‘Mr Stromberg? How do you do. My name is Sterling. Robert Sterling. It’s most awfully kind of you to receive me like this. I do hope I’m not disturbing your routine too much? Couldn’t resist making contact when I knew I was going to be in the area.’ Bond grasped the hand of corpse-like coldness that slowly advanced to meet his own and tried to read messages in the extraordinary oval face. Perhaps it was the light but the features seemed so indistinct that they might have been painted in watercolours on an eggshell. Was this whey- faced, insubstantial creature the ruthless founder of the Stromberg empire?
‘Quite agree with the point you were making about oceanic exploration,’ Bond babbled on in his guise of hearty academic. ‘Still, if the rest of your operation is anything on this scale you seem well prepared to rectify the oversight. Tell me. What prompted you to build your laboratory here?’
Stromberg’s eyes bored into him. ‘You will probably have noticed that the natural harbour in which we are situated is formed by the caldera of a volcano that exploded three thousand years ago - we are in fact on the most northerly sector of the Ligurian Tyrrhenian volcanic arc passing through Vesuvius and Etna. I hope that I will eventually be able to build harbour gates so that the whole area of the caldera can be turned into a site for the development of maritime resources.’
‘Fascinating,’ said Bond. ‘I wondered why you chose to cut yourself off from the more obvious pleasures of the Costa Smeralda.’
‘I invent the obvious, Mr Sterling.’ Stromberg’s eyes glittered dully. ‘Only when I invent it, it is unique. That is why I enjoy a generous measure of commercial success.* He suddenly walked to the wall of an aquarium and tapped on the glass. ‘Tell me. What is the name of this variety?’
Bond felt his stomach turn to ice. The sudden change of subject and the aggressive edge to the voice were contemptuously chilling. It was like being interviewed for a job and hearing the interviewer’s chair Scrape back. He advanced towards the glass feeling as if someone had applied a coating of talcum powder to the roof of his mouth. Stromberg was watching him intently. What the devil could he say? That he had left his spectacles at the hotel and was blind without them? How ridiculously lame it sounded. He peered into the tank - my God! Could it be true? He looked again. What a fantastic coincidence. The chap he had shared a study with at school had kept two of those. He remembered the outlandish Latin name.
‘Well?’
‘You mean the Pachypanchax Playfairi?’ Bond's voice was casual to the point of ennui. ‘The Thick Panchax.’ He tapped the glass as if it was the window of a petshop with a particularly beguiling puppy behind it. ‘Happy little chap, isn’t he?’ Bond turned away and walked as swiftly as he dared towards a glass case lit from inside. ‘What’s this?’
‘Something that I think you’ll find very interesting, Mr Sterling.’ There was no warmth in the voice but the edge of distrustful menace had been blunted. ‘A plan that I am developing. It’s a project very close to my heart.’
Stromberg’s small, sphincter mouth had devoured its lips and his face glowed with a strange luminous sheen. Bond was glad to look down into the case. It clearly represented the bed of the ocean and showed inter-connected glass-domed buildings. Like living in a goldfish bowl, he thought to himself. Most imposing of all, the laboratory standing in the middle of the whole structure. The axle from which the spokes radiated. It must all be feasible. Bond wondered what kind of comment would be appropriate.
‘How long do you envisage people staying down there?'
A chilling intensity froze the liquid eyes. ‘Indefinitely, Mr Sterling.’
There was a challenge in the voice but before Bond could consider means of answering it, he was saved by the soft, muted warbling of a concealed telephone.
‘Excuse me, Mr Sterling.’ Stromberg crossed to the wall by the lift and opened a concealed cupboard. The incongruous warbling stopped. Bond turned towards the far aquarium as a huge grey shadow passed across the glass and then swung abruptly away. A shark. And a big one. It must have been fourteen foot at least. Bond moved forward and his jaw tightened as the sinister flat head planed in towards him. The half-moon mouth seemed to be set in a contemptuous sneer, as if daring him to cross the glass barrier that divided them, and the flick of the turning tail was dismissive. Bond watched the shark disappear into the cobalt gloom and wondered how far back the aquarium went. There seemed to be some gap in the rocks like the entrance to a tunnel. He was about to turn away when something emerged from the tunnel. A large spider-crab clutching an object in one of its pincers. Bond peered forward. The crab was dragging a human hand, severed at the wrist. The flesh was hideous, glaucous green but the long female nails, with one exception, were intact. Bond controlled a desire to retch.
‘I am sorry, Mr Sterling- Stromberg had materialized behind him like a ghost. Had he too seen the hand? Bond turned away and tried to appear composed before the searching eyes that fed on secrets. ‘Something has arisen that requires my urgent attention. I hope you will forgive me if I bring our meeting to a close. At least you will have enjoyed a small maritime excursion/
‘Oh, much more.’ Bond could feel his legs carrying him towards the lift as if operating under their own volition. ‘Just to catch a glimpse of your operation was a privilege.’
Stromberg pressed a button and the lift door slid open. ‘Goodbye, Mr Sterling. We never had an opportunity to discuss your activities but I wish you success with them.’
Bond inclined his head deferentially. ‘What I’ve seen today encourages me to redouble my efforts. Goodbye, Mr Stromberg.’
The lift door closed, and for several seconds Stromberg continued to stare at it reflectively. He then crossed to the aquarium where Bond had last been standing and looked downwards. His was not a face on which it was easy to read expressions, but a faint cloud of preoccupation wrinkled the serene brow. Obediently, the swivelling lenses of the closed- circuit television followed his every move and awaited the inevitable summons. Stromberg was still looking at the floor of the tank when he eventually spoke.
‘Send Jaws in. There is more work to be done.’
Motorcycles are Dangerous
‘Comfortable?’ asked Bond.
‘Physically, yes. Mentally, less so.’ Anya looked at him challengingly. ‘It does not seem to be the moment to go riding in fast sports-cars.’
Bond coaxed the Esprit’s stubby gear-stick into first. ‘Fasten your seat belt. You’ll enjoy it more.’
‘But where are we going?’
‘I want to take a closer look at Stromberg’s laboratory.’
‘We could take a boat from the hotel.’
‘Too risky. I think Stromberg has a number of friends at the hotel They’d soon be on the wireless to him. Has your baggage been searched?’
Anya looked at him sharply. ‘I thought it was you.’
Bond smiled. ‘Not guilty. I’ve had everything searched - and by experts. They even checked the heels of my shoes. I found the marks where they'd been prising out the nails.’ Bond paused whilst a small, nut-brown child retrieved her beach ball from beneath the wheels, and slowly took the car down the drive.
Anya settled hack against the head-rest and stretched out her legs. ‘So we’re going to approach the place from a different direction?' Bond raised approving eyes from legs to road. ‘Exactly.’ He paused at the entrance to the drive and swung the wheel to the left. The Lotus came round like a whippet with its nose down on a rabbit and the race-proved two-litre 907 engine began to bubble happily as the revs built up. Anya watched the expression of tight-lipped anticipation on Bond s face and smiled to herself. He was like a child with a new toy.