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第10章

if.goldfinger-第10章

小说: if.goldfinger 字数: 每页4000字

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 Bond said briefly; 'Wilco。'
 'Thanks。 'Bye。'
 〃Bye。〃 Bond put down the receiver。 He picked up the green receiver and dialled Q Branch and talked to the section duty officer。 It would be all right。 There was a BOAC Britannia leaving in the morning。 Q Branch would see that the crate caught the plane。
 Bond sat back。 He reached for a cigarette and lit it。 He thought of the badly air…conditioned little office on the waterfront in Hongkong; saw the sweat marks on the white shirt of 279;; whom he knew well and who had just called himself Dickson。 Now 279 would probably be talking to his number two: 'It's okay。 London says can do。 Let's just go over this ops。 schedule again。' Bond smiled wryly。 Better they than he。 He'd never liked being up against the Chinese。 There were too many of them。 Station H might be stirring up a hornets' nest; but M had decided it was time to show the opposition that the Service in Hongkong hadn't quite gone out of business。
 When; three days before; M had first told him his name was down for night duty; Bond hadn't taken to the idea。 He had argued that he didn't know enough about the routine work of the stations; that it was too responsible a job to give a man who had been in the double…O section for six years and who had forgotten all he had ever known about station work。
 'You'll soon pick it up;' M had said unsympathetically。 'If you get in trouble there are the duty section officers or the Chief of Staff … or me; for the matter of that。' (Bond had smiled at the thought of waking M up in the middle of the night because some man in Cairo or Tokyo was in a flap。) 'Anyway; I've decided。 I want all senior officers to do their spell of routine。' M had looked frostily across at Bond。 'Matter of fact; 007; I had the Treasury on to me the other day。 Their liaison man thinks the double…O section is redundant。 Says that kind of thing is out of date。 I couldn't bother to argue' … M's voice was mild。 'Just told him he was mistaken。' (Bond could visualize the scene。) 'However; won't do any harm for you to have some extra duties now you're back in London。 Keep you from getting stale。'
 And Bond wasn't minding it。 He was half way through his first week and so far it had just been a question of mon sense or passing routine problems on down to the sections。 He rather liked the peaceful room and knowing everybody's secrets and being occasionally fed coffee and sandwiches by one of the pretty girls from the canteen。
 On the first night the girl had brought him tea。 Bond had looked at her severely。 'I don't drink tea。 I hate it。 It's mud。 Moreover it's one of the main reasons for the downfall of the British Empire。 Be a good girl and make me some coffee。' The girl had giggled and scurried off to spread Bond's dictum in the canteen。 From then on he had got his coffee。 The expression 'a cup of mud' was seeping through the building。
 A second reason why Bond enjoyed the long vacuum of night duty was that it gave him… time to get on with a project he had been toying with for more than a year … a handbook of all secret methods of unarmed bat。 It was to be called Stay Alive! It would contain the best of all that had been written on the subject by the Secret Services of the world。 Bond had told no one of the project; but he hoped that; if he could finish it; M would allow it to be added to the short list of Service manuals which contained the tricks and techniques of Secret Intelligence。
 Bond had borrowed the original textbooks; or where necessary; translations; from Records。 Most of the books had been captured from enemy agents or organizations。 Some 。had been presented to M by sister Services such as OSS; CIA and the Deuxieme。 Now Bond drew towards him a particular prize; a translation of the manual; entitled simply Defence; issued to operatives of SMERSH; the Soviet organization of vengeance and death。
 That night he was half way through Chapter Two; whose title; freely translated; was 'e…along and Restraint Holds'。 Now he went back to the book and read for half an hour through the sections dealing with the conventional 'Wrist e…along'; 'Arm Lock e…along'; 'Forearm Lock'; 'Head Hold' and 'Use of Neck Pressure Points'。
 After half an hour; Bond thrust the typescript away from him。 He got up and went across to the window and stood looking out。 There was a 'nauseating toughness in the blunt prose the Russians used。 It had brought on another of the attacks of revulsion to which Bond had succumbed ten days before at Miami airport。 What was wrong with him?
 Couldn't he take it any more? Was he going soft; or was he only stale? Bond stood for a while watching the moon riding; careering; through the clouds。 Then he shrugged his shoulders and went back to his desk。 He decided that he was as fed up with the variations of violent physical behaviour as a psychoanalyst must bee with the mental aberrations of his patients。
 Bond read again the passage that had revolted him: 'A drunken woman can also usually be handled by using the thumb and forefinger to grab the lower lip。 By pinching hard and twisting; as the pull is made; the woman will e along。'
 Bond grunted。 The obscene delicacy of that'thumb and forefinger'! Bond lit a cigarette and stared into the filament of the desk light; switching his mind to other things; wishing that a signal would e in or the telephone ring。 Another five hours to go before the nine o'clock report to the Chief of Staff or to M; if M happened to e in early。 There was something nagging at his mind; something he had wanted to check on when he had the time。 What was it? What had triggered off the reminder? Yes; that was it; 'forefinger' …Goldfinger。 He would see if Records had anything on the man。
 Bond picked up the green telephone and dialled Records。
 'Doesn't ring a bell; sir。 I'll check and call you back。'
 Bond put down the receiver。
 It had been a wonderful trip up in the train。 They had eaten the sandwiches and drunk the champagne and then; to the rhythm of the giant diesels pounding out the miles; they had made long; slow love in the narrow berth。 It had been as if the girl was starved of physical love。 She had woken him twice more in the night with soft demanding caresses; saying nothing; just reaching for his hard; lean body。 The next day she had twice pulled down the roller blinds to shut out the hard light and had taken him by the hand and said; 'Love me; James' as if she was a child asking for a sweet。
 Even now Bond could hear the quick silver poem of the level…crossing bells; the wail of the big windhorn out front and the quiet outside clamour at the stations when they lay and waited for the sensual gallop of the wheels to begin again。
 Jill Masterton had said that Goldfinger had been relaxed; indifferent over his defeat。 He had told the girl to tell Bond that he would be over in England in a week's time and would like to have that game of golf at Sandwich。 Nothing else … no threats; no curses。 He had said he would expect the girl back by the next train。 Jill had told Bond she would go。 Bond had argued with her。 But she was not frightened of Goldfinger。 What could he do to her? And it was a good job。
 Bond had decided to give her the ten thousand dollars Mr Du Pont had shuffled into his hand with a stammer of thanks and congratulations。 Bond made her take the money。 'I don't want it;' Bond had said。 'Wouldn't know what to do with it。 Anyway; keep it as mad money in case you want to get away in a hurry。 It ought to be a million。 I shall never forget last night and today。'
 Bond had taken her to the station and had kissed her once hard on the lips and had gone away。 It hadn't been love; but a quotation had e into Bond's mind as his cab moved out of Pennsylvania station: 'Some love is fire; some love is rust。 But the finest; cleanest love is lust。' Neither had had regrets。 Had they mitted a sin? If so; which one? A sin against chastity? Bond smiled to himself。 There was a quotation for that too; and from a saint … Saint Augustine: 'Oh Lord; give me Chastity。 But don't give it yet!'
 The green telephone rang。 'Three Goldfingers; sir; but two of them are dead。 The third's a Russian post office in Geneva。 Got a hairdressing business。 Slips the messages into the ri

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