if.goldfinger-第9节

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　Bond　said　briefly；　'Wilco。'
　'Thanks。　'Bye。'
　〃Bye。〃　Bond　put　down　the　receiver。　He　picked　up　the　green　receiver　and　dialled　Q　Branch　and　talked　to　the　section　duty　officer。　It　would　be　all　right。　There　was　a　BOAC　Britannia　leaving　in　the　morning。　Q　Branch　would　see　that　the　crate　caught　the　plane。
　Bond　sat　back。　He　reached　for　a　cigarette　and　lit　it。　He　thought　of　the　badly　air…conditioned　little　office　on　the　waterfront　in　Hongkong；　saw　the　sweat　marks　on　the　white　shirt　of　279；；　whom　he　knew　well　and　who　had　just　called　himself　Dickson。　Now　279　would　probably　be　talking　to　his　number　two：　'It's　okay。　London　says　can　do。　Let's　just　go　over　this　ops。　schedule　again。'　Bond　smiled　wryly。　Better　they　than　he。　He'd　never　liked　being　up　against　the　Chinese。　There　were　too　many　of　them。　Station　H　might　be　stirring　up　a　hornets'　nest；　but　M　had　decided　it　was　time　to　show　the　opposition　that　the　Service　in　Hongkong　hadn't　quite　gone　out　of　business。
　When；　three　days　before；　M　had　first　told　him　his　name　was　down　for　night　duty；　Bond　hadn't　taken　to　the　idea。　He　had　argued　that　he　didn't　know　enough　about　the　routine　work　of　the　stations；　that　it　was　too　responsible　a　job　to　give　a　man　who　had　been　in　the　double…O　section　for　six　years　and　who　had　forgotten　all　he　had　ever　known　about　station　work。
　'You'll　soon　pick　it　up；'　M　had　said　unsympathetically。　'If　you　get　in　trouble　there　are　the　duty　section　officers　or　the　Chief　of　Staff　…　or　me；　for　the　matter　of　that。'　（Bond　had　smiled　at　the　thought　of　waking　M　up　in　the　middle　of　the　night　because　some　man　in　Cairo　or　Tokyo　was　in　a　flap。）　'Anyway；　I've　decided。　I　want　all　senior　officers　to　do　their　spell　of　routine。'　M　had　looked　frostily　across　at　Bond。　'Matter　of　fact；　007；　I　had　the　Treasury　on　to　me　the　other　day。　Their　liaison　man　thinks　the　double…O　section　is　redundant。　Says　that　kind　of　thing　is　out　of　date。　I　couldn't　bother　to　argue'　…　M's　voice　was　mild。　'Just　told　him　he　was　mistaken。'　（Bond　could　visualize　the　scene。）　'However；　won't　do　any　harm　for　you　to　have　some　extra　duties　now　you're　back　in　London。　Keep　you　from　getting　stale。'
　And　Bond　wasn't　minding　it。　He　was　half　way　through　his　first　week　and　so　far　it　had　just　been　a　question　of　mon　sense　or　passing　routine　problems　on　down　to　the　sections。　He　rather　liked　the　peaceful　room　and　knowing　everybody's　secrets　and　being　occasionally　fed　coffee　and　sandwiches　by　one　of　the　pretty　girls　from　the　canteen。
　On　the　first　night　the　girl　had　brought　him　tea。　Bond　had　looked　at　her　severely。　'I　don't　drink　tea。　I　hate　it。　It's　mud。　Moreover　it's　one　of　the　main　reasons　for　the　downfall　of　the　British　Empire。　Be　a　good　girl　and　make　me　some　coffee。'　The　girl　had　giggled　and　scurried　off　to　spread　Bond's　dictum　in　the　canteen。　From　then　on　he　had　got　his　coffee。　The　expression　'a　cup　of　mud'　was　seeping　through　the　building。
　A　second　reason　why　Bond　enjoyed　the　long　vacuum　of　night　duty　was　that　it　gave　him…　time　to　get　on　with　a　project　he　had　been　toying　with　for　more　than　a　year　…　a　handbook　of　all　secret　methods　of　unarmed　bat。　It　was　to　be　called　Stay　Alive！　It　would　contain　the　best　of　all　that　had　been　written　on　the　subject　by　the　Secret　Services　of　the　world。　Bond　had　told　no　one　of　the　project；　but　he　hoped　that；　if　he　could　finish　it；　M　would　allow　it　to　be　added　to　the　short　list　of　Service　manuals　which　contained　the　tricks　and　techniques　of　Secret　Intelligence。
　Bond　had　borrowed　the　original　textbooks；　or　where　necessary；　translations；　from　Records。　Most　of　the　books　had　been　captured　from　enemy　agents　or　organizations。　Some　。had　been　presented　to　M　by　sister　Services　such　as　OSS；　CIA　and　the　Deuxieme。　Now　Bond　drew　towards　him　a　particular　prize；　a　translation　of　the　manual；　entitled　simply　Defence；　issued　to　operatives　of　SMERSH；　the　Soviet　organization　of　vengeance　and　death。
　That　night　he　was　half　way　through　Chapter　Two；　whose　title；　freely　translated；　was　'e…along　and　Restraint　Holds'。　Now　he　went　back　to　the　book　and　read　for　half　an　hour　through　the　sections　dealing　with　the　conventional　'Wrist　e…along'；　'Arm　Lock　e…along'；　'Forearm　Lock'；　'Head　Hold'　and　'Use　of　Neck　Pressure　Points'。
　After　half　an　hour；　Bond　thrust　the　typescript　away　from　him。　He　got　up　and　went　across　to　the　window　and　stood　looking　out。　There　was　a　'nauseating　toughness　in　the　blunt　prose　the　Russians　used。　It　had　brought　on　another　of　the　attacks　of　revulsion　to　which　Bond　had　succumbed　ten　days　before　at　Miami　airport。　What　was　wrong　with　him？
　Couldn't　he　take　it　any　more？　Was　he　going　soft；　or　was　he　only　stale？　Bond　stood　for　a　while　watching　the　moon　riding；　careering；　through　the　clouds。　Then　he　shrugged　his　shoulders　and　went　back　to　his　desk。　He　decided　that　he　was　as　fed　up　with　the　variations　of　violent　physical　behaviour　as　a　psychoanalyst　must　bee　with　the　mental　aberrations　of　his　patients。
　Bond　read　again　the　passage　that　had　revolted　him：　'A　drunken　woman　can　also　usually　be　handled　by　using　the　thumb　and　forefinger　to　grab　the　lower　lip。　By　pinching　hard　and　twisting；　as　the　pull　is　made；　the　woman　will　e　along。'
　Bond　grunted。　The　obscene　delicacy　of　that'thumb　and　forefinger'！　Bond　lit　a　cigarette　and　stared　into　the　filament　of　the　desk　light；　switching　his　mind　to　other　things；　wishing　that　a　signal　would　e　in　or　the　telephone　ring。　Another　five　hours　to　go　before　the　nine　o'clock　report　to　the　Chief　of　Staff　or　to　M；　if　M　happened　to　e　in　early。　There　was　something　nagging　at　his　mind；　something　he　had　wanted　to　check　on　when　he　had　the　time。　What　was　it？　What　had　triggered　off　the　reminder？　Yes；　that　was　it；　'forefinger'　…Goldfinger。　He　would　see　if　Records　had　anything　on　the　man。
　Bond　picked　up　the　green　telephone　and　dialled　Records。
　'Doesn't　ring　a　bell；　sir。　I'll　check　and　call　you　back。'
　Bond　put　down　the　receiver。
　It　had　been　a　wonderful　trip　up　in　the　train。　They　had　eaten　the　sandwiches　and　drunk　the　champagne　and　then；　to　the　rhythm　of　the　giant　diesels　pounding　out　the　miles；　they　had　made　long；　slow　love　in　the　narrow　berth。　It　had　been　as　if　the　girl　was　starved　of　physical　love。　She　had　woken　him　twice　more　in　the　night　with　soft　demanding　caresses；　saying　nothing；　just　reaching　for　his　hard；　lean　body。　The　next　day　she　had　twice　pulled　down　the　roller　blinds　to　shut　out　the　hard　light　and　had　taken　him　by　the　hand　and　said；　'Love　me；　James'　as　if　she　was　a　child　asking　for　a　sweet。
　Even　now　Bond　could　hear　the　quick　silver　poem　of　the　level…crossing　bells；　the　wail　of　the　big　windhorn　out　front　and　the　quiet　outside　clamour　at　the　stations　when　they　lay　and　waited　for　the　sensual　gallop　of　the　wheels　to　begin　again。
　Jill　Masterton　had　said　that　Goldfinger　had　been　relaxed；　indifferent　over　his　defeat。　He　had　told　the　girl　to　tell　Bond　that　he　would　be　over　in　England　in　a　week's　time　and　would　like　to　have　that　game　of　golf　at　Sandwich。　Nothing　else　…　no　threats；　no　curses。　He　had　said　he　would　expect　the　girl　back　by　the　next　train。　Jill　had　told　Bond　she　would　go。　Bond　had　argued　with　her。　But　she　was　not　frightened　of　Goldfinger。　What　could　he　do　to　her？　And　it　was　a　good　job。
　Bond　had　decided　to　give　her　the　ten　thousand　dollars　Mr　Du　Pont　had　shuffled　into　his　hand　with　a　stammer　of　thanks　and　congratulations。　Bond　made　her　take　the　money。　'I　don't　want　it；'　Bond　had　said。　'Wouldn't　know　what　to　do　with　it。　Anyway；　keep　it　as　mad　money　in　case　you　want　to　get　away　in　a　hurry。　It　ought　to　be　a　million。　I　shall　never　forget　last　night　and　today。'
　Bond　had　taken　her　to　the　station　and　had　kissed　her　once　hard　on　the　lips　and　had　gone　away。　It　hadn't　been　love；　but　a　quotation　had　e　into　Bond's　mind　as　his　cab　moved　out　of　Pennsylvania　station：　'Some　love　is　fire；　some　love　is　rust。　But　the　finest；　cleanest　love　is　lust。'　Neither　had　had　regrets。　Had　they　mitted　a　sin？　If　so；　which　one？　A　sin　against　chastity？　Bond　smiled　to　himself。　There　was　a　quotation　for　that　too；　and　from　a　saint　…　Saint　Augustine：　'Oh　Lord；　give　me　Chastity。　But　don't　give　it　yet！'
　The　green　telephone　rang。　'Three　Goldfingers；　sir；　but　two　of　them　are　dead。　The　third's　a　Russian　post　office　in　Geneva。　Got　a　hairdressing　business。　Slips　the　messages　into　the　right…hand　coat　pocket　when　he　brushes　the　customers　down。　He　lost　a　leg　at　Stalingrad。　Any　good；　sir？　There's　plenty　more　on　him。'
　'No　thanks。　That　couldn't　be　my　man。'
　'We　could　put　a　trace　through　CID　Records　in　the　morning。　Got　a　picture；　sir？'
　Bond　remembered　the　Leica　film。　He　hadn't　even　bothered　to　have　it　developed。　It　would　be　quicker　to　mock　up　the　man's　face　on　the　Identicast。　He　said；　'Is　the　Identicast　room　free？'
　'Yes；　sir。　And　I　can　operate　it　for　you　if　you　like。'
　'Thanks。　I'll　e　down。'
　Bond　told　the　switchboard　to　let　heads　of　sections　know　where　he　would　be　and　went　out　and　took　the　lift　down　to　Records　on　the　first　floor。
　The　big　building　was　extraordinarily　quiet　at　night。　Be　neath　the　silence　there　was　a　soft　whisper　of　machinery　and　hidden　life　…　the　muffled　clack　of　a　typewriter　as　Bond　passed　a　door；　a　quickly　suppressed　stammer　of　radio　static　as　he　passed　another；　the　soft　background　whine　of　the　ventilation　system。　It　gave　you　the　impression　of　being　in　a　battles