The Commissioner was obviously delighted with his rendering of all this rigmarole. He beamed at Bond. ‘It only remains’, he handed Bond a sealed packet, a similar one to Felix Leiter and one to Colonel Bannister, ‘to confer on Commander Bond of Great Britain, Mr Felix Leiter of the United States and, in absentia, Mr Nicholas Nicholson of the United States, the immediate award of the Jamaican Police Medal for gallant and meritorious services to the Independent State of Jamaica.’

There was muted applause. Mary Goodnight went on clapping after the others had stopped. She suddenly realized the fact, blushed furiously and stopped.

James Bond and Felix Leiter made stammered acknowledgments. Justice Cargill rose to his feet and, in solemn tones, asked Bond and Leiter in turn, ‘Is this a true and correct account of what occurred between the given dates?’

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Bond.

‘I’ll say it is, Your Honour,’ said Felix Leiter fervently.

The Judge bowed. All except Bond rose and bowed. Bond just bowed. ‘In that case, I declare this inquiry closed.’ The bewigged figure turned to Miss Goodnight. ‘If you will be kind enough to obtain all the signatures, duly witnessed, and send them round to my chambers? Thank you so much.’ He paused and smiled. ‘And the carbon, if you don’t mind?’

‘Certainly, my lord.’ Mary Goodnight glanced at Bond. ‘And now, if you will forgive me, I think the patient needs a rest. Matron was most insistent …’

Goodbyes were said. Bond called Leiter back. Mary Goodnight smelled private secrets. She admonished, ‘Now, only a minute!’ and went out and closed the door.

Leiter leant over the end of the bed. He wore his most quizzical smile. He said, ‘Well, I’ll be goddamned, James. That was the neatest wrap-up job I’ve ever lied my head off at. Everything clean as a whistle and we’ve even collected a piece of lettuce.’

Talking starts with the stomach muscles. Bond’s wounds were beginning to ache. He smiled, not showing the pain. Leiter was due to leave that afternoon. Bond didn’t want to say goodbye to him. Bond treasured his men friends and Felix Leiter was a great slice of his past. He said, ‘Scaramanga was quite a guy. He should have been taken alive. Maybe Tiffy really did put the hex on him with Mother Edna. They don’t come like that often.’

Leiter was unsympathetic. ‘That’s the way you limeys talk about Rommel and Dönitz and Guderian. Let alone Napoleon. Once you’ve beaten them, you make heroes out of them. Don’t make sense to me. In my book, an enemy’s an enemy. Care to have Scaramanga back? Now, in this room, with his famous golden gun on you – the long one or the short one? Standing where I am? One bets you a thousand you wouldn’t. Don’t be a jerk, James. You did a good job. Pest control. It’s got to be done by someone. Going back to it when you’re off the orange juice?’ Felix Leiter jeered at him. ‘Of course you are, lamebrain. It’s what you were put into the world for. Pest control, like I said. All you got to figure is how to control it better. The pests’ll always be there. God made dogs. He also made their fleas. Don’t let it worry your tiny mind. Right?’ Leiter had seen the sweat on James Bond’s forehead. He limped towards the door and opened it. He raised his hand briefly. The two men had never shaken hands in their lives. Leiter looked into the corridor. He said, ‘Okay, Miss Goodnight. Tell matron to take him off the danger list. And tell him to keep away from me for a week or two. Every time I see him a piece of me gets broken off. I don’t fancy myself as The Vanishing Man.’ Again he raised his only hand in Bond’s direction and limped out.

Bond shouted, ‘Wait, you bastard!’ But, by the time Leiter had limped back into the room, Bond, no effort left in him to fire off the volley of four-letter words that were his only answer to his friend, had lapsed into unconsciousness.

Mary Goodnight shooed the remorseful Leiter out of the room and ran off down the corridor to the floor sister.

17 | ENDIT

A week later, James Bond was sitting up in a chair, a towel round his waist, reading Allen Dulles on The Craft of Intelligence and cursing his fate. The hospital had worked miracles on him, the nurses were sweet, particularly the one he called ‘The Mermaid’, but he wanted to be off and away. He glanced at his watch. Four o’clock. Visiting time. Mary Goodnight would soon be there and he would be able to let off his pent-up steam on her. Unjust perhaps, but he had already tongue-lashed everyone in range in the hospital and, if she got into the field of fire, that was just too bad!

Mary Goodnight came through the door. Despite the Jamaican heat, she was looking fresh as a rose. Damn her! She was carrying what looked like a typewriter. Bond recognized it as the Triple-X deciphering machine. Now what?

Bond grunted surly answers to her inquiries after his health. He said, ‘What in hell’s that for?’

‘It’s an “Eyes Only”. Personal from M.,’ she said excitedly. ‘About thirty groups.’

‘Thirty groups! Doesn’t the old bastard know I’ve only got one arm that’s working? Come on, Mary. You get cracking. If it sounds really hot, I’ll take over.’

Mary Goodnight looked shocked. ‘Eyes Only’ was a top-sacred prefix. But Bond’s jaw was jutting out dangerously. Today was not a day for argument. She sat on the edge of the bed, opened the machine and took a cable form out of her bag. She laid her shorthand book beside the machine, scratched the back of her head with her pencil to help work out the setting for the day – a complicated sum involving the date and the hour of dispatch of the cable – adjusted the setting on the central cylinder and began cranking the handle. After each completed word had appeared in the little oblong window at the base of the machine, she recorded it in her book.

James Bond watched her expression. She was pleased. After a few minutes she read out: ‘M. PERSONAL FOR 007 EYES ONLY STOP YOUR REPORT AND DITTO FROM TOP FRIENDS [a euphemism for the C.I.A.] RECEIVED STOP YOU HAVE DONE WELL AND EXECUTED AYE DIFFICULT AND HAZARDOUS OPERATION TO MY ENTIRE REPEAT ENTIRE SATISFACTION STOP TRUST YOUR HEALTH UNIMPAIRED [Bond gave an angry snort] STOP WHEN WILL YOU BE REPORTING FOR FURTHER DUTY QUERY.’

Mary Goodnight smiled delightedly. ‘I’ve never seen him be so complimentary! Have you, James? That repeat of ENTIRE! It’s tremendous!’ She looked hopefully for a lifting of the black clouds from Bond’s face.

In fact Bond was secretly delighted, but he certainly wasn’t going to show it to Mary Goodnight. Today she was one of the wardresses confining him, tying him down. He said grudgingly, ‘Not bad for the old man. But all he wants is to get me back to that bloody desk. Anyway, it’s a lot of jazz so far. What comes next?’ He turned the pages of his book, pretending as the little machine whirred and clicked not to be interested.

‘Oh, James!’ Mary Goodnight exploded with excitement. ‘Wait! I’m almost finished. It’s tremendous!’

‘I know,’ commented Bond sourly. ‘Free luncheon vouchers every second Friday. Key to M. ’s personal lavatory. New suit to replace the one that’s somehow got full of holes.’ But he kept his eyes fixed on the flitting fingers, infected by Mary Goodnight’s excitement. What in hell was she getting so steamed up about? And all on his behalf! He examined her with approval. Perched there, immaculate in her white tussore shirt and tight beige skirt, one neat foot curled round the other in concentration, the golden face under the shortish fair hair incandescent with pleasure, she was, thought Bond, a girl to have around always. As a secretary? As what? Mary Goodnight turned, her eyes shining, and the question went, as it had gone for weeks, without an answer.

‘Now, just listen to this, James.’ She shook the notebook at him. ‘And for heaven’s sake stop looking so curmudgeonly.’