johngardner.goldeneye-第16部分

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&K　sub…machine　guns；　boxes　of　ammunition。
　
　Jack　Wade　grunted；　then　assumed　his　role　of　tour　guide。
　
　〃Wele　to　the　shopping　mall　of　death。　　The　wild　East
　
　This；　for　Russia；　is　capitalism's　finest　hour。　　One　size　maims　all；　and　everyone　can　make　a　killing。　　Kinda　like　East　LA；　right？〃
　〃I'm　happy　to　say　I've　never　been　to　East　LA。〃
　〃Well；　good　for　you；　James。
　
　Hang　on；　we　turn　right　at　the　top　of　this　nice　little　market　place。
　
　Zukovsky　has　a　joint　here；　at　the　end　of　the　street。〃　He　pointed　to　what　appeared　to　be　the　entrance　of　a　night　club。　　〃By　ten　at　night；　this　place　is　really　jumping；　but　your　old　friend　does　his　business　by　day。'　He　turned　right　into　the　alley　which　seemed　to　be　deserted。
　
　〃Your　best　way　in　is　through　any　of　the　doors　on　this　side。　　Just　get　in　and　follow　the　smell。
　
　You'll　find　him　soon　enough。〃　He　pulled　over　to　the　kerb；　and　Bond　was　out　of　the　car　and　into　the　shadow　of　a　doorway　long　before　Wade　had　even　put　the　car　in　gear。
　
　The　wall；　and　the　doors；　made　the　place　look　like　an　abandoned　warehouse；　but　he　had　seen　many　places　like　this：　shells　built　around　existing；　well　constructed　places。
　
　He　reached　for　his　wallet；　and　pressed　hard　on　one　of　the　metal　protective　edges。　　A　secret　partment　opened　up　to　disclose　an　entire　set　of　lock…picking　tools。　　He　wondered　if　Valentin　Zukovsky　was　still　as　careful　about　locks　as　he　used　to　be；　back　in　the　bad　old　days　when　he　worked　for　the　KGB。　　At　that　time；　Zukovsky　had　a　mania　for　unbeatable　locks　and　the　most　sophisticated　electronic　alarm　systems。
　
　It　seemed　that　his　old　adversary　had　lost　his　cunning。
　
　Bond　was　through　the　door　and　making　his　way　silently　up　the　stairs　in　three　minutes　flat。　　Above；　in　the　distance；　he　could　hear　someone　singing　just　off…key　enough　to　be　grating　on　the　nerves。
　
　Valentin　Zukovsky　was　big：　tall；　broad　shouldered　and　with　an　elephantine　girth。　　He　had　a　moon　face；　so　much　so　that　people　said　he　must　be　related　somehow　because　he　had　all　the　craters　and　pock　marks　to　go　with　it。
　
　His　club；　which　was　simply　known　as　Valentin's；　was　luxurious　in　an　old…fashioned；　red　plush；　gold…fringed　manner。　　At　this　moment　there　were　several　people　sitting　around　obviously　doing　business　of　one　kind　or　another。
　
　Judging　by　the　type　of　people　talking　as　low　as　they　could；　the　business　was；　if　not　criminal；　certainly　bordering　on　the　breaking　of　laws。
　
　Zukovsky　wore　a　creased　and　crumpled　white　suit　which　looked　a　size　too　big　for　him　until　he　stood　up　and　revealed　that　its　voluminousness　was　necessary　for　his　bulk。
　
　Half…a…dozen　scantily　dressed　young　women　waited　on　tables　and　pointed　out　certain　favours　they　could　bestow　if　you　ordered　from　the　reverse　side　of　the　menu。　　The　most　innocent　of　these　was　a　normal　massage。
　
　On　a　raised　dais　at　one　end　of　the　room；　another　young　woman；　very　attractive　and　clad　in　red　sequins；　battled　with　〃Raining　in　Baltimore'　by　Counting　Crows；　but　she　could　not　quite　make　the　song　e　to　life。
　
　It　was　possible　that；　apart　from　being　hampered　by　not　being　able　to　carry　a　melody；　she　did　not　understand　the　words。
　
　Zukovsky　had　spent　the　past　hour　with　a　reedy…looking；　ferret…faced　Pakistani　arms　dealer　of　very　doubtful　provenance。　　They　closed　no　deals；　and　the　Pakistani　was　just　about　to　leave　when　Zukovsky　suddenly　focused　his　attention　on　a　small　TV　monitor；　about　the　size　of　a　playing　card；　set　into　the　table　where　he　always　sat。
　
　The　monitor　gave　out　a　tiny　beep　and　the　picture　came　on。　Zukovsky　glanced　down；　then　did　a　double…take　as　he　saw　who　had　entered　by　picking　a　lock　to　one　of　the　side　doors。　　He　smiled　as　the　picture　followed　the　intruder　slowly　up　the　stairs；　and　his　smile　became　almost　benevolent。
　
　Lazily；　he　gestured　to　a　man　who　had　the　makings　of　a　pair　of　gorillas；　and　said　something　to　him。　　He　then　stood　and　walked　with　his　lumbering　limp　towards　a　pair　of　red　velvet　curtains　to　the　right　of　the　dais　where　the　singer　was　losing　her　battle　with　the　song。
　
　He　passed　through　the　curtains　and　showed　no　surprise　when　the　muzzle　of　an　automatic　pistol　was　laid　coldly　on　his　neck；　just　behind　the　ear。
　
　〃Ah；'　he　breathed　as　though　in　a　kind　of　bliss。　　〃I　know　only　three　men　who　have　used　that　particular　brand　of　firearm；　and　I've　personally　killed　two　of　them。〃
　〃That's　lucky　for　me；　then；　Valentin；'　James　Bond　whispered。
　
　He　did　not　even　sense　the　other　man　until　it　was　too　late。　　A　blackjack　came　down　with　a　soft　thud　and　Bond　fell　into　the　darkness　of　unconsciousness。
　
　〃No；　not　lucky　for　you；　Mr。　Bond；'　Zukovsky　purred。
　
　ing　back　to　consciousness　was　like　dredging　his　way　through　mud。　　He　was　aware　of　someone　talking；　and　knew　what　had　happened　long　before　he　allowed　his　body　to　reveal　that　he　was　back　among　the　living。
　
　It　was　one　of　those　tricks　Bond　had　learned　over　the　years。　　If　you　regain　consciousness　with　your　captors　nearby；　hold　back；　assess　the　situation　before　doing　anything。
　
　He　heard　Zukovsky　giving　orders；　and　decided　there　were　at　least　four　people　in　the　room。　　In　the　background　he　could　hear　the　off…key　singer　trying　to　get　through　〃Memories　He　stirred；　shook　his　head　violently　and　looked　around。
　
　He　was　not　restrained　in　any　way；　and　sat　in　an　overstuffed　armchair　that　had　seen　better　days。
　
　Valentin　Zukovsky　straddled　a　chair　in　front　of　him　and　there　were　at　least　three　of　his　men　in　the　room。　　Away　in　the　club；　the　red　sequined　girl　was　murdering　LloydWebber。
　
　Valentin's　face　split　into　a　wide　and　happy　grin。　　〃So；　here　we　are；　the　great　Mr。　James　Bond：　dashing；　sophisticated　secret　agent。　　I'm　tempted　to　be　melodramatic　and　say；　so；　we　meet　again。〃　He　chuckled　and　his　men　followed　his　lead；　taking　their　cue　from　the　boss。
　
　〃The　great　James　Bond；'　he　laughed　again；　and　the　chorus　joined　in。　〃Shaken　not　stirred；　Mr。　Bond？〃　In　the　background；　the　singer　hit　a　particularly　terrible　high　note。　　〃Who's　strangling　the　cat？〃　Bond　asked。
　
　Zukovsky's　initial　response　was　to　unholster　a　pistol　and　put　a　shot　directly　between　Bond's　legs。　　A　jagged　gash　speared　through　the　leather　upholstery；　and　dirty　white　stuffing　flew　into　the　air　as　Bond　pressed　himself　back　in　the　armchair。
　
　〃That's　my　mistress；　Irena。〃　Zukovsky　halted　the　pistol　as　though　tempted　to　put　another　shot　after　the　first；　but　slightly　higher。
　
　〃And　a　very　talented　girl　she　is；　Irena。〃　Bond　smiled　innocently；　and　Zukovsky　seemed　to　relent；　raising　his　voice　and　shouting；　〃Irena！
　
　Take　a　hike！〃　The　warbling　stopped；　followed　by　a　number　of　Russian　obscenities　and　the　sound　of　Irena's　shoes　clicking　off　into　the　distance。
　
　Zukovsky　winced　at　the　fast　and　angry　tap　of　the　footsteps。　　Then　he　turned　his　attention　back　to　Bond。
　
　〃So；　what　is　it　that　brings　you　into　my　neighbourhood；　Mr。　Bond？
　
　Still　working　for　the　Secret　Intelligence　Service？　　Or　have　you　decided　to　drag　yourself　into　the　twenty…first　century？〃　The　moon　face　looked　almost　friendly。　　〃Incidentally；　I　hear　that　your　new　boss　is　a　girl。
　
　She　send　you　to　see　me？〃
　〃No；　I　came　to　you　to　ask　a　favor。〃　Zukovsky　chuckled　again　and　turned　to　his　bodyguards　〃He　wants　me　to　do　him　a　favor。
　
　They　all　chuckled；　and　Bond　thought　they　might　be　taking　their　lines　from　an　ancient　B　movie。
　
　〃Bond；'　this　time　he　was　not　looking　so　benign；　〃my　knee　aches　every　day。　　Twice　as　much　when　it's　cold；　and　do　you　realise　how　long　winter　can　be　in　this　part　of　the　world？〃　He　snapped　his　fingers　at　one　of　the　thugs。　　〃Tell　him；　Dimitri。〃　The　large　bodyguard　began　to　mumble；　revealing　that　he　was　not　blessed　with　a　high　10。
　
　Zukovsky　sighed　and　shut　off　Dimitri's　muttering　with　a　withering　look。
　
　Bond　fixed　his　eyes　on　his　old　adversary。　　〃You　know；　Valentin；　for　an　ex…KGB　man　you　sometimes　surprise　me。
　
　Surely；　someone　of　your　stature　must　have　realised　the　skill　wasn't　to　hit　your　knee；　but　to　miss　the　rest　of　you。〃　Some　twenty　seconds　went　by　before　Zukovsky　took　it　in。　　〃So　why　did　you　not　kill　me？〃
　〃Let's　call　it　a　professional　courtesy。
　
　Zukovsky　lifted　his　big　head　and　growled；　〃Then　I　should　return　the　courtesy。〃　The　pistol　came　up　and　he　fired；　the　bullet　slamming　into　the　chair　about　half　an　inch　from　Bond's　right　knee。
　
　〃Kirov's　Funeral　Parlour。　　Four　o'clock　this　afternoon；　Bond　spoke　very　quickly　as　though　trying　to　beat　a　second　bullet。
　
　〃Really？〃　The　Russian　slowly　untangled　himself　from　his　chair。　　〃I　think　we'd　better　talk　about　this　in　privacy。〃　After　the　red　plush　and　velvet　of　Zukovsky's　club；　his　office　was　a　surprise：　neat；　modern　furniture　and　filing　cabinets；　a　puter　on　a　large　uncluttered　desk　and　coffee　brewing　in　a　big　state…of…the…art　coffee　machine。
　
　He　gestured　Bond　into　a　chair　and　filled　two　cups　of　coffee。　　〃If　my　memory　serves；　you　take　it　black　with　no　sugar。
　
　〃Your　memory's　very　good。〃
　〃Like　you；　James　Bond；　my　memory　was　for　many　years　one　of　my　most　important　weapons。
　
　Above　the　desk　was　a　framed　portrait　of　KGB　headquarters　in　Dzerzhinsky　Square。　　Bond　nodded　at　it。　　〃You　still　cling　to　the　old　days；　Valentin。〃
　〃It's　still　Moscow　Centre。〃　He　settled　himself　behind　his　desk。　　〃The　Americans　have　a　saying；　〃what　goes　around　es　around〃。'　〃True　enough。
　
　〃I　have　a　firm　belief　that　we'll　all　be　back　in　business　within　a　decade。　　Political　ideologies　do　not　die　so　easily；　nor　are　they　simply　rubbed　out　by　a　declaration。　　Now；　what's　this　about　Kirov's　funeral　parlour？〃
　〃Two　hundred　pounds　of　C…4　explosive；　hidden　in　a　coffin。
　
　Your　man　drives　the　hearse　in；　the　money　changes　hands；　their　man　drives　the　hearse　out。〃
　〃So？〃
　〃So；　their　man　is　going　to　be　arrested　and　the　explosives　will　be　seized。　　Armed　with　this　knowledge；　your　man　can　make　a　miraculous　escape　with　the　money　intact。　　You　have　time　to　warn　him；　and　I　promise　you　this　is　going　to　happen。　　Also；　if　certain　people　don't　hear　from　me　by　three　this　afternoon；　it　all　goes　down　the　drain。　Explosives；　their　man；　your　man　and　the　cash。〃　Zukovsky's　big　head　nodded。　　〃So；　what　do　I　owe　for　this　piece　of　information？〃
　〃Very　little。　　I　want　you　to　set　me　up　with　Janus。〃　The　Ru