Page 83 - Brokenclaw - John Gardner

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refuelling, and Bond listened to Chi-Chi’s pilot talking to the captain of the

great C-130, out of SAC HQ at Offott AFB, Omaha. He had two shots at
getting the probe into the refuelling drogue the first time, and there were some
distinctly off-colour comments from both pilots.
James Bond OO7 - printing disabledriver hit the drogue first time on each occasion, and, like a ritual, James Bond OO7 - printing disabled
Bond’s d
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the dialogue never varied – ‘Just keep it there and let it soak up the good
juices,’ drawled the C-130 pilot; and when they disengaged, the fighter jock
clipped out a ‘How was it for you?’ To which the C-130 driver sighed and told
him that the earth had moved.

At just after ten o’clock, Eastern Standard Time, they locked on to the
RAPCON – Radar Approach Control – at the Grumman Aircraft Company’s
facility on Long Island. At ten thirty they were on the ground and turning off the
long runway. Chi-Chi’s Tomcat was already parked far away from any of the
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buildings and Bond could make out the shape of a small Hughes helicopter in
civil livery standing off to one side.
Bond climbed down from the rear cockpit, giving the thumbs up to his pilot
and rapidly unzipping himself from the G-suit which was taken from him by a

technician who greeted him with the words, ‘Message from Mr Grant, sir. No
joy yet, but the 06 from Tokyo is early. She’ll be on the ground and at the
terminal in less than half-an-hour.’
‘Better get a shift on then.’ He nodded at the tech, hurried over to the

helicopter and climbed in next to Chi-Chi, both now in the dark-blue coveralls
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of baggage handlers.
The pilot nodded and the door was closed as the rotors wound up and they
lifted into the night sky.

‘That was quite a ride, uh?’ he shouted at Chi-Chi over the engine noise.
‘Sure,’ she yelled back. ‘I was good. Only vomited four times.’
He looked at her to make sure she was all right and, in spite of the slight
pallor, he saw she was smiling.

In the distance the towers of Manhattan glittered against the night sky, and
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fifteen minutes later, they were over New York’s John F Kennedy airport,
under local control, and being directed towards the International arrivals
terminal on the air side. The pilot touched down just long enough for Chi-Chi

and Bond to clamber out. They were greeted by two figures in similar baggage
handler’s coveralls.
‘Indexer sends his regards,’ one of the men said, with little conviction.

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