THUNDERBALL: by Ian Fleming

“We like to think so.” Largo was deprecating. “I only wish I could tell you more.” He waved an apologetic hand. “Unfortunately, as they say, my lips are sealed. I hope you will understand.”

“Yes, of course. You have your shareholders to consider. I only wish I was one so that I could come along. I suppose there’s not room for another investor?”

“Alas, no. The issue, as they say, is fully subscribed. It would have been very pleasant to have had you with us.” Largo held out a hand. “Well, I see that Mr. Larkin has been looking anxiously at his watch during our brief tour. We must not keep Mr. Christie waiting any longer. It has been a great pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bond. And you, Mr. Larkin.”

With a further exchange of courtesies they went down the ladder to the waiting launch and got under way. There was a last wave from Mr. Largo before he vanished through the hatch to the bridge.

They sat in the stern well away from the boatman. Leiter shook his head. “Absolutely negative. Reaction around the engine room and the radio room, but that’s normal. It was all normal, damnably normal. What did you make of him and the whole setup?”

“Same as you—damned normal. He looks what he says he is, and behaves that way. Not much crew about, but the ones we saw were either ordinary crew or wonderful actors. Only two small things stuck me. There was no way down to the hold that I could see, but of course it could have been a manhole under the passage carpet. But then how do you get the stores he talked of down there? And there’s the hell of a lot of space in that hold even if I don’t know much about naval architecture. I’ll do a check with the oiling wharf through the customs people and see just how much fuel he does carry. Then it’s odd that we didn’t see any of these shareholders. It was around three o’clock when we went on board and most of them may have been having siestas. But surely not all nineteen of them. What do they do in their cabins all the time? Another small thing. Did you notice that Largo didn’t smoke and that there was no trace of tobacco smell anywhere in the ship? That’s odd. Around forty men and not one of them is a smoker. If one had anything else to go on one would say that wasn’t coincidence but discipline. The real pros don’t drink or smoke. But I admit it’s a damned long shot. Notice the Decca Navigator and the echo-sounder? Pretty expensive bits of equipment, both of them. Fairly normal on a big yacht, of course, but I’d have expected Largo to point them out when he was showing us the bridge. Rich men are proud of their toys. But that’s only clutching at straws. I’d have said the whole outfit’s as clean as a whistle if it wasn’t for all that missing space we weren’t shown. That talk about fuel and ballast sounded a bit glib to me. What do you think?”

“Same as you. There’s at least half of that ship we didn’t see. But then again there’s a perfectly good answer to that. He may have got a stack of secret treasure-hunting gear down there he doesn’t want anyone to see. Remember that merchant ship off Gibraltar during the war? The Italian frogmen used it as a base. Big sort of trapdoor affair cut in the hull below the water line. I suppose he hasn’t got something like that?”

Bond looked sharply at Leiter. “The Olterra . One of the blackest marks against Intelligence during the whole war.” He paused. “The Disco was anchored in about forty feet of water. Supposing they’d got the bombs buried in the sand below her. Would your Geiger counter have registered?”

“Doubt it. I’ve got an underwater model and we could go and have a sniff round when it gets dark. But really, James”—Leiter frowned impatiently—“aren’t we getting a bit off beam—seeing burglars under the bed? We’ve got damn-all to go on. Largo’s a powerful-looking piratical sort of chap, probably a bit of a crook where women are concerned. But what the hell have we got against him? Have you put a Trace through on him and on these shareholders and the crew members?”

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