MOONRAKER BY IAN FLEMING

Behind the crouching silence that enveloped the shimmering bullet, Bond could hear a quick, deadly ticking, the hasty tripping of tiny metal feet somewhere in the body of the Moonraker. It filled the great steel chamber like the beating heart in Poe’s story and Bond knew that directly Drax at the firing point pressed the switch that sent the radio beam zing ing over two hundred yards to the waiting rocket, the ticking would suddenly cease, there would be the soft whine of the lighted pinwheel, a wisp of steam from the turbines, and then the howling jet of flame on which the rocket would slowly rise and sweep majestically out on the start of its gigantic acceleration curve.

And then in front of him there was the spidery arm of the gantry folded back against the wall and Bond’s hand was at the lever and the arm was slowly stretching down and out towards the square hairline on the glittering skin of the rocket that was the door of the gyro chamber.

Bond, on hands and knees, was along it even before the rubber pads came to rest against the polished chrome. There was the flush disc the size of a shilling, just as Gala had described. Press, click, and the tiny door had flicked open on its hard spring. Inside. Careful not to cut your head. The gleaming handles beneath the staring compass-roses. Turn. Twist. Steady. That’s for the roll. Now the pitch and yaw. Turn. Twist. Ever so gently. And steady. A last look. A glance at his watch. Four minutes to go. Don’t panic. Back out. Door click. A cat-like scurry. Don’t look down. Gantry up. Clang against the wall. And now for the stairs.

Tick-tick-tick-tick.

As Bond shot down he caught a glimpse of Gala’s tense, white face as she stood holding open the outer door of Drax’s office. God, how his body hurt! A final leap and a clumsy swerve to the right. Clang as Gala slammed the outer door. Another clang and they were across the room and into the shower and the water was hissing down on their clinging, panting bodies.

Through the noise of it all, above the beating of his heart, Bond heard the sudden crackle of static and then the voice of the BBC announcer coming from the big set in Drax’s room a few inches away through the thin wall of the bathroom. It had been Gala again who had remembered Drax’s wireless and who had found time to throw the switches while Bond was working on the gyros.

“… be five minutes’ delay,” said the breezy, excited voice. “Sir Hugo has been persuaded to say a few words into the microphone.” Bond turned off the shower and the voice came to them more clearly. “He looks very confident. Just saying something into the Minister’s ear. They’re both laughing.

Wonder what it was? Ah, here’s my colleague with the latest weather report from the Air Ministry. What’s that? Perfect at all altitudes. Good show. It certainly is a wonderful day down below here. Haha. Those crowds in the distance by the coastguard station will be getting quite a sunburn. There must be thousands. What’s that you say? Twenty thousand? Well, it certainly looks like it. And Walmer Beach is black with them too. The whole of Kent seems to be out. Terrible crick in the neck we’re all going to get, I’m afraid. Worse than Wimbledon. Haha. Hullo, what’s going on down there by the jetty? By jove, there’s a submarine just surfaced alongside. I say, what a sight. One of our biggest I should say. And Sir Hugo’s team is down there too. Lined up on the jetty as if they were on parade. Magnificent body of men. Now they’re filing on board. Perfect discipline. Must be an idea of the Admiralty’s. Give them a special grandstand out in the Channel. Splendid show. Wish you could be here to see it. Now Sir Hugo is coming towards us. In a moment he’ll be speaking to you. Fine figure of a man. Everyone in the firing point is giving him a cheer. I’m sure we all feel like cheering him today. He’s coming into the firing point. I can see the sun glinting on the nose of the Moonraker way over there behind him. Just showing out of the top of the launching dome. Hope somebody’s got a camera. Now here he is,” a pause. “Sir Hugo Drax.”

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