if.thunderball-第16章

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roof　of　the　mouth；　into　the　brain。　He　knew　nothing　but　a　moment's　surprise；　a　sear　of　pain；　and　an　explosion　of　brilliant　light。
　
　The　killer　held　in　the　knife　for　a　moment；　the　back　of　hand　feeling　the　stubble　on　Petacchi's　chin；　then　lowered　the　body　onto　the　wing　and　withdrew　the　knife。　He　carefully　rinsed　the　knife　in　the　sea　water　and　wiped　the　blade　on　Petacchi's　back　and　put　the　knife　away。　Then　he　hauled　the　body　along　the　wing　and　thrust　it　under　water　beside　the　escape　hatch。
　
　The　killer　waded　back　along　the　wing　to　the　waiting　jolly…boat　and　laconically　raised　a　thumb。　By　now　four　of　the　men　had　pulled　on　their　aqualungs。　One　by　one；　with　a　last　adjustment　of　their　mouthpieces；　they　clumsily　heaved　themselves　over　the　side　of　the　rocking　boat　and　sank　in　a　foam　of　small　bubbles。　When　the　last　man　had　gone；　the　mechanic　at　the　engine　carefully　lowered　a　huge　underwater　searchlight　over　the　side　and　paid　out　the　cable。　At　a　given　moment　he　switched　the　light　on　and　the　sea　and　the　great　sinking　hulk　of　the　plane　were　lit　up　with　a　mist　of　luminescence。　The　mechanic　slipped　the　idling　motor　into　gear　and　backed　away；　paying　out　cable　as　he　went。　At　twenty　yards；　out　of　range　of　the　suction　of　the　sinking　plane；　he　stopped　and　switched　off　his　engine。　He　reached　into　his　overalls　and　took　out　a　packet　of　Camels。　He　offered　one　to　the　killer；　who　took　it；　broke　it　carefully　in　half；　put　one　half　behind　his　ear；　and　lit　the　other　half。　The　killer　was　a　man　who　rigidly　controlled　his　weaknesses。
　
　10。　The　Disco　Volante
　
　On　board　the　yacht；　No。　1　put　down　his　night　glasses；　took　a　Charvet　handerkerchief　out　of　the　breast　pocket　of　his　white　sharkskin　jacket　and　dabbed　gently　at　his　forehead　and　temples。　The　musky　scent　of　Schiaparelli's　Snuff　was　reassuring；　reminding　him　of　the　easy　side　of　life；　of　Dominetta　who　would　now　be　sitting　down　to　dinner…everyone　kept　Spanish　hours　in　Nassau　and　cocktails　would　not　have　finished　before　ten…with　the　raffish　but　rather　gay　Saumurs　and　their　equally　frivolous　guests；　of　the　early　game　that　would　already　be　under　way　at　the　Casino；　of　the　calypsos　thudding　into　the　night　from　the　bars　and　night　clubs　on　Bay　Street。　He　put　the　handkerchief　back　in　his　pocket。　But　this　also　was　good…this　wonderful　operation！　Like　clockwork！　He　glanced　at　his　watch。　Just　ten…fifteen。　The　plane　had　been　a　bare　thirty　minutes　late；　a　nasty　half…hour　to　have　to　wait；　but　the　landing　had　been　perfect。　Vargas　had　done　a　good　quick　job　on　the　Italian　pilot…what　was　his　name？…so　that　now　they　were　running　only　fifteen　minutes　late。　If　the　recovery　group　didn't　have　to　use　oxyacetylene　cutters　to　get　out　the　bombs；　they　would　soon　make　that　up。　But　one　mustn't　expect　no　hitch　at　all。　There　was　a　good　eight　hours　of　darkness　to　go。　Calm；　method；　efficiency；　in　that　order。　Calm；　method；　efficiency。　No。　1　ducked　down　off　the　bridge　and　went　into　the　radio　cabin。　It　smelled　of　sweat　and　tension。　Anything　from　the　Nassau　control　tower？　Any　report　of　a　low…flying　plane？　Of　a　possible　crash　into　the　sea　off　Bimini？　Then　keep　watching　and　get　me　No。　2。　Quick；　please。　It's　just　on　the　quarter。
　
　No。　1　lit　a　cigarette　and　watched　the　yacht's　big　brain　get　to　work；　scanning　the　ether；　listening；　searching。　The　operator　played　the　dials　with　insect　fingers；　pausing；　verifying；　hastening　on　through　the　sound　waves　of　the　world。　Now　he　suddenly　stopped；　checked；　minutely　adjusted　the　volume。　He　raised　his　thumb。　No　1　spoke　into　the　sphere　of　wire　mesh　that　rose　before　his　mouth　from　the　base　of　the　headset。　〃No。　1　speaking。〃
　
　〃No。　2　listening。〃　The　voice　was　hollow。　The　words　waxed　and　waned。　But　it　was　Blofeld；　all　right。　No。　1　knew　that　voice　better　than　he　remembered　his　father's。
　
　〃Successful。　Ten…fifteen。　Next　phase　ten…forty…five。　Continuing。　Over。〃
　
　〃Thank　you。　Out。〃　The　sound　waves　went　dead。　The　interchange　had　taken　forty…five　seconds。　No　conceivable　fear　of　interception　in　that　time；　on　that　waveband。
　
　No。　1　went　through　the　big　stateroom　and　down　into　the　hold。　The　four　men　of　B　team；　their　aqualungs　beside　them；　were　sitting　around　smoking。　The　wide　underwater　hatch　just　above　the　keel　of　the　yacht　was　open。　Moonlight；　reflected　off　the　white　sand　under　the　ship；　shone　up　through　the　six　feet　of　water　in　the　hold。　Stacked　on　the　grating　beside　the　men　was　the　thick　pile　of　tarpaulin　painted　a　very　pale　café…au…lait　with　occasional　irregular　blotches　of　dark　green　and　brown。　No。　1　said；　〃All　is　going　very　well。　The　recovery　team　is　at　work。　It　should　not　be　long　now。　How　about　the　chariot　and　the　sled？〃
　
　One　of　the　men　jerked　his　thumb　downward。　〃They　are　down　there。　Outside　on　the　sand。　So　it　will　be　quicker。〃
　
　〃Correct。〃　No。　1　nodded　toward　a　cranelike　contraption　fastened　to　a　bulkhead　above　the　hold。　〃The　derrick　took　the　strain　all　right？〃
　
　〃That　chain　could　handle　twice　the　weight。〃
　
　〃The　pumps？〃
　
　〃In　order。　They　will　clear　the　hold　in　seven　minutes。〃
　
　〃Good。　Well；　take　it　easy。　It　will　be　a　long　night。〃　No。　1　climbed　the　iron　ladder　out　of　the　hold　and　went　up　on　deck。　He　didn't　need　his　night　glasses。　Two　hundred　yards　away　to　starboard　the　sea　was　empty　save　for　the　jolly…boat　riding　at　anchor　above　the　golden　submarine　glow。　The　red　marker　light　had　been　taken　into　the　boat。　The　rattle　of　the　little　generator　making　current　for　the　big　searchlight　was　loud。　It　would　carry　far　across　a　sea　as　still　as　this。　But　accumulators　would　have　been　too　bulky　and　might　have　exhausted　themselves　before　the　work　was　finished。　The　generator　was　a　calculated　risk　and　a　small　one　at　that。　The　nearest　island　was　five　miles　away　and　uninhabited　unless　someone　was　having　a　midnight　picnic　on　it。　The　yacht　had　stopped　and　searched　it　on　the　way　to　the　rendezvous。　Everything　had　been　done　that　could　be　done；　every　precaution　taken。　The　wonderful　machine　was　running　silently　and　full　out。　There　was　nothing　to　worry　about　now　except　the　next　step。　No。　1　went　through　the　hatch　into　the　enclosed　bridge　and　bent　over　the　lighted　chart　table。
　
　Emilio　Largo；　No。　1；　was　a　big；　conspicuously　handsome　man　of　about　forty。　He　was　a　Roman　and　he　looked　like　a　Roman；　not　from　the　Rome　of　today；　but　from　the　Rome　of　the　ancient　coins。　The　large；　long　face　was　sunburned　a　deep　mahogany　brown　and　the　light　glinted　off　the　strong　rather　hooked　nose　and　the　clean…cut　lantern　jaw　that　had　been　meticulously　shaved　before　he　had　started　out　late　that　afternoon。　In　contrast　to　the　hard；　slow…moving　brown　eyes；　the　mouth；　with　its　thick；　rather　down…curled　lips；　belong　to　a　satyr。　Ears　that；　from　dead　in　front；　looked　almost　pointed；　added　to　an　animalness　that　would　devastate　women。　The　only　weakness　in　the　fine　centurion　face　lay　in　the　overlong　sideburns　and　the　too　carefully　waved　black　hair　that　glistened　so　brightly　with　pomade　that　it　might　almost　have　been　painted　onto　the　skull。　There　was　no　fat　on　the　big…boned　frame…Largo　had　fought　for　Italy　in　the　Olympic　foils；　was　almost　an　Olympic…class　swimmer　with　the　Australian　crawl；　and　only　a　month　before　had　won　the　senior　class　in　the　Nassau　water…ski　championships…and　the　muscles　bulged　under　the　exquisitely　cut　sharkskin　jacket。　An　aid　to　his　athletic　prowess　were　his　hands。　They　were　almost　twice　the　normal　size；　even　for　a　man　of　his　stature；　and　now；　as　they　walked　across　the　chart　holding　a　ruler　and　a　pair　of　dividers；　they　looked；　extruding　from　the　white　sleeves　that　rested　on　the　white　chart；　almost　like　large　brown　furry　animals　quite　separate　from　their　owner。
　
　Largo　was　an　adventurer；　a　predator　on　the　herd。　Two　hundred　years　before　he　would　have　been　a　pirate…not　one　of　the　jolly　ones　of　the　story　books；　but　a　man　like　Blackbeard；　a　bloodstained　cutthroat　who　scythed　his　way　through　people　toward　gold。　But　Blackbeard　had　been　too　much　of　a　bully　and　a　roughneck；　and　wherever　he　went　in　the　world　he　left　behind　a　tell…tale　shambles。　Largo　was　different。　There　was　a　cool　brain　and　an　exquisite　finesse　behind　his　actions　that　had　always　saved　him　from　the　herd's　revenge…from　his　postwar　debut　as　head　of　the　black　market　in　Naples；　through　five　lucrative　years　smuggling　from　Tangier；　five　more　master…minding　the　wave　of　big　jewel　robberies　on　the　French　Riviera；　down　to　his　last　five　with　SPECTRE。　Always　he　got　away　with　it。　Always　he　had　seen　the　essential　step　ahead　that　would　have　been　hidden　from　lesser　men。　He　was　the　epitome　of　the　gentleman　crook…a　man　of　the　world；　a　great　womanizer；　a　high　liver　with　the　entrée　to　café　society　in　four　continents；　and　the　last　survivor；　conveniently　enough；　of　a　once　famous　Roman　family　whose　fortune；　so　he　said；　he　had　inherited。　He　also　benefited　from　having　no　wife；　a　spotless　police　record；　nerves　of　steel；　a　heart　of　ice；　and　the　ruthlessness　of　a　Himmler。　He　was　the　perfect　man　for　SPECTRE；　and　the　perfect　man；　rich　Nassau　playboy　and　all；　to　be　Supreme　mander　of　Plan　Omega。
　
　One　of　the　crew　knocked　on　the　hatch　and　came　in。　〃They　have　signaled。　The　chariot　and　sled　are　on　the　way。〃
　
　〃Thank　you。〃　In　the　heat　and　excitement　of　any　operation；　Largo　always　created　calm。　However　much　was　at　stake；　however　great　the　dangers　and　however　urgent　the　need　for　speed　and　quick　decisions；　he　made　a　fetish　of　calm；　of　the　pause；　of　an　almost　judo…like　inertia。　This　was　an　act　of　will　to　which　he　had　trained　himself。　He　found　it　had　an　extraordinary　effect　on　his　acplices。　It　tied　them　to　him　and　invoked　their　obedience　and　loyalty　more　than　any　other　factor　in　leadership。　That　he；　a　clever　and　cunning　man；　should　show　unconcern　at　particularly　bad；　or；　as　in　this　case；　particularly　good　news；　meant　that　he　already　knew　that　what　had　happened　would　happen。　With　Largo；　consequences　were　foreseen。　One　could　depend　on　him。　He　never　lost　balance。　So　now；　at　this　splendid　news；　Largo　deliberately　picked　up　his　dividers　again　and　made　a　trace；　an　imaginary　trace；　on　the　chart　for　the　sake　of　the　crew　member。　He　then　put　down　the　dividers　and　strolled　out　of　the　air…conditioning　into　the　warm　night。
　
　A　tiny　worm　of　underwater　light　was　creeping　out　toward　the　jolly…boat。　It　was　a　two…man　underwater　chariot　identical　with　those　used　by　the　Italians　during　the　war　and　bought；　with　improvements；　from　Ansaldo；　the　firm　that　had　originally　invented　the　one…man　submarine。　It　was　towing　an　underwater　sled；　a　sharp　prowed　tray　with　negative　buoyancy　used　for　the　recovery　and　transport　of　heavy　objects　under　the　sea。　The　worm　of　light　merged　with　the　luminescence　from　the　searchlight　and；　minutes　later；　re…emerged　on　its　way　back　to　the　ship。　It　would　have　been　natural　for　Largo　to　have　gone　down　to　the　hold　to　witness　the　arrival　of　the　two　atomic　weapons。　Typically；　he　did　nothing　of　the　sort。　In　due　course　the　little　headlight　reappeared；　going　back　over　its　previous　course。　Now　the　sled　would　be　loaded　with　the　huge　tarpaulin；　camouflaged　to　merge　in　with　just　this　piece　of　underwater　terrain；　with　its　white　sand　and　patches　of　coral　outcrop；　that　would　be　spread　so　as　to　cover　every　inch　of　the　wrecked　plane　and　pegged　all　round　with　corkscrew　iron　stanchions　that　would　not　be　shifted　by　the　heaviest　surface　storm　or　groundswell。　In　his　imagination；　Largo　saw