Diamonds Are Forever / Бриллианты навсегда
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“What’s that, Sir?”
“There’s a big packet of smuggled stones in London at this very moment,” said M, and his eyes glittered across the desk at Bond. “Waiting to go to America. And the Special Branch know who the carrier is to be. And they know who’s to go out with him to keep an eye on him. As soon as Ronnie Vallance came across the story – it was leaked to one of his narks in Soho, to one of his ‘Ghost Squad’ as he chooses to call it – he went straight off to the Treasury. The Treasury talked to the Board of Trade and then both their Ministers formed up to the PM. And the PM gave them authority to use the Service.”
“Why not let the Special Branch of MI5 handle it, Sir?” asked Bond, reflecting that M seemed to be going through a bad phase of mixing in other people’s business.
“Of course they could arrest the carriers as soon as they took delivery and tried to get out of the country,” said M impatiently. “But that won’t stop the traffic. These people aren’t the sort that talk. Anyway the carriers are only small fry. They probably just get the stuff from a man in a park and hand it over to another man in a park when they get to the other side. The only way to get to the bottom of the business is to follow the pipeline to America and see where it goes to there. And the FBI won’t be much help to us, I’m afraid. It’s a very small part of their battle with the big-time gangs. And it’s not doing any harm to the United States. Rather the reverse if anything. It’s only England that’s the loser. And America is outside the jurisdiction of the police and MI5. Only the Service can handle the job.”
“Yes, I see that,” said Bond. “But have we got anything else to go on?”
“Ever heard of ‘The House of Diamonds’?”
“Yes, of course, Sir,” said Bond. “The big American jewellers. On West 46th Street in New York and the Rue de Rivoli in Paris. I gather they rank almost as high as Cartier and Van Cleef and Boucheron nowadays. They’ve come up very quickly since the war.”
“Yes,” said M. “Those are the people. They’ve got a small place in London, too. Hatton Garden. Used to be very big buyers at the monthly showings of the Diamond Corporation. But for the last three years they’ve bought less and less. Although, as you say, they seem to be selling more and more jewellery every year. Must be getting their diamonds from somewhere. It was the Treasury who brought their name up at our meeting the other day. But I can’t find out anything against them. They’ve got one of their biggest men in charge over here. Seems odd as they do so little business. Man called Rufus B. Saye. Nothing much known about him. Lunches every day at the American Club in Piccadilly. Plays golf at Sunningdale. Doesn’t drink or smoke. Lives at the Savoy. Model citizen.” M shrugged his shoulders. “But the diamond business is a nice, well-regulated sort of family affair, and there’s an impression that the House of Diamonds has an awkward look about it. Nothing more than that.”
Bond decided it was time to put the sixty-four thousand dollar question. “And where do I come in, Sir?” he asked, looking across the desk into M’s eyes.
“You’ve got an appointment with Vallance at the Yard in” – M looked at his watch – “just over an hour. He’s going to start you off. They’re going to pull in this carrier tonight and put you into the pipeline instead of him.”
Bond’s fingers curled softly round the arms of his chair.
“And then?”
“And then,” said M matter-of-factly, “you’re going to smuggle those diamonds into America, At least that’s the idea. What do you think of it?”
Chapter III
HOT ICE
JAMES BOND shut the door of M’s office behind him. He smiled into the warm brown eyes of Miss Moneypenny and walked across her office into the Chief of Staff’s room.
The Chief of Staff, a lean relaxed man of about Bond’s age, put down his pen and sat back in his chair. He watched as Bond automatically reached for the flat gun-metal cigarette case in his hip pocket and walked over to the open window and looked down on to Regent’s Park.
There was a thoughtful deliberation in Bond’s movements that answered the Chief of Staff’s question.
“So you’ve bought it.”
Bond turned round. “Yes,” he said. He lit a cigarette. Through the smoke, his eyes looked very directly at the Chief of Staff. “But just tell me this, Bill. Why’s the old man got cold feet about this job? He’s even looked up the results of my last medical. What’s he so worried about? It’s not as if this was Iron Curtain business. America’s a civilized country. More or less. What’s eating him?”
It was the Chief of Staffs duty to know most of what went on in M’s mind. His own cigarette had gone out and he lit it and threw the spent match over his left shoulder. He looked round to see whether it had fallen in the wastepaper basket. It had. He smiled up at Bond. “Constant practice,” he said. Then: “There aren’t many things that worry M, James, and you know that as well as anybody in the Service. SMERSH, of course. The German cypher-breakers. The Chinese opium ring – or at any rate the power they have all over the world. The authority of the Mafia. And, and he’s got a damned healthy respect for them, the American gangs. The big ones. That’s all. Those are the only people that get him worried. And this diamond business looks as if it’s pretty certain to bring you up against the gangs. They’re the last people he expected us to get mixed up with. He’s got quite enough on his plate without them. That’s all. That’s what’s giving him cold feet about this job.”
“There’s nothing so extraordinary about American gangsters,” protested Bond. “They’re not Americans. Mostly a lot of Italian bums with monogrammed shirts who spend the day eating spaghetti and meatballs and squirting scent over themselves.”
“That’s what you think,” said the Chief of Staff. “But the point is that those are only the ones you see. There are better ones behind them, and still better ones behind those. Look at narcotics. Ten million addicts. Where do they get the stuff from? Look at gambling – legitimate gambling. Two hundred and fifty million dollars a year is the take at Las Vegas. Then there are the undercover games at Miami and Chicago and so on. All owned by the gangs and their friends. A few years ago, Buggsy Siegel got the back of his head blown off because he wanted too much of the take from the Las Vegas operation. And he was tough enough. These are big operations. Do you realize gambling’s the biggest single industry in America? Bigger than steel. Bigger than motor cars? And they take damned good care to keep it running smoothly. Get hold of a copy of the Kefauver Report if you don’t believe me. And now these diamonds. Six million dollars a year is good money, and you can bet your life it’ll be well protected.” The Chief of Staff paused. He looked impatiently up at the tall figure in the dark blue single-breasted suit and into the obstinate eyes in the lean, brown face. “Perhaps you haven’t read the FBI Report on American Crime for this year. Interesting. Just thirty-four murders every day. Nearly 150,000 Americans criminally killed in the last twenty years.” Bond looked incredulous. “It’s a fact, damn you. Get hold of these Reports and see for yourself. And that’s why M wanted to make sure you were fit before he put you into the pipeline. You’re going to take those gangs on. And you’ll be by yourself. Satisfied?”
Bond’s face relaxed. “Come on, Bill,” he said. “If that’s all there is to it, I’ll buy you lunch. It’s my turn and I feel like celebrating. No more paperwork this summer. I’ll take you to Scotts’ and we’ll have some of their dressed crab and a pint of black velvet. You’ve taken a load off my mind. I thought there might be some ghastly snag about this job.”
“All right, blast you.” The Chief of Staff put aside the misgivings which he fully shared with his Chief, and followed Bond out of the office and slammed the door with unnecessary force behind him.
Later, punctually at two o’clock, Bond was shaking hands with the dapper, level-eyed man in the old-fashioned office which hears more secrets than any other room in Scotland Yard.
Bond had made friends with Assistant Commissioner Vallance over the Moonraker affair and there was no need to waste time on preliminaries.
Vallance pushed a couple of CID identification photographs across the desk. They showed a dark-haired, rather good-looking young man with a clean-cut, swashbuckling face in which the eyes smiled innocently.
“That’s the chap,” said Vallance. “Near enough like you to pass with someone who’s only got his description. Peter Franks. Nice-looking fellow. Good family. Public school and all that. Then he went wrong and stayed wrong. Country house burglaries are his line. May have been on the Duke of Windsor job at Sunningdale a few years ago. We’ve pulled him in once or twice, but we could never get anything to stick. Now he’s slipped up. They often do when they get into a racket they know nothing about. I’ve got two or three undercover girls in Soho and he’s keen on one of them. Funnily enough, she’s rather keen on him. Thinks she can make him go straight and all that sort of stuff. But she’s got her job to do, and when he told her about this job, just casually, as if it was the hell of a lark, she passed the word back here.”
Bond nodded. “Specialist crooks never take other people’s lines seriously. I bet he wouldn’t have talked to her about one of his country house jobs.”
“Not on your life,” agreed Vallance. “Or we’d have had him inside years ago. Anyway, it seems he was contacted by a friend of a friend and agreed to do a smuggling job to America for $5000. Payable on delivery. My girl asked him if it was drugs. And he laughed and said “no-better still, Hot Ice”. Had he got the diamonds? No. His next job was to contact his ‘guard’. Tomorrow evening at the Trafalgar Palace. Five o’clock in her room. A girl called Case. She would tell him what to do and go over with him.” Vallance got up and paced to and fro in front of the framed forgeries of five pound notes that lined the wall opposite the windows. “These smugglers generally go in pairs when big stuff is being moved. The carrier is never quite trusted, and the men at the other end like to have a witness in case anything goes wrong at the customs. Then the big men don’t get caught napping if the carrier talks.”
Big stuff being moved. Carriers. Customs. Guards. Bond killed his cigarette in the ash-tray on Vallance’s desk. How often, in his early days in his own Service, had he been part of this same routine – through Strasbourg into Germany, through Niegoreloye into Russia, over the Simplon, across the Pyrenees. The tension. The dry mouth. The nails ground into the palms of the hands. And now, having graduated away from all that, here he was going through with it again.
“Yes, I see,” said Bond, dodging his memories. “But what’s the general picture? Got any ideas? What sort of an operation was Franks going to fit in to?”
“Well, the diamonds certainly come from Africa.” Vallance’s eyes were opaque. “Probably not the Union mines. More likely the big leak out of Sierra Leone our friend Sillitoe’s been looking for. Then the stones may get out through Liberia, or more likely French Guinea. Then perhaps into France. And since this packet’s turned up in London, presumably London’s part of the pipeline too.”
Vallance stopped his pacing and faced Bond. “And now we know that this packet is on its way to America, and what happens to it there is anybody’s guess. The operators wouldn’t try and save money on the cutting – that’s where half the price of a diamond goes – so it looks as if the stones get funnelled into some legitimate diamond business and then get cut and marketed like any other stones.” Vallance paused. “You won’t mind if I give you a bit of advice?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Well,” said Vallance, “in all these jobs the pay-off to subordinates is generally the weakest link. How was this $5000 to be paid to Peter Franks? Who by? And if he did the job successfully, would he be taken on again? If I was in your shoes I’d watch these points. Concentrate on getting through the cutout who does the paying off and try to get on farther up the pipeline towards the big men. If they like the look of you it shouldn’t be difficult. Good carriers aren’t easy to come by, and even the top men are going to be interested in the new recruit.’”
“Yes,” said Bond thoughtfully, “that makes sense. The main trouble will be to get past the first contact in America. Let’s hope the whole job doesn’t blow up in my face in the customs shed at Idlewild. I shall look pretty silly if the Inspectoscope picks me up. But I expect this Case woman will have some bright ideas about actually carrying the stuff. And now what’s the first step? How are you going to substitute me for Peter Franks?”
Vallance started pacing to and fro again. “I think that ought to be all right,” he said. “We’re going to take in Franks this evening and hold him for conspiring to evade the customs.” He smiled briefly. “It’ll break up a beautiful friendship with my girl I’m afraid. But that’s got to be faced. And then the idea is for you to make the rendezvous with Miss Case.”
“Does she know anything about Franks?”
“Just his description and his name,” said Vallance. “At least that’s what we guess. I doubt if she even knows the man who contacted him. Cut-outs all along the line.
Everybody does one job in a watertight compartment. Then, if there’s a hole in the sock, it doesn’t run.”
“Know anything about the woman?”
“Passport details. American citizen. 27. Born San Francisco. Blonde. Blue eyes. Height 5 ft 6 in. Profession: single woman. Been over here a dozen times in the last three years. May have been more often under a different name. Always stays at the Trafalgar Palace. The hotel detective says she doesn’t seem to go out much. Few visitors. Never stays more than two weeks. Never gives any trouble. That’s all. Don’t forget that when you meet her you’ll have to have a good story yourself. Why you’re doing the job and so on.”
“I’ll see to that.”
“Anything else we can help over?”
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