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

Чтение книги онлайн.

      8. THE EYE THAT NEVER SLEEPS

       Table of Content

      IT WAS 12.30 when Bond went down in the elevator and out on to the roasting street.

      He turned right and walked slowly down towards Times Square. As he passed the handsome black marble frontage of the House of Diamonds, he stopped to examine the two discreet show-windows lined with dark blue velvet. In the centre of each there was just one piece of jewellery, an ear-ring consisting of a big pear-shaped diamond hanging from another perfect stone, circular and brilliant-cut. Below each ear-ring there was a thin plate of yellow gold, in the shape of a visiting card with one edge turned down. On each plate was engraved the words ‘Diamonds are Forever’.

      Bond smiled to himself. He wondered which of his predecessors had smuggled those four diamonds into America.

      Bond sauntered on in search of an air-conditioned bar where he could get out of the heat and do some thinking. He was pleased with his interview. At least it hadn’t been the brush-off he had more than half expected. He was amused by the hunchback. There was something splendidly theatrical about him, and his vanity about the Spangled Mob was appealing. But he wasn’t at all funny.

      Bond had walked for only a few minutes when it suddenly occurred to him that he was being followed. There was no evidence for it except a slight tingling of the scalp and an extra awareness of the people near him, but he had faith in his sixth sense and he at once stopped in front of the shop window he was passing and looked casually back along 46th Street. Nothing but a lot of miscellaneous people moving slowly on the sidewalks, mostly on the same side as himself, the side that was sheltered from the sun. There was no sudden movement into a doorway, nobody casually wiping his face with a handkerchief to avoid recognition, nobody bending down to tie a shoelace.

      Bond examined the Swiss watches in his shop window and then turned and sauntered on. After a few yards he stopped again. Still nothing. He went on and turned right into the Avenue of the Americas, stopping in the first doorway, the entrance to a women’s underwear store where a man in a tan suit with his back to him was examining the black lace pants on a particularly realistic dummy. Bond turned and leant against a pillar and gazed lazily but watchfully out into the street.

      And then something gripped his pistol arm and a voice snarled: ‘All right, Limey. Take it easy unless you want lead for lunch,’ and he felt something press into his back just above the kidneys.

      What was there familiar about that voice? The Law? The Gang? Bond glanced down to see what was holding his right arm. It was a steel hook. Well, if the man had only one arm! Like lightning he swivelled, bending sideways and bringing his left fist round in a flailing blow, low down.

      There was a smack as his fist was caught in the other man’s left hand, and, at the same time as the contact telegraphed to Bond’s mind that there could have been no gun, there came the well-remembered laugh and the lazy voice saying: ‘No good, James. The angels have got you.’

      Bond straightened himself slowly and for a moment he could only gaze into the grinning hawk-like face of Felix Leiter with blank disbelief, his built-up tension slowly relaxing.

      ‘So you were doing a front tail, you lousy bastard,’ he finally said. He looked with delight at the friend he had last seen as a cocoon of dirty bandages on a bloodstained bed in a Florida hotel, the American secret agent with whom he had shared so many adventures. ‘What the hell are you doing here? And what the hell do you mean playing the bloody fool in this heat?’ Bond took out a handkerchief and wiped it over his face. ‘For a moment you almost made me nervous.’

      ‘Nervous!’ Felix Leiter laughed scornfully. ‘You were saying your prayers. And your conscience is so bad you didn’t even know if you were going to get it from the cops or the gang. Right?’

      Bond laughed and dodged the question. ‘Come on, you crooked spy,’ he said. ‘You can buy me a drink and tell me all about it. I just don’t believe in odds as long as this. In fact, you can buy me lunch. You Texans are lousy with money.’

      ‘Sure,’ said Leiter. He slipped his steel hook into the right-hand pocket of his coat and took Bond’s arm with his left hand. They moved out on to the street and Bond noticed that Leiter walked with a heavy limp. ‘In Texas even the fleas are so rich they can hire themselves dogs. Let’s go. Sardi’s is just over the way.’

      Leiter avoided the fashionable room at the famous actors’ and writers’ eating house and led Bond upstairs. His limp was more noticeable and he held on to the banisters. Bond made no comment, but when he left his friend at a corner table in the blessedly air-conditioned restaurant and went off to the wash-room to clean himself up, he added up his impressions. The right arm had gone, and the left leg, and there were imperceptible scars below the hairline above the right eye that suggested a good deal of grafting, but otherwise Leiter looked in СКАЧАТЬ