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ed that two English girls had been murdered in the course of this business？ Who really minded that Goldfinger was still at liberty now that America's bullion was safe again？
They idled across the drab plain of Idlewild； past the ten…million…dollar steel and cement skeletons that would one day be an adult airport； and pulled up outside the makeshift huddle of concrete boxes that Bond knew so well。 Already the well mannered iron voices were reaching out to them。 'Pan American World Airways announces the departure of its President Flight PA 100'； 'Transworld Airways calling Captain Murphy。 Captain Murphy； please。' And the pear…shaped vowels and fluted diction of BOAC； 'BOAC announces the arrival of its Bermudan Flight BA 491。 Passengers will be disembarking at gate number neyne。'
Bond took his bag and said goodbye to Leiter。 He said； 'Well； thanks for everything； Felix。 Write to me every day。'
Leiter gripped his hand hard。 He said； 'Sure thing； kid。 And take it easy。 Tell that old bastard M to send you back over soon。 Next visit we'll take some time off from the razzmatazz。 Time you called in on my home state。 Like to have you meet my oil…well。 'Bye now。'
Leiter got into his car and accelerated away from the arrival bay。 Bond raised his hand。 The Studillac dry…skidded out on to the approach road。 There was an answering glint from Leiter's steel hook out of the window and he was gone。
Bond sighed。 He picked up his bag and walked in and over to the BOAC ticket counter。
Bond didn't mind airports so long as he was alone in them。 He had half an hour to wait and he was quite content to wander through the milling crowds； have a bourbon and soda at the restaurant and spend some time choosing something to read at the bookstore。 He bought Ben Hogan's Modern Fundamentals of Golf and the latest Raymond Chandler and
〃sauntered along to the Souvenir Shop to see if he could find an amusing gimmick to take back to his secretary。
Now there was a man's voice on the BOAC announcing system。 It called out a long list of Monarch passengers who were required at the ticket counter。 Ten minutes later Bond was paying for one of the latest and most expensive ballpoint pens when he heard his own name being called。 'Will Mr James Bond； passenger on BOAC Monarch flight No 510 to Gander and London； please e to the BOAC ticket counter。 Mr James Bond； please。' It was obviously that infernal tax form to show how much he had earned during his stay in America。 On principle Bond never went to the Internal Revenue Office in New York to get clearance and he had only once had to argue it out at Idlewild。 He went out of the shop and across to the BOAC counter。 The official said politely； 'May I see your health certificate； please； Mr Bond？'
Bond took the form out of his passport and handed it over。
The man looked at it carefully。 He said； 'I'm very sorry； sir； but there's 〃been a typhoid case at Gander and they're insisting that all transit passengers who haven't had their shots in the last six months should be topped up。 It's most annoying； sir； but Gander's very touchy about these things。 Too bad we couldn't have managed a direct flight； but there's a strong head…wind。'
Bond hated inoculations。 He said irritably； 'But look here； I'm stuffed with shots of one kind or another。 Been having them for twenty years for one damned thing or another！' He looked round。 The area near the BOAC departure gate seemed curiously deserted。 He said； 'What about the other passengers？ Where are they？'
'They've all agreed； sir。 Just having their shots now。 It won't take a minute； sir； if you'll e this way。'
'Oh well。' Bond shrugged his shoulders impatiently。 He followed the man behind the counter and through a door to the BOAC station manager's office。 There was the usual white…clothed doctor； a mask over the bottom of his face； the needle held ready。 'Last one？' he asked of the BOAC official。
'Yes； Doctor。'
'Okay。 Coat off and left sleeve up； please。 Too bad they're so sensitive up at Gander。'
'Damned sight too bad；' said Bond。 'What are they afraid of？ Spreading the black death？'
There came the sharp smell of the alcohol and the jab of the needle。
'Thanks；' said Bond gruffly。 He pulled down his sleeve and made to pick his coat up from the back of the chair。 His hand went down for it； missed it； went on down； down towards the floor。 His body dived after the hand； down； down； down。。。
All the lights were on in the plane。 There seemed to be plenty of spare places。 Why did he have to get stuck with a passenger whose arm was hogging the central arm…rest。 Bond made to get up and change his seat。 A wave of nausea swept over him。 He closed his eyes and waited。 How extraordinary！ He was never air…sick。 He felt the cold sweat on his face。 Handkerchief。 Wipe it off。 He opened his eyes again and looked down at his arms。 The wrists were bound to the arms of his chair。 What had happened？ He had had his shot and then passed out or something。 Had he got violent？ What the hell was all this about？ He glanced to his right and then stared； aghast。 Oddjob was sitting there。 Oddjob！ Odd job in BO AC uniform！
Oddjob glanced incuriously at him and reached for the steward's bell。 Bond heard the pretty ding…dong back in the pantry。 There was the rustle of a skirt beside him。 He looked up。 It was Pussy Galore； trim and fresh in the blue uniform of a stewardess！ She said； 'Hi； Handsome。' She gave him the deep； searching look he remembered so well from when？ From centuries ago； in another life。
Bond said desperately； 'For Christ's sake； what's going on？ Where did you e from？'
The girl smiled cheerfully； 'Eating caviar and drinking champagne。 You Britishers sure live the life of Reilly when you get up twenty thousand feet。 Not a sign of a Brussels sprout and if there's tea I haven't got around to it yet。 Now； you take it easy。 Uncle wants to talk to you。' She sauntered up the aisle； swinging her hips； and disappeared through the cockpit door。
Now nothing could surprise Bond。 Goldfinger； in a BOAC captain's uniform that was rather too large for him； the cap squarely on the centre of his head； closed the cockpit door behind him and came down the aisle。
He stood and looked grimly down at Bond。 'Well； Mr Bond。 So Fate wished us to play the game out。 But this time； Mr Bond； there cannot possibly be a card up your sleeve。 Ha！' The sharp bark was a mixture of anger； stoicism and respect。 'You certainly turned out to be a snake in my pastures。' The great head shook slowly。 'Why I kept you alive！ Why I didn't crush you like a beetle！ You and the girl were useful to me。 Yes； I was right about that。 But I was mad to have taken the chance。 Yes； mad。' The voice dropped and went slow。 'And now tell me； Mr Bond。 How did you do it？ How did you municate？'
Bond said equably； 'We will have a talk； Goldfinger。 And I will tell you certain things。 But not until you have taken off these straps and brought me a bottle of bourbon； ice； soda water and a packet of Chesterfields。 Then； when you have told me what I wish to know； I will decide what to tell you。 As you say； my situation is not favourable； or at least it doesn't appear to be。 So I have nothing to lose and if you