“But why didn’t they kill you?”
“They did, or rather they thought they had. When I left you and went along to my cabin, I reckoned that if anything was going to happen to you they would get rid of me first. So I rigged up a dummy in my bed. A good one. I’ve done it before, and I’ve got the trick. You mustn’t only have something that looks like a body in the bed. You can do that with pillows and towels and bedding. You must also have something that looks like hair on the pillow. I did that with handfuls of pine needles, just enough to make a dark clump on the pillow with the sheets drawn up to it—very artistic. Then I hung my shirt over the back of a chair beside the bed— another useful prop that conveys the idea that the man belonging to the shirt is inside the bed—and I left the oil-lamp burning low, close to the bed to help their marksmanship—if any. I put amateurish wedges under the door and propped a chair-back under the door handle to show a natural sense of precaution. Then I took my bag round to the back and waited in the trees.” James Bond gave a sour laugh. “They gave me an hour and then they came so softly that I didn’t hear a thing. Then there was the bang of the door being forced and a series of quick clonks—they were using a silencer—and then the whole interior of the cabin went bright with the thermite. I thought I had been very clever, but it turned out I very nearly wasn’t clever enough. It took me almost five minutes to work my way up to your cabin through the trees. I wasn’t worried. I thought it would take them all that to get into your cabin and I was ready to break out in the open if I heard your gun. But sometime this evening, probably when Sluggsy was making the cabin inspection you told me about, he had pickaxed a hole in the wall behind your clothes cupboard, leaving only the plaster-board lining to be cut through with a sharp knife. He may or may not have put the stone loosely back. I don’t know. Anyway, he didn’t need to. There was no occasion for either of us to go into the carport of Number 8, and no reason to. If you had been here alone, they would have seen to it that you kept away from there. Anyway, the first thing I knew was seeing the light of the thermite from your cabin. Then I ran like hell, dodging across the open backs of the carports as I heard them coming back down the line, opening the doors of the cabins and tossing bombs in and then carefully shutting the doors to make it look tidy.”
During all this while, James Bond had been glancing from time to time at the roof of the lobby building that we could just see over the tops of the flaming cabins. Now he said casually, “They’ve set it going. I’ll have to get after them. How are you feeling, Viv? Any stuffing left? How’s the head?”
I said impatiently, “Oh, I’m all right. But James, do you have to go after them? Let them get away. What do they matter? You might get hurt.”
He said firmly, “No, darling. They almost killed both of us. Any minute now they may come back and find the Vespa gone. Then we’ll have lost the surprise factor. And I can’t let them get away with it. These are killers. They’ll be off killing someone else tomorrow.” He smiled cheerfully. “Besides, they ruined my shirt!”
“Well, then you must let me help.” I put my hand out to him. “And you will take care, won’t you? I can’t do without you. I don’t want to be alone again.”
He ignored my hand. He said, almost coldly, “Now don’t hang on my gun arm, there’s a good girl. This is something I’ve got to do. It’s just a job. Now”—he handed me the Smith and Wesson—”you move quietly up in the trees to the carport of Number 3. That’s in the dark, and the wind’s blowing the fire the other way. You can watch from there without being seen. If I need help, I’ll know where to find you, so don’t budge. If I call, come running fast. If anything happens to me, get moving along the shore of the lake and work your way as far as you can. After this fire, there’ll be plenty of police along tomorrow, and you can smuggle yourself back and contact one of them. They’ll believe you. If they argue, tell them to ring up C.I.A. in Washington, the Central Intelligence Agency, and you’ll see plenty of action. Just say who I was. I’ve got a number in my outfit—sort of recognition number. It’s 007. Try not to forget it.”