Bond had interrupted at this point. «Might I ask if the radar screen is manned round the clock? My impression is that the airport is very busy during the day, but that there is very little traffic at night. Would it be possible that the radar is not so closely watched at night?»
The Commissioner of Police, a pleasant, very military-looking man in his forties, the silver buttons and insignia on whose dark blue uniform glittered as they can only when spit and polish is a main activity and there are plenty of batmen around, said judiciously, «I think the Commander has a point there, sir. The airport commandant admits that things do slacken off a bit when there's nothing scheduled. He hasn't got all that amount of staff and of course most of them are locals, sir. Good men, but hardly up to London Airport standards. And the radar at the met. station is only a G.C.A. set with a low horizon and range–mostly used for shipping.»
«Quite, quite.» The Deputy Governor didn't want to be dragged into a discussion about radar sets or the merits of Nassavian labor. «There's certainly a point there. No doubt Commander Bond will be making his own inquiries. Now there was a request from the Secretary of State»–the title rolled sonorously forth–»for details and comments on recent arrivals in the island, suspicious characters, and so forth. Mr. Pitman?»
The Chief of Immigration and Customs was a sleek Nassavian with quick brown eyes and an ingratiating manner. He smiled pleasantly. Nothing out of the ordinary, sir. The usual mixture of tourists and businessmen and local people coming home. We were asked to have details for the past two weeks, sir.» He touched the brief case on his lap. «I have all the immigration forms here, sir. Perhaps Commander Bond would care to go through them with me.» The brown eyes flicked toward Bond and away. «All the big hotels have house detectives. I could probably get him further details on any particular name. All Passports were checked in the normal manner. There were no irregularities and none of these people was on our Wanted List.»
Bond said, «Might I ask a question?»
The Deputy Governor nodded enthusiastically. «Of course. Of course. Anything you like. We're all here to help.»
«I'm looking for a group of men. Probably ten or more. They probably stick together a good deal. Might be as many as twenty or thirty. I guess they would be Europeans. They probably have a ship or a plane. They may have been here for months or only a few days. I gather you have plenty of conventions coming to Nassau–salesmen, tourist associations, religious groups, heaven knows what all. Apparently they take a block of rooms in some hotel and hold meetings and so forth for a week or so. Is there anything like that going on at the moment?»
«Mr. Pitman?»
«Well, of course we do have plenty of those sort of gatherings. Very welcome to the Tourist Board.» The Chief of Immigration smiled conspiratorially at Bond as if he had just given away a closely guarded secret. «But in the last two weeks we've only had a Moral Rearmament Group at the Emerald Wave and the Tiptop Biscuit people at the Royal Bahamian. They've gone now. Quite the usual convention pattern. All very respectable.»
«That's just it, Mr. Pitman. The people I'm looking for, the people who may have arranged to steal this plane, will certainly take pains to look respectable and behave in a respectable fashion. We're not looking for a bunch of flashy crooks. We think these must be very big people indeed. Now, is there anything like that on the island, a group of people like that?»
«Well»–the Chief of Immigration smiled broadly–»of course we've got our annual treasure hunt going on.»
The Deputy Governor barked a quick, deprecating laugh. «Now, steady on, Mr. Pitman. Surely we don't want them to get mixed up in all this, or heaven knows where we shall end. I can't believe Commander Bond wants to bother his head over a lot of rich beachcombers.»
The Commissioner of Police said doubtfully, «The only thing is, sir–they do have a yacht, and a small plane for the matter of that. And I did hear that a lot of shareholders in the swindle had come in lately. Those points do tally with what the Commander was asking about. I admit it's ridiculous, but this man Largo's respectable enough for Commander Bond's requirements and his men have never once given us trouble. Unusual to have not even one case of drunkenness in a ship's crew in nearly six months.»
And Bond had leaped at the flimsy thread and had pursued it for another two hours– in the Customs building and in the Commissioner's office– and, as a result, he had gone walking in the town to see if he could get a look at Largo or any of his party or pick up any other shreds of gossip. As a result he had got a good look at Domino Vitali.
And now?
The taxi had arrived at the airport. Bond told the driver to wait and walked into the long low entrance hall just as the arrival of Larkin's flight was being announced over the Tannoy. He knew there would be the usual delay for customs and immigration. He went to the souvenir shop and bought a copy of the New York Times . In its usual discreet headlines it was still leading with the loss of the Vindicator. Perhaps it knew also about the loss of the atom bombs, because Arthur Krock, on the editorial page, had a heavyweight column about the security aspects of the NATO alliance. Bond was halfway through this when a quiet voice in his ear said, «007? Meet No. 000.»
Bond swung round. It was! It was Felix Leiter!
Leiter, his C.I.A. companion on some of the most thrilling cases in Bond's career, grinned and thrust the steel hook that was his right hand under Bond's arm. «Take it easy, friend. Dick Tracy will tell all when we get out of here. Bags are out front. Let's go.»
Bond said, «Well God damn it! You old so-and-so! Did you know it was going to be me?»
«Sure. C.I.A. knows all.»
At the entrance Leiter had his luggage, which was considerable, put aboard Bond's taxi, and told the driver to take it to the Royal Bahamian. A man standing beside an undistinguished-looking black Ford Consul sedan left the car and came up. «Mr. Larkin? I'm from the Hertz company. This is the car you ordered. We hope she's what you want. You did specify something conventional.»
Leiter glanced casually at the car. «Looks all right. I just want a car that'll go. None of those ritzy jobs with only room for a small blonde with a sponge bag. I'm here to do property work– not jazz it up.
«May I see your New York license, sir? Right. Then if you'll just sign here . . . and I'll make a note of the number of your Diner's Club card. When you go, leave the car anywhere you like and just notify us. We'll collect it. Have a good holiday, sir.»
They got into the car. Bond took the wheel. Leiter said that he'd have to practice a bit on what he called «this Limey southpaw routine» of driving on the left, and anyway he'd be interested to see if Bond had improved his cornering since their last drive together.
When they were out of the airport Bond said, «Now go ahead and tell. Last time we met you were with Pinkertons. What's the score?»
«Drafted. Just damned well drafted. Hell, anyone would think there was a war on. You see, James, once you've worked for C.I.A., you're automatically put on the reserve of officers when you leave. Unless you've been cashiered for not eating the code book under fire or something. And apparently my old Chief, Alien Dulles that is, just didn't have the men to go round when the President sounded the fire alarm. So I and twenty or so other guys were just pulled in–drop everything, twenty-four hours to report. Hell! I thought the Russians had landed! And then they tell me the score and to pack my bathing trunks and my spade and bucket and come on down to Nassau. So of course I griped like hell. Asked them if I shouldn't brush up on my Canasta game and take some quick lessons in the cha-cha. So then they unbuttoned and told me I was to team up with you down here and I thought maybe if that old bastard of yours, N or M or whatever you call him, had sent you down here with your old equalizer, there might be something cooking in the pot after all. So I picked up the gear you'd asked for from Admin., packed the bow and arrows instead of the spade and bucket, and here I am. And that's that. Now you tell, you old sonofabitch. Hell, it's good to see you.»