He said, 'Duty officer.'
'Station H, sir.'
'Put them on.'
There was the echoing buzz and twang of the usual bad radio connection with Hongkong. Why were there always sunspots over China? A sing-song voice asked, 'Universal Export?'
'Yes.'
A deep, close voice - London - said, 'You're through to Hongkong. Speak up, please.'
Bond said impatiently, 'Clear the line, please.'
The sing-song voice said, 'You're through now. Speak up, please.'
'Hullo! Hullo! Universal Export?'
'Yes.'
'Dickson speaking. Can you hear me?'
'Yes.'
'That cable I sent you about the shipment of mangoes. Fruit. You know?'
'Yes. Got it here.' Bond pulled the file towards him. He knew what it was about. Station H wanted some limpet mines to put paid to three Communist spy junks that were using Macao to intercept1 British freighters and search them for refugees from China.
'Must have payment by the tenth.'
That would mean that the junks were leaving, or else that the guards on the junks would be doubled after that date, or some other emergency.
Bond said briefly2, 'Wilco.'
'Thanks. 'Bye.'
"Bye." Bond put down the receiver. He picked up the green receiver and dialled Q Branch and talked to the section duty officer. It would be all right. There was a BOAC Britannia leaving in the morning. Q Branch would see that the crate3 caught the plane.
Bond sat back. He reached for a cigarette and lit it. He thought of the badly air-conditioned little office on the waterfront in Hongkong, saw the sweat marks on the white shirt of 279,, whom he knew well and who had just called himself Dickson. Now 279 would probably be talking to his number two: 'It's okay. London says can do. Let's just go over this ops. schedule again.' Bond smiled wryly4. Better they than he. He'd never liked being up against the Chinese. There were too many of them. Station H might be stirring up a hornets' nest, but M had decided5 it was time to show the opposition6 that the Service in Hongkong hadn't quite gone out of business.
When, three days before, M had first told him his name was down for night duty, Bond hadn't taken to the idea. He had argued that he didn't know enough about the routine work of the stations, that it was too responsible a job to give a man who had been in the double-O section for six years and who had forgotten all he had ever known about station work.
'You'll soon pick it up,' M had said unsympathetically. 'If you get in trouble there are the duty section officers or the Chief of Staff - or me, for the matter of that.' (Bond had smiled at the thought of waking M up in the middle of the night because some man in Cairo or Tokyo was in a flap.) 'Anyway, I've decided. I want all senior officers to do their spell of routine.' M had looked frostily across at Bond. 'Matter of fact, 007, I had the Treasury7 on to me the other day. Their liaison8 man thinks the double-O section is redundant9. Says that kind of thing is out of date. I couldn't bother to argue' - M's voice was mild. 'Just told him he was mistaken.' (Bond could visualize10 the scene.) 'However, won't do any harm for you to have some extra duties now you're back in London. Keep you from getting stale.'
And Bond wasn't minding it. He was half way through his first week and so far it had just been a question of common sense or passing routine problems on down to the sections. He rather liked the peaceful room and knowing everybody's secrets and being occasionally fed coffee and sandwiches by one of the pretty girls from the canteen.
On the first night the girl had brought him tea. Bond had looked at her severely11. 'I don't drink tea. I hate it. It's mud. Moreover it's one of the main reasons for the downfall of the British Empire. Be a good girl and make me some coffee.' The girl had giggled12 and scurried13 off to spread Bond's dictum in the canteen. From then on he had got his coffee. The expression 'a cup of mud' was seeping14 through the building.
A second reason why Bond enjoyed the long vacuum of night duty was that it gave him- time to get on with a project he had been toying with for more than a year - a handbook of all secret methods of unarmed combat. It was to be called Stay Alive! It would contain the best of all that had been written on the subject by the Secret Services of the world. Bond had told no one of the project, but he hoped that, if he could finish it, M would allow it to be added to the short list of Service manuals which contained the tricks and techniques of Secret Intelligence.
Bond had borrowed the original textbooks, or where necessary, translations, from Records. Most of the books had been captured from enemy agents or organizations. Some .had been presented to M by sister Services such as OSS, CIA and the Deuxieme. Now Bond drew towards him a particular prize, a translation of the manual, entitled simply Defence, issued to operatives of SMERSH, the Soviet15 organization of vengeance16 and death.
That night he was half way through Chapter Two, whose title, freely translated, was 'Come-along and Restraint Holds'. Now he went back to the book and read for half an hour through the sections dealing17 with the conventional 'Wrist Come-along', 'Arm Lock Come-along', 'Forearm Lock', 'Head Hold' and 'Use of Neck Pressure Points'.
After half an hour, Bond thrust the typescript away from him. He got up and went across to the window and stood looking out. There was a 'nauseating19 toughness in the blunt prose the Russians used. It had brought on another of the attacks of revulsion to which Bond had succumbed20 ten days before at Miami airport. What was wrong with him?
Couldn't he take it any more? Was he going soft, or was he only stale? Bond stood for a while watching the moon riding, careering, through the clouds. Then he shrugged21 his shoulders and went back to his desk. He decided that he was as fed up with the variations of violent physical behaviour as a psychoanalyst must become with the mental aberrations22 of his patients.
Bond read again the passage that had revolted him: 'A drunken woman can also usually be handled by using the thumb and forefinger23 to grab the lower lip. By pinching hard and twisting, as the pull is made, the woman will come along.'
Bond grunted24. The obscene delicacy25 of that'thumb and forefinger'! Bond lit a cigarette and stared into the filament26 of the desk light, switching his mind to other things, wishing that a signal would come in or the telephone ring. Another five hours to go before the nine o'clock report to the Chief of Staff or to M, if M happened to come in early. There was something nagging27 at his mind, something he had wanted to check on when he had the time. What was it? What had triggered off the reminder28? Yes, that was it, 'forefinger' -Goldfinger. He would see if Records had anything on the man.
Bond picked up the green telephone and dialled Records.
'Doesn't ring a bell, sir. I'll check and call you back.'
Bond put down the receiver.
It had been a wonderful trip up in the train. They had eaten the sandwiches and drunk the champagne29 and then, to the rhythm of the giant diesels30 pounding out the miles, they had made long, slow love in the narrow berth31. It had been as if the girl was starved of physical love. She had woken him twice more in the night with soft demanding caresses32, saying nothing, just reaching for his hard, lean body. The next day she had twice pulled down the roller blinds to shut out the hard light and had taken him by the hand and said, 'Love me, James' as if she was a child asking for a sweet.
Even now Bond could hear the quick silver poem of the level-crossing bells, the wail33 of the big windhorn out front and the quiet outside clamour at the stations when they lay and waited for the sensual gallop34 of the wheels to begin again.
Jill Masterton had said that Goldfinger had been relaxed, indifferent over his defeat. He had told the girl to tell Bond that he would be over in England in a week's time and would like to have that game of golf at Sandwich. Nothing else - no threats, no curses. He had said he would expect the girl back by the next train. Jill had told Bond she would go. Bond had argued with her. But she was not frightened of Goldfinger. What could he do to her? And it was a good job.
Bond had decided to give her the ten thousand dollars Mr Du Pont had shuffled35 into his hand with a stammer36 of thanks and congratulations. Bond made her take the money. 'I don't want it,' Bond had said. 'Wouldn't know what to do with it. Anyway, keep it as mad money in case you want to get away in a hurry. It ought to be a million. I shall never forget last night and today.'
Bond had taken her to the station and had kissed her once hard on the lips and had gone away. It hadn't been love, but a quotation37 had come into Bond's mind as his cab moved out of Pennsylvania station: 'Some love is fire, some love is rust18. But the finest, cleanest love is lust38.' Neither had had regrets. Had they committed a sin? If so, which one? A sin against chastity? Bond smiled to himself. There was a quotation for that too, and from a saint - Saint Augustine: 'Oh Lord, give me Chastity. But don't give it yet!'
The green telephone rang. 'Three Goldfingers, sir, but two of them are dead. The third's a Russian post office in Geneva. Got a hairdressing business. Slips the messages into the right-hand coat pocket when he brushes the customers down. He lost a leg at Stalingrad. Any good, sir? There's plenty more on him.'
'No thanks. That couldn't be my man.'
'We could put a trace through CID Records in the morning. Got a picture, sir?'
Bond remembered the Leica film. He hadn't even bothered to have it developed. It would be quicker to mock up the man's face on the Identicast. He said, 'Is the Identicast room free?'
'Yes, sir. And I can operate it for you if you like.'
'Thanks. I'll come down.'
Bond told the switchboard to let heads of sections know where he would be and went out and took the lift down to Records on the first floor.
The big building was extraordinarily39 quiet at night. Be neath the silence there was a soft whisper of machinery40 and hidden life - the muffled41 clack of a typewriter as Bond passed a door, a quickly suppressed stammer of radio static as he passed another, the soft background whine42 of the ventilation system. It gave you the impression of being in a battleship in harbour.
The Records duty officer was already at the controls of the Identicast in the projection43 room. He said to Bond, 'Could you give me the main lines of the face, sir? That'll help me leave out the slides that are obviously no good.'
Bond did so and sat back and watched the lighted screen.
The Identicast is a machine for building up an approximate picture of a suspect - or of someone who has perhaps only been glimpsed in a street or a train or in a passing car. It works on the magic lantern principle. The operator flashes on the screen various head-shapes and sizes. When one is recognized it stays on the screen. Then various haircuts are shown, and then all the other features follow and are chosen one by one - different shapes of eyes, noses, chins, mouths, eyebrows44, cheeks, ears. In the end there is the whole picture of a face, as near as the scanner can remember it, and it is photographed and put on record.
It took some time to put together Goldfinger's extraordinary face, but the final result was an approximate likeness45 in monochrome. Bond dictated46 one or two notes about the sunburn, the colour of the hair and the expression of the eyes, and the job was done.
'Wouldn't like to meet that on a dark night,' commented the man from Records. 'I'll put it through to CID when they come on duty. You should get the answer by lunch time.'
Bond went back to the seventh floor. On the other side of the world it was around midnight. Eastern stations were closing down. There was a flurry of signals that had to be dealt with, the night's log to be written up, and then it was eight o'clock. Bond telephoned the canteen for his breakfast. He had just finished it when there came the harsh purr of the red telephone. M! Why the hell had he got in half an hour early?
'Yes, sir.'
'Come up to my office, 007. I want to have a word before you go off duty.'
'Sir.' Bond put the telephone back. He slipped on his coat and ran a hand through his hair, told the switchboard where he would be, took the night log and went up in the lift to the eighth and top floor. Neither the desirable Miss Moneypenny nor the Chief of Staff was on duty. Bond knocked on M's door and went in.
'Sit down, 007.' M was going through the pipe-lighting routine. He looked pink and well scrubbed. The lined sailor's face above the stiff white collar and loosely tied spotted47 bow tie was damnably brisk and cheerful. Bond was conscious of the black stubble on his own chin and of the all-night look of his skin and clothes. He sharpened his mind.
'Quiet night?' M had got his pipe going. His hard, healthy eyes regarded Bond attentively48.
'Pretty quiet, sir. Station H-'
M raised his left hand an inch or two. 'Never mind. I'll read all about it in the log. Here, I'll take it.'
Bond handed over the Top Secret folder49. M put it to one side. He smiled one of his rare, rather sardonic50, bitten-off smiles. 'Things change, 007. I'm taking you off night duty for the present.'
Bond's answering smile was taut51. He felt the quickening of the pulse he had so often experienced in this room. M had got something for him. He said, 'I was just getting into it, sir.'
'Quite. Have plenty of opportunity later on. Something's come up. Odd business. Not really your line of country, except for one particular angle which' - M jerked his pipe sideways in a throwaway gesture - 'may not be an angle at all.'
Bond sat back. He said nothing, waiting.
'Had dinner with the Governor of the Bank last night. One's always hearing something new. At 'least, all this was new to me. Gold - the seamy side of the stuff. Smuggling52, counterfeiting53, all that. Hadn't occurred to me that the Bank of England knew so much about crooks54. Suppose it's part of the Bank's job to protect our currency.' M jerked his eyebrows up. 'Know anything about gold?'
'No, sir.'
'Well, you will by this afternoon. You've got an appointment with a man called Colonel Smithers at the Bank at four o'clock. That give you enough time to get some sleep?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Good. Seems that this man Smithers is head of the Bank's research department. From what the Governor told me, that's nothing more or less than a spy system. First time I knew they had one. Just shows what watertight compartments55 we all work in. Anyway, Smithers and his chaps keep an eye out for anything fishy56 in the banking57 world - particularly any monkeying about with our currency and bullion58 reserves and what not. There was that business the other day of the Italians who were counterfeiting sovereigns. Making them out of real gold. Right carats and all that. But apparently59 a sovereign or a French napoleon is worth much more than its melted-down value in gold. Don't ask me why. Smithers can tell you that if you're interested. Anyway, the Bank went after these people with a whole battery of lawyers-it wasn't technically60 a criminal offence - and, after losing in the Italian courts, they finally nailed them in Switzerland. You probably read about it. Then there was that business of dollar balances in Beirut. Made quite a stir in the papers. Couldn't understand it myself. Some crack in the fence we put round our currency. The wide City boys had found it. Well, it's Smithers's job to smell out that kind of racket. The reason the Governor told me all this is because for years, almost since the war apparently, Smithers has had a bee in his bonnet61 about some big gold leak out of England. Mostly deduction62, plus some kind of instinct. Smithers admits he's got damned little to go on, but he's impressed the Governor enough for him to get permission from the PM to call us in.' M broke off. He looked quizzically at Bond. 'Ever wondered who are the richest men in England?'
?No, sir.'
"Well, have a guess. Or rather, put it like this: Who are the richest Englishmen?'
Bond searched his mind. There were a lot of men who sounded rich or who were made to sound rich by the newspapers. But who really had it, liquid, in the bank? He had to say something. He said hesitatingly, 'Well, sir, there's Sas-soon. Then that shipping63 man who keeps to himself - er -Ellerman. They say Lord Cowdray is very rich. There are the bankers - Rothschilds, Barings, Hambros. There was Williamson, the diamond man. Oppenheimer in South Africa. Some of the dukes may still have a lot of money.' Bond's voice trailed away.
'Not bad. Not bad at all. But you've missed out the joker in the pack. Man I'd never thought of until the Governor brought up his name. He's the richest of the lot. Man called Goldfinger. Auric Goldfinger.'
Bond couldn't help himself. He laughed sharply.
'What's the matter?' M's voice was testy64. What the hell is there to laugh about?'
'I'm sorry, sir.' Bond got hold of himself. 'The truth is, only last night I was building his face up on the Identicast.' He glanced at his watch. In a strangled voice he said, 'Be on its way to CID Records. Asked for a Trace on him.'
M was getting angry. 'What the hell's all this about? Stop behaving like a bloody65 schoolboy.'
Bond said soberly, 'Well, sir, it's like this…' Bond told the story, leaving nothing out.
M's face cleared. He listened with all his attention, leaning forward across the desk. When Bond had finished, M sat back in his chair. He said "Well, well… well' on a diminishing scale. He put his hands behind his head and gazed for minutes at the ceiling.
Bond could feel the laughter coming on again. How would the CID word the resounding66 snub he would get in the course of the day? He was brought sharply back to earth by M's next words. 'By the way, what happened to that ten thousand dollars?'
'Gave it to the girl, sir.'
'Really! Why not to the White Cross?'
The White Cross Fund was for the families of Secret Service men and women who were killed on duty.
'Sorry, sir.' Bond was not prepared to argue that one.
'Humpf.' M had never approved of Bond's womanizing. It was anathema67 to his Victorian soul. He decided to let it pass. He said, 'Well, that's all for now, 007. You'll be hearing all about it this afternoon. Funny about Goldfinger. Odd chap. Seen him once or twice at Blades. He plays bridge there when he's in England. He's the chap the Bank of England's after.' M paused. He looked mildly across the table at Bond. 'As from this moment, so are you.'
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收听单词发音
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1
intercept
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| vt.拦截，截住，截击 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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crate
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| vt.(up)把…装入箱中；n.板条箱，装货箱 | |
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wryly
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| adv. 挖苦地，嘲弄地 | |
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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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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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liaison
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| n.联系，（未婚男女间的）暖昧关系，私通 | |
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redundant
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| adj.多余的，过剩的；(食物)丰富的；被解雇的 | |
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visualize
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| vt.使看得见，使具体化，想象，设想 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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scurried
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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seeping
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| v.（液体）渗( seep的现在分词 )；渗透；渗出；漏出 | |
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15
Soviet
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| adj.苏联的，苏维埃的；n.苏维埃 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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rust
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| n.锈；v.生锈；(脑子)衰退 | |
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nauseating
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| adj.令人恶心的，使人厌恶的v.使恶心，作呕( nauseate的现在分词 ) | |
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succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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aberrations
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| n.偏差( aberration的名词复数 )；差错；脱离常规；心理失常 | |
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forefinger
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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filament
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| n.细丝；长丝；灯丝 | |
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nagging
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| adj.唠叨的，挑剔的；使人不得安宁的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的现在分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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diesels
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| 柴油( diesel的名词复数 )； 柴油机机车（或船等） | |
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berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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stammer
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| n.结巴，口吃；v.结结巴巴地说 | |
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quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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projection
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| n.发射，计划，突出部分 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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49
folder
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| n.纸夹，文件夹 | |
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sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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51
taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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52
smuggling
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| n.走私 | |
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53
counterfeiting
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| n.伪造v.仿制，造假( counterfeit的现在分词 ) | |
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54
crooks
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| n.骗子( crook的名词复数 )；罪犯；弯曲部分；（牧羊人或主教用的）弯拐杖v.弯成钩形( crook的第三人称单数 ) | |
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55
compartments
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| n.间隔( compartment的名词复数 )；（列车车厢的）隔间；（家具或设备等的）分隔间；隔层 | |
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56
fishy
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| adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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57
banking
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| n.银行业，银行学，金融业 | |
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58
bullion
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| n.金条，银条 | |
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59
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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60
technically
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| adv.专门地，技术上地 | |
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61
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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62
deduction
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| n.减除，扣除，减除额；推论，推理，演绎 | |
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63
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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64
testy
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| adj.易怒的；暴躁的 | |
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65
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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66
resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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67
anathema
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| n.诅咒；被诅咒的人(物)，十分讨厌的人(物) | |
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