THUNDERBALL: by Ian Fleming

Bond said, “I’m afraid it’s worse than that, Domino. It’s not about me. It’s about your brother.”

Bond sensed the stiffening of her body. She said in a low, tense voice, “Go on. Tell me.”

Bond took the bracelet out of his pocket and silently handed it to her.

She took it. She hardly gave it a glance. She turned a little away from Bond. “So he is dead. What happened to him?”

“It is a bad story, and a very big one. It involves your friend Largo. It is a very great conspiracy. I am here to find out things for my government. I am really a kind of policeman. I am telling you this and I will tell you the rest because hundreds and perhaps thousands of people will die unless you help to prevent it. That is why I had to show you that bracelet and hurt you so that you would believe me. I am breaking my oath in doing this. Whatever happens, whatever you decide to do, I trust you not to tell what I am going to say.”

“So that is why you made love to me—to make me do what you want. And now you blackmail me with the death of my brother.” The words came out between her teeth. Now in a soft, deadly whisper, she said, “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

Bond said coldly, in a matter-of-fact voice, “Your brother was killed by Largo, or on his orders. I came here to tell you that. But then”—he hesitated—“you were there and I love you and want you. When what happened began to happen I should have had strength to stop it. I hadn’t. I knew it was then or perhaps never. Knowing what I knew, it was a dreadful thing to have done. But you looked so beautiful and happy. I wanted to put off hurting you. That is my only excuse.” Bond paused. “Now listen to what I have to tell you. Try and forget about your hate for me. In a moment you will realize that we are nothing in all this. This is a thing by itself.” Bond didn’t wait for her to comment. He began from the beginning and went slowly, minutely, through the whole case, omitting only the advent of the Manta , the one factor that could now be of help to Largo and perhaps alter his plans. He ended, “So you see, there is nothing we can do until those weapons are actually on board the Disco . Until that moment comes, Largo has a perfect alibi with his treasure-hunt story. There is nothing to link him with the crashed plane or with SPECTRE. If we interfere with him now, this moment, arrest the ship on some excuse, put a watch on her, prevent her sailing, there will only be a delay in the SPECTRE plan. Only Largo and his men know where the bombs are hidden. If the plane has gone for them, it will be keeping contact with the Disco by radio. If there’s any hitch, the plane can leave the bombs at the hiding place or at another, dump them in shallow water anywhere, and return for them when the trouble has blown over. Even the Disco could be taken off the job and some other ship or plane used any time in the future. SPECTRE headquarters, wherever they are, will inform the Prime Minister that there has been a change of plan, or they can say nothing at all. Then, perhaps weeks from now, they will send another communication. And this time there will perhaps be only twenty-four hours’ notice for the money to be dropped. The terms will be tougher. And we shall have to accept them. So long as those bombs are still lost to us, the threat is there. You see that?” “Yes. So what is to be done?” The voice was harsh. The girl’s eyes glittered fiercely as they looked at and through Bond toward some distant target—not, he thought, at Largo the great conspirator, but at Largo who had had her brother killed.

“We have got to know when those bombs are on board the Disco . That is all that matters. Then we can act with all our weight. And we have one great factor on our side. We are pretty sure that Largo feels secure. He still believes that the wonderful plan, and it is wonderful, is going exactly as it was meant to do. That is our strength and our only strength. You see that?”

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