if.thunderball-第8章

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；　for　the　ciphers　hid　their　contents　from　him；　only　those　prefixed　〃MOST　IMMEDIATE〃　or　〃MOST　SECRET。〃　Then；　working　carefully；　he　built　up　in　his　head　a　network　of　fictitious　agents。　These　were　real　but　small　people　in　the　various　embassies　and　armament　firms　to　whom　most　of　the　traffic　was　addressed…a　junior　cipher　clerk　in　the　British　Embassy；　a　translator　working　for　the　French；　private　secretaries…real　ones…in　the　big　firms。　These　names　were　easily　obtained　from　the　diplomatic　lists；　by　ringing　up　a　firm　and　asking　Inquiries　for　the　name　of　the　chairman's　private　secretary。　He　was　speaking　for　the　Red　Cross。　They　wished　to　discuss　the　possibility　of　a　donation　from　the　chairman。　And　so　on。　When　Blofeld　had　all　his　names　right；　he　christened　his　network　TARTAR　and　made　a　discreet　approach　to　the　German　Military　Attache　with　one　or　two　specimens　of　its　work。　He　was　rapidly　passed　on　to　the　representative　of　AMT　IV　of　the　Abwehr；　and　from　then　on　things　were　easy。　When　this　pot　was　bubbling　merrily；　and　the　money　（he　refused　to　accept　payment　except　in　American　dollars）　ing　in　（it　came　in　fast；　he　explained　that　he　had　so　many　agents　to　pay　off）；　he　proceeded　to　widen　his　market。　He　considered　the　Russians　but　dismissed　them；　and　the　Czechs；　as　probable　non…；　or　at　any　rate　slow…；　payers。　Instead　he　chose　the　Americans　and　the　Swedes；　and　money　positively　showered　in　on　him。　He　soon　realized；　for　he　was　a　man　of　almost　mimosaic　sensibility　in　matters　of　security；　that　the　pace　could　not　possibly　last。　There　would　be　a　leak：　perhaps　between　the　Swedish　and　German　secret　services；　who　he　knew　（for　through　his　contacts　with　their　spies　he　was　picking　up　the　gossip　of　his　new　trade）　were　working　closely　together　in　some　territories；　or　through　Allied　counter…espionage　or　their　cryptographic　services；　or　else　one　of　his　notional　agents　would　die　or　be　transferred　without　his　knowledge　while　he　continued　to　use　the　name　as　a　source。　Anyway；　by　now　he　had　200；000　and　there　was　the　added　spur　that　the　war　was　getting　too　close　for　fort。　It　was　time　for　him　to　be　off　into　the　wide　world…into　one　of　the　safe　bits　of　it。　Blofeld　carried　out　his　withdrawal　expertly。　First　he　slowly　petered　off　the　service。　Security；　he　explained；　was　being　tightened　up　by　the　English　and　the　French。　Perhaps　there　had　been　a　leak…he　looked　with　mild　reproof　into　the　eyes　of　his　contact…this　secretary　had　had　a　change　of　heart；　that　one　was　asking　too　much　money。　Then　he　went　to　his　friend　on　the　Bourse　and；　after　sealing　his　lips　with　a　thousand　dollars；　had　all　his　funds　invested　in　Shell　Bearer　Bonds　in　Amsterdam　and　thence　transferred　to　a　Numbered　Safe　Deposit　box　with　the　Diskonto　Bank　in　Zurich。　Before　the　final　step　of　telling　his　contacts　that　he　was　brulé　and　that　the　Polish　Deuxième　Bureau　was　sniffing　at　his　heels；　he　paid　a　visit　to　Gdynia；　called　on　the　registrar　and　on　the　church　where　he　had　been　baptized　and；　on　the　pretext　of　looking　up　details　of　an　invented　friend；　neatly　cut　out　the　page　recording　his　own　name　and　birth。　It　remained　only　to　locate　the　passport　factory　that　operates　in　every　big　seaport　and　purchase　a　Canadian　seaman's　passport　for　2；000。　Then　he　was　off　to　Sweden　by　the　next　boat。　After　a　pause　in　Stockholm　for　a　careful　look　round　the　world　and　some　cool　thinking　about　the　probable　course　of　the　war；　he　flew　to　Turkey　on　his　original　Polish　passport；　transferred　his　money　from　Switzerland　to　the　Ottoman　Bank　in　Istanbul；　and　waited　for　Poland　to　fall。　When；　in　due　course；　this　happened；　he　claimed　refuge　in　Turkey　and　spent　a　little　money　among　the　right　officials　in　order　to　get　his　claim　established。　Then　he　settled　down。　Ankara　Radio　was　glad　to　have　his　expert　services　and　he　set　up　RAHIR；　another　espionage　service　built　on　the　lines　of　TARTAR；　but　rather　more　solidly。　Blofeld　wisely　waited　to　ascertain　the　victor　before　selling　his　wares；　and　it　was　only　when　Rommel　had　been　kicked　out　of　Africa　that　he　plumped　for　the　Allies。　He　finished　the　war　in　a　blaze　of　glory　and　prosperity　and　with　decorations　or　citations　from　the　British；　Americans；　and　French。　Then；　with　half　a　million　dollars　in　Swiss　banks　and　a　Swedish　passport　in　the　name　of　Serge　Angstrom；　he　slipped　off　to　South　America　for　a　rest；　some　good　food；　and　a　fresh　think。
　
　And　now　Ernst　Blofeld；　the　name　to　which　he　had　decided　it　was　perfectly　safe　to　return；　sat　in　the　quiet　room　in　the　Boulevard　Hauss…mann；　gazed　slowly　round　the　faces　of　his　twenty　men；　and　looked　for　eyes　that　didn't　squarely　meet　his。　Blofeld's　own　eyes　were　deep　black　pools　surrounded…totally　surrounded；　as　Mussolini's　were…by　very　clear　whites。　The　doll…like　effect　of　this　unusual　symmetry　was　enhanced　by　long　silken　black　eyelashes　that　should　have　belonged　to　a　woman。　The　gaze　of　these　soft　doll's　eyes　was　totally　relaxed　and　rarely　held　any　expression　stronger　than　a　mild　curiosity　in　the　object　of　their　focus。　They　conveyed　a　restful　certitude　in　their　owner　and　in　their　analysis　of　what　they　observed。　To　the　innocent　they　exuded　confidence；　a　wonderful　cocoon　of　confidence　in　which　the　observed　one　could　rest　and　relax；　knowing　that　he　was　in　fortable；　reliable　hands。　But　they　stripped　the　guilty　or　the　false　and　made　him　feel　transparent…as　transparent　as　a　fishbowl　through　whose　sides　Blofeld　examined；　with　only　the　most　casual　curiosity；　the　few　solid　fish；　the　grains　of　truth；　suspended　in　the　void　of　deceit　or　attempted　obscurity。　Blofeld's　gaze　was　a　microscope；　the　window　on　the　world　of　a　superbly　clear　brain；　with　a　focus　that　had　been　sharpened　by　thirty　years　of　danger；　and　of　keeping　just　one　step　ahead　of　it；　and　of　an　inner　self…assurance　built　up　on　a　lifetime　of　success　in　whatever　he　hadattempted。
　
　The　skin　beneath　the　eyes　that　now　slowly；　mildly；　surveyed　his　colleagues　was　unpouched。　There　was　no　sign　of　debauchery；　illness；　or　old　age　on　the　large；　white；　bland　face　under　the　square；　wiry　black　crew…cut。　The　jaw　line；　going　to　the　appropriate　middle…aged　fat　of　authority；　showed　decision　and　independence。　Only　the　mouth；　under　a　heavy；　squat　nose；　marred　what　might　have　been　the　face　of　a　philosopher　or　a　scientist。　Proud　and　thin；　like　a　badly　healed　wound；　the　pressed；　dark　lips；　capable　only　of　false；　ugly　smiles；　suggested　contempt；　tyranny；　and　cruelty…but　to　an　almost　Shakespearian　degree。　Nothing　about　Blofeld　was　small。
　
　Blofeld's　body　weighed　about　two　hundred　and　eighty　pounds。　It　had　once　been　all　muscle…he　had　been　an　amateur　weight…lifter　in　his　youth…but　in　the　past　ten　years　it　had　softened　and　he　had　a　vast　belly　that　he　concealed　behind　roomy　trousers　and　well…cut　double…breasted　suits；　tailored；　that　evening；　out　of　beige　doeskin。　Blofeld's　hands　and　feet　were　long　and　pointed。　They　were　quick…moving　when　they　wanted　to　be；　but　normally；　as　now；　they　were　still　and　reposed。　For　the　rest；　he　didn't　smoke　or　drink　and　he　had　never　been　known　to　sleep　with　a　member　of　either　sex。　He　didn't　even　eat　very　much。　So　far　as　vices　or　physical　weaknesses　were　concerned；　Blofeld　had　always　been　an　enigma　to　everyone　who　had　known　him。
　
　The　twenty　men　who　looked　up　the　long　table　at　this　man　and　waited　patiently　for　him　to　speak　were　a　curious　mixture　of　national　types。　But　they　had　certain　characteristics　in　mon。　They　were　all　in　the　thirty…to…forty　age…group；　they　all　looked　extremely　fit；　and　nearly　all　of　them…there　were　two　who　were　different…had　quick；　hard；　predatory　eyes；　the　eyes　of　the　wolves　and　the　hawks　that　prey　upon　the　herd。　The　two　who　were　different　were　both　scientists　with　scientists'　other…worldly　eyes…Kotze；　the　East　German　physicist　who　had　e　over　to　the　West　five　years　before　and　had　exchanged　his　secrets　for　a　modest　pension　and　retirement　in　Switzerland；　and　Maslov；　formerly　Kandinsky；　the　Polish　electronics　expert　who；　in　1956；　had　resigned　as　head　of　the　radio　research　department　of　Philips　AG　of　Eindhoven　and　had　then　disappeared　into　obscurity。　The　other　eighteen　men　consisted　of　cells　of　three　（Blofeld　accepted　the　munist　triangle　system　for　security　reasons）　from　six　national　groups　and；　within　these　groups；　from　six　of　the　world's　great　criminal　and　subversive　organizations。　There　were　three　Sicilians　from　the　top　echelon　of　the　Unione　Siciliano；　the　Mafia；　three　Corsican　Frenchmen　from　the　Union　Corse；　the　secret　society　contemporary　with　and　similar　to　the　Mafia　that　runs　nearly　all　organized　crime　in　France；　three　former　members　of　SMERSH；　the　Soviet　organization　for　the　execution　of　traitors　and　enemies　of　the　State　that　had　been　disbanded　on　the　orders　of　Khrushchev　in　1958　and　replaced　by　the　Special　Executive　Department　of　the　M。W。D。；　three　of　the　top　surviving　members　of　the　former　Sonderdienst　of　the　Gestapo；　three　tough　Yugoslav　operatives　who　had　resigned　from　Marshal　Tito's　Secret　Police；　and　three　highland　Turks　（the　Turks　of　the　plains　are　no　good）　formerly　members　of　Blofeld's　RAHIR　and　subsequently　responsible　for　KRYSTAL；　the　important　Middle　East　heroin　pipeline　whose　outlet　is　Beirut。　These　eighteen　men；　all　experts　in　conspiracy；　in　the　highest　ranges　of　secret　munication　and　action　and；　above　all；　of　silence；　also　shared　one　supreme　virtue…every　man　had　a　solid　cover。　Every　man　possessed　a　valid　passport　with　up…to…date　visas　for　the　principal　countries　in　the　world；　and　an　entirely　clean　sheet　with　Interpol　and　with　their　respective　national　police　forces。　That　factor　alone；　the　factor　of　each　man's　cleanliness　after　a　lifetime　in　big　crime；　was　his　highest　qualification　for　membership　of　S。P。E。C。T。R。E。…The　Special　Executive　for　Counterintelligence；　Terrorism；　Revenge；　and　Extortion。
　
　The　founder　and　chairman　of　this　private　enterprise　for　private　profit　was　Ernst　Stavro　Blofeld。
　
　6。　Violet…Scented　Breath
　
　Blofeld　pleted　his　inspection　of　the　faces。　As　he　had　anticipated；　only　one　pair　of　eyes　had　slid　away　from　his。　He　had　known　he　was　right。　The　double…checked　reports　had　been　entirely　circumstantial；　but　his　own　eyes　and　his　intuition　had　to　be　the　seal。　He　slowly　put　both　hands　under　the　table。　One　hand　remained　flat　on　his　thigh。　The　other　went　to　a　side　pocket　and　drew　out　a　thin　gold　vinaigrette　and　placed　it　on　the　table　in　front　of　him。　He　prised　open　the　lid　with　his　thumbnail；　took　out　a　violet…scented　cachou；　and　slipped　it　into　his　mouth。　It　was　his　custom；　when　unpleasant　things　had　to　be　said；　to　sweeten　his　breath。
　
　Blofeld　tucked　the　cachou　under　his　tongue　and　began　to　talk　in　a　soft；　resonant；　and　very　beautifully　modulated　voice。
　
　〃I　have　a　report　to　make　to　members　about　The　Big　Affair；　about　Plan　Omega。〃　（Blofeld　never　prefixed　his　words　with　〃Gentlemen；〃　〃Friends；〃　〃Colleagues；〃　or　the　like。　These　were　fripperies。）　〃But　before　I　proceed　to　that　matter；　for　security's　sake　I　propose　to　touch　upon　another　topic。〃　Blofeld　looked　mildly　round　the　table。　The　same　pair　of　eyes　evaded　his。　He　continued　in　a　narrative　tone　of　voice：　〃The　Executive　will　agree　that　the　first　three　years　of　our　experience　have　been　successful。　Thanks　in　part　to　our　German　section；　the　recovery　of　Himmler's　jewels　from　the　Mondsee　was　successfully　acplished　in　total　secrecy；　and　the　stones　disposed　of　by　our　Turkish　section　in　Beirut。　Ine：　￡750；000。　The　disapp