Bond Movies 03 - Licence to Kill Read Free Page B

last it was done. Bond hung on, his head straining upwards trying to see if Felix and the pilot had the right idea.
    They had. The big helicopter slowed and the rope took the strain. Bond, clinging on like the proverbial grim death, prayed that there had been no parachute in the Cub’s cockpit. Not that it would have mattered much. Jumping into the sea in these waters would almost certainly mean a blow-out for the sharks.
    Sanchez would have been a fool if he had not worked out what the helicopter and its crew were attempting. He had bucked the aircraft from side to side, tried reducing power and then slamming the little Lycoming engine through the gate. Nobody, he thought, could possibly remain on the tail, but he continued to feel the drag increasing. Then, to his horror, he found the aircraft was beginning to wallow. Even with the engine at full throttle, the controls had become mushy and the airspeed began to bleed-off steadily.
    At stalling point, Sanchez, who was not known for fear, cried out. The controls went slack and the horizon began to rise above him as the airplane’s nose dropped sickeningly, then stopped, the ground below swinging and spinning, yet the force of gravity having no effect.
    It took Sanchez a full minute to realise that he was sitting in an airplane suspended from a helicopter’s winch which was slowly being drawn upwards.
    The latter action was only to allow Bond to get back inside the helicopter to the jubilant trio of Leiter, Hawkins and Mullins.
    Once he was through the door, they let the line out a little so that, when they returned to the coastguard helipad, on the north-west side of the town, they could dump the plane softly on to the tarmac.
    When they did arrive back, people poured out of hotels and shops to watch this strange sight of a light aircraft swinging, suspended under the helicopter.
    People drinking in Sloppy Joe’s and Captain Tony’s came out on to the sidewalks; folks who had been patiently waiting in church for the wedding, stampeded for the door as the news passed through St Paul’s like a brush fire; the good ol’ boys sitting around Garrison Bight, and the smart young people around the modern Marina could hardly believe their eyes.
    ‘Airplane wreck, I guess,’ said one of the good ol’ boys.
    ‘If’n God had meant us to fly he’d’ve given us jet engines ’stead of assholes,’ another good ol’ boy spat accurately into the gutter.
    Outside St Paul’s church, Sharky pleaded with the beautiful Ms Della Churchill who had, only minutes before, called the whole wedding off.
    ‘They’re here, Della. Just twice more around the block and they’ll be sitting up front there, with the preacher ready to go.’
    Della took a deep breath, then relented. ‘Okay, only twice more though.’
    Sharky leapt into the Bentley telling the driver to go like hell. Over his shoulder he shouted back at Della, ‘Twice more. Slowly, though. Very slowly.’
    As it was, the future Mrs Leiter went around four more times at a crawl. Only then were Felix Leiter and his best man, James Bond, in place, their white roses pinned correctly, though their morning clothes looked decidedly the worse for wear.
    So, almost three hours late, the strains of the bridal chorus from Lohengrin piped out and Della, an irritated glint in her eyes behind the veil, came beautifully down the aisle to go through the wedding ceremony at last.
    ‘Well, they got me to the church, almost on time,’ Felix said later on their way back to his delightful gingerbread house which had cost him a fortune, his entire CIA kiss-off money together with accrued interest.

 
     
     
     
    2
     
    UNWANTED GUESTS
     
     
     
     
    James Bond found himself a quiet corner in the main room of Felix Leiter’s house, nursing a glass of champagne, running his eyes over the guests, looking for what he thought of as ‘likely winners’. He had spotted one earlier, outside the church. A tall and striking brunette dressed in a