if.thunderball-第31部分

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　〃All　right；　let's　go　then。　See　you　in　about　half　an　hour。〃　Bond　felt　for　the　knife　at　his　waist；　shifted　the　webbing；　and　put　the　mouthpiece　between　his　teeth。　He　turned　on　the　air　and；　his　fins　slapping　on　the　muddy　sand；　walked　down　and　into　the　water。　There　he　bent　down；　spat　into　his　mask　to　prevent　it　steaming　up；　washed　it　out；　and　adjusted　it。　Then　he　walked　slowly　on；　getting　used　to　the　breathing。　By　the　end　of　the　wharf　he　was　up　to　his　ears。　He　quietly　submerged　and　launched　himself　forward　into　an　easy　leg　crawl；　his　hands　along　his　flanks。
　
　The　mud　shelved　steeply　and　Bond　kept　on　going　down；　until；　at　about　forty　feet；　he　was　only　a　few　inches　above　the　bottom。　He　glanced　at　the　big　luminous　figures　on　the　dial　of　his　watch…12：10。　He　untensed　himself　and　put　his　legs　into　an　easy；　relaxed　rhythm。
　
　Through　the　roof　of　small　waves　the　pale　moonlight　flickered　on　the　gray　bottom；　and　the　refuse…motor　tires；　cans；　bottles…cast　black　shadows。　A　small　octopus；　feeling　his　shock　wave；　turned　from　dark　brown　to　pale　gray　and　squeezed　itself　softly　back　into　the　mouth　of　the　oil…drum　that　was　its　home。　Sea　flowers；　the　gelatinous　polyps　that　grow　out　of　the　sand　at　night；　whisked　down　their　holes　as　Bond's　black　shadow　touched　them。　Other　tiny　night　things　puffed　thin　jets　of　silt　out　of　their　small　volcanoes　in　the　mud　as　they　felt　the　tremor　of　Bond's　passage；　and　an　occasional　hermit　crab　snapped　itself　back　into　its　borrowed　shell。　It　was　like　traveling　across　a　moon　landscape；　on　and　under　which　many　mysterious　creatures　lived　minute　lives。　Bond　watched　it　all；　carefully；　as　if　he　had　been　an　underwater　naturalist。　He　knew　that　was　the　way　to　keep　nerves　steady　under　the　sea…to　focus　the　whole　attention　on　the　people　who　lived　there　and　not　try　to　probe　the　sinister　gray　walls　of　mist　for　imaginary　monsters。
　
　The　rhythm　of　his　steady　progress　soon　became　automatic；　and　while　Bond；　keeping　the　moon　at　his　right　shoulder；　held　to　his　course；　his　mind　reached　back　to　Domino。　So　she　was　the　sister　of　the　man　who　probably　highjacked　the　plane！　Probably　even　Largo；　if　Largo　was　in　fact　involved　in　the　plot；　didn't　know　this。　So　what　did　the　relationship　amount　to？　Coincidence。　It　could　he　nothing　else。　Her　whole　manner　was　so　entirely　innocent。　And　yet　it　was　one　more　thin　straw　to　add　to　the　meager　pile　that　seemed　in　some　indeterminate　way　to　be　adding　up　to　Largo's　involvement。　And　Largo's　reaction　at　the　word　〃spectre。〃　That　could　he　put　down　to　Italian　superstition…or　it　could　not。　Bond　had　a　deadly　feeling　that　all　these　tiny　scraps　amounted　to　the　tip　of　an　iceberg…a　few　feet　of　ice　pinnacle；　with；　below；　a　thousand　tons　of　the　stuff。　Should　he　report？　Or　shouldn't　he？　Bond's　mind　boiled　with　indecision。　How　to　put　it？　How　to　grade　the　intelligence　so　that　it　would　reflect　his　doubts？　How　much　to　say　and　how　much　to　leave　out？
　
　The　extrasensory　antennae　of　the　human　body；　the　senses　left　over　from　the　jungle　life　of　millions　of　years　ago；　sharpen　unconsciously　when　man　knows　that　he　is　on　the　edge　of　danger。　Bond's　mind　was　concentrating　on　something　far　away　from　his　present　risks；　but　beneath　his　conscious　thoughts　his　senses　were　questing　for　enemies。　Now　suddenly　the　alarm　was　sounded　by　a　hidden　nerve…Danger！　Danger！　Danger！
　
　Bond's　body　tensed。　His　hand　went　to　his　knife　and　his　head　swiveled　sharply　to　the　right…not　to　the　left　or　behind　him。　His　senses　told　him　to　look　to　the　right。
　
　A　big　barracuda；　if　it　is　twenty　pounds　or　over；　is　the　most　fearsome　fish　in　the　sea。　Clean　and　straight　and　malevolent；　it　is　all　hostile　weapon；　from　the　long　snarling　mouth　in　the　cruel　jaw　that　can　open　like　a　rattlesnake's　to　an　angle　of　ninety　degrees；　along　the　blue　and　silver　steel　of　the　body　to　the　lazy　power　of　the　tail　fin　that　helps　to　make　this　fish　one　of　the　five　fastest　sprinters　in　the　sea。　This　one；　moving　parallel　with　Bond；　ten　yards　away　just　inside　the　wall　of　gray　mist　that　was　the　edge　of　visibility；　was　showing　its　danger　signals。　The　broad　lateral　stripes　showed　vividly…the　angry　hunting　sign…the　gold　and　black　tiger's　eye　was　on　him；　watchful；　incurious；　and　the　long　mouth　was　open　half　an　inch　so　that　the　moonlight　glittered　on　the　sharpest　row　of　teeth　in　the　ocean…teeth　that　don't　bite　at　the　flesh；　teeth　that　tear　out　a　chunk　and　swallow　and　then　hit　and　scythe　again。
　
　Bond's　stomach　crawled　with　the　ants　of　fear　and　his　skin　tightened　at　his　groin。　Cautiously　he　glanced　at　his　watch。　About　three　more　minutes　to　go　before　he　was　due　to　e　up　with　the　Disco　。
　
　He　made　a　sudden　turn　and　attacked　fast　toward　the　great　fish；　flashing　his　knife　in　fast　offensive　lunges。　The　giant　barracuda　gave　a　couple　of　lazy　wags　of　its　tail　and　when　Bond　turned　back　on　his　course　it　also　turned　and　resumed　its　indolent；　sneering　cruise；　weighing　him　up；　choosing　which　bit…the　shoulder；　the　buttock；　the　foot…to　take　first。
　
　Bond　tried　to　recall　what　he　knew　about　big　predator　fish；　what　he　had　experienced　with　them　before。　The　first　rule　was　not　to　panic；　to　be　unafraid。　Fear　municates　itself　to　fish　as　it　does　to　dogs　and　horses。　Establish　a　quiet　pattern　of　behavior　and　stick　to　it。　Don't　show　confusion　or　act　chaotically。　In　the　sea；　untidiness；　ragged　behavior；　mean　that　the　possible　victim　is　out　of　control；　vulnerable。　So　keep　to　a　rhythm。　A　thrashing　fish　is　everyone's　prey。　A　crab　or　a　shell　thrown　upside　down　by　a　wave　is　offering　its　underside　to　a　hundred　enemies。　A　fish　on　its　side　is　a　dead　fish。　Bond　trudged　rhythmically　on；　exuding　immunity。
　
　Now　the　pale　moonscape　changed。　A　meadow　of　soft　seagrass　showed　up　ahead。　In　the　deep；　slow　currents　it　waved　languidly；　like　deep　fur。　The　hypnotic　motion　made　Bond　feel　slightly　seasick。　Dotted　sparsely　in　the　grass　were　the　big　black　footballs　of　dead　sponges　growing　out　of　the　sand　like　giant　puffballs…Nassau's　only　export　until　a　fungus　had　got　at　them　and　had　killed　the　sponge　crop　as　surely　as　myxomatosis　has　killed　rabbits。　Bond's　black　shadow　flickered　across　the　breathering　lawn　like　a　clumsy　bat。　To　the　right　of　his　shadow；　the　thin　black　lance　cast　by　the　barracuda　moved　with　quiet　precision。
　
　A　dense　mass　of　silvery　small　fry　showed　up　ahead；　suspended　in　midstream　as　if　they　had　been　bottled　in　aspic。　When　the　two　parallel　bodies　approached；　the　mass　divided　sharply；　leaving　wide　channels　for　the　two　enemies；　and　then　closing　behind　them　into　the　phalanx　they　adopted　for　an　illusory　protection。　Through　the　cloud　of　fish　Bond　watched　the　barracuda。　It　moved　majestically　on；　ignoring　the　food　around　it　as　a　fox　creeping　up　on　the　chicken　run　will　ignore　the　rabbits　in　the　warren。　Bond　sealed　himself　in　the　armor　of　his　rhythm；　transmitting　to　the　barracuda　that　he　was　a　bigger；　a　more　dangerous　fish；　that　the　barracuda　must　not　be　misled　by　the　whiteness　of　the　flesh。
　
　Amongst　the　waving　grass；　the　black　barb　of　the　anchor　looked　like　another　enemy。　The　trailing　chain　rose　from　the　bottom　and　disappeared　into　the　upper　mists。　Bond　followed　it　up；　forgetting　the　barracuda　in　his　relief　at　hitting　the　target　and　in　the　excitement　of　what　he　might　find。
　
　Now　he　swam　very　slowly；　watching　the　white　explosion　of　the　moon　on　the　surface　contract　and　define　itself。　Once　he　looked　down。　There　was　no　sign　of　the　barracuda。　Perhaps　the　anchor　and　chain　had　seemed　inimical。　The　long　hull　of　the　ship　grew　out　of　the　upper　mists　and　took　shape；　a　great　Zeppelin　in　the　water。　The　folded　mechanism　of　the　hydrofoil　looked　ungainly；　as　if　it　did　not　belong。　Bond　clung　for　a　moment　to　its　starboard　flange　to　get　his　bearings。　Far　down　to　his　left；　the　big　twin　screws；　bright　in　the　moonlight；　hung　suspended；　motionless　but　somehow　charged　with　thrashing　speed。　Bond　moved　slowly　along　the　hull　toward　them；　staring　upward　for　what　he　sought。　He　drew　in　his　breath。　Yes；　it　was　there；　the　ridge　of　a　wide　hatch　below　the　water　line。　Bond　groped　over　it；　measuring。　About　twelve　feet　square；　divided　down　the　center。　Bond　paused　for　a　moment；　wondering　what　was　inside　the　closed　doors。　He　pressed　the　switch　of　the　Geiger　counter　and　held　the　machine　against　the　steel　plates。　He　watched　the　dial　of　the　meter　on　his　left　wrist。　It　trembled　to　show　the　machine　was　alive；　but　it　registered　only　the　fraction　Leiter　had　told　him　to　expect　from　the　hull。　Bond　switched　the　thing　off。　So　much　for　that。　Now　for　home。
　
　The　clang　beside　his　ear　and　the　sharp　impact　against　his　left　shoulder　were　simultaneous。　Automatically；　Bond　sprang　back　from　the　hull。　Below　him　the　bright　needle　of　the　spear　wavered　slowly　down　into　the　depths。　Bond　whirled。　The　man；　his　black　rubber　suit　glinting　like　armor　in　the　moonlight；　was　pedaling　furiously　in　the　water　while　he　thrust　another　spear　down　the　barrel　of　the　CO2　gun。　Bond　hurled　himself　toward　him；　flailing　at　the　water　with　his　fins。　The　man　pulled　back　the　loading　lever　and　leveled　the　gun。　Bond　knew　he　couldn't　make　it。　He　was　six　strokes　away。　He　stopped　suddenly；　ducked　his　head；　and　jackknifed　down。　He　felt　the　small　shock　wave　of　the　silent　explosion　of　gas　and　something　hit　his　foot。　Now！　He　soared　up　below　the　man　and　scythed　upward　with　his　knife。　The　blade　went　in。　He　felt　the　black　rubber　against　his　hand。　Then　the　butt　of　the　gun　hit　him　behind　the　ear　and　a　white　hand　came　down　and　scrabbled　at　his　airpipe。　Bond　slashed　wildly　with　the　knife；　his　hand　moving　with　terrifying　slowness　through　the　water。　The　point　ripped　something。　The　hand　let　go　of　the　mask；　but　now　Bond　couldn't　see。　Again　the　butt　of　the　gun　crashed　down　on　his　head。　Now　the　water　was　full　of　black　smoke；　heavy；　stringy　stuff　that　clung　to　the　glass　of　his　mask。　Bond　backed　painfully；　slowly　away；　clawing　at　the　glass。　At　last　it　cleared。　The　black　smoke　was　ing　out　of　the　man；　out　of　his　stomach。　But　the　gun　was　ing　up　again　slowly；　agonizingly；　as　if　it　weighed　a　ton；　and　the　bright　sting　of　the　spear　showed　at　its　mouth。　Now　the　webbed　feet　were　hardly　stirring；　but　the　man　was　sinking　slowly　down　to　Bond's　level。　Suspended　straight　in　the　water；　he　looked　like　one　of　those　little　celluloid　figures　in　a　Ptolemy　jar　that　rise　and　fall　gracefully　with　pressure　on　the　rubber　top　to　the　jar。