The James Bond MEGAPACK®

by Ian Fleming

  Mary Goodnight came through the door. Despite the Jamaican heat, she was looking fresh as a rose. Damn her! She was carrying what looked like a typewriter. Bond recognized it as the Triple-X deciphering machine. Now what?

  Bond grunted surly answers to her inquiries after his health. He said, ‘What in hell’s that for?’

  ‘It’s an “Eyes Only.” Personal from M.,’ she said excitedly. ‘About thirty groups.’

  ‘Thirty groups! Doesn’t the old bastard know I’ve only got one arm that’s working? Come on, Mary. You get cracking. If it sounds really hot, I’ll take over.’

  Mary Goodnight looked shocked. ‘Eyes Only’ was a top-sacred prefix. But Bond’s jaw was jutting out dangerously. Today was not a day for argument. She sat on the edge of the bed, opened the machine and took a cable form out of her bag. She laid her shorthand book beside the machine, scratched the back of her head with her pencil to help work out the setting for the day — a complicated sum involving the date and the hour of dispatch of the cable — adjusted the setting on the central cylinder and began cranking the handle. After each completed word had appeared in the little oblong window at the base of the machine, she recorded it in her book.

  James Bond watched her expression. She was pleased. After a few minutes she read out: ‘M. PERSONAL FOR 007 EYES ONLY STOP YOUR REPORT AND DITTO FROM TOP FRIENDS [a euphemism for the C.I.A.] RECEIVED STOP YOU HAVE DONE WELL AND EXECUTED AYE DIFFICULT AND HAZARDOUS OPERATION TO MY ENTIRE REPEAT ENTIRE SATISFACTION STOP TRUST YOUR HEALTH UNIMPAIRED [Bond gave an angry snort] STOP WHEN WILL YOU BE REPORTING FOR FURTHER DUTY QUERY.’

  Mary Goodnight smiled delightedly. ‘I’ve never seen him be so complimentary! Have you, James? That repeat of ENTIRE! It’s tremendous!’ She looked hopefully for a lifting of the black clouds from Bond’s face.

  In fact Bond was secretly delighted, but he certainly wasn’t going to show it to Mary Goodnight. Today she was one of the wardresses confining him, tying him down. He said grudgingly, ‘Not bad for the old man. But all he wants is to get me back to that bloody desk. Anyway, it’s a lot of jazz so far. What comes next?’ He turned the pages of his book, pretending as the little machine whirred and clicked not to be interested.

  ‘Oh, James!’ Mary Goodnight exploded with excitement. ‘Wait! I’m almost finished. It’s tremendous!’

  ‘I know,’ commented Bond sourly. ‘Free luncheon vouchers every second Friday. Key to M.’s personal lavatory. New suit to replace the one that’s somehow got full of holes.’ But he kept his eyes fixed on the flitting fingers, infected by Mary Goodnight’s excitement. What in hell was she getting so steamed up about? And all on his behalf! He examined her with approval. Perched there, immaculate in her white tussore shirt and tight beige skirt, one neat foot curled round the other in concentration, the golden face under the shortish fair hair incandescent with pleasure, she was, thought Bond, a girl to have around always. As a secretary? As what? Mary Goodnight turned, her eyes shining, and the question went, as it had gone for weeks, without an answer.

  ‘Now, just listen to this, James.’ She shook the notebook at him. ‘And for heaven’s sake stop looking so curmudgeonly.’

  Bond smiled at the word. ‘All right, Mary. Go ahead. Empty the Christmas stocking on the floor. Hope it’s not going to bust any stitches.’ He put his book down on his lap.

  Mary Goodnight’s face became portentous. She said seriously, ‘Just listen to this!’ She read very carefully: ‘IN VIEW OF THE OUTSTANDING NATURE OF THE SERVICES REFERRED TO ABOVE AND THEIR ASSISTANCE TO THE ALLIED CAUSE COMMA WHICH IS PERHAPS MORE SIGNIFICANT THAN YOU IMAGINE COMMA THE PRIME MINISTER PROPOSES TO RECOMMEND TO HER MAJESTY QUEEN ELIZABETH THE IMMEDIATE GRANT OF A KNIGHTHOOD STOP THIS TO TAKE THE FORM OF THE ADDITION OF A KATIE AS PREFIX TO YOUR CHARLIE MICHAEL GEORGE. [James Bond uttered a defensive, embarrassed laugh. ‘Good old cypherines. They wouldn’t think of just putting KCMG — much too easy! Go ahead, Mary. This is good!’] IT IS COMMON PRACTICE TO INQUIRE OF PROPOSED RECIPIENT WHETHER HE ACCEPTS THIS HIGH HONOUR BEFORE HER MAJESTY PUTS HER SEAL UPON IT STOP WRITTEN LETTER SHOULD FOLLOW YOUR CABLED CONFIRMATION OF ACCEPTANCE PARAGRAPH THIS AWARD NATURALLY HAS MY SUPPORT AND ENTIRE APPROVAL AND EYE SEND YOU MY PERSONAL CONGRATULATIONS ENDIT MAILEDFIST.’

  James Bond again hid himself behind the throw-away line. ‘Why in hell does he always have to sign himself “Mailedfist” for “M.”? There’s a perfectly good English word “Em.” It’s a measure used by printers. But of course it’s not dashing enough for the Chief. He’s a romantic at heart like all the silly bastards who get mixed up with the Service.’

  Mary Goodnight lowered her eyelashes. She knew that Bond’s reflex concealed his pleasure — a pleasure he wouldn’t for the life of him have displayed. Who wouldn’t be pleased, proud? She put on a businesslike expression. ‘Well, would you like me to draft something for you to send? I can be back with it at six and I know they’ll let me in. I can check up on the right sort of formula with the High Commissioner’s staff. I know it begins with “I present my humble duty to Her Majesty.” I’ve had to help with the Jamaica honours at New Year and her birthday. Everyone seems to want to know the form.’

  James Bond wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. Of course he was pleased! But above all pleased with M.’s commendation. The rest, he knew, was not in his stars. He had never been a public figure and he did not wish to become one. He had no prejudice against letters after one’s name, or before it. But there was one thing above all he treasured. His privacy. His anonymity. To become a public person, a person, in the snobbish world of England, of any country, who would be called upon to open things, lay foundation stones, make after-dinner speeches, brought the sweat to his armpits. ‘James Bond’! No middle name. No hyphen. A quiet, dull, anonymous name. Certainly he was a Commander in the Special Branch of the R.N.V.R., but he rarely used the rank. His C.M.G. likewise. He wore it perhaps once a year, together with his two rows of ‘lettuce,’ because there was a dinner for the ‘Old Boys’ — the fraternity of ex-Secret Service men that went under the name of ‘The Twin Snakes Club’ — a grisly reunion held in the banqueting hall at Blades that gave enormous pleasure to a lot of people who had been brave and resourceful in their day but now had old men’s and old women’s diseases and talked about dusty triumphs and tragedies which, since they would never be recorded in the history books, must be told again that night, over the Cockburn ‘12, when ‘The Queen’ had been drunk, to some next-door neighbour such as James Bond who was only interested in what was going to happen tomorrow. That was when he wore his ‘lettuce’ and the C.M.G. below his black tie — to give pleasure and reassurance to the ‘Old Children’ at their annual party. For the rest of the year, until May polished them up for the occasion, the medals gathered dust in some secret repository where May kept them.

  So now James Bond said to Mary Goodnight, avoiding her eyes, ‘Mary, this is an order. Take down what follows and send it tonight. Right? Begins, quote MAILEDFIST EYES ONLY [Bond interjected, ‘I might have said PROMONEYPENNY. When did M. last touch a cypher machine?] YOUR [Put in the number, Mary] ACKNOWLEDGED AND GREATLY APPRECIATED STOP AM INFORMED BY HOSPITAL AUTHORITIES THAT EYE SHALL BE RETURNED LONDONWARDS DUTIABLE IN ONE MONTH STOP REFERRING YOUR REFERENCE TO AYE HIGH HONOUR EYE BEG YOU PRESENT MY HUMBLE DUTY TO HER MAJESTY AND REQUEST THAT EYE MAY BE PERMITTED COMMA IN ALL HUMILITY COMMA TO DECLINE THE SIGNAL FAVOUR HER MAJESTY IS GRACIOUS ENOUGH TO PROPOSE TO CONFER UPON HER HUMBLE AND OBEDIENT SERVANT BRACKET TO MAILEDFIST PLEASE PUT THIS IN THE APPROPRIATE WORDS TO THE PRIME MINISTER STOP MY PRINCIPAL REASON IS THAT EYE DONT WANT TO PAY MORE AT HOTELS AND RESTAURANTS BRACKET.’

  Mary Goodnight broke in, horrified. ‘James. The rest is your business, but you really can’t say that last bit.’

  Bond nodded. ‘I was only trying it on you, Mary. All right, let’s start again at the last stop. Right, EYE AM A SCOTTISH PEASANT AND EYE WILL ALWAYS FEEL AT HOME BEING A SCOTTISH PEASANT AND EYE KNOW COMMA SIR COMMA THAT YOU WILL UNDERSTAND
MY PREFERENCE AND THAT EYE CAN COUNT ON YOUR INDULGENCE BRACKET LETTER CONFIRMING FOLLOWS IMMEDIATELY ENDIT OHOHSEVEN.’

  Mary Goodnight closed her book with a snap. She shook her head. The golden hair danced angrily. ‘Well really, James! Are you sure you don’t want to sleep on it? I knew you were in a bad mood today. You may have changed your mind by tomorrow. Don’t you want to go to Buckingham Palace and see the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh and kneel and have your shoulder touched with a sword and the Queen to say “Arise, Sir Knight” or whatever it is she does say?’

  Bond smiled. ‘I’d like all those things. The romantic streak of the S.I.S. — and of the Scot, for the matter of that. I just refuse to call myself Sir James Bond. I’d laugh at myself every time I looked in the mirror to shave. It’s just not my line, Mary. The thought makes me positively shudder. I know M.’ll understand. He thinks much the same way about these things as I do. Trouble was, he had to more or less inherit his K with the job. Anyway, there it is and I shan’t change my mind so you can buzz that off and I’ll write M. a letter of confirmation this evening. Any other business?’

  ‘Well there is one thing, James.’ Mary Goodnight looked down her pretty nose. ‘Matron says you can leave at the end of the week, but that there’s got to be another three weeks’ convalescence. Had you got any plans where to go? You have to be in reach of the hospital.’

  ‘No ideas. What do you suggest?’

  ‘Well, er, I’ve got this little villa up by Mona dam, James.’ Her voice hurried. ‘It’s got quite a nice spare room looking out over Kingston harbour. And it’s cool up there. And if you don’t mind sharing a bathroom.’ She blushed. ‘I’m afraid there’s no chaperone, but you know, in Jamaica, people don’t mind that sort of thing.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’ said Bond, teasing her.

  ‘Don’t be silly, James. You know, unmarried couples sharing the same house and so on.’

  ‘Oh, that sort of thing! Sounds pretty dashing to me. By the way, is your bedroom decorated in pink, with white jalousies, and do you sleep under a mosquito net?’

  She looked surprised. ‘Yes. How did you know?’ When he didn’t answer, she hurried on. ‘And James, it’s not far from the Liguanea Club and you can go there and play bridge, and golf when you get better. There’ll be plenty of people for you to talk to. And then of course I can cook and sew buttons on for you and so on.’

  Of all the doom-fraught graffiti a woman can write on the wall, those are the most insidious, the most deadly.

  James Bond, in the full possession of his senses, with his eyes wide open, his feet flat on the linoleum floor, stuck his head blithely between the mink-lined jaws of the trap. He said, and meant it, ‘Goodnight. You’re an angel.’

  At the same time, he knew, deep down, that love from Mary Goodnight, or from any other woman, was not enough for him. It would be like taking ‘a room with a view.’ For James Bond, the same view would always pall.

  SHORT WORKS

  Nine secret occasions in the life of James Bond.

  QUANTUM OF SOLACE

  Originally published in May 1959.

  James Bond said: ‘I’ve always thought that if I ever married I would marry an air hostess.’

  The dinner party had been rather sticky, and now that the other two guests had left accompanied by the A.D.C. to catch their plane, the Governor and Bond were sitting together on a chintzy sofa in the large Office of Works furnished drawing-room, trying to make conversation. Bond had a sharp sense of the ridiculous. He was never comfortable sitting deep in soft cushions. He preferred to sit up in a solidly upholstered armed chair with his feet firmly on the ground. And he felt foolish sitting with an elderly bachelor on his bed of rose chintz gazing at the coffee and liqueurs on the low table between their outstretched feet. There was something clubable, intimate, even rather feminine, about the scene and none of these atmospheres was appropriate.

  Bond didn’t like Nassau. Everyone was too rich. The winter visitors and the residents who had houses on the island talked of nothing but their money, their diseases and their servant problems. They didn’t even gossip well. There was nothing to gossip about. The winter crowd were all too old to have love affairs and, like most rich people, too cautious to say anything malicious about their neighbours. The Harvey Millers, the couple that had just left, were typical — a pleasant rather dull Canadian millionaire who had got into Natural Gas early on and stayed with it, and his pretty chatterbox of a wife. It seemed that she was English. She had sat next to Bond and chattered vivaciously about ‘what shows he had recently seen in town’ and ‘didn’t he think the Savoy Grill was the nicest place for supper. One saw so many interesting people — actresses and people like that.’ Bond had done his best, but since he had not seen a play for two years, and then only because the man he was following in Vienna had gone to it, he had had to rely on rather dusty memories of London night life which somehow failed to marry up with the experiences of Mrs Harvey Miller.

  Bond knew that the Governor had asked him to dinner only as a duty, and perhaps to help out with the Harvey Millers. Bond had been in the Colony for a week and was leaving for Miami the next day. It had been a routine investigation job. Arms were getting to the Castro rebels in Cuba from all the neighbouring territories. They had been coming principally from Miami and the Gulf of Mexico, but when the U.S. Coastguards had seized two big shipments, the Castro supporters had turned to Jamaica and the Bahamas as possible bases, and Bond had been sent out from London to put a stop to it. He hadn’t wanted to do the job. If anything, his sympathies were with the rebels, but the Government had a big export programme with Cuba in exchange for taking more Cuban sugar than they wanted, and a minor condition of the deal was that Britain should not give aid or comfort to the Cuban rebels. Bond had found out about the two big cabin cruisers that were being fitted out for the job, and rather than make arrests when they were about to sail, thus causing an incident, he had chosen a very dark night and crept up on the boats in a police launch. From the deck of the unlighted launch he had tossed a thermite bomb through an open port of each of them. He had then made off at high speed and watched the bonfire from a distance. Bad luck on the insurance companies, of course, but there were no casualties and he had achieved quickly and neatly what M. had told him to do.

  So far as Bond was aware, no one in the Colony, except the Chief of Police and two of his officers, knew who had caused the two spectacular, and — to those in the know — timely fires in the roadstead. Bond had reported only to M. in London. He had not wished to embarrass the Governor, who seemed to him an easily embarrassable man, and it could in fact have been unwise to give him knowledge of a felony which might easily be the subject of a question in the Legislative Council. But the Governor was no fool. He had known the purpose of Bond’s visit to the Colony, and that evening, when Bond had shaken him by the hand, the dislike of a peaceable man for violent action had been communicated to Bond by something constrained and defensive in the Governor’s manner.

  This had been no help to the dinner party, and it had needed all the chatter and gush of a hard-working A.D.C. to give the evening the small semblance of life it had achieved.

  And now it was only nine-thirty, and the Governor and Bond were faced with one more polite hour before they could go gratefully to their beds, each relieved that he would never have to see the other again. Not that Bond had anything against the Governor. He belonged to a routine type that Bond had often encountered round the world — solid, loyal, competent, sober and just: the best type of Colonial Civil Servant. Solidly, competently, loyally he would have filled the minor posts for thirty years while the Empire crumbled around him; and now, just in time, by sticking to the ladders and avoiding the snakes, he had got to the top. In a year or two it would be the G.C.B. and out — out to Godalming, or Cheltenham or Tunbridge Wells with a pension and a small packet of memories of places like the Trucial Oman, the Leeward Islands, British Guiana, that no one at the local golf club would have
heard of or would care about. And yet, Bond had reflected that evening, how many small dramas such as the affair of the Castro rebels must the Governor have witnessed or been privy to! How much he would know about the chequer-board of small-power politics, the scandalous side of life in small communities abroad, the secrets of people that lie in the files of Government Houses round the world. But how could one strike a spark off this rigid, discreet mind? How could he, James Bond, whom the Governor obviously regarded as a dangerous man and as a possible source of danger to his own career, extract one ounce of interesting fact or comment to save the evening from being a futile waste of time?

  Bond’s careless and slightly mendacious remark about marrying an air hostess had come at the end of some desultory conversation about air travel that had followed dully, inevitably, on the departure of the Harvey Millers to catch their plane for Montreal. The Governor had said that B.O.A.C. were getting the lion’s share of the American traffic to Nassau because, though their planes might be half an hour slower from Idlewild, the service was superb. Bond had said, boring himself with his own banality, that he would rather fly slowly and comfortably than fast and uncosseted. It was then that he had made the remark about air hostesses.

  ‘Indeed,’ said the Governor in the polite, controlled voice that Bond prayed might relax and become human. ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. It would be fine to have a pretty girl always tucking you up and bringing you drinks and hot meals and asking if you had everything you wanted. And they’re always smiling and wanting to please. If I don’t marry an air hostess, there’ll be nothing for it but marry a Japanese. They seem to have the right ideas too.’ Bond had no intention of marrying anyone. If he did, it would certainly not be an insipid slave. He only hoped to amuse or outrage the Governor into a discussion of some human topic.

  ‘I don’t know about the Japanese, but I suppose it has occurred to you that these air hostesses are only trained to please, that they might be quite different when they’re not on the job, so to speak.’ The Governor’s voice was reasonable, judicious.