The left-hand map showed the eastern quarter of England from Portsmouth to Hull and the adjoining waters from Latitude 50 to 55. From the red dot near Dover which was the site of the Moonraker, arcs showing the range in, ten-mile intervals had been drawn up the map. At a point eighty miles from the site, between the Friesian Islands and Hull, there was a red diamond in the middle of the ocean.
Drax waved towards the dense mathematical tables and columns of compass readings which filled the right-hand side of the map. “Wind velocities, atmospheric pressure, ready-reckoner for the gyro settings,” he said. “All worked out using the rocket’s velocity and range as constants. We get the weather every day from the Air Ministry and readings from the upper atmosphere every time the RAF jet can get up there. When he’s at maximum altitude he releases helium balloons that can get up still further. The earth’s atmosphere reaches about fifty miles up. After twenty there’s hardly any density to affect the Moonraker. It’ll coast up almost in a vacuum. Getting through the first twenty miles is the problem. The gravity pull’s another worry. Walter can explain all those things if you’re interested. There’ll be continuous weather reports during the last few hours on Friday. And we’ll set the gryos just before the take-off. For the time being, Miss Brand gets together the data every morning and keeps a table of gyro settings in case they’re wanted.”
Drax pointed at the second of the two maps. This was a diagram of the rocket’s flight ellipse from firing point to target. There were more columns of figures. “Speed of the. earth and its effect on the rocket’s trajectory,” explained Drax. “The earth will be turning to the east while the rocket’s in flight. That factor has to be married in with the figures on the other map. Complicated business. Fortunately you don’t have to understand it. Leave it to Miss Brand. Now then,” he switched off the lights and the wall went blank, “any particular questions about your job? Don’t think there’ll be much for you to do. You can see that the place is already riddled with security. The Ministry’s insisted on it from the beginning.”
“Everything looks all right,” said Bond. He examined Drax’s face. The good eye was looking at him sharply. Bond paused. “Do you think there was anything between your secretary and Major Tallon?” he asked. It was an obvious question and he might just as well ask it now.
“Could have been,” said Drax easily. “Attractive girl. They were thrown together a lot down here. At any rate she seems to have got under Bartsch’s skin.”
“I hear Bartsch saluted and shouted ‘Heil Hitler’ before he put the gun in his mouth,” said Bond.
“So they tell me,” said Drax evenly. “What of it?”
“Why do all the men wear moustaches?” asked Bond, ignoring Drax’s question. Again he had the impression that his question had nettled the other man.
Drax gave one of his short barking laughs. “My idea,” he said. “They’re difficult to recognize in those white overalls and with their heads shaved. So I told them all to grow moustaches. The thing’s become quite a fetish. Like in the RAF during the war. See anything wrong with it?”
“Of course not,” said Bond. “Rather startling at first. I would have thought that large numbers on their suits with a different colour for each shift would have been more effective.”
“Well,” said Drax, turning away towards the door as if to end the conversation, “I decided on moustaches.”
CHAPTER XIII
DEAD RECKONING
ON WEDNESDAY morning Bond woke early in the dead man’s bed.
He had slept little. Drax had said nothing on their way back to the house and had bidden him a curt good-night at the foot of the stairs. Bond had walked along the carpeted corridor to where light shone from an open door and had found his things neatly laid out in a comfortable bedroom.
The room was furnished in the same expensive taste as the ground floor and there were biscuits and a bottle of Vichy (not a Vichy bottle of tap-water, Bond established) beside the Heal bed.