Live and Let Die: A James Bond Novel by Ian Fleming

counts. The F B I’s covering up for you. Reluctantly of course, and the Police are stalling like mad. The FBI big brass had already asked my Chief for you to be sent home — got him out of bed, if you please - mostly jealousy, I guess — but we’ve killed all that. Same time, we’ve both got to quit town at once. That’s all fixed too. We can’t go together, so you’re taking the train and I’ll fly. Jot this down.’
Bond cradled the telephone against his shoulder and reached for a pencil and paper. ‘Go ahead,’ he said.
‘
Pennsylvania
Station. Track 14. Ten-thirty this morning. “The Silver Phantom”. Through train to
St. Petersburg
via
Washington
,
Jacksonville
and
Tampa
. I’ve got you a compartment. Very luxurious. Car 245, Compartment H. Ticket’ll be on the train. Conductor will have it. In the name of Bryce. Just go to Gate 14 and down to the train. Then straight to your compartment and lock yourself in till the train starts. I’m flying down in an hour by Eastern, so you’ll be alone from now on. If you get stuck call Dexter, but don’t be surprised if he bites your head off. Train gets in around
midday
tomorrow. Take a cab and go to the Everglades Cabanas,
Gulf Boulevard West
, on
Sunset
Beach
. That’s on a place called
Treasure Island
where all the beach hotels are. Connected with
St. Petersburg
by a causeway. Cabby’ll know it.
Til be waiting for you. Got all that? And for God’s sake watch out. And I mean it. The Big Man’ll get you if he possibly can and a police escort to the train would only put the finger on you. Take a cab and keep out of sight. I’m sending you up another hat and a fawn raincoat. The check’s taken care of at the St. Regis. That’s the lot. Any questions?’
‘Sounds fine,’ said Bond. ‘I’ve talked to M and he’ll square
Washington
if there’s any trouble. Look after yourself too,’ he added. ‘You’ll be next on the list after me. See you tomorrow. So long.’
Til watch out,’ said Leiter. “Bye.’
It was half-past six and Bond pulled back the curtains in the sitting-room and watched the dawn come up over the city. It was still dark down in the caverns below but the tips of the great concrete stalagmites were pink and the sun lit up the windows floor by floor as if an army of descending janitors was at work in the buildings.
The police surgeon came, stayed for a painful quarter of an hour and left.
‘Clean fracture,’ he had said. ‘Take a few days to heal. How did you come by it?’
‘Caught it in a door,’ said Bond.
‘You ought to keep away from doors,’ commented the surgeon. ‘They’re dangerous things. Ought to be forbidden by law. Lucky you didn’t catch your neck in this one.’
When he had gone, Bond finished packing. He was wondering how soon he could order breakfast when the telephone rang.
Bond was expecting a harsh voice from the Police or the FBI. Instead, a girl’s voice, low and urgent, asked for Mr. Bond.
‘Who’s calling?’ asked Bond, gaining time. He knew the answer.
‘I know it’s you,’ said the voice, and Bond could feel that it was right up against the mouthpiece. ‘This is Solitaire.’ The name was scarcely breathed into the telephone.
Bond waited, all his senses pricked to what might be the scene at the other end of the line. Was she alone? Was she speaking foolishly on a house-phone with extensions to which other listeners were now coldly, intently glued? Or was she in a room with only Mr. Big’s eyes bent carefully on her, a pencil and pad beside him so that he could prompt the next question?
‘Listen,’ said the voice. I’ve got to be quick. You must trust me. I’m in a drugstore, but I must get back at once to my room. Please believe me.’
Bond had his handkerchief out. He spoke into it. ‘If I can reach Mr. Bond what shall I tell him?’
‘Oh damn you,’ said the girl with what sounded like a genuine touch of hysteria. ‘I swear by my mother, by my unborn children. I’ve got to get away.