John Gardner - Seafire

"Wait!" Bond had the binoculars focused on one figure – an unusually tall man with a slow and lumbering gait. "I know one of them. He damned nearly killed me in Wasserburg. He's a half-witted man mountain disguised as one of Tarn's lawyers. Name of Kurt Rollen."

As they watched, the gates swung open and the men crossed the road, two of them waiting while a tourist bus went by. At the edge of the cliff, each man seemed to disappear, as though there were some route down to the rocks and the sea below. Within a few minutes they had all passed out of sight.

"I'm going to take a look down there." Bond's hand moved to his jacket, as though reassuring himself that he was armed.

"Take care, James. You want me…?"

"No. Stay here with Flicka. If I'm not back in an hour, you can come looking." He stood up, stepping from the treeline to start walking, zigzagging his way down the steep slope, keeping well to the left of the house and its perimeter walls. It took almost fifteen minutes to reach the road, with the house and walls still on his right.

Crossing the road, he glanced up to the trees above Tarn's house and could just make out the two figures of Felix and Flicka. He then headed directly toward the point where the men had disappeared.

As he had guessed, there was a way down, a series of steps cut into the rock, dropping at a steep angle. There was also a large red sign that carried a warning legend of skull and crossed bones, below which were the words "Private and Dangerous. Only authorized personnel beyond this point. Danger of Death" in four different languages.

Slowly, Bond made his way down the first few steps, then stopped to listen. There was no sound of voices, only the crashing of the surf against the rocks below, though he could see even from here that a wide channel ran from the cliffs between two reefs: enough room for a ship to get through.

The steps became slick with water as he neared the bottom, which was a wide concrete platform fashioned around rocks. Once on the platform, his sneakers were soaked with the spray that burst regularly over the platform. Inching his way along the concrete with his back to the natural rock, Bond could clearly see the beginning of an opening in the cliff – a great arched entrance to a cavern. The noise of the sea abated as the surf was sucked back, and for the first time he heard voices, and a Scottish accent speaking loudly enough for him to hear the words "Come on… Only about twenty-four hours… Hell to pay if we're not ready for him."

He leaned out to take a quick look inside the cave, only to find that the entire entrance was screened by a thick mesh curtain camouflaged in the colors of the surrounding rock. Gently he caught hold of the edge of the netting and pulled it back. Though he allowed himself only a few seconds, it was enough to take in the long concrete walkways and the sinister prow and sail of a black, rust-encrusted submarine nestling within the cave while a dozen or so men climbed over her. He had seen much bigger, nuclear boats being prepared for the sea, and he had no doubt that they were going through the preliminaries.

The ascent back up the rock face took much longer than the descent, and the climb up the grassy incline to the wood almost winded him.

"You want to inform your people or the local authorities?" he asked Felix Leiter after he had apprised them of what lay at the bottom of the cliff.

Leiter frowned. Then: "I don't think so. It would be much better if we caught them in the act, don't you think?"

"Certainly, Felix. Certainly much better, but I think the prudent way would be to get the U.S. Navy here as quickly as we can."

"Plenty of time for that when we see what the timetable's like. Let's talk to the scientific trio and give them the option."

After returning to San Juan, they strolled through the narrow, gaudy streets of the old town, the shops dispensing garish souvenirs. Finally, at the end of their long day out, they stood on the top gun platform of El Morro, having seen everything else within the massive thick stone walls. The fortress still had about it an atmosphere of unreality, for it was built at the far promontory entrance to the harbor, rising up several levels and sweeping down to the sea itself.

Its strategic position, coupled with the amazing ingenuity of its construction, had made this place impregnable. Even Drake had been unable to conquer it, and others who tried had always been beaten back.

The secret was in its layered construction, coupled with the masterly design that had enabled great cannons to be let down or winched up steep cobbled ramps, so that the lowest emplacements – only feet away from the rocks and sea – could cut down any men who happened to get a toehold on land. Above this the gun positions were set in higher, serrated walls that allowed them to fire with accuracy on the old big men-of-war, cutting the masts and crippling the ships with ease.

Here, at the highest elevation, the large cannon, still in position, would fire heated cannonballs down into the ships. When Drake had tried to take the place in the 1590s, he had finally been dissuaded when one of the heavy red-hot balls had crashed into the stern of his ship, through his personal cabin window.

They made their way down to the so-called patio, really the parade ground, living quarters, and storehouses. It also contained a big water cistern, the chapel of Santa Bárbara, and the old center of all social life within the castle.

"Now, this place is haunted." Flicka was at the guidebook again. "A lady walks around at night searching for her lost love, and sometimes soldiers appear, sitting around and talking."

Felix sniffed the air. "You know, I wouldn't be surprised if the place is haunted. Nobody stays here at night, you know. These Historic Park Rangers all pack up and go home when they close."

They walked back to El Convento to change for dinner, then set off to the harbor. Rexinus had given them explicit directions as to where Mare Nostrum was tied up. "You can't miss her," he had said, rightly, because nobody could possibly have missed the exotic-looking ship.

That she had been purpose-built was obvious. This sleek 250-foot, seagoing motorized yacht still had the patina of newness on her. She also looked like the kind of craft you saw only on classified documents. The mortarlike tubes, about which Felix had told them, poked into the air at forty-five-degree angles, but it was the superstructure that immediately caught the eye. Aft of the wheelhouse was a long, square Plexiglas framework that looked like a modern greenhouse. It climbed higher than the wheelhouse, and the edges along the top were curved, giving it the look of something from science fiction.

Rex Rexinus stood by the gangway, his infectious laugh splitting the air.

"You found us, then."

"How could we miss you, Dr. Rexinus?" Flicka had already said that she would handle Rexinus should he get difficult when they laid the news on him.

The marine biologist welcomed them on board, saying that he would take them on a tour of the ship after dinner. "Poor Vesta doesn't get to entertain very often. She's provided only a cold supper, but it seems to have taken her all day." He turned and laughed again as though this were a great joke.

Bond was finding his laughter a little hard to bear.

Belowdecks the quarters were more palatial than they expected: a wide and high oblong, oak-paneled living area had been arranged as a dining room, complete with a long adjustable table that was laid out with plates of cold meats and salads of every possible variety. There were crystal glasses and bottles of both a good claret and a somewhat fine Chablis.

"What's through there?" Bond asked immediately, nodding to the closed door at the far end. He always liked to know the quickest exit when he arrived in a new environment