Page 150 - Brokenclaw - John Gardner

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‘No. We know where you are.’

‘Where?’ Bond was near to that operational point where he questioned the
facts and trusted nobody, not even his old chief.
‘The house is five miles or so off the PCH, hemmed in by rock, a massive
bunker runn
James Bond OO7 - printing disableding under the ground from the house, both north and south.’ James Bond OO7 - printing disabled
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‘How? How do you know that?’
‘Rushia picked up your homers from a chopper.’
‘Right, sir.’
‘We’re getting together an assault team. One moment . . .’ M was obviously

being spoken to by some other person. Bond assumed it was either Grant,
Franks or Tanner. Then M said, ‘Can you give us details of numbers inside?’
‘I have only seen a few people close to Lee, sir. But there are forty or so
technicians in the Jericho laboratory, as they call it. Jericho’s on, sir. There’s
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nothing vague about it. They have it all set up.’
‘Good luck to them.’ M seemed hardly ruffled. ‘There seems to be quite a
gaggle of people in the northern wing.’ M paused once more for someone else
to ask him a question. Bond thought he detected Grant’s voice. ‘We believe

they’re holding the kidnapped personnel there. No idea of firepower?’
‘None, sir.’
‘We also need to know the strength of the exits – the one close to the trees
and the other one at the far end, the northern end.’

‘The first thing is, do not, repeat not, attempt to enter the house itself.
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You’ve obviously pinpointed the exits from the underground sections.’
‘We did a low fly recce. Pictures here, infra-red, the full business. Now
what about those exits?’

‘I’ve only been out through the southern one, sir.’ Bond told him exactly
what to expect and where the tunnels went, including the Jericho laboratory. ‘If
the other entrance is the same, a pair of well-organised charges should take
them out; I have no idea of firepower, but the copse is a camouflaged

helicopter hangar. They’re waiting to take me back as soon as I get the draft.’
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M was silent for a second, and Bond caught the sound of someone else
talking. ‘There’s another thing,’ the chief was back on the line, ‘a kind of dog
pen. Wired off area south of the copse?’

‘It’s probably the wolf pen. Our man keeps a small pack of wolves there;
uses them for killing purposes. I have to go, sir.’
‘You’re not to go back.’ The order was as crisp as if the old admiral had

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