The James Bond MEGAPACK®

by Ian Fleming

  Bond heard her footsteps riffling the sand. He turned to look at her. She was dressed almost in rags—a faded brown shirt with torn sleeves and a knee-length patched brown cotton skirt held in place by the leather belt with the knife. She had a canvas knapsack slung over one shoulder. She looked like a principal girl dressed as Man Friday.

  She came up with him and at once went down on one knee and began picking up the live shells and stowing them in the knapsack.

  Bond said, “Are those rare?”

  She sat back on her haunches and looked up at him. She surveyed his face. Apparently she was satisfied. “You promise you won’t tell anybody? Swear?”

  “I promise,” said Bond.

  “Well then, yes, they are rare. Very. You can get five dollars for a perfect specimen. In Miami. That’s where I deal with. They’re called Venus Elegans—The Elegant Venus.” Her eyes sparkled up at him with excitement. “This morning I found what I wanted. The bed where they live,” she waved towards the sea. “You wouldn’t find it though,” she added with sudden carefulness. “It’s very deep and hidden away. I doubt if you could dive that deep. And anyway,” she looked happy, “I’m going to clear the whole bed today. You’d only get the imperfect ones if you came back here.”

  Bond laughed. “I promise I won’t steal any. I really don’t know anything about shells. Cross my heart.”

  She stood up, her work completed. “What about these birds of yours? What sort are they? Are they valuable too? I won’t tell either if you tell me. I only collect shells.”

  “They’re called roseate spoonbills,” said Bond. “Sort of pink stork with a flat beak. Ever seen any?”

  “Oh, those,” she said scornfully. “There used to be thousands of them here. But you won’t find many now. They scared them all away.” She sat down on the sand and put her arms round her knees, proud of her superior knowledge and now certain that she had nothing to fear from this man.

  Bond sat down a yard away. He stretched out and turned towards her, resting on his elbow. He wanted to preserve the picnic atmosphere and try to find out more about this queer, beautiful girl. He said, easily, “Oh, really. What happened? Who did it?”

  She shrugged impatiently. “The people here did it. I don’t know who they are. There’s a Chinaman. He doesn’t like birds or something. He’s got a dragon. He sent the dragon after the birds and scared them away. The dragon burned up their nesting places. There used to be two men who lived with the birds and looked after them. They got scared away too, or killed or something.”

  It all seemed quite natural to her. She gave the facts indifferently, staring out to sea.

  Bond said, “This dragon. What kind is he? Have you ever seen him?”

  “Yes, I’ve seen him.” She screwed up her eyes and made a wry face as if she was swallowing bitter medicine. She looked earnestly at Bond to make him share her feelings. “I’ve been coming here for about a year, looking for shells and exploring. I only found these,” she waved at the beach, “about a month ago. On my last trip. But I’ve found plenty of other good ones. Just before Christmas I thought I’d explore the river. I went up it to the top, where the birdmen had their camp. It was all broken up. It was getting late and I decided to spend the night there. In the middle of the night I woke up. The dragon was coming by only a few chains away from me. It had two great glaring eyes and a long snout. It had sort of short wings and a pointed tail. It was all black and gold.” She frowned at the expression on Bond’s face. “There was a full moon. I could see it quite clearly. It went by me. It was making a sort of roaring noise. It went over the marsh and came to some thick mangrove and it simply climbed over the bushes and went on. A whole flock of birds got up in front of it and suddenly a lot of fire came out of its mouth and it burned a lot of them up and all the trees they’d been roosting in. It was horrible. The most horrible thing I’ve ever seen.”

  The girl leant sideways and peered at Bond’s face. She sat up straight again and stared obstinately out to sea. “I can see you don’t believe me,” she said in a furious, tense voice. “You’re one of these city people. You don’t believe anything. Ugh,” she shuddered with dislike of him.

  Bond said reasonably, “Honey, there just aren’t such things as dragons in the world. You saw something that looked very like a dragon. I’m just wondering what it was.”

  “How do you know there aren’t such things as dragons?” Now he had made her really angry. “Nobody lives on this end of the island. One could easily have survived here. Anyway, what do you think you know about animals and things? I’ve lived with snakes and things since I was a child. Alone. Have you ever seen a praying mantis eat her husband after they’ve made love? Have you ever seen the mongoose dance? Or an octopus dance? How long is a humming bird’s tongue? Have you ever had a pet snake that wore a bell round its neck and rang it to wake you? Have you seen a scorpion get sunstroke and kill itself with its own sting? Have you seen the carpet of flowers under the sea at night? Do you know that a John Crow can smell a dead lizard a mile away...?” The girl had fired these questions like scornful jabs with a rapier. Now she stopped, out of breath. She said hopelessly, “Oh, you’re just city folk like all the rest.”

  Bond said, “Honey, now look here. You know these things. I can’t help it that I live in towns. I’d like to know about your things too. I just haven’t had that sort of life. I know other things instead. Like...” Bond searched his mind. He couldn’t think of anything as interesting as hers. He finished lamely, “Like for instance that this Chinaman is going to be more interested in your visit this time. This time he’s going to try and stop you getting away.” He paused and added. “And me for the matter of that.”

  She turned and looked at him with interest. “Oh. Why? But then it doesn’t really matter. One just hides during the day and gets away at night. He’s sent dogs after me and even a plane. He hasn’t got me yet.” She examined Bond with a new interest. “Is it you he’s after?”

  “Well, yes,” admitted Bond. “I’m afraid it is. You see we dropped the sail about two miles out so that their radar wouldn’t pick us up. I think the Chinaman may have been expecting a visit from me. Your sail will have been reported and I’d bet anything he’ll think your canoe was mine. I’d better go and wake my friend up and we’ll talk it over. You’ll like him. He’s a Cayman Islander, name of Quarrel.”

  The girl said, “Well, I’m sorry if...” the sentence trailed away. Apologies wouldn’t come easy to someone so much on the defensive. “But after all I couldn’t know, could I?” She searched his face.

  Bond smiled into the questing blue eyes. He said reassuringly, “Of course you couldn’t. It’s just bad luck—bad luck for you too. I don’t suppose he minds too much about a solitary girl who collects shells. You can be sure they’ve had a good look at your footprints and found clues like that”—he waved at the scattered shells on the beach. “But I’m afraid he’d take a different view of me. Now he’ll try and hunt me down with everything he’s got. I’m only afraid he may get you into the net in the process. Anyway,” Bond grinned reassuringly, “we’ll see what Quarrel has to say. You stay here.”

  Bond got to his feet. He walked along the promontory and cast about him. Quarrel had hidden himself well. It took Bond five minutes to find him. He was lying in a grassy depression between two big rocks, half covered by a board of grey driftwood. He was still fast asleep, the brown head, stern in sleep, cradled on his forearm. Bond whistled softly and smiled as the eyes sprang wide open like an animal’s. Quarrel saw Bond and scrambled to his feet, almost guiltily. He rubbed his big hands over his face as if he was washing it.

  “Mornin,’ cap’n,” he said. “Guess Ah been down deep. Dat China girl come to me.”

  Bond smiled. “I got something different,” he said. They sat down and Bond told him about Honeychile Rider and her shells and the fix they were in. “And now it’s eleven o’clock,” Bond added. “And we’ve got to make a new plan.”

  Quarrel s
cratched his head. He looked sideways at Bond. “Yo don’ plan we jess ditch dis girl?” he asked hopefully. “Ain’t nuttin to do wit we...” Suddenly he stopped. His head swivelled round and pointed like a dog’s. He held up a hand for silence, listening intently.

  Bond held his breath. In the distance, to the eastwards, there was a faint droning.

  Quarrel jumped to his feet. “Quick, cap’n,” he said urgently. “Dey’s a comin.’”

  Chapter 9

  Close Shaves

  Ten minutes later the bay was empty and immaculate. Small waves curled lazily in across the mirrored water inside the reef and flopped exhausted on the dark sand where the mauve shells glittered like shed toenails. The heap of discarded shells had gone and there was no longer any trace of footprints. Quarrel had cut branches of mangrove and had walked backwards sweeping carefully as he went. Where he had swept, the sand was of a different texture from the rest of the beach, but not too different as to be noticed from outside the reef. The girl’s canoe had been pulled deeper among the rocks and covered with seaweed and driftwood.

  Quarrel had gone back to the headland. Bond and the girl lay a few feet apart under the bush of sea-grape where Bond had slept, and gazed silently out across the water to the corner of the headland round which the boat would come.

  The boat was perhaps a quarter of a mile away. From the slow pulse of the twin diesels Bond guessed that every cranny of the coastline was being searched for signs of them. It sounded a powerful boat. A big cabin cruiser, perhaps. What crew would it have? Who would be in command of the search? Doctor No? Unlikely. He would not trouble himself with this kind of police work.

  From the west a wedge of cormorants appeared, flying low over the sea beyond the reef. Bond watched them. They were the first evidence he had seen of the guanay colony at the other end of the island. These, according to Pleydell-Smith’s description, would be scouts for the silver flash of the anchovy near the surface. Sure enough, as he watched, they began to back-pedal in the air and then go into shallow dives, hitting the water like shrapnel. Almost at once a fresh file appeared from the west, then another and another that merged into a long stream and then into a solid black river of birds. For minutes they darkened the skyline and then they were down on the water, covering several acres of it, screeching and fighting and plunging their heads below the surface, cropping at the solid field of anchovy like piranha fish feasting on a drowned horse.

  Bond felt a gentle nudge from the girl. She gestured with her head. “The Chinaman’s hens getting their corn.”

  Bond examined the happy, beautiful face. She had seemed quite unconcerned by the arrival of the search party. To her it was only the game of hide-and-seek she had played before. Bond hoped she wasn’t going to get a shock.

  The iron thud of the diesels was getting louder. The boat must be just behind the headland. Bond took a last look round the peaceful bay and then fixed his eyes, through the leaves and grass, on the point of the headland inside the reef.

  The knife of white bows appeared. It was followed by ten yards of empty polished deck, glass windshields, a low raked cabin with a siren and a blunt radio mast, the glimpse of a man inside at the wheel, then the long flat well of the stern and a drooping red ensign. Converted MTB, British Government surplus?

  Bond’s eyes went to the two men standing in the stern. They were pale-skinned Negroes. They wore neat khaki ducks and shirts, broad belts, and deep visored baseball caps of yellow straw. They were standing side by side, bracing themselves against the slow swell. One of them was holding a long black loud-hailer with a wire attached. The other was manning a machine gun on a tripod. It looked to Bond like a Spandau.

  The man with the loud-hailer let it fall so that it swung on a strap round his neck. He picked up a pair of binoculars and began inching them along the beach. The low murmur of his comments just reached Bond above the glutinous flutter of the diesels.

  Bond watched the eyes of the binoculars begin with the headland and then sweep the sand. The twin eyes paused among the rocks and moved on. They came back. The murmur of comment rose to a jabber. The man handed the glasses to the machine gunner who took a quick glance through them and gave them back. The scanner shouted something to the helmsman. The cabin cruiser stopped and backed up. Now she lay outside the reef exactly opposite Bond and the girl. The scanner again levelled the binoculars at the rocks where the girl’s canoe lay hidden. Again the excited jabber came across the water. Again the glasses were passed to the machine gunner who glanced through. This time he nodded decisively.

  Bond thought: now we’ve had it. These men know their job.

  Bond watched the machine gunner pull the bolt back to load. The double click came to him over the bubbling of the diesels.

  The scanner lifted his loud-hailer and switched it on. The twanging echo of the amplifier moaned and screeched across the water. The man brought it up to his lips. The voice roared across the bay.

  “Okay, folks! Come on out and you won’t get hurt.”

  It was an educated voice. There was a trace of American accent.

  “Now then, folks,” the voice thundered, “make it quick! We’ve seen where you came ashore. We’ve spotted the boat under the driftwood. We ain’t fools an’ we ain’t fooling. Take it easy. Just walk out with your hands up. You’ll be okay.”

  Silence fell. The waves lapped softly on the beach. Bond could hear the girl breathing. The thin screeching of the cormorants came to them muted across the mile of sea. The diesels bubbled unevenly as the swell covered the exhaust pipe and then opened it again.

  Softly Bond reached over to the girl and tugged at her sleeve. “Come close,” he whispered. “Smaller target.” He felt her warmth nearer to him. Her cheek brushed against his forearm. He whispered, “Burrow into the sand. Wriggle. Every inch’ll help.” He began to worm his body carefully deeper into the depression they had scooped out for themselves. He felt her do the same. He peered out. Now his eyes were only just above the skyline of the top of the beach.

  The man was lifting his loud-hailer. The voice roared. “Okay, folks! Just so as you’ll know this thing isn’t for show.” He lifted his thumb. The machine gunner trained his gun into the tops of the mangroves behind the beach. There came the swift rattling roar Bond had last heard coming from the German lines in the Ardennes. The bullets made the same old sound of frightened pigeons whistling overhead. Then there was silence.

  In the distance Bond watched the black cloud of cormorants take to the air and begin circling. His eyes went back to the boat. The machine gunner was feeling the barrel of his gun to see if it had warmed. The two men exchanged some words. The scanner picked up his loud-hailer.

  “’Kay, folks,” he said harshly. “You’ve been warned. This is it.”

  Bond watched the snout of the Spandau swing and depress. The man was going to start with the canoe among the rocks. Bond whispered to the girl, “All right, Honey. Stick it. Keep right down. It won’t last long.” He felt her hand squeeze his arm. He thought: poor little bitch, she’s in this because of me. He leant to the right to cover her head and pushed his face deep into the sand.

  This time the crash of noise was terrific. The bullets howled into the corner of the headland. Fragments of splintered rock whined over the beach like hornets. Ricochets twanged and buzzed off into the hinterland. Behind it all there was the steady road-drill hammer of the gun.

  There was a pause. New magazine, thought Bond. Now it’s us. He could feel the girl clutching at him. Her body was trembling along his flank. Bond reached out an arm and pressed her to him.

  The roar of the gun began again. The bullets came zipping along the tideline towards them. There was a succession of quick close thuds. The bush above them was being torn to shreds. ‘Zwip. Zwip. Zwip.’ It was as if the thong of a steel whip was cutting the bush to pieces. Bits scattered around them, slowly covering them. Bond could smell the cooler air that meant they were now lying in the open. Were they hidden by the leaves and d
ebris? The bullets marched away along the shoreline. In less than a minute the racket stopped.

  The silence sang. The girl whimpered softly. Bond hushed her and held her tighter.

  The loud-hailer boomed. “Okay, folks. If you still got ears, we’ll be along soon to pick up the bits. And we’ll be bringing the dogs. ’Bye for now.”

  The slow thud of the diesel quickened. The engine accelerated into a hasty roar and through the fallen leaves Bond watched the stern of the launch settle lower in the water as it made off to the west. Within minutes it was out of earshot.

  Bond cautiously raised his head. The bay was serene, the beach unmarked. All was as before except for the stench of cordite and the sour smell of blasted rock. Bond pulled the girl to her feet. There were tear streaks down her face. She looked at him aghast. She said solemnly, “That was horrible. What did they do it for? We might have been killed.”

  Bond thought, this girl has always had to fend for herself, but only against nature. She knows the world of animals and insects and fishes and she’s got the better of it. But it’s been a small world, bounded by the sun and the moon and the seasons. She doesn’t know the big world of the smoke-filled room, of the bullion broker’s parlour, of the corridors and waiting-rooms of government offices, of careful meetings on park seats—she doesn’t know about the struggle for big power and big money by the big men. She doesn’t know that she’s been swept out of her rock pool into the dirty waters.