“A submarine could do it— just lay one of the bombs offshore through a torpedo tube. Or a sailing dinghy, for the matter of that. Apparently exploding these things is no problem so long as they recovered all the parts from the plane. Apparently you’d just have to insert some kind of fuse thing in the right place between the T.N.T. and the plutonium, and screw the impact fuse off the nose and fit a time fuse that would give you time to get a hundred miles away.” Bond added casually, “Have to have an expert who knows the drill of course, but the trip would be no problem for the Disco , for instance. She could lay the bomb off Grand Bahama at midnight and be back at anchor off Palmyra by breakfast time.” He smiled. “See what I mean? It all adds up.”
“Nuts,” said Leiter succinctly. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want my blood pressure to go up. Anyway, let’s get the hell out of here and go have ourselves some eggs and bacon in one of those clip joints on Bay Street. It’ll cost us twenty dollars plus tax, but the Manta probably burns that every time her screws turn full circle. Then we’ll go along to the Casino and see if Mr. Fuchs or Signor Pontecorvo is sitting beside Largo at the blackjack table.”
15.
Cardboard Hero
The Nassau Casino is the only legal casino on British soil anywhere in the world. How this is justified under the laws of the Commonwealth no one can quite figure. It is leased each year to a Canadian gambling syndicate and their operating profits in the smart winter season are estimated to average around $100,000. The only games played are roulette, with two zeros instead of one, which increases the take to the house from the European 3.6 to a handsome 5.4; blackjack, or 21, on which the house makes between 6 and 7 per cent; and one table of chemin de fer , whose cagnotte yields a modest 5 per cent. The operation is run as a club in a handsome private house on West Bay Street and there is a pleasant dance and supper room with a three-piece combo that plays old favorites in strict time, and a lounge bar. It is a well-run, elegant place that deserves its profit.
The Governor’s A.D.C. had presented Bond and Leiter with membership cards, and after they had had coffee and a stinger at the bar they separated and went to the tables.
Largo was playing chemin de fer . He had a fat pile of hundred-dollar plaques in front of him and half a dozen of the big yellow thousand-dollar biscuits. Domino Vitali sat behind him chain-smoking and watching the play. Bond observed the game from a distance. Largo was playing expansively, bancoing whenever he could and letting his own banks run. He was winning steadily, but with excellent manners, and by the way people joked with him and applauded his coups he was obviously a favorite in the Casino. Domino, in black with a square-cut neckline and with one large diamond on a thin chain at her throat, was looking morose and bored. The woman on Largo’s right, having bancoed him three times and lost, got up and left the table. Bond went quickly across the room and slid into the empty place. It was a bank of eight hundred dollars—the round sum being due to Largo making up the cagnotte after each play.
It is good for the banker when he has got past the third banco. It often means the bank is going to run. Bond knew this perfectly well. He was also painfully aware that his total capital was only one thousand dollars. But the fact that everyone was so nervous of Largo’s luck made him bold. And, after all, the table has no memory. Luck, he told himself, is strictly for the birds. He said, “Banco.”
“Ah, my good friend Mr. Bond.” Largo held out a hand. “Now we have the big money coming to the table. Perhaps I should pass the bank. The English know how to play at railway trains. But still”— he smiled charmingly—“if I have to lose I would certainly like to lose to Mr. Bond.”