if.thunderball-第35节

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ght　of　his　shadow；　the　thin　black　lance　cast　by　the　barracuda　moved　with　quiet　precision。
　
　A　dense　mass　of　silvery　small　fry　showed　up　ahead；　suspended　in　midstream　as　if　they　had　been　bottled　in　aspic。　When　the　two　parallel　bodies　approached；　the　mass　divided　sharply；　leaving　wide　channels　for　the　two　enemies；　and　then　closing　behind　them　into　the　phalanx　they　adopted　for　an　illusory　protection。　Through　the　cloud　of　fish　Bond　watched　the　barracuda。　It　moved　majestically　on；　ignoring　the　food　around　it　as　a　fox　creeping　up　on　the　chicken　run　will　ignore　the　rabbits　in　the　warren。　Bond　sealed　himself　in　the　armor　of　his　rhythm；　transmitting　to　the　barracuda　that　he　was　a　bigger；　a　more　dangerous　fish；　that　the　barracuda　must　not　be　misled　by　the　whiteness　of　the　flesh。
　
　Amongst　the　waving　grass；　the　black　barb　of　the　anchor　looked　like　another　enemy。　The　trailing　chain　rose　from　the　bottom　and　disappeared　into　the　upper　mists。　Bond　followed　it　up；　forgetting　the　barracuda　in　his　relief　at　hitting　the　target　and　in　the　excitement　of　what　he　might　find。
　
　Now　he　swam　very　slowly；　watching　the　white　explosion　of　the　moon　on　the　surface　contract　and　define　itself。　Once　he　looked　down。　There　was　no　sign　of　the　barracuda。　Perhaps　the　anchor　and　chain　had　seemed　inimical。　The　long　hull　of　the　ship　grew　out　of　the　upper　mists　and　took　shape；　a　great　Zeppelin　in　the　water。　The　folded　mechanism　of　the　hydrofoil　looked　ungainly；　as　if　it　did　not　belong。　Bond　clung　for　a　moment　to　its　starboard　flange　to　get　his　bearings。　Far　down　to　his　left；　the　big　twin　screws；　bright　in　the　moonlight；　hung　suspended；　motionless　but　somehow　charged　with　thrashing　speed。　Bond　moved　slowly　along　the　hull　toward　them；　staring　upward　for　what　he　sought。　He　drew　in　his　breath。　Yes；　it　was　there；　the　ridge　of　a　wide　hatch　below　the　water　line。　Bond　groped　over　it；　measuring。　About　twelve　feet　square；　divided　down　the　center。　Bond　paused　for　a　moment；　wondering　what　was　inside　the　closed　doors。　He　pressed　the　switch　of　the　Geiger　counter　and　held　the　machine　against　the　steel　plates。　He　watched　the　dial　of　the　meter　on　his　left　wrist。　It　trembled　to　show　the　machine　was　alive；　but　it　registered　only　the　fraction　Leiter　had　told　him　to　expect　from　the　hull。　Bond　switched　the　thing　off。　So　much　for　that。　Now　for　home。
　
　The　clang　beside　his　ear　and　the　sharp　impact　against　his　left　shoulder　were　simultaneous。　Automatically；　Bond　sprang　back　from　the　hull。　Below　him　the　bright　needle　of　the　spear　wavered　slowly　down　into　the　depths。　Bond　whirled。　The　man；　his　black　rubber　suit　glinting　like　armor　in　the　moonlight；　was　pedaling　furiously　in　the　water　while　he　thrust　another　spear　down　the　barrel　of　the　CO2　gun。　Bond　hurled　himself　toward　him；　flailing　at　the　water　with　his　fins。　The　man　pulled　back　the　loading　lever　and　leveled　the　gun。　Bond　knew　he　couldn't　make　it。　He　was　six　strokes　away。　He　stopped　suddenly；　ducked　his　head；　and　jackknifed　down。　He　felt　the　small　shock　wave　of　the　silent　explosion　of　gas　and　something　hit　his　foot。　Now！　He　soared　up　below　the　man　and　scythed　upward　with　his　knife。　The　blade　went　in。　He　felt　the　black　rubber　against　his　hand。　Then　the　butt　of　the　gun　hit　him　behind　the　ear　and　a　white　hand　came　down　and　scrabbled　at　his　airpipe。　Bond　slashed　wildly　with　the　knife；　his　hand　moving　with　terrifying　slowness　through　the　water。　The　point　ripped　something。　The　hand　let　go　of　the　mask；　but　now　Bond　couldn't　see。　Again　the　butt　of　the　gun　crashed　down　on　his　head。　Now　the　water　was　full　of　black　smoke；　heavy；　stringy　stuff　that　clung　to　the　glass　of　his　mask。　Bond　backed　painfully；　slowly　away；　clawing　at　the　glass。　At　last　it　cleared。　The　black　smoke　was　ing　out　of　the　man；　out　of　his　stomach。　But　the　gun　was　ing　up　again　slowly；　agonizingly；　as　if　it　weighed　a　ton；　and　the　bright　sting　of　the　spear　showed　at　its　mouth。　Now　the　webbed　feet　were　hardly　stirring；　but　the　man　was　sinking　slowly　down　to　Bond's　level。　Suspended　straight　in　the　water；　he　looked　like　one　of　those　little　celluloid　figures　in　a　Ptolemy　jar　that　rise　and　fall　gracefully　with　pressure　on　the　rubber　top　to　the　jar。　Bond　couldn't　get　his　limbs　to　obey。　They　felt　like　lead。　He　shook　his　head　to　clear　it；　but　still　his　hands　and　flippers　moved　only　half　consciously；　all　speed　gone。　Now　he　could　see　the　bared　teeth　round　the　other　man's　rubber　mouthpiece。　The　gun　was　at　his　head；　at　his　throat；　at　his　heart。　Bond's　hands　crept　up　his　chest　to　protect　him　while　his　flippers　moved　sluggishly；　like　broken　wings；　below　him。
　
　And　then；　suddenly；　the　man　was　hurled　toward　Bond　as　if　he　had　been　kicked　in　the　back。　His　arms　spread　in　a　curious　gesture　of　embrace　for　Bond　and　the　gun　tumbled　slowly　away　between　them　and　disappeared。　A　puff　of　black　blood　spread　out　into　the　sea　from　behind　the　man's　back　and　his　hands　wavered　out　and　up　in　vague　surrender　while　his　head　twisted　on　his　shoulders　to　see　what　had　done　this　to　him。
　
　And　now；　a　few　yards　behind　the　man；　shreds　of　black　rubber　hanging　from　its　jaws；　Bond　saw　the　barracuda。　It　was　lying　broadside　on；　seven　or　eight　feet　of　silver　and　blue　torpedo；　and　round　its　jaws　there　was　a　thin　mist　of　blood；　the　taste　in　the　water　that　had　triggered　its　attack。
　
　Now　the　great　tiger's　eye　looked　coldly　at　Bond　and　then　downward　at　the　slowly　sinking　man。　It　gave　a　horrible　yawning　gulp　to　rid　itself　of　the　shreds　of　rubber；　turned　lazily　three…quarters　on；　quivered　in　all　its　length；　and　dived　like　a　bolt　of　white　light。　It　hit　the　man　on　the　right　shoulder　with　wide…open　jaws；　shook　him　once；　furiously；　like　a　dog　with　a　rat；　and　then　backed　away。　Bond　felt　the　vomit　rising　in　his　gorge　like　molten　lava。　He　swallowed　it　down　and　slowly；　as　if　in　a　dream；　began　swimming　with　languid；　sleepy　strokes　away　from　the　scene。
　
　Bond　had　not　gone　many　yards　when　something　hit　the　surface　to　his　left　and　the　moonlight　glinted　on　a　silvery　kind　of　egg　that　turned　lazily　over　and　over　as　it　went　down。　It　meant　nothing　to　Bond；　but　two　strokes　later；　he　received　a　violent　blow　in　the　stomach　that　knocked　him　sideways。　It　also　knocked　sense　into　him；　and　he　began　to　move　fast　through　the　water；　at　the　same　time　planing　downward　toward　the　bottom。　More　buffets　hit　him　in　quick　succession；　but　the　grenades　were　bracketing　the　blood　patch　near　the　ship's　hull　and　the　shock　waves　of　the　explosions　became　less。
　
　The　bottom　showed　up…the　friendly　waving　fur；　the　great　black　toadstools　of　the　dead　sponges　and　the　darting　shoals　of　small　fish　fleeing　with　Bond　from　the　explosions。　Now　Bond　swam　with　all　his　strength。　At　any　moment　a　boat　would　be　got　over　the　side　and　another　diver　would　go　down。　With　any　luck　he　would　find　no　traces　of　Bond's　visit　and　conclude　that　the　underwater　sentry　had　been　killed　by　shark　or　barracuda。　It　would　be　interesting　to　see　what　Largo　would　report　to　the　harbor　police。　Difficult　to　explain　the　necessity　for　an　armed　underwater　sentry　for　a　pleasure　yacht　in　a　peaceful　harbor！
　
　Bond　trudged　on　across　the　shifting　seagrass。　His　head　ached　furiously。　Gingerly　he　put　up　a　hand　and　felt　the　two　great　bruises。　The　skin　felt　intact。　But　for　the　cushion　of　water；　the　two　blows　with　the　butt　of　the　gun　would　have　knocked　him　out。　As　it　was；　he　still　felt　half　stunned　and　when　he　came　to　the　end　of　the　seagrass　and　to　the　soft　white　moon　landscape　with　its　occasional　little　volcano　puffs　from　the　sea　worms　he　felt　as　if　he　was　on　the　edge　of　delirium。　Wild　motion　at　the　edge　of　his　field　of　vision　shocked　him　out　of　the　semi…trance。　A　giant　fish；　the　barracuda；　was　passing　him。　It　seemed　to　have　gone　mad。　It　was　snaking　wildly　along；　biting　at　its　tail；　its　long　body　curling　and　snapping　back　in　a　jackknife　motion；　its　mouth　opening　wide　and　shutting　again　in　spasms。　Bond　watched　it　hurtle　away　into　the　gray　mist。　He　felt　somehow　sorry　to　see　the　wonderful　king　of　the　sea　reduced　to　this　hideous　jiggling　automaton。　There　was　something　obscene　about　it；　like　the　blind　weaving　of　a　punchy　boxer　before　he　finally　crashes　to　the　canvas。　One　of　the　explosions　must　have　crushed　a　nerve　center；　wrecked　some　delicate　balance　mechanism　in　the　fish's　brain。　It　wouldn't　last　long。　A　greater　predator　than　itself；　a　shark；　would　note　the　signs；　the　loss　of　symmetry　that　is　suicide　in　the　sea。　He　would　follow　for　a　while　until　the　spasms　slackened。　Then　the　shark　would　make　a　short　jabbing　run。　The　barracuda　would　react　sluggishly　and　that　would　be　the　end…in　three　great　grunting　bites；　the　head　first　and　then　the　still　jerking　body。　And　the　shark　would　cruise　quietly　on；　its　sickle　mouth　trailing　morsels　for　the　black　and　yellow　pilot　fish　below　his　jaws　and　perhaps　for　the　remora　or　two；　the　parasites　that　travel　with　the　great　host；　that　pick　the　shark's　teeth　when　it　is　sleeping　and　the　jaws　are　relaxed。
　
　And　now　there　were　the　gray…slimed　motor　tires；　the　bottles；　the　cans；　and　the　scaffolding　of　the　wharf。　Bond　slid　over　the　shelving　sand　and　knelt　in　the　shallows；　his　head　down；　not　capable　of　carrying　the　heavy　aqualung　up　the　beach；　an　exhausted　animal　ready　to　drop。
　
　17。　The　Red…Eye　Catab
　
　Bond；　putting　on　his　clothes；　dodged　the　ments　of　Constable　Santos。　It　seemed