‘Mr Bond.’ Goldfinger’s voice held an ounce of urgency. ‘Is this really necessary? Just tell me the truth. Who are you? Who sent you here? What do you know? Then it will be so easy. You shall both have a pill. There will be no pain. It will be like taking a sleeping draught. Otherwise it will be so messy – so messy and distressing. And are you being fair to the girl? Is this the behaviour of an English gentleman?’
Oddjob’s torment had stopped. Bond turned his head slowly towards the voice and opened his eyes. He said, ‘Goldfinger, there is nothing more to tell because there is nothing. If you will not accept my first bargain I will make you another. The girl and I will work for you. How about that? We are capable people. You could put us to good use.’
‘And get a knife, two knives in my back? Thank you no, Mr Bond.’
Bond decided it was time to stop talking. It was time to start winding up the mainspring of will-power that must not run down again until he was dead. Bond said politely, ‘Then you can go and — yourself.’ He expelled all the breath from his lungs and closed his eyes.
‘Even I am not capable of that, Mr Bond,’ said Goldfinger with good humour. ‘And now, since you have chosen the stony path instead of the smooth, I must extract what interest I can from your predicament by making the path as stony as possible. Oddjob, grade two.’
The lever on the table moved across iron teeth. Now Bond could feel the wind of the saw between his knees. The hands came back.
Bond counted the slowly pounding pulse that utterly possessed his body. It was like the huge panting power plant in the other part of the factory but, in his case, it was slowly decelerating. If only it would slow down quicker. What was this ridiculous will to live that refused to listen to the brain? Who was making the engine run on although the tank was dry of fuel? But he must empty his mind of thought, as well as his body of oxygen. He must become a vacuum, a deep hole of unconsciousness.
Still the light burned red through his eyelids. Still he could feel the bursting pressure in his temples. Still the slow drum of life beat in his ears.
A scream tried to force its way through the clamped teeth.
Die damn you die die damn you die damn you die damn you die damn you die…
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE LAST AND THE BIGGEST
THE WINGS of a dove, the heavenly choir, Hark the Herald Angels Sing – what else ought he to remember about Paradise? It was all so exactly like what he had been told in the nursery – this sensation of flying, the darkness, the drone of the million harps. He really must try and remember the dope about the place. Let’s see now, one got to the Pearly Gates…
A deep fatherly voice said, almost in his ear, ‘This is your captain speaking.’ (Well, well. Who was this. Saint Peter?) ‘We are coming in to land now. Will you please fasten your seat belts and extinguish your cigarettes. Thank you.’
There must be a whole lot of them, going up together. Would Tilly be on the same trip? Bond squirmed with embarrassment. How would he introduce her to the others, to Vesper for instance? And when it came to the point, which would he like the best? But perhaps it would be a big place with countries and towns. There was probably no more reason why he should run into one of his former girl friends here than there had been on earth. But still there were a lot of people he’d better avoid until he got settled in and found out the form. Perhaps, with so much love about, these things wouldn’t matter. Perhaps one just loved all the girls one met. Hm. Tricky business
With these unworthy thoughts in his mind, Bond relapsed into unconsciousness.
The next tiling he knew was a gentle sensation of swaying. He opened his eyes. The sun blinded them. He closed them again. A voice above and behind his head said, ‘Watch it, bud. That ramp’s steeper than it looks.’ Almost immediately there was a heavy jolt. A surly voice in front said, ‘Cheesus, you’re telling me. Why in hell can’t they put down rubber.’