The Facts of Death

A James Bond adventure

The tableaux of pain and suffering might have been a freeze-frame from a dance of death.

The 12 men--three corporals and nine privates--were sprawled about in various positions in the barracks room. They were fully dressed. One man was half-on, half-off a cot. Three were piled together, clutching one another in a macabre embrace. All of them had vomited and bled from the nose and mouth. They had clearly experienced a horrible death.

The team of four investigators dressed in protective gear made a thorough search of the premises. Each wore a Willson AR 1700 full-face gas mask with a respirator and in-cheek filters, airtight goggles, a hood, an impermeable butyl rubber suit, 18-gauge rubber gloves and boots. Every inch of skin was covered. The investigators were thankful that the gas masks blocked the stench. They were sweating profusely beneath the suits for, in late October, it was still hot in southern Cyprus.

James Bond peered through the eyepieces of his gas mask, taking in every detail. Twelve soldiers had been killed by an unknown chemical agent, possibly administered through the air ducts. It seemed the only possible explanation. Equally disturbing was the number three painted in red on the wall of the room. Below the number, on the floor, was a six-inch alabaster statuette of the ancient Greek god Poseidon.

Bond watched the two British SAS investigators do their work and then followed them outside into the sun. One investigator, the sole Greek on the team, remained inside to finish making notes and to take photographs.

The men removed their gas masks and hoods. The temperature was already 85 degrees. It would have been a good day for a swim.

The British Sovereign Base Areas in the Republic of Cyprus cover approximately three percent of the island. The Western Sovereign Base Area, which consists of the Episkopi Garrison buildings and the Akrotiri RAF airfield, and the Eastern Sovereign Base Area, the garrison at Dhekelia, remained under British jurisdiction when the Treaty of Establishment created the independent Republic of Cyprus in 1960. Prior to that, Cyprus had been a British Crown Colony.

Bond had been dispatched to Cyprus shortly after midnight and had been shuttled to Akrotiri by a Royal Navy aircraft. He was met by Captain Sean Tully and taken directly to Episkopi, which housed the Sovereign Base Areas Administration and the headquarters of the British Forces in Cyprus. Bond had always thought the island a lovely place, with its beautiful beaches, rolling hills in the north, near-perfect climate and quaint and colorful cities. It was unfortunate that Cyprus had such a turbulent recent history.

It was an unnamed British officer who had drawn a line with a green marker across the map in 1963, when tensions between the Greek and Turkish Cypriots culminated in violence. The United Nations moved in shortly thereafter in an attempt to keep the peace along the aptly named Green Line. Eleven years later, as a result of an attempted coup by the Greek government and the Turkish invasion of the northern part of the island that occurred in reaction to that attempt, the island was divided not just by a symbolic Green Line but by a political one. Today, Her Majesty's government, along with the UN, recognizes only the government of the Republic of Cyprus, which administers the southern two thirds of the island. The so-called Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus, which illegally occupies the northeast third, is not recognized by any nation other than Turkey. The situation has been a source of tension, mistrust and conflict for more than 20 years.

The current disaster had struck in a barracks near the Episkopi helicopter landing site. Bond had been joined by two SAS forensic identification specialists from London and, at the last minute, by a member of the Greek Secret Service. He was puzzled by the presence of the Greek agent, who was still inside the barracks taking notes. M had advised him that a Greek agent would be contacting him in Episkopi, but this was obviously a British matter as it involved British military personnel and occurred on territory governed by neither the Republic of Cyprus nor Greece.

Winninger, one of the London investigators, wiped the sweat from his brow and asked, "Commander Bond, do you have any preliminary impressions?"

"It was some kind of aerosol agent, I would imagine," Bond said. "The number on the wall and the little statue are some kind of signature that the killer or killers left behind. I understand there was something similar at Dhekelia two days ago."

"Right," the second man, Ashcraft, said. "A small squad of men was killed by a nerve toxin called sarin--the same stuff that was used recently in a Japanese underground train by a religious fanatic."

Winninger added, "And then there was poor Whitten two days before that."

Bond nodded. He had been briefed. Christopher Whitten had been an MI6 operative in Athens. His body had been found by the Greek police sprawled on the steps of the Temple of Hephaestion in the ancient agora near the Acropolis. He had died by an unidentified poison, but Forensic Toxicology believed the cause of death to have been ricin, a deadly protein derived from the simple castor bean.

In all three cases, the perpetrators had left a number painted near the body or bodies. The number one had been scrawled on a rock by Whitten's head. The number two had been painted on the wall of the Dhekelia barracks where the small squad of soldiers died the other day. Another similarity to the Episkopi incident was that a small statue of a Greek god had been left at the Dhekelia scene.

Ashcraft said, "And now we have the third attack in four days. Looks like we've got a serial terrorist or something. One complete section and half of another from the platoon were killed. That's three corporals and nine privates--three fire teams. It happened late last night after they had come in from drill. What do you make of the condition of the bodies, Ray?"

Winninger rubbed his chin. "From the amount of bleeding the victims experienced--from nearly every orifice of their bodies--it appears to be Tricothecenes. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes," Ashcraft said. "We'll have to get the lab to verify, of course. Terrible way to go." He turned to Bond. "Tricothecenes is a poison that causes radical bleeding from the eyes, ears, nose and mouth, internal bleeding, burns, convulsion and death--all within half an hour."

Bond was familiar with the various types of chemicals used in terrorist attacks and in warfare.

"Is it my imagination, or can I smell their bodies from out here?" Winninger asked.

The Greek agent emerged from the barracks, still wearing the gas mask and protective hood. Now out in the fresh air, the gas mask and coverings were quickly removed, revealing a head of long, black hair. She had Mediterranean features--thick eyebrows, brown eyes, full lips, a large but not unattractive nose and a long neck. She was unusually tall--nearly six feet. Bond and the other two men were surprised. They hadn't realized the agent was a woman when she walked into the barracks after them. She hadn't spoken and the protective uniform covered any hint of female shape.

"Are you from the National Intelligence Service? You're Mirakos?" Winninger asked.

"That's right," she said. "Niki Mirakos of the Greek NIS." She pronounced her first name Nee-kee.

"What are you doing here, exactly?" Ashcraft asked. "If you don't mind my asking."

"I'm investigating these terrorist attacks, just as you are," she said with disdain. "Your man Whitten was found in a public area of Athens--a national park that was a holy place for the ancient Greeks, no less. These attacks are not random. There is a purpose behind them. My government has an interest in what has happened."

"Maybe you can fill us in on your hypothesis, then?" Ashcraft said.

"Later," she said. "I want to get out of these hot clothes and take a shower." She turned to Bond. "You're 007, aren't you?"

Bond held out his hand. "Bond," he said. "James Bond."

"We're supposed to have a little talk," she said. She glanced at the two other officers and added, "Alone."

Bond nodded. He led her toward the building in the barracks that had been assigned to them as temporary quarters. As they walked, she unzipped her coveralls, revealing a white T-shirt soaked with sweat. Her full breasts were perfectly molded into the shirt. Bond couldn't help stealing a glance or two as they walked. She was not(continued on page 154)James Bond(continued from page 86) beautiful in the cover-girl sense, but she exhibited an air of sensuality that made her extremely attractive.

"We believe this to be the work of terrorists specializing in chemical and biological weaponry," she said. "The targets thus far have been British, but we believe there is something behind the attacks that will ultimately involve Greece." She had a fairly thick accent, but her English was good. Although most people under the age of 40 in Greece have learned English, few practice it on a daily basis.

"Do you have any idea who these people are?"

"No, and that's part of the problem. We're still investigating the death of your man Whitten, with the cooperation of your government, of course."

"Is there any significance in the site where the body was dumped?" he asked.

"Perhaps. The ancient agora was the Athenian marketplace. You know about the coin?"

Bond nodded. "Whitten had an ancient Greek coin in his mouth."

Niki continued, "That's right. The ancient Greeks believed the dead should have a coin handy to give to Charon, the boatman on the river Styx, so he would ferry them over the river to Hades. A dead person was usually buried with a coin in his mouth to use as fare."

"So the body placement, the coin, the number ... are all symbolic," Bond said.

"Of what?" she asked. "If we can find the connection between that murder and the incidents here on Cyprus, it would be a big help."

"The statuettes could be a substitute for the temple," Bond said. "Ideally, maybe the killers wanted to send some sort of message linking the deaths to ancient Greece. That's why Whitten's body was dropped where it was. Since they couldn't do that here in Cyprus, maybe the statuettes are supposed to symbolize the equivalent. Whatever that is."

"That's an interesting point, Mr. Bond," Niki said. "The statuette at Dhekelia was of Hera, the Queen of the Gods. This one was Poseidon. I wonder if that means anything."

"I'm no scholar on ancient Greece," Bond admitted, "but I know that Hera was a vengeful, jealous god."

"What do you make of the numbers?"

Bond shrugged. "It's a definite indication that these three acts were committed by the same group, and that there will probably be more."

They had now reached two three-story white buildings of brick and plaster, some 200 meters from the helicopter landing site. The orange wind sock could be clearly seen blowing in the wind. The sound of an approaching Westland Wessex Mark II search-and-rescue helicopter was growing louder. They glanced up toward the sun and saw the copter descending, its silhouette resembling a humpback whale's.

"I'm going to take a shower," Niki said. She looked at her watch. It was just past noon. "Let's meet in the mess at one? We can compare notes before we meet the base personnel at two. They will want answers."

"Fine," Bond said. "Then I'll take a shower too. Perhaps we can go for a swim after the debriefing? And then maybe dinner?"

"You work fast, Mr. Bond," she said with a slight smile.

He shrugged. "I will be leaving in the morning."

"We'll see," she said as they separated. Bond went up to the second floor of the building normally occupied by a platoon. As he passed the showers, he noticed a sign on the door that said the plumbing was out of order. Bond turned and shouted out the window to Niki, who was entering the barracks across the road.

"I need to use one of your showers! Mine are out!"

Niki waved and gestured for him to come over.

Bond had been assigned a room that was currently vacant, though bits of the kits of three soldiers were still there. The rooms were all alike--sparsely furnished with three cots, three cupboards, a sink, a ceiling fan, two strips of fluorescent lights and a dozen posters on the walls of popular pin-up celebrities. He grabbed his open carry-on bag and made his way across the road to Niki's barracks. Bare-shouldered, she stuck her head out of her door as he passed by and said, "You can use the next room. The showers are a few doors down. You go first, I can wait."

"Why not join me? We could do our part in conserving Cyprus' precious water supply."

The door shut in his face.

Bond entered the room, removed his clothes and threw his bag on one of the cots. He hadn't brought much with him, as he knew he would be on a plane back to London in the morning. As an afterthought, he had thrown in his swimming trunks and a diving utility belt that Q Branch supplied to agents working near water. Perhaps there really would be time for a swim with the fetching Niki Mirakos.

Bond wrapped a towel around his waist and walked out of the room to the showers.

There were five shower stalls, two bathtubs and toilets. No one else was around. Bond dropped the towel and stepped into one of the stalls. He twisted the knob to turn on the hot water. It got warm quickly and he stepped beneath the spray, allowing it to wash away his sweat. He was just about to soap himself when the water suddenly turned cold. He stepped back and held his hand under the spray. Suddenly, the water cut off. In a few seconds, warm water burst out of the spigot. Bond chalked it up to poor plumbing on the military base and stepped under the spray once again. When the water turned cold a second time, he became suspicious and stepped out of the stall. Immediately the smell of ammonia enveloped the room. Smoke funneled out of the stall as some kind of abrasive chemical poured out onto the tiles on the floor.

Bond ran out of the room naked. He ducked into his temporary quarters, taking a few seconds to slip on his swimming trunks. He grabbed the utility belt, which also held his new Walther P99 in a waterproof holster, and ran back outside. Niki, a towel wrapped around her shapely body, stepped out of her room in time to see him leap over the railing and gracefully land on the grass below in his bare feet. A couple of perplexed privates in uniform were standing beside a jeep watching him.

Paying no attention to them, Bond ran around the building in time to see a figure in camouflage fatigues running away from the barracks toward the helicopter landing site. The Wessex that had landed earlier was still there, its rotor blades spinning. Bond took off after the running figure, who was wearing a gas mask and protective hood.

The figure made it to the Wessex and climbed through the open door. The helicopter immediately began to rise just as Bond made it to the site. He leaped forward and managed to grab hold of the trooping step, the metal attachment used as an extra stair to assist soldiers entering or leaving the aircraft. The Wessex continued to rise, with Bond hanging on for dear life. Within moments, they were flying over the base toward the Mediterranean.

The door was still open, and from his position Bond could see two camouflaged figures. One was holding a gun to the pilot's head. The aircraft had been hijacked!

The gas-masked figure he had seen earlier leaned out of the door and saw Bond hanging on to the trooping step. He pulled a large knife from a sheath, then squatted down closer to the floor of the aircraft. Holding on to the inside of the cabin with one hand, the figure leaned out with the knife in the other. He swung the knife across Bond's knuckles, slicing the skin. Bond winced with pain but forced himself to hang on. The helicopter was a good 200 feet above the ground. He would surely fall to his death if he let go. The assassin struck out again, but this time Bond was ready. As the knife swung, Bond removed one hand from the trooping step and grasped a piece of metal beneath the step that was fastened to the helicopter. It wasn't as good a handhold as the step itself, but it was shielded from the assassin's knife. He then inched out onto the wheel axle and wrapped his legs around it. The killer would have to venture out of the aircraft to get him now.

As the helicopter flew over the RAF airfield at Akrotiri, the pilot was ordered to maneuver the vehicle wildly in an attempt to throw off Bond. The pain was almost unbearable, and the blood from the cuts dripped onto his face. But he hung on tightly. If only he could manage to keep hold until they got over the water. ...

The figure leaned out of the door again, this time holding an automatic pistol--a Daewoo, Bond thought. Bond swung his body up under the helicopter as the killer fired at him. The bullets whizzed past as Bond swung back and forth. Fortunately, the jerking movement of the helicopter spoiled the man's aim and he shouted angrily at the pilot.

The helicopter was now over the Mediterranean, flying south. The water below was choppy.

The assassin did what Bond was afraid he might do: He crawled out onto the trooping step. Now that the chopper was flying level, Bond could be shot at pointblank range. Bond couldn't see the killer's face behind the gas mask, but he knew the man was smiling in triumph. The assassin raised the pistol and pointed it at Bond's head.

Bond used all of his strength to swing back underneath the trooping step and took advantage of the momentum to push himself away from the helicopter. In midair, he somersaulted so that his body ended up in a diving position. He heard the shot ring out above him as he soared down to the sea. The impact of the water might have killed an ordinary man, but Bond's graceful, Olympic-style dive cut smoothly through the surface of the water.

He swam up for air and saw the Wessex continuing its trek southward. He looked at the shore, which was at least a mile away. Could he swim that far? The water was very choppy, a challenge for even the strongest swimmer. It was lucky that he had thought to bring the utility belt pack.

While treading water, Bond unzipped the belt pack and removed two coiled rubber items that, when shaken, opened to their proper size. They were portable flippers, which he quickly placed on his feet. Next, Bond removed a small can the size of a shaving cream container. Two long elastic bands allowed him to strap the can onto his back. A flexible tube unrolled from the top of the can, and he stuck the end in his mouth. The can was a ten-minute Aqua-Lung, which would be helpful in swimming through the water. He hoped that the current wasn't so strong that he couldn't make headway toward shore.

Bond began the slow crawl toward land, thankful that he had brushed up on his diving skills a couple of weeks earlier. He was also grateful that Major Boothroyd was indeed a genius.

He fought the sea as best he could, but it was a case of two steps forward, one step back. Still, he was an expert swimmer and extremely fit. Five minutes later, Bond estimated that he was about half a mile from shore. The Aqua-Lung would last him another five minutes and then he would have to depend on short, deep breaths stolen from the surface.

The sound of another helicopter grew louder and its shadow blocked out the sun. Bond stopped swimming and trod water. A Gazelle was directly above him, and a rope ladder was being lowered from it. He took hold of the ladder and swiftly climbed into the small, round helicopter. To his surprise, it was piloted by none other than Niki Mirakos. An RAF airman manned the ladder.

"What kept you?" Bond asked.

"You said you wanted to go swimming!" Niki shouted over the noise. "I wanted to make sure you had a little time to enjoy yourself."

The Gazelle pulled away toward the shore and back to Episkopi, passing two more Wessex helicopters heading out to sea in pursuit of the hijacked aircraft.

•

Back at the base, Bond and Niki learned that whoever was wearing the gas mask had managed to attach a tank of cyanogen chloride to the water supply line. The chemical was classified as a "blood agent" because it attacked blood cells and spread quickly through the body. If Bond had inhaled the vapors, he would have been a dead man. Investigators believed that the same assassin was responsible for the attack on the fire teams. More disturbing was that this latest incident was a blatant attempt on Niki Mirakos' life.

That evening, the search-and-rescue personnel made their reports. The hijacked Wessex was found abandoned, floating in the sea about a hundred miles south of Cyprus. The saltwater flotation cans had been activated, allowing the helicopter to land on the water undamaged. The pilot's body was found onboard. He had been shot in the back of the head. It was surmised that the killer and his accomplice had somehow hijacked the craft and forced the pilot to fly them in and out of the base. The hijackers must have been met by a boat or a seaplane for there was no trace of them.

After the debriefing, Bond and Niki drove her rented Honda Civic into town. They found a loud, festive restaurant but managed to be seated at a small table for two in the back, away from the noise.

"How do you feel?" she asked. The candle on the table cast a glow across her bronze face.

"That fight with the sea today exhausted me, but otherwise I am fully alert," Bond said. "I'm hungry, how about you?"

"Famished."

They shared a Cypriot mixed grill--ham, sausage and beef burgers and halloumi, a chewy cheese, all cooked over charcoal. The house wine was Ambelida, a dry, light wine made from Xynisteri white grapes.

"Why is it that most Cypriot cuisine consists of an enormous amount of meat?" Bond asked.

Niki laughed. "I don't know. We eat a lot of meat in Greece, too, but not this much. Maybe it's the reason for the high level of testosterone on this island."

"Why do you think someone tried to kill you in the shower, Niki? That was meant for you," he said.

"I don't have a clue. Someone obviously knew I would come to investigate. I've been on this case since they found your man Whitten. Maybe whoever's responsible knew that. Don't worry, I can take care of myself."

"I'm sure you can. When do you go back?"

"Tomorrow morning, same as you," she said.

Bond settled the bill, even though she had wanted to pay for her own meal. In the car on the way back to the base, he asked her if they would see each other again.

"My middle name is Cassandra," she said. "Believe it or not, I think I've always had the ability to see into people's hearts, and sometimes into the future."

"Oh, really?" Bond asked, smiling. "And what does the future hold for us?"

"We'll see each other again at least once," she said as they pulled into the front gate of the base.

After saying goodnight, he returned to his barracks room, undressed and slipped under the blanket of one of the cots. He had drifted off to sleep when a knock at the door jarred him awake. "Come in," he said.

Niki Mirakos, still wearing civilian clothes, stepped into the dark room. "I told you we'd see each other at least one more time. Besides, I wanted to make sure you were all right. You must be very sore after that fall into the sea."

She moved closer to him. He sat up in the cot, about to protest, but she gently pushed him back down. She turned him onto his stomach and began to massage his broad shoulders.

"This will work out all the ... um, how do you say it in English ... the kinkies?" she asked.

Bond turned onto his back and pulled her down onto him. "The word is kinks," he said, chuckling. "But I'll be happy to show you what kinky means."

With that, his mouth met hers and she moaned.

He became suspicious and stepped out of the stall. Immediately the smell of ammonia enveloped the room.