Thunderball (12 page)

Bond said seriously, "Well, look here, Felix. Tell you what I'll do. There's just enough sense in your story, so I'll put it on the machine to M tonight and see if the Yard can get anywhere with it. They could check with the clinic and the hospital in Brighton, if that's where he was taken, and they may be able to get on from there. Trouble is, wherever they get, there's nothing left of the man but his shoes, and I doubt if they'll catch up with the man on the motorbike. It looked a real pro job to me.''

"Why not? These highjackers sound like pros. It's a pro plan. It all fits all right. You go ahead and put it on the wire and don't be ashamed of saying it was my idea. My medal collection has got to looking a bit thin since I left the outfit.''

They pulled up under the portico of the Royal Bahamian and Bond gave the keys to the parking attendant. Leiter checked in and they went up to his room and sent for two double dry martinis on the rocks and the menu.

From the pretentious dishes, "For Your Particular Consideration,'' printed in Ornamental Gothic, Bond chose Native Seafood Cocktail Supreme followed by Disjointed Home Farm Chicken, Sauté au Cresson, which was described in italics as "Tender Farm Chicken, Broiled to a Rich Brown, Basted with Creamery Butter and Disjointed for Your Convenience. Price 38/6 or dollars 5.35.'' Felix Leiter went for the Baltic Herring in Sour Cream followed by "Chopped Tenderloin of Beef, French Onion Rings (Our Renowned Beef is Chef-Selected from the Finest Corn-fed, Mid-Western Cattle, and Aged to Perfection to Assure You of the Very Best). Price 40/3 or dollars 5.65.''

When they had both commented sourly and at length about the inflated bogosity of tourist-hotel food and particularly the mendacious misuse of the English language to describe materials which had certainly been in various deepfreezes for at least six months, they settled down on the balcony to discuss Bond's findings of the morning. Half an hour and one more double dry martini later, their luncheon came. The whole thing amounted to about five shillings' worth of badly cooked rubbish. They ate in a mood of absent-minded irritation, saying nothing. Finally Leiter threw down his knife and fork. "This is hamburger and bad hamburger. The French onion rings were never in France, and what's more''--he poked at the remains with a fork--"they're not even rings. They're oval.'' He looked belligerently across at Bond. "All right, Hawkshaw. Where do we go from here?''

"The major decision is to eat out in future. The next is to pay a visit to the Disco --now.'' Bond got up from the table. "When we've done that, we'll have to decide whether or not these people are hunting pieces of eight or £100,000,000. Then we'll have to report progress.'' Bond waved at the packing cases in a corner of the room. "I've got the loan of a couple of rooms on the top floor of police headquarters here. The Commissioner's cooperative and a solid character. These Colonial Police are good, and this one's a cut above the rest. We can set up the radio there and make contact this evening. Tonight there's this party at the Casino. We'll go to that and see if any of these faces mean anything to either of us. The first thing's to see if the yacht's clean or not. Can you break that Geiger counter out?''

"Sure. And it's a honey.'' Leiter went to the cases, selected one, and opened it. He came back carrying what looked like a Rolleiflex camera in a portable leather case. "Here, give me a hand.'' Leiter took off his wrist watch and strapped on what appeared to be another watch. He slung the "camera'' by its strap over his left shoulder. "Now run those wires from the watch up my sleeve and down inside my coat. Right. Now these two small plugs go through these holes in my coat pocket and into the two holes in the box. Got it? Now we're all fixed.'' Leiter stood back and posed. "Man with a camera and a wrist watch.'' He unbuttoned the flap of the camera. "See? Perfectly good lenses and all that. Even a button to press in case you have to seem to take a picture. But in back of the make-believe there's a metal valve, a circuit, and batteries. Now take a look at this watch. And it is a watch.'' He held it under Bond's eyes. "Only difference is that it's a very small watch mechanism and that sweep secondhand is a meter that takes the radioactive count. Those wires up the sleeve hitch it on to the machine. Now then. You're still wearing that old wrist watch of yours with the big phosphorus numerals. So I walk round the room for a moment to get the background count. That's basic. All sorts of things give off radiation of some sort. And I take an occasional glance at my watch--nervous type, and I've got an appointment coming up. Now here, by the bathroom, all that metal is giving off something and my watch is registering positive, but very little. Nothing else in the room and I've established the amount of background interference I'll have to discount when I start to get hot. Right? Now I come close up to you and my camera's only a few inches away from your hand. Here, took a look. Put your watch right up against the counter. See! The sweephand is getting all excited. Move your watch away and it loses interest. It's those phosphorus numerals of yours. Remember the other day one of the watch companies withdrew an air pilots' watch from the market because the Atomic Energy People got fussy? Same thing. They thought this particular pilots' watch, with the big phosphorescent numerals, was giving off too much radiation to be good for the wearer. Of course''--Leiter patted the camera case--"this is a special job. Most types give off a clicking sound, and if you're prospecting for uranium, which is the big market for these machines, you wear earphones to try and pick up the stuff underground. For this job we don't need anything so sensitive. If we get near where those bombs are hidden, this damned sweephand'll go right off the dial. Okay? So let's go hire ourselves a sixpenny sick and pay a call on the ocean greyhound.''

13.

"My Name Is Emilio Largo''

Leiter's "sixpenny sick'' was the hotel launch, a smart Chrysler-engined speedboat that said it would be $20 an hour. They ran out westward from the harbor, past Silver Cay, Long Cay, and Balmoral Island and round Delaporte Point. Five miles farther down the coast, encrusted with glittering seashore properties the boatman said cost £400 per foot of beach frontage, they rounded Old Fort Point and came upon the gleaming white and dark blue ship lying with two anchors out in deep water just outside the reef. Leiter whistled. He said in an awestruck voice, "Boy, is that a piece of boat! I'd sure like to have one of those to play with in my bath.''

Bond said, "She's Italian. Built by a firm called Rodrigues at Messina. Thing called an Aliscafo. She's got a hydrofoil under the hull and when she gets going you let this sort of skid down and she rises up and practically flies. Only the screws and a few feet of the stern stay in the water. The Police Commissioner says she can do fifty knots in calm water. Only good for inshore work of course, but they can carry upwards of a hundred passengers when they're designed as fast ferries. Apparently this one's been designed for about forty. The rest of the space is taken up with the owner's quarters and cargo space. Must have cost damned near a quarter of a million.''

The boatman broke in. "They say on Bay Street that she goin' go after the treasure these next few days or so. All the people that own share in the gold come in a few days ago. Then she spen' one whole night doin' a final recce. They say is down Exhuma way, or over by Watlings Island. Guess you folks know that's where Columbus make him first landfall on this side of the Atlantic. Around fourteen ninety somethin'. But could be anywhere down there. They's always been talk of treasure down 'mongst the Ragged Islands--even as far as Crooked Island. Fact is she sail out southward. Hear her myself, right until her engines died away. East by southeast, I'da say.'' The boatman spat discreetly over the side. "Must be plenty heap of treasure with the cost of that ship and all the money they throwing 'way. Every time she go to the Hoiling Wharf they say the bill's five hundred pound.''

Bond said casually, "Which night was it they did the final recce?''

"Night after she hoiled. That'd be two nights ago. Sail round six.''

The blank portholes of the ship watched them approach. A sailor polishing brass round the curve of the enclosed dome that was the bridge walked through the hatch into the bridge and Bond could see him talking into a mouthpiece. A tall man in white ducks and a very wide mesh singlet appeared on deck and observed them through binoculars. He called something to the sailor, who came and stood at the top of the ladder down the starboard side. When their launch came alongside, the man cupped his hands and called down, "What is your business, please? Have you an appointment?''

Bond called back, "It's Mr. Bond, Mr. James Bond. From New York. I have my attorney here. I have an inquiry to make about Palmyra, Mr. Largo's property.''

"One moment, please.'' The sailor disappeared and returned accompanied by the man in white ducks and singlet. Bond recognized him from the police description. He called down cheerfully, "Come aboard, come aboard.'' He gestured for the sailor to go down and help fend the launch. Bond and Leiter climbed out of the launch and went up the ladder.

Largo held out a hand. "My name is Emilio Largo. Mr. Bond?''

And…?''

"Mr. Larkin, my attorney from New York. Actually I'm English, but I have property in America.'' They shook hands. "I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Largo, but it's about Palmyra, the property I believe you rent from Mr. Bryce.''

"Ah, yes, of course.'' The beautiful teeth gleamed warmth and welcome. "Come on down to the stateroom, gentlemen. I'm sorry I am not properly dressed to receive you.'' The big brown hands caressed his flanks, the wide mouth turned down in deprecation. "My visitors usually announce themselves on the ship-to-shore. But if you will forgive the informality…'' Largo allowed the phrase to die on the air and ushered them through a low hatch and down a few aluminum steps into the main cabin. The rubber-lined hatch hissed to behind him.

It was a fine large cabin paneled in mahogany with a deep wine-Red carpet and comfortable dark blue leather club chairs. The sun shining through the slats of Venetian blinds over the broad square ports added a touch of gay light to an otherwise rather somber and masculine room, its long center table littered with papers and charts, glass-fronted cabinets containing fishing gear and an array of guns and other weapons, and a black rubber underwater diving suit and aqualung suspended, almost like the skeleton in a sorcerer's den, from a rack in one corner. The air-conditioning made the cabin deliciously cool, and Bond felt his damp shirt slowly freeing itself from his skin.

"Please take a chair, gentlemen.'' Largo carelessly brushed aside the charts and papers on the table as if they were of no importance. "Cigarettes?'' He placed a large silver box between them. "And now what can I get you to drink?'' He went to the loaded sideboard. "Something cool and not too strong perhaps? A Planter's Punch? Gin and tonic? Or there are various beers. You must have had a hot journey in that open launch. I would have sent my boat for you if only I had known.''

They both asked for a plain tonic. Bond said, "I'm very sorry to barge in like this, Mr. Largo, No idea I could have got you on the telephone. We just got in this morning, and as I've only a few days I have to get a move on. The point is, I'm looking for a property down here.''

"Oh, yes?'' Largo brought the glasses and bottles of tonic to the table and sat down so that they formed a comfortable group. "What a good idea. Wonderful place. I've been here f9r six months and already I'd like to stay forever. But the prices they're asking--'' Largo threw up his hands. "These Bay Street pirates. And the millionaires, they are even worse. But you are wise to come at the end of the season. Perhaps some of the owners are disappointed not to have sold. Perhaps they will not open their mouths so wide.''

"That's what I thought.'' Bond sat comfortably back and lit a cigarette. "Or rather what my lawyer, Mr. Larkin, advised.'' Leiter shook his head pessimistically. "He had made some inquiries and he frankly advised that real-estate values down here have gone mad.'' Bond turned politely toward Leiter to bring him into the conversation. "Isn't that so?''

"Daft, Mr. Largo, quite daft. Worse even than Florida. Out of

this world. I wouldn't advise any client of mine to invest at these prices.''

"Quite so.'' Largo obviously didn't want to get drawn too deeply into these matters. "You mentioned something about Palmyra. Is there anything I can do to help in that respect?''

Bond said, "I understand you have a lease of the property, Mr. Largo. And there is talk that you may be leaving the house before long. Only gossip, of course. You know what they are in these small islands. But it sounds more or less what I'm looking for and I gather the owner, this Englishman, Bryce, might sell if he got the right price. What I was going to ask you''--Bond looked apologetic--"was whether we might drive out and look the place over. Some time when you weren't there of course. Any time that might suit you.''

Largo flashed his teeth warmly. He spread his hands. "But of course, of course, my dear fellow. Whenever you wish. There is no one in residence but my niece and a few servants. And she is out most of the time. Please just call her up on the telephone. I shall tell her that you will be doing so. It is indeed a charming property--so imaginative. A beautiful piece of design. If only all rich men had such good taste.''

Bond got to his feet and Leiter followed suit. "Well, that's extraordinarily kind of you, Mr. Largo. And now we'll leave you in peace. Perhaps we may meet again in the town some time. You must come and have lunch. But''--Bond poured admiration and flattery into his voice--"with a yacht like this, I don't suppose you ever want to come ashore. Must be the only one on this side of the Atlantic. Didn't one used to run between Venice and Trieste? I seem to remember reading about it somewhere.''

Largo grinned his pleasure. "Yes, that is right, quite right. They are also on the Italian lakes. For passenger traffic. Now they are buying them in South America. A wonderful design for coastal waters. She only draws four feet when the hydrofoil is operating.''

"I suppose accommodation's the problem?''

It is a weakness of all men, though not necessarily of all women, to love their material possessions. Largo said, with a trace of pricked vanity, "No, no. I think you will find that it is not so. You can spare five minutes? We are rather crowded at the moment. You have heard no doubt of our treasure hunt?'' He looked sharply at them as a man would who expects ridicule. "But we will not discuss that now. No doubt you do not believe in these things. But my associates in the affair are all on board. With the crew, there are forty of us. You will see that we are not cramped. You would like?'' Largo gestured to the door in the rear of the stateroom.

Felix Leiter showed reluctance. "You know, Mr. Bond, that we have that meeting with Mr. Harold Christie at five o'clock?''

Bond waved the objection aside. "Mr. Christie is a charming man.

I know he won't mind if we are a few minutes late. I'd love to see over the ship if you're sure you can spare the time, Mr. Largo.'' Largo said, "Come. It will not take more than a few minutes. The excellent Mr. Christie is a friend of mine. He will understand.'' He went to the door and held it open.

Bond had been expecting the politeness. It would interfere with

Leiter and his apparatus. He said firmly, "Please go first, Mr. Largo.

You will be able to tell us when to duck our heads.'' With more affabilities, Largo led the way. Ships, however modern, are more or less the same--the corridors to port and starboard of the engine room, rows of cabin doors, which

Largo explained were occupied, the large communal bathrooms, the galley, where two cheerful-looking Italians in white smocks laughed at Largo's jokes.about the food and seemed pleased with the visitors' interest, the huge engine room where the chief engineer and his mate, Germans it seemed, gave enthusiastic information about the powerful twin Diesels and explained the hydraulics of the hydrofoil depressor --it was all exactly like visiting any other ship and saying the right things to the crew, using the right superlatives to the owner.

The short space of afterdeck was occupied by the little two-seater amphibian, painted dark blue and white to match the yacht, its wings now folded and its engine cowled against the sun, a big jolly-boat to hold about twenty men, and an electric derrick to hoist them in- and outboard. Bond, estimating the ship's displacement and her freeboard, said casually, "And the hold? More cabin space?''

"Just storage. And the fuel tanks, of course. She is an expensive ship to run. We have to carry several tons. The ballast problem is important with these ships. When her bows come up, the fuel shifts aft. We have to have big lateral tanks to correct these things.'' Talking fluently and expertly, Largo led them back up the starboard passageway. They were about to pass the radio room when Bond said, "You said you had ship-to-shore. What else do you carry? The usual Marconi short and long wave, I suppose. Could I have a look? Radio has always fascinated me.''

Largo said politely, "Some other time, if you don't mind. I'm keeping the operator full time on met. reports. They're rather important to us at the moment.''

"Of course.''

They climbed up into the enclosed dome of the bridge, where Largo briefly explained the controls and led them out on the narrow deck space. "So there you are,'' said Largo. "The good ship Disco Volante --the Flying Saucer. And she really does fly, I can assure you. I hope you and Mr. Larkin will come for a short cruise one of these days. For the present''--he smiled with a hint of a secret shared-- "as you may have heard, we are rather busy.''

"Very exciting, this treasure business. Do you think you've got a good chance?''

"We like to think so.'' Largo was deprecating. "I only wish I could tell you more.'' He waved an apologetic hand. "Unfortunately, as they say, my lips are sealed. I hope you will understand.''

"Yes, of course. You have your shareholders to consider. I only wish I was one so that I could come along. I suppose there's not room for another investor?''

"Alas, no. The issue, as they say, is fully subscribed. It would have been very pleasant to have had you with us.'' Largo held out a hand. "Well, I see that Mr. Larkin has been looking anxiously at his watch during our brief tour. We must not keep Mr. Christie waiting any longer. It has been a great pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bond. And you, Mr. Larkin.''

With a further exchange of courtesies they went down the ladder to the waiting launch and got under way. There was a last wave from Mr. Largo before he vanished through the hatch to the bridge.

They sat in the stern well away from the boatman. Leiter shook his head. "Absolutely negative. Reaction around the engine room and the radio room, but that's normal. It was all normal, damnably normal. What did you make of him and the whole setup?''

"Same as you--damned normal. He looks what he says he is, and behaves that way. Not much crew about, but the ones we saw were either ordinary crew or wonderful actors. Only two small things stuck me. There was no way down to the hold that I could see, but of course it could have been a manhole under the passage carpet. But then how do you get the stores he talked of down there? And there's the hell of a lot of space in that hold even if I don't know much about naval architecture. I'll do a check with the oiling wharf through the customs people and see just how much fuel he does carry. Then it's odd that we didn't see any of these shareholders. It was around three o'clock when we went on board and most of them may have been having siestas. But surely not all nineteen of them. What do they do in their cabins all the time? Another small thing. Did you notice that Largo didn't smoke and that there was no trace of tobacco smell anywhere in the ship? That's odd. Around forty men and not one of them is a smoker. If one had anything else to go on one would say that wasn't coincidence but discipline. The real pros don't drink or smoke. But I admit it's a damned long shot. Notice the Decca Navigator and the echo-sounder? Pretty expensive bits of equipment, both of them. Fairly normal on a big yacht, of course, but I'd have expected Largo to point them out when he was showing us the bridge. Rich men are proud of their toys. But that's only clutching at straws. I'd have said the whole outfit's as clean as a whistle if it wasn't for all that missing space we weren't shown. That talk about fuel and ballast sounded a bit glib to me. What do you think?''