“Yes. Put them all on the wire from Government House, Urgent Rates. We should get an answer by this evening. But look here, Felix.” Bond’s voice was stubborn. “There’s a damned fast ship with a plane and forty men no one knows anything about. There’s not another group or even an individual in the area who looks in the least promising. All right, so the outfit looks all right and its story seems to stand up. But just supposing the whole thing was a phony—a damned good one of course, but then so it ought to be with all that’s at stake. Take another look at the picture. These so-called shareholders all arrive just in time for June third. On that night the Disco goes to sea and stays out till morning. Just supposing she rendezvous’d that plane in shallow water somewhere. Just suppose she picked up the bombs and put them away—in the sand under the ship, if you like. Anyway, somewhere safe and convenient. Just suppose all that and what sort of a picture do you get?”
“A B picture so far as I’m concerned, James.” Leiter shrugged resignedly. “But I guess there’s just enough to make it a lead.” He laughed sardonically. “But I’d rather shoot myself than put it in tonight’s report. If we’re going to make fools of ourselves, we’d better do it well out of sight and sound of our chiefs. So what’s on your mind? What comes next?”
“While you get our communications going, I’m going to check with the oiling wharf. Then we’ll call up this Domino girl and try and get ourselves asked for a drink and have a quick look at Largo’s shore base—this Palmyra. Then we go to the Casino and look over the whole of Largo’s group. And then”—Bond looked stubbornly at Leiter —“I’m going to borrow a good man from the Police Commission to give me a hand, put on an aqualung, and go out and have a sniff round the Disco with your other Geiger machine.”
Leiter said laconically, “Destry Rides Again! Well, I’ll go along with that, James. Just for old times’ sake. But don’t go and stub your toe on a sea urchin or anything. I see there are free cha-cha lessons in the ballroom of the Royal Bahamian tomorrow. We’ve got to keep fit for those. I guess there’ll be nothing else in this trip for my memory book.”
Back in the hotel, a dispatch rider from Government House was waiting for Bond. He saluted smartly, handed over an O.H.M.S. envelope, and got Bond’s signed receipt in exchange. It was a cable from the Colonial Office “Personal to the Governor.” The text was prefixed PROBOND. The cable read: “YOUR 1107 RECORDS HAVE NOTHING REPEAT NOTHING ON THESE NAMES STOP INFORMATIVELY ALL STATIONS REPORT NEGATIVELY ON OPERATION THUNDERBALL STOP WHAT HAVE you QUERY.” The message was signed “PRISM,” which meant that M had approved it.
Bond handed the cable to Leiter.
Leiter read it. He said, “See what I mean? We’re on a bum steer. This is a thumb-twiddler. See you later in the Pineapple Bar for a dry martini that’s half a jumbo olive. I’ll go send a postcard to Washington and asked them to send down a couple of WAVES. We’re going to have time on our hands.”
14.
Sour Martinis
As it turned out, the first half of Bond’s program for the evening went by the board. On the telephone Domino Vitali said that it would not be convenient for them to see the house that evening. Her guardian and some of his friends were coming ashore. Yet it was indeed possible that they might meet at the Casino that evening. She would be dining on board and the Disco would then sail round and anchor off the Casino. But how would she be able to recognize him in the Casino? She had a very poor memory for faces. Would he perhaps wear a flower in his buttonhole or something?
Bond had laughed. He said that would be all right. He would remember her by her beautiful blue eyes. They were unforgettable. And the blue rinse that matched them. He had put the receiver down halfway through the amused, sexy chuckle. He suddenly wanted to see her again very much.