johngardner.winloseordie-第30章

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and　ordered　to　stop。　I'm　putting　four　helicopters　into　the　air　on　submarine　search。　If　the　subs　fire　on　our　force；　or　bee　more　belligerent；　our　helicopters　will　go　into　search…and…destroy　mode。'
　Bond　stretched　back　on　the　small　bunk；　fully　dressed。　It　was　almost　one…thirty　in　the　morning。　He　could　give　it　five　more　minutes　before　he　would　need　to　check　out　his　charges；　and　make　certain　all　was　well。
　Thirty　seconds　later；　he　was　on　his　feet；　springing　to　the　cabin　door；　answering　the　pounding　on　it。
　A　flushed　Royal　Marine　sentry　stood　there；　almost　breathless。　'Captain　Bond；　sir；　you're　needed。　It's　bad。　sir。　Very　had　。　。　。'
　He　was　about　to　add　more　when　Clover　Pennington　appeared　behind　the　marine。　'It's　one　of　the　Americans；　Jame　…　sir。'　She　looked　as　though　she　was　about　to　throw　up。　〃The　one　I　believe　they　call　Ed。　The　slim；　very　tough；　good…looking　one；　with　sandy　hair。'
'Yes？　That's　Ed。　What's　wrong？'
　'One　of　my　girls　。　。　。　One　of　my　Wrens　。　。　。　found　him。　I　le's　dead。　A　lot　of　blood。　I　think　。。。　I　。。。　Well；　1　know　。　。　。　he's　been　murdered；　sir。　Someone's　eul　his　throat。　The　heads　are　like　an　abattoir。'
　Bond　felt　his　stomach　churn　as　he　reached　for　the　webbing…belt　with　the　big　holster　hanging　from　it。　Then；　buckling　it　on；　he　nodded；　following　the　marine　and　First　Officer　Pennington　into　the　VIP　area。　The　belt；　with　the　heavy　pistol　bouncing　against　his　side；　made　him　feel　like　a　Western　gun…slinger。　Unreal。　But　it　was　not　every　day　of　the　week　you　get　an　American　Secret　Service　bodyguard　murdered　aboard　one　of　Her　Majesty's　ships。
　
　11
　
　Death's　Heads
　
Bond　paused　for　a　second　before　the　bulkhead；　with　its　fire…door　bolted　open。　Below　decks　there　was　always　a　familiar　smell；　difficult　to　describe；　dry；　filtered　air；　a　little　oil；　tiny　mixed　scents　of　machinery　and　humans。　The　paintwork　was　light…grey　and　a　mass　of　piping　ran　high　along　each　side　of　the　passageway；　with　electrical　duels　carrying　wiring　down　ю　the　deck　itself。　The　air…conditioning；　plumbing　and　electronics　hummed。　This　was　what　always　assaulted　the　senses；　when　the　ship　was　alive　and　at　sea。
　Ahead　of　him　there　were　the　other　cabin　doors；　usually　used　by　executive　officers；　who　were　now　forced　to　double…up　on　messdecks　and　in　other　areas　of　the　ship。　Beyond；　there　was　a　further　bulkhead　where　another　marine　stood　on　duty。　Through　there；　he　knew　were　the　cabins　occupied　by　the　Wren　detachment；　who　had　ousted　the　junior　officers。
　Before　stepping　over　the　first　bulkhead。　Bond　gave　rapid　orders　to　the　flushed　marine　who　had　hanged　on　his　door　…　'I　don't　care　who　it　is。　Admirals　or　special　duty　staff　who　came　aboard　with　them；　you　are　to　check　who　is　in　each　of　these　cabins；　and　also　have　a　list　ready　for　me；　I　want　to　know　who　was　where　over　the　past　hour　at　least。　And　get　one　of　the　doctors　as　quickly　as　you　can。　You'd　best　get　your　sergeant　down　here　to　give　you　a　hand。　My　authority。　You　know　who　I　am？1
　The　young　marine　nodded；　and　Bond　turned　to　Clover；　'Right；　the　body's　where'。'　In　the　heads　used　for　your　Wrens？〃
　She　gave　him　a　sickly；　'Yes。'　and　Bond　brushed　past　her　and　started　to　run　down　the　passageway。　Behind　him　he　heard　the　young　marine　banging　on　the　first　cabin　door　with　his　rifle　butt。
At　the　second　bulkhead　he　told　the　marine　on　duty　to　stay　alert　and　asked　him　if　any　of　the　officers；　or　their　men；　had　gone　past　him　into　the　prohibited　area　where　the　Wrens　were。
　〃I've　only　been　hare　for　fifteen　minutes；　sir。　We　had　to　reorganise　the　guard　duties　when　the　Captain　called　all　hands　to　close　up。'
*S〃　how　long　was　the　area　unguarded？'
〃Not　sure；　sir。　Fifteen　minutes　at　the　most。'
　Clover　led　him　through　the　passageway　adjacent　to　the　cabins　occupied　by　the　Wrens。　A　rather　startled　girl　in　pyjamas　poked　her　head　out　of　one　of　the　doors。　'Back　inside；　Deeley。'　Clover　snapped　sharply；　and　the　figure　disappeared。
　There　was　a　trail　of　bloody　footprints；　ending　abruptly　in　a　spatter　of　blood；　around　twelve　feel　from　the　elosed　bulkhead　door　which　led　to　the　heads。　For　some　reason　a　query　ran　through　Bond's　mind。　The　ablutions　and　lavatories　on　Royal　Navy　ships　were　always　known　as　the　'heads'　…　plural　…　while　the　US　Navy　called　them　'head'　…　singular。　It　was　the　other　way　around　with　the　HUD　in　fighter　aircraft。　The　Americans　called　it　the　Wertds…up…Display；　the　Brits　translated　it　as　Head…up…Display。　Any　odd　thoughts　on　British　and　American　semantics　were　cleared　from　his　mind　as　he　opened　the　bulkhead　door。
　Clover　had　been　right；　the　place　was　like　an　abattoir；　awash　with　blood；　and　the　body　on　the　tiled　floor　rolled　with　the　ship；　giving　the　horrific　illusion　that　the　blood　was　still　pumping　from　it。
'You　touch　him？'
　Clover　shook　her　head；　lips　closed　tightly　as　though　she　was　fighting　the　urge　to　vomit；
　'Better　get　out。　Go　back　and　tell　one　of　those　marines　that　the　Doc　should　bring　down　a　couple　of　Sick　Bay　ratings　to　help　clean　up　the　mess。'
　？　I'll　do　that　from　the　nearest　'phone。'A　tall；　grey…haired　figure　stood　behind　them。　'Surgeon　mander　Grant；　Let's　take　a　look　at　the　cadaver。'
　Bond　had　met　Grant　for　a　few　seconds　in　the　ward…room　on　his　arrival　aboard。　The　Doc　appeared　to　be　a　no…nonsense　man；　of　few　words。　He　was　in　uniform　but　with　his　trousers　tucked　into　green　surgeon's　boots。　'Leave　him　to　me。　then　I'll　get　one　of　my　boys　down　with　a　spare　set　of　wellies　for　you。　Captain　Bond。　Blood's　the　very　devil　to　get　off。'
　Bond　nodded　and　stood　at　the　door　as　Grant　splashed　across　the　gore…swilled　tiled　deck。　He　bent　over　to　examine　the　body；　giving　a　little　grunt　of　disgust。　He　shook　his　head；　plodded　back　and　picked　up　the　telephone　inter　on　the　wall　in　the　passageway；　dialling　the　Sick　Bay　number。　'Barnes？　Right；　get　down　to　406。　Wellies　and　rubber　aprons。　One　spare　pair　of　wellies；　and　rustle　up　a　couple　of　lads　with　strong　stomachs；　。squeegees　and　buckets。　Quick　as　you　can。'
　He　turned　to　Bond。　〃Whoever　did　it　wasn't　taking　any　chances；　Captain　Bond。　They've　nearly　taken　his　head　off。　Neat　slit。　Ear　to　ear。　By　the　look　of　it；　someone　took　him　from　behind；　grabbed　his　hair　and　reached　over　with　something　very　sharp。　Who　is　he？'
'One　of　the　American　security。　Head　boy。　1　think。　Nasty。'
　'It　would　be　stupid　to　ask　if　he　had　any　enemies；　because　he　obviously　had　at　least　one　。　。　。'　He　trailed　off　as　his　two　Sick　Bay　attendants　arrived；　followed　by　a　pair　of　Ordinary　Seamen　carrying　mopping…up　gear。
　　lOh。　hell！'　One　of　the　Sick　Bay　attendants　looked　into　the　heads；　then　backed　away。
　'Just　give　Captain　Bond　the　boots；'　the　Surgeon　mander　said　quietly。　'Keep　the　cleaning　up　people　away　until　he's　finished。　Best　get　a　gurney　while　you're　at　it；　we'll　have　to　put　this　one　in　the　freezer。'
　Bond　kicked　off　his　shoes；　pulled　on　the　boots　and　made　his　way　towards　the　body。　It　was　Ed；　no　doubt　about　it。　and　he　had　died　atrociously。　Bond　was　even　concerned　about　moving　the　body：　afraid　the　head　would　part　from　the　neck；　for　the　slash　across　the　throat　had　been　long；　hard　and　deep。
　Pulling　back　the　sleeves　of　his　own　navy　blue　RN　issue　pullover。　Bond　turned　the　body　onto　its　side。　His　hands　were　wet　with　blood；　but　he　reached　into　the　dead　man's　pockets；　removing　a　wallet　and　two　other　pieces　of　ID。　He　was　about　to　let　the　body　drop　back　in　place　when　lie　heard　a　minute　scraping　sound　ing；　it　seemed；　from　under　the　Secret　Service　man's　right　shoulder。　Blood　up　to　his　elbow。　Bond　searched　with　his　hand　which　connected　with　metal。　He　pulled；　bringing　out　a　small；　battery…operated　dictating…machine。
　At　the　door　again；　arms　held　away　from　his　body；　Bond　told　the　surgeon　mander　that　he　could　get　the　place　cleared　up。
One　of　the　Sick　Bay　attendants　thoughtfully　came　forward　to　wipe　the　blood　from　his　arms。　He　nodded　thanks　and　set　off　back　towards　his　own　quarters。
　There　was　some　uproar　in　the　section　of　passageway　where　the　Admirals　and　their　respective　staffs　were　quartered。　A　marine　sergeant　raised　his　eyebrows　as　Bond　approached。　'Captain　Bond；　sir　。　。　。'　then　he　saw　the　blood；　and　the　dripping　miniature　dictating…machine。　'You　all　right；　sir？　Blimey；　that　genuine　claret；　sir？'
　'Freshly　bottled；　sergeant。　I'm　afraid。　We　have　a　murder　on　our　hands。　What's　the　situation