He came out of the boutique and made his way back to the place he had spotted from the car. It had a walk-in front with a dummy clad in Scuba gear out on the sidewalk. The sign read ‘Reef Plunderers’ Diving Emporium’. A bearded salesman tried to sell him a three and a half hour snorkelling trip on a dive boat predictably called Reef Plunderer II, but Bond said he was not interested.
‘Captain Jack knows all the best places to dive along the reef,’ the salesman protested limply.
‘I want a wet suit, snorkelling mask, knife, flippers and undersea torch. And I shall need a shoulder bag for the lot,’ Bond told him in that effectively quiet but firm tone.
The salesman looked at Bond, took in the physique under the lightweight suit and the hard look in the icy blue eyes.
‘Yes, siree. Sure. Right,’ he said, leading the way to the rear of the shop. ‘Gonna cost a ransom, but you sure know what y’awl’re after.’
‘That’s right.’ Bond did not allow his voice to rise above the almost whispering softness.
‘Right,’ the salesman repeated. He was dressed to look like an old salt, with a striped T-shirt and jeans. A gold ring hung piratically rather than fashionably from one ear. He gave Bond another sidelong look and began to collect the equipment from the back of the store. It was more than a quarter of an hour before Bond was completely satisfied. He added a belt with a waterproof zipper bag to his purchases, and then paid with his Platinum Amex Card, made out in the name of James Boldman.
‘Guess I’ll have to just run a check on this, sir, Mr Boldman.’
‘You don’t have to, and you know it.’ Bond gazed at the man with ice-cold eyes. ‘But if you’re about to make telephone calls, I’m going to stand next to you. Right?’
‘Right. Right,’ the pirate salesman repeated, leading the way to a tiny office at the back of the store. ‘Yes, sir-bub. Yes, siree.’ He picked up the telephone and dialled the Amex number. The card was cleared in seconds. It took another ten minutes for the purchases to be stowed away in the shoulder bag. As he left, Bond put his mouth very close to the pierced ear with the ring in it.
‘Tell you what,’ he began. ‘I’m a stranger in town, but now you know my name.’
‘Sure.’ The pirate gave him a trapped look.
‘If anyone else gets to know I’ve been here except you, Amex and myself, I shall come back, cut that ring from your ear and then do the same job on your nose, followed by a more vital organ.’ He dropped his hand, fist clenched, so that it lay level with the pirate’s crotch. ‘You understand me? I mean it.’
‘I already forgot your name, Mr . . . er . . . Mr . . .’
‘Keep it like that,’ said Bond as he strode off.
He made his way back to the hotel at the more leisurely pace of the people thronging the street. Back in his suite, he lugged the CC500 from its briefcase, hooked it to the telephone and put in a quick call to London. He did not wait for a response, but gave them his exact location, saying he would be in touch as soon as the job was completed.
‘It’s going down tonight,’ he finished. ‘If I’m not in touch within forty-eight hours, look for Shark Island, off Key West. Repeat, it’s going down tonight.’
It was a very apt phrase, he thought, as he changed into his newly acquired clothes. The ASP and baton were in place, so he no longer felt naked, but, surveying himself in the mirror, he thought he would blend in nicely with the tourist scene.
‘Going down tonight,’ he said softly to himself. Then he left for the Havana Docks bar.
17
SHARK ISLAND
The deck in front of the Havana Docks bar at the Pier House is made of wooden planks, raised on several levels and has metal chairs and tables arranged to give visitors the impression that they are on board a ship at anchor. Globe lights on poles stand at intervals along the heavy wooden guard rail. It is perhaps the best vantage point in Key West, from which to watch the sun setting over the sea.
The deck was crowded and there was a buzz of light-hearted chatter. The lights had come on, attracting swarms of insects around the globes. Someone was playing Mood Indigo on the piano. The rails were lined with tourists eager to capture the sunset with their cameras.
As the clear sky turned to a deeper navy blue, so an occasional speedboat crossed in front of the hotel, while a light aircraft buzzed a wide circuit, its lights flashing. To the left, along the wide Mallory Square which fronts on to the ocean, jugglers, conjurers, fire eaters and acrobats performed amid a crush of people. It was the same on every fine night, a celebration of the day’s end and a look towards the pleasures the night might bring.
James Bond sat at a table and gazed out to sea past the two dark green humps of Tank and Wisteria Islands. If he had any sense he would be on a boat or aeroplane moving out, he thought. He was fully aware of the danger close at hand. There could be no doubt that Tarquin Rainey was Tamil Rahani, Blofeld’s successor and that this could well be his last chance to smash SPECTRE once and for all.
‘Isn’t this absolutely super,’ said Sukie delightedly. ‘There really is nothing like it in the whole world.’
It was not clear whether she was talking about the huge shrimps they were eating with that very special tangy, hot red sauce, their Calypso Daiquiris, or the beautiful view.
The sun appeared to grow larger as it dropped slowly behind Wisteria Island, throwing a huge patch of blood-red light across the sky.
Above them, a US Customs helicopter clattered its way, running from south to north, red and green lights twinkling on and off as it turned, heading towards the naval air station. Bond wondered if SPECTRE had become involved in the huge drug traffic which was reported to pass into America by this route – landing on isolated sections of the Florida Keys, to be taken inland and distributed. The Navy and Customs kept a very close eye on places like Key West.
A cheer went up, echoed from the crowd further up the coastline on Mallory Square, as the sun finally plunged into the sea, filling the whole sky with deep scarlet for a couple of minutes before the velvet darkness took over.
‘What’s the deal, James?’ Nannie asked in almost a whisper.
They drew together, their heads lowered over the seafood. He told them that until midnight, at least, they should all be seen around.
‘We’ll stroll out into town, have dinner somewhere, and then come back to the hotel. Afterwards I want us each to leave separately. Don’t use the car, and keep an eye out for anyone following you. Nannie, you’re trained in this kind of thing so you can brief Sukie, tell her the best way to avoid suspicion. I have my own plans. The most important thing is that we rendezvous at Garrison Bight, aboard Prospero, around one in the morning. Okay?’
Bond noticed a small furrow of concern between Nannie’s eyes. ‘What then?’ she asked.
‘Has Sukie looked at the charts?’
‘Yes and it’s not the easiest trip by night.’ Sukie’s eyes were expressionless. ‘It’s a challenge, though. The sandbars are not well marked and we’ll have to show a certain amount of light to begin with. Once we’re beyond the reef it’s not too bad.’
‘Just get me to within a couple of kilometres of the island,’ Bond said with a hint of authority, looking straight into her eyes.