Read The Man With the Golden Gun (James Bond) for Free Online Page B

for him. In all his life there never had been. Automatically he ran his eye over the scattered envelopes, held, under tape, beneath each parent letter. Nothing under "B." And nothing under his alias "H" for "Hazard, Mark" of the "Trans-world Consortium," successor to the old "Universal Export," that had recently been discarded as cover for the Secret Service. Nothing. He ran a bored eye over the other envelopes. He suddenly froze. He looked around him, languidly, casually. The Cuban couple was out of sight. Nobody else was looking. He reached out a quick hand, wrapped in his handkerchief, and pocketed the buff envelope that said, "Scaramanga. BOAC passenger from Luna." He stayed where he was for a few minutes and then wandered slowly off to the door marked men.
    He locked the door and sat down. The envelope was not sealed. It contained a B.W.I.A. message form. The neat B.W.I.A. writing said:
    MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM KINGSTON AT 12:15:
    " THE SAMPLES WILL BE AVAILABLE AT 3-1/2 S.L.M.
    AS FROM MIDDAY TOMORROW."
    There was no signature. Bond uttered a short bark of laughter and triumph. S.L.M.—Savannah La Mar. Could it be? It must be! At last the three red stars of a jackpot had clicked into line. What was it his Gleaner horoscope had said? Well he would go nap on this clue from outer space—"seize it with both hands" as the Gleaner had instructed. He read the message again and carefully put it back in the envelope. His damp handkerchief had left marks on the buff envelope. In this heat they would dry out in a matter of minutes. He went out and sauntered over to the stand. There was no one in sight. He slipped the message back into its place under "S" and walked over to the Aeronaves de Mexico booth and cancelled his reservation. He then went to the BOAC counter and looked through the timetable. Yes, the Luna flight for Kingston, New York and London was due in at 13:15 the next day. He was going to need help. He remembered the name of Head of Station J. He went over to the telephone booth and got through to the High Commissioner's Office. He asked for Commander Ross. After a moment a girl's voice came on the line. "Commander Ross's assistant. Can I help you?"
    There was something vaguely familiar in the lilt of the voice. Bond said, "Could I speak to Commander Ross? This is a friend from London."
    The girl's voice became suddenly alert. "I'm afraid Commander Ross is away from Jamaica. Is there anything I can do?" There was a pause. "What name did you say?"
    "I didn't say any name. But in fact it's. . . ."
    The voice broke in excitedly. "Don't tell me. It's James!"
    Bond laughed. "Well I'm damned! It's Goodnight! What the hell are you doing here?"
    "More or less what I used to do for you. I heard you were back, but I thought you were ill or something. How absolutely marvellous! But where are you talking from?"
    "Kingston Airport. Now listen, darling. I need help. We can talk later. Can you get cracking?"
    "Of course. Wait till I get a pencil. Right."
    "First I need a car. Anything that'll go. Then I want the name of the top man at Frome, you know, the WISCO estate beyond Savannah La Mar. Large-scale survey map of that area, a hundred pounds in Jamaican money. Then be an angel and ring up Alexander's the auctioneers and find out anything you can about a property that's advertised in today's Gleaner. Say you're a prospective buyer. Three-and-a-half Love Lane. You'll see the details. Then I want you to come out to Morgan's Harbour where I'm going in a minute, be staying the night there, and we'll have dinner and swop secrets until the dawn steals over the Blue Mountains. Can do?"
    "Of course. But that's a hell of a lot of secrets. What shall I wear?"
    "Something that's tight in the right places. Not too many buttons."
    She laughed. "You've established your identity. Now I'll get on with all this. See you about seven. 'Bye."
    Gasping for air, James Bond pushed his way out of the little sweatbox. He ran his handkerchief over his face