if.goldfinger-第43部分

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　Bond　seized　the　girl　round　the　waist　and　jumped　with　her。
　It　was　a　tenfoot　drop　to　the　platform。　Bond　broke　his　fall　with　his　left　hand　and　hoisted　the　girl　to　her　feet　with　a　jerk　of　his　hip。　As　he　began　to　run；　close　to　the　train　for　cover；　he　heard　Goldfinger　shout；　'Get　them　and　kill　them。'　A　splatter　of　lead　from　Goldfinger's　automatic　whipped　at　the　cement　to　his　left。　But　Goldfinger　would　have　to　shoot　left　handed。　It　was　Oddjob　that　Bond　feared。　Now；　as　Bond　tore　down　the　platform　with　the　girl's　hand　in　his；　he　heard　the　lightning　scuffle　of　the　running　feet。
　The　girl's　hand　tugged　at　him。　She　screamed　angrily；　'No；　No。　Stop！　I　want　to　stay　close　to　Pussy。　I'll　be　safe　with　her。'
　Bond　shouted　back；　'Shut　up；　you　little　fool！　Run　like　hell！'　But　now　she　was　dragging　at　him；　checking　his　speed。　Suddenly　she　tore　her　hand　out　of　his　and　made　to　dart　into　an　open　Pullman　door。　Christ；　thought　Bond；　that's　torn　it！　He　whipped　the　knife　out　of　his　belt　and　swirled　to　meet　Oddjob。
　Ten　yards　away　Oddjob　hardly　paused　in　his　rush。　One　hand　whipped　off　his　ridiculous；　deadly　hat；　a　glance　to　take　aim　and　the　black　steel　half…moon　sang　through　the　air。　Its　edge　caught　the　girl　exactly　at　the　nape　of　the　neck。　Without　a　sound　she　fell　backwards　on　to　the　platform　in　Oddjob's　path。　The　hurdle　was　just　enough　to　put　Oddjob　off　the　flying　high　kick　he　had　started　to　launch　at　Bond's　head。　He　turned　the　kick　into　a　leap；　his　left　hand　cutting　the　air　towards　Bond　like　a　sword。　Bond　ducked　and　struck　upwards　and　sideways　with　his　knife。　It　got　home　somewhere　near　the　ribs　but　the　momentum　of　the　flying　body　knocked　the　knife　out　of　his　hand。　There　was　a　tinkle　on　the　platform。　Now　Oddjob　was　ing　back　at　him；　apparently　unharmed；　his　hands　outstretched　and　his　feet　？　splayed　back　ready　for　another　leap　or　a　kick。　His　blood　was　up。　The　eyes　were　red　and　there　was　a　fleck　of　saliva　at　the　open；　panting　mouth。
　Above　the　boom　and　rattle　of　the　guns　outside　the　station；　three　blasts　sounded　on　the　diesel's　windhorn。　Oddjob　snarled　angrily　and　leapt。　Bond　dived　at　full　length　sideways。　Something　hit　him　a　gigantic　blow　on　the　shoulder　and　sent　him　sprawling。　Now；　he　thought　as　he　hit　the　ground；　now　the　death　stroke！　He　scrambled　clumsily　to　his　feet；　his　neck　hunched　into　his　shoulders　to　break　the　impact。　But　no　blow　came　and　Bond's　dazed　eyes　took　in　the　figure　of　Oddjob　flying　away　from　him　up　the　platform。
　Already　the　leading　diesel　was　on　the　move。　Oddjob　got　to　it　and　leapt　for　the　footplate。　For　a　moment　he　hung；　his　legs　scrabbling　for　a　foothold。　Then　he　had　disappeared　into　the　cabin　and　the　huge　streamlined　engine　gathered　speed。
　Behind　Bond　the　door　of　the　quartermaster's　office　burst　open。　There　was　the　hammer　of　running　feet　and　a　yell　'Santiago！'　…　St　James；　the　battle…cry　of　Cortez　that　Leiter　had　once　jokingly　allotted　to　Bond。
　Bond　swivelled。　The　straw…haired　Texan；　clad　in　his　wartime　Marine　Corps　battledress；　was　pounding　up　the　platform　followed　by　a　dozen　men　in　khaki。　He　carried　a　one…man　bazooka　by　the　steel　hook　he　used　for　a　right　hand。　Bond　ran　to　meet　him。　He　said；　'Don't　shoot　my　fox；　you　bastard。　Give　over。'　He　snatched　the　bazooka　out　of　Leiter's　hand　and　threw　himself　down　on　the　platform；　splaying　out　his　legs。　Now　the　diesel　was　two　hundred　yards　away　and　about　to　cross　the　bridge　over　the　Dixie　Highway。　Bond　shouted；　'Stand　clear！'　to　get　the　men　out　of　line　of　the　recoil　flash；　clicked　up　the　safe　and　took　careful　aim。　The　bazooka　shuddered　slightly　and　the　ten…pound　armour…piercing　rocket　was　on　its　way。　There　was　a　flash　and　a　puff　of　blue　smoke。　Some　bits　of　metal　flew　off　the　rear　of　the　flying　engine。　But　then　it　had　crossed　the　bridge　and　taken　the　curve　and　was　away。
　'Not　bad　for　a　rookie；'　mented　Leiter。　'May　put　the　rear　diesel　out；　but　those　jobs　are　twins　and　he　can　make　it　on　the　forward　engine。'
　Bond　got　to　his　feet。　He　smiled　warmly　into　the　hawk…like；　slate…grey　eyes。　'You　bungling　oaf；'　he　said　sarcastically；　'why　in　hell　didn't　you　block　that　line？'
　'Listen；　shamus。　If　you've　got　any　plaints　about　the　stage　management　you　can　tell　them　to　the　President。　He　took　personal　mand　of　this　operation　and　it's　a　honey。　There's　a　spotter　plane　overhead　now。　They'll　pick　up　the　diesel　and　we'll　have　old　Goldilocks　in　the　hoosegow　by　midday。　How　were　we　to　know　he　was　going　to　stay　aboard　the　train？'　He　broke　off　and　thumped　Bond　between　the　shoulderblades。　'Hell；　I'm　glad　to　see　you。　These　men　and　I　were　detailed　off　to　give　you　protection。　We've　been　dodging　around　looking　for　you　and　getting　shot　at　by　both　sides　for　our　pains。'　He　turned　to　the　soldiers。　'Ain't　that　right；　men？'
　They　laughed。　'Sure　is；　Cap'n。'
　Bond　looked　affectionately　at　the　Texan　with　whom　he　had　shared　so　many　adventures。　He　said　seriously；　'Bless　you；　Felix。　You've　always　been　good　at　saving　my　life。　It　was　darn　nearly　too　late　this　time。　I'm　afraid　Tilly　Masterton's　had　it。'　He　walked　off　up　the　train　with　Felix　at　his　heels。　The　little　figure　still　lay　sprawled　where　she　had　fallen。　Bond　knelt　beside　her。　The　broken…doll　angle　of　the　head　was　enough。　He　felt　for　her　pulse。　He　got　up。　He　said　softly；　'Poor　little　bitch。　She　didn't　think　much　of　men。'　He　looked　defensively　at　Leiter。　'Felix；　I　could　have　got　her　away　if　she'd　only　followed　me。'
　Leiter　didn't　understand。　He　put　his　hand　on　Bond's　arm　and　said；　'Sure　kid。　Take　it　easy。'　He　turned　to　his　men。　'Two　of　you　carry　the　girl　into　the　QM's　office　over　there。　O'Brien；　you　go　for　the　ambulance。　When　you've　done　that；　stop　over　at　the　mand　post　and　give　'em　the　facts。　Say　we've　got　mander　Bond　and　I'll　bring　him　right　over。'
　Bond　stood　and　looked　down　at　the　little　empty　tangle　of　limbs　and　clothes。　He　saw　the　bright；　proud　girl　with　the　spotted　handkerchief　round　her　hair　in　the　flying　TR3。　Now　she　had　gone。
　High　up　over　his　head　a　whirling　speck　soared　into　the　sky。　It　reached　the　top　of　its　flight　and　paused。　There　came　the　sharp　crack　of　the　maroon。　It　was　the　cease…fire。
　
　CHAPTER　TWENTY…TWO
　
　THE　LAST　TRICK
　
　IT　WAS　two　days　later。　Felix　Leiter　was　weaving　the　black　Studillac　fast　through　the　lanes　of　dawdling　traffic　on　the　Triborough　bridge。　There　was　plenty　of　time　to　catch　Bond's　plane；　the　evening　BOAC　Monarch　to　London；　but　Leiter　enjoyed　shaking　up　Bond's　low　opinion　of　American　cars。　Now　the　steel　hook　that　he　used　for　a　right　hand　banged　the　gear　lever　into　second　and　the　low　black　car　leapt　for　a　narrow　space　between　a　giant　refrigerator　truck　and　a　mooning　Oldsmobile　whose　rear　window　was　almost　obscured　by　holiday　stickers。
　Bond's　body　jerked　back　with　the　kick　of　the　300　b。h。p。　and　his　teeth　snapped　shut。　When　the　manoeuvre　was　pleted；　and　the　angry　hooting　had　vanished　behind　them；　Bond　said　mildly；　'It's　time　you　graduated　out　of　the　Kiddi…car　class　and　bought　yourself　an　express　carriage。　You　want　to　get　cracking。　This　pedalling　along　ages　one。　One　of　these　days　you'll　stop　moving　altogether　and　when　you　stop　moving　is　when　you　start　to　die。'
　Leiter　laughed。　He　said；　'See　that　green　light　ahead？　Bet　I　can　make　it　before　it　goes　red。'　The　car　leapt　forward　as　if　it　had　been　kicked。　There　was　a　brief　hiatus　in　Bond's　life；　an　impression　of　snipe…like　flight　and　of　a　steel　wall　of　cars　that　someone　parted　before　the　whiplash　of　Leiter's　triple　klaxons；　a　hundred　yards　when　the　speedometer　touched　ninety　and　they　were　across　the　lights　and　cruising　genteelly　along　in　the　centre　lane。
　Bond　said　calmly；　'You　meet　the　wrong　traffic　cop　arid　that　Pinkerton　card　of　yours　won't　be　good　enough。　It　isn't　so　much　that　you　drive　slowly；　it's　holding　back　the　cars　behind　they'll　book　you　for。　The　sort　of　car　you　need　is　a　nice　elderly　Rolls　Royce　Silver　Ghost　with　big　plate…glass　windows　so　you　can　enjoy　the　beauties　of　nature'　…　Bond　gestured　towards　a　huge　automobile　junk　heap　on　their　right。　'Maximum　fifty　and　it　can　stop　and　even　go　backwards　if　you　want　to。　Bulb　horn。　Suit　your　sedate　style。　Matter　of　fact　there　should　be　one　on　the　market　soon　…　Goldfinger's。　And　by　the　same　token；　what　the　hell's　happened　to　Goldfinger？　Haven't　they　caught　up　with　him　yet？'
　Leiter　glanced　at　his　watch　and　edged　into　the　outside　lane。　He　brought　the　car　down　to　forty。　He　said　seriously；　'Tell　you　the　truth；　we're　all　a　bit　worried。　The　papers　are　needling　us；　or　rather　Edgar　Hoover's　crowd；　like　hell。　First　they　had　a　gripe　at　the　security　clamp…down　on　you。　We　couldn't　tell　them　that　wasn't　our　fault　and　that　someone　in　London；　an　old　limey　called　M；　had　insisted　on　it。　So　they're　getting　their　own　back。　Say　we're　dragging　our　feet　and　so　forth。　And　I'm　telling　you；　James'　…　Leiter's　voice　was　glum；　apologetic　…　'we　just　haven't　a　clue。　They　caught　up　with　the　diesel。　Goldfinger　had　fixed　the　controls　at　thirty　and　had　let　it　run　on　down　the　line。　Somewhere　he　and　the　Korean　had　got　off　and　probably　this　Galore　girl　and　the　four　hoods　as　well　because　they've　vanished　too。　We　found　his　truck　con　voy；　of　course；　waiting　on　the　east…bound　highway　out　of　Elizabethville。　But　never　a　driver；　most　probably　scattered；　but　somewhere　there's　Goldfinger　and　a　pretty　tough　team　hiding　up。　They　didn't　get　to　the　Sverdlovsk　cruiser　at　Norfolk。　We　had　a　plain…clothes　guard　scattered　round　the　docks　and　they　report　that　she　sailed　to　schedule　without　any　strangers　going　aboard。　Not　a　cat's　been　near　that　warehouse　on　East　River　and　no　one's　shown　at　Idlewild　or　the　frontiers　…　Mexico　and　Canada。　For　my　money；　that　Jed　Midnight　has　somehow　got　them　out　to　Cuba。　If　they'd　taken　two　or　three　trucks　from　the　convoy　and　driven　like　hell　they　could　have　got　down　to　Florida；　somewhere　like　Daytona　Beach；　by　the　early　hours　of　D　＋　l。　And　Midnight's　darn　well　organized　down　there。　The　Coast　Guards　and　the　Air　Force　have　put　out　all　they've　got；　but　nothing's　shown　yet。　But　they　could　have　hidden　up　during　the　day　and　got　over　to　Cuba　during　the　night。　It's　got　everybody　worried　as　hell　and　it's　no　help　that　the　President's　hopping　mad。'
　Bond　had　spent　the　previous　day　in　Washington　treading　the　thickest；　richest　red　carpet。　There　had　been　speeches　at　the　Bureau　of　the　Mint；　a　big　brass　lunch　at　the　Pentagon；　an　embarrassing　quarter　of