if.themanwiththegoldengun-第11部分

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　plenty　of　girls…all　the　jazz。　And　there's　swimming；　and　one　of　the　features　of　the　place　is　a　small…scale　railway　that　used　to　handle　the　sugar　cane。　Runs　to　Green　Island　Harbour　where　I've　got　a　forty…foot　Chris…Craft　Roamer。　Deep…sea　fishing。　That'll　be　another　outing。　Get　me？　Give　the　guys　a　real　good　tune。〃
　〃So　that　they'll　get　all　enthusiastic　and　buy　out　your　share　of　the　stock？〃
　Scaramanga　frowned　angrily。　〃I'm　not　paying　you　a　grand　to　get　the　wrong　ideas。　Or　any　ideas　for　that　matter。〃
　〃What　for　then？〃
　For　a　moment　or　two　Scaramanga　went　through　his　smoking　routine；　the　little　pillars　of　smoke　vanishing　again　and　again　into　the　black　nostrils。　It　seemed　to　calm　him。　His　forehead　cleared。　He　said；　〃Some　of　these　men　are　kind　of　rough。　We're　all　stockholders；　of　course；　but　that　don't　necessarily　mean　we're　friends。　Understand？　I'll　be　wanting　to　hold　some　meetings；　private　meetings；　with　maybe　only　two　or　three　guys　at　a　time；　sort　of　sounding　out　the　different　interests。　Could　be　that　some　of　the　other　guys；　the　ones　not　invited　to　a　particular　meeting；　might　get　it　into　their　heads　to　bug　a　meeting　or　try　and　get　wise　to　what　goes　on　in　one　way　or　another。　So　it　just　occurs　to　me　that　you　being　live　to　security　and　such；　that　you　could　act　as　a　kind　of　guard　at　these　meetings；　clean　the　room　for　mikes；　stay　outside　the　door　and　see　that　no　one　es　nosing　around；　see　that　when　I　want　to　be　private　I　git　private。　D'you　get　the　picture？〃
　Bond　had　to　laugh。　He　said；　〃So　you　want　to　hire　me　as　a　kind　of　personal　bodyguard。　Is　that　it？〃
　The　frown　was　back。　〃And　what's　so　funny　about　that；　mister？　It's　good　money；　ain't　it？　Three　maybe　four　days　in　a　luxury　joint　like　the　Thunderbird。　A　thousand　bucks　at　the　end　of　it？　What's　so　screwy　about　that　proposition；　eh？〃　Scaramanga　mashed　out　the　butt　of　his　cigar　against　the　underside　of　the　table。　A　shower　of　sparks　fell。　He　let　them　lie。
　Bond　scratched　the　back　of　his　head　as　if　reflecting。　Which　he　was…furiously。　He　knew　that　he　hadn't　heard　the　full　story。　He　also　knew　that　it　was　odd；　to　say　the　least　of　it；　for　this　man　to　hire　a　plete　stranger　to　do　this　job　for　him。　The　job　itself　stood　up；　but　only　just。　It　made　sense　that　Scaramanga　would　not　want　to　hire　a　local　man；　an　ex…policeman　for　instance；　even　if　one　could　be　found。　Such　a　man　might　have　friends　in　the　hotel　business　who　would　be　interested　in　the　speculative　side　of　the　Negril　development。　And；　of　course；　on　the　plus　side；　Bond　would　be　achieving　what　he　had　never　thought　possible…　he　would　have　got　right　inside　Scaramanga's　guard。　Or　would　he？　There　was　the　strong　smell　of　a　trap。　But；　assuming　that　Bond　had　not；　by　some　obscure　bit　of　ill　luck；　been　blown；　he　couldn't　for　the　life　of　him　see　what　the　trap　could　be。　Well；　clearly；　he　must　make　the　gamble。　In　so　many　respects　it　was　a　chance　in　a　million。
　Bond　lit　a　cigarette。　He　said；　〃I　was　only　laughing　at　the　idea　of　a　man　of　your　particular　skills　wanting　protection。　But　it　all　sounds　great　fun。　Of　course　I'll　e　along。　When　do　we　start？　I've　got　a　car　at　the　bottom　of　the　road。〃
　Scaramanga　thrust　out　an　inside　wrist　and　looked　at　a　thin　gold　watch　on　a　two…coloured　gold　bracelet。　He　said；　〃Six　thirty…two。　My　car'll　be　outside。〃　He　got　up。　〃Let's　go。　But　don't　forget　one　thing；　mister　whoosis。　I　rile　mighty　easy。　Get　me？〃
　Bond　said　easily；　〃I　saw　how　annoyed　you　got　with　those　inoffensive　birds。〃　He　stood　up。　〃I　don't　see　any　reason　why　either　of　us　should　get　riled。〃
　Scaramanga　said　indifferently；　〃Okay；　then。〃　He　walked　to　the　back　of　the　room　and　picked　up　his　suitcase；　new…looking　but　cheap；　strode　to　the　exit；　and　clashed　through　the　bead　curtains　and　down　the　steps。
　Bond　went　quickly　over　to　the　counter。　〃Goodbye；　Tiffy。　Hope　I'll　be　ing　by　again　one　day。　If　anyone　should　ask　after　me；　say　I'm　at　the　Thunderbird　Hotel　at　Bloody　Bay。〃
　Tiffy　reached　out　a　hand　and　timidly　touched　his　sleeve。　〃Go　careful　over　there；　Mister　Mark。　There's　gangster　money　in　that　place。　And　watch　out　for　yourself。〃　She　jerked　her　head　towards　the　exit：　〃That's　the　worstest　man　I　ever　heard　tell　of。〃
　Then　she　leaned　forward　and　whispered；　〃That's　a　thousand　pounds'　worth　of　ganja　he's　got　in　the　bag。　A　Rasta　left　it　for　him　this　morning。　So　I　smelled　the　bag。〃　She　drew　quickly　back。
　Bond　said；　〃Thanks；　Tiffy。　See　Mother　Edna　puts　a　good　hex　on　him。　I'll　tell　you　why　someday。　I　hope。　'Bye！〃　He　went　quickly　out　and　down　into　the　street；　where　a　red　Thunderbird　convertible　was　waiting；　its　exhaust　making　a　noise　like　an　expensive　motorboat。　The　chauffeur　was　a　Jamaican；　smartly　dressed；　with　a　peaked　cap。　A　red　pennant　on　the　wireless　aerial　said　THUNDERBIRD　HOTEL　in　gold。　Scaramanga　was　sitting　beside　the　chauffeur。　He　said　impatiently；　〃Get　in　the　back　and　we'll　give　you　a　lift　down　to　your　car。　Then　follow　along。　It　gets　a　good　road　after　a　while。〃
　James　Bond　got　into　the　car　behind　Scaramanga　and　wondered　whether　to　shoot　the　man　now；　in　the　back　of　the　head…the　old　Gestapo…K。G。B。　point　of　puncture。　A　mixture　of　reasons　prevented　him…the　itch　of　curiosity；　an　inbuilt　dislike　of　cold　murder；　the　feeling　that　this　was　not　the　predestined　moment；　the　likelihood　that　he　would　have　to　murder　the　chauffeur　also…these；　bined　with　the　softness　of　the　night　and　the　fact　that　the　sound　system　was　now　playing　a　good　recording　of　one　of　his　favourites；　〃After　You've　Gone；〃　and　that　cicadas　were　singing　from　the　lignum　vitae　tree；　said　no。　But　at　that　moment；　as　the　car　coasted　down　Love　Lane　towards　the　bright　mercury　of　the　sea；　James　Bond　knew　that　he　was　not　only　disobeying　orders；　or　at　best　dodging　them；　but　also　being　a　bloody　fool。
　
　7
　Un…real　Estate
　
　When　he　arrives　at　a　place　on　a　dark　night；　particularly　in　an　alien　land　which　he　has　never　seen　before…a　strange　house；　perhaps；　or　an　hotel…even　the　most　alert　man　is　assailed　by　the　confused　sensations　of　the　meanest　tourist。　James　Bond　more　or　less　knew　the　map　of　Jamaica。　He　knew　that　the　sea　had　always　been　close　to　him　on　his　left　and；　as　he　followed　the　twin　red　glares　of　the　leading　car　through　an　impressive　entrance　gate　of　wrought　iron　and　up　an　avenue　of　young　royal　palms；　he　heard　the　waves　scrolling　into　a　beach　very　close　to　his　car。　The　fields　of　sugar　cane　would；　he　guessed　from　the　approach；　e　close　up　against　the　new　high　wall　that　surrounded　the　Thunderbird　property；　and　there　was　a　slight　smell　of　mangrove　swamp　ing　down　from　below　the　high　hills　whose　silhouette　he　had　occasionally　glimpsed　under　a　scudding　three…quarter　moon　on　his　right。　But　otherwise　he　had　no　clue　to　exactly　where　he　was　or　what　sort　of　a　place　he　was　now　approaching　and；　particularly　for　him；　the　sensation　was　an　unfortable　one。
　The　first　law　for　a　secret　agent　is　to　get　his　geography　right；　his　means　of　access　and　exit；　and　assure　his　munications　with　the　outside　world。　James　Bond　was　unfortably　aware　that　for　the　past　hour　he　had　been　driving　into　limbo；　and　that　his　nearest　contact　was　a　girl　in　a　brothel　thirty　miles　away。　The　situation　was　not　reassuring。
　Half　a　mile　ahead；　someone　must　have　seen　the　approaching　lights　of　the　leading　car　and　pressed　switches；　for　there　was　a　sudden　blaze　of　brilliant　yellow　illumination　through　the　trees　and　a　final　sweep　of　the　drive　revealed　the　hotel。　With　the　theatrical　lighting　and　the　surrounding　blackness　to　conceal　any　evidence　of　halted　construction　work；　the　place　made　a　brave　show。　A　vast　pale…pink…and…white　pillared　portico　gave　the　hotel　an　aristocratic　frontage；　and　when　Bond　drew　up　behind　the　other　car　at　the　entrance；　he　could　see　through　the　tall　Regency　windows　a　vista　of　black…and…white　marble　flooring　beneath　blazing　chandeliers。　A　bell　captain　and　his　Jamaican　staff　in　red　jackets　and　black　trousers　hurried　down　the　steps；　and　after　showing　great　deference　to　Scaramanga；　took　his　suitcase　and　Bond's。　Then　the　small　cavalcade　moved　into　the　entrance　hall；　where　Bond　wrote　Mark　Hazard　and　the　Kensington　address　of　Transworld　Consortium　in　the　register。
　Scaramanga　had　been　talking　to　a　man　who　appeared　to　be　the　manager；　a　young　American　with　a　neat　face　and　a　neat　suit。　He　turned　to　Bond。　〃You're　in　Number　twenty…four　in　the　west　wing。　I'm　close　by　in　Number　twenty。　Order　what　you　want　from　room　service。　See　you　about　ten　in　the　morning。　The　guys'll　be　ing　in　from　Kingston　around　midday。　Okay？〃　The　cold　eyes　in　the　gaunt　face　didn't　mind　whether　it　was　or　not。　Bond　said　it　was。　He　followed　one　of　the　bellboys　with　his　suitcase　across　the　slippery　marble　floor　and　was　led　into　a　long　white　corridor　with　a　close…fitted　carpet　in　royal…blue　Wilton。　There　was　a　smell　of　new　paint　and　Jamaican　cedar。　The　numbered　doors　and　the　light　fittings　were　in　good　taste。　Bond's　room　was　almost　at　the　end　on　the　left。　Number　20　was　opposite。　The　bellhop　unlocked　Number　24　and　held　the　door　for　Bond。　Air…conditioned　air　gushed　out。　It　was　a　pleasant　modern　double　bedroom　and　bath　in　grey　and　white。　When　he　was　alone；　Bond　went　to　the　air…conditioning　control　and　turned　it　to　zero。　Then　he　drew　back　the　curtains　and　wound　down　the　two　broad　windows　to　let　in　real　air。　Outside；　the　sea　whispered　softly　on　an　invisible　beach　and　the　moonlight　splashed　the　black　shadows　of　palms　across　trim　lawns。　To　his　left；　where　the　yellow　light　of　the　entrance　showed　a　corner　of　the　gravel　sweep；　Bond　heard　his　car　being　started　up　and　driven　away；　presumably　to　a　parking　lot；　which　would；　he　guessed；　be　at　the　rear　so　as　not　to　spoil　the　impact　of　the　facade。　He　turned　back　into　his　room　and　inspected　it　minutely。　The　only　objects　of　suspicion　were　a　large　picture　on　the　wall　above　the　two　beds　and　the　telephone。　The　picture　was　a　Jamaican　market　scene　painted　locally。　Bond　lifted　it　off　its　nail；　but　the　wall　behind　was　innocent。　He　then　took　out　a　pocketknife；　laid　the　telephone　carefully；　so　as　not　to　shift　the　receiver；　upside　down　on　a　bed；　and　very　quietly　and　carefully　unscrewed　the　bottom　plate。　He　smiled　his　satisfaction。　Behind　the　plate　was　a　small　microphone　joined　by　leads　to　the　main　cable　inside　the　cradle。　He　screwed　back　the　plate　with　the　same　care　and　put　the　telephone　quietly　back　on　the　night　table。　He　knew　the　gadget。　It　would　be　trans