Bond lit his first cigarette of the day-the first Royal Blend he’had smoked for five years-and let the smoke come out between his teeth in a luxurious hiss. That was his ‘Enemy Appreciation’. Now, who was this enemy?
Well, there was only one candidate, and a pretty insubstantial one at that, Doctor No, Doctor Julius No, the German Chinese who owned Crab Key and made his money out of guano. There had been nothing on this man in Records and a signal to the FBI had been negative. The affair of the roseate spoonbills and the trouble with the Audubon Society meant precisely nothing except, as M had said, that a lot of old women had got excited about some pink storks. All the same, four people had died because of these storks and, most significant of all to Bond, Quarrel was scared of Doctor No arid his island. That was very odd indeed. Cayman Islanders, least of all Quarrel, did not scare easily. And why had Doctor No got this mania for privacy? Why did he go to such expense and trouble to keep people away from his guano island? Guano-bird dung. Who wanted the stuff? How valuable was it? Bond was due to call on the Governor at ten o’clock. After he had made his number he would get hold of the Colonial Secretary and try and find out all about the damned stuff and about Crab Key and, if possible, about Doctor No.
There was a double knock on the door. Bond got up and unlocked it. It was Quarrel, his left cheek decorated with a piratical cross of sticking-plaster. “Mornin”, cap’n. Yo said eight-tirty.”
“Yes, come on in, Quarrel. We’ve got a busy day. Had some breakfast?”
“Yes, tank you, cap’n. Salt fish an’ ackee an’ a tot of rum.”
“Good God,” said Bond. “That’s tough stuff to start the day on.”
“Mos” refreshin’,” said Quarrel stolidly.
They sat down outside on the balcony. Bond offered Quarrel a cigarette and lit one himself. “Now then,” he said. “I’ll be spending most of the day at King’s House and perhaps at the Jamaica Institute. I shan’t need you till tomorrow morning, but there are some things for you to do downtown. All right?”
“Okay, cap’n. Jes’ yo say.”
“First of all, that car of ours is hot. We’ve got to get rid of it. Go down to Motta’s or one of the other hire people and pick up the newest and best little self-drive car you can find, the one with the least mileage. Saloon. Take it for a month. Right? Then hunt around the waterfront and find two men who look as near as possible like us. One must be able to drive a car. Buy them both clothes, at least for their top halves, that look like ours. And the sort of hats we might wear. Say we want a car taken over to Montego tomorrow morning-by the Spanish Town, Ocho Rios road. To be left at Levy’s garage there. Ring up Levy and tell him to expect it and keep it for us. Right?”
Quarrel grinned. “Yo want fox someone?”
“That’s right. They’ll get ten pounds each. Say I’m a rich American and I want my car to arrive in Montego Bay driven by a respectable couple of men. Make me out a bit mad. They must be here at six o’clock tomorrow morning. You’ll be here with the other car. See they look the part and send them off in the Sunbeam with the roof down. Right?”
“Okay, cap’n.”
“What’s happened to that house we had on the North Shore last time-Beau Desert at Morgan’s Harbour? Do you know if it’s let?”
“Couldn’t say, cap’n. Hit’s well away from de tourist places and dey askin’ a big rent for it.”
“Well, go to Graham Associates and see if you can rent it for a month, or another bungalow near by. I don’t mind what you pay. Say it’s for a rich American, Mr James. Get the keys and pay the rent and say I’ll write and confirm. I can telephone them if they want more details.” Bond reached into his hip pocket and brought out a thick wad of notes. He handed half of it to Quarrel. “Here’s two hundred pounds. That should cover all this. Get in touch if you want some more. You know where I’ll be.”