iam fleming.for your eyes only-第6节

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y　the　control！　Bond's　thoughts　raced。
　The　two　underlings　were　ing　back。　They　went　into　the　shaft　and　the　rose　bush　closed　over　it。　The　leader　with　his　machine　would　be　among　the　bushes　on　the　verge　of　the　road。　Bond　glanced　at　his　watch。　Six…fifty…five。　Of　course！　He　would　be　waiting　to　see　if　a　dispatch…rider　came　along。　Either　he　did　not　know　the　man　he　had　killed　was　doing　a　weekly　run；　which　was　unlikely；　or　he　was　assuming　that　SHAPE　would　now　change　the　routine　for　additional　security。　These　were　careful　people。　Probably　their　orders　were　to　clean　up　as　much　as　possible　before　the　summer　came　and　there　were　too　many　holidaymakers　about　in　the　forest。　Then　the　unit　might　be　pulled　out　and　put　back　again　in　the　winter。　Who　could　say　what　the　long…term　plans　were？　Sufficient　that　the　leader　was　preparing　for　another　kill。
　The　minutes　ticked　by。　At　seven…ten　the　leader　reappeared。　He　stood　in　the　shadow　of　a　big　tree　at　the　edge　of　the　clearing　and　whistled　once　on　a　brief；　high；　birdlike　note。　Immediately　the　rose　bush　began　to　open　and　the　two　underlings　came　out　and　followed　the　leader　back　into　the　trees。　In　two　minutes　they　were　back　with　the　motor…cycle　slung　between　them。　The　leader；　after　a　careful　look　round　to　see　that　they　had　left　no　traces；　followed　them　down　into　the　shaft　and　the　two　halves　of　the　rose　bush　closed　swiftly　behind　him。
　Half　an　hour　later　life　had　started　up　in　the　glade　again。　An　hour　later　still；　when　the　high　sun　had　darkened　the　shadows；　James　Bond　silently　edged　backwards　along　his　branch；　dropped　softly　on　to　a　patch　of　moss　behind　some　brambles　and　melted　carefully　back　into　the　forest。
　That　evening　Bond's　routine　call　with　Mary　Ann　Russell　was　a　stormy　one。　She　said：　〃You're　crazy。　I'm　not　going　to　let　you　do　it。　I'm　going　to　get　Head　of　F　to　ring　up　Colonel　Schreiber　and　tell　him　the　whole　story。　This　is　SHAPE's　job。　Not　yours。〃　
　Bond　said　sharply：　〃You'll　do　nothing　of　the　sort。　Colonel　Schreiber　says　he's　perfectly　happy　to　let　me　make　a　dummy　run　tomorrow　morning　instead　of　the　duty　dispatch…rider。　That's　all　he　needs　to　know　at　this　stage。　Reconstruction　of　the　crime　sort　of　thing。　He　couldn't　care　less。　He's　practically　closed　the　file　on　this　business。　Now；　be　a　good　girl　and　do　as　you're　told。　Just　put　my　report　on　the　printer　to　M。　He'll　see　the　point　of　me　cleaning　this　thing　up。　He　won't　object。〃
　〃Damn　M！　Damn　you！　Damn　the　whole　silly　Service！〃　There　were　angry　tears　in　the　voice。　〃You're　just　a　lot　of　children　playing　at　Red　Indians。　Taking　these　people　on　by　yourself！　It's　…　it's　showing　off。　That's　all　it　is。　Showing　off。〃
　Bond　was　beginning　to　get　annoyed。　He　said：　〃That's　enough；　Mary　Ann。　Put　that　report　on　the　printer。　I'm　sorry；　but　it's　an　order。〃
　There　was　resignation　in　the　voice。　〃Oh；　all　right。　You　don't　have　to　pull　your　rank　on　me。　But　don't　get　hurt。　At　least　you'll　have　the　boys　from　the　local　Station　to　pick　up　the　bits。　Good　luck。〃
　〃Thanks；　Mary　Ann。　And　will　you　have　dinner　with　me　tomorrow　night？　Some　place　like　Armenonville。　Pink　champagne　and　gipsy　violins。　Paris　in　the　spring　routine。〃
　〃Yes；〃　she　said　seriously。　〃I'd　like　that。　But　then　take　care　all　the　more；　would　you？　Please？〃
　〃Of　course　I　will。　Don't　worry。　Goodnight。〃
　〃'Night。〃
　Bond　spent　the　rest　of　the　evening　putting　a　last　high　polish　on　his　plans　and　giving　a　final　briefing　to　the　four　men　from　the　Station。
　It　was　another　beautiful　day；　Bond；　sitting　fortably　astride　the　throbbing　BSA　waiting　for　the　off；　could　hardly　believe　in　the　ambush　that　would　now　be　waiting　for　him　just　beyond　the　Carrefour　Royal。　The　corporal　from　the　Signal　Corps　who　had　handed　him　his　empty　dispatch…case　and　was　about　to　give　him　the　signal　to　go　said：　〃You　look　as　if　you'd　been　in　the　Royal　Corps　all　your　life；　sir。　Time　for　a　haircut　soon；　I'd　say；　but　the　uniform's　bang　on。　How　d'you　like　the　bike；　sir？〃
　〃Goes　like　a　dream。　I'd　forgotten　what　fun　these　damned　things　are。〃
　〃Give　me　a　nice　little　Austin　A40　any　day；　sir。〃　The　corporal　looked　at　his　watch。　〃Seven　o'clock　just　ing　up。〃　He　held　up　his　thumb。　〃Okay。〃
　Bond　pulled　the　goggles　down　over　his　eyes；　lifted　a　hand　to　the　corporal；　kicked　the　machine　into　gear　and　wheeled　off　across　the　gravel　and　through　the　main　gates。
　Off　184　and　on　to　307；　through　Bailly　and　Noisy…le…Roi　and　there　was　the　straggle　of　St　Nom。　Here　he　would　be　turning　sharp　right　on　to　D98　…　the　'route　de　la　mort'；　as　the　handler　had　called　it。　Bond　pulled　into　the　grass　verge　and　once　more　looked　to　the　long…barrel　。45　Colt。　He　put　the　warm　gun　back　against　his　stomach　and　left　the　jacket　button　undone。　On　your　marks！　Get　set　。　。　。　！
　Bond　took　the　sharp　corner　and　accelerated　up　to　fifty。　The　viaduct　carrying　the　Paris　autoroute　loomed　up　ahead。　The　dark　mouth　of　the　tunnel　beneath　it　opened　and　swallowed　him。　The　noise　of　his　exhaust　was　gigantic；　and　for　an　instant　there　was　a　tunnel　smell　of　cold　and　damp。　Then　he　was　out　in　the　sunshine　again　and　immediately　across　the　Carrefour　Royal。　Ahead　the　oily　tarmac　glittered　dead　straight　for　two　miles　through　the　enchanted　forest　and　there　was　a　sweet　smell　of　leaves　and　dew。　Bond　cut　his　speed　to　forty。　The　driving…mirror　by　his　left　hand　shivered　slightly　with　his　speed。　It　showed　nothing　but　an　empty　unfurling　vista　of　road　between　lines　of　trees　that　curled　away　behind　him　like　a　green　wake。　No　sign　of　the　killer。　Had　he　taken　fright？　Had　there　been　some　hitch？　But　then　there　was　a　tiny　black　speck　in　the　centre　of　the　convex　glass　…　a　midge　that　became　a　fly　and　then　a　bee　and　then　a　beetle。　Now　it　was　a　crash　helmet　bent　low　over　handlebars　between　two　big　black　paws。　God；　he　was　ing　fast！　Bond's　eyes　flickered　from　the　mirror　to　the　road　ahead　and　back　to　the　mirror。　When　the　killer's　right　hand　went　for　his　gun　。　。　。　！
　Bond　slowed　…　thirty…five；　thirty；　twenty。　Ahead　the　tarmac　was　smooth　as　metal。　A　last　quick　look　in　the　mirror。　The　right　hand　had　left　the　handlebars。　The　sun　on　the　man's　goggles　made　huge　fiery　eyes　below　the　rim　of　the　crash　helmet。　Now！　Bond　braked　fiercely　and　skidded　the　BSA　through　forty…five　degrees；　killing　the　engine。　He　was　not　quite　quick　enough　on　the　draw。　The　killer's　gun　flared　twice　and　a　bullet　tore　into　the　saddle…springs　beside　Bond's　thigh。　But　then　the　Colt　spoke　its　single　word；　and　the　killer　and　his　BSA；　as　if　lassoed　from　within　the　forest；　veered　crazily　off　the　road；　leapt　the　ditch　and　crashed　head…on　into　the　trunk　of　a　beech。　For　a　moment　the　tangle　of　man　and　machinery　clung　to　the　broad　trunk　and　then；　with　a　metallic　death…rattle；　toppled　backwards　into　the　grass。
　Bond　got　off　his　machine　and　walked　over　to　the　ugly　twist　of　khaki　and　smoking　steel。　There　was　no　need　to　feel　for　a　pulse。　Wherever　the　bullet　had　struck；　the　crash　helmet　had　smashed　like　an　eggshell。　Bond　turned　away　and　thrust　his　gun　back　into　the　front　of　his　tunic。　He　had　been　lucky。　It　would　not　do　to　press　his　luck。　He　got　on　the　BSA　and　accelerated　back　down　the　road。
　He　leant　the　BSA　up　against　one　of　the　scarred　trees　just　inside　the　forest　and　walked　softly　through　to　the　edge　of　the　clearing。　He　took　up　his　stand　in　the　shadow　of　the　big　beech。　He　moistened　his　lips　and　gave；　as　near　as　he　could；　the　killer's　bird…whistle。　He　waited。　Had　he　got　the　whistle　wrong？　But　then　the　bush　trembled　and　the　high　thin　whine　began。　Bond　hooked　his　right　thumb　through　his　belt　within　inches　of　his　gun…butt。　He　hoped　he　would　not　have　to　do　any　more　killing。　The　two　underlings　had　not　seemed　to　be　armed。　With　any　luck　they　would　e　quietly。
　Now　the　curved　doors　were　open。　From　where　he　was；　Bond　could　not　see　down　the　shaft；　but　within　seconds　the　first　man　was　out　and　putting　on　his　snowshoes　and　the　second　followed。　Snowshoes！　Bond's　heart　missed　a　beat。　He　had　forgotten　them！　They　must　be　hidden　back　there　in　the　bushes。　Blasted　fool！　Would　they　notice？
　The　two　men　came　slowly　towards　him；　delicately　placing　their　feet。　When　he　was　about　twenty　feet　away；　the　leading　man　said　something　softly　in　what　sounded　like　Russian。　When　Bond　did　not　reply；　the　two　men　stopped　in　their　tracks。　They　stared　at　him　in　astonishment；　waiting　perhaps　for　the　answer　to　a　password。　Bond　sensed　trouble。　He　whipped　out　his　gun　and　moved　towards　them；　crouching。　〃Hands　up。〃　He　gestured　with　the　muzzle　of　the　Colt。　The　leading　man　shouted　an　order　and　threw　himself　forward。　At　the　same　time　the　second　man　made　a　dash　back　towards　the　hideout。　A　rifle　boomed　from　among　the　trees　and　the　man's　right　leg　buckled　under　him。　The　men　from　the　Station　broke　cover　and　came　running。　Bond　fell　to　one　knee　and　clubbed　upwards　with　his　gun…barrel　at　the　hurtling　body。　It　made　contact；　but　then　the　man　was　on　him。　Bond　saw　fingernails　flashing　towards　his　eyes；　ducked　and　ran　into　an　upper…cut。　Now　a　hand　was　at　his　right　wrist　and　his　gun　was　being　slowly　turned　on　him。　Not　wanting　to　kill；　he　had　kept　the　safety　catch　up。　He　tried　to　get　his　thumb　to　it。　A　boot　hit　him　in　the　side　of　the　head　and　he　let　the　gun　go　and　fell　back。　Through　a　red　mist　he　saw　the　muzzle　of　the　gun　pointing　at　his　face。　The　thought　flashed　through　his　mind　that　he　was　going　to　die　…　die　for　showing　mercy　。　。　。　！
　Su