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‘That makes me glad. I have already too much lire.’ Signor Kristatos picked up the folio menu. ‘But let us feed on something. One should not decide important pizniss on a hollow stomach.’A week earlier M. had sent for Bond. M. was in a bad temper. ‘Got anything on, 007?’
‘Only paper-work, sir.’
‘What do you mean, only paper-work?’ M. jerked his pipe towards his loaded in-tray. ‘Who hasn’t got paper-work?’
‘I meant nothing active, sir.’
‘Well, say so.’ M. picked up a bundle of dark red files tied together with tape and slid them so sharply across the desk that Bond had to catch them. ‘And here’s some more paper-work. Scotland Yard stuff mostly – their narcotics people. Wads from the Home Office and the Ministry of Health, and some nice thick reports from the International Opium Control people in Geneva. Take it away and read it. You’ll need today and most of tonight. Tomorrow you fly to Rome and get after the big men. Is that clear?’
Bond said that it was. The state of M.’s temper was also explained. There was nothing that made him more angry than having to divert his staff from their primary duty. This duty was espionage, and when necessary sabotage and subversion. Anything else was a misuse of the Service and of Secret Funds which, God knows, were meagre enough.
‘Any questions?’ M.’s jaw stuck out like the prow of a ship. The jaw seemed to tell Bond to pick up the files and get the hell out of the office and let M. move on to something important.
Bond knew that a part of all this – if only a small part – was an act. M. had certain bees in his bo
Bond knew all this. He said mildly: ‘Two things, sir. Why are we taking this thing on, and what lead, if any, have Station I got towards the people involved in it?’
M. gave Bond a hard, sour look. He swivelled his chair sideways so that he could watch the high, scudding October clouds through the broad window. He reached out for his pipe, blew through it sharply, and then, as if this action had let off the small head of steam, replaced it gently on the desk. When he spoke, his voice was patient, reasonable. ‘As you can imagine, 007, I do not wish the Service to become involved in this drug business. Earlier this year I had to take you off other duties for a fortnight so that you could go to Mexico and chase off that Mexican grower. You nearly got yourself killed. I sent you as a favour to the Special Branch. When they asked for you again to tackle this Italian gang I refused. Ro
Bond interrupted. ‘Perhaps there’s protection somewhere, sir. That Montesi business didn’t look so good.’
M. shrugged impatiently. ‘Maybe, maybe. And you’ll have to watch out for that too, but my impression is that the Montesi case resulted in a pretty extensive clean-up. Anyway, when the P.M. gave me the order to get on with it, it occurred to me to have a talk with Washington. C.I.A. were very helpful. You know the Narcotics Bureau have a team in Italy. Have had ever since the War. They’re nothing to do with C.I.A. – run by the American Treasury Department, of all people. The American Treasury control a so-called Secret Service that looks after drug smuggling and counterfeiting. Pretty crazy arrangement. Often wonder what the F.B.I. must think of it. However,’ M. slowly swivelled his chair away from the window. He linked his hands behind his head and leaned back, looking across the desk at Bond. ‘The point is that the C.I.A. Rome Station works pretty closely with this little narcotics team. Has to, to prevent crossed lines and so on. And C.I.A. – Alan Dulles himself, as a matter of fact – gave me the name of the top narcotics agent used by the Bureau. Apparently he’s a double. Does a little smuggling as cover. Chap called Kristatos. Dulles said that of course he couldn’t involve his people in any way and he was pretty certain the Treasury Department wouldn’t welcome their Rome Bureau playing too closely with us. But he said that, if I wished, he would get word to this Kristatos that one of our, er, best men would like to make contact with a view to doing business. I said I would much appreciate that, and yesterday I got word that the rendezvous is fixed for the day after tomorrow.’ M. gestured towards the files in front of Bond. ‘You’ll find all the details in there.’
There was a brief silence in the room. Bond was thinking that the whole affair sounded unpleasant, probably dangerous and certainly dirty. With the last quality in mind, Bond got to his feet and picked up the files. ‘All right, sir. It looks like money. How much will we pay for the traffic to stop?’
M. let his chair tip forward. He put his hands flat down on the desk, side by side. He said roughly: ‘A hundred thousand pounds. In any currency. That’s the P.M.’s figure. But I don’t want you to get hurt. Certainly not picking other people’s coals out of the fire. So you can go up to another hundred thousand if there’s bad trouble. Drugs are the biggest and tightest ring in crime.’ M. reached for his in-basket and took out a file of signals. Without looking up he said: ‘Look after yourself.’Signor Kristatos picked up the menu. He said: ‘I do not beat about bushes, Mr Bond. How much?’
‘Fifty thousand pounds for one hundred per cent results.’
Kristatos said indifferently: ‘Yes. Those are important funds. I shall have melon with prosciutto ham and a chocolate ice-cream. I do not eat greatly at night. These people have their own Chianti. I commend it.’
The waiter came and there was a brisk rattle of Italian. Bond ordered Tagliatelli Verdi with a Genoese sauce which Kristatos said was improbably concocted of basil, garlic and fir-cones.