The four small, square-ended propellers1 turned slowly, one by one, and became four whizzing pools. The low hum of the turbo-jets rose to a shrill2 smooth whine3. The quality of the noise, and the complete absence of vibration4, were different from the stuttering roar and straining horsepower of all other aircraft Bond had flown in. As the Viscount wheeled easily out to the shimmering5 east-west runway of London Airport, Bond felt as if he was sitting in an expensive mechanical toy.
There was a pause as the chief pilot gunned up the four turbo-jets into a banshee scream and then, with a jerk of released brakes, the 10.30 B.E.A.
Flight 130 to Rome, Athens and Istanbul gathered speed and hurtled down the runway and up into a quick, easy climb.
In ten minutes they had reached 20,000 feet and were heading south along the wide air-channel that takes the Mediterranean6 traffic from England. The scream of the jets died to a low, drowsy7 whistle. Bond unfastened his seat-belt and lit a cigarette. He reached for the slim, expensive-looking attaché case on the floor beside him and took out The Mask of Dimitrios by Eric Ambler8 and put the case, which was very heavy in spite of its size, on the seat beside him. He thought how surprised the ticket clerk at London Airport would have been if she had weighed the case instead of letting it go unchecked as an `overnight bag'. And if, in their turn, Customs had been intrigued9 by its weight, how interested they would have been when it was slipped under the Inspectoscope.
Q Branch had put together this smart-looking bag, ripping out the careful handiwork of Swaine and Adeney to pack fifty rounds of .25 ammunition10, in two flat rows, between the leather and the lining11 of the spine12. In each of the innocent sides there was a flat throwing knife, built by Wilkinsons, the sword makers13, and the tops of their handles were concealed14 cleverly by the stitching at the corners. Despite Bond's efforts to laugh them out of it, Q's craftsmen15 had insisted on building a hidden compartment16 into the handle of the case, which, by pressure at a certain point, would deliver a cyanide death-pill into the palm of his hand. (Directly he had taken delivery of the case, Bond had washed this pill down the lavatory17.) More important was the thick tube of Palmolive shaving cream in the otherwise guileless sponge-bag. The whole top of this unscrewed to reveal the silencer for the Beretta, packed in cotton wool. In case hard cash was needed, the lid of the attaché case contained fifty golden sovereigns. These could be poured out by slipping sideways one ridge18 of welting.
The complicated bag of tricks amused Bond, but he also had to admit that, despite its eight-pound weight, the bag was a convenient way of carrying the tools of his trade, which otherwise would have to be concealed about his body.
Only a dozen miscellaneous passengers were on the plane. Bond smiled at the thought of Leolia Ponsonby's horror if she knew that that made the load thirteen. The day before, when he had left M and had gone back to his office to arrange the details of his flight, his secretary had protested violently at the idea of his travelling on Friday the thirteenth.
`But it's always best to travel on the thirteenth,' Bond had explained patiently. `There are practically no passengers and it's more comfortable and you get better service. I always choose the thirteenth when I can.'
`Well,' she had said resignedly, `it's your funeral. But I shall spend the day worrying about you. And for heaven's sake don't go walking under ladders or anything silly this afternoon. You oughtn't to overplay your luck like this. I don't know what you're going to Turkey for, and I don't want to know. But I have a feeling in my bones.'
`Ah, those beautiful bones!' Bond had teased her. `I'll take them out to dinner the night I get back.'
`You'll do nothing of the sort,' she had said coldly. Later she had kissed him goodbye with a sudden warmth, and for the hundredth time Bond had wondered why he bothered with other women when the most darling of them all was his secretary.
The plane sang steadily19 on above the endless sea of whipped-cream clouds that looked solid enough to land on if the engines failed. The clouds broke up and a distant blue haze20, far away to their left, was Paris. For an hour they flew high over the burned-up fields of France until, after Dijon, the land turned from a pale to a darker green as it sloped up into the Juras.
Lunch came. Bond put aside his book and the thoughts that kept coming between him and the printed page, and, while he ate, he gazed down at the cool mirror of the Lake of Geneva. As the pine forests began to climb towards the snow patches between the beautifully scoured21 teeth of the Alps, he remembered early skiing holidays. The plane skirted the great eye-tooth of Mont Blanc, a few hundred yards to port, and Bond looked down at the dirty grey elephant's skin of the glaciers22 and saw himself again, a young man in his teens, with the leading end of the rope round his waist, bracing23 himself against the top of a rock-chimney on the Aiguilles Rouges24 as his two companions from the University of Geneva inched up the smooth rock towards him.
And now? Bond smiled wryly25 at his reflection in the Perspex as the plane swung out of the mountains and over the grosgrained terazza of Lombardy. If that young James Bond came up to him in the street and talked to him, would he recognize the clean, eager youth that had been him at seventeen? And what would that youth think of him, the secret agent, the older James Bond? Would he recognize himself beneath the surface of this man who was tarnished26 with years of treachery and ruthlessness and fear-this man with the cold arrogant27 eyes and the scar down his cheek and the flat bulge28 beneath his left armpit? If the youth did recognize him what would his judgement be? What would he think of Bond's present assignment? What would he think of the dashing secret agent who was off across the world in a new and most romantic role-to pimp for England?
Bond put the thought of his dead youth out of his mind. Never job backwards29. What-might-have-been was a waste of time. Follow your fate, and be satisfied with it, and be glad not to be a second-hand30 motor salesman, or a yellow-press journalist, pickled in gin and nicotine31, or a cripple-or dead.
Gazing down on the sun-baked sprawl32 of Genoa and the gentle blue waters of the Mediterranean, Bond closed his mind to the past and focused it on the immediate33 future-on this business, as he sourly described it to himself, of `pimping for England'.
For that, however else one might like to describe it, was what he was on his way to do-to seduce34, and seduce very quickly, a girl whom he had never seen before, whose name he had heard yesterday for the first time.
And all the while, however attractive she was-and Head of T had described her as `very beautiful'.-Bond's whole mind would have to be not on what she was, but on what she had-the dowry she was bringing with her. It would be like trying to marry a rich woman for her money. Would he be able to act the part? Perhaps he could make the right faces and say the right things, but would his body dissociate itself from his secret thoughts and effectively make the love he would declare? How did men behave credibly35 in bed when their whole minds were focused on the woman's bank balance? Perhaps there was an erotic stimulus36 in the notion that one was ravaging37 a sack of gold. But a cipher38 machine?
Elba passed below them and the plane slid into its fifty-mile glide39 towards Rome. Half an hour among the jabbering40 loudspeakers of Ciampini Airport, time to drink two excellent Americanos, and they were on their way again, flying steadily down towards the toe of Italy, and Bond's mind went back to sifting41 the minutest details of the rendezvous42 that was drawing closer at three hundred miles an hour.
Was it all a complicated M.G.B. plot of which he couldn't find the key? Was he walking into some trap that not even the tortuous43 mind of M could fathom44? God knew M was worried about the possibility of such a trap. Every conceivable angle of the evidence, for and against, had been scrutinized-not only by M, but also by a full-dress operations meeting of Heads of Sections that had worked all through the afternoon and evening before. But, whichever way the case had been examined, no one had been able to suggest what the Russians might get out of it. They might want to kidnap Bond and interrogate45 him. But why Bond? He was an operating agent, unconcerned with the general working of the Service, carrying in his head nothing of use to the Russians except the details of his current duty and a certain amount of background information that could not possibly be vital. Or they might want to kill Bond, as an act of revenge. Yet he had not come up against them for two years. If they wanted to kill him, they had only to shoot him in the streets of London, or in his flat, or put a bomb in his car.
Bond's thoughts were interrupted by the stewardess46. `Fasten your seat-belts, please.' As she spoke47 the plane dropped sickeningly and soared up again with an ugly note of strain in the scream of the jets. The sky outside was suddenly black. Rain hammered on the windows. There came a blinding flash of blue and white light and a crash as if an anti-aircraft shell had hit them, and the plane heaved and bucketed in the belly48 of the electric storm that had ambushed49 them out of the mouth of the Adriatic.
Bond smelt50 the smell of danger. It is a real smell, something like the mixture of sweat and electricity you get in an amusement arcade51. Again the lightning flung its hands across the windows. Crash! It felt as if they were the centre of the thunder clap. Suddenly the plane seemed incredibly small and frail52. Thirteen passengers! Friday the Thirteenth! Bond thought of Loelia Ponsonby's words and his hands on the arms of his chair felt wet. How old is this plane, he wondered? How many flying hours has it done? Had the deathwatch beetle53 of metal fatigue54 got into the wings? How much of their strength had it eaten away? Perhaps he wouldn't get to Istanbul after all. Perhaps a plummeting55 crash into the Gulf56 of Corinth was going to be the destiny he had been scanning philosophically57 only an hour before.
In the centre of Bond was a hurricane-room, the kind of citadel58 found in old-fashioned houses in the tropics. These rooms are small, strongly built cells in the heart of the house, in the middle of the ground floor and sometimes dug down into its foundations. To this cell the owner and his family retire if the storm threatens to destroy the house, and they stay there until the danger is past. Bond went to his hurricane-room only when the situation was beyond his control and no other possible action could be taken. Now he retired59 to this citadel, closed his mind to the hell of noise and violent movement, and focused on a single stitch in the back of the seat in front of him, waiting with slackened nerves for whatever fate had decided60 for B.E.A. Flight No. 130.
Almost at once it got lighter61 in the cabin. The rain stopped crashing on the Perspex window and the noise of the jets settled back into their imperturbable62 whistle. Bond opened the door of his hurricane-room and stepped out. He slowly turned his head and looked curiously63 out of the window and watched the tiny shadow of the plane hastening far below across the quiet waters of the Gulf of Corinth. He heaved a deep sigh and reached into his hip-pocket for his gunmetal cigarette case. He was pleased to see his hands were dead steady as he took out his lighter and lit one of the Morland cigarettes with the three gold rings. Should he tell Lil that perhaps she had almost been right? He decided that if he could find a rude enough postcard in Istanbul he would.
The day outside faded through the colours of a dying dolphin and Mount Hymettus came at them, blue in the dusk. Down over the twinkling sprawl of Athens and then the Viscount was wheeling across the standard concrete air-strip with its drooping64 windsock and the notices in the strange dancing letters Bond had hardly seen since school.
Bond climbed out of the plane with the handful of pale, silent passengers and walked across to the transit65 lounge and up to the bar. He ordered a tumbler of Ouzo and drank it down and chased it with a mouthful of ice water. There was a strong bite under the sickly anisette taste and Bond felt the drink light a quick, small fire down his throat and in his stomach. He put down his glass and ordered another.
By the time the loudspeakers called him out again it was dusk and the half moon rode clear and high above the lights of the town. The air was soft with evening and the smell of flowers and there was the steady pulse-beat of the cicadas-zing-a-zing-a-zing-and the distant sound of a man singing. The voice was clear and sad and the song had a note of lament66. Near the airport a dog barked excitedly at an unknown human smell. Bond suddenly realized that he had come into the East where the guard-dog howls all night. For some reason the realization67 sent a pang68 of pleasure and excitement into his heart.
They had only a ninety-minute flight to Istanbul, across the dark Aegean and the Sea of Marmara. An excellent dinner, with two dry Martinis and a half-bottle of Calvet claret, put Bond's reservations about flying on Friday the thirteenth, and his worries about his assignment, out of his mind and substituted a mood of pleased anticipation69.
Then they were there and the plane's four propellers wheeled to a stop outside the fine modern airport of Yesilkoy, an hour's drive from Istanbul. Bond said goodbye and thank you for a good flight to the stewardess, carried the heavy little attaché case through the passport check into the customs, and waited for his suitcase to come off the plane.
So these dark, ugly, neat little officials were the modern Turks. He listened to their voices, full of broad vowels70 and quiet sibilants and modified u-sounds, and he watched the dark eyes that belied71 the soft, polite voices. They were bright, angry, cruel eyes that had only lately come down from the mountains. Bond thought he knew the history of those eyes. They were eyes that had been trained for centuries to watch over sheep and decipher small movements on far horizons. They were eyes that kept the knife-hand in sight without seeming to, that counted the grains of meal and the small fractions of coin and noted72 the flicker73 of the merchant's fingers. They were hard, untrusting, jealous eyes. Bond didn't take to them.
Outside the customs, a tall rangy man with drooping black moustaches stepped out of the shadows. He wore a smart dust-coat and a chauffeur's cap. He saluted74 and, without asking Bond his name, took his suitcase and led the way over to a gleaming aristocrat75 of a car-an old black basket-work Rolls Royce coupé-de-ville that Bond guessed must have been built for some millionaire of the `20s.
When the car was gliding76 out of the airport, the man turned and said politely over his shoulder, in excellent English, `Kerim Bey thought you would prefer to rest tonight, sir. I am to call for you at nine tomorrow morning. What hotel are you staying at, sir?'
`The Kristal Palas.'
`Very good, sir.' The car sighed off down the wide modern road.
Behind them, in the dappled shadows of the airport parking place, Bond vaguely77 heard the crackle of a motor scooter starting up. The sound meant nothing to him and he settled back to enjoy the drive.
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1
propellers
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| n.螺旋桨，推进器( propeller的名词复数 ) | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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ambler
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| n.以溜步法走的马，慢慢走的人 | |
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intrigued
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| adj.好奇的，被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式)；激起…的兴趣或好奇心；“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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10
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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makers
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| n.制造者，制造商（maker的复数形式） | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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craftsmen
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| n. 技工 | |
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compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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lavatory
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| n.盥洗室，厕所 | |
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18
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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21
scoured
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| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
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glaciers
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| 冰河，冰川( glacier的名词复数 ) | |
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bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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rouges
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| 胭脂，口红( rouge的名词复数 ) | |
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wryly
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| adv. 挖苦地，嘲弄地 | |
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26
tarnished
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| （通常指金属）（使）失去光泽，（使）变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 )； 玷污，败坏 | |
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arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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bulge
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| n.突出，膨胀，激增；vt.突出，膨胀 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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second-hand
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| adj.用过的，旧的，二手的 | |
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nicotine
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| n.(化)尼古丁，烟碱 | |
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32
sprawl
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| vi.躺卧，扩张，蔓延；vt.使蔓延；n.躺卧，蔓延 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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seduce
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| vt.勾引，诱奸，诱惑，引诱 | |
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credibly
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| ad.可信地；可靠地 | |
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stimulus
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| n.刺激，刺激物，促进因素，引起兴奋的事物 | |
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ravaging
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| 毁坏( ravage的现在分词 )； 蹂躏； 劫掠； 抢劫 | |
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cipher
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| n.零；无影响力的人；密码 | |
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glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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jabbering
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| v.急切而含混不清地说( jabber的现在分词 )；急促兴奋地说话；结结巴巴 | |
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41
sifting
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| n.筛，过滤v.筛( sift的现在分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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42
rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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43
tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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44
fathom
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| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
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45
interrogate
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| vt.讯问，审问，盘问 | |
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46
stewardess
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| n.空中小姐，女乘务员 | |
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47
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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48
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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49
ambushed
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| v.埋伏( ambush的过去式和过去分词 )；埋伏着 | |
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50
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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51
arcade
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| n.拱廊；(一侧或两侧有商店的)通道 | |
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52
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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53
beetle
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| n.甲虫，近视眼的人 | |
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54
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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55
plummeting
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| v.垂直落下，骤然跌落( plummet的现在分词 ) | |
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56
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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57
philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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58
citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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59
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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61
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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62
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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64
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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65
transit
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| n.经过，运输；vt.穿越，旋转；vi.越过 | |
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66
lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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67
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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68
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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69
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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70
vowels
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| n.元音，元音字母( vowel的名词复数 ) | |
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71
belied
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| v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
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72
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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73
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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74
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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75
aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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76
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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77
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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