007 Complete Series - 21 James Bond Novels in One Volume. Ian Fleming

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ seat and busied himself with a long piece of flex. "Make a good job of it," said Drax. "I don't want any mistakes." He had an afterthought. "And then go back to the wreck and get the number plates. Hurry. I will watch the road."

      Krebs pulled the rug over the two inert bodies and jumped out of the car. Using his knife as a screwdriver he was soon back with the plates, and the big car started to move just as a group of the local residents appeared walking nervously down the hill shining their torches over the scene of devastation.

      Krebbs grinned happily to himself at the thought of the stupid English having to clean up all this mess. He settled himself back to enjoy the part of the drive he had always liked best, the spring woods full of bluebells and celandines on the way to Chilham.

      They had made him particularly happy at night. Lit up amongst the green torches of the young trees by the great headlamps of the Mercedes, they made him think of the beautiful forests of the Ardennes and of the devoted little band with which he had served, and of driving along in a captured American jeep with, just like tonight, his adored leader at the wheel. Der Tag had been a long time coming, but now it was here. With young Krebs in the van. At last the cheering crowds, the medals, the women, the flowers. He gazed out at the fleeting hosts of bluebells and felt warm and happy.

      Gala could taste Bond's blood. His face was beside hers on the leather seat and she shifted to give him more room. His breathing was heavy and irregular and she wondered how badly he was hurt. Tentatively she whispered into his ear. And then louder. He groaned and his breath came faster.

      "James," she whispered urgently. "James."

      He mumbled something and she pushed hard against him.

      He uttered a string of obscenities and his body heaved.

      He lay still again and she could almost feel him exploring his sensations.

      "It's me, Gala." She felt him stiffen.

      "Christ," he said. "Hell of a mess."

      "Are you all right? Is anything broken?"

      She felt him tense his arms and legs. "Seems all right," he said. "Crack on the head. Am I talking sense?"

      "Of course," said Gala. "Now listen."

      Hurriedly she told him all she knew, beginning with the notebook.

      His body was as rigid as a board against her, and he hardly breathed as he listened to the incredible story.

      Then they were running into Canterbury and Bond put his mouth to her ear. "Going to try and chuck myself over the back," he whispered. "Get to a telephone. Only hope."

      He started to heave himself up on his knees, his weight almost grinding the breath out of the girl.

      There was a sharp crack and he fell back on top of her.

      "Another move out of you and you're dead," said the voice of Krebs coming softly between the front seats.

      Only another twenty minutes to the site! Gala gritted her teeth and set about bringing Bond back to consciousness again.

      She had only just succeeded when the car drew up at the door of the launching-dome and Krebs, a gun in his hand, was undoing the bonds round their ankles.

      They had a glimpse of the familiar moonlit cement and of the semi-circle of guards some distance away before they were hustled through the door and, when their shoes had been torn off by Krebs, out on to the iron catwalk inside the launching-dome.

      There the gleaming rocket stood, beautiful, innocent, like a new toy for Cyclops.

      But there was a horrible smell of chemicals in the air and to Bond the Moonraker was a giant hypodermic needle ready to be plunged into the heart of England. Despite a growl from Krebs he paused on the stairway and looked up at its glittering nose. A million deaths. A million. A million. A million.

      On his hands? For God's sake! On his hands?

      With Krebs's gun prodding him, he went slowly down the steps on the heels of Gala.

      As he turned through the doors of Drax's office, he pulled himself together. Suddenly his mind was clear and all the lethargy and pain had left his body. Something, anything, must be done. Somehow he would find a way. His whole body and mind became focused and sharp as a blade. His eyes were alive again and defeat sloughed off him like the skin of a snake.

      Drax had gone ahead and was sitting at his desk. He had a Luger in his hand. It was pointing at a spot halfway between Bond and Gala and it was steady as a rock.

      Behind him, Bond heard the double doors thud shut.

      "I was one of the best shots in the Brandenburg Division," said Drax conversationally. "Tie her to that chair, Krebs. Then the man."

      Gala looked desperately at Bond.

      "You won't shoot," said Bond. "You'd be afraid of touching off the fuel." He walked slowly towards the desk.

      Drax smiled cheerfully and looked along the barrel at Bond's stomach. "Your memory is bad, Englishman," he said flatly. "I told you this room is cut off from the shaft by the double doors. Another step and you will have no stomach."

      Bond looked at the confident, narrowed eyes and stopped.

      "Go ahead, Krebs."

      When they were both tied securely and painfully to the arms and legs of two tubular steel chairs a few feet apart beneath the glass wall-map, Krebs left the room. He came back in a moment with a mechanic's blowtorch.

      He set the ugly machine on the desk, pumped air into it with a few brisk strokes of the plunger, and set a match to it. A blue flame hissed out a couple of inches into the room. He picked up the instrument and walked towards Gala. He stopped a few feet to one side of her.

      "Now then," said Drax grimly. "Let's get this over without any fuss. The good Krebs is an artist with one of those things. We used to call him Der Zwangsman--The Persuader. I shall never forget the way he went over the last spy we caught together. Just south of the Rhine, wasn't it, Krebs?"

      Bond pricked up his ears.

      "Yes, mein Kapitän." Krebs chuckled reminiscently. "It was a pig of a Belgian."

      "All right then," said Drax. "Just remember, you two. There's no fair play down here. No jolly good sports and all that. This is business." The voice cracked like a whip on the word. "You," he looked at Gala Brand, "who are you working for?"

      Gala was silent.

      "Anywhere you like, Krebs."

      Krebs's mouth was half open. His tongue ran up and down his lower lip. He seemed to be having difficulty with his breathing as he took a step towards the girl.

      The little flame roared greedily.

      "Stop," said Bond coldly. "She works for Scotland Yard. So do I." These things were pointless now. They were of no conceivable use to Drax. In any case, by tomorrow afternoon there might be no Scotland Yard.

      "That's better," said Drax. "Now, does anybody know you are prisoners? Did you stop and telephone СКАЧАТЬ