if.thunderball-第17部分

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aid　the　words　there　came　a　dull　boom　and　a　cloud　of　black　smoke。　The　flames　spurted；　In　the　distance；　sirens　sounded。　Bond　edged　through　the　people　and　strode　quickly　back　toward　his　headquarters；　his　thoughts　racing。
　
　The　inquiry　made　Bond　lose　two　planes　to　New　York。　By　the　time　the　police　had　put　out　the　fire　and　had　transported　the　bits　of　man　and　the　bits　of　machinery　and　bomb　casing　to　the　morgue　it　was　quite　clear　that　they　would　have　nothing　to　go　on　but　the　shoes；　the　number　on　the　gun；　some　fibers　and　shreds　of　clothing；　and　the　car。　The　car…hire　people　remembered　nothing　but　a　man　with　dark　glasses；　a　driver's　license　in　the　name　of　Johnston；　and　a　handful　of　fivers。　The　car　had　been　hired　three　days　before　for　one　week。　Plenty　of　people　remembered　the　motorcyclist；　but　it　seemed　that　he　had　no　rear　number　plate。　He　had　gone　like　a　bat　out　of　hell　toward　Baker　Street。　He　wore　goggles。　Medium　build。　Nothing　else。
　
　Bond　had　not　been　able　to　help。　He　had　seen　nothing　of　the　Volkswagen　driver。　The　roof　of　the　Volkswagen　had　been　too　low。　There　had　only　been　a　hand　and　the　glitter　of　a　gun。
　
　The　Secret　Service　asked　for　a　copy　of　the　police　report　and　M　instructed　that　this　should　be　sent　to　the　Thunderball　war　room。　He　saw　Bond　briefly　again；　rather　impatiently；　as　if　it　had　all　been　Bond's　fault。　Then　he　told　Bond　to　forget　about　it…it　was　probably　something　to　do　with　one　of　his　past　cases。　A　hangover　of　some　kind。　The　police　would　get　to　the　bottom　of　it　in　time。　The　main　thing　was　operation　Thunderball　。　Bond　had　better　get　a　move　on。
　
　By　the　time　Bond　left　the　building　for　the　second　time；　it　had　begun　to　rain。　One　of　the　mechanics　from　the　car　pool　at　the　back　of　the　building　had　done　what　he　could；　knocking　out　the　remains　of　the　Bentley's　windscreen　and　cleaning　the　bits　out　of　the　car；　but　when　he　got　home　at　lunch　time　Bond　was　soaked　to　the　skin。　He　left　the　car　in　a　nearby　garage；　telephoned　Rolls　and　his　insurance　pany　（he　had　got　too　close　to　a　lorry　carrying　steel　lengths；　for　reinforced　concrete　presumably。　No；　he　had　not　got　the　lorry's　number。　Sorry；　but　you　know　how　it　is　when　these　things　happen　all　of　a　sudden）；　and　then　went　home　and　had　a　bath　and　changed　into　his　dark　blue　tropical　worsted。　He　packed　carefully…one　large　suitcase　and　a　hold…all　for　his　underwater　swimming　gear…and　went　through　to　the　kitchen。
　
　May　was　looking　rather　contrite。　It　seemed　as　if　she　might　make　another　speech。　Bond　held　up　his　hand。　〃Don't　tell　me；　May。　You　were　right。　I　can't　do　my　work　on　carrot　juice。　I've　got　to　be　off　in　an　hour　and　I　need　some　proper　food。　Be　an　angel　and　make　me　your　kind　of　scrambled　eggs…four　eggs。　Four　rashers　of　that　American　hickory…smoked　bacon　if　we've　got　any　left；　hot　buttered　toast…your　kind；　not　whole…meal…and　a　big　pot　of　coffee；　double　strength。　And　bring　in　the　drink　tray。〃
　
　May　looked　at　him；　relieved　but　aghast。　〃Whatever　happened；　Mr。　James？〃
　
　Bond　laughed　at　the　expression　on　her　face。　〃Nothing；　May。　It　just　occurred　to　me　that　life's　too　short。　Plenty　of　time　to　watch　the　calories　when　one　gets　to　heaven。〃
　
　Bond　left　May　tut…tutting　at　this　profanity；　and　went　off　to　look　to　his　armament。
　
　9。　Multiple　Requiem
　
　So　far　as　SPECTRE　was　concerned；　Plan　Omega　had　gone　exactly　as　Blofeld　had　known　it　would　and　Phases　I　to　III　in　their　entirety　had　been　pleted　on　schedule　and　without　a　hitch。
　
　Giuseppe　Petacchi；　the　late　Giuseppe　Petacchi；　had　been　well　chosen。　At　the　age　of　eighteen　he　had　been　co…pilot　of　a　Fockewulf　200　from　the　Adriatic　anti…submarine　patrol；　one　of　the　few　hand…picked　Italian　airmen　who　had　been　allowed　to　handle　these　German　planes。　The　group　was　issued　with　the　latest　German　pressure　mines　charged　with　the　new　Hexogen　explosive　just　when　the　tide　had　turned　in　the　Allied　battle　up　the　spine　of　Italy。　Petacchi　had　known　where　his　destiny　lay　and　had　gone　into　business　for　himself。　On　a　routine　patrol；　he　had　shot　the　pilot　and　the　navigator；　very　carefully；　with　one　。38　bullet　in　the　back　of　the　head　for　each　of　them；　and　had　brought　the　big　plane　skimming　in；　just　above　the　waves　to　avoid　the　antiaircraft　fire；　to　the　harbor　of　Bari。　Then　he　had　hung　his　shirt　out　of　the　cockpit　as　a　token　of　surrender　and　had　waited　for　the　R。A。F。　launch。　He　had　been　decorated　by　the　English　and　the　Americans　for　this　exploit　and　had　been　awarded　￡10；000　from　special　funds　for　his　presentation　to　the　Allies　of　the　pressure　mine。　He　had　told　a　highly　colored　story　to　the　Intelligence　people　of　having　been　a　one…man　resistance　ever　since　he　had　been　old　enough　to　join　the　Italian　Air　Force；　and　he　emerged　at　the　end　of　the　war　as　one　of　Italy's　most　gallant　resistance　heroes。　From　then　on　life　had　been　easy…pilot　and　later　captain　in　Alitalia　when　it　got　going　again；　and　then　back　into　the　new　Italian　Air　Force　as　colonel。　His　secondment　to　NATO　followed　and　then　his　appointment　as　one　of　the　six　Italians　chosen　for　the　Advance　Striking　Force。　But　he　was　now　thirty…four；　and　it　occurred　to　him　that　he　had　had　just　about　enough　of　flying。　He　especially　did　not　care　for　the　idea　of　being　part　of　the　spearhead　of　NATO　defenses。　It　was　time　for　younger　men　to　provide　the　heroics。　And　all　his　life　he　had　had　a　passion　for　owning　things…flashy；　exciting；　expensive　things。　He　had　most　of　what　he　desired…a　couple　of　gold　cigarette　cases；　a　solid　gold　Rolex　Oyster　Perpetual　Chronometer　on　a　flexible　gold　bracelet；　a　white　convertible　Lancia　Gran　Turismo；　plenty　of　sharp　clothes；　and　all　the　girls　he　wanted　（he　had　once　been　briefly　married　but　it　had　not　been　a　success）。　Now　he　desired；　and　what　he　desired　he　often　got；　a　particular　Ghia…bodied　3500　G。T。　Maserati　he　had　seen　at　the　Milan　motor　show。　He　also　wanted　Out…out　of　the　pale　green　corridors　of　NATO；　out　of　the　Air　Force；　and；　therefore；　off　to　new　worlds　with　a　new　name。　Rio　de　Janeiro　sounded　just　right。　But　all　this　meant　a　new　passport；　plenty　of　money；　and　〃organismo〃…the　vital　〃organismo。〃
　
　The　organismo　turned　up；　and　turned　up　bearing　just　those　gifts　that　Petacchi　lusted　for。　It　came　in　the　shape　of　an　Italian　named　Fonda　who　was　at　that　time　No。　4　in　SPECTRE　and　who　had　been　casing　the　personnel　of　NATO；　via　Versailles　and　Paris　night　clubs　and　restaurants；　for　just　such　a　man。　It　had　taken　one　whole　very　careful　month　to　prepare　the　bait　and　inch　it　forward　toward　the　fish　and；　when　it　was　finally　presented；　No。　4　had　been　almost　put　off　by　the　greed　with　which　it　had　been　gobbled。　There　was　delay　while　the　possibility　of　a　double…cross　was　probed　by　SPECTRE；　but　finally　all　the　lights　were　green　and　the　full　proposition　was　laid　out　for　inspection。　Petacchi　was　to　get　on　the　Vindicator　training　course　and　highjack　the　plane。　（There　was　no　mention　of　atomic　weapons。　This　was　a　Cuban　revolutionary　group　who　wanted　to　call　attention　to　its　existence　and　aims　by　a　dramatic　piece　of　self…advertisement。　Petacchi　closed　his　ears　to　this　specious　tale。　He　didn't　mind　in　the　least　who　wanted　the　plane　so　long　as　he　was　paid。）　In　exchange；　Petacchi　would　receive　1；000；000；　a　new　passport　in　any　name　and　nationality　he　chose；　and　immediate　onward　passage　from　the　point　of　delivery　to　Rio　de　Janeiro。　Many　details　were　discussed　and　perfected；　and　when；　at　eight　o'clock　in　the　evening　of　that　June　2nd；　the　Vindicator　screamed　off　down　the　runway　and　out　over　St。　Alban's　Head；　Petacchi　was　tense　but　confident。
　
　For　the　training　flights；　a　couple　of　ordinary　civil　aircraft　seats　had　been　fixed　inside　the　roomy　fuselage　just　back　of　the　large　cockpit；　and　Petacchi　sat　quietly　for　a　whole　hour　and　watched　the　five　men　at　work　at　the　crowded　dials　and　instruments。　When　it　came　to　his　turn　to　fly　the　plane　he　was　quite　satisfied　that　he　could　dispense　with　all　five　of　them。　Once　he　had　set　George；　there　would　be　nothing　to　do　but　stay　awake　and　make　certain　from　time　to　time　that　he　was　keeping　exactly　at　32；000　feet；　just　above　the　transatlantic　air　channel。　There　would　be　a　tricky　moment　when　he　turned　off　the　east…west　channel　on　to　the　North…South　for　the　Bahamas；　but　this　had　all　been　worked　out　for　him　and　every　move　he　would　have　to　make　was　written　down　in　the　notebook　in　his　breast　pocket。　The　landing　was　going　to　need　very　steady　nerves；　but　for　1；000；000　the　steady　nerves　would　be　summoned。
　
　For　the　tenth　time　Petacchi　consulted　the　Rolex。　Now！　He　verified　and　tested　the　oxygen　mask　in　the　bulkhead　beside　him　and　laid　it　down　ready。　Next　he　took　the　little　red…ringed　cylinder　out　of　his　pocket　and　remembered　exactly　how　many　turns　to　give　the　release　valve。　Then　he　put　it　back　in　his　pocket　and　went　through　into　the　cockpit。
　
　〃Hullo；　Seppy。　Enjoying　the　flight？〃　The　pilot　liked　the　Italian。　They　had　gone　out　together　on　one　or　two　majestic　thrashes　in　Bournemouth。
　
　〃Sure；　sure。〃　Petacchi　asked　some　questions；　verified　the　course　set　on　George；　checked　the　air　speed　and　altitude。　Now　everyone　in　the　cockpit　was　relaxed；　almost　drowsy。　Five　more　hours　to　go。　Rather　a　bind　missing　North　by　Northwest　at　the　Odeon。　But　one　would　catch　up　with　it　at　Southampton。　Petacchi　stood　with　his　back　to　the　metal　map　rack　that　held　the　log　and　the　charts。