The James Bond Anthology

They had been over The Robber’s place with a toothcomb. Nothing but tanks of fish and bait and cases of coral and shells. The Robber and two men who were down there in charge of the pumps and the water-heating had been taken in custody and grilled for an hour. Their alibis had been checked and found to be solid as the Empire State. The Robber had angrily demanded his mouthpiece and when the lawyer had finally been allowed to get to them they had been automatically sprung. No charge and no evidence to base one on. Dead-ends everywhere except that Leiter’s car had been found the other side of the yacht basin, a mile away from the wharf. A mass of fingerprints, but none that fitted the three men. Any suggestions?

‘Keep with it,’ said the senior man in the cottage who had introduced himself as Captain Franks. ‘Be along presently. Washington says we’ve got to get these men if it’s the last thing we do. Two top operatives flying down tonight. Time to get co-operation from the Police. I’ll tell ’em to get their stoolies working in Tampa. This isn’t only a St Petersburg job. ’Bye now.’

It was three o’clock. The police ambulance came and left again with the surgeon and the body that was so near to death. The two men left. They promised to keep in touch. They were anxious to know Bond’s plans. Bond was evasive. Said he’d have to talk to Washington. Meanwhile, could he have Leiter’s car? Yes, it would be brought round directly Records had finished with it.

When they had gone, Bond sat lost in thought. They had made sandwiches from the well-stocked pantry and Bond now finished these and had a stiff drink.

The telephone rang. Long-distance. Bond found himself speaking to the head of Leiter’s Section of the Central Intelligence Agency. The gist of it was that they’d be very glad if Bond would move on to Jamaica at once. All very polite. They had spoken to London, who had agreed. When should they tell London that Bond would arrive in Jamaica?

Bond knew there was a Transcarib plane via Nassau due out next day. He said he’d be taking it. Any other news? Oh yes, said the C.I.A. The gentleman from Harlem and his girl friend had left by plane for Havana, Cuba, during the night. Private charter from a little place up the East coast called Vero Beach. Papers were in order and charter company was such a small one the F.B.I. had not bothered to include them when they put the watch on all airports. Arrival had been reported by the C.I.A. man in Cuba. Yes, too bad. Yes, the Secatur was still there. No sailing date. Well, too bad about Leiter. Fine man. Hope he makes out. So Bond would be in Jamaica tomorrow? Okay. Sorry things been so hectic. ’Bye.

Bond thought for a while, then he picked up the telephone and spoke briefly to a man at the Eastern Garden Aquarium at Miami and consulted him about buying a live shark to keep in an ornamental lagoon.

‘Only place I ever heard of is right near you now, Mr Bryce,’ said the helpful voice. ‘“Ourobouros Worm and Bait.” They got sharks. Big ones. Do business with foreign zoos and suchlike. White, Tiger, even Hammerheads. They’ll be glad to help you. Costs a lot to feed ’em. You’re welcome. Any time you’re passing. ’Bye.’

Bond took out his gun and cleaned it, waiting for the night.

15 | MIDNIGHT AMONG THE WORMS

Around six Bond packed his bag and paid the check. Mrs Stuyvesant was glad to see the last of him. The Everglades hadn’t experienced such alarums since the last hurricane.

Leiter’s car was back on the Boulevard and he drove it over to the town. He visited a hardware store and made various purchases. Then he had the biggest steak, rare, with French fries, he had ever seen. It was a small grill called Pete’s, dark and friendly. He drank a quarter of a pint of Old Grandad with the steak and had two cups of very strong coffee. With all this under his belt he began to feel more sanguine.

He spun out the meal and the drinks until nine o’clock. Then he studied a map of the city and took the car and made a wide detour that brought him within a block of The Robber’s wharf from the south. He ran the car down to the sea and got out.

It was a bright moonlit night and the buildings and warehouses threw great blocks of indigo shadow. The whole section seemed deserted and there was no sound except the quiet lapping of the small waves against the sea-wall and water gurgling under the empty wharves.

The top of the low sea-wall was about three feet wide. It was in shadow for the hundred yards or more that separated him from the long black outline of the Ourobouros warehouse.