The James Bond Anthology

After this inspired piece of sexual dumb crambo, the rest of the cabaret was an anti-climax. One of the girls, only after her G-string had been slashed off with a cutlass by the band leader, was able to squirm under a bamboo balanced just eighteen inches off the floor on the top of two beer bottles. The first girl, the one who had acted as an unwitting pineapple-tee to Bond’s William Tell act, came on and combined an acceptable strip-tease with a rendering of ‘Belly-Lick’ that got the audience straining its ears again, and then the whole team of six girls, less the Chinese beauty, came up to the audience and invited them to dance. Scaramanga and Hendriks refused with adequate politeness and Bond stood the two left-out girls glasses of champagne and learned that their names were Mabel and Pearl while he watched the four others being almost bent in half by the bear-like embraces of the four sweating hoods as they clumsily cha-cha’d round the room to the now riotous music of the half-drunk band. The climax to what could certainly class as an orgy was clearly in sight. Bond told his two girls that he must go to the men’s room and slipped away when Scaramanga was looking elsewhere, but, as he went, he noted that Hendriks’s gaze, as cool as if he had been watching an indifferent film, was firmly on him as he made his escape.

When Bond got to his room, it was midnight. His windows had been closed and the air-conditioning turned on. He switched it off and opened the windows half-way and then, with heartfelt relief, took a shower and went to bed. He worried for a while about having shown off with the gun, but it was an act of folly which he couldn’t undo and he soon went to sleep to dream of three black-cloaked men dragging a shapeless bundle through dappled moonlight towards dark waters that were dotted with glinting red eyes. The gnashing white teeth and the crackling bones resolved themselves into a persistent scrabbling noise that brought him suddenly awake. He looked at the luminous dial of his watch. It said 3.30. The scrabbling became a quiet tapping from behind the curtains. James Bond slid quietly out of bed, took his gun from under his pillow and crept softly along the wall to the edge of the curtains. He pulled them aside with one swift motion. The golden hair shone almost silver in the moonlight. Mary Goodnight whispered urgently, ‘Quick, James! Help me in!’

Bond cursed softly to himself. What the hell? He laid his gun down on the carpet and reached for her outstretched hands and half dragged, half pulled her over the sill. At the last moment, her heel caught in the frame and the window banged shut with a noise like a pistol shot. Bond cursed again, softly and fluently, under his breath. Mary Goodnight whispered penitently, ‘I’m terribly sorry, James.’

Bond shushed her. He picked up his gun and put it back under his pillow and led her across the room and into the bathroom. He turned on the light and, as a precaution, the shower, and, simultaneously with her gasp, remembered he was naked. He said, ‘Sorry, Goodnight,’ and reached for a towel and wound it round his waist and sat down on the edge of the bath. He gestured to the girl to sit down on the lavatory seat and said, with icy control, ‘What in hell are you doing here, Mary?’

Her voice was desperate. ‘I had to come. I had to find you somehow. I got on to you through the girl at that, er, dreadful place. I left the car in the trees down the drive and just sniffed about. There were lights on in some of the rooms and I listened and, er,’ she blushed crimson, ‘I gathered you couldn’t be in any of them and then I saw the open window and I just somehow knew you would be the only one to sleep with his window open. So I just had to take the chance.’

‘Well, we’ve got to get you out of here as quick as we can. Anyway, what’s the trouble?’

‘A “Most Immediate” in Triple-X came over this evening. I mean yesterday evening. It was to be passed to you at all costs. H.Q. thinks you’re in Havana. It said that one of the K.G.B. top men who goes under the name of Hendriks is in the area and that he’s known to be visiting this hotel. You’re to keep away from him. They know from “a delicate but sure source”’ (Bond smiled at the old euphemism for cypher-breaking) ‘that among his other jobs is to find you and, er, well, kill you. So I put two and two together, and, what with you being in this corner of the island and the questions you asked me, I guessed that you might be already on his track but that you might be walking into an ambush, sort of. Not knowing, I mean, that while you were after him, he was after you.’