THE BADDEST VILLAINS - James Bond Edition. Ian Fleming

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СКАЧАТЬ he had smoked for five years – and let the smoke come out between his teeth in a luxurious hiss. That was his ‘Enemy Appreciation’. Now, who was this enemy?

      Well, there was only one candidate, and a pretty insubstantial one at that, Doctor No, Doctor Julius No, the German Chinese who owned Crab Key and made his money out of guano. There had been nothing on this man in Records and a signal to the F.B.I. had been negative. The affair of the roseate spoonbills and the trouble with the Audubon Society meant precisely nothing except, as M. had said, that a lot of old women had got excited about some pink storks. All the same, four people had died because of these storks and, most significant of all to Bond, Quarrel was scared of Doctor No and his island. That was very odd indeed. Cayman Islanders, least of all Quarrel, did not scare easily. And why had Doctor No got this mania for privacy? Why did he go to such expense and trouble to keep people away from his guano island? Guano – bird dung. Who wanted the stuff? How valuable was it? Bond was due to call on the Governor at ten o’clock. After he had made his number he would get hold of the Colonial Secretary and try and find out all about the damned stuff and about Crab Key and, if possible, about Doctor No.

      There was a double knock on the door. Bond got up and unlocked it. It was Quarrel, his left cheek decorated with a piratical cross of sticking-plaster. ‘Mornin’, cap’n. Yo said eight-tirty.’

      ‘Yes, come on in, Quarrel. We’ve got a busy day. Had some breakfast?’

      ‘Yes, tank you, cap’n. Salt fish an’ ackee an’ a tot of rum.’

      ‘Good God,’ said Bond. ‘That’s tough stuff to start the day on.’

      ‘Mos’ refreshin’,’ said Quarrel stolidly.

      They sat down outside on the balcony. Bond offered Quarrel a cigarette and lit one himself. ‘Now then,’ he said. ‘I’ll be spending most of the day at King’s House and perhaps at the Jamaica Institute. I shan’t need you till tomorrow morning, but there are some things for you to do downtown. All right?’

      ‘Okay, cap’n. Jes’ yo say.’

      ‘First of all, that car of ours is hot. We’ve got to get rid of it. Go down to Motta’s or one of the other hire people and pick up the newest and best little self-drive car you can find, the one with the least mileage. Saloon. Take it for a month. Right? Then hunt around the waterfront and find two men who look as near as possible like us. One must be able to drive a car. Buy them both clothes, at least for their top halves, that look like ours. And the sort of hats we might wear. Say we want a car taken over to Montego tomorrow morning – by the Spanish Town, Ocho Rios road. To be left at Levy’s garage there. Ring up Levy and tell him to expect it and keep it for us. Right?’

      Quarrel grinned. ‘Yo want fox someone?’

      ‘That’s right. They’ll get ten pounds each. Say I’m a rich American and I want my car to arrive in Montego Bay driven by a respectable couple of men. Make me out a bit mad. They must be here at six o’clock tomorrow morning. You’ll be here with the other car. See they look the part and send them off in the Sunbeam with the roof down. Right?’

      ‘Okay, cap’n.’

      ‘What’s happened to that house we had on the North Shore last time – Beau Desert at Morgan’s Harbour? Do you know if it’s let?’

      ‘Couldn’t say, cap’n. Hit’s well away from de tourist places and dey askin’ a big rent for it.’

      ‘Well, go to Graham Associates and see if you can rent it for a month, or another bungalow near by. I don’t mind what you pay. Say it’s for a rich American, Mr James. Get the keys and pay the rent and say I’ll write and confirm. I can telephone them if they want more details.’ Bond reached into his hip pocket and brought out a thick wad of notes. He handed half of it to Quarrel. ‘Here’s two hundred pounds. That should cover all this. Get in touch if you want some more. You know where I’ll be.’

      ‘Tanks, cap’n,’ said Quarrel, awestruck by the big sum. He stowed it away inside his blue shirt and buttoned the shirt up to his neck. ‘Anyting helse?’

      ‘No, but take a lot of trouble about not being followed. Leave the car somewhere downtown and walk to these places. And watch out particularly for any Chinese near you.’ Bond got up and they went to the door. ‘See you tomorrow morning at six-fifteen and we’ll get over to the North Coast. As far as I can see that’s going to be our base for a while.’

      Quarrel nodded. His face was enigmatic. He said ‘Okay, cap’n’ and went off down the corridor.

      Half an hour later Bond went downstairs and took a taxi to King’s House. He didn’t sign the Governor’s book in the cool hall. He was put in a waiting room for the quarter of an hour necessary to show him that he was unimportant. Then the A.D.C. came for him and took him up to the Governor’s study on the first floor.

      It was a large cool room smelling of cigar smoke. The Acting Governor, in a cream tussore suit and an inappropriate wing collar and spotted bow tie, was sitting at a broad mahogany desk on which there was nothing but the Daily Gleaner, the Times Weekly and a bowl of hibiscus blossoms. His hands lay flat on the desk in front of him. He was sixtyish with a red, rather petulant face and bright, bitter blue eyes. He didn’t smile or get up. He said, ‘Good morning, Mr – er – Bond. Please sit down.’

      Bond took the chair across the desk from the Governor and sat down. He said, ‘Good morning, sir,’ and waited. A friend at the Colonial Office had told him his reception would be frigid. ‘He’s nearly at retiring age. Only an interim appointment. We had to find an Acting Governor to take over at short notice when Sir Hugh Foot was promoted. Foot was a great success. This man’s not even trying to compete. He knows he’s only got the job for a few months while we find someone to replace Foot. This man’s been passed over for the Governor Generalship of Rhodesia. Now all he wants is to retire and get some directorships in the City. Last thing he wants is any trouble in Jamaica. He keeps on trying to close this Strangways case of yours. Won’t like you ferreting about.’

      The Governor cleared his throat. He recognized that Bond wasn’t one of the servile ones. ‘You wanted to see me?’

      ‘Just to make my number, sir,’ said Bond equably. ‘I’m here on the Strangways case. I think you had a signal from the Secretary of State.’ This was a reminder that the people behind Bond were powerful people. Bond didn’t like attempts to squash him or his Service.

      ‘I recall the signal. And what can I do for you? So far as we’re concerned here the case is closed.’

      ‘In what way “closed”, sir?’

      The Governor said roughly, ‘Strangways obviously did a bunk with the girl. Unbalanced sort of fellow at the best of times. Some of your – er – colleagues, don’t seem to be able to leave women alone.’ The Governor clearly included Bond. ‘Had to bail the chap out of various scandals before now. Doesn’t do the Colony any good, Mr – er – Bond. Hope your people will be sending us a rather better type of man to take his place. That is,’ he added coldly, ‘if a Regional Control man is really needed here. Personally I have every confidence in our police.’

      Bond smiled sympathetically. ‘I’ll report your views, sir. I expect my Chief will like to discuss them with the Minister of Defence and the Secretary of State. Naturally, if you would like to take over these extra duties it will be a saving in manpower so far as my Service is concerned. I’m sure the Jamaican Constabulary is most efficient.’

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