It was one o’clock by the time they got back to Windsor Field. For half an hour the control tower had been searching for them on the radio. Now they had to face the commandant of the field and, providentially as it happened, the Governor’s A.D.C., who gave the Governor’s blanket authorization for the string of their misdemeanours and then handed Bond a thick envelope which contained signals for both of them.

The contents began with the expected rockets for breaking communication and demands for further news. (‘That they’ll get!’ commented Leiter as they raced towards Nassau in the comfortable back of the Governor’s Humber Snipe saloon.) E.T.A. for the Manta was five o’clock that evening. Inquiries through Interpol and the Italian police confirmed that Giuseppe Petacchi was in fact the brother of Dominetta Vitali, whose personal history as given to Bond stood up in all other respects. The same sources confirmed that Emilio Largo was a big-time adventurer and suspected crook though technically his dossier was clean. The source of his wealth was unknown but did not stem from funds held in Italy. The Disco had been paid for in Swiss francs. The constructors confirmed the existence of the underwater compartment. It contained an electric hoist and provision for launching small underwater craft and releasing skin-divers. In Largo’s specifications, this modification to the hull had been given as a requirement for underwater research. Further inquiry into the ‘shareholders’ had yielded no further facts – with the significant exception that most of their backgrounds and professions dated back no further than six years. This suggested the possibility that their identities might be of recent fabrication and, at any rate in theory, this would equate with possible membership of SPECTRE, if such a body did in fact exist. Kotze had left Switzerland for an unknown destination four weeks previously. Latest photographs of the man were on the midday Pan American plane. Nevertheless the Thunderball war-room had to accept the solidity of Largo’s cover unless further evidence came to hand, and the present intention was to continue the world-wide search while allotting priority to the Bahamas area. In view of this priority, and the extremely urgent time factor, Brigadier Fairchild, C.B., D.S.O., British Military Attaché in Washington, with Rear Admiral Carlson, U.S.N. Ret., until recently Secretary to the U.S. Chiefs of Staff Committee, would be arriving at 1900 E.S.T. by the President’s Boeing 707, ‘Columbine’, to take joint command of further operations. The full co-operation of Messrs Bond and Leiter was requested and, until the arrival of above named officers, full reports every hour on the hour were to be radio’d to London, copy to Washington, under joint signature.

Leiter and Bond looked at each other in silence. Finally Leiter said, ‘James, I propose we disregard the last bit and take formal note of the remainder. We’ve already missed four hours and I don’t propose we spend the rest of the day sweating it out in our radio room. There’s just too much to do. Tell you what. I’ll do the stint of telling them the latest and then I’ll say we’re going off the air in view of the new emergency. I then propose to go and look over Palmyra on your behalf, sticking to our cover story. And I propose to have a damned good look at the boathouse and see what those tracks mean. Right? Then, at five, we’ll rendezvous with the Manta and prepare to intercept the Disco if and when she sails. As for the Big Brass in the President’s Special, well they can just play pinocle in Government House until tomorrow morning. Tonight’s the night and we just can’t waste it on the “After you Alphonse” routine. Okay?’

Bond reflected. They were coming in to the outskirts of Nassau, through the shanty-town slums tucked away behind the millionaire façade, along the waterfront. He had disobeyed many orders in his life, but this was to disobey the Prime Minister of England and the President of the United States – a mighty left and right. But things were moving a damned sight too fast. M. had given him this territory and, right or wrong, M. would back him up, as he always backed up his staff, even if it meant M.’s own head on a charger. Bond said, ‘I agree, Felix. With the Manta we can manage this on our own. The vital thing is to find out when those bombs go on board the Disco. I’ve got an idea for that. May work, may not. It means giving the Vitali girl a rough time, but I’ll try and handle that side. Drop me at the hotel and I’ll get cracking. Meet you here again around four thirty. I’ll call up Harling and see if he’s got anything new on the Disco and ask him to pass the word upstairs to you if anything’s cooking. You’ve got all that straight about the plane? Okay. I’ll hang on to Petacchi’s identification disc for the time being. Be seeing you.’

Bond almost ran through the lobby of the hotel. When he picked up his key at the reception desk they gave him a telephone message. He read it going up in the lift. It was from Domino: ‘Please telephone quickly.’

In his room, Bond first ordered a club sandwich and a double Bourbon on the rocks and then called the Police Commissioner. The Disco had moved to the oiling wharf at first light and had filled her tanks. Then she had moved back to her anchorage off Palmyra. Half an hour ago, at one thirty precisely, the seaplane had been lowered over the side and, with Largo and one other on board, had taken off eastwards. When the Commissioner had heard this on the walkie-talkie from his watchers he had got on to the control tower at Windsor Field and had asked for the plane to be radar-tracked. But she had flown low, at about 300 feet, and they had lost her among the islands about fifty miles to the south-east. Nothing else had come up except that the harbour authorities had been alerted to expect an American submarine, the Manta, the nuclear-powered one, at around five in the evening. That was all. What did Bond know?

Bond said carefully that it was too early to tell. It looked as if the operation was hotting up. Could the watchers be asked to rush the news back as soon as the seaplane was sighted coming back to the Disco? This was vital. Would the Commissioner please pass on his news to Felix Leiter who was on his way to the radio room at that moment? And could Bond be lent a car – anything – to drive himself? Yes, a Land Rover would be fine. Anything with four wheels.

Then Bond got on to Domino out at Palmyra. She sounded eager for his voice. ‘Where have you been all morning, James?’ – it was the first time she had used his Christian name – ‘I want you to come swimming this afternoon. I have been told to pack and come on board this evening. Emilio says they are going after the treasure tonight. Isn’t it nice of him to take me? But it’s a dead secret, so don’t tell anyone, will you. But he is vague about when we will be back. He said something about Miami. I thought –’ she hesitated – ‘I thought you might have gone back to New York by the time we get back. I have seen so little of you. You left so suddenly last night. What was it?’

‘I suddenly got a headache. Touch of the sun, I suppose. It had been quite a day. I didn’t want to go. And I’d love to come for a swim. Where?’

She gave him careful directions. It was a beach a mile further along the coast from Palmyra. There was a side road and a thatched hut. He couldn’t miss it. The beach was sort of better than Palmyra’s. The skin-diving was more fun. And of course there weren’t so many people. It belonged to some Swedish millionaire who had gone away. When could he get there? Half an hour would be all right. They would have more time. On the reef that is.

Bond’s drink came and the sandwich. He sat and consumed them, looking at the wall, feeling excited about the girl, but knowing what he was going to do to her life that afternoon. It was going to be a bad business – when it could have been so good. He remembered her as he had first seen her, the ridiculous straw hat tilted down over the nose, the pale blue ribbons flying as she sped up Bay Street. Oh well …