@Barbel wrote: “Yes, I can’t imagine the Americans ever electing a President who would be so misguided as to antagonise America’s allies and strain their relationships before starting a war that could affect the world for years”
I mean, that's never going to happen, right?
Nice swift start. Bet you're glad to be back working your usual style of magic 🙂
A change is a good thing, proverbially as good as a rest, but yes it's fine to just do my thing again. Working together again in the future would also be good, though.
Sir M, not unless you were in Canada in 1947 and I have it on good authority (your own) that you weren't anywhere at all back then.
Sonero, I like that second illustration even more than the first. You didn't think you could do that kind of thing but you pulled it off. I'm very impressed.
It had been a long flight from London and Bond was grateful to leave the airliner and stretch his legs at Uplands. Not that he had spent a lot of time thinking about it, but the airport was smaller than he had anticipated and had the expectant air of waiting for bigger and better things. Uplands Airport had been a military base during the war and was currently in the process of being expanded for commercial traffic. Bond took a brief look around before heading off to find a taxi – he knew not to call them “cabs” here.
Ottowa was a very clean looking city, he thought, not as soot-marked as London or as grimy as New York. Bond paid off the taxi outside the hotel Moneypenny had booked for him near the centre and went inside to check in and head for his room. One shower and change later he headed for the bar for a pleasant chat with the young barman before receiving the drink he had been looking forward to. He was planning to create the perfect vodka martini but it was as yet in a state of development. A very pleasurable exploit, of course. So far he was experimenting with the exact proportions of the measures to be included but had definitely settled on it not being stirred. Shaken was clearly better.
He was on his second when he noticed the attractive brunette sliding onto the barstool to his right. Most men would have noticed her athletic figure and well-proportioned face. Her eyes, now that he was looking more directly at her, were light brown and returning his gaze with a tempting half smile.
“Hello”, said Bond, “are you from this city or just visiting?”
“I’ve lived here for some years now”, she said, “I take it you’re a visitor, Mr …?”
“Bond. James Bond. Yes, I only flew in a few hours ago”.
“Ottowa is a beautiful place”.
Their eyes met and both smiled at completing the simple recognition code. So, this was an agent from Station CA then.
“Your drink looks interesting”, she said.
“Oh, I’m still trying to perfect the recipe”, said Bond, “but it’s a vodka martini. Would you like to try one?”
“Yes, that sounds ideal”.
Bond ordered two more drinks.
"You still haven't told me your name", he said.
The girl blushed. "It’s Lily', she said, "Lily Lepine". She looked at him defiantly, as if expecting him to laugh.
He smiled. "Well, hello then, Lily. And I'm glad for your sake your name wasn't Lily Lupine. I'm sure you'd much rather be a thorn than a wolf".
It was her turn to smile. "You're right, James. Watch out this thorn doesn't prick you".
He looked at her over the rim of the glass he was emptying. "That’s something I'm looking forward to finding out".
Lily put her drink down firmly. “Business before pleasure, Mr Bond”.
“Oh, James, please”, he said, “but you’re quite right. Is there any information you feel I should have?”
“Well, we have our suspicions about a man who calls himself Hjalmir Poelzig”.
“Unusual name”.
“He claims to be from Transylvania, but doesn’t sound like it. He came to Canada from England at the end of the war and lived very quietly at first. Then, a few months ago, he appears to have suddenly come into possession of a large amount of money. He bought himself a mansion on the outskirts of Ottowa where he is visited regularly by about two dozen people”.
“People? What kind of people?” asked Bond.
“Young, old, male, female. Some recent immigrants like him, others from long-established families. The only connecting feature we have noticed is that none of them are poor. They are all at the very least comfortably off and some are very rich indeed”.
“So, this Poelzig began spending a lot of money not long ago, then”.
“Yes, he bought a Cadillac limousine as well as the mansion and spends a lot of time in the local casino. He bets high and often wins”.
“And when is he next expected to be there?” Bond asked, interestedly.
“We will find him there tonight. He’ll be with his bodyguard- we don’t know his real name but he’s usually referred to as Manitoba. His girlfriend might be there too, we’ll see when we turn up”.
“We?”
“Of course”, said Lily. “You don’t think you’re going there yourself”.
Bond hadn’t expected the casino in such a modern-looking town as Ottawa to resemble a one- or two-hundred-year-old building from Europe. If pressed, he would have guessed Paris which of course made sense considering the high proportion of French or French descendants in the area.
A doorman politely ushered them inside. Bond had changed into the tuxedo he had carried with him from London while Lily Lepine wore a startingly low cut dress in white silk.
“You’re supposed to be looking at the casino, James”, she scolded him.
“I know”, he said, “but you look so … so …”
“Cleavage is like the sun, you know. The more you look the more it’s gonna hurt. Now, over here to the baccarat table”.
She led him through the elegantly furnished room to the crowded baccarat table. A man was holding the bank and, judging by the pile of chips nestled in the crook of one arm, winning. He was completely bald and his dark eyes seemed to take in everything all around without moving. He was heavy and, although hard to tell sitting down, did not look particularly tall. Bond drew a breath. He recognised this man. The word had been that he was dead, had died in Italy shortly after the war had ended, but he could see that the word was wrong.
“I’m going to need chips”, he muttered to Lily.
“Chips? You’re not here to gamble, you’re here to observe this man, to get a look at him”, she said.
“I know”, he said, heading for the cash desk. His Universal Export credit would be good, he knew, though heaven help him explain himself to M if he lost. He asked for fifty thousand Canadian dollars in chips, about twenty-five or thirty thousand pounds sterling, and hoped it would be enough as he took Lily’s arm and headed for the table.
Poelzig was still holding the bank, and if anything the pile of chips before him seemed to have grown bigger. A beautiful if somewhat over made-up young woman sat on his left, a cigarette holder between her teeth, and a huge dark-haired man on his right. Bond couldn’t at first place his ancestry, but settled on Native American after a few moments. His pectoral and triceps muscles appeared on the verge of bursting out from his dark jacket. This would most likely be Manitoba, Bond thought. He took a seat as near opposite his target as could be managed and waited patiently for his opportunity to turn up. It didn’t take long.
“Une banco de vingt mille dollars”, the croupier announced.
Twenty thousand dollars, almost half Bond’s total capital. There was no point in hesitating, though.
“Banco”, he said.
Poelzig looked up from the cards. He focussed on Bond, who was now aware that the pupils of the dark eyes were entirely surrounded by the whites. It was a strange, almost uncanny look that left Bond feeling as if he were being examined through to his soul and studied, like a bug attached to a slide under a microscope. He turned to the croupier and quietly said a few words.
Embarrassed, the croupier walked the few paces over to Bond. Lily’s fingers clenched on Bond’s arm.
“Pardon, monsieur”, he began, “mais avez- vous….” His voice trailed off as Bond displayed his chips. “Pardon”.
Bond lit a Morland’s and let the smoke hiss out between his teeth as he looked straight at Poelzig. The first cards were dealt, and Bond looked at his hand. The king of diamonds and the queen of clubs. Zero. Everything depended on the next card. He looked at Poelzig and kept his voice without inflexion.
“Carte”.
The croupier slapped the shoe and dealt Bond a card. It was the seven of diamonds. His cards now read zero zero seven. He held his hand over the cards, waving it to indicate that he required no more, and gave Lily a brief smile.
Poelzig turned his cards over. The queen of hearts and the five of spades. The odds were almost equal over whether he should draw another card or sit on his five. Bond’s seven gave him no clue; he could have had a count of one or two, in which case he would now have eight or nine, and be almost unbeatable. If he had anything higher, the seven would have lowered his count. Poelzig made up his mind and asked the croupier for a card. It was another five, the five of clubs, making his count zero. Bond turned over his cards, displaying his seven. The bank of twenty thousand dollars was his, unless –
“Suivi”.
So Poelzig wanted to continue. The winnings would now be forty thousand dollars, and if Bond lost he had already made half of that. Bond accepted the bet, and won with a natural nine. The pile of chips in front of Poelzig had shrunk dramatically. He would not be able to cover a bet of eighty thousand.
With a look of irritation, Poelzig pushed his chair back and stood. The big man on his right scooped up the few remaining chips while the girl took Poelzig’s arm and led him away towards the door.
Bond nodded at the croupier, who signalled for Bond’s chips to be lifted and taken to the cash desk where he took the cash equivalent and calmly placed it in his now bulging wallet.
“A lucky night, sir”, said the teller.
“Yes, thanks”. Bond took Lily’s arm and headed slowly toward the door, giving the other party plenty of time to make their exit.
“I wouldn’t have thought it possible”, said Lily. “He usually wins a lot of money every time he plays here. This is the first time I’ve even heard of him being beaten”.
“Then I believe a celebration is in order”, said Bond. “Would you join me for a light supper?”
To Be Continued
(With a thank you to CoolHandBond for Lily Lepine's name)
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 30,986Chief of Staff
Excellent stuff as usual…again, some nice nods and winks throughout 🍸
An Indian restaurant in Ottowa was an unexpected find, and Bond was delighted to discover that Lily Lepine shared his passion for spicy foods. The “White Castle” had been there since just after the turn of the century, and was a popular eating place with young and old alike.
They were shown to their table by a smiling young man who took their drinks order and gave them a few moments to read the menu. The restaurant was pleasantly decorated with no great emphasis on its Eastern origins.
“I hadn’t anticipated this kind of place here”, said Bond, “they’re very popular back in Britain and I always enjoy tasting the various dishes they have”.
“If you need any help to understand about the foods and their names just let me know”, said Lily.
“You speak Indian?” asked Bond, one eyebrow raised.
“The first thing you have to learn is that there’s no such language as “Indian”, James”, she said mock severely, “it’s a huge part of a huge continent and there are many languages spoken there. It would be like asking you if you spoke “European”. This menu is in both English and Hindi, but it could easily have been in Urdu or something else. I know Hindi well, and can get by in Urdu”.
Bond was impressed. “Did you make it a study?” he asked.
“I didn’t have to. I was born there, near Delhi. My father was a British Army officer and he was stationed in India. I was just old enough to sign up when the war broke out, and I was assigned to the Royal Navy in Singapore. I finished the war in Naval Intelligence and was asked afterwards to join the Service, who assigned me here”.
Bond looked at her with new respect. Her story was not dissimilar to his own.
“Typical British bureaucracy in action”, he said, “take someone who can speak Indian languages and assign them to Canada. I would wager that somewhere in India there’s a British agent who can speak French”.
She laughed. “No doubt about it. Now, let’s see this menu”.
They settled on a thali, allowing both to sample small amounts of different offerings, and sat back to await their choice.
“I must say that I have been enjoying this job”, Lily said, “how about you?”
“I like the opportunities for travel, and to meet so many interesting people”.
Some of whom I’ve had to kill, he thought, but wouldn’t dream of saying out loud.
The starters arrived, poppadums with a dip followed by onion bhajis.
The street outside was dark when they emerged, and Bond had begun to look for a taxi while considering if this was too soon to invite her back to his hotel room for a drink when a large shadow fell over them. There was just enough time to recognise that it was the man who had been sitting beside Poelzig before one outstretched arm thrust Lily into a wall while the other slashed down on Bond’s arm, forcing the Beretta from his grip.
Instantly Bond crouched, removing Manitoba’s height and reach advantage, and lashed out with one foot, hitting the big man hard on one shin and provoking a yell of pain before he reached for Bond’s throat. There had been enough time for Bond to push his own hands up in a prayer-like gesture, preventing his adversary from seizing him in a choke grip and allowing him to smash his clenched hands into Manitoba’s nose. There was a sharp scream as his foe bent over and backed down, much to Bond’s surprise – he hadn’t been able to hit him that hard – until he spotted Lily removing her stilettoed foot from the big man’s groin with a satisfied expression. Bent double, Manitoba backed off as quickly as he was able and scrambled into a waiting Ford that shot off while Bond, panting, put his arm around Lily.
“It was Poelzig’s man”, she said, “they must have followed us here, but why?”
“At a guess, he wants his money back”, said Bond, grim faced. He turned, retrieved his Beretta, and held her by the upper arms.
“Look we don’t have any time to waste. I obviously can’t go back to my hotel, and I know that you’ll know the address of a safe house in the city. I’m going to get us a taxi and I need you to tell the driver that address. No arguments”.
He flagged down a taxi and Lily did as he had bidden.
“But James, why have we got to do this? Can’t you just go to another hotel, or come back to my place?”, she asked once they were underway.
“That would do no good. They found where I was staying very quickly, and they could do it again. And they’ll be able to find where you live, too. No, a safe house is the only option – that, or the British Embassy which I would only use as a last resort”.
She still looked puzzled. “But I don’t understand, what’s going on?”
“It’s my fault, at least partially. I should have realised that something like this was likely to happen once I recognised who Poelzig is”.
“Why? Who is he?”
Bond drew a breath. “His name isn’t Hjalmir Poelzig. He is Aleister Crowley”.
Aleister Crowley was at that time a famous name to the public and even more so in certain circles. Among many, many other things he was perhaps the most noted practitioner and authority in what has been called black magic - perhaps “The Prince of Darkness” was one of the most flattering titles he had either been given or claimed for himself. He had travelled the world for most of the twentieth century to date and a fair part of the previous one, climbing mountains, writing occult books, getting into trouble with the law in whichever country he happened to be in at that moment, and indulging in an endless string of sexual affairs with women, men, and if rumours were true anything else he could lay his hands on besides.
“ … perhaps infamous might be a better choice of word than famous”, finished Bond, “and a favourite writer of mine might say notorious. There’s a whole lot more about him to be said, and I don’t know everything myself – perhaps no-one does”.
Lily sipped from her drink in the safe house.
“And you believe that he is this man Poelzig?” she asked. “Are you sure?”
“Very sure. There was a time during the war when someone in British Intelligence, I can’t quite remember his name right now, came up with the idea of enlisting certain famous authors – such as Dennis Wheatley – to come up with off-beat ideas that might be of use against the Nazis. Crowley attempted to be one of these but was refused. He’s certainly imaginative, though the feeling was that he was too self-centred and wouldn’t be a good choice. We all were asked to familiarise ourselves with his face in case he might try to get in through other channels. He dropped out of sight after the war. The last I heard was that he had died somewhere in Italy, but I can see that I’m going to have to call and tell M that isn’t true”.
“We have a secure line here. I’ll show you”.
M had not been surprised. “He’s the kind of man I wouldn’t believe is dead unless I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Probably needs to be shot, stabbed, and poisoned just to be sure, like Rasputin”.
“Are you suggesting that it might be better if he was dead, sir?” asked Bond.
“Indubitably, Bond. However, that is only a secondary objective. Killing him won’t find the missing gold”.
“Of course, sir”.
“Once you’ve found that, though, please feel free to kill him”.
Lily and Bond pored over a map of the city. Marked on it was the mansion Crowley, under his Poelzig identity, had taken ownership of. As she had indicated it was on the outskirts of town, and shielded by a forest in all directions. A long winding driveway led from the main thoroughfare and the house itself was invisible from almost all angles thanks to the surrounding trees.
“It’s about a forty-five minute drive from here”, she said. “It seems that it used to be an asylum until changes in regulations for the conditions in which the patients were to be housed made that impractical. Poelzig, or I should say Crowley now, was able to buy it for a song since very few people were interested in living in that kind of place and it had lain derelict since before the war. That’s why it’s on the outside edge of town, most of these institutions were built far away from the main centres”.
“And that would suit Crowley just fine”, said Bond. “Can you arrange a car for us?”
“Sure, it won’t take long”.
Lily pulled the Chevrolet smoothly into the side. The road they were on had parted company with a busier road about a mile back, and once she turned off the lights they were in darkness. Bond could hear the rustling of trees nearby.
“The driveway is a good bit further on”, she said. “To approach unseen you need to go through these trees. Be careful, James. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were bear traps or trip wires and the like”.
“I’ll be careful”.
Her eyes were glistening as she watched him get out of the car, and he leaned over towards her to be seized around the neck and pulled to her lips for a long, passionate kiss. When they eventually broke off they looked softly at each other with their eyes saying all that needed to be said. Bond turned and began walking.
The night was warm, and he could see clearly enough by the light of the full moon. He had a torch in his pocket but intended to use it only when absolutely necessary. He had no idea whether Crowley would have guards watching the woods, but it seemed a sensible enough precaution.
From the driveway to his left he could hear the sound of car engines, one after another. It was impossible to keep count with the natural echoes of the area but he thought perhaps ten or twelve cars making their way in.
He kept heed of Lily’s warning, but there were no steel traps or dangerous holes or trenches or tripwires to bar his progress and the huge building gradually took shape before him. Hard to tell in this light, but it looked like at least four storeys of red sandstone and was almost built in the form of an old castle but not quite – no towers, for example, but he wouldn’t have been astonished to see a moat and drawbridge. Instead, he saw a well-lit cleared area which the driveway opened onto at the front of the building where the cars he had heard earlier had been parked. Some of them had been driven there by chauffeurs, now standing together smoking, and Bond remembered being told that some of the frequent visitors here were rich. There were a dozen cars, plus Crowley’s own Cadillac. No sign of the Ford he had spotted earlier, but that would have looked quite out of place in such company – perhaps it was kept around the back, no doubt where the servants’ quarters were, or more simply it had been stolen in the first place and had now been abandoned.
He made his way around the lighted car park and headed to the comparatively dark side of the mansion looking for a way in. An unlocked door would be too much to hope for, but opened windows could often be found in establishments of this size and he found one soon enough. He managed to wriggle his way through and into an unlit storeroom of some kind. Softly he padded toward the door, round the edges of which light could be seen, and listened for a few moments.
Nothing. He reached for the handle and slowly turned it. The door wasn’t locked and he emerged onto a carpeted corridor. No-one in sight. There was a quiet humming sound coming from somewhere and he walked towards it. As he drew closer he could hear that it was the sound of voices, voices chanting together after a leader said a phrase. It was a hypnotic sound, and slowly it grew louder.
To Be Continued
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 30,986Chief of Staff
I think it was Commander Ian Fleming's boss at Naval Intelligence, Vice Admiral John Henry Godfrey, who acknowledged the use of special tactics during WW2. In his later years, Admiral Godfrey established a center for the management of cerebral palsy and also devoted significant efforts to enhancing hospital services within the NHS.
The corridor opened onto a reception area, with what must once have been magnificent stairs on either side and doors all around. There was a matching corridor to his on the other side, and two others disappearing into the darkness each side of the stairs. Here the lights had been dimmed and most of the light came from a large candelabra on a pedestal between the stairs. Bond moved forward slowly and was seized in a grip of iron from behind and had his right arm twisted up painfully behind his back. Manitoba had been standing in silence at the corridor’s exit.
“If you move I’ll break your arm”, he hissed, applying just enough pressure to prove that he could do exactly that. His free hand went under Bond’s jacket and removed the Beretta which he pocketed.
“This way”. He pushed Bond firmly toward a door on the other side and threw it open to reveal a well-appointed dining area. The table was massive, with a large oaken throne at one end.
A stream of men and women of all ages began to enter the room. All appeared to be well dressed and had the glare of fanaticism on their faces. They looked at Bond incuriously and took their places at the table. A seat was kept empty near the throne.
Crowley was last to enter the room. All of the guests rose in honour, but he ignored them and stood in front of Bond. Photographs had not managed to convey the aura emanating from such a man in person, an aura of deep evil and irresistible magnetism. Now, standing so close together, Bond felt the power in those eyes that had only been suggested across the baccarat table. It was a form of hypnotism that made one want to listen to what their owner had to say, and obey his will.
His voice was silky smooth. “Good evening, Mr Bond. I had been wondering when you would choose to join us. Manitoba, let him go but stay close. Mr Bond, if you would care to take your seat? You will see that one has been reserved for you”.
Crowley took the throne. Bond sat down, flexing his aching arm. He was aware of the others at the table all staring at him. Directly opposite was the young woman who had been at the baccarat table. Her face was blank and her eyes looked misty, far away. Bond guessed she was drugged, but how voluntary that condition was he had no idea.
“You were expecting me, Crowley?” he asked.
“But of course, Mr Bond. I have been expecting you ever since our little skirmish at the card table. By the way, you wouldn’t happen to have my money on you now, would you? Manitoba – get his wallet”.
A huge hand was shoved into Bond’s jacket, and his wallet extracted then given to Crowley who looked disappointedly through it.
“How sad”, he said. “Still, I expect it will turn up sooner or later. I don’t imagine it would take much persuasion to have your Miss Lepine tell us all she – oh please spare us these juvenile antics, Mr Bond”.
Bond had half risen from his chair only to be seized by Manitoba and forced right back down again. Crowley looked totally unperturbed.
“He would have been armed, I expect?” he asked, and Manitoba released one of Bond’s arms long enough to toss the Beretta onto the table in front of Crowley. Some of the women gave small noises of alarm. Crowley poked the sidearm with a finger.
“Oh, one of these”, he scoffed disdainfully. “I’m surprised any serious member of your profession still carries one. In fact, I –“
The door Bond had been brought in through opened. Crowley made no effort to hide his annoyance at being interrupted again as a dark-haired, well-dressed man hesitantly entered, rather intimidated by the scene he could see before him.
“Oh. Er, Aleister, I’m terribly sorry to come in like this, I know you said –“
“Yes, yes, Dennis, I know what I said. What is it?” Crowley’s eyes fired bullets at the unexpected entrant. Bond had recognised the man instantly, but kept his mouth shut and his eyes down.
“Ah, yes, well, you see, it’s our bedroom”.
“What about it?” Crowley’s patience was almost at an end.
“Well, it’s full of these big spiders and my wife is getting very upset. She doesn’t like spiders, you see, and –“
“I’ll send someone up to deal with them as soon as I can, Dennis. Now, as you can see I am busy at the moment so just go back upstairs and wait”.
“Ah. Er, yes, yes, of course, Aleister”.
The man left, being very careful to close the door quietly.
“Spiders”, said Crowley. “What next, centipedes? Now, Mr Bond, I trust you will desist from further exhibitions of impulse. Dinner is about to be served”.
He clapped his hands loudly. Four identically dressed serving girls appeared and began to put plates in front of the guests. Bond looked at his dubiously. Some unidentifiable meat in a stew. Crowley laughed.
“Goat, Mr Bond. Nothing worse”, and he began to eat his serving with relish. Bond was unmollified by the explanation and decided to refrain. He wouldn’t put anything past Crowley.
“Now, Mr Bond”, said Crowley as his empty plate was removed, “I know which department in London you are an agent for and I have a strong suspicion about why you are here. You did not set out to apprehend me. I have broken no laws on British soil, at least not recently, therefore I suspect you of being here to look into the trifling matter of a few million pounds worth of gold having gone missing in transit, somewhere between here and the Bank of England. Would I be correct in my assumption?”
Bond said nothing. If he denied it, Crowley would not have believed him and would carry on in the same way anyway. The serving girls were removing the last of the plates and quietly leaving.
“No matter. It is time now for your curiosity to be gratified, at least to the extent that I permit. It is time now for you to understand more fully about … well, let us see what we shall see”.
He clapped his hands. His people stood as one and he indicated the arched door at the other end of the room. Like a well-organised small army, they began to troop through the door leaving Crowley alone with Bond, and Manitoba standing guard.
“As I have said, I shall gratify at least part of your curiosity. You are wondering how such a large amount of gold could simply disappear. I am a High Priest of Horus, whose Eon we in the twentieth century have entered following the Eon of Osiris”.
“I don’t know anything about Eons”, said Bond.
“Nevertheless, I predict an Eon will have great significance in your life and future. How long that future lasts, of course, is now in my hands”. He held Bond’s Beretta loosely in one of those hands, and Bond could feel the massive presence of Manitoba just waiting for him to make a move.
“There are many who adhere to our creed, many more than you see here tonight, and if something is desired by Horus it is those worshippers whose place it is to make that happen”.
“And obviously you as High Priest are the one to make those desires known to them”, said Bond. “Such as making sure that large quantities of gold do not arrive at their intended destination but are diverted elsewhere”.
“Correct, Mr Bond. I see you are a quick study. A man like you could be of great use to me, instead of working against all that my people and I stand for. I am offering you one brief opportunity to join us. It will not be repeated. All you have to do is contact your superiors and tell them that you have found nothing of any interest to them here in Canada. Then, when you return, you will keep in contact with me personally. And do not think that you can simply tell me what you think I want to hear. I will know”.
Aleister Crowley’s dark eyes bored into Bond’s with all the intensity they could summon. Bond could feel their power, as invisible fingers found their way deep into his mind, his very soul.
“I would like to know a little more”, he said truthfully, “before I could commit to anything at all”.
Crowley nodded. “That is not unreasonable. Come with me”.
He headed to the door the others had used, with Manitoba ensuring that Bond followed in his wake. They all went in, and down a short flight of steps. Bond stopped and stood stock still, regardless of the huge man pushing behind him. He had a lot to take in.
To Be Continued
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 30,986Chief of Staff
This really is terrific stuff, Barbel. I’m loving how you’re mixing true life events too, Dennis Wheatley and his wife did actually stay at Crowley’s abode and found their bedroom infested with big spiders. Lots of nods and winks along the way. Can’t wait for the next instalment 😁👏
Yeah, well, sometimes nothin' can be a real cool hand.
The twenty others had donned white robes, with cowls covering their heads, and stood around an exposed altar table. All light in the room came from candles, some on the walls, others in candelabras, still others held by the men and women present. By the light Bond could see inverted crucifixes on three of the walls, black on red. It was the fourth wall that seized his attention.
A carefully moulded and carved devil, as tall as the room itself, dominated the scene. A traditional Lucifer, with horns on the head and wings on the back to indicate Lucifer’s status as a fallen angel, covered in pagan inscriptions and pictures, but the most striking thing about it was none of these. The devil was not made of brass nor was it even gold-plated; it was unmistakably made of solid gold. Bond could see exactly where ten million British pounds had gone. They were right in front of him – minus, he supposed cynically, deductions for certain unavoidable expenses such as Crowley’s Cadillac, his gambling, and this house they were in.
Crowley himself had donned a white robe and stood at the head of the altar, in front of the golden devil. He was the only one without his face covered and he raised one hand in the air and pointed to the altar.
“It is time”, he intoned.
Two of the congregation, for a twisted form of congregation was what they suggested, went to the back of the room and brought forward the girl who had been opposite Bond at the dinner table. She was quite naked, and her eyes continued to have that far away look Bond had taken note of. Unquestionably drugged. Crowley’s minions walked her to the altar despite her sluggish movements and laid her down on it with her face looking up at Crowley, unrecognising and blank.
As one the worshippers gave a low moan as Crowley again raised one hand in the air.
“Great Horus”, he intoned, “we who are not worthy acknowledge you as our benefactor and give praise to thee. We are fortunate indeed to live in this, your Eon, and trust that we shall continue to receive your bounty in the years to come. You have revealed to us your wants and your needs to be supplied, and we have trust that you will reward us for our efforts”.
From his sleeve Crowley produced a long twisted dagger and all was now clear to Bond. This was madness, this was apostasy of the worst order. He did the only thing that was practical in the circumstances. He fainted.
Or at least pretended to faint. He heard a muffled curse from Manitoba as Bond’s body fell to the floor, seemingly limp. Bond’s hands reached to his feet and withdrew the heel from his left shoe to reveal the dagger inside. Before Manitoba could bend down, Bond slashed viciously across both of his Achilles tendons. Blood spurted everywhere as the huge man screamed, falling to the floor while Bond stood up and held his knife in a throwing position aimed straight at Crowley.
The door they had entered through burst open and a flood of policemen uniformed in red came pouring in with Lily Lepine in their midst. The white-clad acolytes all yelled helplessly and began to mill about, but there was no other way out of the room. They looked to their leader for guidance just as Bond began to throw his knife but there was no-one at the head of the altar. Crowley had disappeared. Manitoba lay moaning on the floor, clutching his ankles. It would be a long time before he was able to walk again, if ever. The thought aroused little sympathy in Bond.
“Oh, James!”, shouted Lily as she rushed up to him. “I was so worried, I had to call for help. You were taking so long, and I thought – “
“Relax, Lily”, said Bond, putting the heel of his shoe back into place as the Mounties rounded up the worshippers. He ran over to the head of the altar, where the girl still lay in her stupor, and saw the outlines of a trapdoor. There must be a control somewhere, the thought, before quickly finding a switch below the rim of the altar. Bond stood to one side and pressed it to see the trapdoor open. Without a second’s hesitation he jumped through.
The tunnel was dark and narrow. He still had his torch and flicked it on in case of booby traps – Crowley was exactly the sort of man to lay some surprises for anyone who wanted to follow him – but there was nothing. Bond emerged onto a dimly lit space with trees behind. This must be the rear of the building, he thought, but there was no time for further consideration before a shot made him throw himself to the ground and roll. When he looked up he could see a figure diving into a just starting helicopter.
Bond ran as quickly as he could, firing off a bullet from time to time but it was too late. The helicopter was in the sky and heading off. Crowley had gone.
To Be Conti... Concluded
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 30,986Chief of Staff
Comments
Looking forward to another masterpiece by Barbel.
Keep up the great work!
Is Bond coming to see me? 😬😮
Nice opening…and, as CHB says, very up to date 🤭
@Barbel wrote: “Yes, I can’t imagine the Americans ever electing a President who would be so misguided as to antagonise America’s allies and strain their relationships before starting a war that could affect the world for years”
I mean, that's never going to happen, right?
Nice swift start. Bet you're glad to be back working your usual style of magic 🙂
A change is a good thing, proverbially as good as a rest, but yes it's fine to just do my thing again. Working together again in the future would also be good, though.
Sir M, not unless you were in Canada in 1947 and I have it on good authority (your own) that you weren't anywhere at all back then.
Sonero, I like that second illustration even more than the first. You didn't think you could do that kind of thing but you pulled it off. I'm very impressed.
And CHB, I try to do just that.
Many thanks, everyone. Chapter 2 very soon.
Thank you for the kind words Barbel.
Looking forward to Chapter Two.
Chapter Two
It had been a long flight from London and Bond was grateful to leave the airliner and stretch his legs at Uplands. Not that he had spent a lot of time thinking about it, but the airport was smaller than he had anticipated and had the expectant air of waiting for bigger and better things. Uplands Airport had been a military base during the war and was currently in the process of being expanded for commercial traffic. Bond took a brief look around before heading off to find a taxi – he knew not to call them “cabs” here.
Ottowa was a very clean looking city, he thought, not as soot-marked as London or as grimy as New York. Bond paid off the taxi outside the hotel Moneypenny had booked for him near the centre and went inside to check in and head for his room. One shower and change later he headed for the bar for a pleasant chat with the young barman before receiving the drink he had been looking forward to. He was planning to create the perfect vodka martini but it was as yet in a state of development. A very pleasurable exploit, of course. So far he was experimenting with the exact proportions of the measures to be included but had definitely settled on it not being stirred. Shaken was clearly better.
He was on his second when he noticed the attractive brunette sliding onto the barstool to his right. Most men would have noticed her athletic figure and well-proportioned face. Her eyes, now that he was looking more directly at her, were light brown and returning his gaze with a tempting half smile.
“Hello”, said Bond, “are you from this city or just visiting?”
“I’ve lived here for some years now”, she said, “I take it you’re a visitor, Mr …?”
“Bond. James Bond. Yes, I only flew in a few hours ago”.
“Ottowa is a beautiful place”.
Their eyes met and both smiled at completing the simple recognition code. So, this was an agent from Station CA then.
“Your drink looks interesting”, she said.
“Oh, I’m still trying to perfect the recipe”, said Bond, “but it’s a vodka martini. Would you like to try one?”
“Yes, that sounds ideal”.
Bond ordered two more drinks.
"You still haven't told me your name", he said.
The girl blushed. "It’s Lily', she said, "Lily Lepine". She looked at him defiantly, as if expecting him to laugh.
He smiled. "Well, hello then, Lily. And I'm glad for your sake your name wasn't Lily Lupine. I'm sure you'd much rather be a thorn than a wolf".
It was her turn to smile. "You're right, James. Watch out this thorn doesn't prick you".
He looked at her over the rim of the glass he was emptying. "That’s something I'm looking forward to finding out".
Lily put her drink down firmly. “Business before pleasure, Mr Bond”.
“Oh, James, please”, he said, “but you’re quite right. Is there any information you feel I should have?”
“Well, we have our suspicions about a man who calls himself Hjalmir Poelzig”.
“Unusual name”.
“He claims to be from Transylvania, but doesn’t sound like it. He came to Canada from England at the end of the war and lived very quietly at first. Then, a few months ago, he appears to have suddenly come into possession of a large amount of money. He bought himself a mansion on the outskirts of Ottowa where he is visited regularly by about two dozen people”.
“People? What kind of people?” asked Bond.
“Young, old, male, female. Some recent immigrants like him, others from long-established families. The only connecting feature we have noticed is that none of them are poor. They are all at the very least comfortably off and some are very rich indeed”.
“So, this Poelzig began spending a lot of money not long ago, then”.
“Yes, he bought a Cadillac limousine as well as the mansion and spends a lot of time in the local casino. He bets high and often wins”.
“And when is he next expected to be there?” Bond asked, interestedly.
“We will find him there tonight. He’ll be with his bodyguard- we don’t know his real name but he’s usually referred to as Manitoba. His girlfriend might be there too, we’ll see when we turn up”.
“We?”
“Of course”, said Lily. “You don’t think you’re going there yourself”.
Bond hadn’t expected the casino in such a modern-looking town as Ottawa to resemble a one- or two-hundred-year-old building from Europe. If pressed, he would have guessed Paris which of course made sense considering the high proportion of French or French descendants in the area.
A doorman politely ushered them inside. Bond had changed into the tuxedo he had carried with him from London while Lily Lepine wore a startingly low cut dress in white silk.
“You’re supposed to be looking at the casino, James”, she scolded him.
“I know”, he said, “but you look so … so …”
“Cleavage is like the sun, you know. The more you look the more it’s gonna hurt. Now, over here to the baccarat table”.
She led him through the elegantly furnished room to the crowded baccarat table. A man was holding the bank and, judging by the pile of chips nestled in the crook of one arm, winning. He was completely bald and his dark eyes seemed to take in everything all around without moving. He was heavy and, although hard to tell sitting down, did not look particularly tall. Bond drew a breath. He recognised this man. The word had been that he was dead, had died in Italy shortly after the war had ended, but he could see that the word was wrong.
“I’m going to need chips”, he muttered to Lily.
“Chips? You’re not here to gamble, you’re here to observe this man, to get a look at him”, she said.
“I know”, he said, heading for the cash desk. His Universal Export credit would be good, he knew, though heaven help him explain himself to M if he lost. He asked for fifty thousand Canadian dollars in chips, about twenty-five or thirty thousand pounds sterling, and hoped it would be enough as he took Lily’s arm and headed for the table.
Poelzig was still holding the bank, and if anything the pile of chips before him seemed to have grown bigger. A beautiful if somewhat over made-up young woman sat on his left, a cigarette holder between her teeth, and a huge dark-haired man on his right. Bond couldn’t at first place his ancestry, but settled on Native American after a few moments. His pectoral and triceps muscles appeared on the verge of bursting out from his dark jacket. This would most likely be Manitoba, Bond thought. He took a seat as near opposite his target as could be managed and waited patiently for his opportunity to turn up. It didn’t take long.
“Une banco de vingt mille dollars”, the croupier announced.
Twenty thousand dollars, almost half Bond’s total capital. There was no point in hesitating, though.
“Banco”, he said.
Poelzig looked up from the cards. He focussed on Bond, who was now aware that the pupils of the dark eyes were entirely surrounded by the whites. It was a strange, almost uncanny look that left Bond feeling as if he were being examined through to his soul and studied, like a bug attached to a slide under a microscope. He turned to the croupier and quietly said a few words.
Embarrassed, the croupier walked the few paces over to Bond. Lily’s fingers clenched on Bond’s arm.
“Pardon, monsieur”, he began, “mais avez- vous….” His voice trailed off as Bond displayed his chips. “Pardon”.
Bond lit a Morland’s and let the smoke hiss out between his teeth as he looked straight at Poelzig. The first cards were dealt, and Bond looked at his hand. The king of diamonds and the queen of clubs. Zero. Everything depended on the next card. He looked at Poelzig and kept his voice without inflexion.
“Carte”.
The croupier slapped the shoe and dealt Bond a card. It was the seven of diamonds. His cards now read zero zero seven. He held his hand over the cards, waving it to indicate that he required no more, and gave Lily a brief smile.
Poelzig turned his cards over. The queen of hearts and the five of spades. The odds were almost equal over whether he should draw another card or sit on his five. Bond’s seven gave him no clue; he could have had a count of one or two, in which case he would now have eight or nine, and be almost unbeatable. If he had anything higher, the seven would have lowered his count. Poelzig made up his mind and asked the croupier for a card. It was another five, the five of clubs, making his count zero. Bond turned over his cards, displaying his seven. The bank of twenty thousand dollars was his, unless –
“Suivi”.
So Poelzig wanted to continue. The winnings would now be forty thousand dollars, and if Bond lost he had already made half of that. Bond accepted the bet, and won with a natural nine. The pile of chips in front of Poelzig had shrunk dramatically. He would not be able to cover a bet of eighty thousand.
With a look of irritation, Poelzig pushed his chair back and stood. The big man on his right scooped up the few remaining chips while the girl took Poelzig’s arm and led him away towards the door.
Bond nodded at the croupier, who signalled for Bond’s chips to be lifted and taken to the cash desk where he took the cash equivalent and calmly placed it in his now bulging wallet.
“A lucky night, sir”, said the teller.
“Yes, thanks”. Bond took Lily’s arm and headed slowly toward the door, giving the other party plenty of time to make their exit.
“I wouldn’t have thought it possible”, said Lily. “He usually wins a lot of money every time he plays here. This is the first time I’ve even heard of him being beaten”.
“Then I believe a celebration is in order”, said Bond. “Would you join me for a light supper?”
To Be Continued
(With a thank you to CoolHandBond for Lily Lepine's name)
Excellent stuff as usual…again, some nice nods and winks throughout 🍸
Great work Barbel.
Looking forward to Chapter 3.
Thank you very much, guys.
Another atmospheric chapter - lovely stuff 👏🍸
@Sonero Your graphics are outstanding 👏
Thank you for the kind appreciation @CoolHandBond .
(I got the robe colors wrong...Barbel wanted white.)
Glad you're enjoying it, CHB. Sonero, you got them right earlier and I'm sure you're not finished yet!
Chapter Three
An Indian restaurant in Ottowa was an unexpected find, and Bond was delighted to discover that Lily Lepine shared his passion for spicy foods. The “White Castle” had been there since just after the turn of the century, and was a popular eating place with young and old alike.
They were shown to their table by a smiling young man who took their drinks order and gave them a few moments to read the menu. The restaurant was pleasantly decorated with no great emphasis on its Eastern origins.
“I hadn’t anticipated this kind of place here”, said Bond, “they’re very popular back in Britain and I always enjoy tasting the various dishes they have”.
“If you need any help to understand about the foods and their names just let me know”, said Lily.
“You speak Indian?” asked Bond, one eyebrow raised.
“The first thing you have to learn is that there’s no such language as “Indian”, James”, she said mock severely, “it’s a huge part of a huge continent and there are many languages spoken there. It would be like asking you if you spoke “European”. This menu is in both English and Hindi, but it could easily have been in Urdu or something else. I know Hindi well, and can get by in Urdu”.
Bond was impressed. “Did you make it a study?” he asked.
“I didn’t have to. I was born there, near Delhi. My father was a British Army officer and he was stationed in India. I was just old enough to sign up when the war broke out, and I was assigned to the Royal Navy in Singapore. I finished the war in Naval Intelligence and was asked afterwards to join the Service, who assigned me here”.
Bond looked at her with new respect. Her story was not dissimilar to his own.
“Typical British bureaucracy in action”, he said, “take someone who can speak Indian languages and assign them to Canada. I would wager that somewhere in India there’s a British agent who can speak French”.
She laughed. “No doubt about it. Now, let’s see this menu”.
They settled on a thali, allowing both to sample small amounts of different offerings, and sat back to await their choice.
“I must say that I have been enjoying this job”, Lily said, “how about you?”
“I like the opportunities for travel, and to meet so many interesting people”.
Some of whom I’ve had to kill, he thought, but wouldn’t dream of saying out loud.
The starters arrived, poppadums with a dip followed by onion bhajis.
The street outside was dark when they emerged, and Bond had begun to look for a taxi while considering if this was too soon to invite her back to his hotel room for a drink when a large shadow fell over them. There was just enough time to recognise that it was the man who had been sitting beside Poelzig before one outstretched arm thrust Lily into a wall while the other slashed down on Bond’s arm, forcing the Beretta from his grip.
Instantly Bond crouched, removing Manitoba’s height and reach advantage, and lashed out with one foot, hitting the big man hard on one shin and provoking a yell of pain before he reached for Bond’s throat. There had been enough time for Bond to push his own hands up in a prayer-like gesture, preventing his adversary from seizing him in a choke grip and allowing him to smash his clenched hands into Manitoba’s nose. There was a sharp scream as his foe bent over and backed down, much to Bond’s surprise – he hadn’t been able to hit him that hard – until he spotted Lily removing her stilettoed foot from the big man’s groin with a satisfied expression. Bent double, Manitoba backed off as quickly as he was able and scrambled into a waiting Ford that shot off while Bond, panting, put his arm around Lily.
“It was Poelzig’s man”, she said, “they must have followed us here, but why?”
“At a guess, he wants his money back”, said Bond, grim faced. He turned, retrieved his Beretta, and held her by the upper arms.
“Look we don’t have any time to waste. I obviously can’t go back to my hotel, and I know that you’ll know the address of a safe house in the city. I’m going to get us a taxi and I need you to tell the driver that address. No arguments”.
He flagged down a taxi and Lily did as he had bidden.
“But James, why have we got to do this? Can’t you just go to another hotel, or come back to my place?”, she asked once they were underway.
“That would do no good. They found where I was staying very quickly, and they could do it again. And they’ll be able to find where you live, too. No, a safe house is the only option – that, or the British Embassy which I would only use as a last resort”.
She still looked puzzled. “But I don’t understand, what’s going on?”
“It’s my fault, at least partially. I should have realised that something like this was likely to happen once I recognised who Poelzig is”.
“Why? Who is he?”
Bond drew a breath. “His name isn’t Hjalmir Poelzig. He is Aleister Crowley”.
To Be Continued
A Dennis Wheatley inspired 007 story...
Bravo 👏
Wow, oh wow. Fabulous 👏
Great stuff 😁👏🏻
Much appreciated, guys. Next chapter on its way.
Chapter Four
Aleister Crowley was at that time a famous name to the public and even more so in certain circles. Among many, many other things he was perhaps the most noted practitioner and authority in what has been called black magic - perhaps “The Prince of Darkness” was one of the most flattering titles he had either been given or claimed for himself. He had travelled the world for most of the twentieth century to date and a fair part of the previous one, climbing mountains, writing occult books, getting into trouble with the law in whichever country he happened to be in at that moment, and indulging in an endless string of sexual affairs with women, men, and if rumours were true anything else he could lay his hands on besides.
“ … perhaps infamous might be a better choice of word than famous”, finished Bond, “and a favourite writer of mine might say notorious. There’s a whole lot more about him to be said, and I don’t know everything myself – perhaps no-one does”.
Lily sipped from her drink in the safe house.
“And you believe that he is this man Poelzig?” she asked. “Are you sure?”
“Very sure. There was a time during the war when someone in British Intelligence, I can’t quite remember his name right now, came up with the idea of enlisting certain famous authors – such as Dennis Wheatley – to come up with off-beat ideas that might be of use against the Nazis. Crowley attempted to be one of these but was refused. He’s certainly imaginative, though the feeling was that he was too self-centred and wouldn’t be a good choice. We all were asked to familiarise ourselves with his face in case he might try to get in through other channels. He dropped out of sight after the war. The last I heard was that he had died somewhere in Italy, but I can see that I’m going to have to call and tell M that isn’t true”.
“We have a secure line here. I’ll show you”.
M had not been surprised. “He’s the kind of man I wouldn’t believe is dead unless I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Probably needs to be shot, stabbed, and poisoned just to be sure, like Rasputin”.
“Are you suggesting that it might be better if he was dead, sir?” asked Bond.
“Indubitably, Bond. However, that is only a secondary objective. Killing him won’t find the missing gold”.
“Of course, sir”.
“Once you’ve found that, though, please feel free to kill him”.
Lily and Bond pored over a map of the city. Marked on it was the mansion Crowley, under his Poelzig identity, had taken ownership of. As she had indicated it was on the outskirts of town, and shielded by a forest in all directions. A long winding driveway led from the main thoroughfare and the house itself was invisible from almost all angles thanks to the surrounding trees.
“It’s about a forty-five minute drive from here”, she said. “It seems that it used to be an asylum until changes in regulations for the conditions in which the patients were to be housed made that impractical. Poelzig, or I should say Crowley now, was able to buy it for a song since very few people were interested in living in that kind of place and it had lain derelict since before the war. That’s why it’s on the outside edge of town, most of these institutions were built far away from the main centres”.
“And that would suit Crowley just fine”, said Bond. “Can you arrange a car for us?”
“Sure, it won’t take long”.
Lily pulled the Chevrolet smoothly into the side. The road they were on had parted company with a busier road about a mile back, and once she turned off the lights they were in darkness. Bond could hear the rustling of trees nearby.
“The driveway is a good bit further on”, she said. “To approach unseen you need to go through these trees. Be careful, James. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were bear traps or trip wires and the like”.
“I’ll be careful”.
Her eyes were glistening as she watched him get out of the car, and he leaned over towards her to be seized around the neck and pulled to her lips for a long, passionate kiss. When they eventually broke off they looked softly at each other with their eyes saying all that needed to be said. Bond turned and began walking.
The night was warm, and he could see clearly enough by the light of the full moon. He had a torch in his pocket but intended to use it only when absolutely necessary. He had no idea whether Crowley would have guards watching the woods, but it seemed a sensible enough precaution.
From the driveway to his left he could hear the sound of car engines, one after another. It was impossible to keep count with the natural echoes of the area but he thought perhaps ten or twelve cars making their way in.
He kept heed of Lily’s warning, but there were no steel traps or dangerous holes or trenches or tripwires to bar his progress and the huge building gradually took shape before him. Hard to tell in this light, but it looked like at least four storeys of red sandstone and was almost built in the form of an old castle but not quite – no towers, for example, but he wouldn’t have been astonished to see a moat and drawbridge. Instead, he saw a well-lit cleared area which the driveway opened onto at the front of the building where the cars he had heard earlier had been parked. Some of them had been driven there by chauffeurs, now standing together smoking, and Bond remembered being told that some of the frequent visitors here were rich. There were a dozen cars, plus Crowley’s own Cadillac. No sign of the Ford he had spotted earlier, but that would have looked quite out of place in such company – perhaps it was kept around the back, no doubt where the servants’ quarters were, or more simply it had been stolen in the first place and had now been abandoned.
He made his way around the lighted car park and headed to the comparatively dark side of the mansion looking for a way in. An unlocked door would be too much to hope for, but opened windows could often be found in establishments of this size and he found one soon enough. He managed to wriggle his way through and into an unlit storeroom of some kind. Softly he padded toward the door, round the edges of which light could be seen, and listened for a few moments.
Nothing. He reached for the handle and slowly turned it. The door wasn’t locked and he emerged onto a carpeted corridor. No-one in sight. There was a quiet humming sound coming from somewhere and he walked towards it. As he drew closer he could hear that it was the sound of voices, voices chanting together after a leader said a phrase. It was a hypnotic sound, and slowly it grew louder.
To Be Continued
👏🏻 great stories…
I think it was Commander Ian Fleming's boss at Naval Intelligence, Vice Admiral John Henry Godfrey, who acknowledged the use of special tactics during WW2. In his later years, Admiral Godfrey established a center for the management of cerebral palsy and also devoted significant efforts to enhancing hospital services within the NHS.
He was the inspiration for 'M'.
Anyway...great work Barbel.
Looking forward to reading Chapter 5.
Great atmosphere 👏
As ever, my thanks guys and more very soon.
Chapter Five
The corridor opened onto a reception area, with what must once have been magnificent stairs on either side and doors all around. There was a matching corridor to his on the other side, and two others disappearing into the darkness each side of the stairs. Here the lights had been dimmed and most of the light came from a large candelabra on a pedestal between the stairs. Bond moved forward slowly and was seized in a grip of iron from behind and had his right arm twisted up painfully behind his back. Manitoba had been standing in silence at the corridor’s exit.
“If you move I’ll break your arm”, he hissed, applying just enough pressure to prove that he could do exactly that. His free hand went under Bond’s jacket and removed the Beretta which he pocketed.
“This way”. He pushed Bond firmly toward a door on the other side and threw it open to reveal a well-appointed dining area. The table was massive, with a large oaken throne at one end.
A stream of men and women of all ages began to enter the room. All appeared to be well dressed and had the glare of fanaticism on their faces. They looked at Bond incuriously and took their places at the table. A seat was kept empty near the throne.
Crowley was last to enter the room. All of the guests rose in honour, but he ignored them and stood in front of Bond. Photographs had not managed to convey the aura emanating from such a man in person, an aura of deep evil and irresistible magnetism. Now, standing so close together, Bond felt the power in those eyes that had only been suggested across the baccarat table. It was a form of hypnotism that made one want to listen to what their owner had to say, and obey his will.
His voice was silky smooth. “Good evening, Mr Bond. I had been wondering when you would choose to join us. Manitoba, let him go but stay close. Mr Bond, if you would care to take your seat? You will see that one has been reserved for you”.
Crowley took the throne. Bond sat down, flexing his aching arm. He was aware of the others at the table all staring at him. Directly opposite was the young woman who had been at the baccarat table. Her face was blank and her eyes looked misty, far away. Bond guessed she was drugged, but how voluntary that condition was he had no idea.
“You were expecting me, Crowley?” he asked.
“But of course, Mr Bond. I have been expecting you ever since our little skirmish at the card table. By the way, you wouldn’t happen to have my money on you now, would you? Manitoba – get his wallet”.
A huge hand was shoved into Bond’s jacket, and his wallet extracted then given to Crowley who looked disappointedly through it.
“How sad”, he said. “Still, I expect it will turn up sooner or later. I don’t imagine it would take much persuasion to have your Miss Lepine tell us all she – oh please spare us these juvenile antics, Mr Bond”.
Bond had half risen from his chair only to be seized by Manitoba and forced right back down again. Crowley looked totally unperturbed.
“He would have been armed, I expect?” he asked, and Manitoba released one of Bond’s arms long enough to toss the Beretta onto the table in front of Crowley. Some of the women gave small noises of alarm. Crowley poked the sidearm with a finger.
“Oh, one of these”, he scoffed disdainfully. “I’m surprised any serious member of your profession still carries one. In fact, I –“
The door Bond had been brought in through opened. Crowley made no effort to hide his annoyance at being interrupted again as a dark-haired, well-dressed man hesitantly entered, rather intimidated by the scene he could see before him.
“Oh. Er, Aleister, I’m terribly sorry to come in like this, I know you said –“
“Yes, yes, Dennis, I know what I said. What is it?” Crowley’s eyes fired bullets at the unexpected entrant. Bond had recognised the man instantly, but kept his mouth shut and his eyes down.
“Ah, yes, well, you see, it’s our bedroom”.
“What about it?” Crowley’s patience was almost at an end.
“Well, it’s full of these big spiders and my wife is getting very upset. She doesn’t like spiders, you see, and –“
“I’ll send someone up to deal with them as soon as I can, Dennis. Now, as you can see I am busy at the moment so just go back upstairs and wait”.
“Ah. Er, yes, yes, of course, Aleister”.
The man left, being very careful to close the door quietly.
“Spiders”, said Crowley. “What next, centipedes? Now, Mr Bond, I trust you will desist from further exhibitions of impulse. Dinner is about to be served”.
He clapped his hands loudly. Four identically dressed serving girls appeared and began to put plates in front of the guests. Bond looked at his dubiously. Some unidentifiable meat in a stew. Crowley laughed.
“Goat, Mr Bond. Nothing worse”, and he began to eat his serving with relish. Bond was unmollified by the explanation and decided to refrain. He wouldn’t put anything past Crowley.
“Now, Mr Bond”, said Crowley as his empty plate was removed, “I know which department in London you are an agent for and I have a strong suspicion about why you are here. You did not set out to apprehend me. I have broken no laws on British soil, at least not recently, therefore I suspect you of being here to look into the trifling matter of a few million pounds worth of gold having gone missing in transit, somewhere between here and the Bank of England. Would I be correct in my assumption?”
Bond said nothing. If he denied it, Crowley would not have believed him and would carry on in the same way anyway. The serving girls were removing the last of the plates and quietly leaving.
“No matter. It is time now for your curiosity to be gratified, at least to the extent that I permit. It is time now for you to understand more fully about … well, let us see what we shall see”.
He clapped his hands. His people stood as one and he indicated the arched door at the other end of the room. Like a well-organised small army, they began to troop through the door leaving Crowley alone with Bond, and Manitoba standing guard.
“As I have said, I shall gratify at least part of your curiosity. You are wondering how such a large amount of gold could simply disappear. I am a High Priest of Horus, whose Eon we in the twentieth century have entered following the Eon of Osiris”.
“I don’t know anything about Eons”, said Bond.
“Nevertheless, I predict an Eon will have great significance in your life and future. How long that future lasts, of course, is now in my hands”. He held Bond’s Beretta loosely in one of those hands, and Bond could feel the massive presence of Manitoba just waiting for him to make a move.
“There are many who adhere to our creed, many more than you see here tonight, and if something is desired by Horus it is those worshippers whose place it is to make that happen”.
“And obviously you as High Priest are the one to make those desires known to them”, said Bond. “Such as making sure that large quantities of gold do not arrive at their intended destination but are diverted elsewhere”.
“Correct, Mr Bond. I see you are a quick study. A man like you could be of great use to me, instead of working against all that my people and I stand for. I am offering you one brief opportunity to join us. It will not be repeated. All you have to do is contact your superiors and tell them that you have found nothing of any interest to them here in Canada. Then, when you return, you will keep in contact with me personally. And do not think that you can simply tell me what you think I want to hear. I will know”.
Aleister Crowley’s dark eyes bored into Bond’s with all the intensity they could summon. Bond could feel their power, as invisible fingers found their way deep into his mind, his very soul.
“I would like to know a little more”, he said truthfully, “before I could commit to anything at all”.
Crowley nodded. “That is not unreasonable. Come with me”.
He headed to the door the others had used, with Manitoba ensuring that Bond followed in his wake. They all went in, and down a short flight of steps. Bond stopped and stood stock still, regardless of the huge man pushing behind him. He had a lot to take in.
To Be Continued
Spiders…centipedes…Eons…😁
Another intriguing chapter 👏🏻
This really is terrific stuff, Barbel. I’m loving how you’re mixing true life events too, Dennis Wheatley and his wife did actually stay at Crowley’s abode and found their bedroom infested with big spiders. Lots of nods and winks along the way. Can’t wait for the next instalment 😁👏
Many thanks, gentlemen. Next chapter along soon and it's the reason for the illustration by @Sonero at post 5042.
Chapter Six
The twenty others had donned white robes, with cowls covering their heads, and stood around an exposed altar table. All light in the room came from candles, some on the walls, others in candelabras, still others held by the men and women present. By the light Bond could see inverted crucifixes on three of the walls, black on red. It was the fourth wall that seized his attention.
A carefully moulded and carved devil, as tall as the room itself, dominated the scene. A traditional Lucifer, with horns on the head and wings on the back to indicate Lucifer’s status as a fallen angel, covered in pagan inscriptions and pictures, but the most striking thing about it was none of these. The devil was not made of brass nor was it even gold-plated; it was unmistakably made of solid gold. Bond could see exactly where ten million British pounds had gone. They were right in front of him – minus, he supposed cynically, deductions for certain unavoidable expenses such as Crowley’s Cadillac, his gambling, and this house they were in.
Crowley himself had donned a white robe and stood at the head of the altar, in front of the golden devil. He was the only one without his face covered and he raised one hand in the air and pointed to the altar.
“It is time”, he intoned.
Two of the congregation, for a twisted form of congregation was what they suggested, went to the back of the room and brought forward the girl who had been opposite Bond at the dinner table. She was quite naked, and her eyes continued to have that far away look Bond had taken note of. Unquestionably drugged. Crowley’s minions walked her to the altar despite her sluggish movements and laid her down on it with her face looking up at Crowley, unrecognising and blank.
As one the worshippers gave a low moan as Crowley again raised one hand in the air.
“Great Horus”, he intoned, “we who are not worthy acknowledge you as our benefactor and give praise to thee. We are fortunate indeed to live in this, your Eon, and trust that we shall continue to receive your bounty in the years to come. You have revealed to us your wants and your needs to be supplied, and we have trust that you will reward us for our efforts”.
From his sleeve Crowley produced a long twisted dagger and all was now clear to Bond. This was madness, this was apostasy of the worst order. He did the only thing that was practical in the circumstances. He fainted.
Or at least pretended to faint. He heard a muffled curse from Manitoba as Bond’s body fell to the floor, seemingly limp. Bond’s hands reached to his feet and withdrew the heel from his left shoe to reveal the dagger inside. Before Manitoba could bend down, Bond slashed viciously across both of his Achilles tendons. Blood spurted everywhere as the huge man screamed, falling to the floor while Bond stood up and held his knife in a throwing position aimed straight at Crowley.
The door they had entered through burst open and a flood of policemen uniformed in red came pouring in with Lily Lepine in their midst. The white-clad acolytes all yelled helplessly and began to mill about, but there was no other way out of the room. They looked to their leader for guidance just as Bond began to throw his knife but there was no-one at the head of the altar. Crowley had disappeared. Manitoba lay moaning on the floor, clutching his ankles. It would be a long time before he was able to walk again, if ever. The thought aroused little sympathy in Bond.
“Oh, James!”, shouted Lily as she rushed up to him. “I was so worried, I had to call for help. You were taking so long, and I thought – “
“Relax, Lily”, said Bond, putting the heel of his shoe back into place as the Mounties rounded up the worshippers. He ran over to the head of the altar, where the girl still lay in her stupor, and saw the outlines of a trapdoor. There must be a control somewhere, the thought, before quickly finding a switch below the rim of the altar. Bond stood to one side and pressed it to see the trapdoor open. Without a second’s hesitation he jumped through.
The tunnel was dark and narrow. He still had his torch and flicked it on in case of booby traps – Crowley was exactly the sort of man to lay some surprises for anyone who wanted to follow him – but there was nothing. Bond emerged onto a dimly lit space with trees behind. This must be the rear of the building, he thought, but there was no time for further consideration before a shot made him throw himself to the ground and roll. When he looked up he could see a figure diving into a just starting helicopter.
Bond ran as quickly as he could, firing off a bullet from time to time but it was too late. The helicopter was in the sky and heading off. Crowley had gone.
To Be Conti... Concluded
That was stuff I didn’t know…so thanks 😁
And another great chapter 👏🏻
Fantastic story Barbel.
Keep up the great work and thank you for the kind acknowledgement.
Thanks, guys. Glad you're liking this one.
Sir M, CHB told me that story about Dennis Wheatley and the spiders and I just had to write a story to use it.