Then for ten minutes there was silence except for the occasional boom of voices up the ventilator shaft as the three men moved about down on the steel floor round the exhaust pit. Bond smiled to himself at the thought of the rage and consternation on Drax’s face; the miserable Krebs wilting under the lash of Drax’s tongue; the bitter accusation in Walter’s eyes. Then the door burst open beneath him and Krebs was calling urgently to the leader of the guards. A man detached himself from the semi-circle and ran up.
“Die Engländer,” Kreb’s voice was almost hysterical. “Escaped. The Herr Kapitän thinks they may be in one of the ventilator shafts. We are going to take a chance. The dome will be opened again and we will clear out the fumes from the fuel. And then the Herr Doktor will put the steam hose up each shaft. If they’re there it will finish them. Choose four men. The rubber gloves and firesuits are down there. We’ll take the pressure off the heating. Tell the others to listen for the screams. Verstanden?”
“Zu Befehl!” The man doubled smartly back to his troop and Krebs, the sweat of anxiety on his face, turned and disappeared back through the door.
For a moment Bond lay motionless.
There was a heavy rumble above their heads as the dome divided and swung open.
The steam hose!
He had heard of mutinies in ships being fought with it Rioters in factories. Would it reach forty feet? Would the pressure last? How many boilers fed the heating? Among the fifty ventilator shafts, where would they choose to begin? Had Bond or Gala left any clue to the one they had climbed?
He felt that Gala was waiting for him to explain. To do something. To protect them.
Five men came doubling from the semi-circle of guards. They passed underneath and disappeared.
Bond put his mouth to Gala’s ear. “This may hurt,” he said. “Can’t say how much. Can’t be helped. Just have to take it. No noise.” He felt the answering tentative pressure from her arms. “Bring your knees up. Don’t be shy. This is no time to be maidenly.”
“Shut up,” whispered Gala angrily. He felt one knee creep up until it was locked between his thighs. His own knee followed suit until it would go no further. She squirmed furiously. “Don’t be a bloody fool,” whispered Bond, pulling her head in close to his chest so that it was half covered by his open shirt.
He overlay her as much as possible. There was nothing to be done about their ankles or his hands. He pulled his shirt collar up as far over their heads as possible. They held tightly to each other.
Hot, cramped, breathless. Waiting, it suddenly occurred to Bond, like two lovers in the undergrowth. Waiting for the footsteps to go by so that they could start again. He smiled grimly to himself and listened.
There was silence down the shaft. They must be in the engine room. Walter would be watching the hose being coupled to the outlet valve. Now there were distant noises. Where would they start?
Somewhere, not far away, there was a soft, long-drawn-out whisper, like the inefficient whistle of a distant train.
He drew his shirt collar back and stole a look out through the grating at the guards. Those he could see were looking straight at the launching-dome, somewhere to his left.
Again the long harsh whisper. And again.
It was getting louder. He could see the heads of the guards pivoting towards the grating in the wall which hid him and Gala. They must be watching, fascinated, as the thick white jets of steam shot out through the gratings high up in the cement wall, wondering if this one, or that one, or that one, would be accompanied by a double scream.
He could feel Gala’s heart beating against his. She didn’t know what was coming. She trusted him.
“It may hurt,” he whispered to her again. “It may burn. It won’t kill us. Be brave. Don’t make a sound.”
“I’m all right,” she whispered angrily. But he could feel her body press closer in to his.