[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
is right so. He swallowed his triumph and also looked grave.
Page 49
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
The boat came alongside the wing, now almost awash, and one man climbed up on
to the wing and walked toward him. He was a short, thick man with a very
direct gaze. He walked carefully, his feet well apart and his knees flexed to
keep his balance. His left hand was hooked in his belt.
Petacchi said happily, Good evening. Good evening. I am delivering one plane
in good condition. (He had thought the joke out long before.) Please sign
here. He held out his hand.
The man from the jolly-boat took the hand in a strong grasp, braced himself,
and pulled sharply.
Petacchi's head was flung back by the quick jerk and he was looking full into
the eyes of the moon as the stiletto flashed up and under the offered chin,
through the 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
Page 50
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
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 theNassau 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
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]