if.moonraker- 第1部分

　
　CHAPTER　I
　
　SECRET　PAPER…WORK
　
　THE　TWO　thirty…eights　roared　simultaneously。
　The　walls　of　the　underground　room　took　the　crash　of　sound　and　batted　it　to　and　fro　between　them　until　there　was　silence。　James　Bond　watched　the　smoke　being　sucked　from　each　end　of　the　room　towards　the　central　Ventaxia　fan。　The　memory　in　his　right　hand　of　how　he　had　drawn　and　fired　with　one　sweep　from　the　left　made　him　confident。　He　broke　the　chamber　sideways　out　of　the　Colt　Detective　Special　and　waited；　his　gun　pointing　at　the　floor；　while　the　Instructor　walked　the　twenty　yards　towards　him　through　the　half…light　of　the　gallery。
　Bond　saw　that　the　Instructor　was　grinning。　〃I　don't　believe　it；〃　he　said。　〃I　got　you　that　time。〃
　The　Instructor　came　up　with　him。　〃I'm　in　hospital；　but　you're　dead；　sir；〃　he　said。　In　one　hand　he　held　the　silhouette　target　of　the　upper　body　of　a　man。　In　the　other　a　polaroid　film；　postcard　size。　He　handed　this　to　Bond　and　they　turned　to　a　table　behind　them　on　which　there　was　a　green…shaded　desk…light　and　a　large　magnifying　glass。
　Bond　picked　up　the　glass　and　bent　over　the　photograph。　It　was　a　flash…light　photograph　of　him。　Around　his　right　hand　there　was　a　blurred　burst　of　white　flame。　He　focused　the　glass　carefully　on　the　left　side　of　his　dark　jacket。　In　the　centre　of　his　heart　there　was　a　tiny　pinpoint　of　light。
　Without　speaking；　the　Instructor　laid　the　big　white　man…shaped　target　under　the　lamp。　Its　heart　was　a　black　bullseye；　about　three　inches　across。　Just　below　and　half　an　inch　to　the　right　was　the　rent　made　by　Bond's　bullet。
　〃Through　the　left　wall　of　the　stomach　and　out　at　the　back；〃　said　the　Instructor；　with　satisfaction。　He　took　out　a　pencil　and　scribbled　an　addition　on　the　side　of　the　target。　〃Twenty　rounds　and　I　make　it　you　owe　me　seven…and…six；　sir；〃　he　said　impassively。
　Bond　laughed。　He　counted　out　some　silver。　〃Double　the　stakes　next　Monday；〃　he　said。
　〃That's　all　right　with　me；〃　said　the　Instructor。　〃But　you　can't　beat　the　machine；　sir。　And　if　you　want　to　get　into　the　team　for　the　Dewar　Trophy　we　ought　to　give　the　thirty…eights　a　rest　and　spend　some　time　on　the　Remington。　That　new　long　twenty…two　cartridge　they've　just　brought　out　is　going　to　mean　at　least　7900　out　of　a　possible　8000　to　win。　Most　of　your　bullets　have　got　to　be　in　the　X…ring　and　that's　only　as　big　as　a　shilling　when　it's　under　your　nose。　At　a　hundred　yards　it　isn't　there　at　all。〃
　〃To　hell　with　the　Dewar　Trophy；〃　said　Bond。　〃It's　your　money　I'm　after。〃　He　shook　the　unfired　bullets　in　the　chamber　of　his　gun　into　his　cupped　hand　and　laid　them　and　the　gun　on　the　table。　〃See　you　Monday。　Same　time？〃
　〃Ten　o'clock'll　be　fine；　sir；〃　said　the　Instructor；　jerking　down　the　two　handles　on　the　iron　door。　He　smiled　at　Bond's　back　as　it　disappeared　up　the　steep　concrete　stairs　leading　to　the　ground　floor。　He　was　pleased　with　Bond's　shooting；　but　he　wouldn't　have　thought　of　telling　him　that　he　was　the　best　shot　in　the　Service。　Only　M。　was　allowed　to　know　that；　and　his　Chief　of　Staff；　who　would　be　told　to　enter　the　scores　of　that　day's　shoot　on　Bond's　Confidential　Record。
　Bond　pushed　through　the　green　baize　door　at　the　top　of　the　basement　steps　and　walked　over　to　the　lift　that　would　take　him　up　to　the　eighth　floor　of　the　tall；　grey　building　near　Regent's　Park　that　is　the　headquarters　of　the　Secret　Service。　He　was　satisfied　with　his　score　but　not　proud　of　it。　His　trigger　finger　twitched　in　his　pocket　as　he　wondered　how　to　conjure　up　that　little　extra　flash　of　speed　that　would　beat　the　machine；　the　plicated　box　of　tricks　that　sprung　the　target　for　just　three　seconds；　fired　back　at　him　with　a　blank　。38；　and　shot　a　pencil　of　light　aimed　at　him　and　photographed　it　as　he　stood　and　fired　from　the　circle　of　chalk　on　the　floor。
　The　lift　doors　sighed　open　and　Bond　got　in。　The　liftman　could　smell　the　cordite　on　him。　They　always　smelled　like　that　when　they　came　up　from　the　shooting　gallery。　He　liked　it。　It　reminded　him　of　the　Army。　He　pressed　the　button　for　the　eighth　and　rested　the　stump　of　his　left　arm　against　the　control　handle。
　If　only　the　light　was　better；　thought　Bond。　But　M。　insisted　that　all　shooting　should　be　done　in　averagely　bad　conditions。
　A　dim　light　and　a　target　that　shot　back　at　you　was　as　close　as　he　could　get　to　copying　the　real　thing。　'Shooting　hell　out　of　a　piece　of　cardboard　doesn't　prove　anything'　was　his　single…line　introduction　to　the　Small…arms　Defence　Manual。
　The　lift　eased　to　a　stop　and　as　Bond　stepped　out　into　the　drab　Ministry…of…Works…green　corridor　and　into　the　bustling　world　of　girls　carrying　files；　doors　opening　and　shutting；　and　muted　telephone　bells；　he　emptied　his　mind　of　all　thoughts　of　his　shoot　and　prepared　himself　for　the　normal　business　of　a　routine　day　at　Headquarters。
　He　walked　along　to　the　end　door　on　the　right。　It　was　as　anonymous　as　all　the　others　he　had　passed。　No　numbers。　If　you　had　any　business　on　the　eighth　floor；　and　your　office　was　not　on　that　floor；　someone　would　e　and　fetch　you　to　the　room　you　needed　and　see　you　back　into　the　lift　when　you　were　through。
　Bond　knocked　and　waited。　He　looked　at　his　watch。　Eleven　o'clock。　Mondays　were　hell。　Two　days　of　dockets　and　files　to　plough　through。　And　week…ends　were　generally　busy　times　abroad。　Empty　flats　got　burgled。　People　were　photographed　in　promising　positions。　Motor…car　'accidents'　looked　better；　got　a　more　cursory　handling；　amidst　the　week…end　slaughter　on　the　roads。　The　weekly　bags　from　Washington；　Istanbul；　and　Tokyo　would　have　e　in　and　been　sorted。　They　might　hold　something　for　him。
　The　door　opened　and　he　had　his　daily　moment　of　pleasure　at　having　a　beautiful　secretary。　〃Morning；　Lil；〃　he　said。
　The　careful　warmth　of　her　smile　of　wele　dropped　about　ten　degrees。
　〃Give　me　that　coat；〃　she　said。　〃It　stinks　of　cordite。　And　don't　call　me　Lil。　You　know　I　hate；　it。〃
　Bond　took　off　his　coat　and　handed　it　to　her。　〃Anyone　who　gets　christened　Loelia　Ponsonby　ought　to　get　used　to　pet　names。〃
　He　stood　beside　her　desk　in　the　little　anteroom　which　she　had　somehow　made　to　seem　a　little　more　human　than　an　office　and　watched　her　hang　his　coat　on　the　iron　frame　of　the　open　window。
　She　was　tall　and　dark　with　a　reserved；　unbroken　beauty　to　which　the　war　and　five　years　in　the　Service　had　lent　a　touch　of　sternness。　Unless　she　married　soon；　Bond　thought　for　the　hundredth　time；　or　had　a　lover；　her　cool　air　of　authority　might　easily　bee　spinsterish　and　she　would　join　the　army　of　women　who　had　married　a　career。
　Bond　had　told　her　as　much；　often；　and　he　and　the　two　other　members　of　the　OO　Section　had　at　various　times　made　determined　assaults　on　her　virtue。　She　had　handled　them　all　with　the　same　cool　motherliness　（which；　to　salve　their　egos；　they　privately　defined　as　frigidity）　and；　the　day　after；　she　treated　them　with　small　attentions　and　kindnesses　to　show　that　it　was　really　her　fault　and　that　she　forgave　them。
　What　they　didn't　know　was　that　she　worried　herself　almost　to　death　when　they　were　in　danger　and　that　she　loved　them　equally；　but　that　she　had　no　intention　of　being　emotionally　involved　with　any　man　who　might　be　dead　next　week。　And　it　was　true　that　an　appointment　in　the　Secret　Service　was　a　form　of　peonage。　If　you　were　a　woman　there　wasn't　much　of　you　left　for　other　relationships。　It　was　easier　for　the　men。　They　had　an　excuse　for　fragmentary　affairs。　For　them　marriage　and　children　and　a　home　were　out　of　the　question　if　they　were　to　be　of　any　use　'in　the　field'　as　it　was　cosily　termed。　But；　for　the　women；　an　affair　outside　the　Service　automatically　made　you　a　'security　risk'　and　in　the　last　analysis　you　had　a　choice　of　resignation　from　the　Service　and　a　normal　life；　or　of　perpetual　concubinage　to　your　King　and　Country。
　Loelia　Ponsonby　knew　that　she　had　almost　reached　the　time　for　decision　and　all　her　instincts　told　her　to　get　out。　But　every　day　the　drama　and　romance　of　her　Gavell…Nightingale　world　locked　her　more　securely　into　the　pany　of　the　other　girls　at　Headquarters　and　every　day　it　seemed　more　difficult　to　betray　by　resignation　the　father…figure　which　The　Service　had　bee。
　Meanwhile　she　was　one　of　the　most　envied　girls　in　the　building；　and　a　member　of　the　small　pany　of　Principal　Secretaries　who　had　access　to　the　innermost　secrets　of　the　Service…'The　Pearls　and　Twin…set'　as　they　were　called　behind　their　backs　by　the　other　girls；　with　ironical　reference　to　their　supposedly　'County'　and　'Kensington'　backgrounds…and；　so　far　as　the　Personnel　Branch　was　concerned；　her　destiny　in　twenty　years'　time　would　be　that　single　golden　line　right　at　the　end　of　a　New　Year's　Honours　List；　among　the　medals　for　officials　of　the　Fishery　Board；　of　the　Post　Office；　of　the　Women's　Institute；　towards　the　bottom　of　the　OBEs：
　'Miss　Loelia　Ponsonby；　Principal　Secretary　in　the　Ministry　of　Defence。'
　She　turned　away　from　the　window。　She　was　dressed　in　a　sugar…pink　and　white　striped　shirt　and　a　plain　dark　blue　skirt。
　Bond　smiled　into　her　grey　eyes。　〃I　only　call　you　Lil　on　Mondays；〃　he　said。　〃Miss　Ponsonby　the　rest　of　the　week。　But　I'll　never　call　you　Loelia。　It　sounds　like　somebody　in　an　indecent　limerick。　Any　messages？〃
　〃No；〃　she　said　shortly。　She　relented。　〃But　there's　piles　of　stuff　on　your　desk。　Nothing　urgent。　But　there's　an　awful　lot