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hour off for laying the false trail, and that leaves five. I've marked off an
area from the Grand Bahamas down to south of the Bimini group. That fits---if
anything fits.
 Did you get on the the Commissioner?
 Yes. He's going to have a couple of good men with day-and-night glasses
keeping an eye on the Disco
. If she moves from herPalmyra anchorage where she's due back atmidday , and
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if we're not back in time, he'll have her shadowed by one of the Bahama
Airways charter planes. I got him quite worried with just one or two bits of
information. He wanted to go to the Governor with the story. I said not yet.
He's a good man. Just doesn't want too much responsibility without someone
else's okay. I used the P.M.'s name to keep him quiet until we get back. He'll
play all right. When do you think the Manta could be here?
 S'evening, I'd say. Leiter's voice was uneasy.  I must have been drunk last
night to have sent for her.
Christ, we're creating one hell of a flap, James. It doesn't look too good in
the cold light of dawn.
Anyway, what the hell? There'sGrand Bahama coming up dead ahead. Want me to
give the rocket base a buzz? Prohibited flying area, but we might as well go
in up to our ears while we're about it. Just listen to the bawling out we'll
be getting in just a minute or two. He reached up and switched on the radio.
They flew eastward along the fifty miles of beautiful coast toward what looked
like a small city of aluminum hutments among which red and white and silver
structures rose like small skyscrapers above the low roofs.  That's it, said
Leiter.  See the yellow warning balloons at the corners of the base?
Warning to aircraft and fishermen. There's a flight test on this morning.
Better get out to sea a bit and keep south. If it's a full test, they'll be
firing towardAscension Island ---about five thousand miles east.
Off the African coast. Don't want to get an Atlas missile up our backsides.
Look over there to the left-sticking up like a pencil beside that red and
white gantry! Atlas or a Titan---intercontinental. Or might be a prototype
Polaris. The other two gantries'll be for Matador and Snark and perhaps your
Thunderbird. That big gun thing, like a howitzer, that's the camera tracker.
The two saucer-shaped reflectors are the radar screen. Golly! One of them's
turning away toward us! We're going to get hell in a minute. That strip of
concrete down the middle of the island. That's the skid strip for bringing in
missiles that are recallable. Can't see the central control for telemetering
and guidance and destruction of the things if they go mad. That'll be
underground---one of those squat blockhouse things. Some brass hat'll be
sitting down there with his staff getting all set for the countdown or
whatever's going to happen and telling someone to do something about that
goddamn little plane that's fouling up the works.
Above their heads the radio crackled. A metallic voice said,  N/AKOI, N/AKOI.
You're in a prohibited area. Can you hear me. Change course southwards
immediately. N/AKOI. This is Grand
Bahama Rocket Base. Keep clear. Keep clear.
Leiter said,  Oh, hell! No use interfering with world progress. Anyway, we've
seen all we want. No good getting on the Windsor Field report to add to our
troubles. He banked the little plane sharply.  But you see what I mean? If
that little heap of iron-mongery isn't worth a quarter of a billion dollars my
name's P. Rick. And it's just about a hundred miles fromNassau . Perfect for
the Disco .
The radio started again:  N/AKOI, N/AKOI. You will be reported for entering a
prohibited area and for failing to acknowledge. Keep flying south and watch
out for sudden turbulence. Over. The radio went silent.
Leiter said,  That means they're going to fire a test. Keep an eye on them and
let me know when. I'll cut down the revs. No harm in watching ten million
dollars of the taxpayer's money being blown off, Look!
The radar scanner's turned back to the east. They'll be sweating it out in
that blockhouse all right. I've seen 'em at it. Lights'11 be blinking all over
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the big board way down underground. The Kibitzers'11 be at their periscopes.
Voices'll come down over the P.A. system---'Beacon contact . . . Warning
balloons up
... Telemeter contact . . . Tank pressure okay . . . Gyros okay . . .
Rocket-tank pressure correct . . .
Rocket clear . . . Recorders alive . . . Lights all green . . . Ten, nine,
eight, seven, six ... Fire! '
Despite Leiter's graphic countdown, nothing happened. Then, through his
glasses, Bond saw a wisp of steam coming from the base of the rocket. Then a
great cloud of steam and smoke and a flash of bright light that turned red. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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