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

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СКАЧАТЬ '35 and '43? You'd have to call out the Militia. We didn't ask for the case. The President gave it to us and we've got to stick with it.'

      They were back in Binswanger's drab office. They picked up their coats and hats.

      'Anyway, thanks for the help, Lootenant,' said Dexter with forced cordiality, as they made their farewells. 'Been most valuable.'

      'You're welcome,' said Binswanger stonily. 'Elevator's to your right.' He closed the door firmly behind them.

      Leiter winked at Bond behind Dexter's back. They rode down to the main entrance on Center Street in silence.

      On the sidewalk, Dexter turned to them.

      'Had some instructions from Washington this morning,' he said unemotionally. 'Seems I'm to look after the Harlem end, and you two are to go down to St Petersburg tomorrow. Leiter's to find out what he can there and then move right on to Jamaica with you, Mr Bond. That is,' he added, 'if you'd care to have him along. It's your territory.'

      'Of course,' said Bond. 'I was going to ask if he could come anyway.'

      'Fine,' said Dexter. 'Then I'll tell Washington everything's fixed. Anything else I can do for you? All communications with FBI, Washington, of course. Leiter's got the names of our men in Florida, knows the Signals routine and so forth.'

      'If Leiter's interested and if you don't mind,' said Bond, 'I'd like very much to get up to Harlem this evening and have a look round. Might help to have some idea of what it looks like in Mr Big's back yard.'

      Dexter reflected.

      'Okay,' he said finally. 'Probably no harm. But don't show yourselves too much. And don't get hurt,' he added. 'There's no one to help you up there. And don't go stirring up a lot of trouble for us. This case isn't ripe yet. Until it is, our policy with Mr Big is "live and let live".'

      Bond looked quizzically at Captain Dexter.

      'In my job,' he said, 'when I come up against a man like this one, I have another motto. It's "live and let die".'

      Dexter shrugged his shoulders. 'Maybe,' he said, 'but you're under my orders here, Mr Bond, and I'd be glad if you'd accept them.'

      'Of course,' said Bond, 'and thanks for all your help. Hope you have luck with your end of the job.'

      Dexter flagged a cab. They shook hands.

      ''Bye, fellers,' said Dexter briefly. 'Stay alive.' His cab pulled out into the uptown traffic.

      Bond and Leiter smiled at each other.

      'Able guy, I should say,' said Bond.

      'They're all that in his show,' said Leiter. 'Bit inclined to be stuffed shirts. Very touchy about their rights. Always bickering with us or with the police. But I guess you have much the same problem in England.'

      'Oh of course,' said Bond. 'We're always rubbing MI5 up the wrong way. And they're always stepping on the corns of the Special Branch. Scotland Yard,' he explained. 'Well, how about going up to Harlem tonight?'

      'Suits me,' said Leiter. 'I'll drop you at the St Regis and pick you up again about six-thirty. Meet you in the King Cole Bar, on the ground floor. Guess you want to take a look at Mr Big,' he grinned. 'Well, so do I, but it wouldn't have done to tell Dexter so.' He flagged a Yellow Cab.

      'St Regis Hotel. Fifth at 55th.'

      They climbed into the overheated tin box reeking of last week's cigar-smoke.

      Leiter wound down a window.

      'Whaddya want ter do?' asked the driver over his shoulder. 'Gimme pneumony?'

      'Just that,' said Leiter, 'if it means saving us from this gas chamber.'

      'Wise guy, hn?' said the driver, crashing tinnily through his gears. He took the chewed end of a cigar from behind his ear and held it up. 'Two bits for three,' he said in a hurt voice.

      'Twenty-four cents too much,' said Leiter. The rest of the drive was passed in silence.

      They parted at the hotel and Bond went up to his room. It was four o'clock. He asked the telephone operator to call him at six. For a while he looked out of the window of his bedroom. To his left, the sun was setting in a blaze of colour. In the skyscrapers the lights were coming on, turning the whole town into a golden honeycomb. Far below the streets were rivers of neon lighting, crimson, blue, green. The wind sighed sadly outside in the velvet dusk, lending his room still more warmth and security and luxury. He drew the curtains and turned on the soft lights over his bed. Then he took off his clothes and climbed between the fine percale sheets. He thought of the bitter weather in the London streets, the grudging warmth of the hissing gas-fire in his office at Headquarters, the chalked-up menu on the pub he had passed on his last day in London: 'Giant Toad & 2 Veg.'

      He stretched luxuriously. Very soon he was asleep.

      * * * * *

      Up in Harlem, at the big switchboard, 'The Whisper' was dozing over his racing form. All his lines were quiet. Suddenly a light shone on the right of the board--an important light.

      'Yes, Boss,' he said softly into his headphone. He couldn't have spoken any louder if he had wished to. He had been born on 'Lung Block', on Seventh Avenue, at 142nd Street, where death from TB is twice as high as anywhere in New York. Now, he only had part of one lung left.

      'Tell all "Eyes",' said a slow, deep voice, 'to watch out from now on. Three men.' A brief description of Leiter, Bond and Dexter followed. 'May be coming in this evening or tomorrow. Tell them to watch particularly on First to Eight and the other Avenues. The night spots too, in case they're missed coming in. They're not to be molested. Call me when you get a sure fix. Got it?'

      'Yes, Sir, Boss,' said The Whisper, breathing fast. The voice went quiet. The operator took the whole handful of plugs, and soon the big switchboard was alive with winking lights. Softly, urgently, he whispered on into the evening.

      * * * * *

      At six o'clock Bond was awakened by the soft burr of the telephone. He took a cold shower and dressed carefully. He put on a garishly striped tie and allowed a broad wedge of bandana to protrude from his breast pocket. He slipped the chamois leather holster over his shirt so that it hung three inches below his left armpit. He whipped at the mechanism of the Beretta until all eight bullets lay on the bed. Then he packed them back into the magazine, loaded the gun, put up the safety-catch and slipped it into the holster.

      He picked up the pair of Moccasin casuals, felt their toes and weighed them in his hand. Then he reached under the bed and pulled out a pair of his own shoes he had carefully kept out of the suitcase full of his belongings the FBI had taken away from him that morning.

      He put them on and felt better equipped to face the evening.

      Under the leather, the toe-caps were lined with steel.

      At six twenty-five he went down to the King Cole Bar and chose a table near the entrance and against the wall. A few minutes later Felix Leiter came in. Bond hardly recognized him. His mop of straw-coloured hair was now jet black and he wore a dazzling blue suit with a white shirt and a black-and-white polka-dot tie.

      Leiter sat down with a broad grin.

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