if.goldfinger-第30部分

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he　Chief　of　Staff's　office　as　the　conversation　was　played　back　off　the　tape　while　the　Chief　of　Staff　translated　the　call　to　Miss　Money…penny。　'Says　he　agrees　that　Goldfinger　is　up　to　something　big　but　he　can't　make　out　what。　G。　is　flying　this　morning　with　his　Rolls　from　Ferryfield。　007　wants　to　follow。　（Let's　say　two　hours　later　to　let　G。　get　well　away　on　the　other　side。　Fix　the　reservation；　would　you？）　He　wants　us　to　have　a　word　with　Customs　so　that　he　can　take　a　good　look　at　the　Rolls　and　plant　a　Homer　in　the　boot。　（Fix　that　too；　please。）　He'll　keep　in　touch　through　stations　in　case　he　needs　help。。。'
　And　so　forth。　It　was　an　efficient　machine。　Bond　finished　packing　and；　when　the　London　call　came　giving　him　his　various　clearances；　he　went　downstairs；　paid　his　bill　and　got　quickly　out　of　Ramsgate　on　to　the　Canterbury　road。
　London　had　said　that　Goldfinger　was　booked　on　a　special　flight　leaving　at　twelve。　Bond　got　to　Ferryfield　by　eleven；　made　himself　known　to　the　Chief　Passport　Control　and　the　Customs　officers　who　were　expecting　him；　had　his　car　taken　out　of　sight　into　an　empty　hangar　and　sat　and　smoked　and　talked　minor　shop　with　the　passport　men。　They　thought　he　was　from　Scotland　Yard。　He　let　them　go　on　thinking　it。　No；　he　said；　Goldfinger　was　all　right。　It　was　possible　that　one　of　his　servants　was　trying　to　smuggle　something　out　of　the　country。　Rather　confidential。　If　Bond　could　just　be　left　alone　with　the　car　for　ten　minutes？　He　wanted　to　have　a　look　at　the　tool　kit。　Would　the　Customs　give　the　rest　of　the　Rolls　their　Grade　A　going　over　for　hidden　partments？　They'd　be　glad　to　do　so。
　At　eleven…forty…five　one　of　the　Customs　men　put　his　head　round　the　door。　He　winked　at　Bond。　'ing　in　now。　Chauffeur　on　board。　Going　to　ask　both　to　board　the　plane　before　the　car。　Tell　them　it's　something　to　do　with　the　weight　distribution。　Not　so　phoney　as　it　sounds。　We　know　this　old　crate。　She's　armour…plated。　Weighs　about　three　tons。　Call　you　when　we're　ready。'
　'Thanks。'　The　room　emptied。　Bond　took　the　fragile　little　parcel　out　of　his　pocket。　It　contained　a　dry…cell　battery　wired　to　a　small　vacuum　tube。　He　ran　his　eye　over　the　wiring　and　put　the　apparatus　back　in　his　coat　pocket　and　waited。
　At　eleven…fifty…five　the　door　opened。　The　officer　beckoned。　'No　trouble。　They're　on　the　plane。'
　The　huge　gleaming　Silver　Ghost　stood　in　the　Customs　bay　out　of　sight　of　the　plane。　The　only　other　car　was　a　dove…grey　Triumph　TR3　convertible　with　its　hood　down。　Bond　went　to　the　back　of　the　Rolls。　The　Customs　men　had　unscrewed　the　plate　of　the　spare　tool　partment。　Bond　pulled　out　the　tray　of　tools　and　made　a　show　of　minutely　examining　them　and　the　tray。　He　knelt　down。　Under　cover　of　rummaging　at　the　sides　of　the　partment；　he　slipped　the　battery　and　tube　into　the　back　of　it。　He　replaced　the　tool　tray。　It　fitted　all　right。　He　stood　up　and　brushed　his　hands　together。　'Negative；'　he　said　to　the　Customs　officer。
　The　officer　fitted　the　plate　on　and　screwed　it　down　with　the　square　key。　He　stood　up。　'Nothing　funny　about　the　chassis　or　the　bodywork。　Plenty　of　room　in　the　frame　and　upholstery　but　we　couldn't　get　at　them　without　doing　a　major　job。　All　right　to　go？'
　'Yes；　and　thanks。'　Bond　walked　back　into　the　office。　He　heard　the　quick　solid　whine　of　the　old　self…starter。　A　minute　later；　the　car　came　out　of　the　bay　and　idled　superbly　over　to　the　loading　ramp。　Bond　stood　at　the　back　of　the　office　and　watched　it　being　eased　up　the　ramp。　The　big　jaws　of　the　Bristol　Freighter　clanged　shut。　The　chocks　were　jerked　away　and　the　dispatcher　raised　a　thumb。　The　two　engines　coughed　heavily　and　fired　and　the　great　silver　dragonfly　trundled　off　towards　the　runway。
　When　the　plane　was　on　the　runway；　Bond　walked　round　to　his　car　and　climbed　into　the　driver's　seat。　He　pressed　a　switch　under　the　dash。　There　was　a　moment's　silence；　then　a　loud　harsh　howl　came　from　the　hidden　loud…speaker。　Bond　turned　a　knob。　The　howl　diminished　to　a　deep　drone。　Bond　waited　until　he　heard　the　Bristol　take　off。　As　the　plane　rose　and　made　for　the　coast　the　drone　diminished。　In　five　minutes　it　had　gone。　Bond　tuned　the　set　and　picked　it　up　again。　He　followed　it　for　five　minutes　as　the　plane　made　off　across　the　Channel　and　then　switched　the　set　off。　He　motored　round　to　the　Customs　bay；　told　the　AA　that　he　would　be　back　at　one…thirty　for　the　two　o'clock　flight；　and　drove　slowly　off　towards　a　pub　he　knew　in　Rye。　From　now　on；　so　long　as　he　kept　within　about　a　hundred　miles　of　the　Rolls；　the　Homer；　the　rough　radio　transmitter　he　had　slipped　into　its　tool　partment；　would　keep　contact　with　Bond's　receiver。　All　he　had　to　do　was　watch　the　decibels　and　not　allow　the　noise　to　fade。　It　was　a　simple　form　of　direction　finding　which　allowed　one　car　to　put　a　'long　tail'　on　another　and　keep　in　touch　without　any　danger　of　being　spotted。　On　the　other　side　of　the　Channel；　Bond　would　have　to　discover　the　road　Goldfinger　had　taken　out　of　Le　Touquet；　get　well　within　range　and　close　up　near　big　towns　or　wherever　there　was　a　major　fork　or　crossroads。　Sometimes　Bond　would　make　a　wrong　decision　and　have　to　do　some　fast　motoring　to　catch　up　again。　The　DB　III　would　look　after　that。　It　was　going　to　be　fun　playing　hare　and　hounds　across　Europe。　The　sun　was　shining　out　of　a　clear　sky。　Bond　felt　a　moment's　sharp　thrill　down　his　spine。　He　smiled　to　himself；　a　hard；　cold；　cruel　smile。　Goldfinger；　he　thought；　for　the　first　time　in　your　life　you're　in　trouble　…　bad　trouble。
　There　is　always　an　agent　cycliste　at　the　dangerous　crossroads　where　Le　Touquet's　quiet　N38　meets　the　oily　turbulence　of　the　major　Nl。　Yes；　certainly　he　had　seen　the　Rolls。　One　could　not　fail　to　remark　it。　A　real　aristocrat　of　a　car。　To　the　right；　monsieur；　towards　Abbeville。　He　will　be　an　hour　ahead；　but　with　that　bolide　of　yours。。。！
　As　soon　as　Bond　had　cleared　his　papers　at　the　airport；　the　Homer　had　picked　up　the　drone　of　the　Rolls。　But　it　was　impossible　to　tell　if　Goldfinger　was　heading　north　…　for　the　Low　Countries　or　Austria　or　Germany　…　or　if　he　was　off　to　the　south。　For　that　sort　of　fix　you　needed　two　radio　cars　to　get　a　bearing。　Bond　raised　a　hand　to　the　agent　and　gave　his　engine　the　gun。　He　would　have　to　close　up　fast。　Goldfinger　would　be　through　Abbeville　and　would　already　have　taken　the　major　fork　on　to　Nl　for　Paris　or　N28　for　Rouen。　A　lot　of　time　and　distance　would　be　wasted　if　Bond　made　the　wrong　guess。
　Bond　swept　along　the　badly　cambered　road。　He　took　no　chances　but　covered　the　forty…three　kilometres　to　Abbeville　in　a　quarter　of　an　hour。　The　drone　of　the　Homer　was　loud。　Goldfinger　couldn't　be　more　than　twenty　miles　ahead。　But　which　way　at　the　fork？　On　a　guess　Bond　took　the　Paris　road。　He　beat　the　car　along。　For　a　time　there　was　little　change　in　the　voice　of　the　Homer。　Bond　could　be　right　or　wrong。　Then；　imperceptibly；　the　drone　began　to　fade。　Blast！　Turn　back　or　press　on　fast　and　take　one　of　the　secondary　roads　across　to　Rouen　and　catch　up　with　him　there？　Bond　hated　turning　back。　Ten　kilometres　short　of　Beauvais　he　turned　right。　For　a　time　it　was　bad　going　but　then　he　was　on　to　the　fast　N30　and　could　afford　to　drift　into　Rouen；　led　on　by　the　beckoning　voice　of　his　pick…up。　He　stopped　on　the　outskirts　of　the　town　and　listened　with　one　ear　while　consulting　his　Michelin。　By　the　waxing　drone　he　could　tell　that　he　had　got　ahead　of　Goldfinger。　But　now　there　was　another　vital　fork；　not　quite　so　easy　to　retrieve　if　Bond　guessed　wrong　again。　Either　Goldfinger　would　take　the　Alengon…Le　Mans…Tours　route　to　the　south；　or　he　meant　to　move　south…east；　missing　Paris；　by　way　of　Evreux；　Chartres　and　Orleans。　Bond　couldn't　afford　to　get　closer　to　the　centre　of　Rouen　and　perhaps　catch　a　glimpse　of　the　Rolls　and　of　the　way　it　would　take。　He　would　have　to　wait　until　the　Homer　went　on　the　wane　and　then　make　his　own　guess。
　It　was　a　quarter　of　an　hour　later　before　Bond　could　be　sure　that　the　Rolls　was　well　past。　This　time　he　again　took　the　left　leg　of　the　fork。　He　thrust　the　pedal　into　the　floor　and　hurried。　Yes。　This　time　the　drone　was　merging　into　a　howl。　Bond　was　on　the　track。　He　slowed　to　forty；　tuned　down　his　receiver　to　a　whisper　and　idled　along；　wondering　where　Goldfinger　was　heading　for。
　Five　o'clock；　six；　seven。　The　sun　set　in　Bond's　driving　mirror　an