THE BADDEST VILLAINS - James Bond Edition. Ian Fleming
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hopeless.
The two men sat on their iron seats with their backs to them, indifferent. They knew they had total command. There wasn’t room for Bond to give any trouble. Bond couldn’t stand up or get enough momentum into his hands to do any damage to the backs of their heads with his handcuffs. If Bond somehow managed to open the hatch and drop into the water, where would that get him? They would at once feel the fresh air on their backs and stop the machine, and either burn him in the water or pick him up. It annoyed Bond that they didn’t worry about him, that they knew he was utterly in their power. He also didn’t like the idea that these men were intelligent enough to know that he presented no threat. Stupider men would have sat over him with a gun out, would have trussed him and the girl with inexpert thoroughness, might even have knocked them unconscious. These two knew their business. They were professionals, or had been trained to be professionals.
The two men didn’t talk to each other. There was no nervous chatter about how clever they had been, about their destination, about how tired they were. They just drove the machine quietly, efficiently along, finishing their competent job.
Bond still had no idea what this contraption was. Under the black and gold paint and the rest of the fancy dress it was some sort of a tractor, but of a kind he had never seen or heard of. The wheels, with their vast smooth rubber tyres, were nearly twice as tall as himself. He had seen no trade name on the tyres, it had been too dark, but they were certainly either solid or filled with porous rubber. At the rear there had been a small trailing wheel for stability. An iron fin, painted black and gold, had been added to help the dragon effect. The high mudguards had been extended into short backswept wings. A long metal dragon’s head had been added to the front of the radiator and the headlamps had been given black centres to make ‘eyes’. That was all there was to it, except that the cabin had been covered with an armoured dome and the flame-thrower added. It was, as Bond had thought, a tractor dressed up to frighten and burn – though why it had a flame-thrower instead of a machine gun he couldn’t imagine. It was clearly the only sort of vehicle that could travel the island. Its huge wide wheels would ride over mangrove and swamp and across the shallow lake. It would negotiate the rough coral uplands and, since its threat would be at night, the heat in the iron cabin would remain at least tolerable.
Bond was impressed. He was always impressed by professionalism. Doctor No was obviously a man who took immense pains. Soon Bond would be meeting him. Soon he would be up against the secret of Doctor No. And then what? Bond smiled grimly to himself. He wouldn’t be allowed to get away with his knowledge. He would certainly be killed unless he could escape or talk his way out. And what about the girl? Could Bond prove her innocence and have her spared? Conceivably, but she would never be let off the island. She would have to stay there for the rest of her life, as the mistress or wife of one of the men, or Doctor No himself if she appealed to him.
Bond’s thoughts were interrupted by rougher going under the wheels. They had crossed the lake and were on the track that led up the mountain to the huts. The cabin tilted and the machine began to climb. In five minutes they would be there.
The co-driver glanced over his shoulder at Bond and the girl. Bond smiled cheerfully up at him. He said, ‘You’ll get a medal for this.’
The brown and yellow eyes looked impassively into his. The purple, blubbery lips parted in a sneer in which there was slow hate: ‘Shut your —ing mouth.’ The man turned back.
The girl nudged him and whispered, ‘Why are they so rude? Why do they hate us so much?’
Bond grinned down at her, ‘I expect it’s because we made them afraid. Perhaps they’re still afraid. That’s because we don’t seem to be frightened of them. We must keep them that way.’
The girl pressed against him. ‘I’ll try.’
Now the climb was getting steeper. Grey light showed through the slots in the armour. Dawn was coming up. Outside, another day of brazen heat and ugly wind and the smell of marsh gas would be beginning. Bond thought of Quarrel, the brave giant who would not be seeing it, with whom they should now be setting off for the long trek through the mangrove swamps. He remembered the life insurance. Quarrel had smelled his death. Yet he had followed Bond unquestioningly. His faith in Bond had been stronger than his fear. And Bond had let him down. Would Bond also be the death of the girl?
The driver reached forward to the dashboard. From the front of the machine there sounded the brief howl of a police siren. It meandered into a dying moan. After a minute the machine stopped, idling in neutral. The man pressed a switch and took a microphone off a hook beside him. He spoke into it and Bond could hear the echoing voice of the loud-hailer outside. ‘Okay. Got the Limey and the girl. Other man’s dead. That’s the lot. Open up.’
Bond heard a door being pulled sideways on iron rollers. The driver put in the clutch and they rolled slowly forward a few yards and stopped. The man switched off the engine. There was a clang as the iron hatch was opened from the outside. A gush of fresh air and a flood of brighter light came into the cabin. Hands took hold of Bond and dragged him roughly out backwards on to a cement floor. Bond stood up. He felt the prod of a gun in his side. A voice said, ‘Stay where you are. No tricks.’ Bond looked at the man. He was another Chinese negro, from the same stable as the others. The yellow eyes examined him curiously. Bond turned away indifferently. Another man was prodding the girl with his gun. Bond said sharply, ‘Leave the girl alone.’ He walked over and stood beside her. The two men seemed surprised. They stood, pointing their guns indecisively.
Bond looked around him. They were in one of the Quonset huts he had seen from the river. It was a garage and workshop. The ‘dragon’ had been halted over an examination pit in the concrete. A dismantled outboard motor lay on one of the benches. Strips of white sodium lighting ran along the ceiling. There was a smell of oil and exhaust smoke. The driver and his mate were examining the machine. Now they sauntered up.
One of the guards said, ‘Passed the message along. The word is to send them through. Everything go okay?’
The co-driver, who seemed to be the senior man present, said, ‘Sure. Bit of gunfire. Lights gone. Maybe some holes in the tyres. Get the boys crackin’ – full overhaul. I’ll put these two through and go get myself some shuteye.’ He turned to Bond. ‘Okay, git moving,’ he gestured down the long hut.
Bond said, ‘Get moving yourself. Mind your manners. And tell those apes to take their guns off us. They might let one off by mistake. They look dumb enough.’
The man came closer. The other three closed up behind him. Hate shone redly in their eyes. The leading man lifted a clenched fist as big as a small ham and held it under Bond’s nose. He was controlling himself with an effort. He said tensely, ‘Listen, mister. Sometimes us boys is allowed to join in the fun at the end. I’m just praying this’ll be one of those times. Once we made it last a whole week. An, Jees, if I get you …’ He broke off. His eyes were alight with cruelty. He looked past Bond at the girl. The eyes became mouths that licked their lips. He wiped his hands down the sides of his trousers. The tip of his tongue showed pinkly between the purple lips. He turned to the other three. ‘What say, fellers?’
The three men were also looking at the girl. They nodded dumbly, like children in front of a Christmas tree.
Bond longed to run berserk among them, laying into their faces with his manacled wrists, accepting their bloody revenge. But for the girl he would have done it. Now all he had achieved with his brave words was to get her frightened. He said, ‘All right, all right. You’re four and we’re two and we’ve got our hands tied. Come on. We won’t hurt you. Just don’t push us around too much. Doctor No might not be pleased.’
At the name, the men’s faces changed. Three pairs of eyes looked whitely from Bond to the leader. For a minute the leader stared suspiciously at Bond, wondering, trying to fathom whether perhaps Bond had got some edge on their boss. His mouth opened to say something. He thought better of it. He said lamely, ‘Okay, okay. We was just kiddin’ . ’ He turned to the men for confirmation. ‘Right?’
‘Sure! Sure thing.’ It was a ragged mumble. The men looked away.
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