By Royal Command

  ‘I only know his code-name – Obsidian,’ said Roan. ‘He’s not based in Portugal. I’ll tell you more later, darling. I’ve already said too much.’

  ‘Will you tell me one more thing now?’ said James.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did you know from the start, when you first met me? Did you know I was part of the plot?’

  ‘They’ve been planning this for a long time,’ said Roan. ‘When Katey the maid left Codrose’s they managed to get me in there. We had to be close to Windsor, and the King. When we found out he was going to be coming to the school today the date was decided.’

  ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

  ‘They told me to make friends with you, that’s all.’

  ‘So you’ve been pretending all along to like me?’

  ‘No. I liked you as soon as I first set eyes on you, darling. There’s something about you. There’ll always be a special place in my heart for you.’

  James looked away. He understood all about the shadow war now. He pictured two people standing talking politely to each other while their shadows fought like demons on the wall. He was in a world of half-truths and half-lies. He didn’t know who he could trust any more, who he could believe in. Nobody was who they had seemed to be, and nobody was telling the whole truth. Not even him. He hated Merriot for putting him in this position, but, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring himself to hate Roan.

  That night James lay in bed unable to sleep. In the morning he would report to Merriot all that Roan had told him, but his mind was racing. Too much had happened today, and not all of it made sense to him.

  Snow-Blind.

  That’s what Roan had said the operation was called, and that was what Graf von Schlick had shouted out that night in the clinic.

  Schneeblind.

  How did the Graf fit into all this? He had seemed genuinely fearful before, so why hadn’t he warned the Prince about the plot against his father? And how had he known about Snow-Blind in the first place? It was a dangling loose end that made no sense to him.

  Maybe Merriot would be able to explain, although James was sure that he wasn’t telling him everything.

  It was too much for James to try and understand. For now, he couldn’t concentrate, his mind flitted madly, and one thought kept coming back to him and knocking all other thoughts out of his mind.

  He had saved the King’s life that morning.

  In a normal world he would have been carried down the street on the shoulders of a rejoicing crowd, but instead he could tell no one. It must forever remain a secret. Merriot had placed too heavy a burden on him.

  Ironically, apart from Merriot, the only other person who had even an inkling of what he had been through was Roan, and he couldn’t tell her what had really happened, because he was having to lie to her and lead her into a trap.

  She was just a scared girl, barely older than he was.

  He wanted to run away and hide. He wanted to lash out at someone. He wanted to scream from the rooftops. He wanted to be with Roan. He wanted her to like him and trust him.

  He didn’t know what he wanted.

  He wished that his mother and father were there to put their arms round him and tell him that everything was going to be all right.

  But they couldn’t save him from this mess.

  No one could.

  He pulled back the curtains and looked at his new watch by the light of the moon.

  It was nearly eleven o’clock.

  He would do what he always did in times like this.

  The time for thinking was over.

  It was time to act.

  He got out of bed and started to dress.

  22

  A Cold-Blooded Killer

  James didn’t knock. He didn’t want to make a sound. Instead he opened the door as silently as possible and slipped inside. Roan was there, sitting at her dressing-table in her nightgown, brushing her hair. She looked like she had been crying. Her eyes went wide and she drew her breath in sharply when she saw James, but then she relaxed. She opened her mouth to say something and James shushed her.

  ‘Get dressed,’ he whispered, closing the door behind him.

  ‘Why, what is it?’ said Roan. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I lied to you,’ said James.

  ‘What do you mean?’ A look of wariness hardened her dark eyes, which glittered like jewels in the half-light of her room.

  ‘Dandy’s dead,’ James said quietly.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I can’t say that I’m sorry,’ said James, ‘but I won’t let it happen to you.’

  Roan got up and came over to him. She looked like a different person, wild and animal-like.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ she hissed.

  ‘I defused the bomb and Dandy came after me,’ said James, keeping his voice level. ‘A man called Dan Nevin shot him. Nevin works for the SIS. They’re on to you. They know everything.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘I wish I was. They wanted me to spy on you, to find out everything you know, but I can’t do it.’

  ‘Dandy’s dead?’ Tears came into Roan’s eyes. ‘He can’t be dead. He was so full of life.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ said James. ‘Save your crying for later. For now you have to get away from here. Get dressed, bring your purse, and anything you’ll need for travelling, but don’t bring a suitcase – they might be watching you.’

  ‘You expect me to just wander off into the night all by myself with just the clothes on my back?’

  ‘No,’ said James. ‘I’m coming with you. I’ve a plan.’

  ‘You? What can you do?’

  ‘Stop asking questions and do as you’re told,’ James snapped. ‘The longer you delay the more likely I am to get cold feet. I don’t like any of this. But I won’t see you hang. If you don’t want my help, then I’ll leave you to it.’

  ‘No. I’m coming.’

  ‘Do you have your own key?’

  ‘I’ve one for the back door.’

  ‘Good. When you go, leave it unlocked. I’ll follow when I’m sure it’s safe. Go to Beggar’s Bridge. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can. You need to be very careful. Make sure no one follows you. Don’t go by a direct route. Keep out of sight until you’re sure it’s me. If I’m not there in half an hour it means that something’s gone wrong; come back here and we’ll try again tomorrow night.’

  ‘James, why are you doing this?’

  ‘If you really need to ask, then I’m making a big mistake.’

  Ten minutes later James slipped out of the back door at Codrose’s. He waited a few moments, making sure there was nobody around, and then hurried off. It was possible, of course, that Nevin, or one of his men, was watching from a darkened window, but he thought it unlikely. As far as they knew, James was safely tucked up in his bed for the night. He nevertheless decided to take a roundabout route to Windsor.

  It wasn’t just Nevin’s team he needed to look out for, though. If any beak caught him up and about at this time of night he’d be in trouble. He had dressed in ordinary clothes, but he might still be recognised if he was stopped and challenged.

  He set off through the back alleys and gardens between Common Lane and the Eton Wick Road. He knew this area all too well now and felt like he could navigate it with his eyes shut. He was filled with a mixture of fear and excitement. He was about to betray Merriot, he was about to betray his country, and he was about to help a girl who had plotted to kill him. His life would never be the same after this.

  He was leaving behind everything. All the friends he had made at Eton: Pritpal and Tommy, Andrew Carlton and the boys from the Danger Society. He would never be able to come back here. He would never again see the Fourth of June Parade of Boats or take late absence, or play the Field game – there would be no more saying lessons, no more white tickets, yellow tickets, report cards…

  The rituals he had struggled so hard to learn, the slang, the
traditions, all meant nothing now.

  It was wasted time.

  He stopped.

  It was not too late to turn back.

  He didn’t have to do this. He could just let Roan fend for herself. He owed her nothing. Was she really worth throwing his life away for?

  ‘Bond?’

  James spun round. Someone had come up on him without him seeing.

  It was Theo Bentinck.

  ‘What are you doing out of House at this time of night?’

  ‘I might ask the same of you,’ said James. He really couldn’t be bothered with Bentinck now. He was from another world. James wanted nothing to do with the strutting little nonentity.

  ‘I make my own rules,’ said Bentinck haughtily.

  ‘I know,’ said James.

  ‘Codrose allows me to do as I please,’ said Bentinck. ‘As long as I keep order in the House.’

  James could smell beer on the boy’s breath.

  ‘You’ve been in the pub,’ he said.

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘Go back to Codrose’s,’ said James, his voice cold and hard. ‘And forget you ever saw me.’

  Bentinck grabbed James by the collar.

  ‘I’ll take you back with me, you insubordinate wretch.’

  James was angry. He recognised that. He was angry and confused. Maybe that was what Bentinck felt? Maybe that was what had turned him into a bully. Maybe Bentinck had some terrible problem in his life that he didn’t know how to deal with and he took it out on other boys?

  Right now James didn’t give a fig about that. He had too much pent-up rage inside him. He wanted to hurt someone. If that someone was Bentinck, then all well and good.

  James looked at his unexceptional face with its small mouth and pointed chin.

  Then again, maybe Bentinck didn’t have an excuse. Maybe he was just a sadist, pure and simple; someone who got pleasure out of causing pain to others. James had never understood that. He had hurt people in his time, but only ever in self-defence, and he had never enjoyed it.

  This was different. Even though there was anger boiling up inside him there was something cold-blooded about what he was about to do.

  ‘I’m going to enjoy thrashing you,’ said Bentinck.

  ‘No you’re not,’ said James.

  ‘Oh, yes, I am,’ said Bentinck. ‘I’m going to enjoy it more than anything else in my life. I’m going to break you.’

  ‘No,’ said James. ‘What I meant was – you’re not going to beat me. I’m sure you would enjoy it, but it’s not going to happen.’

  ‘Oh, isn’t it?’ said Bentinck.

  ‘Not tonight,’ said James.

  Bentinck still had a hold of James’s collar; he twisted it, tightening it about James’s throat. James didn’t mind the pain.

  ‘And when I’ve finished with you, Bond,’ said Bentinck, ‘I’ll start on those two little foreign wogs who hide behind your skirts.’

  ‘No,’ said James. ‘It’s all over.’ And then, before Bentinck had any idea what was happening, James gave him a tight-armed jab to the gut that hammered into him with tremendous force. Bentinck groaned and doubled up in agony, still hanging on to James’s collar. James stood there and waited calmly for Bentinck to regain his breath.

  ‘You’re going to regret that for the rest of your miserable little life,’ Bentinck said at last.

  ‘Am I really?’ said James, and he chopped Bentinck in the neck with the side of his hand. Bentinck let go and fell to his knees with a small cry, his spectacles falling to the ground. But James hadn’t hurt him as much as he had hoped because Bentinck was up in a flash and coming at him with both fists. He grabbed James in a messy hold, one hand on his jacket, the other round the back of his head, and threw him against a wall. He slammed him back a couple of times and then aimed a wild punch at his head. James ducked and Bentinck’s fist connected with the bony top of his skull. James was hit hard enough to be rocked on his feet and there was a white flash, but Bentinck had got the worst of it. He gave a shout of pain and James straightened up to see him clutching his right hand in his left. He had probably broken some fingers.

  James’s counter-attack was merciless, vicious and unrelenting. He rained a series of blows on Bentinck. To his belly and kidneys mainly, then, when he was too dazed to defend himself, James started on his face. He was careful not to risk using his fists and end up breaking some bones, as Bentinck had done. Instead he used the back and sides of his hands. And even slapped him open palmed.

  James stood outside himself and coldly watched what he was doing. There was something horribly professional and methodical about it as he slowly beat Bentinck into the dirt. The older boy was sobbing and begging James to stop. But James carried on until he could see Bentinck’s face dark with blood.

  He pushed him over with his foot and stepped on his throat, then pulled his foot back ready to kick him.

  ‘Stop, dear God, please, stop,’ Bentinck sobbed through broken teeth and bloody lips. ‘You’ll kill me.’

  One thought flashed through James’s mind.

  Yes. Kill him.

  And then he returned to his body, shocked and scared. Looking down at the whimpering boy at his feet. He felt sick.

  ‘I should kill you,’ he spat angrily. ‘For all the misery you’ve inflicted on others. For all the hurt you’ve given. Well, no more. You hear me? No more. You’re going to promise me here and now that you will never beat another boy as long as you live.’

  ‘I swear,’ said Bentinck. ‘On my mother’s life. Just leave me alone.’

  ‘If I hear that you’ve broken your word, Bentinck,’ said James, ‘then I surely will kill you. Do you believe me?’

  He knelt down and lifted Bentinck’s face up, looking hard into his swollen eyes, one of which was nearly closed.

  ‘I believe you,’ said Bentinck, and James could see the raw fear in his eyes.

  ‘Go back to your room,’ said James, passing him his unharmed spectacles. ‘And don’t ever tell anyone you saw me tonight. You will never breathe a word about who did this to you. Say it was a local boy, if you like, say you fell under a bus, I don’t much care what story you make up. But you will never speak to anyone of this again. Is that understood?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ said Bentinck.

  ‘And just remember,’ said James. ‘Pritpal Nandra and Tommy Chong are my friends. Nobody hurts my friends.’

  Bentinck said nothing and James watched him limp away.

  James stood there, his chest heaving, his breath coming shallow and fast. Slowly he was engulfed by sadness, and soon there were tears rolling down his cheeks. All the fear and tension and uncertainty of the day were coming out of him. He felt terrible for what he had done to Bentinck. He knew that it wasn’t right to take it all out on the boy. He was no better than a bully himself. He could have scared Bentinck without hurting him so badly. And he was unnerved by how it had felt, how in the moment of hitting the boy he had felt so calm, almost happy.

  He was no better than Dandy.

  He was no better than any man of violence who thought he could make the world a better place with a bomb.

  In the end Bentinck had been right: James would regret what he had done for the rest of his life.

  Roan was waiting at Beggar’s Bridge, which carried the Slough Road over Chalvey Brook near Upper Club. She was ducked down out of sight below on the muddy grass. Half an hour was nearly up, and she was wondering if James was still going to come.

  James Bond. What a surprising boy he was. Whenever she thought she had the measure of him he pulled something new out of the hat.

  She heard the growl of a powerful engine, and a car drove up and stopped. She tensed. Ready to run if needed. She was a fast runner and had yet to meet the man who could best her. She also had the advantage of darkness and if necessary she would fight.

  There was a gun in her purse. A Russian-made TT-33.

  Then she heard a voice.

  ‘Roan?’ It was James;
he was leaning over the edge of the bridge.

  She smiled at him.

  ‘Hurry up,’ he said. ‘The coast’s clear at the moment.’

  Roan scrambled swiftly up the bank and saw a big, slightly battered-looking, Bentley Blower parked in the road, its engine ticking. James was already back behind the wheel.

  ‘You are joking, aren’t you, darling?’ she said.

  ‘Get in,’ said James. ‘We’ve no time.’

  James Bond. Full of surprises.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked, climbing in beside him.

  ‘London,’ said James. ‘I’ve made arrangements.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘That’s up to you, Roan.’

  Part Three: FUGITIVES

  23

  Blonde Bombshell

  ‘James Bond. Thought I’d never see you again. I m-might have known you’d tip up on my doorstep in the m-middle of some m-mad adventure, you pirate!’

  James smiled at his old friend Perry Mandeville, and introduced Roan to him. Perry whistled.

  ‘So you’re the famous Roan Power,’ he said, giving her an appreciative look. ‘I heard a lot about you at Eton before they booted m-me out.’

  ‘You were at Eton?’

  ‘Afraid so. Hasn’t James told you all about m-me?’

  ‘Not a thing.’

  James butted in. ‘Perry, the less she knows about you, the better, and the less you know about her, too.’

  ‘Ah, very m-mysterious. All par for the course with the great James Bond. You’re a terror, James, an absolute m-monster! I dread to think what you’re up to now. But come in off the doorstep. I’ve sent all the servants off to bed for the night, so we should have a bit of privacy.’

  The Mandevilles lived in a grand house with a classical white facade on the edge of Regent’s Park in London. James let Perry go on ahead, while he held Roan back by the elbow and spoke quietly to her. ‘Perry’s family are at their country place,’ he explained. ‘He’s taking a big risk, hiding us, so don’t do anything that might put him in any danger.’