Thunderball (21 page)

The girl watched him, her eyes glittering red points in the semi-darkness.

Largo said, "My dear, I have had great enjoyment out of your body, much pleasure. In return, unless you tell me who gave you that machine to bring on board, I shall be forced to cause you great pain. It will be caused with these two simple instruments,'' he held up the cigar and blew on the tip until it glowed brightly, "this for heat, and these ice cubes for cold. Applied scientifically, as I shall apply them, they will have the inevitable effect of causing your voice, when it has stopped screaming, to speak, and speak the truth. Now then. Which is it to be?''

The girl's voice was deadly with hate. She said, "You killed my brother and you will now kill me. Go on and enjoy yourself. You are already a piece of death yourself. When the rest of it comes, very soon, I pray God you will suffer a million times more than both of us.''

Largo's laugh was a short, harsh bark. He walked over to the edge of the bunk. He said, "Very well, my dear. We must see what we can do with you, very softly and very, very slowly.''

He bent down and hooked his fingers in the neckline of her shirt and the join of the brassiere. Very slowly, but with great force, he tore downward, the whole length of her. Then he threw aside the torn halves of material and exposed the whole gleaming length of her body. He examined it carefully and reflectively and then went to the chest of drawers and took the cigar and the bowl of ice cubes and came back and made himself comfortable on the edge of the bunk.

Then he took a puff at the cigar, knocked the ash off onto the floor, and leaned forward.

22.

The Shadower

In the attack center of the Manta it was very quiet. Commander Pedersen, standing behind the man at the echo-sounder, occasionally made a comment over his shoulder to Bond and Leiter, who had been given canvas-backed chairs well away from the depth and speed gauges, which had been hooded so that they could be read only by the navigating team. These three men sat side by side on red leather, foam-cushioned, aluminum seats, handling the rudder and the forward and aft diving planes as if they were pilots in an airliner. Now the captain left the echo-sounder and came over to Bond and Leiter. He smiled cheerfully. "Thirty fathoms and the nearest cay is a mile to westwards. Now we've got a clear course all the way to Grand Bahama. And we're making good speed. If we keep it up, we've got about four hours' sailing. Be off Grand Bahama about an hour before first light. How about some food and a bit of sleep? There won't be anything on the radar for an hour--these Berry Islands'11 fill the screen until we're clear of them. Then'11 come the big question. When we clear them, shall we see that one of the smallest of the cays has broken loose and is sailing fast northwards on a parallel course to ours? If we see that on the screen, it'll be the Disco. If she's there, we'll submerge. You'll hear the alarm bells. But you can just roll over and have a bit more sleep. Nothing can happen until it's certain that she's in the target area. Then we'll have to think again.'' The captain made for the stairway. "Mind if I lead the way? Watch your head on the pipes. This is the one part of the ship where there isn't much clearance.''

They followed him down and along a passage to the mess hall, a well-lighted dining room finished in cream with pastel pink and green panels. They took their places at the head of one of the Formica-top tables away from the other officers and men, who looked curiously at the two civilians. The captain waved a hand at the walls of the room. "Bit of a change from the old battleship gray. You'd be surprised how many eggheads are involved in the design of these ships. Have to be, if you want to keep your crew happy when the ship's submerged for a month or more at a time. The trick-cyclists said We couldn't have just one color, must have contrast everywhere or the men's eyes get sort of depressed. This hall's used for movies, closed-circuit television, cribbage tournaments, bingo, God knows what--anything to keep the men off duty from getting bored. And you notice there's no smell of cooking or engine smells. Electrostatic precipitators all over the ship that filter them off.'' A steward came with menus. "Now then, let's get down to it. I'm having the baked Virginia ham with red-eye gravy, apple pie with ice cream, and iced coffee. And steward, don't go too easy on that red-eye.'' He turned to Bond. "Getting out of harbor always gives me an appetite. You know, it isn't the sea the captain hates, it's the land.''

Bond ordered poached eggs with rye toast and coffee. He was grateful for the captain's cheerful talk, but he himself had no appetite. There was a gnawing tension inside him which would be released only when the Disco was picked up on the radar and there would be a prospect of action. And lurking behind his concern about the whole operation was worry about the girl. Had he been right to trust her with so much of the truth? Had she betrayed him? Had she been caught? Was she alive? He drank down a glass of iced water, and listened to the captain explaining how the ice cubes and the water were distilled from the sea.

Finally Bond became impatient with the cheerful, even tone of the conversation. He said, "Forgive me, Captain, but could I interrupt for a moment and clear my mind about what we're going to do if we're right about the Disco and if we come up with her off the Grand Bahama? I can't quite figure what the next step ought to be. I've got my own ideas, but were you thinking we'd try and go alongside and board her, or just blow her out of the water?''

The captain's gray eyes were quizzical. He said, "I was kind of leaving all that to you fellers. The Navy Department says that I'm under your orders. I'm just the chauffeur. Supposing you tell me what you have in mind and I'll be glad to go along with anything you suggest so long as it doesn't endanger my ship''--he smiled--"too much, that is. In the last resort, if the Navy Department means what it says, and from your account of this operation it does, the safety of the ship will also have to go by the board. As I told you aloft in the attack center, I got acknowledgment of our signal and full approval for our proposed course of action. That's all the clearance I need. Now then, you tell me.''

The food came. Bond pecked at his eggs and pushed them away. He lit a cigarette. He said, looking at Felix Leiter, "Well, I don't know what you've worked out, Felix, but this is how I see the picture we may find around four o'clock in the morning, on the assumption, that is, that the Disco has been sailing north in shoal water under cover of the Berry Islands and that she'll then make for the Grand Bahama shore somewhere off the site of the missile station. Well now, on that assumption, I've had a good look at the charts and it seems to me that, if she's going to lay that bomb as close to the target as she can, she'll heave to and anchor about a mile offshore in about ten fathoms and get the bomb another half-mile or so closer to the target, lay it in twelve feet of water or so, switch on the time mechanism, and get the hell away. That's how I'd go about it. She'd be away by first light and there's plenty of yacht traffic around West End from what I can gather from the pilot. She'd show up on the station radar, of course, but she'd be just another yacht. Assuming the bomb's set for the twelve hours Largo's got before the time limit expires, he could be back in Nassau or twice as far away if he wanted in the time he's got. For my money, he'll go back to Nassau with his treasure-hunting story and wait for the next lot of orders from SPECTRE.'' Bond paused. He avoided Leiter's eyes. "That is, unless he's managed to get information out of the girl.''

Leiter said stanchly, "Hell, I don't believe that girl would talk. She's a tough cookie. And supposing she did? He's only got to drop her overboard with some lead round her neck and say her aqualung failed on the treasure hunt, or some spiel of that sort. He'd go back to Nassau all right. That man's cover's as solid as J. P. Morgan and Company.''

The captain interrupted. "Leaving all that aside, Commander Bond, and sticking to the operational angles, how do you suggest he's going to get that bomb out of the ship and right into the target area? I agree that according to the charts he can't get much closer in the yacht, and if he did he might be in trouble with the waterfront guard at the missile station. I see from my dope on the place that they've got some kind of a guard boat for chasing away fishermen and suchlike when they're going to do a practice shoot.''

Bond said decisively, "I'm sure that's the real purpose of the underwater compartment in the Disco. They've got one of those underwater sleds in there, and probably an electric torpedo to haul it. They'll load the bomb on the sled and take it in with a team of underwater swimmers, lay it, and come back to the ship. Otherwise, why have all that underwater gear?''

The captain said slowly, "You may be right, Commander. It makes sense. But so what do you want me to do about it?''

Bond looked the captain in the eye. "There's only one moment to nail these people. If we show our hand too soon, the Disco can get the hell away--only a few hundred yards maybe, and dump the bombs in a hundred fathoms. The only time to get them, and the bomb, the first bomb anyway, is when that team has left the ship and is on its way to the laying point. We've got to get their underwater team with our underwater team. The second bomb, if it's aboard, doesn't matter. We can sink the ship with the second bomb inside her.''

The captain looked down at his plate. He arranged the knife and fork tidily together, straightened the dessert spoon, and took the remains of his iced coffee and swirled the fragments of ice round so that they tinkled. He put the glass back on the table and looked up, first at Leiter then at Bond. He said thoughtfully, "I guess what you say makes sense, Commander. We have plenty of oxygen re-breathers on board. We also have ten of the finest swimmers in the nuclear flotilla. But they'll only have knives to fight with. I'll have to ask for volunteers.'' He paused. "Who's going to lead them?'' Bond said, "I'll do that. Skin-diving happens to be one of my hobbies. And I know what fish to look out for and which ones not to mind about. I'll brief your men about those things.''

Felix Leiter interrupted. He said obstinately, "And don't think you're going to leave me behind eating Virginia ham. I put an extra foot-flipper on this''--he held up the shining hook--"and I'll race you over half a mile any day, gammy leg and all. You'd be surprised the things one gets around to improvise when someone chews off one of your arms. Compensation it's called by the medics, in case you hadn't heard about it.''

The captain smiled. He got to his feet. "Okay, okay. I'll leave you two heroes to fight it out while I have a word to the men over the speaker system. Then we'll have to get together with the charts and see that the gear's okay and suchlike. You fellers aren't going to get any sleep after all. I'll have a ration of battle pills issued to you. You're going to need them.'' He raised a hand and went off down the mess hall.

Leiter turned to Bond. "You goddam shyster. Thought you were going to leave your old pal behind, didn't you? God, the treachery of you Limeys! Perfidious Albion is right, all right.''

Bond laughed. "How the hell was I to know you'd been in the hands of rehabilitators and therapists and so on? I never knew you took life so seriously. I suppose you've even found some way of petting with that damned meathook of yours.''

Leiter said darkly, "You'd be surprised. Get a girl round the arm with this and you'd be amazed the effect it has on their good resolutions. Now then, let's get down to cases. What sort of formation are we going to swim in? Can we get some of those knives made into lances? How are we going to recognize our side from theirs underwater, and in semi-darkness at that? We've got to make this operation pretty solid. That Pedersen's a good guy. We don't want to get some of his men killed through some damn silly mistake of ours.''

The voice of the captain sounded over the communication system. "Now hear this. This is your Captain speaking. It is possible that we may encounter hazards in the course of this operation. I will tell you how this may come about. This ship has been chosen by the Navy Department for an exercise that is tantamount to an operation of war. I will tell you the story, which will remain classified top secret until further orders. This is what has happened…''

***

Bond, asleep in one of the duty officers' bunks, was awakened by the alarm bell. The iron voice of the P.A. system said: "Diving stations. Diving stations,'' and almost at once his bunk tilted slightly and the distant whine of the engines altered pitch. Bond smiled grimly to himself. He slipped off the bunk and went along and up to the attack center. Felix Leiter was already there. The captain turned away from the plot. His face was tense. He said, "It looks as if you were right, gentlemen. We've got her, all right. About five miles ahead and two points to starboard. She's doing around thirty knots. No other ship could be holding that speed, or would be likely to. And she's showing no lights. Here, care to have a look through the scope? She's raising quite a wake and kicking up plenty of phosphorescence. No moon yet, but you'll see the white blur when your eyes get used to the dark.''

Bond bent to the rubber eye sockets. In a minute he had her, a white scut on the horizon of the soft, feathery swell. He stood back. "What's her course?''

"Same as ours--western end of Grand Bahama. We'll go deeper now and put on a bit of speed. We've got her on the Sonar as well, so we shan't lose her. We'll get up parallel and close in a bit later. The met. report gives a light westerly breeze in the early hours. That'd be a help. Don't want it too calm when we unload the swimming party. The surface'll boil quite a bit as each man goes out. Here.'' He turned to a powerful-looking man in white ducks. "This is Petty Officer Fallon. He's in command of the swimming party, under your and Mr. Leiter's orders, of course. All the top swimmers volunteered. He's chosen nine of them. I've taken them off all duties. Maybe you gentlemen would like to get acquainted with your team. You'll want to discuss your routines. I guess discipline'll have to be pretty tight--recognition signals and so forth. Okay? The sergeant at arms is looking after the weapons.'' He smiled. "He's rustled up a dozen flick knives. Had some difficulty persuading the men to give them up, but he's done it. He's barbed them and sharpened them down almost to needles, then fitted them into the tops of broom handles. Guess he'll make you sign an indent for the brooms or he'll have the supply officer on top of him when we get out of this. All right then. Be seeing you. Ask for anything you want.'' He turned back to the plot.

Bond and Leiter followed Petty Officer Fallon along the lower deck to the engine room and then to the engine-repair shop. On their way they passed through the reactor room. The reactor, the equivalent of a controlled atomic bomb, was an obscene knee-level bulge rising out of the thickly leaded deck. As they passed it, Leiter whispered to Bond, "Liquid sodium Submarine Intermediate Reactor Mark B.'' He grinned sourly and crossed himself.

Bond gave the thing a sideways kick with his shoe. "Steam-age stuff. Our Navy's got the Mark C.''

The repair shop, a long low room equipped with various forms of precision machinery, presented a curious sight. At one end were grouped the nine swimmers clad only in bathing trunks, their fine bodies glowing with sunburn. At the other, two men in gray overalls, drab figures of the machine age, were working in semi-darkness with only pinpoints of bright light cast on the whirring lathes from which the knife blades threw small fountains of blue and orange sparks. Some of the swimmers already had their spears. After the introductions, Bond took one and examined it. It was a deadly weapon, the blade, sharpened to a stiletto and notched near the top into a barb, firmly wired into the top of a long stout stave. Bond thumbed the needle-sharp steel and touched the tip. Even a shark's skin would not stand up to that. But what would the enemy have? CO2 guns for a certainty. Bond looked the smiling bronzed young men over. There were going to be casualties--perhaps many. Everything must be done to effect surprise. But those golden skins and his own and Leiter's paler skins would show at twenty feet in the moonlight--all right for the guns, but well out of range of the spears. Bond turned to Petty Officer Fallon: "I suppose you don't have rubber suits on board?''

"Why sure, Commander. Have to, for escape in cold waters.'' He smiled. "We're not always sailing among the palm trees.''

"We'll all need them. And could you get white or yellow numbers, big ones, painted on their backs? Then we'll know more or less who's who.''

"Sure, sure.'' He called to his men. "Hey, Fonda and Johnson. Go along to the Quartermaster and draw rubber suits for the whole team. Bracken, get a pail of rubber solution paint from Stores. Paint numbers on the backs of the suits. A foot deep. From one to twelve. Get going.''

Later, with the gleaming black suits hanging like giant bat skins along the wall, Bond called the team together. "Men, we're going to have one hell of an underwater battle. There'll be casualties. Anyone care to change his mind?'' The faces grinned back at him. "All right, then. Now, we'll be swimming at around ten feet for a quarter, perhaps half a mile. It'll be pretty light. The moon'll be up and the bottom's white sand with some seagrass. We'll take it easy and go in triangle formation with me, No. 1, leading followed by Mr. Leiter here as No. 2, and Petty Officer Fallon as No. 3. Then we broaden out behind like a wedge of geese. All you have to do is follow the number in front of you and no one'll get lost. Watch out for isolated niggerheads. As far as I can gather from the chart there's no true reef, only broken clumps. It'll be getting on for early feeding time for the fish, so watch out for anything big. But leave it alone unless it gets too inquisitive. Then three of you take it on with the spears. But don't forget that it's most unlikely any fish will attack us. Close together we'll look like one hell of a big black fish to anyone else and I guess we'll be given a wide berth. Watch out for sea eggs on the coral and mind the tips of your spears. Hold them right up near the blade. Above all, keep quiet. We must try and get surprise on our side. The enemy's got CO2 guns, range above twenty feet. But they're slow things to reload. If one's aimed at you, try and give a small target. Keep flat in the water. Don't put your feet down and give him a full-length target. As soon as he's fired, go for him like hell with your spear right out. One jab of those things in almost any part of the head or body and your man's had it. Wounded men will have to look after themselves. We can't spare stretcher bearers. If you're wounded, back out of the fight and get away to a coral clump and rest on it. Or make for the shore and shallow water. If you've got a spear in you, don't try and pull it out. Just hold it in the wound until someone gets to you. Petty Officer Fallon will have one of the ship's signal flares. He'll release that to the surface as soon as our attack begins and your captain will at once surface and put out an escape dinghy with an armed party and the ship's surgeon. Now then, any questions?''

"What do we do as soon as we get out of the sub, sir?''

"Try and not make any fuss on the surface. Get down quickly to ten feet and take your place in the formation. We're likely to get help from a light breeze, but we're bound to create turbulence on the surface. Keep it down as much as you can.''

"What about signals underwater, sir? Suppose a mask goes wrong or something.''

"Thumbs down for any kind of emergency. Arm held straight out for a big fish. Thumbs up means `I understand' or `Coming to help you.' That's all you'll need.'' Bond smiled. "If the feet go up, that's the signal that you've had it.''

The men laughed various kinds of laugh.

There came the sudden voice of the P.A. system. "Swimming party to the escape hatch. I repeat, swimming party to the escape hatch. Don equipment, Don equipment. Commander Bond to the attack center, please.''

The whine of the engines died to a moan and then was silent. There was a slight bump as the Manta hit bottom.