if.goldfinger-第16部分

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　pick　up　even　ten　or　twenty　thousand　dollars　when　the　odds　were　right　or　could　be　favourably　adjusted。　The　funds　for　Red　Revolution；　for　the　discipline　by　fear　that　was　the　particular　speciality　of　SMERSH；　could　never　be　big　enough。　Goldfinger　was　not　making　the　money　for　himself。　He　was　making　it　for　the　conquest　of　the　world！　The　minor　risk　of　being　found　out；　as　he　had　been　by　Bond；　was　nothing。　Why？　What　could　the　Bank　of　England　get　him　if　every　single　one　of　his　past　operations　could　be　exposed？　Two　years？　Three？
　The　traffic　was　thinning　through　the　outskirts　of　Gilling…ham。　Bond　started　motoring　again；　but　easily　now；　not　hurrying；　following　his　thoughts　as　the　hands　and　feet　went　through　their　automatic　responses。
　So；　in'thirty…seven；　SMERSH　must　have　sent　Goldfinger　out　With　the　belt　of　gold　round　his　young　waist。　He　had　shown　his　special　aptitudes；　his　acquisitive　bent；　during　his　training　in　the　spy　school　in　Leningrad。　He　would　have　been　told　there　would　be　a　war；　that　he　must　dig　himself　in　and　start　quietly　accumulating。　Goldfinger　must　never　dirty　his　hands；　never　meet　an　agent；　never　receive　or　pass　a　message。　Some　routine　would　have　been　arranged。　'Second…hand　'39　Vauxhall。　First　offer　of　￡1000　secures'；　'Immaculate　Rover；　￡2000'；　'Bentley；　￡5000'。　Always　an　advertisement　that　would　not　attract　attention　or　correspondence。　The　prices　would　be　just　too　high；　the　description　inadequate。　In　the　Agony　column　of　The　Times；　perhaps。　And；　obediently；　Goldfinger　would　leave　the　two　thousand　pounds　or　the　five　thousand　pounds　gold　bar　at　one　of　a　long；　a　very　long　series　of　post…boxes　that　had　been　arranged　in　Moscow　before　he　left。　A　particular　bridge；　a　hollow　tree；　under　a　rock　in　a　stream　somewhere；　anywhere　in　England。　And　he　would　never；　on　any　account；　visit　that　postbox　again。　It　was　up　to　Moscow　to　see　that　the　agent　got　to　the　hidden　treasure。　Later；　after　the　war；　when　Goldfinger　was　blossoming　out；　when　he　had　bee　a　big　man；　the　postboxes　would　no　longer　be　bridges　and　trees。　Now　he　would　be　given　dates　and　safety　deposit　box　numbers；　left…luggage　lockers　at　stations。　But　still　there　would　be　the　rule　that　Goldfinger　must　never　revisit　the　scene；　never　endanger　himself。　Perhaps　he　would　only　get　his　instructions　once　a　year；　at　a　casual　meeting　in　some　park；　in　a　letter　slipped　into　his　pocket　on　a　train　journey。　But　always　it　would　be　bars　of　gold；　anonymous；　untraceable　if　captured　…　except　for　the　tiny　Z　that　his　vanity　had　scratched　on　his　handiwork　and　that　a　dull　dog　at　the　Bank　of　England　called　Colonel　Smithers　had　happened　upon　in　the　course　of　his　duties。
　Now　Bond　was　running　through　the　endless　orchards　of　the　Faversham　growers。　The　sun　had　e　out　from　behind；　the　smog　of　London。　There　was　the　distant　gleam　of　the　Thames　on　his　left。　There　was　traffic　on　the　river　…　long；　glistening　tankers；　stubby　merchantmen；　antediluvian　Dutch　Schuyts。　Bond　left　the　Canterbury　road　and　switched　on　to　the　incongruously　rich　highway　that　runs　through　the　cheap　bungaloid　world　of　the　holiday　lands　…　Whitstable；　Herne　Bay；　Birchington；　Margate。　He　still　idled　along　at　fifty；　holding　the　racing　wheel　on　a　light　rein；　listening　to　the　relaxed　purr　of　the　exhausts；　fitting　the　bits　of　his　thoughts　info　the　jigsaw　as　he　had　done　two　nights　before　with　Goldfinger's　face　on　the　Identicast。
　And；　Bond　reflected；　while　Goldfinger　was　pumping　a　million；　two　million　pounds　a　year　into　the　bloody　maw　of　SMERSH；　he　was　pyramiding　his　reserves；　working　on　them；　making　them　work　for　him　whenever　the　odds　were　right；　piling　up　the　surplus　for　the　day　when　the　trumpets　would　sound　in　the　Kremlin　and　every　golden　sinew　would　be　mobilized。　And　no　one　outside　Moscow　had　been　watching　the　process；　no　one　suspected　that　Goldfinger　…　the　jeweller；　the　metallurgist；　the　resident　of　Reculver　and　Nassau；　the　respected　member　of　Blades；　of　the　Royal　St　Marks　at　Sandwich　…　was　one　of　the　greatest　conspirators　of　all　time；　that　he　had　financed　the　murder　of　hundreds；　perhaps　thousands　of　victims　of　SMERSH　all　over　the　world。　SMERSH；　Smiert　Spionam；　Death　to　Spies　…　the　murder　Apparat　of　the　High　Praesidium！　And　only　M　suspected　it；　only　Bond　knew　it。　And　here　was　Bond；　launched　against　this　man　by　a　series　of　flukes；　a　train　of　coincidence　that　had　been　started　by　a　plane　breaking　down　on　the　other　side　of　the　world。　Bond　smiled　grimly　to　himself。　How　often　in　his　profession　had　it　been　the　same　…　the　tiny　acorn　of　coincidence　that　soared　into　the　mighty　oak　whose　branches　darkened　the　sky。　And　now；　once　again；　he　was　setting　out　to　bring　the　dreadful　growth　down。　With　what？　A　bag　of　golf　clubs？
　A　repainted　sky…blue　Ford　Popular　with　large　yellow　ears　was　scurrying　along　the　crown　of　the　road　ahead。　Mechanically　Bond　gave　the　horn　ring　a　couple　of　short；　polite　jabs。　There　was　no　reaction。　The　Ford　Popular　was　doing　its　forty。　Why　should　anyone　want　to　go　more　than　that　respectable　speed？　The　Ford　obstinately　hunched　its　shoulders　and　kept　on　its　course。　Bond　gave　it　a　sharp　blast；　expecting　it　to　swerve。　He　had　to　touch　his　brakes　when　it　didn't。　Damn　the　man！　Of　course！　The　usual　tense　figure；　hands　held　too　high　up　on　the　wheel；　and　the　inevitable　hat；　this　time　a　particularly　hideous　black　bowler；　square　on　a　large　bullet　head。　Oh　well；　thought　Bond；　they　weren't　his　stomach　ulcers。　He　changed　down　and　contemptuously　slammed　the　DB　III　past　on　the　inside。　Silly　bastard！
　Another　five　miles　and　Bond　was　through　the　dainty　tele…world　of　Herne　Bay。　The　howl　of　Mansion　sounded　away　on　his　right。　A　flight　of　three　Super　Sabres　came　in　to　land。　They　skimmed　below　his　right…Hand　horizon　as　if　they　were　diving　into　the　earth。　With　half　his　mind；　Bond　heard　the　roar　of　their　jets　catch　up　with　them　as　they　landed　and　taxied　in　to　the　hangars。　He　came　up　with　a　crossroads。　To　the　left　the　signpost　said　RECULVER。　Underneath　was　the　ancient　monument　sign　for　Reculver　church。　Bond　slowed；　but　didn't　stop。　No　hanging　about。　He　motored　slowly　on；　keeping　his　eyes　open。　The　shoreline　was　too　exposed　for　a　trawler　to　do　anything　but　beach　or　anchor。　Probably　Gold…finger　had　used　Ramsgate。　Quiet　little　port。　Customs　and　police　who　were　probably　only　on　the　look…out　for　brandy　ing　over　from　France。　There　was　a　thick　clump　of　trees　between　the　road　and　the　shore；　a　glimpse　of　roofs　and　of　a　medium…sized　factory　chimney　with　a　thin　plume　of　light　smoke　or　steam。　That　would　be　it。　Soon　there　was　the　gate　of　a　long　drive。　A　discreetly　authoritative　sign　said　THANET　ALLOYS；　and　underneath：　NO　ADMITTANCE　EXCEPT　ON　BUSINESS。　All　very　respectable。　Bond　drove　slowly　on。　There　was　nothing　more　to　be　seen。　He　took　the　next　right…hand　turn　across　the　Manston　plateau　to　Ramsgate。
　It　was　twelve　o'clock。　Bond　inspected　his　room；　a　double　with　bathroom；　on　the　top　floor　of　the　Channel　Packet；　unpacked　his　few　belongings　and　went　down　to　the　snack　bar　where　he　had　one　vodka　and　tonic　and　two　rounds　of　excellent　ham　sandwiches　with　plenty　of　mustard。　Then　he　got　back　into　his　car　and　drove　slowly　over　to　the　Royal　St　Marks　at　Sandwich。
　Bond　carried　his　clubs　to　the　professional's　shop　and　through　to　the　workroom。　Alfred　Blacking　was　winding　a　new　grip　on　to　a　driver。
　'Hullo；　Alfred。'
　The　professional　looked　up　sharply。　His　sunburned；　leathery　face　broke　into　a　wide　smile。　'Why；　if　it　isn't　Mr　James！'　They　shook　hands。　'Must　be　fifteen；　twenty　years。　What　brings　you　down　here；　sir？　Someone　was　telling　me　only　the　other　day　that　you're　in　the　diplomatic　or　something。　Always　abroad。　Well；　I　never！　Still　the　same　flat　swing；　sir？'　Alfred　Blacking　joined　his　hands　and　gave　a　low；　flat　sweep。
　'Afraid　so；　Alfred。　Never　had　time　to　get　myself　out　of　it。　How's　Mrs　Blacking　and　Cecil？'
　'Can't　plain；　sir。　Cecil　was　runner…up　in　the　Kent　Championship　last　year。　Should　win　it　this　year　if　he　can　only　get　out　of　the　shop　and　on　to　the　course　a　bit　more。'
　Bond　propped　his　clubs　up　against　the　wall。　It　was　good　to　be　back。　Everything　was　just　the　same。　There　had　been　a　time　in　his　teens　when　he　had　played　two　rounds　a　day　every　day　of　the　week　at　St　Marks。　Blacking　had　always　wanted　to　take　him　in　hand。　'A　bit　of　practice；　Mr　James；　and　you'd　be　scratch。　No　f