‘How did you get here?’
‘I flew up to Bennington. Then I walked. Four days. Up through the Green Mountains. I kept out of the way of people. I’m used to this sort of thing. Our house is in the mountains in Jamaica. They’re much more difficult than these. And there are more people, peasants, about in them. Here no one ever seems to walk. They go by car.’
‘And what were you going to do then?’
‘I’m going to shoot von Hammerstein and walk back to Bennington.’ The voice was as casual as if she had said she was going to pick a wild flower.
From down in the valley came the sound of voices. Bond got to his feet and took a quick look through the branches. Three men and two girls had come on to the patio. There was talk and laughter as they pulled out chairs and sat down at the table. One place was left empty at the head of the table between the two girls. Bond took out his telescopic sight and looked through it. The three men were very small and dark. One of them, who smiled all the time and whose clothes looked the cleanest and smartest, would be Gonzales. The other two were low peasant types. They sat together at the foot of the oblong table and took no part in the talk. The girls were swarthy brunettes. They looked like cheap Cuban whores. They wore bright bathing-dresses and a lot of gold jewellery, and laughed and chattered like pretty monkeys. The voices were almost clear enough to understand, but they were talking Spanish.
Bond felt the girl near him. She stood a yard behind him. Bond handed her the glass. He said: ‘The neat little man is called Major Gonzales. The two at the bottom of the table are gunmen. I don’t know who the girls are. Von Hammerstein isn’t there yet.’ She took a quick look through the glass and handed it back without comment. Bond wondered if she realized that she had been looking at the murderers of her father and mother.
The two girls had turned and were looking towards the door into the house. One of them called out something that might have been a greeting. A short, square, almost naked man came out into the sunshine. He walked silently past the table to the edge of the flagged terrace facing the lawn and proceeded to go through a five-minute programme of physical drill.
Bond examined the man minutely. He was about five feet four with a boxer’s shoulders and hips, but a stomach that was going to fat. A mat of black hair covered his breasts and shoulder blades, and his arms and legs were thick with it. By contrast, there was not a hair on his face or head and his skull was a glittering whitish yellow with a deep dent at the back that might have been a wound or the scar of a trepanning. The bone structure of the face was that of the conventional Prussian officer – square, hard and thrusting – but the eyes under the naked brows were close-set and piggish, and the large mouth had hideous lips – thick and wet and crimson. He wore nothing but a strip of black material, hardly larger than an athletic support-belt, round his stomach, and a large gold wrist-watch on a gold bracelet. Bond handed the glass to the girl. He was relieved. Von Hammerstein looked just about as unpleasant as M.’s dossier said he was.
Bond watched the girl’s face. The mouth looked grim, almost cruel, as she looked down on the man she had come to kill. What was he to do about her? He could see nothing but a vista of troubles from her presence. She might even interfere with his own plans and insist on playing some silly role with her bow and arrow. Bond made up his mind. He just could not afford to take chances. One short tap at the base of the skull and he would gag her and tie her up until it was all over. Bond reached softly for the butt of his automatic.
Nonchalantly the girl moved a few steps back. Just as nonchalantly she bent down, put the glass on the ground and picked up her bow. She reached behind her for an arrow, and fitted it casually into the bow. Then she looked up at Bond and said quietly: ‘Don’t get any silly ideas. And keep your distance. I’ve got what’s called wide-angled vision. I haven’t come all the way here to be knocked on the head by a flat-footed London bobby. I can’t miss with this at fifty yards, and I’ve killed birds on the wing at a hundred. I don’t want to put an arrow through your leg, but I shall if you interfere.’
Bond cursed his previous indecision. He said fiercely: ‘Don’t be a silly bitch. Put that damned thing down. This is man’s work. How in hell do you think you can take on four men with a bow and arrow?’
The girl’s eyes blazed obstinately. She moved her right foot back into the shooting stance. She said through compressed, angry lips: ‘You go to hell. And keep out of this. It was my mother and father they killed. Not yours. I’ve already been here a day and a night. I know what they do and I know how to get Hammerstein. I don’t care about the others. They’re nothing without him. Now then.’ She pulled the bow half taut. The arrow pointed at Bond’s feet. ‘Either you do what I say or you’re going to be sorry. And don’t think I don’t mean it. This is a private thing I’ve sworn to do and nobody’s going to stop me.’ She tossed her head imperiously. ‘Well?’
Bond gloomily measured the situation. He looked the ridiculously beautiful wild girl up and down. This was good hard English stock spiced with the hot peppers of a tropical childhood. Dangerous mixture. She had keyed herself up to a state of controlled hysteria. He was quite certain that she would think nothing of putting him out of action. And he had absolutely no defence. Her weapon was silent, his would alert the whole neighbourhood. Now the only hope would be to work with her. Give her part of the job and he would do the rest. He said quietly: ‘Now listen, Judy. If you insist on coming in on this thing we’d better do it together. Then perhaps we can bring it off and stay alive. This sort of thing is my profession. I was ordered to do it – by a close friend of your family, if you want to know. And I’ve got the right weapon. It’s got at least five times the range of yours. I could take a good chance of killing him now, on the patio. But the odds aren’t quite good enough. Some of them have got bathing things on. They’ll be coming down to the lake. Then I’m going to do it. You can give supporting fire.’ He ended lamely: ‘It’ll be a great help.’
‘No.’ She shook her head decisively. ‘I’m sorry. You can give what you call supporting fire if you like. I don’t care one way or the other. You’re right about the swimming. Yesterday they were all down at the lake around eleven. It’s just as warm today and they’ll be there again. I shall get him from the edge of the trees by the lake. I found a perfect place last night. The bodyguard men bring their guns with them – sort of tommy-gun things. They don’t bathe. They sit around and keep guard. I know the moment to get von Hammerstein and I’ll be well away from the lake before they take in what’s happened. I tell you I’ve got it all planned. Now then. I can’t hang around any more. I ought to have been in my place already. I’m sorry, but unless you say yes straight away there’s no alternative.’ She raised the bow a few inches.