if.goldfinger-第30章
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he Chief of Staff's office as the conversation was played back off the tape while the Chief of Staff translated the call to Miss Money…penny。 'Says he agrees that Goldfinger is up to something big but he can't make out what。 G。 is flying this morning with his Rolls from Ferryfield。 007 wants to follow。 （Let's say two hours later to let G。 get well away on the other side。 Fix the reservation； would you？） He wants us to have a word with Customs so that he can take a good look at the Rolls and plant a Homer in the boot。 （Fix that too； please。） He'll keep in touch through stations in case he needs help。。。'
And so forth。 It was an efficient machine。 Bond finished packing and； when the London call came giving him his various clearances； he went downstairs； paid his bill and got quickly out of Ramsgate on to the Canterbury road。
London had said that Goldfinger was booked on a special flight leaving at twelve。 Bond got to Ferryfield by eleven； made himself known to the Chief Passport Control and the Customs officers who were expecting him； had his car taken out of sight into an empty hangar and sat and smoked and talked minor shop with the passport men。 They thought he was from Scotland Yard。 He let them go on thinking it。 No； he said； Goldfinger was all right。 It was possible that one of his servants was trying to smuggle something out of the country。 Rather confidential。 If Bond could just be left alone with the car for ten minutes？ He wanted to have a look at the tool kit。 Would the Customs give the rest of the Rolls their Grade A going over for hidden partments？ They'd be glad to do so。
At eleven…forty…five one of the Customs men put his head round the door。 He winked at Bond。 'ing in now。 Chauffeur on board。 Going to ask both to board the plane before the car。 Tell them it's something to do with the weight distribution。 Not so phoney as it sounds。 We know this old crate。 She's armour…plated。 Weighs about three tons。 Call you when we're ready。'
'Thanks。' The room emptied。 Bond took the fragile little parcel out of his pocket。 It contained a dry…cell battery wired to a small vacuum tube。 He ran his eye over the wiring and put the apparatus back in his coat pocket and waited。
At eleven…fifty…five the door opened。 The officer beckoned。 'No trouble。 They're on the plane。'
The huge gleaming Silver Ghost stood in the Customs bay out of sight of the plane。 The only other car was a dove…grey Triumph TR3 convertible with its hood down。 Bond went to the back of the Rolls。 The Customs men had unscrewed the plate of the spare tool partment。 Bond pulled out the tray of tools and made a show of minutely examining them and the tray。 He knelt down。 Under cover of rummaging at the sides of the partment； he slipped the battery and tube into the back of it。 He replaced the tool tray。 It fitted all right。 He stood up and brushed his hands together。 'Negative；' he said to the Customs officer。
The officer fitted the plate on and screwed it down with the square key。 He stood up。 'Nothing funny about the chassis or the bodywork。 Plenty of room in the frame and upholstery but we couldn't get at them without doing a major job。 All right to go？'
'Yes； and thanks。' Bond walked back into the office。 He heard the quick solid whine of the old self…starter。 A minute later； the car came out of the bay and idled superbly over to the loading ramp。 Bond stood at the back of the office and watched it being eased up the ramp。 The big jaws of the Bristol Freighter clanged shut。 The chocks were jerked away and the dispatcher raised a thumb。 The two engines coughed heavily and fired and the great silver dragonfly trundled off towards the runway。
When the plane was on the runway； Bond walked round to his car and climbed into the driver's seat。 He pressed a switch under the dash。 There was a moment's silence； then a loud harsh howl came from the hidden loud…speaker。 Bond turned a knob。 The howl diminished to a deep drone。 Bond waited until he heard the Bristol take off。 As the plane rose and made for the coast the drone diminished。 In five minutes it had gone。 Bond tuned the set and picked it up again。 He followed it for five minutes as the plane made off across the Channel and then switched the set off。 He motored round to the Customs bay； told the AA that he would be back at one…thirty for the two o'clock flight； and drove slowly off towards a pub he knew in Rye。 From now on； so long as he kept within about a hundred miles of the Rolls； the Homer； the rough radio transmitter he had slipped into its tool partment； would keep contact with Bond's receiver。 All he had to do was watch the decibels and not allow the noise to fade。 It was a simple form of direction finding which allowed one car to put a 'long tail' on another and keep in touch without any danger of being spotted。 On the other side of the Channel； Bond would have to discover the road Goldfinger had taken out of Le Touquet； get well within range and close up near big towns or wherever there was a major fork or crossroads。 Sometimes Bond would make a wrong decision and have to do some fast motoring to catch up again。 The DB III would look after that。 It was going to be fun playing hare and hounds across Europe。 The sun was shining out of a clear sky。 Bond felt a moment's sharp thrill down his spine。 He smiled to himself； a hard； cold； cruel smile。 Goldfinger； he thought； for the first time in your life you're in trouble … bad trouble。
There is always an agent cycliste at the dangerous crossroads where Le Touquet's quiet N38 meets the oily turbulence of the major Nl。 Yes； certainly he had seen the Rolls。 One could not fail to remark it。 A real aristocrat of a car。 To the right； monsieur； towards Abbeville。 He will be an hour ahead； but with that bolide of yours。。。！
As soon as Bond had cleared his papers at the airport； the Homer had picked up the drone of the Rolls。 But it was impossible to tell if Goldfinger was heading north … for the Low Countries or Austria or Germany … or if he was off to the south。 For that sort of fix you needed two radio cars to get a bearing。 Bond raised a hand to the agent and gave his engine the gun。 He would have to close up fast。 Goldfinger would be through Abbeville and would already have taken the major fork on to Nl for Paris or N28 for Rouen。 A lot of time and distance would be wasted if Bond made the wrong guess。
Bond swept along the badly cambered road。 He took no chances but covered the forty…three kilometres to Abbeville in a quarter of an hour。 The drone of the Homer was loud。 Goldfinger couldn't be more than twenty miles ahead。 But which way at the fork？ On a guess Bond took the Paris road。 He beat the car along。 For a time there was little change in the voice of the Homer。 Bond could be right or wrong。 Then； imperceptibly； the drone began to fade。 Blast！ Turn back or press on fast and take one of the secondary roads across to Rouen and catch up with him there？ Bond hated turning back。 Ten kilometres short of Beauvais he turned right。 For a time it was bad going but then he was on to the fast N30 and could afford to drift into Rouen； led on by the beckoning voice of his pick…up。 He stopped on the outskirts of the town and listened with one ear while consulting his Michelin。 By the waxing drone he could tell that he had got ahead of Goldfinger。 But now there was another vital fork； not quite so easy to retrieve if Bond guessed wrong again。 Either Goldfinger would take the Alengon…Le Mans…Tours route to the south； or he meant to move south…east； missing Paris； by way of Evreux； Chartres and Orleans。 Bond couldn't afford to get closer to the centre of Rouen and perhaps catch a glimpse of the Rolls and of the way it would take。 He would have to wait until the Homer went on the wane and then make his own guess。
It was a quarter of an hour later before Bond could be sure that the Rolls was well past。 This time he again took the left leg of the fork。 He thrust the pedal into the floor and hurried。 Yes。 This time the drone was merging into a howl。 Bond was on the track。 He slowed to forty； tuned down his receiver to a whisper and idled along； wondering where Goldfinger was heading for。
Five o'clock； six； seven。 The sun set in Bond's driving mirror an
