Bond thought: He’s got it in for me over the last job. Feels I let him down. Won’t trust me with anything tough. Wants to see. Oh well! He said: “Sounds rather like the soft life, sir. I’ve had almost too much of that lately. But if it’s got to be done… If you say so, sir…”
“Yes,” said M. “I say so.”
III
HOLIDAY TASK
It was getting dark. Outside the weather was thickening. M reached over and switched on the green-shaded desklight. The centre of the room became a warm yellow pool in which the leather top of the desk glowed blood-red.
M pulled the thick file towards him. Bond noticed it for the first time. He read the reversed lettering without difficulty. What had Strangways been up to? Who was Trueblood?
M pressed a button on his desk. “I’ll get the Chief of Staff in on this,” he said. “I know the bones of the case, but he can fill in the flesh. It’s a drab little story, I’m afraid.”
The Chief of Staff came in. He was a colonel in the Sappers, a man of about Bond’s age, but his hair was prematurely grey at the temples from the endless grind of work and responsibility. He was saved from a nervous breakdown by physical toughness and a sense of humour. He was Bond’s best friend at headquarters. They smiled at each other.
“Bring up a chair, Chief of Staff. I’ve given 007 the Strangways case. Got to get the mess cleared up before we make a new appointment there. 007 can be acting Head of Station in the meantime. I want him to leave in a week. Would you fix that with the Colonial Office and the Governor? And now let’s go over the case.” He turned to Bond. “I think you knew Strangways, 007. See you worked with him on that treasure business about five years ago. What did you think of him?”
“Good man, sir. Bit highly strung. I’d have thought he’d have been relieved by now. Five years is a long time in the tropics.”
M ignored the comment. “And his number two, this girl Trueblood, Mary Trueblood. Ever come across her?”
“No, sir.”
“I see she’s got a good record. Chief Officer WRNS and then came to us. Nothing against her on her Confidential Record. Good-looker to judge from her photographs. That probably explains it. Would you say Strangways was a bit of a womanizer?”
“Could have been,” said Bond carefully, not wanting to say anything against Strangways, but remembering the dashing good looks. “But what’s happened to them, sir?”
“That’s what we want to find out,” said M. “They’ve gone, vanished into thin air. Both went on the same evening about three weeks ago. Left Strangways’s bungalow burned to the ground-radio, codebooks, files. Nothing left but a few charred scraps. The girl left all her thingsantact. Must have taken only what she stood up in. Even her passport was in her room. But it would have been easy for Strangways to cook up two passports. He had plenty of blanks. He was Passport Control Officer for the island. Any number of planes they could have taken-to Florida or South America or one of the other islands in his area. Police are still checking the passenger lists. Nothing’s come up yet, but they could always have gone to ground for a day or two and then done a bunk. Dyed the girl’s hair and so forth. Airport security doesn’t amount to much in that part of the world. Isn’t that so, Chief of Staff?”
“Yes, sir.” The Chief of Staff sounded dubious. “But I still can’t understand that last radio contact.” He turned to Bond. “You see, they began to make their routine contact at eighteen-thirty Jamaican time. Someone, Radio Security thinks it was the girl, acknowledged our WWW and then went off the air. We tried to regain contact but there was obviously something fishy and we broke off. No answer to the Blue Call, or to the Red. So that was that. Next day Section III sent 258 down from Washington. By that time the police had taken over and the Governor had already made up his mind and was trying to get the case hushed up. It all seemed pretty obvious to him. Strangways has had occasional girl trouble down there. Can’t blame the chap myself. It’s a quiet station. Not much to occupy his time. The Governor jumped to the obvious conclusions. So, of course, did the local police. Sex and machete fights are about all they understand. 258 spent a week down there and couldn’t turn up a scrap of contrary evidence. He reported accordingly and we sent him back to Washington. Since then the police have been scraping around rather ineffectually and getting nowhere.” The Chief of Staff paused. He looked apologetically at M. “I know you’re inclined to agree with the Governor, sir, but that radio contact sticks in my throat. I just can’t see where it fits into the runaway-couple picture. And Strangways’s friends at his club say he was perfectly normal. Left in the middle of a rubber of bridge-always did, when he was getting close to his deadline. Said he’d be back in twenty minutes. Ordered drinks all round-again just as he always did-and left the club dead on six-fifteen, exactly to schedule. Then he vanished into thin air. Even left his car in front of the club. Now, why should he set the rest of his bridge four looking for him if he Wanted to skip with the girl? Why not leave in the morning, or better still, late at night, after they’d made their radio call and tidied up their lives? It just doesn’t make sense to me.”