if.thunderball-第19部分
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wn the four jets。 The great plane began a shallow dive。 The radio altimeter became vocal； threatening。 Petacchi watched it and the sea of quicksilver below him。 He had a moment when the horizon was lost。 There was so much reflection off the moonlit water。 Then he was on and over a small dark island。 It gave him confidence in the 2000 feet indicated on the altimeter。 He pulled out of the shallow dive and held the plane steady。
Now No。 1's beacon was ing in loud and clear。 Soon he would see the red flashing light。 And there it was； perhaps five miles dead ahead。 Petacchi inched the great nose of the plane down。 Any moment now！ It was going to be easy！ His fingers played with the controls as delicately as if they were the erotic trigger points on a woman。 Five hundred feet； four hundred； three； two 。 。 。 There was the pale shape of the yacht； lights dowsed。 He was dead on line with the red flash of the beacon。 Would he hit it？ Never mind。 Inch her down； down； down。 Be ready to switch off at once。 The belly of the plane gave a jolt。 Up with the nose！ Crash！ A leap in the air and then 。 。 。 crash again！ Petacchi unhinged his cramped fingers from the controls； and gazed numbly out of the window at the foam and small waves。 By God he had done it！ He； Giuseppe Petacchi； had done it！ Now for the applause！ Now for the rewards！ The plane was settling slowly and there was a hiss of steam from the submerging jets。 From behind him came the rip and crack of tearing metal as the tail section gaped open where the back of the plane had broken。 Petacchi went through into the fuselage。 The water swirled around his feet。 The filtering moonlight glittered white on the upturned face of one of the corpses now soggily awash at the rear of the plane。 Petacchi broke the perspex cover to the handle of the port side emergency exit and jerked the handle down。 The door fell outward and Petacchi stepped through and walked out along the wing。
The big jolly…boat was almost up with the plane。 There were six men in it。 Petacchi waved and shouted delightedly。 One man raised a hand in reply。 The faces of the men； milk…white under the moon； looked up at him quietly； curiously。 Petacchi thought： These men are very serious； very businesslike。 It is right so。 He swallowed his triumph and also looked grave。
The boat came alongside the wing； now almost awash； and one man climbed up on to the wing and walked toward him。 He was a short； thick man with a very direct gaze。 He walked carefully； his feet well apart and his knees flexed to keep his balance。 His left hand was hooked in his belt。
Petacchi said happily； 〃Good evening。 Good evening。 I am delivering one plane in good condition。〃 （He had thought the joke out long before。） 〃Please sign here。〃 He held out his hand。
The man from the jolly…boat took the hand in a strong grasp； braced himself； and pulled sharply。 Petacchi's head was flung back by the quick jerk and he was looking full into the eyes of the moon as the stiletto flashed up and under the offered chin； through the roof of the mouth； into the brain。 He knew nothing but a moment's surprise； a sear of pain； and an explosion of brilliant light。
The killer held in the knife for a moment； the back of hand feeling the stubble on Petacchi's chin； then lowered the body onto the wing and withdrew the knife。 He carefully rinsed the knife in the sea water and wiped the blade on Petacchi's back and put the knife away。 Then he hauled the body along the wing and thrust it under water beside the escape hatch。
The killer waded back along the wing to the waiting jolly…boat and laconically raised a thumb。 By now four of the men had pulled on their aqualungs。 One by one； with a last adjustment of their mouthpieces； they clumsily heaved themselves over the side of the rocking boat and sank in a foam of small bubbles。 When the last man had gone； the mechanic at the engine carefully lowered a huge underwater searchlight over the side and paid out the cable。 At a given moment he switched the light on and the sea and the great sinking hulk of the plane were lit up with a mist of luminescence。 The mechanic slipped the idling motor into gear and backed away； paying out cable as he went。 At twenty yards； out of range of the suction of the sinking plane； he stopped and switched off his engine。 He reached into his overalls and took out a packet of Camels。 He offered one to the killer； who took it； broke it carefully in half； put one half behind his ear； and lit the other half。 The killer was a man who rigidly controlled his weaknesses。
10。 The Disco Volante
On board the yacht； No。 1 put down his night glasses； took a Charvet handerkerchief out of the breast pocket of his white sharkskin jacket and dabbed gently at his forehead and temples。 The musky scent of Schiaparelli's Snuff was reassuring； reminding him of the easy side of life； of Dominetta who would now be sitting down to dinner…everyone kept Spanish hours in Nassau and cocktails would not have finished before ten…with the raffish but rather gay Saumurs and their equally frivolous guests； of the early game that would already be under way at the Casino； of the calypsos thudding into the night from the bars and night clubs on Bay Street。 He put the handkerchief back in his pocket。 But this also was good…this wonderful operation！ Like clockwork！ He glanced at his watch。 Just ten…fifteen。 The plane had been a bare thirty minutes late； a nasty half…hour to have to wait； but the landing had been perfect。 Vargas had done a good quick job on the Italian pilot…what was his name？…so that now they were running only fifteen minutes late。 If the recovery group didn't have to use oxyacetylene cutters to get out the bombs； they would soon make that up。 But one mustn't expect no hitch at all。 There was a good eight hours of darkness to go。 Calm； method； efficiency； in that order。 Calm； method； efficiency。 No。 1 ducked down off the bridge and went into the radio cabin。 It smelled of sweat and tension。 Anything from the Nassau control tower？ Any report of a low…flying plane？ Of a possible crash into the sea off Bimini？ Then keep watching and get me No。 2。 Quick； please。 It's just on the quarter。
No。 1 lit a cigarette and watched the yacht's big brain get to work； scanning the ether； listening； searching。 The operator played the dials with insect fingers； pausing； verifying； hastening on through the sound waves of the world。 Now he suddenly stopped； checked； minutely adjusted the volume。 He raised his thumb。 No 1 spoke into the sphere of wire mesh that rose before his mouth from the base of the headset。 〃No。 1 speaking。〃
〃No。 2 listening。〃 The voice was hollow。 The words waxed and waned。 But it was Blofeld； all right。 No。 1 knew that voice better than he remembered his father's。
〃Successful。 Ten…fifteen。 Next phase ten…forty…five。 Continuing。 Over。〃
〃Thank you。 Out。〃 The sound waves went dead。 The interchange had taken forty…five seconds。 No conceivable fear of interception in that time； on that waveband。
No。 1 went through the big stateroom and down into the hold。 The four men of B team； their aqualungs beside them； were sitting around smoking。 The wide underwater hatch just above the keel of the yacht was open。 Moonlight； reflected off the white sand under the ship； shone up through the six feet of water in the hold。 Stacked on the grating beside the men was the thick pile of tarpaulin painted a very pale café…au…lait with occasional irregular blotches of dark green and brown。 No。 1 said； 〃All is going very well。 The recovery team is at work。 It should not be long now。 How about the chariot and the sled？〃
One of the men jerked his thumb downward。 〃They are down there。 Outside on the sand。 So it will be quicker。〃
〃Correct。〃 No。 1 nodded toward a cranelike contraption fastened to a bulkhead above the hold。 〃The derrick took the strain all right？〃
〃That chain could handle twice the weight。〃
〃The pumps？〃
〃In order。 They will clear the hold in seven minutes。〃
〃Good。 Well； take it easy。 It will be a long night。〃 No。 1 climbed the iron ladder out of the hold and went up on deck。 He didn't need his night glasses。 Two hundred yards away to starboard the sea was empty save for the jolly…boat riding at anchor above the golden submarine glow。 The red marker light had been taken into the boat。 The rattle of the little generator making current for the big searchlight was loud。 It would carry far across a sea as still as this。 But accumulators would have been too bulky and might have exhausted themselves before the work was finished。 The generator was a calculated risk and a small one at that。 The nearest island was five miles away and uninhabited unless someone was having a midnight picnic on it。 The yacht had stopped and searched it on the way to the rendezvous。 Everything had been done that could be done； every precaution taken。 The wonderful machine was running silently and full out。 There was nothing to worry about now except the next step。 No。 1 went through the hatch into the enclosed bridge and bent over the lighted chart table。
Emilio Largo； No。 1； was a big； conspicuously handsome man of about forty。 He was a Roman and
