THUNDERBALL: by Ian Fleming

18.

How to Eat a Girl

As they approached Nassau on their way back, Bond asked Leiter to take a look at the Disco lying off Palmyra. She was there all right, just where she had been the day before. The only difference, which had little meaning, was that she had only her bow anchor out. There was no movement on board. Bond was thinking that she looked beautiful and quite harmless lying there reflecting her elegant lines in the mirror of the sea, when Leiter said excitedly, “Say, James, take a look at the beach place. The boathouse alongside the creek. See those double tracks leading up out of the water? Up to the door of the boathouse. They look odd to me. They’re deep. What could have made them?”

Bond focused his glasses. The tracks ran parallel. Something, something heavy, had been hauled between the boathouse and the sea. But it couldn’t be, surely it couldn’t! He said tensely, “Let’s get away quick, Felix.” Then as they zoomed off overland: “I’m damned if I can think of anything that could have made those. And dammit, if it was what it might have been, they’d have swept off those tracks pretty quick.”

Leiter said laconically, “People make mistakes. We’ll have to give that place the going-over. Ought to have done it before. Nice-looking dump. I think I’ll take Mr. Largo up on his invitation and get out there on behalf of my esteemed client, Mr. Rockefeller Bond.”

It was one o’clock by the time they got back to Windsor Field. For half an hour the control tower had been searching for them on the radio. Now they had to face the commandant of the field and, providentially as it happened, the Governor’s A.D.C., who gave the Governor’s blanket authorization for the string of their misdemeanors and then handed Bond a thick envelope which contained signals for both of them.

The contents began with the expected rockets for breaking communication and demands for further news (“That they’ll get!” commented Leiter as they raced toward Nassau in the comfortable back of the Governor’s Humber Snipe saloon.) E.T.A. for the Manta was five o’clock that evening. Inquiries through Interpol and the

Italian police confirmed that Giuseppe Petacchi was in fact the brother of Dominetta Vitali, whose personal history as given to Bond stood up in all other respects. The same sources confirmed that Emilio Largo was a big-time adventurer and suspected crook though technically his dossier was clean. The source of his wealth was unknown but did not stem from funds held in Italy. The Disco had been paid for in Swiss francs. The constructors confirmed the existence of the underwater compartment. It contained an electric hoist and provision for launching small underwater craft and releasing skin divers. In Largo’s specifications, this modification to the hull had been given as a requirement for underwater research. Further inquiry into the “shareholders” had yielded no further facts—with the significant exception that most of their backgrounds and professions dated back no further than six years. This suggested the possibility that their identities might be of recent fabrication and, at any rate in theory, this would equate with possible membership of SPECTRE, if such a body did in fact exist. Kotze had left Switzerland for an unknown destination four weeks previously. Latest photographs of the man were on the midday Pan American plane. Nevertheless the Thunderball war room had to accept the solidity of Largo’s cover unless further evidence came to hand, and the present intention was to continue the world-wide search while allotting priority to the Bahamas area. In view of this priority, and the extremely urgent time factor, Brigadier Fairchild, C.B., D.S.O., British Military Attache in Washington, with Rear Admiral Carlson, U.S.N. Ret., until recently Secretary to the U.S. Chiefs of Staff Committee, would be arriving at 1900 E.S.T. by the President’s Boeing 707 “Columbine” to take joint command of further operations. The full cooperation of Messrs. Bond and Leiter was requested and, until the arrival of above-named officers, full reports every hour on the hour were to be radioed to London, copy to Washington, under joint signature.

Leiter and Bond looked at each other in silence. Finally Leiter said, “James, I propose we disregard the last bit and take formal note of remainder. We’ve already missed four hours and I don’t propose we spend the rest of the day sweating it out in our radio room. There’s just too much to do. Tell you what. I’ll do the stint of telling them the latest and then I’ll say we’re going off the air in view of the new emergency. I then propose to go and look over Palmyra on your behalf, sticking to our cover story. And I propose to have a damned good look at the boathouse and see what those tracks mean. Right? Then, at five, we’ll rendezvous with the Manta and prepare to intercept the Disco if and when she sails. As for the Big Brass in the President’s Special, well they can just play pinochle in Government House until tomorrow morning. Tonight’s the night and we just can’t waste it on the `After you Alphonse’ routine. Okay?” Bond reflected. They were coming into the outskirts of Nassau, through the shanty-town slums tucked away behind the millionaire façade along the waterfront. He had disobeyed many orders in his life, but this was to disobey the Prime Minister of England and the President of the United States—a mighty left and right. But things were moving a damned sight too fast. M had given him this territory and, right or wrong, M would back him up, as he always backed up his staff, even if it meant M’s own head on a charger. Bond said, “I agree, Felix. With the Manta we can manage this on our own. The vital thing is to find out when those bombs go on board the Disco. I’ve got an idea for that. May work, may not. It means giving the Vitali girl a rough time, but I’ll try and handle that side. Drop me at the hotel and I’ll get cracking. Meet you here again around four-thirty. I’ll call up Harling and see if he’s got anything new on the Disco and ask him to pass the word upstairs to you if anything’s cooking. You’ve got all that straight about the plane? Okay. I’ll hang on to Petacchi’s identification disk for the time being. Be seeing you.”

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