iam fleming.for your eyes only-第2部分

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　choose　what　will　make　you　happy　and　fat。'　And　she　would　look　relieved　at　not　having　to　try　any　more；　and　she　would　laugh　and　say：　'But；　James；　I　do　not　want　to　be　fat。'　And　there　they　would　be；　started　on　the　myth　of　'Paris　in　the　Spring'；　and　Bond　would　stay　sober　and　be　interested　in　her　and　everything　she　said。　And；　by　God；　by　the　end　of　the　evening　it　would　not　be　his　fault　if　it　transpired　that　there　was　in　fact　no　shred　of　stuffing　left　in　the　hoary　old　fairytale　of　'A　good　time　in　Paris'。
　Sitting　in　Fouquet's；　waiting　for　his　Americano；　Bond　smiled　at　his　vehemence。　He　knew　that　he　was　only　playing　at　this　fantasy　for　the　satisfaction　of　launching　a　last　kick　at　a　town　he　had　cordially　disliked　since　the　War。　Since　1945；　he　had　not　had　a　happy　day　in　Paris。　It　was　not　that　the　town　had　sold　its　body。　Many　towns　have　done　that。　It　was　its　heart　that　was　gone　…　pawned　to　the　tourists；　pawned　to　the　Russians　and　Roumanians　and　Bulgars；　pawned　to　the　scum　of　the　world　who　had　gradually　taken　the　town　over。　And；　of　course；　pawned　to　the　Germans。　You　could　see　it　in　the　people's　eyes　…　sullen；　envious；　ashamed。　Architecture？　Bond　glanced　across　the　pavement　at　the　shiny　black　ribbons　of　cars　off　which　the　sun　glinted　painfully。　Everywhere　it　was　the　same　as　in　the　Champs…Elysées。　There　were　only　two　hours　in　which　you　could　even　see　the　town　…　between　five　and　seven　in　the　morning。　After　seven　it　was　engulfed　in　a　thundering　stream　of　black　metal　with　which　no　beautiful　buildings；　no　spacious；　tree…lined　boulevards；　could　pete。
　The　waiter's　tray　clattered　down　on　the　marble…topped　table。　With　a　slick　one…handed　jerk　that　Bond　had　never　been　able　to　copy；　the　waiter's　bottle…opener　prised　the　cap　off　the　Perrier。　The　man　slipped　the　tab　under　the　ice…bucket；　said　a　mechanical　〃Voilà；　M'sieur〃　and　darted　away。　Bond　put　ice　into　his　drink；　filled　it　to　the　top　with　soda　and　took　a　long　pull　at　it。　He　sat　back　and　lit　a　Laurens　jaune。　Of　course　the　evening　would　be　a　disaster。　Even　supposing　he　found　the　girl　in　the　next　hour　or　so；　the　contents　would　certainly　not　stand　up　to　the　wrapping。　On　closer　examination　she　would　turn　out　to　have　the　heavy；　dank；　wide…pored　skin　of　the　bourgeois　French。　The　blonde　hair　under　the　rakish　velvet　beret　would　be　brown　at　the　roots　and　as　coarse　as　piano　wire。　The　peppermint　on　the　breath　would　not　conceal　the　midday　garlic。　The　alluring　figure　would　be　intricately　scaffolded　with　wire　and　rubber。　She　would　be　from　Lille　and　she　would　ask　him　if　he　was　American。　And；　Bond　smiled　to　himself；　she　or　her　maquereau　would　probably　steal　his　notecase。　La　ronde！　He　would　be　back　where　he　came　in。　More　or　less；　that　was。　Well；　to　hell　with　it！
　A　battered　black　Peugeot　403　broke　out　of　the　centre　stream　of　traffic；　cut　across　the　inside　line　of　cars　and　pulled　in　to　double　park　at　the　kerb。　There　was　the　usual　screaming　of　brakes；　hooting　and　yelling。　Quite　unmoved；　a　girl　got　out　of　the　car　and；　leaving　the　traffic　to　sort　itself　out；　walked　purposefully　across　the　sidewalk。　Bond　sat　up。　She　had　everything；　but　absolutely　everything　that　belonged　in　his　fantasy。　She　was　tall　and；　although　her　figure　was　hidden　by　a　light　raincoat；　the　way　she　moved　and　the　way　she　held　herself　promised　that　it　would　be　beautiful。　The　face　had　the　gaiety　and　bravado　that　went　with　her　driving；　but　now　there　was　impatience　in　the　pressed　lips　and　the　eyes　fretted　as　she　pushed　diagonally　through　the　moving　crowd　on　the　pavement。
　Bond　watched　her　narrowly　as　she　reached　the　edge　of　the　tables　and　came　up　the　aisle。　Of　course　it　was　hopeless。　She　was　ing　to　meet　someone　…　her　lover。　She　was　the　sort　of　woman　who　always　belongs　to　somebody　else。　She　was　late　for　him。　That's　why　she　was　in　such　a　hurry。　What　damnable　luck　…　right　down　to　the　long　blonde　hair　under　the　rakish　beret！　And　she　was　looking　straight　at　him。　She　was　smiling　。　。　。　！　Before　Bond　could　pull　himself　together；　the　girl　had　e　up　to　his　table　and　had　drawn　out　a　chair　and　sat　down。
　She　smiled　rather　tautly　into　his　startled　eyes。　〃I'm　sorry　I'm　late；　and　I'm　afraid　we've　got　to　get　moving　at　once。　You're　wanted　at　the　office。〃　She　added　under　her　breath：　〃Crash　dive。〃
　Bond　jerked　himself　back　to　reality。　Whoever　she　was；　she　was　certainly　from　'the　firm'。　'Crash　dive'　was　a　slang　expression　the　Secret　Service　had　borrowed　from　the　Submarine　Service。　It　meant　bad　news　…　the　worst。　Bond　dug　into　his　pocket　and　slid　some　coins　over　the　table。　He　said　〃Right。　Let's　go；〃　and　got　up　and　followed　her　down　through　the　tables　and　across　to　her　car。　It　was　still　obstructing　the　inner　lane　of　traffic。　Any　minute　now　there　would　be　a　policeman。　Angry　faces　glared　at　them　as　they　climbed　in。　The　girl　had　left　the　engine　running。　She　banged　the　gears　into　second　and　slid　out　into　the　traffic。
　Bond　looked　sideways　at　her。　The　pale　skin　was　velvet。　The　blonde　hair　was　silk　…　to　the　roots。　He　said：　〃Where　are　you　from　and　what's　it　all　about？〃
　She　said；　concentrating　on　the　traffic：　〃From　the　Station。　Grade　two　assistant。　Number　765　on　duty；　Mary　Ann　Russell　off。　I've　no　idea　what　it's　all　about。　I　just　saw　the　signal　from　HQ　…　personal　from　M　to　Head　of　Station。　Most　Immediate　and　all　that。　He　was　to　find　you　at　once　and　if　necessary　use　the　Deuxième　to　help。　Head　of　F　said　you　always　went　to　the　same　places　when　you　were　in　Paris；　and　I　and　another　girl　were　given　a　list。〃　She　smiled。　〃I'd　only　tried　Harry's　Bar；　and　after　Fouquet's　I　was　going　to　start　on　the　restaurants。　It　was　marvellous　picking　you　up　like　that。〃　She　gave　him　a　quick　glance。　〃I　hope　I　wasn't　very　clumsy。〃
　Bond　said：　〃You　were　fine。　How　were　you　going　to　handle　it　if　I'd　had　a　girl　with　me？〃
　She　laughed。　〃I　was　going　to　do　much　the　same　except　call　you　'sir'。　I　was　only　worried　about　how　you'd　dispose　of　the　girl。　If　she　started　a　scene　I　was　going　to　offer　to　take　her　home　in　my　car　and　for　you　to　take　a　taxi。〃
　〃You　sound　pretty　resourceful。　How　long　have　you　been　in　the　Service？〃
　〃Five　years。　This　is　my　first　time　with　a　Station。〃
　〃How　do　you　like　it？〃
　〃I　like　the　work　all　right。　The　evenings　and　days　off　drag　a　bit。　It's　not　easy　to　make　friends　in　Paris　without〃　…　her　mouth　turned　down　with　irony　…　〃without　all　the　rest。　I　mean；〃　she　hastened　to　add；　〃I'm　not　a　prude　and　all　that；　but　somehow　the　French　make　the　whole　business　such　a　bore。　I　mean　I've　had　to　give　up　taking　the　Metro　or　buses。　Whatever　time　of　day　it　is；　you　end　up　with　your　behind　black　and　blue。〃　She　laughed。　〃Apart　from　the　boredom　of　it　and　not　knowing　what　to　say　to　the　man；　some　of　the　pinches　really　hurt。　It's　the　limit。　So　to　get　around　I　bought　this　car　cheap；　and　other　cars　seem　to　keep　out　of　my　way。　As　long　as　you　don't　catch　the　other　driver's　eye；　you　can　take　on　even　the　meanest　of　them。　They're　afraid　you　haven't　seen　them。　And　they're　worried　by　the　bashed…about　look　of　the　car。　They　give　you　a　wide　berth。〃
　They　had　e　to　the　Rond　Point。　As　if　to　demonstrate　her　theory；　she　tore　round　it　and　went　straight　at　the　line　of　traffic　ing　up　from　the　Place　de　la　Concorde。　Miraculously　it　divided　and　let　her　through　into　the　Avenue　Matignon。
　Bond　said：　〃Pretty　good。　But　don't　make　it　a　habit。　There　may　be　some　French　Mary　Anns　about。〃
　She　laughed。　She　turned　into　the　Avenue　Gabrielle　and　pulled　up　outside　the　Paris　headquarters　of　the　Secret　Service：　〃I　only　try　that　sort　of　man？uvre　in　the　line　of　duty。〃
　Bond　got　out　and　came　round　to　her　side　of　the　car。　He　said：　〃Well；　thanks　for　picking　me　up。　When　this　whirl　is　over；　can　I　pick　you　up　in　exchange？　I　don't　get　the　pinches；　but　I'm　just　as　bored　in　Paris　as　you　are。〃
　Her　eyes　were　blue　and　wide　apart。　They　searched　his。　She　said　seriously：　〃I'd　like　that。　The　switchboard　here　can　always　find　me。〃
　Bond　reached　in　through　the　window　and　pressed　the　hand　on　the　wheel。　He　said　〃Good；〃　and　turned　and　walked　quickly　in　through　the　archway。
　Wing　mander　Rattray；　Head　of　Station　F；　was　a　fattish　man　with　pink　cheeks　and　fair　hair　brushed　straight　back。　He　dressed　in　a　mannered　fashion　with　turned…back　cuffs　and　double　slits　to　his　coat；　bow…ties　and　fancy　waistcoats。　He　made　a　good…living；　wine…and…food…society　impression　in　which　only　the　slow；　rather　cunning　blue　eyes　struck　a　false　note。　He　chain…smoked　Gauloises　and　his　office　stank　of　them。　He　greeted　Bond　with　relief。　〃Who　found　you？〃
　〃Russell。　At　Fouquet's。　Is　she　new？〃
　〃Six　months。　She's　a　good　one。　But　take　a　pew。　There's　the　hell　of　a　flap　on　and　I've　got　to　brief　you　and　get　you　going。〃　He　bent　to　his　inter　and　pressed　down　a　switch。　〃Signal　to　M；　please。　Personal　from　Head　of　Station。　'Located　007　briefing　now。'　Okay？〃　He　let　go　the　switch。
　Bond　pulled　a　chair　over　by　the　open　window　to　keep　away　from　the　fog　of　Gauloises。　The　traffic　on　the　Champs…Elysées　was　a　soft　roar　in　the　background。　Half　an　hour　before　he　had　been　fed　up　with　Paris；　glad　to　be　going。　Now　he　hoped　he　would　be　staying。
　Head　of　F　said：　〃Somebody　got　our　dawn　dispatch…rider　from　SHAPE　to　the　St　Germain　Station　yesterday　morning。　The　weekly　run　from　the　SHAPE　Intelligence　Division　with　the　Summaries；　Joint　Intelligence　papers；　Iron　Curtain　Order　of　Battle　…　all　the　top　gen。　One　shot　in　the　back。　Took　his　dispatch…case　and　his　wallet　and　watch。〃
　Bond　said：　〃That's　bad。　No　chance　that　it　was　an　ordinary　hold…up？　Or　do　they　think　the　wallet　and　watch　were　cover？〃
　〃SHAPE　Security　can't　make　up　their　minds。　On　the　whole　they　guess　it　was　cover。　Seven　o'clock　in　the　morning's　a　rum　time　for　a　hold…up。　But　you　can　argue　it　out　with　them　when　you　get　down　there。　M's　sending　you　as　his　personal　representative。　He's　worried　as　hell。　Apart　from　the　loss　of　the　Intelligence　dope；　their　I。　people　have　never　liked　having　one　of　our　Stations　outside　the　Reservation　so　to　speak。　For　years　they've　been　trying　to　get　the　St　Germain　unit　incorporated　in　the　SHAPE　Intelligence　set…up。　But　you　know　what　M　is；　independent　old　devil。　He's　never　been　happy　about　NATO　Security。　Why；　right　in　the　SHAPE　Intelligence　Division　there　are　not　only　a　couple　of　Frenchmen　and　an　Italian；　but　the　head　of　their　Counter　Intelligence　and　Security　section　is　a　German！〃
　Bond　whistled。
　〃The　trouble　is　that　this