iam fleming.for your eyes only-第19部分

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nt　to　live　in　Nigeria　…　back　to　the　only　people　in　the　world　who　had　shown　him　any　kindness　…　back　to　where　it　had　all　started　from。　Bit　tragic；　really；　when　I　remember　what　he　was　like　when　we　were　young。〃
　〃And　the　girl？〃
　〃Oh；　she　went　through　a　pretty　bad　time。　We　handed　round　the　hat　for　her　and　she　pottered　in　and　out　of　various　jobs　that　were　more　or　less　charity。　She　tried　to　go　back　to　being　an　air　hostess；　but　the　way　she　had　broken　her　contract　with　Imperial　Airways　put　her　out　of　the　running　for　that。　There　weren't　so　many　airlines　in　those　days　and　there　was　no　shortage　of　applicants　for　the　few　hostess　jobs　that　were　going。　The　Burfords　got　transferred　to　Jamaica　later　in　that　same　year　and　that　removed　her　main　prop。　As　I　said。　Lady　Burford　had　always　had　a　soft　spot　for　her。　Rhoda　Masters　was　pretty　nearly　destitute。　She　still　had　her　looks　and　various　men　had　kept　her　for　a　while；　but　you　can't　make　the　rounds　for　very　long　in　a　small　place　like　Bermuda；　and　she　was　very　near　to　being　a　harlot　and　getting　into　trouble　with　the　police　when　Providence　again　stepped　in　and　decided　she　had　been　punished　enough。　A　letter　came　from　Lady　Burford　enclosing　her　fare　to　Jamaica　and　saying　she　had　got　her　a　job　as　receptionist　at　the　Blue　Hills　Hotel；　one　of　the　best　of　the　Kingston　hotels。　So　she　left；　and　I　expect　…　I'd　been　transferred　to　Rhodesia　by　then　…　that　Bermuda　was　heartily　relieved　to　see　the　last　of　her。〃
　The　Governor　and　Bond　had　e　to　the　wide　entrance　gates　to　the　grounds　of　Government　House。　Beyond　them　shone；　white　and　black　and　pink　under　the　moon；　the　huddle　of　narrow　streets　and　pretty　clapboard　houses　with　gingerbread　gables　and　balconies　that　is　Nassau。　With　a　terrific　clatter　the　sentry　came　to　attention　and　presented　arms。　The　Governor　raised　a　hand：　〃All　right。　Stand　at　ease。〃　Again　the　clockwork　sentry　rattled　briefly　into　life　and　there　was　silence。
　The　Governor　said：　〃And　that's　the　end　of　the　story　except　for　one　final　quirk　of　fate。　One　day　a　Canadian　millionaire　turned　up　at　the　Blue　Hills　Hotel　and　stayed　for　the　winter。　At　the　end　of　the　time　he　took　Rhoda　Masters　back　to　Canada　and　married　her。　She's　lived　in　clover　ever　since。〃
　〃Good　heavens。　That　was　a　stroke　of　luck。　Hardly　deserved　it。〃
　〃I　suppose　not。　One　can't　tell。　Life's　a　devious　business。　Perhaps；　for　all　the　harm　she'd　done　to　Masters；　Fate　decided　that　she　had　paid　back　enough。　Perhaps　Masters's　father　and　mother　were　the　true　guilty　people。　They　turned　Masters　into　an　accident…prone　man。　Inevitably　he　was　involved　in　the　emotional　crash　that　was　due　to　him　and　that　they　had　conditioned　him　for。　Fate　had　chosen　Rhoda　for　its　instrument。　Now　Fate　reimbursed　her　for　her　services。　Difficult　to　judge　these　things。　Anyway；　she　made　her　Canadian　very　happy。　I　thought　they　both　seemed　happy　tonight。〃
　Bond　laughed。　Suddenly　the　violent　dramatics　of　his　own　life　seemed　very　hollow。　The　affair　of　the　Castro　rebels　and　the　burned　out　yachts　was　the　stuff　of　an　adventure…strip　in　a　cheap　newspaper。　He　had　sat　next　to　a　dull　woman　at　a　dull　dinner　party　and　a　chance　remark　had　opened　for　him　the　book　of　real　violence　…　of　the　édie　Humaine　where　human　passions　are　raw　and　real；　where　Fate　plays　a　more　authentic　game　than　any　Secret　Service　conspiracy　devised　by　Governments。
　Bond　faced　the　Governor　and　held　out　his　hand。　He　said：　〃Thank　you　for　the　story。　And　I　owe　you　an　apology。　I　found　Mrs　Harvey　Miller　a　bore。　Thanks　to　you　I　shall　never　forget　her。　I　must　pay　more　attention　to　people。　You've　taught　me　a　lesson。〃
　They　shook　hands。　The　Governor　smiled。　〃I'm　glad　the　story　interested　you。　I　was　afraid　you　might　be　bored。　You　lead　a　very　exciting　life。　To　tell　you　the　truth；　I　was　at　my　wit's　end　to　know　what　we　could　talk　about　after　dinner。　Life　in　the　Colonial　Service　is　very　humdrum。〃
　They　said　goodnight。　Bond　walked　off　down　the　quiet　street　towards　the　harbour　and　the　British　Colonial　Hotel。　He　reflected　on　the　conference　he　would　be　having　in　the　morning　with　the　Coastguards　and　the　FBI　in　Miami。　The　prospect；　which　had　previously　interested；　even　excited　him；　was　now　edged　with　boredom　and　futility。
　
　
　RISICO
　
　〃In　this　pizniss　is　much　risico。〃
　The　words　came　softly　through　the　thick　brown　moustache。　The　hard　black　eyes　moved　slowly　over　Bond's　face　and　down　to　Bond's　hands　which　were　carefully　shredding　a　paper　match　on　which　was　printed　Albergo　Colombo；　d'Oro。
　James　Bond　felt　the　inspection。　The　same　surreptitious　examination　had　been　going　on　since　he　had　met　the　man　two　hours　before　at　the　rendezvous　in　the　Excelsior　bar。　Bond　had　been　told　to　look　for　a　man　with　a　heavy　moustache　who　would　be　sitting　by　himself　drinking　an　Alexandra。　Bond　had　been　amused　by　this　secret　recognition　signal。　The　creamy；　feminine　drink　was　so　much　cleverer　than　the　folded　newspaper；　the　flower　in　the　buttonhole；　the　yellow　gloves　that　were　the　hoary；　slipshod　call…signs　between　agents。　It　had　also　the　great　merit　of　being　able　to　operate　alone；　without　its　owner。　And　Kristatos　had　started　off　with　a　little　test。　When　Bond　had　e　into　the　bar　and　looked　round　there　had　been　perhaps　twenty　people　in　the　room。　None　of　them　had　a　moustache。　But　on　a　corner　table　at　the　far　side　of　the　tall；　discreet　room；　flanked　by　a　saucer　of　olives　and　another　of　cashew　nuts；　stood　the　tall…stemmed　glass　of　cream　and　vodka。　Bond　went　straight　over　to　the　table；　pulled　out　a　chair　and　sat　down。
　The　waiter　came。　〃Good　evening；　sir。　Signor　Kristatos　is　at　the　telephone。〃
　Bond　nodded。　〃A　Negroni。　With　Gordon's；　please。〃
　The　waiter　walked　back　to　the　bar。　〃Negroni。　Uno。　Gordon's。〃
　〃I　am　so　sorry。〃　The　big　hairy　hand　picked　up　the　small　chair　as　if　it　had　been　as　light　as　a　matchbox　and　swept　it　under　the　heavy　hips。　〃I　had　to　have　a　word　with　Alfredo。〃
　There　had　been　no　handshake。　These　were　old　acquaintances。　In　the　same　line　of　business；　probably。　Something　like　import　and　export。　The　younger　one　looked　American。　No。　Not　with　those　clothes。　English。
　Bond　returned　the　fast　serve。　〃How's　his　little　boy？〃
　The　black　eyes　of　Signor　Kristatos　narrowed。　Yes；　they　had　said　this　man　was　a　professional。　He　spread　his　hands。　〃Much　the　same。　What　can　you　expect？〃
　〃Polio　is　a　terrible　thing。〃
　The　Negroni　came。　The　two　men　sat　back　fortably；　each　one　satisfied　that　he　had　to　do　with　a　man　in　the　same　league。　This　was　rare　in　'The　Game'。　So　many　times；　before　one　had　even　started　on　a　tandem　assignment　like　this；　one　had　lost　confidence　in　the　oute。　There　was　so　often；　at　least　in　Bond's　imagination；　a　faint　smell　of　burning　in　the　air　at　such　a　rendezvous。　He　knew　it　for　the　sign　that　the　fringe　of　his　cover　had　already　started　to　smoulder。　In　due　course　the　smouldering　fabric　would　burst　into　flames　and　he　would　be　br？lé。　Then　the　game　would　be　up　and　he　would　have　to　decide　whether　to　pull　out　or　wait　and　get　shot　at　by　someone。　But　at　this　meeting　there　had　been　no　fumbling。
　Later　that　evening；　at　the　little　restaurant　off　the　Piazza　di　Spagna　called　the　Colomba　d'Oro；　Bond　was　amused　to　find　that　he　was　still　on　probation。　Kristatos　was　still　watching　and　weighing　him；　wondering　if　he　could　be　trusted。　This　remark　about　the　risky　business　was　as　near　as　Kristatos　had　so　far　got　to　admitting　that　there　existed　any　business　between　the　two　of　them。　Bond　was　encouraged。　He　had　not　really　believed　in　Kristatos。　But　surely　all　these　precautions　could　only　mean　that　M's　intuition　had　paid　off　…　that　Kristatos　knew　something　big。
　Bond　dropped　the　last　shred　of　match　into　the　ashtray。　He　said　mildly：　〃I　was　once　taught　that　any　business　that　pays　more　than　ten　per　cent　or　is　conducted　after　nine　o'clock　at　night　is　a　dangerous　business。　The　business　which　brings　us　together　pays　up　to　one　thousand　per　cent　and　is　conducted　almost　exclusively　at　night。　On　both　counts　it　is　obviously　a　risky　business。〃　Bond　lowered　his　voice。　〃Funds　are　available。　Dollars；　Swiss　francs；　Venezuelan　bolivars　…　anything　convenient。〃
　〃That　makes　me　glad。　I　have　already　too　much　lire。〃　Signor　Kristatos　picked　up　the　folio　menu。　〃But　let　us　feed　on　something。　One　should　not　decide　important　pizniss　on　a　hollow　stomach。〃
　
　A　week　earlier　M　had　sent　for　Bond。　M　was　in　a　bad　temper。　〃Got　anything　on；　007？〃
　〃Only　paper　work；　sir。〃
　〃What　do　you　mean；　only　paper　work？〃　M　jerked　his　pipe　towards　his　loaded　in…tray。　〃Who　hasn't　got　paper　work？〃
　〃I　meant　nothing　active；　sir。〃
　〃Well；　say　so。〃　M　picked　up　a　bundle　of　dark　red　files　tied　together　with　tape　and　slid　them　so　sharply　across　the　desk　that　Bond　had　to　catch　them。　〃And　here's　some　more　paper　work。　Scotland　Yard　stuff　mostly　…　their　narcotics　people。　Wads　from　the　Home　Office　and　the　Ministry　of　Health；　and　some　nice　thick　reports　from　the　International　Opium　Control　people　in　Geneva。　Take　it　away　and　read　it。　You'll　need　today　and　most　of　tonight。　Tomorrow　you　fly　to　Rome　and　get　after　the　big　men。　Is　that　clear？〃
　Bond　said　that　it　was。　The　state　of　M's　temper　was　also　explained。　There　was　nothing　that　made　him　more　angry　than　having　to　divert　his　staff　from　their　primary　duty。　This　duty　was　espionage；　and　when　necessary　sabotage　and　subversion。　Anything　else　was　a　misuse　of　the　Service　and　of　Secret　Funds　which；　God　knows；　were　meagre　enough。
　〃Any　questions？〃　M's　jaw　stuck　out　like　the　prow　of　a　ship。　The　jaw　seemed　to　tell　Bond　to　pick　up　the　files　and　get　the　hell　out　of　the　office　and　let　M　move　on　to　something　important。
　Bond　knew　that　a　part　of　all　this　…　if　only　a　small　part　…　was　an　act。　M　had　certain　bees　in　his　bonnet。　They　were　famous　in　the　Service；　and　M　knew　they　were。　But　that　did　not　mean　that　he　would　allow　them　to　stop　buzzing。　There　were　queen　bees；　like　the　misuse　of　the　Service；　and　the　search　for　true　as　distinct　from　wishful　intelligence；　and　there　were　worker　bees。　These　included　such　idiosyncrasies　as　not　employing　men　with　beards；　or　those　who　were　pletely　bilingual；　instantly　dismissing　men　who　tried　to　bring　pressure　to　bear　on　him　through　family　relationships　with　members　of　the　Cabinet；　mistrusting　men　or　women　who　were　too　'dressy'；　and　those　who　called　him　'sir'　off…duty；　and　having　an　exaggerated　faith　in　Scotsmen。　But　M　was　ironically