Bond Movies 03 - Licence to Kill Read Online Free Page B

of that bride.’ He turned and gave Bond a firm, dry handshake. ‘Nice to have met you, Bond. Hope there’ll be another time. See you around, okay?’ He gave an expansive wave with his right hand, the big cigar tucked between his fingers, and left the room.
    ‘One of the best men in the business.’ Leiter slid out the 3·5 disk and tapped it with his forefinger. ‘First rule when you’re working with micros. Always keep a backup safely stored away. You never know. If something happens, you lose all the data.’ He then tucked it away behind a framed photograph of Della which stood next to a nice little plaster repro of one of the soldiers from the famous Qin Shiuang’s terracotta army. He took the cake knife from Bond. ‘Let’s face the music. Della should be just about ready to kill me.’ At the door he stopped placing the gloved false hand on Bond’s arm. ‘I don’t have to tell you how grateful I am – for everything.’
    ‘What are friends for?’ Bond asked, realising that he really wanted to quiz Felix about the lovely young dark-haired beauty who had been in the study, but holding his tongue. He would look for her later, and maybe . . . Well, who knew?
    At the Drug Enforcement Agency headquarters across the Key, they were ready to move Sanchez out for the journey to Quantico, and they were taking no chances. An armoured van stood near the doors, and the prisoner, looking quite unconcerned, was led from the building in chains which ran from his wrists to his ankles, which were also shackled with just enough chain to allow him an undignified shuffle. He was flanked by a pair of marshals, each armed with a shotgun, while another two marshals’ cars stood by. On the helipad a police chopper stood, its rotors at idle.
    Ed Killifer, having made his appearance at the wedding reception, brought his car to a halt in his marked parking slot, got out and walked over to Sanchez and the marshals, the eternal cigar clamped between his lips. He smiled grimly at Sanchez. ‘All ready for the joyride?’
    ‘They didn’t even give me time to pack an overnight case.’ Sanchez was infuriatingly confident.
    ‘Where you’re going, you’ll need a couple of million night cases.’ Killifer was near to sneering. ‘Okay boys, let’s hit the road.’
    They helped Sanchez into the back of the armoured van where other chains were padlocked to steel rings on either side of the uncomfortable bench which ran along one wall of the van. With a nod, Killifer slammed the doors and one of the marshals inside pulled the locking mechanism.
    ‘Have to be a Houdini to get out of that,’ Killifer muttered as he walked to the front of the van, picked up a shotgun and climbed in next to the driver. ‘Okay,’ he shouted boisterously. ‘Wagons Ho!’
    Slowly the convoy pulled away, a marshal’s car in front of the armoured van, another behind, and the police helicopter patrolling the sky overhead.
    Once on Route One, they picked up speed: everyone, from the police in the chopper to Killifer beside the armoured van driver alert, and ready for anything.
    About a mile out of Key West, on a small stretch of bridge, the lead car signalled the convoy to slow down. Ahead a sign read ‘Caution! Bridge Under Repair.’ A section of the metal guard-rail on the right had been removed and coned off to mark a stretch of temporary wooden fencing.
    The police, high above, watched the first marshal’s car pass the spot, but, as the armoured van came abreast of the coned wooden fence, so the van suddenly seemed to speed up and slew sideways.
    The bonnet hit the fence which shattered under impact. For a second the van appeared to leap outwards and hang in space. Then, as though in slow motion, it dipped and plunged into the muddy water below.
    Both the marshals’ cars screamed to a halt and the chopper descended, turning low over the spot where the van had hit the water. The air was full of the crackle of radios calling for special backup.
    The