007 Complete Series - 21 James Bond Novels in One Volume. Ian Fleming
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went uptown to see our chief customer last night,' said Bond. 'Three of his best men went sick while I was there.'
'How sick?' asked the voice.
'As sick as can be, Sir,' said Bond. 'There's a lot of 'flu about.'
'Hope you didn't catch any.'
'I've got a slight chill, Sir,' said Bond, 'but absolutely nothing to worry about. I'll write to you about it. The trouble is that with all this 'flu about Federated think I will do better out of town.' (Bond chuckled to himself at the thought of M's grin.) 'So I'm off right away with Felicia.'
'Who?' asked M.
'Felicia,' Bond spelled it out. 'My new secretary from Washington.'
'Oh, yes.'
'Thought I'd try that factory you advised at San Pedro.'
'Good idea.'
'But Federated may have other ideas and I hoped you'd give me your support.'
'I quite understand,' said M. 'How's business?'
'Rather promising, Sir. But tough going. Felicia will be typing my full report today.'
'Good,' said M. 'Anything else?'
'No, that's all, Sir. Thanks for your support.'
'That's all right. Keep fit. Goodbye.'
'Goodbye, Sir.'
Bond put down the telephone. He grinned. He could imagine M calling in the Chief of Staff. '007's already tangled up with the FBI. Dam' fool went up to Harlem last night and bumped off three of Mr Big's men. Got hurt himself, apparently, but not much. Got to get out of town with Leiter, the CIA man. Going down to St Petersburg. Better warn A and C. Expect we'll have Washington round our ears before the day's over. Tell A to say I fully sympathize, but that 007 has my full confidence and I'm sure he acted in self-defence. Won't happen again, and so forth. Got that?' Bond grinned again as he thought of Damon's exasperation at having to dish out a lot of soft soap to Washington when he probably had plenty of other Anglo-American snarls to disentangle.
The telephone rang. It was Leiter again.
'Now listen,' he said. 'Everybody's calming down somewhat. Seems the men you got were a pretty nasty trio--Tee-Hee Johnson, Sam Miami and a man called McThing. All wanted on various counts. The FBI's covering up for you. Reluctantly, of course, and the Police are stalling like mad. The FBI big brass had already asked my Chief for you to be sent home--got him out of bed, if you please--mostly jealousy, I guess--but we've killed all that. Same time, we've both got to quit town at once. That's all fixed too. We can't go together, so you're taking the train and I'll fly. Jot this down.'
Bond cradled the telephone against his shoulder and reached for a pencil and paper. 'Go ahead,' he said.
'Pennsylvania Station. Track 14. Ten-thirty this morning. "The Silver Phantom". Through train to St Petersburg via Washington, Jacksonville and Tampa. I've got you a compartment. Very luxurious. Car 245, Compartment H. Ticket'll be on the train. Conductor will have it. In the name of Bryce. Just go to Gate 14 and down to the train. Then straight to your compartment and lock yourself in till the train starts. I'm flying down in an hour by Eastern, so you'll be alone from now on. If you get stuck call Dexter, but don't be surprised if he bites your head off. Train gets in around midday tomorrow. Take a cab and go to The Everglades Cabanas, Gulf Boulevard West, on Sunset Beach. That's on a place called Treasure Island where all the beach hotels are. Connected with St Petersburg by a causeway. Cabby'll know it.
'I'll be waiting for you. Got all that? And for God's sake watch out. And I mean it. The Big Man'll get you if he possibly can and a police escort to the train would only put the finger on you. Take a cab and keep out of sight. I'm sending you up another hat and a fawn raincoat. The check's taken care of at the St Regis. That's the lot. Any questions?'
'Sounds fine,' said Bond. 'I've talked to M and he'll square Washington if there's any trouble. Look after yourself too,' he added. 'You'll be next on the list after me. See you tomorrow. So long.'
'I'll watch out,' said Leiter. ''Bye.'
It was half-past six and Bond pulled back the curtains in the sitting-room and watched the dawn come up over the city. It was still dark down in the caverns below but the tips of the great concrete stalagmites were pink and the sun lit up the windows floor by floor as if an army of descending janitors was at work in the buildings.
The police surgeon came, stayed for a painful quarter of an hour and left.
'Clean fracture,' he had said. 'Take a few days to heal. How did you come by it?'
'Caught it in a door,' said Bond.
'You ought to keep away from doors,' commented the surgeon. 'They're dangerous things. Ought to be forbidden by law. Lucky you didn't catch your neck in this one.'
When he had gone, Bond finished packing. He was wondering how soon he could order breakfast when the telephone rang.
Bond was expecting a harsh voice from the Police or the FBI. Instead, a girl's voice, low and urgent, asked for Mr Bond.
'Who's calling?' asked Bond, gaining time. He knew the answer.
'I know it's you,' said the voice, and Bond could feel that it was right up against the mouthpiece. 'This is Solitaire.' The name was scarcely breathed into the telephone.
Bond waited, all his senses pricked to what might be the scene at the other end of the line. Was she alone? Was she speaking foolishly on a house-phone with extensions to which other listeners were now coldly, intently glued? Or was she in a room with only Mr Big's eyes bent carefully on her, a pencil and pad beside him so that he could prompt the next question?
'Listen,' said the voice. 'I've got to be quick. You must trust me. I'm in a drugstore, but I must get back at once to my room. Please believe me.'
Bond had his handkerchief out. He spoke into it. 'If I can reach Mr Bond what shall I tell him?'
'Oh, damn you,' said the girl with what sounded like a genuine touch of hysteria. 'I swear by my mother, by my unborn children. I've got to get away. And so have you. You've got to take me. I'll help you. I know a lot of his secrets. But be quick. I'm risking my life here talking to you.' She gave a sob of exasperation and panic. 'For God's sake trust me. You must. You must!'
Bond still paused, his mind working furiously.
'Listen,' she spoke again, but this time dully, almost hopelessly. 'If you don't take me, I shall kill myself. Now will you? Do you want to murder me?'
If it was acting, it was too good acting. It was still an unpardonable gamble, but Bond decided. He spoke directly into the telephone, his voice low.
'If this is a double-cross, Solitaire, I'll get at you and kill you if it's the last thing I do. Have you got a pencil and paper?'
'Wait,' said the girl, excitedly. 'Yes, yes.'
If it had been a plant, reflected Bond, all that would have been ready.
'Be at Pennsylvania Station at ten-twenty exactly. The Silver Phantom to...' he hesitated, '...to Washington. Car 245, Compartment H. Say you're Mrs Bryce. Conductor has the ticket in case I'm not there already. Go straight to the compartment and wait for me. Got that?'
'Yes,' said the girl, 'and thank you, thank you.'
'Don't be seen,' said Bond. 'Wear a veil or something.'
'Of course,' said the girl. 'I promise. I really promise. I must go.' She rang off.
Bond looked at the dead receiver, then put it down on the cradle. 'Well,' he said aloud. 'That's torn it.'
He got up and stretched. He walked to the window and looked out, seeing nothing. His thoughts raced. Then he shrugged and turned back to the telephone. He looked at his watch. It was seven-thirty.
'Room Service, good morning,' said the golden voice.
'Breakfast, please,' said Bond. 'Pineapple juice, double. Cornflakes and