The James Bond Anthology

‘Sure,’ agreed Leiter. ‘We’ll put her in a charter plane at Tampa. Get her down to Miami by tomorrow lunch-time and she can take one of the afternoon services – KLM or Panam. Get her in by dinner-time tomorrow. Too late to do anything this afternoon.’

‘Is that all right, Solitaire?’ Bond asked her.

The girl was staring out of the window. Her eyes had the faraway look that Bond had seen before.

Suddenly she shivered.

Her eyes came back to Bond. She put out a hand and touched his sleeve.

‘Yes,’ she said. She hesitated. ‘Yes, I guess so.’

13 | DEATH OF A PELICAN

Solitaire stood up.

‘I must go and tidy myself,’ she said. ‘I expect you’ve both got plenty to talk about.’

‘Of course,’ said Leiter, jumping up. ‘Crazy of me! You must be dead beat. Guess you’d better take James’s room and he can bed down with me.’

Solitaire followed him out into the little hall and Bond heard Leiter explaining the arrangement of the rooms.

In a moment Leiter came back with a bottle of Haig and Haig and some ice.

‘I’m forgetting my manners,’ he said. ‘We could both do with a drink. There’s a small pantry next to the bathroom and I’ve stocked it with all we’re likely to need!’

He fetched some soda water and they both took a long drink.

‘Let’s have the details,’ said Bond, sitting back. ‘Must have been the hell of a fine job.’

‘Sure was,’ agreed Leiter, ‘except for the shortage of corpses.’

He put his feet on the table and lit a cigarette.

‘Phantom left Jacksonville around five,’ he began. ‘Got to Waldo around six. Just after leaving Waldo – and here I’m guessing – Mr Big’s man comes along to your car, gets into the next compartment to yours and hangs a towel between the drawn blind and the window, meaning – and he must have done a good deal of telephoning at stations on the way down – meaning “the window to the right of this towel is it”

‘There’s a long stretch of straight track between Waldo and Ocala,’ continued Leiter, ‘running through forest and swamp land. State highway right alongside the track. About twenty minutes outside Waldo, Wham! goes a dynamite emergency signal under the leading Diesel. Driver comes down to forty. Wham! And another Wham! Three in line! Emergency! Halt at once! He halts the train wondering what the hell. Straight track. Last signal green over green. Nothing in sight. It’s around quarter after six and just getting light. There’s a sedan, clouted heap I expect [Bond raised an eyebrow. ‘Stolen car,’ explained Leiter], grey, thought to have been a Buick, no lights, engine running, waiting on the highway opposite the centre of the train. Three men get out. Coloured. Probably negro. They walk slowly in line abreast along the grass verge between the road and the track. Two on the outside carry rippers – tommy-guns. Man in the centre has something in his hand. Twenty yards and they stop outside Car 245. Men with the rippers give a double squirt at your window. Open it up for the pineapple. Centre man tosses in the pineapple and all three run back to the car. Two seconds fuse. As they reach the car, BOOM! Fricassee of Compartment H. Fricassee, presumably, of Mr and Mrs Bryce. In fact fricassee of your Baldwin who runs out and crouches in corridor directly he sees men approaching his car. No other casualties except multiple shock and hysterics throughout train. Car drives away very fast towards limbo where it still is and will probably remain. Silence, mingled with screams, falls. People run to and fro. Train limps gingerly into Ocala. Drops Car 245. Is allowed to proceed three hours later. Scene II. Leiter sits alone in cottage, hoping he has never said an unkind word to his friend James, and wondering how Mr Hoover will have Mr Leiter served for his dinner tonight. That’s all, folks.’

Bond laughed. ‘What an organization!’ he said. ‘I’m sure it’s all beautifully covered up and alibied. What a man! He certainly seems to have the run of this country. Just shows how one can push a democracy around, what with habeas corpus and human rights and all the rest. Glad we haven’t got him on our hands in England. Wooden truncheons wouldn’t make much of a dent in him. Well,’ he concluded, ‘that’s three times I’ve managed to get away with it. The pace is beginning to get a bit hot.’

‘Yes,’ said Leiter thoughtfully. ‘Before you arrived over here you could have counted the mistakes Mr Big has ever made on one thumb. Now he’s made three all in a row. He won’t like that. We’ve got to put the heat on him while he’s still groggy and then get out, quick. Tell you what I’ve got in mind. There’s no doubt that gold gets into the States through this place. We’ve tracked the Secatur again and again and she just comes straight over from Jamaica to St Petersburg and docks at that worm and bait factory – Rubberus or whatever it’s called.’