if.goldfinger-第14节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


hrough　the　sprawl　of　Rochester　and　Chatham。
　Bond　settled　back　into　second　and　let　the　car　idle。　He　reached　for　the　wide　gunmetal　case　of　Morland　cigarettes　on　the　neighbouring　bucket　seat；　fumbled　for　one　and　lit　it　from　the　dashboard。
　He　had　chosen　the　A2　in　preference　to　the　A20　to　Sandwich　because　he　wanted　to　take　a　quick　look　at　Goldfinger…land　…　Reculver　and　those　melancholy　forsaken　reaches　of　the　Thames　which　Goldfinger　had　chosen　for　his　parish。　He　would　then　cross　the　Isle　of　Thanet　to　Ramsgate　and　leave　his　bag　at　the　Channel　Packet；　have　an　early　lunch　and　be　off　to　Sandwich。
　The　car　was　from　the　pool。　Bond　had　been　offered　the　Aston　Martin　or　a　Jaguar　3。4。　He　had　taken　the　DBIII。　Either　of　the　cars　would　have　suited　his　cover　…　a　well…to…do；　rather　adventurous　young　man　with　a　taste　for　the　good；　the　fast　things　of　life。　But　the　DB　III　had　the　advantage　of　an　up…to…date　triptyque；　an　inconspicuous　colour　…　battleship　grey　…and　certain　extras　which　might　or　might　not　e　in　handy。　These　included　switches　to　alter　the　type　and　colour　of　Bond's　front　and　rear　lights　if　he　was　following　or　being　followed　at　night；　reinforced　steel　bumpers；　fore　and　aft；　in　case　he　needed　to　ram；　a　long…barrelled　Colt　。45　in　a　trick　partment　under　the　driver's　seat；　a　radio　pick…up　tuned　to　receive　an　apparatus　called　the　Homer；　and　plenty　of　concealed　space　that　would　fox　most　Customs　men。
　Bond　saw　a　chance　and　picked　up　fifty　yards；　sliding　into　a　ten…yard　gap　left　by　a　family　saloon　of　slow　reactions。　The　man　at　the　wheel；　who　wore　that　infallible　badge　of　the　bad　driver；　a　hat　clamped　firmly　on　the　exact　centre　of　his　head；　hooted　angrily。　Bond　reached　out　of　the　window　and　raised　an　enigmatically　clenched　fist。　The　hooting　stopped。
　And　now　what　about　this　theory　of　M's？　It　made　sense。　The　Russians　were　notoriously　inpetent　payers　of　their　men。　Their　centres　were　always　running　out　of　funds　…　their　men　plaining　to　Moscow　that　they　couldn't　afford　a　square　meal。　Perhaps　SMERSH　couldn't　get　the　valuta　out　of　the　Ministry　of　Home　Security。　Or　perhaps　the　Ministry　of　Home　Security　couldn't　get　the　money　out　of　the　Ministry　of　Finance。　But　it　had　always　been　the　same　…　endless　money　troubles　that　resulted　in　missed　chances；　broken　promises　and　waste　of　dangerous　radio　time。　It　would　make　sense　to　have　a　clever　financial　brain　somewhere　outside　Russia　who　could　not　only　transmit　funds　to　the　centres　but　also；　in　this　case；　make　profits　large　enough　to　run　the　SMERSH　centres　abroad　without　any　financial　assistance　from　Moscow。　Not　only　that。　On　the　side；　Goldfinger　was　appreciably　damaging　the　currency　base　of　an　enemy　country。　If　all　this　was　correct；　it　was　typical　of　SMERSH　…　a　brilliant　scheme；　faultlessly　operated　by　an　outstanding　man。　And　that；　reflected　Bond　as　he　roared　up　the　hill　into　Chatham；　putting　half　a　dozen　cars　behind　him；　would　partly　explain　Goldfinger's　greed　for　more　and　still　more　money。　Devotion　to　the　cause；　to　SMERSH；　and　perhaps　the　dangled　prize　of　an　Order　of　Lenin；　would　be　the　spur　to　pick　up　even　ten　or　twenty　thousand　dollars　when　the　odds　were　right　or　could　be　favourably　adjusted。　The　funds　for　Red　Revolution；　for　the　discipline　by　fear　that　was　the　particular　speciality　of　SMERSH；　could　never　be　big　enough。　Goldfinger　was　not　making　the　money　for　himself。　He　was　making　it　for　the　conquest　of　the　world！　The　minor　risk　of　being　found　out；　as　he　had　been　by　Bond；　was　nothing。　Why？　What　could　the　Bank　of　England　get　him　if　every　single　one　of　his　past　operations　could　be　exposed？　Two　years？　Three？
　The　traffic　was　thinning　through　the　outskirts　of　Gilling…ham。　Bond　started　motoring　again；　but　easily　now；　not　hurrying；　following　his　thoughts　as　the　hands　and　feet　went　through　their　automatic　responses。
　So；　in'thirty…seven；　SMERSH　must　have　sent　Goldfinger　out　With　the　belt　of　gold　round　his　young　waist。　He　had　shown　his　special　aptitudes；　his　acquisitive　bent；　during　his　training　in　the　spy　school　in　Leningrad。　He　would　have　been　told　there　would　be　a　war；　that　he　must　dig　himself　in　and　start　quietly　accumulating。　Goldfinger　must　never　dirty　his　hands；　never　meet　an　agent；　never　receive　or　pass　a　message。　Some　routine　would　have　been　arranged。　'Second…hand　'39　Vauxhall。　First　offer　of　￡1000　secures'；　'Immaculate　Rover；　￡2000'；　'Bentley；　￡5000'。　Always　an　advertisement　that　would　not　attract　attention　or　correspondence。　The　prices　would　be　just　too　high；　the　description　inadequate。　In　the　Agony　column　of　The　Times；　perhaps。　And；　obediently；　Goldfinger　would　leave　the　two　thousand　pounds　or　the　five　thousand　pounds　gold　bar　at　one　of　a　long；　a　very　long　series　of　post…boxes　that　had　been　arranged　in　Moscow　before　he　left。　A　particular　bridge；　a　hollow　tree；　under　a　rock　in　a　stream　somewhere；　anywhere　in　England。　And　he　would　never；　on　any　account；　visit　that　postbox　again。　It　was　up　to　Moscow　to　see　that　the　agent　got　to　the　hidden　treasure。　Later；　after　the　war；　when　Goldfinger　was　blossoming　out；　when　he　had　bee　a　big　man；　the　postboxes　would　no　longer　be　bridges　and　trees。　Now　he　would　be　given　dates　and　safety　deposit　box　numbers；　left…luggage　lockers　at　stations。　But　still　there　would　be　the　rule　that　Goldfinger　must　never　revisit　the　scene；　never　endanger　himself。　Perhaps　he　would　only　get　his　instructions　once　a　year；　at　a　casual　meeting　in　some　park；　in　a　letter　slipped　into　his　pocket　on　a　train　journey。　But　always　it　would　be　bars　of　gold；　anonymous；　untraceable　if　captured　…　except　for　the　tiny　Z　that　his　vanity　had　scratched　on　his　handiwork　and　that　a　dull　dog　at　the　Bank　of　England　called　Colonel　Smithers　had　happened　upon　in　the　course　of　his　duties。
　Now　Bond　was　running　through　the　endless　orchards　of　the　Faversham　growers。　The　sun　had　e　out　from　behind；　the　smog　of　London。　There　was　the　distant　gleam　of　the　Thames　on　his　left。　There　was　traffic　on　the　river　…　long；　glistening　tankers；　stubby　merchantmen；　antediluvian　Dutch　Schuyts。　Bond　left　the　Canterbury　road　and　switched　on　to　the　incongruously　rich　highway　that　runs　through　the　cheap　bungaloid　world　of　the　holiday　lands　…　Whitstable；　Herne　Bay；　Birchington；　Margate。　He　still　idled　along　at　fifty；　holding　the　racing　wheel　on　a　light　rein；　listening　to　the　relaxed　purr　of　the　exhausts；　fitting　the　bits　of　his　thoughts　info　the　jigsaw　as　he　had　done　two　nights　before　with　Goldfinger's　face　on　the　Identicast。
　And；　Bond　reflected；　while　Goldfinger　was　pumping　a　million；　two　million　pounds　a　year　into　the　bloody　maw　of　SMERSH；　he　was　pyramiding　his　reserves；　working　on　them；　making　them　work　for　him　whenever　the　odds　were　right；　piling　up　the　surplus　for　the　day　when　the　trumpets　would　sound　in　the　Kremlin　and　every　golden　sinew　would　be　mobilized。　And　no　one　outside　Moscow　had　been　watching　the　process；　no　one　suspected　that　Goldfinger　…　the　jeweller；　the　metallurgist；　the　resident　of　Reculver　and　Nassau；　the　respected　member　of　Blades；　of　the　Royal　St　Marks　at　Sandwich　…　was　one　of　the　greatest　conspirators　of　all　time；　that　he　had　financed　the　murder　of　hundreds；　perhaps　thousands　of　victims　of　SMERSH　all　over　the　world。　SMERSH；　Smiert　Spionam；　Death　to　Spies　…　the　murder　Apparat　of　the　High　Praesidium！　And　only　M　suspected　it；　only　Bond　knew　it。　And　here　was　Bond；　launched　against　this　man　by　a　series　of　flukes；　a　train　of　coincidence　that　had　been　started　by　a　plane　breaking　down　on　the　other　side　of　the　world。　Bond　smiled　grimly　to　himself。　How　often　in　his　profession　had　it　been　the　same　…　the　tiny　acorn　of　coincidence　that　soared　into　the　mighty　oak　whose　branches　darkened　the　sky。　And　now；　once　again；　he　was　setting　out　to　bring　the　dreadful　growth　down。　With　what？　A　bag　of　golf　clubs？
　A　repainted　sky…blue　Ford　Popular　with　large　yellow　ears　was　scurrying　along　the　crown　of　the　road　ahead。　Mechanically　Bond　gave　the　horn　ring　a　couple　of　short；　polite　jabs。　There　was　no　reaction。　The　Ford　Popular　was　doing　its　forty。　Why　should　anyone　want　to　go　more　than　that　respectable　speed？　The　Ford　obstinately　hunched　its　shoulders　and　kept　on　its　course。　Bond　gave　it　a　sharp　blast；　expecting　it　to　swerve。　He　had　to　touch　his　brakes　when　it　didn't。　Damn　the　man！　Of　course！　The　usual　tense　figure；　hands　held　too　high　up　on　the　wheel；　and　the　inevitable　hat；　this　time　a　particularly　hideous　black　bowler；　square　on　a　large　bullet　head。　Oh　well；　thought　Bond；　they　weren't　his　stomach　ulcers。　He　changed　down　and　contemptuously　slammed　the　DB　III　past　on　the　inside。　Silly　bastard！
　Another　five　miles　and　Bond　was　through　the　dainty　tele…world　of　Herne　Bay。　The　howl　of　Mansion　sounded　away　on　his　right。　A　flight　of　three　Super　Sabres　came　in　to　land。　They　skimmed　below　his　right…Hand　horizon　as　if　they　were　diving　into　the　earth。　With　half　his　mind；　Bond　heard　the　roar　of　their　jets　catch　up　with　them　as　they　landed　and　taxied　in　to　the　hangars。　He　came　up　with　a　crossroads。　To　the　left　the　signpost　said　RECULVER。　Underneath　was　the　ancient　monument　sign　for　Reculver　church。　Bond　slowed；　but　didn't　stop。　No　hanging　about。　He　motored　slowly　on；　keeping　his　eyes　open。　The　shoreline　was　too　exposed　for　a　trawler　to　do　anything　but　beach　or　anchor。　Probably　Gold…finger　had　used　Ramsgate。　Quiet　little　port。　Customs　and　police　who　were　p