Page 129 - Brokenclaw - John Gardner

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morning, I’m not certain that I know where we are.’

Brokenclaw Lee threw back his head and gave a huge laugh, his burly
shoulders shaking with mirth. ‘Ah, it works,’ he still chuckled. ‘It always
works on strangers, and it is all part of my methods for avoiding detection.
James Bond OO7 - printing disabled that Brokenclaw Lee can come and go as he pleases, he can make James Bond OO7 - printing disabled
They say
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himself invisible and fly away like an eagle. Yes, Peter Abelard, or
Argentbright, come with me and let me show you. Come to these windows
here.’ He rose and led the way across to the leaded mullion windows at the
end of the room.

Bond joined him and looked out on the sweeping expanse of the Virginian
Blue Ridge. Occasionally he detected movement, a car’s windshield reflecting
sunlight. Also the sun had begun to shift, moving higher.
‘You see Virginia, yes?’ He could feel Brokenclaw’s smile.
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‘Of course.’
‘Let me show you something else.’
Bond was aware of the big man’s hand moving to a point in the panelling
between the two windows. There was a click and he glanced down to see that

a small console with knobs, buttons and switches had slid from the wall.
‘Keep looking,’ said Brokenclaw.
Outside, there was a sudden darkening of the day, as though the sun had gone
behind thick cloud, then he saw the clouds themselves, drawing in, covering

the landscape until it was as black as night. Lights twinkled in the far distance,
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then there was complete darkness. It was an eerie experience.
Then, just as the night had come quickly across the view so there were
streaks of pink on the horizon, washing the sky with light. A new dawn was

coming up, but with unusual speed, and, as the daylight returned, Bond realised
that they were not looking at the Blue Ridge Mountains any more.
He gasped audibly, for they now stood at these leaded windows looking out
across London – his London, only it was not his London, but a London of an

earlier time, the London reflected in the engraving over the fireplace. A
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London of the seventeenth century, complete in all its perspective, real enough
to touch; there was even movement on the Thames which seemed to be flowing
almost past the house.

‘You like that little trick? My time and place machine?’ Brokenclaw was
fiddling with the buttons again, and in seconds the view of the Blue Ridge
Mountains reappeared. The sense of time, place and dimension was startling.

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