Beaton M.C. Hamish Macbeth 08 Hamish Macbeth i ĹmierÄ obĹźartucha
Braun Lilian Jackson Kot, ktĂłry... 08 Kot, ktĂłry wÄ chaĹ klej
Ann Purser [Lois Meade 08] Warning at One (v5.0) (pdf)
From NY 3 17 05 Sauter ch04 08 mbw
Zelazny Roger Amber 08 Znak Chaosu
Hohlbein, Wolfgang Charity 08 Der Spinnenkrieg(1)
Alexis Fleming A Handymans Best Tool
John Gardner Bond 00 Licence Renewed(v2.0)
Jane Lindskold Firekeeper Saga 1 Through Wolf's Eyes
Amanda Steiger Eyes Of The Wolf
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
There came the sound of someone in a small sports car making a racing change
at the bend of the drive. If Mrs Havelock had been alive she would have been
getting ready to say: "Judy, I'm always telling you not to do that on the
corner. It scatters gravel all over the lawn and you know how it ruins
Joshua's lawn-mower."
It was a month later. In London, October had begun with a week of brilliant
Indian summer, and the noise of the mowers came up from Regent's Park and in
through the wide open windows of M's office. They were motor-mowers and James
Bond reflected that one of the most beautiful noises of summer, the drowsy
iron song of the old machines, was going for ever from the world. Perhaps
today children felt the same about the puff and chatter of the little
two-stroke engines. At least the cut grass would smell the same.
Bond had time for these reflections because M seemed to be having difficulty
in coming to the point. Bond had been asked if he had anything on at the
moment, and he had replied happily that he hadn't and had waited for Pandora's
box to be opened for him. He was mildly intrigued because M had addressed him
as James and not by his number 007. This was unusual during duty hours. It
sounded as if there might be some personal angle to this assignment as if it
might be put to him more as a request than as an order. And it seemed to Bond
that there was an extra small cleft of worry between the frosty, damnably
clear, grey eyes. And three minutes was certainly too long to spend getting a
pipe going.
M swivelled his chair round square with the desk and flung the box of matches
down so that it skidded across the red leather top towards Bond. Bond fielded
it and skidded it politely back to the middle of the desk. M smiled briefly.
He seemed to make up his mind. He said mildly: "James, has it ever occurred to
you that every man in the fleet knows what to do except the commanding
admiral?"
Bond frowned. He said: "It hadn't occurred to me, sir. But I see what you
mean. The rest only have to carry out orders. The admiral has to decide on the
orders. I suppose it's the same as saying that Supreme Command is the
loneliest post there is."
M jerked his pipe sideways. "Same sort of idea. Someone's got to be tough.
Someone's got to decide in the end. If you send a havering signal to the
Admiralty you deserve to be put on the beach. Some people are religious pass
Page 20
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
the decision on to
God." M's eyes were defensive. "I used to try that sometimes in the Service,
but He always passed the buck back again told me to get on and make up my
own mind. Good for one, I suppose, but tough. Trouble is, very few people keep
tough after about forty. They've been knocked about by life had troubles,
tragedies, illnesses. These things soften you up." M looked sharply at Bond.
"How's your coefficient of toughness, James? You haven't got to the dangerous
age yet."
Bond didn't like personal questions. He didn't know what to answer, nor what
the truth was. He had not got a wife or children had never suffered the
tragedy of a personal loss. He had not had to stand up to blindness or a
mortal disease. He had absolutely no idea how he would face these things that
needed so much more toughness than he had ever had to show. He
12
said hesitantly: "I suppose I can stand most things if I have to and if I
think it's right, sir. I mean" he did not like using such words "if the
cause is er sort of just, sir." He went on, feeling ashamed at himself for
throwing the ball back at M: "Of course it's not easy to know what is just and
what isn't. I suppose I assume that when I'm given an unpleasant job in the
Service the cause is a just one."
"Dammit," M's eyes glittered impatiently. "That's just what I mean! You rely
on me.
You won't take any damned responsibility yourself." He thrust the stem of his
pipe towards his chest. "I'm the one who has to do that. I'm the one who has
to decide if a thing is right or not." The anger died out of the eyes. The
grim mouth bent sourly. He said gloomily: "Oh well, I
suppose it's what I'm paid for. Somebody's got to drive the bloody train." M
put his pipe back in his mouth and drew on it deeply to relieve his feelings.
Now Bond felt sorry for M. He had never before heard M use as strong a word as
'bloody'. Nor had M ever given a member of his staff any hint that he felt the
weight of the burden he was carrying and had carried ever since he had thrown
up the certain prospect of becoming Fifth Sea Lord in order to take over the
Secret Service. M. had got himself a problem. Bond wondered what it was. It
would not be concerned with danger. If M could get the odds more or less right
he would risk anything, anywhere in the world. It would not be political. M
did not give a damn for the susceptibilities of any Ministry and thought
nothing of going behind their backs to get a personal ruling from the Prime
Minister. It might be moral. It might be personal. Bond said: "Is there
anything I can help over, sir?"
M looked briefly, thoughtfully at Bond, and then swivelled his chair so that
he could look out of the window at the high summery clouds. He said abruptly:
"Do you remember the Havelock case?"
"Only what I read in the papers, sir. Elderly couple in Jamaica. The daughter
came home one night and found them full of bullets. There was some talk of
gangsters from Havana. The housekeeper said three men had called in a car. She
thought they might have been Cubans. It turned out the car had been stolen. A
yacht had sailed from the local harbour that night. But as far as I remember
the police didn't get anywhere. That's all, sir. I haven't seen any signals
passing on the case."
M said gruffly: "You wouldn't have. They've been personal to me. We weren't
asked to handle the case. Just happens," M
cleared his throat: this private use of the Service was on his conscience, "I
knew the Havelocks. Matter of fact I was best man at their wedding. Malta.
Nineteen-twenty-five."
"I see, sir. That's bad."
M said shortly: "Nice people. Anyway, I told Station C to look into it. They
didn't get anywhere with the Batista people, but we've got a good man with the
other side with this chap Castro. And Castro's Intelligence people seem to
Page 21
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
have the
Government pretty well penetrated. I got the whole story a couple of weeks
ago. It boils down to the fact that a man called
Hammerstein, or von Hammerstein, had the couple killed. There are a lot of
Germans well dug in in these banana republics.
They're Nazis who got out of the net at the end of the War. This one's
ex-Gestapo. He got a job as head of Batista's Counter
Intelligence. Made a packet of money out of extortion and blackmail and
protection. He was set up for life until Castro's lot began to make headway.
He was one of the first to start easing himself out. He cut one of his
officers in on his loot, a man called Gonzales, and this man travelled around
the Caribbean with a couple of gunmen to protect him and began salting away
Hammerstein's money outside Cuba put it in real estate and suchlike under
nominees. Only bought the best, but at top prices. Hammerstein could afford
them. When money didn't work he'd use force kidnap a child, burn down a few
acres, anything to make the owner see reason. Well, this man Hammerstein heard
of the Havelocks' property, one of the best in [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
