hardly spoken a word to him since she had read and destroyed it.
'I'll be going down to thirty feet, sir.’
Bond thanked the pilot and watched the ratings checking his harness and attaching the strop to the winching line. ‘If you sit on the floor and put your arms round each other, we’ll winch you down together, sir.’
The beginnings of a smile exercised Bond’s features. Poor Anya. It must be like finding yourself opposite the most undesirable man in the room during a Paul Jones. Still, she deserved the experience. It might be a woman’s prerogative to change her mind but the speed with which Anya had made the change was an abuse of the privilege. Bond sank on to his side and extended his arms upwards. Half a dozen witticisms sprang to his lips but he suppressed them all. There was no need to goad Major Amasova. If he knew anything about women - and Russian women in particular - she would soon explode into a revelation of her natural feelings. Bond hoped that it would not be when she had a gun in her hand.
The hatch cover sprang back and the sound of angry sea drowned the steady ‘thwack, thwack’ of the rotor blades. A cold wind filled the cabin and Bond watched the pilot’s neck muscles tighten as he juggled the controls to hold die chopper steady.
‘As soon as you like!'
Anya had laid her body a yard from his, but at the pilot’s words she turned her head aside and wriggled her way forward into his arms. One of the ratings took up the slack on the winch.
‘Hang your feet over the edge and I’ll give you a push.’
Bond did as he was told and felt the spray against the side of his boots. Below, he could hear the sea lashing the hull of Wayne. Anya’s head was against his and the smell of her scent found its way to his nostrils. That was the only proof that this was the same girl who had so wantonly and passionately thrust her mouth and body, against his, less than two days before. The same girl who had shown him a glimpse of something that he had thought he would never know again. Damn you! he thought as she clung to him without passion or feeling. What the hell are you playing at?
Strong hands thrust him in the middle of the back and he was dangling in space with Anya in his arms and the harness digging in beneath his armpits. Wind and spray scourged them and the grey wasteland of white-ribbed ocean disdained all order as it poured over the bows of the submarine. Seen from above it seemed as if they were dropping into a maelstrom.
‘Okay, I got ’em.' Bond was glad to hear the American voice sounding so confident. An earthing pole steadied the wire above his head and his feet touched metal as a wave broke over the bridge. Seen from the sail the sea was a procession of angry white-topped mountains whipped by a near gale-force wind. A rating moved in and swiftly disconnected the strops. The winching line swung free and immediately began to snake back towards the helicopter. Bond waved and saw a hand return his salute as the hatch door closed and the machine lifted off and tilted away to starboard. Soon it would be back at its carrier home and the pilot and his crew quaffing hot coffee and munching their way through plates of ham and eggs. Bond thought of the dangerous mission that lay ahead and tried not to feel envious. It was not easy. Beside him, Anya looked about her with cold appraising interest. Her jaw was set and there was a ruthless, determined glint in her eyes. For the first time since they had left Sardinia, Bond was glad that she was with him. If her presence served no other purpose it would keep him on his toes.
Bond liked Commander Carter the moment he set eyes on him. He was tall and rangy, almost gangling in the manner of Gary Cooper, and he seemed too big for his small cabin. He had wrinkled sailor’s eyes but the wrinkles could have come as much from laughter as from staring into bad weather. His hair was a brush of tawny gold and he had a long bony nose forming the mast to a wide thin-lipped mouth. He was the kind of man that women would have found attractive without being able to name one feature that could honestly have been termed handsome. His handshake was firm and dry and the hand reached out the moment Bond crossed the threshold of the cabin. ‘Wclcome aboard, Commander. And you, Major. It’s a -
Bond watched the eyes narrow in puzzlement as they made contact with Anya. She nodded briskly and removed her helmet to shake out her hair.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Carter. ‘I wasn’t expecting a woman.’
‘I have the rank of a Major in the Russian army,' said Anya, coldly. ‘Please treat me accordingly. My sex is immaterial.’
For a moment it looked as if Carter was going to disagree. Then he nodded. ‘Just as you say, Major. Anyway, you’re both here, that’s the main thing. I was getting worried about you. It’s going to be nasty up there for a while.’
‘We’ve been fighting to keep on schedule since we left Sardinia,’ said Bond. ‘How long do you think it’s going to take us to make contact with the Lepadus?’
Carter pulled down a chart of the North Atlantic. ‘If she’s where we think she is and we can maintain a speed in advance of twenty-five knots we should be in range within ten hours.’ Bond smiled to himself. Carter was certainly understating the top speed of his Los Angeles class submarine. He wondered if it was only for Anya’s benefit. ‘And then we order her to heave to.’
Anya’s precise voice chipped in. ‘Under what pretext?’ ‘Leaking oil,’ said Carter. ‘The US Government is becoming increasingly alarmed by the number of accidents involving tankers and the long-term, wide-scale damage caused by oil pollution. The risks involving a tanker the size of the Lepadus arc fantastic. Ten million gallons of crude oil have been spilled into U.S. coastal waters this year, the Torrey Canyon disaster in the English Channel resulted in thirty million gallons of oil being leaked. Do you know how much oil a tanker the size of the Lepadus can carry? Over half a million tons.'
‘I think you’re building up to a persuasive argument,’ said Bond.
Carter looked serious. ‘I have authority from the US Government to stop and examine any vessel which we believe may constitute an environmental or other threat if it enters American coastal waters.’
Anya appeared unmoved. ‘What happens if the Lepadus refuses to heave to?’
Carter started to roll up the chart. ‘I don’t think that situation will arise, Major. We are equipped with conventional armament. When the Wayne surfaces and they see who we are, I don’t believe they're going to give us any trouble.'
Anya shrugged, unimpressed. Bond felt his own tremors of unease. 'I have a certain sympathy with Major Amasova’s wariness,’ he said. ‘We have had some contact with this man Stromberg and he is ruthless and resourceful. I don’t believe he’ll give up without a fight.'
‘Then he can have a fight.’ Carter’s jaw set. ‘My orders are are quite explicit. I am going to put a boarding party on that tanker - by force if necessary. You haven’t seen the men I’ve assembled for this detail, Commander. They are extremely capable.’
‘I’m certain they are,’ said Bond. ‘I’m not trying to criticize the US Navy. I’m just saying that we are up against a formidable adversary.'
Carter looked at Bond levelly. ‘I’ll bear that in mind, Commander.’ He turned towards Anya and his manner relaxed. ‘Now, I’m certain you’d probably like a shower, Major. You can use the one in my cabin if you like.’
Anya's nostrils flared. ‘It is not necessary to show me special favours, Captain Carter.’
Carter smiled wryly. ‘All the same - I think it might be better if I did.’ He turned to Bond. ‘I'll have you shown to your quarters. I think you’ll find that you’re sharing with the Major but I guess she takes that all in the line of duty?’