The James Bond Anthology полностью

Now No. 10, a once-famous SMERSH terrorist called Strelik, began talking. He was sitting two places away from Largo, on his left. He did not address Largo, but the meeting. He said, ‘Comrades, I am thinking of the interesting matters recounted by No. 1, and I am telling myself that everything has been excellently arranged. I am also thinking that this operation will be a very fine one and that it will certainly not be necessary to explode the second weapon on Target No. 2. I have some documentations on these islands and I am learning from the Yachtsman’s’s (No. 10 had trouble with the word) Guide to the Bahamas that there is a big new hotel within a few miles of our target site, also a scattered township. I am therefore estimating that the explosion of Weapon No. 1 will destroy perhaps two thousand persons. Two thousand persons is not very many in my country and their death, compared with the devastation of this important missile station, would not, in the Soviet Union, be considered of great importance. I am thinking that it will be otherwise in the West and that the destruction of these people and the rescuing of the survivors will be considered a grave matter that will act decisively towards immediate agreement with our terms and the saving of Target No. 2 from destruction. This being so, Comrades,’ the dull, flat voice gained a trace of animation, ‘I am saying to myself that within as little as twenty-four hours our labours will have been completed and the great prize will be within our grasp. Now, Comrades,’ the red and black shadows turned the taut little smile into a dark grimace, ‘with so much money so near at hand, a most unworthy thought has come into my mind.’ (Largo put his hand in his coat pocket and put up the safe on the little Colt .25.) ‘And I would not be performing my duty to my Russian comrade, No. 11, nor to the other members of our team, if I did not share this thought with you at the same time requesting forbearance for what may be unfounded suspicions.’

The meeting was very quiet, ominously so. These men had all been secret agents or conspirators. They recognized the smell of insurrection, the shadow of approaching disloyalty. What did No. 10 know? What was he going to divulge? Each man got ready to decide very quickly which way to jump when the cat was let out of the bag. Largo slipped the gun out of his pocket and held it along his thigh.

‘There will come a moment,’ continued No. 10, watching the faces of the men opposite for a quick gauge of their reactions, ‘very shortly, when fifteen of us, leaving five members and six sub-agents on board this ship, will be out there,’ he waved a hand at the cabin wall, ‘in the darkness, at least half an hour’s swim from this ship. At that moment, Comrades,’ the voice became sly, ‘what a thing it would be if those remaining on board were to sail the ship away and leave us in the water.’ There was a shifting and muttering round the table. No. 10 held up a hand. ‘Ridiculous I am thinking, and so no doubt are you, Comrades. But we are men of a feather. We recognize the unworthy urges that can come upon even the best of friends and comrades when fortunes are at stake. And, Comrades, with fifteen of us gone, how much more of a fortune would there be for those remaining, with their story for No. 2 of a great fight with sharks in which we all succumbed?’

Largo said softly, ‘And what is it you propose, No. 10?’

For the first time, No. 10 looked to his right. He could not see the expression in Largo’s eye. He spoke at the great red and black mass of his face. The tone of his voice was obstinate. He said, ‘I am proposing that one member of each national group should stay on board to safeguard the interests of the other members of his national group. That would reduce the swimming party to ten. In this way those who are undertaking this dangerous work would go about it with more enthusiasm knowing that no such happening as I have mentioned could come about.’

Largo’s voice was polite, unemotional. He said, ‘I have one very short and simple answer to your suggestion, No. 10.’ The light glittered redly on the metal thumb that protruded from the big hand. The three bullets pumped so quickly into the face of the Russian that the three explosions, the three bright flashes, were almost one. No. 10 put up two feeble hands, palms forward, as if to catch any further bullets, gave a jerk forward with his stomach at the edge of the table and then crashed heavily backwards, in a splinter of chair wood, on to the floor.