“I was one of the best shots in the Brandenburg Division,” said Drax conversationally. “Tie her to that chair, Krebs. Then the man.”
Gala looked desperately at Bond.
“You won’t shoot,” said Bond. “You’d be afraid of touching off the fuel.” He walked slowly towards the desk.
Drax smiled cheerfully and looked along the barrel at Bond’s stomach. “Your memory is bad, Englishman,” he said flatly. “I told you this room is cut off from the shaft by the double doors. Another step and you will have no stomach.”
Bond looked at the confident, narrowed eyes and stopped.
“Go ahead, Krebs.”
When they were both tied securely and painfully to the arms and legs of two tubular steel chairs a few feet apart beneath the glass wall-map, Krebs left the room. He came back in a moment with a mechanic’s blowtorch.
He set the ugly machine on the desk, pumped air into it with a few brisk strokes of the plunger, and set a match to it. A blue flame hissed out a couple of inches into the room. He picked up the instrument and walked towards Gala. He stopped a few feet to one side of her.
“Now then,” said Drax grimly. “Let’s get this over without any fuss. The good Krebs is an artist with one of those things. We used to call him Der Zwangsmann-The Persuader. I shall never forget the way he went over the last spy we caught together. Just south of the Rhine, wasn’t it, Krebs?”
Bond pricked up his ears.
“Yes, mein Kapitän.” Krebs chuckled reminiscently. “It was a pig of a Belgian.”
“All right then,” said Drax. “Just remember, you two. There’s no fair play down here. No jolly good sports and all that. This is business.” The voice cracked like a whip on the word. “You,” he looked at Gala Brand, “who are you working for?”
Gala was silent.
“Anywhere you like, Krebs.”
Krebs’s mouth was half open. His tongue ran up and down his lower lip. He seemed to be having difficulty with his breathing as he took a step towards the girl.
The little flame roared greedily.
“Stop,” said Bond coldly. “She works for Scotland, Yard. So do I.” These things were pointless now. They were of no conceivable use to Drax. In any case, by tomorrow afternoon there might be no Scotland Yard.
“That’s better,” said Drax. “Now, does anybody know you are prisoners? Did you stop and telephone anyone?”
If I say yes, thought Bond, he will shoot us both and get rid of the bodies and the last chance of stopping the Moonraker will be gone. And if the Yard knows, why aren’t they here already? No. Our chance may come. The Bentley will be found. Vallance may get worried when he doesn’t hear from me.
“No,” he said. “If I had, they’d be here by now.”
“True,” said Drax reflectively. “In that case I am no longer interested in you and I congratulate you on making the interview so harmonious. It might have been more difficult if you had been alone. A girl is always useful on these occasions. Krebs, put that down. You may go. Tell the others what is necessary. They will be wondering. I shall entertain our guests for a while and then I shall come up to the house. See the car gets properly washed down. The back seat. And get rid of the marks on the right-hand side. Tell them to take the whole panel off if necessary. Or they can set fire to the dam’ thing. We shan’t be needing it any more,” he laughed abruptly. “Verstanden?”
“Yes, mein Kapitän.” Krebs reluctantly placed the softly roaring blowtorch on the desk beside Drax. “In case you need it,” he said, looking hopefully at Gala and Bond. He went out through the double doors.
Drax put the Luger down on the desk in front of him. He opened a drawer and took out a cigar and lit it from a Ronson desk lighter. Then he settled himself comfortably. There was silence in the room for several minutes while Drax puffed contentedly at his cigar. Then he seemed to make up his mind. He looked benevolently at Bond.