Fleming, Ian - Bond 02 by Fleming Ian

Author:Fleming, Ian
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf

CHAPTER XIII

DEATH OF A PELICAN

SOLITAIRE Stood up.

'I must go and tidy myself,' she said. 'I expect you've both got plenty to talk about.'

'Of course,' said Leiter, jumping up. 'Crazy of me! You must be dead beat. Guess you'd better take James's room and he can bed down with me."

Solitaire followed him out into the little hall and Bond heard Leiter explaining the arrangement of the rooms.

In a moment Leiter came back with a bottle of Haig and Haig and some ice.

'I'm forgetting my manners,' he said. 'We could both do with a drink. There's a small pantry next the bathroom and I've stocked it with all we're likely to need!'

He fetched some soda-water and they both took a long drink.

'Let's have the details,' said Bond, sitting back. 'Must have been the hell of a fine job.'

'Sure was,' agreed Leiter, 'except for the shortage of corpses.'

He put his feet on the table and lit a cigarette.

'Phantom leftJacksonvillearound five,' he began. 'Got to Waldo around six. Just after leaving Waldo -

and here I'm guessing - Mr. Big's man comes along to your car, gets into the next compartment to yours and hangs a towel between the drawn blind and the window, meaning – and he must have done a good

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deal of telephoning at stations on the way down - meaning "the window to the right of this towel is it".

'There's a long stretch of straight track between Waldo andOcala,' continued Leiter, 'running through forest and swamp land. State highway right alongside the track. About twenty minutes outside Waldo, Wham! goes a dynamite emergency signal under the leading Diesel. Driver comes down to forty. Wham!

And another Wham! Three in line! Emergency! Halt at once! He halts the train wondering what the hell.

Straight track. Last signal green over green. Nothing in sight. It's aroundquarter after sixand just getting light. There's a sedan, clouted heap I expect [Bond raised an eyebrow. 'Stolen car,' explained Leiter], grey, thought to have been a Buick, no lights, engine running, waiting on the highway opposite the centre of the train. Three men get out. Coloured. Probably negro. They walk slowly in line abreast along the grass verge between the road and the track. Two on the outside carry rippers — tommy-guns. Man in the centre has something in his hand. Twenty yards and they stop outside Car 245. Men with the rippers give a double squirt at your window. Open it up for the pineapple. Centre man tosses in the pineapple and all three run back to the car. Two seconds fuse. As they reach the car, BOOM! Fricassee of Compartment H. Fricassee, presumably, of Mr. and Mrs. Bryce. In fact fricassee of your Baldwin who runs out and crouches in corridor directly he sees men approaching his car. No other casualties except multiple shock and hysterics throughout train. Car drives away very fast towards limbo where it still is and will probably remain. Silence, mingled with screams, falls. People run to and fro.

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