if.thunderball-第6章

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indly　idealist　who　would　naturally　leave　the　Service　and　bee　instead　a　prison　visitor；　interest　himself　in　youth　clubs；　march　with　the　H…bomb　marchers；　eat　nut　cutlets；　try　and　change　the　world　for　the　better？　James　Bond　would　have　been　more　worried；　as　day　by　day　the　H…cure　drew　his　teeth；　if　it　had　not　been　for　three　obsessions　which　belonged　to　his　former　life　and　which　would　not　leave　him…a　passionate　longing　for　a　large　dish　of　Spaghetti　Bolognese　containing　plenty　of　chopped　garlic　and　acpanied　by　a　whole　bottle　of　the　cheapest；　rawest　Chianti　（bulk　for　his　empty　stomach　and　sharp　tastes　for　his　starved　palate）；　an　overwhelming　desire　for　the　strong；　smooth　body　of　Patricia　Fearing；　and　a　deadly　concentration　on　ways　and　means　to　wring　the　guts　of　Count　Lippe。
　
　The　first　two　would　have　to　wait；　though　tantalizing　schemes　for　consuming　both　dishes　on　the　day　of　his　release　from　Shrublands　occupied　much　of　his　mind。　So　far　as　Count　Lippe　was　concerned；　work　had　started　on　the　project　from　the　moment　Bond　took　up　again　the　routine　of　the　cure。
　
　With　the　cold　intensity　he　would　have　employed　against　an　enemy　agent；　say　in　a　hotel　in　Stockholm　or　Lisbon　during　the　war；　James　Bond　set　about　spying　on　the　other　man。　He　became　garrulous　and　inquisitive；　chatting　with　Patricia　Fearing　about　the　various　routines　at　Shrublands。　〃But　when　do　the　staff　find　time　to　have　lunch？〃　〃That　man　Lippe　looks　very　fit。　Oh；　he's　worried　about　his　waist…line！　Aren't　the　electric　blanket…baths　good　for　that？　No；　I　haven't　seen　the　Turkish　Bath　Cabinet。　Must　have　a　look　at　it　sometime。〃　And　to　his　masseur：　〃Haven't　seen　that　big　chap　about　lately；　Count　something…Ripper？　Hipper？　Oh　yes；　Lippe。　Oh；　noon　every　day？　I　think　I　must　try　and　get　that　time　as　well。　Nice　being　clear　for　the　rest　of　the　day。　And　I'd　like　to　have　a　spell　in　the　Turkish　Bath　thing　when　you've　finished　the　massage。　Need　a　good　sweat。〃　Innocently；　fragment　by　fragment；　James　Bond　built　up　a　plan　of　operations…a　plan　that　would　leave　him　and　Lippe　alone　among　the　machinery　of　the　soundproof　treatment　rooms。
　
　For　there　would　be　no　other　opportunity。　Count　Lippe　kept　to　his　room　in　the　main　building　until　his　treatment　time　at　noon。　In　the　afternoons　he　swished　away　in　the　violet　Bentley…to　Bournemouth；　it　seemed；　where　he　had　〃business。〃　The　night　porter　let　him　in　around　eleven　each　night。　One　afternoon…in　the　siesta　hour…Bond　slipped　the　Yale　lock　on　Count　Lippe's　room　with　a　straight　piece　of　plastic　cut　off　a　child's　airplane　he　had　bought　for　the　purpose　in　Washington。　He　went　over　the　room　meticulously　and　drew　a　blank。　All　he　learned…from　the　clothes…was　that　the　Count　was　a　much…traveled　man…shirts　from　Charvet；　ties　from　Tripler；　Dior；　and　Hardy　Amies；　shoes　from　Peel；　and　raw…silk　pajamas　from　Hong　Kong。　The　dark　red　morocco　suitcase　from　Mark　Cross　might　have　contained　secrets；　and　Bond　eyed　the　silk　linings　and　toyed　with　the　Count's　Wilkinson　razor。　But　no！　Better　that　revenge；　if　it　could　be　contrived；　should　e　out　of　a　clear　sky。
　
　That　same　afternoon；　drinking　his　treacly　tea；　Bond　scraped　together　the　meager　scraps　of　his　knowledge　of　Count　Lippe。　He　was　about　thirty；　attractive　to　women；　and　physically；　to　judge　from　the　naked　body　Bond　had　seen；　very　strong。　His　blood　would　be　Portuguese　with　a　dash　of　Chinaman　and　he　gave　the　appearance　of　wealth。　What　did　he　do？　What　was　his　profession？　At　first　glance　Bond　would　have　put　him　down　as　a　tough　maquereau　from　the　Ritz　bar　in　Paris；　the　Palace　at　St。　Moritz；　the　Carlton　at　Cannes…good　at　backgammon；　polo；　water…skiing；　but　with　the　yellow　streak　of　the　man　who　lives　on　women。　But　Lippe　had　heard　Bond　making　inquiries　about　him　and　that　had　been　enough　for　an　act　of　violence…an　inspired　act　that　he　had　carried　out　swiftly　and　coolly　when　he　finished　his　treatment　with　the　Fearing　girl　and　knew；　from　her　remark；　that　Bond　would　be　alone　on　the　traction　table。　The　act　of　violence　might　only　have　been　designed　to　warn；　but　equally；　since　Lippe　could　only　guess　at　the　effect　of　a　200…pound　pull　on　the　spine；　it　might　have　been　designed　to　kill。　Why？　Who　was　this　man　who　had　so　much　to　hide？　And　what　were　his　secrets？　Bond　poured　the　last　of　his　tea　on　to　a　mound　of　brown　sugar。　One　thing　was　certain…the　secrets　were　big　ones。
　
　Bond　never　seriously　considered　telling　Headquarters　about　Lippe　and　what　he　had　done　to　Bond。　The　whole　thing；　against　the　background　of　Shrublands；　was　so　unlikely　and　so　utterly　ridiculous。　And　somehow　Bond；　the　man　of　action　and　resource；　came　out　of　it　all　as　something　of　a　ninny。　Weakened　by　a　diet　of　hot　water　and　vegetable　soup；　the　ace　of　the　Secret　Service　had　been　tied　to　some　kind　of　a　rack　and　then　a　man　had　e　along　and　just　pulled　a　lever　up　a　few　notches　and　reduced　the　hero　of　a　hundred　bats　to　a　quivering　jelly！　No！　There　was　only　one　solution…a　private　solution；　man　to　man。　Later　perhaps；　to　satisfy　his　curiosity；　it　might　be　amusing　to　put　through　a　good　Trace　on　Count　Lippe…with　S。I。S。　Records；　with　the　C。I。D。；　with　the　Hong　Kong　Station。　But　for　the　time　being　Bond　would　stay　quiet；　keep　out　of　Count　Lippe's　way；　and　plan　meticulously　for　just　the　right　kind　of　pay…off。
　
　By　the　time　the　fourteenth　day；　the　last　day；　came；　Bond　had　it　all　fixed…the　time；　the　place；　and　the　method。
　
　At　ten　o'clock　Mr。　Joshua　Wain　received　Bond　for　his　final　checkup。　When　Bond　came　into　the　consulting　room；　Mr。　Wain　was　standing　by　the　open　window　doing　deep…breathing　exercises。　With　a　final　thorough　exhalation　through　the　nostrils　he　turned　to　greet　Bond　with　an　Ah！　Bisto！　expression　on　his　healthily　flushed　face。　His　smile　was　elastic　with　good…fellowship。　〃And　how's　the　world　treating　you；　Mr。　Bond？　No　ill　effects　from　that　unhappy　little　accident？　No。　Quite　so。　The　body　is　a　most　remarkable　piece　of　mechanism。　Extraordinary　power　of　recovery。　Now　then；　shirt　off；　please；　and　we'll　see　what　Shrublands　has　managed　to　do　for　you。〃
　
　Ten　minutes　later；　Bond；　blood　pressure　down　to　132/84；　weight　reduced　by　ten　pounds；　osteopathic　lesions　gone；　clear　of　eye　and　tongue；　was　on　his　way　down　to　the　basement　rooms　for　his　final　treatment。
　
　As　usual；　it　was　clammily　quiet　and　neutral…smelling　in　the　white　rooms　and　corridors。　From　the　separate　cubicles　there　came　an　occasional　soft　exchange　between　patient　and　staff；　and；　in　the　background；　intermittent　plumbing　noises。　The　steady　whir　of　the　ventilation　system　created　the　impression　of　the　deep　innards　of　a　liner　in　a　dead　calm。　It　was　nearly　twelve…thirty。　Bond　lay　face　down　on　the　massage　table　and　listened　for　the　authoritative　voice　and　the　quick　slap　of　the　naked　feet　of　his　prey。　The　door　at　the　end　of　the　corridor　sighed　open　and　sighed　shut　again。　〃Morning；　Beresford。　All　ready　for　me？　Make　it　good　and　hot　today。　Last　treatment。　Three　more　ounces　to　lose。　Right？〃
　
　〃Very　good；　sir。〃　The　gym　shoes　of　the　chief　attendant；　followed　by　the　slapping　feet；　came　down　the　corridor　outside　the　plastic　curtain　of　the　massage　room　and　on　to　the　end　room　of　all；　the　electric　Turkish　bath。　The　door　sighed　shut　and　a　few　minutes　later　sighed　again　as　the　attendant；　having　installed　Count　Lippe；　came　back　down　the　corridor。　Twenty　minutes　went　by。　Twenty…five。　Bond　rolled　off　the　table。　〃Well；　thanks；　Sam。　You've　done　me　a　power　of　good。　I'll　be　back　to　see　you　again　one　of　these　days；　I　expect。　I'll　just　go　along　and　have　a　final　salt　rub　and　a　sitz　bath。　You　cut　along　to　your　carrot　cutlets。　Don't　worry　about　me。　I'll　let　myself　out　when　I've　finished。〃　Bond　wrapped　a　towel　round　his　waist　and　moved　off　down　the　corridor。　There　was　a　flurry　of　movement　and　voices　as　the　attendants　got　rid　of　their　patients　and　made　their　way　through　the　staff　door　for　the　luncheon　break。　The　last　patient；　a　reformed　drunk；　called　back　from　the　entrance；　〃See　you　later；　Irrigator！〃　Somebody　laughed。　Now　the　petty…officer　voice　of　Beresford　sounded　down　the　corridor；　making　certain　that　everything　was　shipshape：　〃Windows；　Bill？　Okay。　Your　next　is　Mr。　Dunbar　at　two　sharp。　Len；　tell　the　laundry　we　shall　need　more　towels　after　lunch。　Ted　。　。　。　Ted。　You　there；　Ted？　Well；　then；　Sam；　look　after　Count　Lippe；　would　you；　Turkish　bath。〃
　
　Bond　had　listened　to　this　routine　for　a　whole　week；　noting　the　men　that　cut　minutes　off　their　duty　and　got　off　early　to　lunch；　noting　the　ones　that　stayed　to　do　their　full　share　of　the　last　chores。　Now；　from　the　open　door　of　the　empty　shower　room；　he　called　back；　in　Sam's　deep　voice；　〃Okay；　Mr。　Beresford；〃　and　waited　for　the　crisp　squeak　of　the　gym　shoes　on　the　linoleum。　There　it　was！　The　brief　pause　halfway　down　the　corridor　and　then　the　double　sigh　as　the　staff　door　opened　and　shut。　Now　there　was　dead　silence　save　for　the　hum　of　the　fans。　The　treatment　rooms　were　empty。　Now　there　was　only　James　Bond　and　Count　Lippe。
　
　Bond　waited　a　moment　and　then　came　out　of　the　shower　room　and　softly　opened　the　door　to　the　Turkish　bath。　He　had　had　one　session　in　the　place；　just　to　get　the　geography　clear　in　his　mind；　and　the　scene　was　exactly　as　he　remembered。
　
　It　was　a　white　cubicle　treatment　room　like　all　the　others；　but　in　this　one　the　only　object　was　a　big　cream　metal…and…plastic　box　about　five　feet　tall　by　four　feet　square。　It　was　closed　on　all　sides　but　the　top。　The　front　of　the　big　cabinet　was　hinged　to　allow　a　patient　to　climb　in　and　sit　inside　and　there　was　a　hole　in　the　top　with　a　foam…rubber　support　for　the　nape　of　the　neck　and　the　chin；　through　which　the　patient's　head　emerged。　The　rest　of　his　body　was　exposed　to　the　heat　from　many　rows　of　naked　electric　bulbs　inside　the　cabinet　and　the　degree　of　heat　was　thermostatically　controlled　by　a　dial　at　the　back　of　the　cabinet。　It　was　a　simple　sweat　box；　designed；　as　Bond　had　noticed　on　his　previous　visit　to　the　room；　by　the　Medikalischer　Maschinenbau　G。m。b。H。；　44　Franziskanerstrasse；　Ulm；　Bavaria。
　
　The　cabinet　faced　away　from　the　door。　At　the　hiss　of　the　hydraulic　fastener；　Count　Lippe　said　angrily；　〃Goddammit；　Beresford。　Let　me　out　of　this　thing。　I'm　sweating　like　a　pig。〃
　
　〃You　said　you　wanted　it　hot；　sir。〃　Bond's　amiable　voice　was　a　good　approximation　to　the　chief　attendant's。
　
　〃Don't　argue；　goddammit。　Let　me　out　of　here。〃
　
　〃I　don't　think　you　quite　realize　the　value　of　heat　in　the　H…cure；　sir。　Heat　resolves　many　of　the　toxins　in　the　blood　stream　and　for　the　matter　of　that　in　the　muscle　tissue　also。　A　patient　suffering　from　your　condition　of　pronounced　toxemia　will　find　much　benefit　from　the　heat　treatment。〃　Bond　found　the　H…lingo　rattling　quite　easily　off　the　tongue。　He　was　not　worried　about　the　consequences　to　Beresford。　He　would　have　the　solid　alibi　of　luncheon　in　the　staff　canteen。
　
　〃Don't　give　me　that　crap。　I　tell　you；　let　me　out　of　here。〃
　
　Bond　examined　the　dial　on　the　back　of　the　machine。　The　needle　stood　at　120。　What　should　he　give　the　man？　The　dial　ran　up　to　200　degrees。　That　much　might　roast　him　alive。　This　was　only　to　be　a　punishment；　not　a　murder。　Perhaps　180　would　be　a　just　retribution。　Bond　clicked　the　knob　up　to　180。　He　said；　〃I　think　just　half　an　hour　of　real　heat　will　do　you　the　world　of　good；　sir。〃　Bond　dropped　the　sham　voice。　He　added　sharply；　〃And　if　you　catch　fire　you　can　sue。〃
　
　The　drippin