Page 169 - Brokenclaw - John Gardner

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the junction of Bond’s thighs and was licking at whatever Brokenclaw had

smeared there. But the licks were desultory and looked like small signs of
affection. At last, with Brokenclaw heading towards the gate into he enclosure,
the animal just curled up against Bond’s legs, laid his muzzle on a thigh and
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relaxed into
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The cross-hairs on Rushia’s scope were spot on Brokenclaw’s head as he
pulled open the gate and as he pulled so the action appeared to set off the first
explosion.
It came like a dull double crump, a column of smoke billowing up from the

far northern extremity behind the house.
Brokenclaw turned, his face registering amazement. Then came the second
explosion, nearer at hand, less than fifty yards on the other side of the copse.
Below him, Rushia watched the sudden chaos – Brokenclaw shouting orders,
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the old Chinese staring about him utterly bewildered, while the men with
weapons started to run back towards the house.
Ed Rushia fired once, putting the bullet almost at Lee’s feet, but the big man
was moving very quickly now, out of the enclosure and back towards the

house, dragging the little old Chinese man with him.
At that moment two big Blackhawk helicopters seemed to rise from the
direction of the road and hover at either end of the boundaries, while ropes
snaked down and troops abseiled to the ground. As soon as the first waves

were out, the helicopters moved upwards, making room for the second wave.
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By this time Rushia was on his feet and running down towards the enclosure,
arms and legs going every which way as he raced towards the spreadeagled
form of Bond.

‘You cut that a little fine.’ Bond took a deep breath. In spite of his outward
calm, Rushia had little doubt that 007 was almost at the extreme point of shock.
He cut through the leather thongs, rolled the sleeping wolf from his friend’s leg
and said, ‘Good grief, James, you smell like a polecat.’

‘The damned fat they spread on me. Let me out. Let me get to my clothes and
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for heaven’s sake give me a weapon.’
Rushia followed him. Rarely had he seen anyone dress so quickly. When he
was fully clothed, Bond grabbed the pistol from Rushia’s holster. ‘You’ve got

a rifle, so you’re okay,’ he shouted as he dashed towards the noise coming from
the direction of the house.
There were dull crumps which Bond correctly identified as flash-bangs –

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