there, he thought. Where you lead, Franz Sanchez, I must follow. He had a lot to do before then, though, and it had been a tiring day.
Bond had flown the Beaver out to sea, around thirty to forty miles out, praying the weather would hold. The sea was calm, and finally he put the plane down, hoping he would not be called upon to take-off and make a run for it in a hurry. He needed until nightfall at least, and spent the rest of the day dealing with the packets of shrink-wrapped money.
The pilots had obviously made careful preparations, for there were two large suitcases in the body of the plane. It took Bond over an hour to pack the cases. Then all he had to do was wait. An hour before sunset, Bond was a very hungry and thirsty man, but he knew that if he was going to put himself, and the money, to good use, he had to keep going. He started up the engine, turned into what little wind there was, and took off, not climbing but setting course very low above the sea.
He had set his altimeter to zero, and his memory of the entire area was that sea level did not rise much around the Florida Keys. In the darkness he relied wholly on the magnetic course he had set, the altimeter and the clock, which he had also set on take-off. He kept up a steady speed, flying for over an hour, without lights. At last, in the very far distance he could see a glow in the sky, so he landed the plane and taxied it over the water very slowly and carefully. In all he must have taxied for almost ten miles.
He checked the course again, knowing that this would be the really difficult part. He was heading for one particular island off Key West and it was important that, in the darkness, he made a correct approach from the west as the water to the east – between the island, known as Ballast Key, and Key West itself – was shallow with a narrow marked lane for small motorised craft which did not draw more than a few feet. One false move now and the Beaver 1 seaplane could crunch its way on to a sandbank from which it would be almost impossible for him to extricate it.
With the engine idling, Bond stared into the darkness ahead, occasionally flashing the plane’s landing lights on and off. It took almost two hours and, even then, the hump of land which was Ballast Key came up very quickly. There was a fifty-yard wooden landing-stage on the south side of the island, with enough depth to bring in the seaplane. Gently, Bond manoeuvred it right up to the dock, climbed out and tied up.
The island was in darkness, so he knew its owner would be at one of two numbers – his house on Key West itself, or his New York apartment. Ballast Key had a house, built with great ingenuity, by an old friend.
Like all field agents Bond had documents stashed in most of the major cities throughout the world, and he was also careful to cultivate friends and acquaintances wherever he went. Some had an inkling of his arcane work; others just got on with him, liked him for his company and conversation. David Wolkowsky, a man who had changed the Gulf side of Key West, by restoration and rebuilding, was among the latter, and Bond was unhappy about using him in this side of his life, but there was no other way. It was David who owned Ballast Key and the house he had built on it.
Before anything else, the money had to be removed. Three times he moved between the plane and the wooden pier. Twice to bring the heavy suitcases on to dry land, then one more time to check the cabin and storage compartment with a torch from the cockpit. The last time proved worthwhile, as he discovered two more of the blue shrink-wrapped packages, hidden away under the co-pilot’s seat. The money was drugs money, so he felt no moral qualms about it, for this loot would be used to bring Franz Sanchez to his final destiny – either death or a long spell of imprisonment.
Once the money was on the pier, he returned to the seaplane one last time, his torch on a lanyard around his neck. Rummaging in the
Bond had flown the Beaver out to sea, around thirty to forty miles out, praying the weather would hold. The sea was calm, and finally he put the plane down, hoping he would not be called upon to take-off and make a run for it in a hurry. He needed until nightfall at least, and spent the rest of the day dealing with the packets of shrink-wrapped money.
The pilots had obviously made careful preparations, for there were two large suitcases in the body of the plane. It took Bond over an hour to pack the cases. Then all he had to do was wait. An hour before sunset, Bond was a very hungry and thirsty man, but he knew that if he was going to put himself, and the money, to good use, he had to keep going. He started up the engine, turned into what little wind there was, and took off, not climbing but setting course very low above the sea.
He had set his altimeter to zero, and his memory of the entire area was that sea level did not rise much around the Florida Keys. In the darkness he relied wholly on the magnetic course he had set, the altimeter and the clock, which he had also set on take-off. He kept up a steady speed, flying for over an hour, without lights. At last, in the very far distance he could see a glow in the sky, so he landed the plane and taxied it over the water very slowly and carefully. In all he must have taxied for almost ten miles.
He checked the course again, knowing that this would be the really difficult part. He was heading for one particular island off Key West and it was important that, in the darkness, he made a correct approach from the west as the water to the east – between the island, known as Ballast Key, and Key West itself – was shallow with a narrow marked lane for small motorised craft which did not draw more than a few feet. One false move now and the Beaver 1 seaplane could crunch its way on to a sandbank from which it would be almost impossible for him to extricate it.
With the engine idling, Bond stared into the darkness ahead, occasionally flashing the plane’s landing lights on and off. It took almost two hours and, even then, the hump of land which was Ballast Key came up very quickly. There was a fifty-yard wooden landing-stage on the south side of the island, with enough depth to bring in the seaplane. Gently, Bond manoeuvred it right up to the dock, climbed out and tied up.
The island was in darkness, so he knew its owner would be at one of two numbers – his house on Key West itself, or his New York apartment. Ballast Key had a house, built with great ingenuity, by an old friend.
Like all field agents Bond had documents stashed in most of the major cities throughout the world, and he was also careful to cultivate friends and acquaintances wherever he went. Some had an inkling of his arcane work; others just got on with him, liked him for his company and conversation. David Wolkowsky, a man who had changed the Gulf side of Key West, by restoration and rebuilding, was among the latter, and Bond was unhappy about using him in this side of his life, but there was no other way. It was David who owned Ballast Key and the house he had built on it.
Before anything else, the money had to be removed. Three times he moved between the plane and the wooden pier. Twice to bring the heavy suitcases on to dry land, then one more time to check the cabin and storage compartment with a torch from the cockpit. The last time proved worthwhile, as he discovered two more of the blue shrink-wrapped packages, hidden away under the co-pilot’s seat. The money was drugs money, so he felt no moral qualms about it, for this loot would be used to bring Franz Sanchez to his final destiny – either death or a long spell of imprisonment.
Once the money was on the pier, he returned to the seaplane one last time, his torch on a lanyard around his neck. Rummaging in the
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