A Spy's Heart Never Bleeds





A James Bond Thriller

By Jacob Shaw







Part One-Blast from the Past

















I. | Three Daughters Too Many











It wasn't all together unusual that Christine Bond Stewart, or Giggles, as her friends called her, would be alone on the ice behind Redmond Cathedral. It was late December, and the winter cold seemed to be hitting all of Europe in a rather unnecessarily brutal way. Christine was, thanks to the stingy cold, alone, and free to skate under the Breast of Chalice that welcomed the members of ice. Many times, Christine had stared up into the bronze eyes of the head that sat atop the breast, wondering if, by some sort of magic, the figurine could see her, could watch her elegant skating and judge the ramifications of it. It seemed that all old Chalice was good for these days, was providing a berth for the birds and snow. And if the figure was watching, he was sure to see Christine fall many, many times. She was, to be sure, elegant, though because she hat fits of giggles every so often, she was prone to loss concentration and fall on her hind parts.





She would of course giggle again, looking up into the bronze iced over eyes that had seen her fall. She could imagine Chalice laughing inside his mighty bronze chest, and so she laughed too.





Christine Bond was a good skater. Not figure skater quality, but about as good as a person without training, could be expected to be. When she was not laughing and falling, when she decided that it was time to be serious, she could, and on many occasions did, stun them all. Father Dupont Atkins, of the Redmond squire, had even hinted at throwing together a small team of sorts, of which Christine would be captain. She'd giggled to that, saying "I do it for the fun, father. Always for the fun."





Well, today she was alone, unless one counted the Bust of Chalice. The high winter sun grazed the white powdery sand, and though the sun was present, it was bloody cold. Christine dressed warmly, with a heavy ruffled wool coat and matching sheep's wool hat, with flaps over her ears. Three layers of stockings that were themselves encased in red nylon tights likewise shielded her legs. The chill hit her legs, but Christine could endure it, and she knew that once she got to skate, once she built up rhythm and made a real go of it, she could be sure her legs would amiably heat themselves.





And so she walked briskly through the overnight fallings of powdery snow, taking her time as she punched great slices in her wake. Finally, she reached the ice, regarded old Chalice on the opposite side, and then noticed that the old figure couldn't even see today. His entire face was shielded by snow. Christine was truly alone, and feeling a bit saddened by the fact, she barely glided out, a great contrast to the usual sprints she used to get to the middle of the ice.





Of course, her mother had thought that it might be vacant as well, and had urged Christine not to go. So cold today, she'd said. So cold that you are sure to catch cold. That was her mother, the usual overprotective mastiff that had the best intentions and entirely the wrong way of going about them. To think, she'd tried to hide Christine's skates! Christine was a young girl, and her mother told her that often, but she was not so young that she should not be able to go to the local church, and her mother had reluctantly agreed. "I'm 16, mother, and besides, what harm could possibly come of me, and in god's house? Besides, ole Chalice is always there to watch me" then came the giggles.





And there she was, getting her rhythm and skating seriously, when the sound of fallen snow alerted her to a presence, and span round to face it.





A young man, not many years older than her 16, was coming up the forest path. He smiled a confident smile as he pushed his way through the snow. Christine did not know him, guessed he was 19 or maybe even 21, and as he got closer, remarked to herself that he was very handsome. He was obviously not from town, because Giggles knew everyone there was to know.





"I say, did I startle you?" The young man asked, standing at the edge of the ice. He didn't dare cross the threshold with those flimsy boots he wore.

"Who are you?" Christine was immediately wary of any person she didn't know. Her mother called it her "special gift", something she was supposed to have received from her father, whoever he was. It was a heightened sense of intuition, and if it was real, it was working remarkably well now.

"Names Guthridge. Stanley Guthridge. Parents are in visiting with family. The Masons, you know them?"





Did she know them? By god, she had spent most of her life with Penny Mason. They were the best of friends. Penny had the most marvelous doll collection. She never said she had such a good-looking relative though. Christine would be sure to scold her friend for holding out on such information.





"Yes, I know the Masons. Quite well in fact. Are you a cousin to Penny?"

"Ah, good old Penny! Not quite the cousin I would like her to be, I'm afraid. I'm sure she hasn't spoken of me." The guy said.

"And why would that be?"

"Afraid it's to do with some minor squabble that took place back when we were small. I said some things that I had no business to say; I'm afraid, even for a young lad. Old Penny hasn't been warm to me since."





That was like Penny Mason. She could hold a grudge for years, it seemed, and Christine was suddenly sorry for the young man. She'd endured some of Penny's fits, and they were never nice.





"What brings you up here?" Christine asked with pure eagerness.

"This, I'm afraid," The young man said, pointing to the Bust of Chalice. "Had I known there would be.such a beautiful girl skating, I might have brought nicer clothes, and skates, to be sure."





Christine blushed. Pretty, yes, she knew. But never beautiful. No boy had ever paid her that compliment. She suddenly wanted to know more.

"Why are you so interested in old Chalice. Old Chalice with snow on his face!" She started giggling.

"Yes he does look rather silly like that, doesn't he?" The young man reached up and wiped the snow from Chalice's eyes and nose. Now the bronze face was fitted with a white beard and outlying hair. "Old Saint Nick has come to town." The young man said, and Christine couldn't help but laugh.





"But why is that old Bust so important?" She asked.

'Oh, sorry. I'm a bit of an archeologist type, I fancy. I like to hunt out old, powerful things. There are presently only ten Busts of Chalice in the world, and to think that I would be lucky enough to find one, in the county of family, well it's quite amazing really."

"Is it worth something? You haven't come to steal Old Chalice, have you? I wouldn't have it. Who else would there be to watch me skate?" She mused.

"Steal, no. But I have seen three of these Busts in my time, this makes the fourth. I pray to find a certain artifact among them. There is legend that, beneath the breastplate, a secret compartment may be found containing rare coins, put there by the modeler Saint Ive Di Chalicea. Who knows? I might get lucky."





"Naturally, you would share the wealth. Chalice is, by all accounts, a close friend to me."

"Naturally, I would share anything with a beauty such as yours. Come have a look. We may find the riches together, then there would be no quarrel." The young man said, never faltering his winning smile.





And he had called her beautiful again. Surely it meant something to meet such a nice boy by the frozen lake, and perhaps under old Chalice, they would kiss, for young girls often fancy such things. And what this talk of treasures? She couldn't dare hope for a kiss and riches, did she? Whatever the outcome, she was sure that this young man had taken a quick liking to her, as she had him, and she thought nothing of skating over to him.





When she got there, he was wiping the snow off of the might bronze bust. Around the neck of Chalice, there stood a bronze pendent etched into the rest of him. It was the shape of twin S's back to back. It seemed to hold the young man's eye.





"This is where the fabled treasure is supposed be hidden on one of these busts. Imagine my luck, finding it here."

"Imagine!" Christine said, averting her eyes to the pendent.

"Say, this is your spot. Your pound. You open it. It is there anyway."

"I couldn't. I wouldn't even know of it if you hadn't spoken. And besides, you are the adventurer, you should open it." She said.

"I insist. Old Chalice here, as you have so penned him, is not use to my explorations. It is only right that you should do it." He looked into her eyes then, and it was a hot look. A melting look if ever there was one. How many girls, Christine thought, wouldn't do what this handsome guy asked?





She stepped forward and reached for the bust.





Not a moment after she turned her head and stepped past the young man, was her head forcibly gripped between two strong arms. Before Christine Bond Stewart could fathom how this could be, the arms turned violently, and her neck was instantly broken. Released, she fell to the snow under Old Chalice, so low that even the old bronze eyes of the figurine could not pray look at what was left of her.











The same happened to Margaret Anuran, a young woman of the age 20. She was found in early February, among the students of the Harold Press internship program, who were visiting Our College of Arms, in London. As with the young girl in the country in December, her neck had been perfectly fractured. There was seemingly no reason behind the slaying, and many wondered why a perfectly normal girl of such young age would be the prey of some person who must be a man and who must be a lunatic.

It was certainly a shock to Sable Basilik, chairman of the union, who had seen the young girl only an hour before, in perfectly good health and striking up good conversation with a rather handsome young man. Sable, of course, told all of this to officials, and even went so far as to describe the man. The other members of the internship gave identical descriptions, saying the young man claimed to be an intern of the College, and that he immediately took a fancy to young Anuran. Because no person had seen this young man in Frederick County, where the Stewart girl was killed, there was no reason to suspect that the young man had been in any way involved. Besides, they had ruled that Christine Stewart had broken her neck, the result of a slip on the ice, and since the man had worn gloves, there were no fingerprints to prove otherwise.

This time, the man had had to get his fingers dirty, and the police had a print.





Of course, it turned up nothing. Whoever had killed the young Anuran girl, had no priors, and the police were powerless to trace him.













Some months later, in august, a third young girl turned up dead, killed in the same manner. Denise B. Thatcher, age 15. Unlike the others, Denise was a resident of the Caribbean, living with her stepfather, her real father unknown. She was found on the sandy beaches among snapping crabs who had done her already dead figure more harm. Her stepfather, having lost her mother only months earlier, could hardly stand it.





It is the fashion of many killers to break necks, and it was never decided that, for whatever reason, these three girls should be linked in murder. However, they were linked, and quite cruelly so, their killer a man with fierce vengeance in his heart, and great plans in his brain. First the daughters of his enemy, then the enemy himself. It was simple, and since he'd never be caught, it would work.







But first, it was time to spring the bait.