`How the hell?’
Kerim chuckled. `Before he settled down for the night, this dumb ox went to the lavatory. I was standing in the corridor and I suddenly remembered how we used to steal rides on the train when I was a boy. I gave him a minute. Then I walked up and rattled the lavatory door. I hung on to the handle very tight. “Ticket collector,” I said in a loud voice. “Tickets please.” I said it in French and again in German. There was a mumble from inside. I felt him try to open the door. I hung on tight so that he would think the door had stuck. “Do not derange yourself, Monsieur” I said politely. “Push the ticket under the door.” There was more fiddling with the door handle and I could hear heavy breathing. Then there was a pause and a rustle under the door. There was the ticket. I said, “Merci, Monsieur” very politely. I picked up the ticket and stepped across the coupling into the next carriage.’ Kerim airily waved a hand. `The stupid oaf will be sleeping peacefully by now. He will think that his ticket will be given back to him at the frontier. He is mistaken. The ticket will be in ashes and the ashes will be on the four winds,’ Kerim gestured towards the darkness outside. `I will see that the man is put off the train, however much money he has got. He will be told that the circumstances must be investigated, his statements corroborated with the ticket agency. He will be allowed to proceed on a later train.’
Bond smiled at the picture of Kerim playing his private school trick. `You’re a card, Darko. What about the other two?’
Darko Kerim shrugged his massive shoulders. `Something will occur to me,’ he said confidently. `The way to catch Russians is to make them look foolish. Embarrass them. Laugh at them. They can’t stand it. We will somehow make these men sweat. Then we will leave it to the M.G.B. to punish them for failing in their duty. Doubtless they will be shot by their own people.’
While they were talking, the conductor had come out of No. 7. Kerim turned to Bond and put a hand on his shoulder. `Have no fear, James,’ he said cheerfully. `We will defeat these people. Go to your girl. We will meet again in the morning. We shall not sleep much tonight, but that cannot be helped. Every day is different. Perhaps we shall sleep tomorrow.’
Bond watched the big man move off easily down the swaying corridor. He noticed that, despite the movement of the train, Kerim’s shoulders never touched the walls of the corridor. Bond felt a wave of affection for the tough, cheerful professional spy.
Kerim disappeared into the conductor’s cabin. Bond turned and knocked softly on the door of No. 7.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Out of Turkey
The train howled on through the night. Bond sat and watched the hurrying moonlit landscape and concentrated on keeping awake.
Everything conspired to make him sleep–the hasty metal gallop of the wheels, the hypnotic swoop of the silver telegraph wires, the occasional melancholy, reassuring moan of the steam whistle clearing their way, the drowsy metallic chatter of the couplings at each end of the corridor, the lullaby creak of the woodwork in the little room. Even the deep violet glimmer of the night-light above the door seemed to say, `I will watch for you. Nothing can happen while I am burning. Close your eyes and sleep, sleep.’
The girl’s head was warm and heavy on his lap. There was obviously just room for him to slip under the single sheet and fit close up against her, the front of his thighs against the backs of hers, his head in the spread curtain of her hair on the pillow.
Bond screwed up his eyes and opened them again. He cautiously lifted his wrist. Four o’clock. Only one more hour to the Turkish frontier. Perhaps he would be able to sleep during the day. He would give her the gun and wedge the doors again and she could watch.
He looked down at the beautiful sleeping profile. How innocent she looked, this girl from the Russian Secret Service–the lashes fringing the soft swell of the cheek, the lips parted and unaware, the long strand of hair that had strayed untidily across her forehead and that he wanted to brush back neatly to join the rest, the steady slow throb of the pulse in the offered neck. He felt a surge of tenderness and the impulse to gather her up in his arms and strain her tight against him. He wanted her to wake, from a dream perhaps, so that he could kiss her and tell her that everything was all right, and see her settle happily back to sleep.