if.thunderball-第34节

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ut　I　adored　him。　I　still　do。　Girls　always　love　crooks；　particularly　if　they're　their　brother。　He　did　so　well　that　he　might　have　done　something　for　me。　But　he　never　did。　He　said　that　life　was　every　man　for　himself。　He　said　that　his　grandfather　had　been　so　famous　as　a　poacher　and　a　smuggler　in　the　Dolomites　that　his　was　the　finest　tombstone　among　all　the　Petacchi　graves　in　the　graveyard　at　Bolzano。　My　brother　said　he　was　going　to　have　a　finer　one　still；　and　by　making　money　the　same　way。〃　Bond　held　his　cigarette　steady。　He　took　a　long　draw　at　it　and　let　the　smoke　out　with　a　quiet　hiss。　〃Is　your　family　name　Petacchi；　then？〃
　
　〃Oh；　yes。　Vitali　is　only　a　stage　name。　It　sounded　better　so　I　changed　it。　Nobody　knows　the　other。　I've　almost　forgotten　it　myself。　I've　called　myself　Vitali　since　I　came　back　to　Italy。　I　wanted　to　change　everything。〃
　
　〃What　happened　to　your　brother？　What　was　his　first　name？〃　〃Giuseppe。　He　went　wrong　in　various　ways。　But　he　was　a　wonderful　flyer。　Last　time　I　heard　of　him　he'd　been　given　some　high…up　job　in　Paris。　Perhaps　that'll　make　him　settle　down。　I　pray　every　night　that　it　will。　He's　all　I've　got。　I　love　him　in　spite　of　everything。　You　understand　that？〃
　
　Bond　stabbed　out　his　cigarette　in　the　ashtray。　He　called　for　the　bill。　He　said；　〃Yes；　I　understand　that。〃
　
　16。　Swimming　the　Gantlet
　
　The　dark　water　below　the　police　wharf　sucked　and　kissed　at　the　rusty　iron　stanchions。　In　the　latticed　shadows　cast　through　the　ironwork　by　the　three…quarter　moon；　Constable　Santos　heaved　the　single　aqualung　cylinder　up　onto　Bond's　back　and　Bond　secured　the　webbing　at　his　waist　so　that　it　would　not　snarl　the　strap　of　Leiter's　second　Geiger　counter；　the　underwater　model。　He　fitted　the　rubber　mouthpiece　between　his　teeth　and　adjusted　the　valve　release　until　the　air　supply　was　just　right。　He　turned　off　the　supply　and　took　out　the　mouthpiece。　The　music　of　the　steel　band　in　the　Junkanoo　night　club　tripped　gaily　out　over　the　water。　It　sounded　like　a　giant　spider　dancing　on　a　tenor　xylophone。
　
　Santos　was　a　huge　colored　man；　naked　except　for　his　swimming　trunks；　with　pectoral　muscles　the　size　of　dinner　plates。　Bond　said；　〃What　should　I　expect　to　see　at　this　time　of　night？　Any　big　fish　about？〃
　
　Santos　grinned。　〃Usual　harbor　stuff；　sah。　Some　barracuda　perhaps。　Mebbe　a　shark。　But　they's　lazy　an'　overfed　with　the　refuse　an　muck　from　de　drains。　Dey　won't　trouble　you…less　you　bleedin'　that　is。　They'll　be　night…crawlin'　things　on　the　bottom…lobster；　crab；　mebbe　a　small　pus…feller　or　two。　The　bottom's　mostly　seagrass　on　bits　o'　iron　from　wrecks　an　plenty　of　bottle　and　suchlike。　Mucky；　if　you　get　me；　sah。　But　the　water's　clear　and　you'll　be　hokay　with　this　moon　and　the　lights　from　the　Disco　to　guide　you。　Tek　you　bout　twelve；　fifteen　minute；　I'da　say。　Funny　ting。　I　been　lookin'　for　an　hour　and　dere's　no　watchman　on　deck　an　no　one　in　the　wheelhouse。　An　the　bit　o'　breeze　should　hide　you　bubbles。　Coulda　give　you　an　oxygen　rebreather；　but　ah　doan　like　dem　tings。　Them　dangerous。〃
　
　〃All　right；　let's　go　then。　See　you　in　about　half　an　hour。〃　Bond　felt　for　the　knife　at　his　waist；　shifted　the　webbing；　and　put　the　mouthpiece　between　his　teeth。　He　turned　on　the　air　and；　his　fins　slapping　on　the　muddy　sand；　walked　down　and　into　the　water。　There　he　bent　down；　spat　into　his　mask　to　prevent　it　steaming　up；　washed　it　out；　and　adjusted　it。　Then　he　walked　slowly　on；　getting　used　to　the　breathing。　By　the　end　of　the　wharf　he　was　up　to　his　ears。　He　quietly　submerged　and　launched　himself　forward　into　an　easy　leg　crawl；　his　hands　along　his　flanks。
　
　The　mud　shelved　steeply　and　Bond　kept　on　going　down；　until；　at　about　forty　feet；　he　was　only　a　few　inches　above　the　bottom。　He　glanced　at　the　big　luminous　figures　on　the　dial　of　his　watch…12：10。　He　untensed　himself　and　put　his　legs　into　an　easy；　relaxed　rhythm。
　
　Through　the　roof　of　small　waves　the　pale　moonlight　flickered　on　the　gray　bottom；　and　the　refuse…motor　tires；　cans；　bottles…cast　black　shadows。　A　small　octopus；　feeling　his　shock　wave；　turned　from　dark　brown　to　pale　gray　and　squeezed　itself　softly　back　into　the　mouth　of　the　oil…drum　that　was　its　home。　Sea　flowers；　the　gelatinous　polyps　that　grow　out　of　the　sand　at　night；　whisked　down　their　holes　as　Bond's　black　shadow　touched　them。　Other　tiny　night　things　puffed　thin　jets　of　silt　out　of　their　small　volcanoes　in　the　mud　as　they　felt　the　tremor　of　Bond's　passage；　and　an　occasional　hermit　crab　snapped　itself　back　into　its　borrowed　shell。　It　was　like　traveling　across　a　moon　landscape；　on　and　under　which　many　mysterious　creatures　lived　minute　lives。　Bond　watched　it　all；　carefully；　as　if　he　had　been　an　underwater　naturalist。　He　knew　that　was　the　way　to　keep　nerves　steady　under　the　sea…to　focus　the　whole　attention　on　the　people　who　lived　there　and　not　try　to　probe　the　sinister　gray　walls　of　mist　for　imaginary　monsters。
　
　The　rhythm　of　his　steady　progress　soon　became　automatic；　and　while　Bond；　keeping　the　moon　at　his　right　shoulder；　held　to　his　course；　his　mind　reached　back　to　Domino。　So　she　was　the　sister　of　the　man　who　probably　highjacked　the　plane！　Probably　even　Largo；　if　Largo　was　in　fact　involved　in　the　plot；　didn't　know　this。　So　what　did　the　relationship　amount　to？　Coincidence。　It　could　he　nothing　else。　Her　whole　manner　was　so　entirely　innocent。　And　yet　it　was　one　more　thin　straw　to　add　to　the　meager　pile　that　seemed　in　some　indeterminate　way　to　be　adding　up　to　Largo's　involvement。　And　Largo's　reaction　at　the　word　〃spectre。〃　That　could　he　put　down　to　Italian　superstition…or　it　could　not。　Bond　had　a　deadly　feeling　that　all　these　tiny　scraps　amounted　to　the　tip　of　an　iceberg…a　few　feet　of　ice　pinnacle；　with；　below；　a　thousand　tons　of　the　stuff。　Should　he　report？　Or　shouldn't　he？　Bond's　mind　boiled　with　indecision。　How　to　put　it？　How　to　grade　the　intelligence　so　that　it　would　reflect　his　doubts？　How　much　to　say　and　how　much　to　leave　out？
　
　The　extrasensory　antennae　of　the　human　body；　the　senses　left　over　from　the　jungle　life　of　millions　of　years　ago；　sharpen　unconsciously　when　man　knows　that　he　is　on　the　edge　of　danger。　Bond's　mind　was　concentrating　on　something　far　away　from　his　present　risks；　but　beneath　his　conscious　thoughts　his　senses　were　questing　for　enemies。　Now　suddenly　the　alarm　was　sounded　by　a　hidden　nerve…Danger！　Danger！　Danger！
　
　Bond's　body　tensed。　His　hand　went　to　his　knife　and　his　head　swiveled　sharply　to　the　right…not　to　the　left　or　behind　him。　His　senses　told　him　to　look　to　the　right。
　
　A　big　barracuda；　if　it　is　twenty　pounds　or　over；　is　the　most　fearsome　fish　in　the　sea。　Clean　and　straight　and　malevolent；　it　is　all　hostile　weapon；　from　the　long　snarling　mouth　in　the　cruel　jaw　that　can　open　like　a　rattlesnake's　to　an　angle　of　ninety　degrees；　along　the　blue　and　silver　steel　of　the　body　to　the　lazy　power　of　the　tail　fin　that　helps　to　make　this　fish　one　of　the　five　fastest　sprinters　in　the　sea。　This　one；　moving　parallel　with　Bond；　ten　yards　away　just　inside　the　wall　of　gray　mist　that　was　the　edge　of　visibility；　was　showing　its　danger　signals。　The　broad　lateral　stripes　showed　vividly…the　angry　hunting　sign…the　gold　and　black　tiger's　eye　was　on　him；　watchful；　incurious；　and　the　long　mouth　was　open　half　an　inch　so　that　the　moonlight　glittered　on　the　sharpest　row　of　teeth　in　the　ocean…teeth　that　don't　bite　at　the　flesh；　teeth　that　tear　out　a　chunk　and　swallow　and　then　hit　and　scythe　again。
　
　Bond's　stomach　crawled　with　the　ants　of　fear　and　his　skin　tightened　at　his　groin。　Cautiously　he　glanced　at　his　watch。　About　three　more　minutes　to　go　before　he　was　due　to　e　up　with　the　Disco　。
　
　He　made　a　sudden　turn　and　attacked　fast　toward　the　great　fish；　flashing　his　knife　in　fast　offensive　lunges。　The　giant　barracuda　gave　a　couple　of　lazy　wags　of　its　tail　and　when　Bond　turned　back　on　his　course　it　also　turned　and　resumed　its　indolent；　sneering　cruise；　weighing　him　up；　choosing　which　bit…the　shoulder；　the　buttock；　the　foot…to　take　first。
　
　Bond　tried　to　recall　what　he　knew　about　big　predator　fish；　what　he　had　experienced　with　them　before。　The　first　rule　was　not　to　panic；　to　be　unafraid。　Fear　municates　itself　to　fish　as　it　does　to　dogs　and　horses。　Establish　a　quiet　pattern　of　behavior　and　stick　to　it。　Don't　show　confusion　or　act　chaotically。　In　the　sea；　untidiness；　ragged　behavior；　mean　that　the　possible　victim　is　out　of　control；　vulnerable。　So　keep　to　a　rhythm。　A　thrashing　fish　is　everyone's　prey。　A　crab　or　a　shell　thrown　upside　down　by　a　wave　is　offering　its　underside　to　a　hundred　enemies。　A　fish　on　its　side　is　a　dead　fish。　Bond　trudged　rhythmically　on；　exuding　immunity。
　
　Now　the　pale　moonscape　changed。　A　meadow　of　soft　seagrass　showed　up　ahead。　In　the　deep；　slow　currents　it　waved　languidly；　like　deep　fur。　The　hypnotic　motion　made　Bond　feel　slightly　seasick。　Dotted　sparsely　in　the　grass　were　the　big　black　footballs　of　dead　sponges　growing　out　of　the　sand　like　giant　puffballs…Nassau's　only　export　until　a　fungus　had　got　at　them　and　had　killed　the　sponge　crop　as　surely　as　myxomatosis　has　killed　rabbits。　Bond's　black　shadow　flickered　across　the　breathering　lawn　like　a　clumsy　bat。　To　the　right　of　his　shadow；　the　thin　black　lance　cast　by　the　barracuda　moved　with　quiet　precision。
　
　A　d