Read Online Bond Movies 03 - Licence to Kill by John Gardner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Gardner
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House . . .’
On the veranda, the bodyguard with a stabbing pain in his groin, had risen, gun out and ready to fire into the garden. M stepped forward and stayed his hand. ‘Too many people – don’t they teach you anything these days?’
From the veranda, M looked out into the night. ‘God help you, Commander Bond,’ he said aloud, and the bodyguard could not tell if it was anger, sorrow or humour on the old man’s face. Then M turned and walked inside. He could not get out of this place quickly enough, for he too had found it deeply depressing.
Through binoculars, at a range of two miles, Wavekrest gave the impression of being very much a working ship. She was about 150 feet long, broad in the beam, with a strange overhang on the stern, which also sported a pair of booms, port and starboard. There were small cranes on the booms, and men scurried around. There were obviously divers in the water. Behind the ship, Coy Sol Bay made a beautiful backdrop. A pair of catamarans bobbed nearby, and there were diving flags in the water.
Bond had watched dawn come up as they rode at anchor about six miles from Coy Sol Bay, and shielded from Wavekrest by the headland. ‘We don’t want to get there until late morning,’ he had told Sharky. ‘It might look a little odd if they all woke up and just found us sitting watching them.’
‘Like we would have woke up and found the cops sitting on my boat,’ Sharky grinned.
After his leap from the veranda of the Hemingway house, Bond had slipped on to the conch train. It was evening and this was probably the last ride any of the tourists would get. The end two coaches were empty, and Bond rode the short distance back to the train offices then had speedily made his way to Sharky’s boat.
They were a mile out of Key West when the sound of police sirens came floating from the Charter Boat Dock. For an hour or so, both men scanned the night for the blinking lights of a police helicopter, but they had obviously either been called off or called it a day.
Now it was eleven o’clock on a beautiful calm morning. Sharky had dropped nets over the side and Bond lay hidden near the bows, watching Wavekrest on binoculars supplied by Sharky.
He scanned the superstructure which did not fit into the rest of the picture of Wavekrest as a marine research ship. Certainly they appeared to have all the technology – radar and sonar dishes turned lazily from behind the bridge – but towards the rear there was an incongruous luxury area. He could pick out very smart cabin doors and what could well be a small pool abaft the main superstructure. Bond also spotted something more sinister. Set for’ard, below the bridge, was a long rack of spear-guns. Most of them were fairly standard, top quality and the kind of things carried by scuba divers. But towards the end were another kind altogether, the type that fired small harpoons, often fitted with small explosive charges.
He swept the ship again with the binoculars, and this time caught a flash of something else, a sight which made him swing the glasses back towards the first cabin door for’ard – the one that appeared to have a brass plate on it.
The door had opened, and a pleasant sight emerged. A young, dark girl dressed in a one-piece swimsuit which covered her, both front and back. She carried a towel and beach bag, and walked as though the world was watching her, towards the place where Bond thought he had spotted a pool. He recognised her immediately.
‘Well, well, well . . .’ his lips creased into a smile. ‘Look’ee here, me hearties.’
‘What you found, James?’ from Sharky on the bridge.
‘The girl.’
‘What girl?’
‘The one I last saw when Sanchez made his visit to Cray Cay. Sanchez’s girlfriend. Miss Galaxy, the flamboyantly-named Lupe Lamora.’
‘That mean Sanchez’s aboard?’
‘It could very well mean that. Could we move in a little closer?’
‘Sure thing, James. Anything. You enjoying
On the veranda, the bodyguard with a stabbing pain in his groin, had risen, gun out and ready to fire into the garden. M stepped forward and stayed his hand. ‘Too many people – don’t they teach you anything these days?’
From the veranda, M looked out into the night. ‘God help you, Commander Bond,’ he said aloud, and the bodyguard could not tell if it was anger, sorrow or humour on the old man’s face. Then M turned and walked inside. He could not get out of this place quickly enough, for he too had found it deeply depressing.
Through binoculars, at a range of two miles, Wavekrest gave the impression of being very much a working ship. She was about 150 feet long, broad in the beam, with a strange overhang on the stern, which also sported a pair of booms, port and starboard. There were small cranes on the booms, and men scurried around. There were obviously divers in the water. Behind the ship, Coy Sol Bay made a beautiful backdrop. A pair of catamarans bobbed nearby, and there were diving flags in the water.
Bond had watched dawn come up as they rode at anchor about six miles from Coy Sol Bay, and shielded from Wavekrest by the headland. ‘We don’t want to get there until late morning,’ he had told Sharky. ‘It might look a little odd if they all woke up and just found us sitting watching them.’
‘Like we would have woke up and found the cops sitting on my boat,’ Sharky grinned.
After his leap from the veranda of the Hemingway house, Bond had slipped on to the conch train. It was evening and this was probably the last ride any of the tourists would get. The end two coaches were empty, and Bond rode the short distance back to the train offices then had speedily made his way to Sharky’s boat.
They were a mile out of Key West when the sound of police sirens came floating from the Charter Boat Dock. For an hour or so, both men scanned the night for the blinking lights of a police helicopter, but they had obviously either been called off or called it a day.
Now it was eleven o’clock on a beautiful calm morning. Sharky had dropped nets over the side and Bond lay hidden near the bows, watching Wavekrest on binoculars supplied by Sharky.
He scanned the superstructure which did not fit into the rest of the picture of Wavekrest as a marine research ship. Certainly they appeared to have all the technology – radar and sonar dishes turned lazily from behind the bridge – but towards the rear there was an incongruous luxury area. He could pick out very smart cabin doors and what could well be a small pool abaft the main superstructure. Bond also spotted something more sinister. Set for’ard, below the bridge, was a long rack of spear-guns. Most of them were fairly standard, top quality and the kind of things carried by scuba divers. But towards the end were another kind altogether, the type that fired small harpoons, often fitted with small explosive charges.
He swept the ship again with the binoculars, and this time caught a flash of something else, a sight which made him swing the glasses back towards the first cabin door for’ard – the one that appeared to have a brass plate on it.
The door had opened, and a pleasant sight emerged. A young, dark girl dressed in a one-piece swimsuit which covered her, both front and back. She carried a towel and beach bag, and walked as though the world was watching her, towards the place where Bond thought he had spotted a pool. He recognised her immediately.
‘Well, well, well . . .’ his lips creased into a smile. ‘Look’ee here, me hearties.’
‘What you found, James?’ from Sharky on the bridge.
‘The girl.’
‘What girl?’
‘The one I last saw when Sanchez made his visit to Cray Cay. Sanchez’s girlfriend. Miss Galaxy, the flamboyantly-named Lupe Lamora.’
‘That mean Sanchez’s aboard?’
‘It could very well mean that. Could we move in a little closer?’
‘Sure thing, James. Anything. You enjoying
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