Текст книги "The James Bond Anthology"

Автор книги: Ian Fleming

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Текущая страница: 38 (всего у книги 190 страниц)

‘One of the ventilator shafts,’ said Bond. ‘Come on.’ He gave a last look round the room. The lighter was in his pocket. That would still be the last resort. There was nothing else they would want. He followed Gala out into the gleaming shaft and made for the instrument panel which controlled the steel cover to the exhaust pit.

After a quick examination he threw over a heavy lever from ‘Zu’ to ‘Auf’. There was a soft hiss from the hydraulic machinery behind the wall and the two semicircles of steel opened beneath the tail of the rocket and slid back into their grooves. He walked over and looked down.

The arcs in the roof above glinted back at him from the polished walls of the wide steel funnel until they curved away out of sight towards the distant hollow boom of the sea.

Bond went back into Drax’s office and pulled down the shower curtain in the bathroom. Then Gala and he tore it into strips and tied them together. He made a jagged rent at the end of the last strip so as to give an impression that the escape rope had broken. Then he tied the other end firmly round the pointed tip of one of the Moonraker’s three fins and dropped the rest so that it hung down the shaft.

It was not much of a false scent, but it might gain some time.

The big round mouths of the ventilator shafts were spaced about ten yards apart and about four feet off the floor. Bond counted. There were fifty of them. He carefully opened the hinged grating that covered one of them and looked up. Forty feet away there was a faint glimmer from the moonlight outside. He decided that they were tunnelled straight up inside the wall of the site until they turned at right angles towards the gratings in the outside walls.

Bond reached up and ran his hand along the surface. It was unfinished roughcast concrete and he grunted with satisfaction as he felt first one sharp protuberance and then another. They were the jagged ends of the steel rods reinforcing the walls, cut off where the shafts had been bored.

It was going to be a painful business, but there was no doubt they could inch their way up one of these shafts, like mountaineers up a rock chimney, and, in the turn at the top, lie hidden from anything but the sort of painstaking search that would be difficult in the morning with all the officials from London round the site.

Bond knelt down and the girl climbed on to his back and started up.

An hour later, their feet and shoulders bruised and cut, they lay exhausted, squeezed tight in each other’s arms, their heads inches away from the circular grating directly above the outside door, and listened to the guards restlessly shifting their feet in the darkness a hundred yards away.

Five o’clock, six, seven.

Slowly the sun came up behind the dome and the seagulls started to call in the cliffs and then suddenly there were the three figures walking towards them in the distance, passed by a fresh platoon of guards doubling, chins up, knees up, to relieve the night watch.

The figures came nearer and the squinting, exhausted eyes of the hidden couple could see every detail of Drax’s blood-orange face, the lean, pale foxiness of Dr. Walter, the suety, overslept puffiness of Krebs.

The three men walked like executioners, saying nothing. Drax took out his key and they silently filed through the door a few feet below the taut bodies of Bond and Gala.

Then for ten minutes there was silence except for the occasional boom of voices up the ventilator shaft as the three men moved about down on the steel floor round the exhaust pit. Bond smiled to himself at the thought of the rage and consternation on Drax’s face; the miserable Krebs wilting under the lash of Drax’s tongue; the bitter accusation in Walter’s eyes. Then the door burst open beneath him and Krebs was calling urgently to the leader of the guards. A man detached himself from the semi-circle and ran up.

‘Die Engländer,’ Krebs’s voice was almost hysterical. ‘Escaped. The Herr Kapitän thinks they may be in one of the ventilator shafts. We are going to take a chance. The dome will be opened again and we will clear out the fumes from the fuel. And then the Herr Doktor will put the steam hose up each shaft. If they’re there it will finish them. Choose four men. The rubber gloves and firesuits are down there. We’ll take the pressure off the heating. Tell the others to listen for the screams. Verstanden?’

‘Zu Befehl.’ The man doubled smartly back to his troop and Krebs, the sweat of anxiety on his face, turned and disappeared back through the door.

For a moment Bond lay motionless.

There was a heavy rumble above their heads as the dome divided and swung open.

The steam hose!

He had heard of mutinies in ships being fought with it. Rioters in factories. Would it reach forty feet? Would the pressure last? How many boilers fed the heating? Among the fifty ventilator shafts, where would they choose to begin? Had Bond or Gala left any clue to the one they had climbed?

He felt that Gala was waiting for him to explain. To do something. To protect them.

Five men came doubling from the semi-circle of guards. They passed underneath and disappeared.

Bond put his mouth to Gala’s ear. ‘This may hurt,’ he said. ‘Can’t say how much. Can’t be helped. Just have to take it. No noise.’ He felt the answering tentative pressure from her arms. ‘Bring your knees up. Don’t be shy. This is no time to be maidenly.’

‘Shut up,’ whispered Gala angrily. He felt one knee creep up until it was locked between his thighs. His own knee followed suit until it would go no further. She squirmed furiously. ‘Don’t be a bloody fool,’ whispered Bond, pulling her head in close to his chest so that it was half covered by his open shirt.

He overlay her as much as possible. There was nothing to be done about their ankles or his hands. He pulled his shirt collar up as far over their heads as possible. They held tightly to each other.

Hot, cramped, breathless. Waiting, it suddenly occurred to Bond, like two lovers in the undergrowth. Waiting for the footsteps to go by so that they could start again. He smiled grimly to himself and listened.

There was silence down the shaft. They must be in the engine room. Walter would be watching the hose being coupled to the outlet valve. Now there were distant noises. Where would they start?

Somewhere, not far away, there was a soft, long-drawn-out whisper, like the inefficient whistle of a distant train.

He drew his shirt collar back and stole a look out through the grating at the guards. Those he could see were looking straight at the launching-dome, somewhere to his left.

Again the long harsh whisper. And again.

It was getting louder. He could see the heads of the guards pivoting towards the grating in the wall which hid him and Gala. They must be watching, fascinated, as the thick white jets of steam shot out through the gratings high up in the cement wall, wondering if this one, or that one, or that one, would be accompanied by a double scream.

He could feel Gala’s heart beating against his. She didn’t know what was coming. She trusted him.

‘It may hurt,’ he whispered to her again. ‘It may burn. It won’t kill us. Be brave. Don’t make a sound.’

‘I’m all right,’ she whispered angrily. But he could feel her body press closer in to his.

Whoosh. It was getting closer.

Whoosh! Two away.

WHOOSH!! Next door. A suspicion of the wet smell of steam came to him.

Hold tight, Bond said to himself. He smothered her in towards him and held his breath.

Now. Quick. Get it over, damn you.

And suddenly there was a great pressure and heat and a roaring in the ears and a moment of blazing pain.

Then dead silence, a mixture of sharp cold and fire on the ankles and hands, a feeling of soaking wet and a desperate, choking effort to get pure air into the lungs.

Their bodies automatically fought to withdraw from each other, to capture some inches of space and air for the areas of skin that were already blistering. The breath rattled in their throats and the water poured off the cement into their open mouths until they bent sideways and choked the water out to join the trickle that was oozing under their soaking bodies and along past their scalded ankles and then down the vertical walls of the shaft up which they had come.

And the howl of the steam pipe drew away from them until it became a whisper and finally stopped, and there was silence in their narrow cement prison except for their stubborn breathing and the ticking of Bond’s watch.

And the two bodies lay and waited, nursing their pain.

Half an hour – half a year – later, Walter and Krebs and Drax filed out below them.

But, as a precaution, the guards had been left behind in the launching dome.

24 | ZERO

‘Then we’re all agreed?’

‘Yes, Sir Hugo,’ it was the Minister of Supply speaking. Bond recognized the dapper, assured figure. ‘Those are the settings. My people have checked them independently with the Air Ministry this morning.’

‘Then if you’ll allow me the privilege,’ Drax held up the slip of paper and made to turn towards the launching-dome.

‘Hold it, Sir Hugo. Just like that, please. Arm in the air.’ The bulbs flashed and the bank of cameras whirred and clicked for the last time and Drax turned and walked the few yards towards the dome, almost, it seemed to Bond, looking him straight in the eye through the grating above the door of the site.

The small crowd of reporters and cameramen dissolved and straggled off across the concrete apron, leaving only a nervously chatting group of officials to wait for Drax to emerge.

Bond looked at his watch. 11.45. Hurry up, damn you, he thought.

For the hundredth time he repeated to himself the figures Gala had taught him during the hours of cramped pain that had followed their ordeal by steam, and for the hundredth time he shifted his limbs to keep the circulation going.

‘Get ready,’ he whispered into Gala’s ear. ‘Are you all right?’

He could feel the girl smile. ‘Fine.’ She shut her mind to the thought of her blistered legs and the quick rasping descent back down the ventilator shaft.

The door clanged shut beneath them followed by the click of the lock and, preceded by the five guards, the figure of Drax appeared below striding masterfully towards the group of officials, the slip of lying figures in his hand.

Bond looked at his watch. 11.47. ‘Now,’ he whispered.

‘Good luck,’ she whispered back.

Slither, scrape, rip. His shoulders carefully expanding and contracting; blistered, bloodstained feet scrabbling for the sharp knobs of iron, Bond, his lacerated body tearing its way down the forty feet of shaft, prayed that the girl would have strength to stand it when she followed.

A last ten-foot drop that jarred his spine, a kick at the grating and he was out on the steel floor and running for the stairs, leaving a trail of red footprints and a spray of blood-drops from his raw shoulders.

The arcs had been extinguished, but the daylight streamed down through the open roof and the blue from the sky mingling with the fierce glitter of the sunshine gave Bond the impression that he was running up inside a huge sapphire.

The great deadly needle in the centre might have been made of glass. Looking above him as he sweated and panted up the endless sweep of the iron stairway, it was difficult for him to see where its tapering nose ended and the sky began.

Behind the crouching silence that enveloped the shimmering bullet, Bond could hear a quick, deadly ticking, the hasty tripping of tiny metal feet somewhere in the body of the Moonraker. It filled the great steel chamber like the beating heart in Poe’s story and Bond knew that directly Drax at the firing point pressed the switch that sent the radio beam zinging over two hundred yards to the waiting rocket, the ticking would suddenly cease, there would be the soft whine of the lighted pinwheel, a wisp of steam from the turbines, and then the howling jet of flame on which the rocket would slowly rise and sweep majestically out on the start of its gigantic acceleration curve.

And then in front of him there was the spidery arm of the gantry folded back against the wall and Bond’s hand was at the lever and the arm was slowly stretching down and out towards the square hairline on the glittering skin of the rocket that was the door of the gyro chamber.

Bond, on hands and knees, was along it even before the rubber pads came to rest against the polished chrome. There was the flush disc the size of a shilling, just as Gala had described. Press, click, and the tiny door had flicked open on its hard spring. Inside. Careful not to cut your head. The gleaming handles beneath the staring compass-roses. Turn. Twist. Steady. That’s for the roll. Now the pitch and yaw. Turn. Twist. Ever so gently. And steady. A last look. A glance at his watch. Four minutes to go. Don’t panic. Back out. Door click. A cat-like scurry. Don’t look down. Gantry up. Clang against the wall. And now for the stairs.

Tick-tick-tick-tick.

As Bond shot down he caught a glimpse of Gala’s tense, white face as she stood holding open the outer door of Drax’s office. God, how his body hurt! A final leap and a clumsy swerve to the right. Clang as Gala slammed the outer door. Another clang and they were across the room and into the shower and the water was hissing down on their clinging, panting bodies.

Through the noise of it all, above the beating of his heart, Bond heard the sudden crackle of static and then the voice of the B.B.C. announcer coming from the big set in Drax’s room a few inches away through the thin wall of the bathroom. It had been Gala again who had remembered Drax’s wireless and who had found time to throw the switches while Bond was working on the gyros.

‘ … be five minutes’ delay,’ said the breezy, excited voice. ‘Sir Hugo has been persuaded to say a few words into the microphone.’ Bond turned off the shower and the voice came to them more clearly. ‘He looks very confident. Just saying something into the Minister’s ear. They’re both laughing. Wonder what it was? Ah, here’s my colleague with the latest weather report from the Air Ministry. What’s that? Perfect at all altitudes. Good show. It certainly is a wonderful day down below here. Haha. Those crowds in the distance by the coastguard station will be getting quite a sunburn. There must be thousands. What’s that you say? Twenty thousand? Well, it certainly looks like it. And Walmer Beach is black with them too. The whole of Kent seems to be out. Terrible crick in the neck we’re all going to get, I’m afraid. Worse than Wimbledon. Haha. Hullo, what’s going on down there by the jetty? By jove, there’s a submarine just surfaced alongside. I say, what a sight. One of our biggest I should say. And Sir Hugo’s team is down there too. Lined up on the jetty as if they were on parade. Magnificent body of men. Now they’re filing on board. Perfect discipline. Must be an idea of the Admiralty’s. Give them a special grandstand out in the Channel. Splendid show. Wish you could be here to see it. Now Sir Hugo is coming towards us. In a moment he’ll be speaking to you. Fine figure of a man. Everyone in the firing point is giving him a cheer. I’m sure we all feel like cheering him today. He’s coming into the firing point. I can see the sun glinting on the nose of the Moonraker way over there behind him. Just showing out of the top of the launching-dome. Hope somebody’s got a camera. Now here he is,’ a pause. ‘Sir Hugo Drax.’

Bond looked into Gala’s dripping face. Soaked and bleeding they stood in each other’s arms, speechless and trembling slightly with the storm of their emotions. Their eyes were blank and fathomless as they met and held each other’s gaze.

‘Your Majesty, men and women of England,’ the voice was a velvet snarl. ‘I am about to change the course of England’s history.’ A pause. ‘In a few minutes’ time the lives of all of you will be altered, in some cases, ahem, drastically, by the, er, impact of the Moonraker. I am very proud and pleased that fate has singled me out, from amongst all my fellow countrymen, to fire this great arrow of vengeance into the skies and thus to proclaim for all time, and for all the world to witness, the might of my fatherland. I hope that this occasion will be forever a warning that the fate of my country’s enemies will be written in dust, in ashes, in tears, and,’ a pause, ‘in blood. And now thank you all for listening and I sincerely hope that those of you who are able will repeat my words to your children, if you have any, tonight.’

A rattle of rather hesitant applause sounded out of the machine and then came the breezy voice of the announcer. ‘And that was Sir Hugo Drax saying a few words to you before he walks across the floor of the firing point to the switch on the wall which will fire the Moonraker. The first time he has spoken in public. Very, ahem, forthright. Doesn’t mince his words. However, a lot of us will say there’s no harm in that. And now it’s time for me to hand over to the expert, Group Captain Tandy of the Ministry of Supply, who will describe to you the actual firing of the Moonraker. After that you will hear Peter Trimble in one of the naval security patrol, H.M.S. Merganzer, describe the scene in the target area. Group Captain Tandy.’

Bond glanced at his watch. ‘Only a minute more,’ he said to Gala. ‘God, I’d like to get my hands on Drax. Here,’ he reached for the cake of soap and gouged some pieces off it. ‘Stuff this in your ears when the time comes. The noise is going to be terrific, I don’t know about the heat. It won’t last long and the steel walls may stand up to it.’

Gala looked at him. She smiled. ‘If you hold me it won’t be too bad,’ she said.

‘ … and now Sir Hugo has his hand on the switch and he’s watching the chronometer.’

‘TEN,’ broke in another voice, heavy and sonorous as the toll of a bell.

Bond turned on the shower and the water hissed down on their clinging bodies.

‘NINE,’ tolled the voice of the time-keeper.

‘ … the radar operators are watching the screens. Nothing but a mass of wavy lines … ’

‘EIGHT.’

‘ … all wearing ear-plugs. Blockhouse should be indestructible. Concrete walls are twelve feet thick. Pyramid roof, twenty-seven feet thick at the point … ’

‘SEVEN.’

‘ … first the radio beam will stop the time mechanism alongside the turbines. Set the pinwheel going. Flaming thing like a Catherine wheel … ’

‘SIX.’

‘ … valves will open. Liquid fuel. Secret formula. Terrific stuff. Dynamite. Pours down from the fuel tanks … ’

‘FIVE.’

‘ … ignited by the pinwheel when the fuel gets to the rocket motor … ’

‘FOUR.’

‘ … meanwhile the peroxide and permanganate have mixed, made steam and the turbine pumps begin to turn … ’

‘THREE.’

‘ … pumping the flaming fuel through the motor out of the stern of the rocket into the exhaust pit. Gigantic heat … 3,500 degrees … ’

‘TWO.’

‘ … Sir Hugo is about to press the switch. He’s staring out through the slit. Perspiration on his forehead. Absolute silence in here. Terrific tension.’

‘ONE.’

Nothing but the noise of the water, steadily pouring down on the two clinging bodies.

FIRE!

Bond’s heart jumped into his throat at the shout. He felt Gala shudder. Silence. Nothing but the hissing of the water …

‘ … Sir Hugo’s left the firing point. Walking calmly over to the edge of the cliff. So confident. He’s stepped on to the hoist. He’s going down. Of course. He must be going out to the submarine. Television screen shows a little steam coming out of the tail of the rocket. A few more seconds. Yes, he’s out on the jetty. He looked back and raised his arm in the air. Good old Sir Hu … ’

A soft thunder came to Bond and Gala. Louder. Louder. The tiled floor began to tremble under their feet. A hurricane scream. They were being pulverized by it. The walls were quaking, steaming. Their legs began going out of control under their teetering bodies. Hold her up. Hold her up. Stop it! Stop it!! STOP THAT NOISE!!!

Christ, he was going to faint. The water was boiling. Must turn it off. Got it. No. Pipe’s burst. Steam, smell, iron, paint.

Get her out! Get her out!! Get her out!!!

And then there was silence. Silence you could feel, hold, squeeze. And they were on the floor of Drax’s office. Only the light in the bathroom still shining out. And the smoke’s clearing. And the filthy smell of burning iron and paint. Being sucked out by the air-conditioner. And the steel wall is bent towards them like a huge blister. Gala’s eyes are open and she’s smiling. But the rocket. What happened? London? North Sea? The radio. Looks all right. He shook his head and the deafness slowly cleared. He remembered the soap. Gouged it out.

‘ … through the sound barrier. Travelling perfectly, right in the centre of the radar screen. A perfect launching. Afraid you couldn’t hear anything because of the noise. Terrific. First of all the great sheet of flame coming out of the cliff from the exhaust pit and then you should have seen the nose slowly creep up out of the dome. And there she was like a great silver pencil. Standing upright on this huge column of flame and slowly climbing into the air and the flame splashing for hundreds of yards over the concrete. The howl of the thing must have nearly burst our microphones. Great bits have fallen off the cliff and the concrete looks like a spider’s web. Terrible vibration. And then she was climbing faster and faster. A hundred miles an hour. A thousand. And,’ he broke off, ‘what’s that you say? Really! And now she’s travelling at over ten thousand miles an hour! She’s three hundred miles up. Can’t hear her any more, of course. We could only see her flame for a few seconds. Like a star. Sir Hugo must be a proud man. He’s out there in the Channel now. The submarine went off like a rocket, haha, must be doing more than thirty knots. Throwing up a huge wake. Off the East Goodwins now. Travelling north. She’ll soon be up with the patrol ships. They’ll have a view of the launching and of the landing. Quite a surprise trip that. No one here had an inkling. Even the naval authorities seem a bit mystified. C.-in-C. Nore has been on the telephone. But now that’s all I can tell you from here and I’ll hand you over to Peter Trimble on board H.M.S. Merganzer somewhere off the East Coast.’

Nothing but the pumping lungs showed that the two limp bodies in the creeping pool of water on the floor were still alive, but their battered ear-drums were desperately clinging to the crackle of static that came briefly from the blistered metal cabinet. Now for the verdict on their work.

‘And this is Peter Trimble speaking. It’s a beautiful morning, I mean – er – afternoon here. Just north of the Goodwin Sands. Calm as a millpond. No wind. Bright sunshine. And the target area is reported clear of shipping. Is that right, Commander Edwards? Yes, the Captain says it’s quite clear. Nothing on the radar screens yet. I’m not allowed to tell you the range we shall pick her up at. Security and all that. But we shall only catch the rocket for a split second. Isn’t that right, Captain? But the target’s just showing on the screen. Out of sight from the bridge, of course. Must be seventy miles north of here. We could see the Moonraker going up. Terrific sight. Noise like thunder. Long flame coming out of the tail. Must have been ten miles away but you couldn’t miss the light. Yes, Captain? Oh yes, I see. Well, that’s very interesting. Big submarine coming up fast. Only about a mile away. Suppose it’s the one they say Sir Hugo’s aboard with his men. None of us here were told anything about her. Captain Edwards says she doesn’t answer the Aldis lamp. Not flying colours. Very mysterious. I’ve got her now. Quite clear in my glasses. We’ve changed course to intercept her. The Captain says she isn’t one of ours. Thinks she must be a foreigner. Hullo! She’s broken out her colours. WHAT’S that? Good heavens. The Captain says she’s a Russian. I say! And now she’s hauled down her colours and she’s submerging. Bang. Did you hear that? We fired a shot across her bows. But she’s disappeared. What’s that? The asdic operator says she’s going even faster under water. Twenty-five knots. Terrific. Well, she can’t see much under water. But she’s right in the target area now. Twelve minutes past noon. The Moonraker must have turned and be on her way down. A thousand miles up. Coming down at ten thousand miles an hour. She’ll be here any second now. Hope there’s not going to be a tragedy. The Russian’s well inside the danger zone. The radar operator’s holding up his hand. That means she’s due. She’s coming. She’s COMING … Whew! Not even a whisper. GOD! What’s that? Look out! Look out! Terrific explosion. Black cloud going up into the air. There’s a tidal wave coming at us. Great wall of water tearing down. There goes the submarine. God! Thrown out of the water upside down. It’s coming. It’s COMING … ’