if.goldfinger-第55章

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ever　friendly　they　were。　Too　bad；　but　M　knew　that　this　was　what　Bond　would　have　expected。　He　knew　the　rules。　Bond　had　said　yes　of　course　and　thank　you　very　much　and　he'd　take　the　next　plane　home。
　Now；；　as　they　motored　quietly　down　the　Van　Wyck　Expressway；　Bond　was　feeling　vaguely　dissatisfied。　He　didn't　like　leaving　ragged　ends　to　a　case。　None　of　the　big　gangsters　had　been　put　in　the　bag　and　he　had　failed　in　the　two　tasks　he　had　been　given；　to　get　Goldfinger　and　get　Goldfinger's　bullion。　It　was　nothing　but　a　miracle　that　Operation　Grand　Slam　had　been　broken。　It　had　been　two　days　before　the　Beechcraft　had　been　serviced　and　the　cleaner　who　found　the　note　had　got　to　Pinkerton's　only　half　an　hour　before　Leiter　was　due　to　go　off　to　the　Coast　on　a　big　racing　scandal。　But　then　Leiter　had　really　got　cracking　…　to　his　chief；　then　to　the　FBI　and　the　Pentagon。　The　FBI's　knowledge　of　Bond's　record；　plus　contact　with　M　through　the　Central　Intelligence　Agency；　had　been　enough　to　get　the　whole　case　up　to　the　President　within　an　hour。　After　that　it　had　just　been　a　case　of　building　up　the　gigantic　bluff　in　which　all　the　inhabitants　of　Fort　Knox　had　participated　in　one　way　or　another。　The　two　'Japanese'　had　been　taken　easily　enough　and　it　was　confirmed　by　Chemical　Warfare　that　the　three　pints　of　GB　carried　as　gin　in　their　briefcases　would　have　been　enough　to　slay　the　entire　population　of　Fort　Knox。　The　two　men　had　been　quickly　and　forcibly　grilled　into　explaining　the　form　of　the　all　clear　cable　to　Goldfinger。　The　cable　had　been　sent。　Then　the　Army　had　declared　emergency。　Road　and　rail　and　air　blocks　had　turned　back　all　traffic　to　the　Fort　Knox　area　with　the　exception　of　the　gangster　convoys　which　had　not　been　hindered。　The　rest　was　play…acting　right　down　to　the　pink　froth　and　the　squalling　babies　which　it　was　thought　would　add　nice　touches　of　verisimilitude。
　Yes；　it　had　all　been　very　satisfactory　so　far　as　Washington　was　concerned；　but　what　about　the　English　end？　Who　in　America　cared　about　the　Bank　of　England's　gold？　Who　cared　that　two　English　girls　had　been　murdered　in　the　course　of　this　business？　Who　really　minded　that　Goldfinger　was　still　at　liberty　now　that　America's　bullion　was　safe　again？
　They　idled　across　the　drab　plain　of　Idlewild；　past　the　ten…million…dollar　steel　and　cement　skeletons　that　would　one　day　be　an　adult　airport；　and　pulled　up　outside　the　makeshift　huddle　of　concrete　boxes　that　Bond　knew　so　well。　Already　the　well　mannered　iron　voices　were　reaching　out　to　them。　'Pan　American　World　Airways　announces　the　departure　of　its　President　Flight　PA　100'；　'Transworld　Airways　calling　Captain　Murphy。　Captain　Murphy；　please。'　And　the　pear…shaped　vowels　and　fluted　diction　of　BOAC；　'BOAC　announces　the　arrival　of　its　Bermudan　Flight　BA　491。　Passengers　will　be　disembarking　at　gate　number　neyne。'
　Bond　took　his　bag　and　said　goodbye　to　Leiter。　He　said；　'Well；　thanks　for　everything；　Felix。　Write　to　me　every　day。'
　Leiter　gripped　his　hand　hard。　He　said；　'Sure　thing；　kid。　And　take　it　easy。　Tell　that　old　bastard　M　to　send　you　back　over　soon。　Next　visit　we'll　take　some　time　off　from　the　razzmatazz。　Time　you　called　in　on　my　home　state。　Like　to　have　you　meet　my　oil…well。　'Bye　now。'
　Leiter　got　into　his　car　and　accelerated　away　from　the　arrival　bay。　Bond　raised　his　hand。　The　Studillac　dry…skidded　out　on　to　the　approach　road。　There　was　an　answering　glint　from　Leiter's　steel　hook　out　of　the　window　and　he　was　gone。
　Bond　sighed。　He　picked　up　his　bag　and　walked　in　and　over　to　the　BOAC　ticket　counter。
　Bond　didn't　mind　airports　so　long　as　he　was　alone　in　them。　He　had　half　an　hour　to　wait　and　he　was　quite　content　to　wander　through　the　milling　crowds；　have　a　bourbon　and　soda　at　the　restaurant　and　spend　some　time　choosing　something　to　read　at　the　bookstore。　He　bought　Ben　Hogan's　Modern　Fundamentals　of　Golf　and　the　latest　Raymond　Chandler　and
　〃sauntered　along　to　the　Souvenir　Shop　to　see　if　he　could　find　an　amusing　gimmick　to　take　back　to　his　secretary。
　Now　there　was　a　man's　voice　on　the　BOAC　announcing　system。　It　called　out　a　long　list　of　Monarch　passengers　who　were　required　at　the　ticket　counter。　Ten　minutes　later　Bond　was　paying　for　one　of　the　latest　and　most　expensive　ballpoint　pens　when　he　heard　his　own　name　being　called。　'Will　Mr　James　Bond；　passenger　on　BOAC　Monarch　flight　No　510　to　Gander　and　London；　please　e　to　the　BOAC　ticket　counter。　Mr　James　Bond；　please。'　It　was　obviously　that　infernal　tax　form　to　show　how　much　he　had　earned　during　his　stay　in　America。　On　principle　Bond　never　went　to　the　Internal　Revenue　Office　in　New　York　to　get　clearance　and　he　had　only　once　had　to　argue　it　out　at　Idlewild。　He　went　out　of　the　shop　and　across　to　the　BOAC　counter。　The　official　said　politely；　'May　I　see　your　health　certificate；　please；　Mr　Bond？'
　Bond　took　the　form　out　of　his　passport　and　handed　it　over。
　The　man　looked　at　it　carefully。　He　said；　'I'm　very　sorry；　sir；　but　there's　〃been　a　typhoid　case　at　Gander　and　they're　insisting　that　all　transit　passengers　who　haven't　had　their　shots　in　the　last　six　months　should　be　topped　up。　It's　most　annoying；　sir；　but　Gander's　very　touchy　about　these　things。　Too　bad　we　couldn't　have　managed　a　direct　flight；　but　there's　a　strong　head…wind。'
　Bond　hated　inoculations。　He　said　irritably；　'But　look　here；　I'm　stuffed　with　shots　of　one　kind　or　another。　Been　having　them　for　twenty　years　for　one　damned　thing　or　another！'　He　looked　round。　The　area　near　the　BOAC　departure　gate　seemed　curiously　deserted。　He　said；　'What　about　the　other　passengers？　Where　are　they？'
　'They've　all　agreed；　sir。　Just　having　their　shots　now。　It　won't　take　a　minute；　sir；　if　you'll　e　this　way。'
　'Oh　well。'　Bond　shrugged　his　shoulders　impatiently。　He　followed　the　man　behind　the　counter　and　through　a　door　to　the　BOAC　station　manager's　office。　There　was　the　usual　white…clothed　doctor；　a　mask　over　the　bottom　of　his　face；　the　needle　held　ready。　'Last　one？'　he　asked　of　the　BOAC　official。
　'Yes；　Doctor。'
　'Okay。　Coat　off　and　left　sleeve　up；　please。　Too　bad　they're　so　sensitive　up　at　Gander。'
　'Damned　sight　too　bad；'　said　Bond。　'What　are　they　afraid　of？　Spreading　the　black　death？'
　There　came　the　sharp　smell　of　the　alcohol　and　the　jab　of　the　needle。
　'Thanks；'　said　Bond　gruffly。　He　pulled　down　his　sleeve　and　made　to　pick　his　coat　up　from　the　back　of　the　chair。　His　hand　went　down　for　it；　missed　it；　went　on　down；　down　towards　the　floor。　His　body　dived　after　the　hand；　down；　down；　down。。。
　All　the　lights　were　on　in　the　plane。　There　seemed　to　be　plenty　of　spare　places。　Why　did　he　have　to　get　stuck　with　a　passenger　whose　arm　was　hogging　the　central　arm…rest。　Bond　made　to　get　up　and　change　his　seat。　A　wave　of　nausea　swept　over　him。　He　closed　his　eyes　and　waited。　How　extraordinary！　He　was　never　air…sick。　He　felt　the　cold　sweat　on　his　face。　Handkerchief。　Wipe　it　off。　He　opened　his　eyes　again　and　looked　down　at　his　arms。　The　wrists　were　bound　to　the　arms　of　his　chair。　What　had　happened？　He　had　had　his　shot　and　then　passed　out　or　something。　Had　he　got　violent？　What　the　hell　was　all　this　about？　He　glanced　to　his　right　and　then　stared；　aghast。　Oddjob　was　sitting　there。　Oddjob！　Odd　job　in　BO　AC　uniform！
　Oddjob　glanced　incuriously　at　him　and　reached　for　the　steward's　bell。　Bond　heard　the　pretty　ding…dong　back　in　the　pantry。　There　was　the　rustle　of　a　skirt　beside　him。　He　looked　up。　It　was　Pussy　Galore；　trim　and　fresh　in　the　blue　uniform　of　a　stewardess！　She　said；　'Hi；　Handsome。'　She　gave　him　the　deep；　searching　look　he　remembered　so　well　from　when？　From　centuries　ago；　in　another　life。
　Bond　said　desperately；　'For　Christ's　sake；　what's　going　on？　Where　did　you　e　from？'
　The　girl　smiled　cheerfully；　'Eating　caviar　and　drinking　champagne。　You　Britishers　sure　live　the　life　of　Reilly　when　you　get　up　twenty　thousand　feet。　Not　a　sign　of　a　Brussels　sprout　and　if　there's　tea　I　haven't　got　around　to　it　yet。　Now；　you　take　it　easy。　Uncle　wants　to　talk　to　you。'　She　sauntered　up　the　aisle；　swinging　her　hips；　and　disappeared　through　the　cockpit　door。
　Now　nothing　could　surprise　Bond。　Goldfinger；　in　a　BOAC　captain's　uniform　that　was　rather　too　large　for　him；　the　cap　squarely　on　the　centre　of　his　head；　closed　the　cockpit　door　behind　him　and　came　down　the　aisle。