The two men looked at each other. Bond said, “She won’t be showing lights. They’ll have the hell of a job picking her up at night. What do you say, Felix? Maybe we’d better call them out even if it’s only to keep some sort of a watch off the American coast. Then, if the Captain’s willing, we’ll take the Northwest Channel—if the Disco sails, that is—and bank on the Bahamas Rocket Station being Target No. 1.”
Felix Leiter ran his left hand through the mop of straw-colored hair. “Goddammit,” he said angrily. “Hell, yes, I suppose so. We’re looking fools enough already bringing the Manta on stage. What’s a squadron of planes? Sure. We’ve just got to back our hunch that it’s Largo and the Disco . Come on, let’s get together with the Captain and whip off a signal that doesn’t look too damned silly—copy to C.I.A. and to your Chief. How do you want it to go?”
“Admiralty for M, prefixed Operation Thunderball.” Bond wiped a hand down over his face. “God, this is going to put the cat among the pigeons.” He looked up at the big metal wall clock. “Six. That’ll be midnight in London. Popular time to get a signal like this.”
The P.A. system in the ceiling spoke more clearly. “Watch Officer to Captain. Police officer with urgent message for Commander Bond.” The captain pressed a switch and spoke into a desk microphone. “Bring him below. Prepare to cast off lines. All hands prepare for sailing.” The captain waited for the acknowledgment and released the switch. The captain smiled across at them. He said to Bond, “What’s the name of that girl? Domino? Well, Domino, say the good word.”
The door opened. A police corporal, his hat off, crashed to attention on the steel flooring and extended a stiff arm. Bond took the buff O.H.M.S. envelope and slit it open. He ran his eyes down the penciled message signed by the Police Commissioner. Unemotionally he read out:
***
“PLANE RETURNED 1730 HOISTED INBOARD, DISCO SAILED AT 1755, FULL SPEED, COURSE NORTHWEST STOP GIRL DID NOT REPEAT NOT REAPPEAR ON DECK AFTER BOARDING.
***
Bond borrowed a signal blank from the captain and wrote:
***
MANTA WILL ENDEAVOR SHADOW VIA NORTHWEST PROVIDENCE CHANNEL STOP FIGHTER BOMBER SQUADRON FROM FORT LAUDERDALE WILL BE ASKED THROUGH NAVY DEPARTMENT TO COOPERATE WITHIN RADIUS OF TWO HUNDRED MILES OFF FLORIDA COAST STOP MANTA WILL KEEP CONTACT THROUGH WINDSOR FIELD AIR CONTROL STOP NAVY DEPARTMENT AND ADMIRALTY BEING INFORMED STOP PLEASE INFORM GOVERNOR ALSO ADMIRAL CARLSON AND BRIGADIER FAIRCHILD ON ARRIVAL.
***
Bond signed the message and passed it to the captain, who also signed, as did Leiter. Bond put the message in an envelope and gave it to the corporal, who wheeled smartly and clanked out in his heavy boots.
When the door was shut, the captain pressed down the switch on the intercom. He gave orders to sail, surfaced, course due north, at ten knots. Then he switched off. In the short silence, there was a flurry of background noise, piping of bosuns’ whistles, a thin mechanical whine, and the sound of running feet. The submarine trembled slightly. The captain said quietly, “Well, gentlemen, that’s that. I’d like to have the goose a bit less wild and a bit more solid. But I’ll be glad to chase her for you. Now then, that signal.”
With only half his mind on the wording of the signal, Bond sat and worried about the significance of the Commissioner’s message and about Domino. It looked bad. It looked as if either the plane had not brought back the two bombs, or one of them, in which case the mobilization of the Manta and of the fighter bombers was a pretty meaningless precaution, hardly justified by the evidence. It could easily be that the crashed Vindicator and the missing bombs were the work of some entirely different group and that, while they chased the Disco , the field was being left clear for SPECTRE. But Bond’s instincts refused to allow him to accept this possibility. As cover, the whole Disco -Largo set-up was one hundred per cent watertight. It could not be faulted in any respect. That in itself was enough to arouse Bond’s suspicions. A plot of this magnitude and audacity would only have been conceived under faultless cover and down to the smallest detail. Largo could have just set off on his treasure hunt, and everything, down to the last-minute plane recce of the treasure location, to see if there were any fishing boats about for instance, fitted in with that possibility. Or he could be sailing to lay the bomb, adjust the time fuse for perhaps a few hours after the deadline to allow time for its recovery or destruction if England and America at the last moment agreed to pay the ransom, and get far enough away from the danger area to avoid the explosion and establish an alibi. But where was the bomb? Had it arrived on board in the plane and had Domino for some reason been unable to go up on deck to make her signal? Or was it going to be picked up en route to the target area? The westerly course from Nassau, heading perhaps for the Northwest Light, through the Berry Island Channel, fitted both possibilities. The sunken plane lay westward, south of the Biminis, and so did Miami and other possible targets on the American coast. Or, after passing through the channel, about fifty miles west of Nassau, the Disco could veer sharply northward and, after another fifty miles of sailing through shoal water that would discourage pursuit, get back into the Northwest Providence Channel and make straight for the Grand Bahamas and the missile station.