Twenty yards away, Doctor No, also with his back to Bond, stood sentry over the thick rich cataract of whity-yellow dust. The neck above the open khaki shirt was naked, offered, waiting. His guess at the distances had been right. He was ready.īond stepped up to the rock and inched an eye round. He stood up and took several slow deep breaths, ran his hands through his salt-and sweat-matted hair, rubbed them harshly up and down his face and then down the tattered sides of his black jeans. He reached back ana felt the handle of the knife. A narrow rocky track, made by the feet of the workers, led down the other side and round the bulge of the cliff.īelow, on the jetty, to the left and to leeward of the drifting smoke of the guano dust, stood the tall, watchful figure of Doctor No.īond examined the soles of his feet and his hands. If he missed, he would be torn to shreds on the fence. He would have to let go with one arm to stoop and get within range. It would be about six o'clock, the dawn of a beautiful day. Perhaps even now they were watching the scout groups far out at sea locating the fish. Far above him the cormorants were wheeling round the guanera. Clouds tinged with golden pink were trailing away towards the horizon. He put it down on the ground away from his feet.īond looked up at the sky. As a hunk of metal it might be useful, but it wouldn't light any more and it might scrape against the rock. There it would be handy but protected from bitting against anything.
Satisfied, he slipped it behind him and down the waistband of his trousers up against his spine. He lifted his knife close up to his eyes and carefully examined the blade. He leant against the cool face of rock and waited for his breathing to get back to normal. He caught a glimpse of the tip of his spear lancing into the centre of a black eyeball and then the whole sea erupted up at him in a fountain of blackness and he fell and hung upside down by the knees, his head an inch from the surface of the water.īond took one long comprehensive look and pulled back. Now the eyes and the great triangular beak were right out of the water and the beak was reaching up for his feet.
He could even feel his spine being stretched. Bond was being pulled down, inch by inch. The eyes were glaring up at him, redly, venomously, and the forest of feeding arms was at his feet and legs, tearing the cotton fabric away and flailing back. Now the head of the squid had broken the surface and the sea was being thrashed into foam by the great heaving mantle round it. From out of the mouth of the sock, in a solid downward jet, the scrambled-egg-coloured guano dust was pouring into the hold of the tanker at a rate of tons a minute.īond had not time to worry about them. The purpose of the crane was to lift the wireframed mouth of the sock so that it hung directly over the hold of the tanker and to move it to right or left to give even distribution. Its mouth ended in a huge canvas sock, perhaps six feet in diameter. It was carried on high stanchions above the jetty and stopped just short of the hold of the tanker. From just to the right of the crane, an overhead conveyor-belt in a corrugated-iron housing ran out from the cliff-face. The rest of the crew would be below, battened away from the guano dust. There was no sign of life On board except one figure lolling at the wheel in the enclosed bridge. The tanker was called Blanche, and the Ant of Antwerp showed at her stern.
It stood well out of the water, its deck perhaps twelve feet above the quay. An aged tanker of around ten thousand tons deadweight was secured alongside the top of the T. In front of him the jetty ran twenty yards out into the sea and ended in a T.
Whale penis driver#
It was the Chinese Negro boss, the driver of the marsh buggy. Round the corner, not more than ten yards away, was the crane.
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