«Fine,» said Bond. He thought it was time to get out before he made a mistake. «Now,» he said efficiently. «Is there anything else?»
«No,» she said, and then sharply, as if she had just remembered something. «What’s the time?»
Bond looked at his watch. «Ten to six.»
«I’ve got to get busy,» she said. With a movement of dismissal she walked towards the door. Bond followed her. With her hand on the key she turned. She looked at him, and there was confidence and almost warmth in her eyes. «You’ll be all right,» she said. «Just keep away from me in the plane. Don’t panic if anything goes wrong. If you work out okay,» the patronizing note came back to her voice, «I’ll try and get you some more of the same sort of jobs.»
«Thanks,» said Bond. «I’d appreciate that. I’d enjoy working with you.»
With a slight shrug of the shoulders, she opened the door and Bond walked out into the corridor.
He turned. «See you at this ‘21’ place of yours,» he said. He wanted to say more, to find an excuse to stay with her, with this lonely girl who played the gramophone and gazed at herself in the mirror.
But now her expression was remote. He might have been a complete stranger. «Sure,» she said indifferently. She looked at him once more and then she closed the door slowly but firmly in his face.
As Bond walked away down the long corridor to the lift, the girl stood just inside the door and listened until his footsteps had vanished. Then, with brooding eyes, she walked slowly over to the gramophone and switched it on. She picked up the Feyer record and searched for the groove she wanted. She put the record on the machine and found the place with the needle. The tune was Je n’en connais fas la fin. She stood listening to it and wondering about the man who had suddenly, out of the blue, found his way into her life. God, she thought to herself with sudden angry despair, another dam crook. Couldn’t she ever get away from them? But when the record stopped her face was happy, and she hummed the tune as she powdered her nose and got ready to go out.
Out on the street she paused and looked at her watch. Ten minutes past six. Five minutes to go. She walked across Trafalgar Square to Charing Cross Station, arranging in her mind what she was going to say. Then she went into the station and into one of the call-boxes she always used.
It was just 6.15 when she dialled the Welbeck number. After the usual two rings she heard the click of the automatic recorder taking the call. For twenty seconds she heard nothing but the sharp hiss of a needle on wax. Then the neutral voice that was her unknown master said the one word ‘Speak’. And then there was silence again except for the hiss of the recorder.
She had long got over being flustered by the abrupt, disembodied command. She spoke rapidly but distinctly into the black mouthpiece. «Case to ABC. I repeat. Case to ABC.» She paused. «Carrier is satisfactory. Says real name is James Bond and will use that name on passport. Plays golf and will carry golf clubs. Suggest golf balls. Uses Dunlop 65’s. All other arrangements stand. Will call for confirmation at 1915 and 2015. That’s all.»
She listened for a moment to the hiss of the recorder; then she put down the receiver and walked back to her hotel. She called Room Service for a large dry Martini and when it came she sat and smoked and played the gramophone and waited for 7.15.
Then, or perhaps not until she called back again at 8.15, the neutral, muffled voice would come back at her over the telephone wire: «ABC to Case. I repeat. ABC to Case…» And then would follow her instructions.
And somewhere, in some rented room in London, the hiss of the recorder would stop as she put back the receiver. And then, perhaps, an unknown door would close and footsteps would softly sound on some stairs and out into an unknown street and away.
6. IN TRANSIT
IT was six o’clock on Thursday evening and Bond was packing his suitcase in his bedroom at the Ritz. It was a battered but once expensive pigskin Revelation and its contents were appropriate to his cover. Evening clothes; his lightweight black and white dog-tooth suit for the country and for golf; Saxone golf shoes; a companion to the dark blue, tropical worsted suit he was wearing, and some white silk and dark blue Sea Island cotton shirts with collars attached and short sleeves. Socks and ties, some nylon underclothes, and two pairs of the long silk pyjama coats he wore in place of two-piece pyjamas.
None of these things bore, or had ever borne, any name-tags or initials.
Bond completed his task and proceeded to fit his remaining possessions, his shaving and washing gear, Tommy Armour on How to Play your Best Golf all the Time, and his tickets and passport into a small attache case, also of battered pigskin. This had been prepared for him by Q Branch and there was a narrow compartment under the leather at the back which contained a silencer for his gun and thirty rounds of .25 ammunition.
The telephone rang. He assumed it was the car, early at the rendezvous, but it was the hall porter saying that there was a representative of ‘Universal Export’ with a letter to be delivered personally to Bond.
«Send him up,» said Bond, wondering.
A few minutes later he opened the door to a man in plain clothes whom he recognized as one of the messengers from the pool at Headquarters.
«Good evening, Sir,» said the man. He took a large plain envelope out of his breast pocket and handed it to Bond. «I am to wait and take this back when you have read it, Sir.»
Bond opened the white envelope and broke the seal of the blue envelope which it contained.
There was a page of blue typewritten foolscap paper with no address and no signature. Bond recognized the extra-large type used in M’s personal communications.
Bond waved the messenger to a chair and sat down at the writing desk opposite the window.
Washington [said the memorandum] reports that Rufus B. Saye is an alias for Jack Spang, a suspected gangster who was mentioned in the Kefauver Report but who has no criminal record. He is, however, twin brother to Seraffimo Spang and joint controller of the ‘Spangled Mob’ which operates widely in the United States. The brothers Spang bought control of the House of Diamonds five years ago ‘as an investment’, and nothing unfavourable is known about this business, which appears to be perfectly legitimate.
The brothers also own a ‘wire service’ which serves off-the-course bookmakers in Nevada and California, and is, therefore, illegal. The name of this is the Sure Fire Wire Service. They also own the Tiara Hotel in Las Vegas, and this is the headquarters of Seraffimo Spang and also, to benefit from the Nevada tax laws, the company offices of the House of Diamonds.
Washington adds that the Spangled Mob is interested in other illegal activities such as narcotics and organized prostitution, and these lines are handled from New York by Michael (Shady) Tree who has five previous convictions for various offences. The gang has branch headquarters in Miami, Detroit and Chicago.
Washington describes the Spangled Mob as one of the most powerful gangs in the United States with excellent protection in State and Federal governments and with the police. With the Cleveland Outfit and the Detroit ‘Purple’ gang, the Spangled Mob has top classification.
Our interest in these matters has not been divulged to Washington, but in the event that your inquiries lead you into dangerous contact with this gang, you will report at once and be withdrawn from the case which will then be handed over to the FBI.
This is an order.
The return of this document in a sealed envelope will acknowledge your receipt of this order.