johngardner.rollofhonor-第19部分

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　There　was　another　movement；　this　time　to　the　right。
　Bond's　reflexes　and　intuition　warned　of　danger；　and　he　brought　the　ASP　up　in　the　direction　of　this　new　threat。
　The　triple　yellow　walls；　which　angle　to　form　the　Guttersnipe　sight；　fell　automatically　into　their　pattern；　right　on　target；　showing　another　figure　running　low　between　the　trees；　and　much　too　close　for　fort。　From　the　corner　of　his　eye；　he　saw　the　first　man　bringing　his　revolver　up　in　a　two…handed　grip。　　Then　he　heard　the　unmistakable　click　of　a　revolver　hammer　being　drawn　back；　very　close　behind　him。　　The　sharp　burning　cold　of　a　muzzle　touched　the　side　of　his　neck　gently。
　〃Drop　it；　Mr。　Bond。　　Please　don't　try　anything　silly。　　Just　drop　the　gun。
　Bond　had　no　desire　to　get　himself　killed　at　this　point　in　his　career。　He　tossed　the　ASP　on　to　the　ground。
　〃Good。〃　The　voice　was　soft；　slightly　lilting。　　〃Now；　hands　on　the　head；　please。〃　The　two　men　who　had　been　in　Bond's　sights　were　now　standing；　ing　forward；　the　one　to　his　left　with　arms　outstretched；　holding　a　snub…nosed　revolver　in　the　two　handed　grip；　the　arms　steady　as　iron　bars。　　His　eyes　never　left　the　captive。　　Bond　was　in　no　doubt　that　two　bullets　would　reach　him　fast　if　he　made　any　wrong　move。　　The　other　came　in　quickly；　scooping　up　the　fallen　ASP　like　a　predatory　bird　swooping　on　to　its　prey。
　〃Right；　now　get　to　your　feet　very　slowly；'　the　voice　continued；　the　gun　muzzle　detaching　itself　from　just　behind　Bond's　ear。　　There　was　the　sound　of　feet　shuffling　as　the　man　stepped　back。　　〃That　manoeuvre　was　rather　good；　wasn't　it？　　We　knew　roughly　where　you　had　gone　to　ground；　so　it　was　just　a　matter　of　showing　you　someone　with　stealth　and　another　with　speed。　　The　lads　went　through　that　little　farce　three　times　before　they　found　the　right　place。　　It's　the　kind　of　fieldcraft　we　teach。　Please　turn　around。〃
　〃Who　teaches？〃　Bond　demanded　as　he　turned　and　faced　a　tall；　well…built　man　in　his　mid…thirties　with　tight；　curly　hair；　dark　above　matching　jet　eyes；　a　square　face；　a　large　nose　and　full　lips。　　Women　would　find　him　attractive；　Bond　thought。　　The　dark　plexion　was　overlaid　with　a　hard；　sunbaked　tan。　　It　was　the　eyes　that　really　gave　him　away。　　They　had　that　particular　look；　as　it；　for　years；　they　had　searched　horizons　for　the　telltale　sign　of　dust；　or　the　sky　for　a　speck；　or　an　outcrop　of　rock　for　movement；　or　doorways　and　windows　for　muzzle　flashes。
　Those　eyes　had　probably　been　doing　that　kind　of　thing　since　childhood。　Nationality？　　Who　could　tell？　　One　of　the　Middle　Eastern　countries；　but　whether　he　came　from　Jerusalem；　Beirut　or　Cairo　was　impossible　to　tell。　Possibly　a　hybrid；　Bond　thought。
　〃Who　teaches？〃　he　asked　again。
　The　young　man　lifted　an　eyebrow。　　〃You　might　get　to　find　out；　Mr。　Bond。　Who　knows？〃　The　smile　was　not　unfriendly。　　〃Now；'　he　said；　〃we　have　to　move　you；　and　I　cannot　be　certain　you'll　sit　still。〃　He　gave　a　short　laugh。
　〃I　rather　think　my　superiors　want　you　alive　and　in　one　piece；　so　would　you　take　off　your　jacket　and　roll　up　your　sleeve？〃　Two　more　figures　rose　from　the　bushes　as　the　senior　man　holstered　his　weapon；　reaching　into　a　hip　pocket　to　bring　out　a　hard　oblong　box。
　One　of　the　newers　helped　remove　Bond's　jacket　while　the　other's　hands　rested　firmly　on　his　shoulders。
　Unresisting；　Bond　allowed　them　to　roll　up　his　sleeve　while　the　leader　filled　a　hypodermic　syringe；　lifting　it　so　that　the　needle　pointed　upwards。　　A　tiny　squirt　of　colourless　liquid　arched　into　the　air。　　Bond　felt　a　damp　swab　on　the　upper　part　of　his　arm。
　〃It's　okay；'　the　leader　said　with　a　smile。　　〃We　do　want　you　in　one　piece；　I　assure　you。　　As　the　actress　said　to　the　bishop；　just　a　little　。　。　　。　　er　。　　。　　。　　a　little　jab。〃　Somebody　gave　a　loud　laugh；　and　Bond　heard　another　say　something　in　a　language　he　did　not　recognise。　　He　did　not　even　feel　the　needle　slide　home。
　At　first　he　thought　he　was　in　a　helicopter；　lying　flat　on　his　back　with　the　machine　bucking　under　him。　　He　could　hear　the　chug　of　the　engine　turning　the　rotor　blades。
　Then；　far　away；　came　the　rip　of　automatic　firing。　　For　a　time；　Bond　drifted　away　again；　then　the　helicopter　sensation　returned；　acpanied　by　a　series　of　loud　explosions　near　at　hand。
　Opening　his　eyes；　he　saw　an　electric　fan　turning　slowly　above　his　head；　and　became　aware　of　white　walls　and　the　simple　metal　bedframe　on　which　he　lay；　fully　dressed。
　He　propped　himself　on　one　arm。　　Physically　he　felt　fine：　no　nausea；　no　headache；　eyes　focused　properly。　　He　held　out　his　right　hand；　fingers　splayed。　　There　was　no　tremor。
　The　room；　bare　of　furniture　apart　from　the　bed；　had　just　one　door　and　a　window　covered　with　mesh　inside　and　bars　on　the　outside。
　Sunlight　appeared　dimly　through　the　aperture。
　As　he　swung　his　feet　on　to　the　floor　he　heard　another　distant　explosion。　He　stood　up　and　found　his　legs　steady。
　Halfway　to　the　door；　there　came　the　sound　of　more　machine…gun　fire　…　again　at　a　distance。　　The　door　was　locked；　and　he　could　make　out　little　through　the　window。
　The　mesh　on　the　inside　was　a　thick　papery　adhesive　substance；　which　had　been　applied　to　the　panes　of　glass；　making　it　impossible　to　get　any　clear　view。　　It　would　also　prevent　fragmentation　from　blast。
　Bond　was　convinced　he　was　not　in　England。　　The　temperature　inside　the　little　white　room；　even　with　the　fan　turning　round　and　round；　was　not　induced　by　the　kind　of　heat　you　ever　got　in　England；　even　in　the　most　brilliant　of　summers。
　The　sounds　of　small　arms　fire；　punctuated　by　the　occasional　explosion；　suggested　he　was　in　some　war　zone。
　He　tried　the　door　again；　then　had　a　look　at　the　lock。　　It　was　solid；　well…made；　and　more　than　efficient。　　There　would　almost　certainly　be　bolts　on　the　outside　too。
　Methodically　he　went　through　his　pockets　but　found　nothing。　　They　had　cleaned　him　out。　　Even　his　watch　was　missing；　and　the　metal　bedframe　appeared　to　be　a　one…piece　affair。　　Given　time；　and　some　kind　of　lever；　he　might　be　able　to　force　a　piece　of　thick　wire　from　the　springs；　but　it　would　be　an　arduous　business　and　he　had　no　way　of　knowing　how　long　he　would　be　left　alone。
　When　in　doubt；　do　nothing；　Bond　thought。
　He　went　back　to　the　bed　and　stretched　out；　going　over　the　events　still　fresh　in　his　mind。　　The　attempt　to　get　away　with　the　puter　programs。　Posting　them。　　The　trailing　cars。　　The　wood　and　his　capture。
　The　needle。　　He　was　the　only　one　to　have　fired　a　shot。　　Almost　certainly　he　had　hit　…　probably　killed　…　one　of　them。　　Yet；　apart　from　their　natural　caution；　they　had　been　careful　to　make　sure　that　he　was　unharmed。　　A　connection　between　his　visit　to　Jay　Autem　Holy　and　the　current　situation　was　probable；　though　not　certain。　　Take　nothing　for　granted。　　Wait　for　revelations。　　Expect　the　worst。
　Bond　lay　there；　mentally　prepared；　for　the　best　part　of　twenty　minutes。　At　last　there　came　footsteps　…　muffled；　as　though　boots　crunched　over　earth；　but　the　tread　had　a　decidedly　military　sound。
　Bolts　were　drawn　back　and　the　door　to　Bond's　room　was　unlocked　and　opened。
　He　caught　a　glimpse　of　sand；　low　white　buildings　and　two　armed　men　dressed　in　drab　olive　uniforms。　　A　third　person　stepped　into　the　room。
　He　was　the　one　who　had　administered　the　knock…out　injection　in　the　Oxfordshire　wood。　　Now　he　wore　uniform　…　a　simple　olive　drab　battledress；　smart　with　no　insignia　or　badges　of　rank。　　He　had　on　desert　boots　and　a　revolver　of　high　calibre　holstered　on　the　right　of　his　webbing　belt。　　A　long　sheathed　knife　hung　from　the　belt　on　the　left。　His　head　was　covered　by　a　light　brown；　almost　makeshift；　kafflyeh　held　in　place　by　a　red　band。　　One　of　the　men　outside　reached　in　and　closed　the　door。
　〃Had　a　good　sleep；　Mr。　Bond？〃　The　man's　smile　was　almost　infectious。　　As　he　looked　up；　Bond　remembered　his　feelings　about　the　eyes。
　〃I'd　rather　have　been　awake。〃
　〃You're　all　right；　though？　　No　ill　effects？〃　Bond　shook　his　head。
　〃Right。　　My　name's　Simon。〃　The　man　was　crisp　and　businesslike；　extending　a　hand　which　Bond　did　not　take。
　〃We　hold　no　grudge　over　our　man；'　he　said　after　a　slight　pause。
　〃You　killed　him；　by　the　way。　　But　he　was　being　paid　to　risk　his　life。〃　He　shrugged。　　〃We　underestimated　you；　I　fear。　　My　fault。　　Nobody　thought　you'd　be　carrying　a　gun。　　After　all；　you're　not　in　the　trad