the ground and scooped up a handful of cool sand between his manacled hands and poured it over the remains of the eyes. Then he walked slowly back and stood beside the girl.
The man waved them forward with his gun. They walked round the back of the machine. There was a small square door. A voice from inside said, “Get in and sit on the floor. Don’t touch anything or you get your fingers broke.”
They scrambled into the iron box. It stank of sweat and oil. There was just room for them to sit with their knees hunched up. The man with the gun followed them in and banged the door. He switched on a light and sat down on an iron tractor seat beside the driver. He said, “Okay, Sam. Let’s get goin’. You can put out the fire. It’s light enough to steer by.”
There was a row of dials and switches on the instrument panel. The driver reached forward and pulled down a couple of the switches. He put the machine into gear and peered out through a narrow slit in the iron wall in front of him. Bond felt the machine turn. There came a faster beat from the engine and they moved off.
The girl’s shoulder pressed against his. “Where are they taking us?” The whisper trembled.
Bond turned his head and looked at her. It was the first time he had been able to see her hair when it was dry. Now it was disarrayed by sleep, but it was no longer a bunch of rats’ tails. It hung heavily straight down to her shoulders, where it. curled softly inwards. It was of the palest ash blonde and shone almost silver under the electric light. She looked up at him. The skin round her eyes and at the corners of her mouth was white with fear.