The Undertaker’s Wind was almost dead. Soon the Doctor’s Wind would start to breathe in from the sea. How soon? wondered Bond. Was it an omen?
Away beyond the ship he could see the roof of Beau Desert among the trees, but the jetty and the ship and the cliff path were still in deep shadow. Bond wondered if night-glasses would be able to pick them out. And if they could, what Strangways would be thinking.
Mr. Big stood on the jetty and supervised the process of binding them together.
‘Strip her,’ he said to Solitaire’s guard.
Bond flinched. He stole a glance at Mr. Big’s wrist watch. It said ten minutes to six. Bond kept silence. There must not be even a minute’s delay.
‘Throw the clothes on board,’ said Mr. Big. ‘Tie some strips round his shoulder. I don’t want any blood in the water, yet.’
Solitaire’s clothes were cut off her with a knife. She stood pale and naked. She hung her head and the heavy black hair fell forward over her face. Bond’s shoulder was roughly bound with strips of her linen skirt.
‘You bastard,’ said Bond through his teeth.
Under Mr. Big’s direction, their hands were freed. Their bodies were pressed together, face to face, and their arms held round each other’s waists and then bound tightly again.
Bond felt Solitaire’s soft breasts pressed against him. She leant her chin on his right shoulder.
‘I didn’t want it to be like this,’ she whispered tremulously.
Bond didn’t answer. He hardly felt her body. He was counting seconds.
On the jetty there was a pile of rope to the paravane. It hung down off the jetty and Bond could see it lying along the sand until it rose to meet the belly of the red torpedo.
The free end was tied under their armpits and knotted tightly between them in the space between their necks. It was all very carefully done. There was no possible escape.
Bond was counting the seconds. He made it five minutes to six.
Mr. Big had a last look at them.
‘Their legs can stay free,’ he said. ‘They’ll make appetizing bait.’ He stepped off the jetty on to the deck of the yacht.’
The two guards went aboard. The two men on the jetty unhitched their lines and followed. The screws churned up the still water and with the engines at half speed ahead the Secatur slid swiftly away from the island.
Mr. Big went aft and sat down in the fishing chair. They could see his eyes fixed on them. He said nothing. Made no gesture. He just watched.
The Secatur cut through the water towards the reef. Bond could see the cable to the paravane snaking over the side. The paravane started to move softly after the ship. Suddenly it put its nose down, then righted itself and sped away, its rudder pulling out and away from the wake of the ship.
The coil of rope beside them leapt into life.
‘Look out,’ said Bond urgently, holding tighter to the girl.
Their arms were pulled almost out of their sockets as they were jerked together off the jetty into the sea.
For a second they both went under, then they were on the surface, their joined bodies smashing through the water.
Bond gasped for breath amongst the waves and spray that dashed past his twisted mouth. He could hear the rasping of Solitaire’s breath next to his ear.
‘Breathe, breathe,’ he shouted through the rushing of the water. ‘Lock your legs against mine.’
She heard him and he felt her knees pressing between his thighs. She had a paroxysm of coughing, then her breath became more even against his ear and the thumping of her heart eased against his breast. At the same time their speed slackened.
‘Hold your breath,’ shouted Bond. ‘I’ve got to have a look. Ready?’
A pressure of her arms answered him. He felt her chest heave as she filled her lungs.
With the weight of his body he swung her round so that his head was now quite out of water.
They were ploughing along at about three knots. He twisted his head above the small bow-wave they were throwing up.