You Only Live Twice

Part II

The black toyopet hurtled through the deserted streets which were shiny with the dew of what would be a beautiful day.

Tiger had dressed in casual clothes as if for a country outing. He had a small overnight bag on the seat beside him. They were on the way to a bathhouse which Tiger said was of a very special, a very pleasurable nature. It was also, Tiger said, very discreet, and the opportunity would be taken to make a start in transforming Bond's appearance into something more closely resembling a Japanese.

Tiger had overridden all Bond's objections. On all the evidence, this doctor was a purveyor of death. Because he was mad? Because it amused him? Tiger neither knew nor cared. For obvious reasons of policy, his assassination, which had been officially agreed to, could not be carried out by a Japanese. Bond's appearance on the scene was therefore very timely. He had had much practice in such clandestine operations and, if he was subsequently arrested by the Japanese police, an adequate cover story involving foreign intelligence services could be cooked up. He would be tried, sentenced, and then quietly smuggled out of the country. If he failed, then presumably the doctor or his guards would kill him. That would be too bad. Bond argued that he had personally nothing against this Swiss botanist. Tiger replied that any good man's hand would be against a man who had already killed 500 of his fellow creatures. Was that not so? And, in any case, Bond was being hired to do this act in exchange for Magic 44. Did that not quit his conscience? Bond agreed reluctantly that it did. As a last resort, Bond said that the operation was in any case impossible. A foreigner in Japan could be spotted five miles away. Tiger replied that this matter had been provided for and the first step was a visit to this most discreet bathhouse. Here Bond would receive his first treatment and then get some sleep before catching the train on which Tiger would be accompanying him. And Tiger, with a devilish grin, had assured him that at any rate part of his treatment would be most pleasurable and relaxing.

The exterior of the bathhouse looked like a Japanese inn -- some carefully placed steppingstones meandering briefly between dwarf pines, a wide-open, yellow-lighted doorway with a vista of polished wood floors behind, three bowing, smiling women in traditional dress, as bright as birds although it was nearly five in the morning, and the inevitable row of spotless but undersized slippers. After much bowing and counterbowing and a few phrases from Tiger, Bond took of his shoes and, in his socks (explanation by Tiger; polite giggles behind raised hands), did as Tiger told him and followed one of the women along a gleaming corridor and through an open partition that revealed a miniature combination of a bedroom and a Turkish bath. A young girl, wearing nothing but tight, brief white shorts and an exiguous white brassiere, bowed low, said, "Excuse, please," and began to unbutton Bond's trousers. Bond held the pretty hand where it was. He turned to the older woman who was about to close the partition and said, "Tanaka-san," in a voice that pleaded and ordered. Tiger was fetched. He was wearing nothing but his underpants. He said, "What is it now?"

Bond said, "Now listen, Tiger, I'm sure this pretty girl and I will get along very well indeed. But just tell me what the menu is. Am I going to eat her or is she going to eat me?"

Tiger said patiently, "You really must learn to obey orders without asking questions, Bondo-san. That is the essence of our relationship during the next few days. You see that box? When she has undressed you, she will put you in the box which has a charcoal fire under it. You will sweat. After perhaps ten minutes she will help you out of the box and wash you from head to foot. She will even tenderly clear out your ears with a special ivory instrument. She will then pour a very tenacious dark dye with which she had been supplied into that tiled bath in the floor and you will get in. You will relax and bathe your face and hair. She will then dry you and cut your hair in the Japanese style. She will then give you a message on that couch and, according to your indications, she will make this massage as delightful, as prolonged as you wish. You will then go to sleep. When you are awakened with eggs and bacon and coffee you will kiss the girl good morning and shave, or the other way round, and that will be that." Tiger curtly asked the girl a question. She brushed back her bangs of black hair coquettishly and replied. "The girl says she is eighteen and that her name is Mariko Ichiban. Mariko means 'truth' and Ichiban means 'number one.' The girls is these establishments are numbered. And now, please don't disturb me anymore. I am about to enjoy myself in a similar fashion, but without the walnut stain. And please, in future, have faith. You are about to undergo a period of entirely new sensations. They may be strange and surprising. They will not be painful -- while you are under my authority, that is. Savor them. Enjoy them as if each one was your last. All right? Then good night, my dear Bondo-san. The night will be short, alas, but if you embrace it fully, it will be totally delightful up to the last squirm of ecstasy. And," Tiger gave a malicious wave of the hand as he went out and closed the partition, "you will arise from it what is known as 'a new man.'"

James Bond got, at any rate, part of the message. As Mariko's busy fingers proceeded to remove his trousers and then his shirt, he lifter her chin and kissed her full on the soft, yielding, budlike mouth.

Later, sitting sweating and reflecting in the comfortable wooden box, very tired, slightly, but cheerfully, drunk, he remembered his interview with M, and M saying that he could leave the hardware behind on this purely diplomatic Bond's mouth deepened.

Mariko was looking into the wall mirror and fiddling with her hair and eyebrows. Bond said, "Mariko. Out!"

Mariko smiled and bowed. She unhurriedly removed her brassiere and came toward the wooden box.

Bond reflected, What was it that Tiger had said about becoming a new man? and he reached for Mariko's helping hands and watched her breasts tauten as she pulled him out and toward her.

• • •

It was indeed a new man who followed Tiger through the thronged halls of Tokyo Main Station. Bond's face and hands were of a light-brown tint, his black hair, brightly oiled, was cut and neatly combed in a short fringe that reached halfway down his forehead, and the outer corners of his eyebrows had been carefully shaved so that they now slanted upward. He was dressed, like so many of the other travelers, in a white cotton shirt buttoned at the wrists and a cheap, knitted silk, black tie exactly centered with a rolled-gold pin. His ready-made black trousers, held up by a cheap black plastic belt, were rather loose in the fork, because Japanese behinds are inclined to hang low, but the black plastic sandals and dark-blue nylon socks were exactly the right size. A much-used overnight bag of Japan Air Lines was slung over his shoulder, and this contained a change of shirt, singlet, pants and socks, Shinsei cigarettes, and some cheap Japanese toilet articles. In his pockets were a comb, a cheap, used (continued on page 112)You Only Live Twice(continued from page 80) wallet containing some 5000 yen in small-denomination notes, a wrist watch, and a stout pocketknife which, by Japanese law, had a blade not more than two inches long. There was no handkerchief, only a packet of tissues. (Later, Tiger explained. "Bondo-san, this Western habit of blowing the nose and carefully wrapping up the result in silk or fine linen and harboring it in your pocket as if it were something precious! Would you do the same thing with the other excretions of you body? Exactly! So, if in Japan you wish to blow your nose, perform the act decorously and dipose at once, tidily, of the resul.")

Despite his height, Bond merged quite adequately into the bustling, shoving crowds of passengers. His "disguise" had mysteriously appeared in his room at the bathhouse and Mariko had greatly enjoyed dressing him up. "Now Japanese gentreman," she had said approvingly as, with a last lingering kiss, she had gone to answer Tiger's rap on the partition. Bond's own clothes and possessions had already been taken away.

"They and your things from the hotel will be transferred to Dikko's apartment," Tiger had said. "Later today, Dikko will inform your Chief that you have left Tokyo with me for a visit to the Magic establishment, which is, in fact, a day's journey from Tokyo, and that you will be away for several days. Dikko believes that this is so. My own department merely knows that I shall be absent on a mission to Fukuoka. They do not know that you are accompanying me. And now we will take the express to Gamagori on the south coast and the evening hydrofoil across Ise Bay to the fishing port of Toba. There we will spend the night. This is to be a slow journey to Fukuoka for the purpose of training and educating you. It is necessary that I make you familiar with Japanese customs and folkways so that you make as few mistakes as possible -- when the time comes."

The gleaming orange-and-silver express slid to a stop beside them. Tiger barged his way on board. Bond waited politely for two or three women to precede him. When he sat down beside Tiger, Tiger hissed angrily, "First lesson, Bondo-san! Do not make way for women. Push them, trample them down. Women have no priority in this country. You may be polite to very old men, but to no one else. Is that understood?"

"Yes, master," said Bond sarcastically.

"And do not make Western-style jokes while you are my pupil. We are engaged in a serious mission."

"Tiger, you're a cruel taskmaster."

Tiger grinned with satisfaction. "Bondo-san, you don't know the half of it. But now let us go and get something to eat and drink in the buffet car. All that Suntory you forced on me last night is crying out for the skin of the dog that bit me."

"The hair," corrected Bond.

"One hair would not be enough, Bondo-san. I need the whole skin."

James Bond wrestled with his chopsticks and slivers of raw octopus and a mound of rice ("You must get accustomed to the specialities of the country, Bondo-san") and watched the jagged coastline, interspersed with glittering paddy fields, flash by. He was lost in thought when he felt a hard jostle from behind. He had been constantly jostled as he sat up at the counter -- the Japanese are great jostlers -- but he now turned and caught a glimpse of the stocky back of a man disappearing into the next compartment. There were white strings round his ears which showed that he was wearing a masko, and he wore an ugly black-leather hat. When they went back to their seats Bond found that his pocket had been picked. His wallet was gone. Tiger was astonished. "That is very unusual in Japan," he said defensively. "But no matter. I will get you another at Toba. It would be a mistake to call the conductor. We do not wish to draw attention to ourselves. The police would be sent for at the next station and there would be much interrogation and filling out of forms. And there is no way of finding the thief. The man will have pocketed his masko and hat and will be unrecognizable. I regret the incident, Bondo-san. I hope you will forget it."

"Of course. It's nothing."

They left the train at Gamagori, a pretty seaside village with a humped island in the bay that Tiger said housed an important shrine, and the 50-knot ride in the hydrofoil to Toba, an hour away across the bay, was exhilarating. As they disembarked, Bond caught a glimpse of a stocky silhouette in the crowd. Could it be the thief on the train? But the man wore heavy horn-rimmed spectacles, and there were many other stocky men in the crowd. Bond dismissed the thought and followed Tiger along the narrow streets, gaily hung with paper banners and lanterns, to the usual discreet frontage and dwarf pines that he had become accustomed to. They were expected and were greeted with deference. Bond had had about enough of the day. There weren't many bows and smiles left in him, and he was glad when he was at last left alone in his maddeningly dainty room with the usual dainty pot of tea, dainty cup and dainty sweetmeat wrapped in rice paper. He sat at the open partition that gave onto a handkerchief of garden and then the sea wall and gazed gloomily across the water at a giant statue of a man in a bowler hat and morning coat that Tiger had told him was Mr. Mikimoto, founder of the cultured-pearl industry, who had been born at Toba and had there, as a poor fisherman, invented the trick of inserting grains of sand under the mantle of a live oyster to form the kernel of a pearl. Bond thought, To hell with Tiger and his crazy plan. What in God's name have I got myself into? He was still sitting there cursing his lot when Tiger came in and brusquely ordered him to don one of the yukatas that hung with the bedding in the single cupboard in the paper wall.

"You really must concentrate, Bondo-san," said Tiger mildly. "But you are making progress. As a reward I have ordered sake to be brought in large quantities and then a dinner of the speciality of this place, lobster."

Bond's spirits rose minutely. He undressed to his pans, donned the darkbrown yukata ("Stop!" from Tiger. "Wrap it round to the right! Only a corpse wraps it round to the left.") and adopted the lotus position across the low table from Tiger. He had to admit that the kimono was airy and comfortable. He bowed low. "That sounds a most sincere program."

The sake came. The pretty waitress knelt on the tatami and served them both. Tiger had been thoughtful. He had ordered tumblers. Bond swallowed his at one gulp. Tiger said, "The grossness of your drinking habits fits well with your future identity."

"And what is that to be?"

"A coal miner from Fukuoka. There are many tall men in that profession. Your hands are not rough enough, but you pushed a truck underground. Your nails will be filled with coal dust when the time comes. You were too stupid to wield a pick. You are deaf and dumb. Here," Tiger slipped across a scrubby card, creased and dog-eared. There were some Japanese characters on it. "That is 'Tsumbo de oshi' -- deaf and dumb. Your disability will inspire pity and some distaste. If someone talks to you, show that and they will desist. They may also give you a few pieces of small coin. Accept them and bow deeply."

"Thanks very much. And I suppose I have to account for these tips to your secret fund?"

"That will not be necessary." Tiger was wooden-faced. "Our expenses on this mission are a direct charge on the Prime Minister's purse."

Bond bowed. "I am honored." He straightened himself. "And now, you old bastard. More sake and tell me about the kamikaze. In due course I am prepared to become a deaf-and-dumb miner (continued on page 152)You Only Live Twice(continued from page 112) from Fukuoka. In public I am prepared to hiss and bow with the best of them. But, by God, when we're alone, the password is Freddie Uncle Charlie Katie or I'll be putting my head under a pile-driver before you get me onto the first tee. Is that agreed?"

Lacquer boxed of rice, raw quails' eggs in sauce and bowls of sliced seaweed were placed in front of them both. Then they were each given a fine oval dish bearing a large lobster whose head and tail had been left as a dainty ornament to the sliced pink flesh in the center. Bond set to with his chopsticks. He was surprised to find that the flesh was raw. He was even more surprised when the head of his lobster began moving off his dish and, with questing antennae and scrabbling feet, tottered off across the table. "Good God, Tiger!" Bond said, aghast. "The damn thing's alive!"

Tiger hissed impatiently, "Really, Bondo-san. I am much disappointed in you. You will show improvement during the rest of our journey. Now eat up and stop being squeamish. This is a very great Japanese delicacy."

James Bond bowed ironically. "Shimatta!" he said. "I have made a mistake. It crossed my mind that honorable japanese lobster might not like being eater alive. Thank you for correcting the unworthy thought."

"You will soon become accustomed to the Japanese way of life," said Tiger graciously.

"It's their way of death that's got me a little bit puzzled," said Bond amiably, and he handed his glass to the kneeling waitress for more sake to give him strength to try the seaweed.

• • •

They arrived at Beppu on the southern island of Kyushu as the sun was setting. Tiger said that this was just the time to see the famous geysers and fumaroles of the little spa. In any case, there would be no time in the morning, as they would have to start early for Fukuoka, their final destination. Bond shivered slightly at the name. The moment was rapidly approaching when the sake and sight-seeing would have to stop.

Above the own of Beppu. they visited in turn the ten spectacular "hells" as they are officially designated. The stink of sulphur was disgusting, and each bubbling, burping nest of volcanic fumaroles was more horrific than the last. The steaming mud and belching geysers were of different colors -- red, blue and orange -- and everywhere there were warning notices and skulls and crossbones to keep visitors at a safe distance. The tenth "hell" announced in English and Japanese that there would be an eruption punctually every 20 minutes. They joined a small of spectators under the arc lights that pinpointed a small quiescent crater in a rocky area bespattered with mud. Sure enough, in five minutes, there came a rumbling from underground and a jet of steaming gray mud shot 20 feet up into the air and splashed down inside the enclosure. As Bond was turning away, he noticed a large red painted wheel, heavily padlocked and surrounded by wire netting in a small separate enclosure. There were warning notices above it and a particularly menacing skull and crossbones. Bond asked Tiger what it was.

"It says that this wheel controls the pulse of the geyser. It says that if this wheel were screwed down it could result in the destruction of the entire establishment. It gives the explosive force of the volcano, if the exhaust valve of he geyser were to be closed, as the equivalent of a thousand pounds of TNT. It is, of course, all a bit of nonsense to attract the tourists. But now, back to the town, Bondo-san! Since it is our last day together," he added hastily, "on this particular voyage, I have arranged a special treat. I ordered it by radio from the ship. A fugu feast!"

"What new monstrosity is this?" Bond asked.

"Fugu is the Japanese blowfish. In the water, it looks like a brown owl, but when captured it blows itself up into a ball covered with wounding spines. We sometimes dry the skins and put candles inside and use them as lanterns. But the flesh is particularly delicious. It is the staple food of the sumo wrestlers because it is supposed to be very strength-giving. The fish is also very popular with suicides and murderers because its liver and sex glands contain a poison which brings death instantaneously."

"That's just what I would have chosen for dinner. How thoughtful of you, Tiger."

"Have no fear, Bondo-san. Because of the dangerous properties of the fish, every fugu restaurant has to be manned by experts and be registered with the state."

They left their bags at a Japanese inn where Tiger had reserved rooms, enjoyed the o-furo, honorable bath, together in the blue-tiled miniature swimming pool whose water was very hot and smelled of sulphur, and then, totally relaxed, went off down the street leading to the sea.

(Bond had become enamored of the Civilized, vaguely Roman, bathing habits of the Japanese. Was it because of these, because they washed outside the bath instead of wallowing in their own effluvia, that they all smelled so clean? Tiger said bluntly that, at the very best, Westerners smelled of sweet pork.)

The restaurant had a giant blowfish hanging as a sign above the door, and inside, to Bond's relief, there were Western-style chairs and tables at which a smattering of people were eating with the intense concentration of the Japanese. They were expected and their table had been prepared. Bond said, "Now then, Tiger, I'm not going to commit honorable suicide without at least five bottles of sake inside me." The flasks were brought, all five of them, to the accompaniment of much tittering by the waitresses. Bond downed the lot, tumbler by tumbler, and expressed himself satisfied. "Now you can bring on this blasted blowfish," he said belligerently, "and if it kills me it will be doing a good turn to our friend the doctor in his castle."

A very beautiful white porcelain dish as big as a bicycle wheel was brought forward with much ceremony. On it were arranged, in the pattern of a huge flower, petal upon petal of a very thinly sliced and rather transparent white fish. Bond followed Tiger's example and set to with his chopsticks. He was proud of the fact that he had reached Black Belt standard with these instruments -- the ability to eat an underdone fried egg with them.

The fish tasted of nothing. not even of fish. But it was very pleasant on the palate and Bond was effusive in his compliments because Tiger, smacking his lips over each morsel, obviously expected it of him. There followed various side dished containing other parts of the fish, and more sake, but this time containing raw fugu fins.

Bond sat back and lit a cigarette. He said. "Well, Tiger. This is nearly the end of my education. Tomorrow you say I am to leave the nest. How many marks out of a hundred?"

Tiger looked at him quizzically. "You have done well, Bondo-san. Apart from your inclination to make Western jokes about Eastern customs. Fortunately I am a man of infinite patience, and I must admit that your company has given me much pleasure and a certain amount of amusement. I will award you seventy five marks out of possible hundred."

As they rose to go, a man brushed past Bond to get to the exit. He was a stocky man with a white masko over his mouth and he wore an ugly leather hat. The man on the train!

Well, well! though Bond. If he shows up on the last lap to Fukuoka. I'll get him. If not, I'll reluctantly puit down to "Funny Coincidence Department." But it looks like naught out of a hundred to Tiger for powers of observation.

• • •

As six in the morning, a car from the perfect of police in Fukuoka came for them. There were two police corporals in the front seat. They went off northward on the coast road at a good pace. After a while, Bond said, "Tiger, we're being followed. I don' care what you say. The man who stole my wallet was in the fugu restaurant last night, and he's now a mile behind on a motorcycle -- or I'll eat my hat. Be a good chap and tell the driver to dodge up a side road and then go after him and get him. I've got a sharp nose for these things and I ask you to do what I say."

Tiger grunted. He looked back and then issued rapid instructions to the driver. The driver, said, "Hai!" briskly, and the corporal at his side unbuttoned the holster of his M-14 automatic. Tiger flexed his powerful fingers.

They came to a track on the left which went into the scrub. The driver did a good racing change and pulled in out of sight of the road. He cut his engine. They listened. The roar of a motorcycle approached and receded. The driver reversed sharply onto the road and tore off in pursuit. Tiger issued more sharp instructions. He said to Bond, "I have told him to try warning the man with his siren and if he doesn't stop to ride him into the ditch."

"Well, I'm glad you're giving him a chance," said Bond, beginning to have qualms. "I may be wrong and he may only be a Fuller-brush man in a hurry."

They were doing 80 along the winding road. They soon came up with the man's dust and then there was the machine itself. The man was hunched over the handlebars, going like hell.

The driver said something. Tiger translated, "He says it's a 500-cc. Honda. On that, he could easily get away from us. But even Japanese crooks are men of discipline. He will prefer to obey the siren."

The siren wailed and then screamed. The white mask gleamed as the man glanced over his shoulder. He braked slowly to a stop. His right hand went inside his jacket. Bond had his hand on the door latch. He said, "Watch out, Tiger, he's got a gun!" and, as they pulled up alongside, he hurled himself out of the door and crashed into the man, knocking him and his machine to the ground. The corporal beside the driver took a flying leap and the two bodies rolled into the ditch. Almost immediately the corporal got to his feet. He had a blood-stained knife in his hand. He had a blood-stained knife in his hand. He threw it aside and tore at the man's coat and shirt. He looked up and shook his head. Tiger shouted something and the corporal began slapping the man's face as hard as he could from side to side. The masko was knocked off and Bond recognized the snarling rictus of death. He said, sickened, "Stop him, Tiger! The man's dead."

Tiger walked down into the ditch. He picked up the man's knife and bent down and slit the right sleeve of the corpse up to the shoulder. He looked and then called Bond down. He pointed to a black ideogram tattooed in the crook of the man's arm. He said, "You were right, Bondo-san. He is a Black Dragon." He stood up and, his face contorted, spat out: "Shimatta!"

The two policemen were standing by looking politely baffled. Tiger gave them orders. They searched the man's clothing and extracted various commonplace objects including Bond's Wallet, with the 5000 yen still intact, and a cheap diary. They handed everything to Tiger and then hauled the corpse out of the ditch and stuffed it roughly into the boot of the car. Then they hid the motorcycle in some bushes and everyone dusted themselves and got back into the car.

After a few moments, Tiger said thoughtfully. "It is incredible! These people must have a permanent tail on me in Tokyo." He riffled through the diary. "Yes, all my movements for the past week and all the stopping places on our journey. You are simply described as a gaijin. But he could have telephoned a description. This is indeed an unfortunate business, Bondo-san. I apologize most deeply. You may already be incriminated. I will naturally absolve you from your mission. It is entirely my fault for being careless. I have not been taking these people seriously enough. I must alk with Tokyo as soon as we get to Fukuoka. But at least you have seen an example of the measures Doctor Shaterhand takes for his protection. There is certainly more to this man than meets the eye. At some time in his life he must have been an experienced intelligence agent. To have discovered my identity, for instance, which is a state secret. To have recognized me as his chief enemy. To have taken the appropriate countermeasures to ensure his privacy. This is either a great madman or a great criminal. You agree, Bondo-san?"

"Looks mighty like it. I'm really getting quite keen to have a sight of the fellow. And don't worry about the mission. This was probably just the jolt I needed to get the wind under my tail."

The headquarters of the local department of the Sosaka, the CID, for the southern island of Kyushu, was just off the main street of Fukuoka. It was a stern-looking building in yellow lavatory brick in a style derived from the German. Tiger confirmed that it had been the headquarters of the Kempeitai, the Japanese Gestapo, before and during the war. Tiger was received with pomp. The office of the chief of the CID was small and cluttered. Superintendent Ando himself looked to Bond like any other Japanese salary man, but he had a military bearing and the eyes behind the rimless spectacles were quick and hard. Bond sat patiently smoking while much conversation went on. A blown-up aerial mosaic of the Castle of Death and the surrounding country was produced from a filing cabinet and laid out on the desk. superintendent Ando weighed down the corners with ashtrays and other hardware and Tiger called him over with a respect, Bond noticed, that was not lost on the Superintendent. It crossed Bond's mind that he had heaped much on on Tiger, or alternatively that Tiger had lost much face vis-à-vis Bond by the business of the Black Dragon agent. Tiger said, "Please to examine this photograph, Bondo-san. The Superintendent says that a clandestine approach from the landward side is now very difficult. The suicides pay local peasants to lead them through these marshlands." he pointed, "and there are recognized breaches in the walls surrounding the property which are constantly changed and kept open for the suicides. Every time the Superintendent posts a guard at one of them, another is made known to he peasants by the castle guards. He says he is at his wits' end. Twenty bodies have been fetched to the mortuary in the past week. The Superintendent wishes to hand in his resignation."

"Naturally," said Bond. "And then perhaps honorable fugu poisoning. Let's have a look."

At first glance, Bond's heart qualified. He might just as well try and storm Windsor Castle singlehanded! The estate covered the whole expanse of a small promontory that jutted out into the sea from a rocky coast, and the 200-foot cliff round the promontory had been revetted with giant stone blocks down to the breaking waves to form an unbroken wall that sloped slightly up to gun ports and the irregularly sited, tiled watchtowers. From the top of this wall there appeared to be a ten-foot drop into the park, heavily treed and shrubbed between winding streams and a broad lake with a small island in its center. Steam appeared to be rising from the lake and there were occasional wisps of it among the shrubbery. At the back of the property stood the castle, protected from the low-lying countryside by a comparatively modest wall. It would be over this wall that the suicides gained access. The castle itself was a giant four-storied affair in the Japanese tradition, with swooping, winged roofs of glazed tile. Dolphin-shaped finials decorated he topmost story, and there was a profusion of other decorative devices, small balconies, isolated turrets and gazebos so that the whole black-painted edifice, edged here and there with what Tiger said was gold paint, gave the impression of a brilliant attempt to make a stage setting for Dracula. Bond picked up a large magnifying glass and ran over the whole property inch by inch, but there was nothing more to be gleaned except the presence of an occasional diminutive figure at work in the park or raking the gravel round the castle.

Bond laid down the glass. He said gloomily, "That's not a castle! That's a fortress! How am I supposed to get into the bloody place?"

"The Superintendent asks if you are a good swimmer. I have had a complete outfit sent down from my ninjutsu establishment. The seaward wall would present no problems."

"I can swim well enough, but how do I get to the base of the wall? Where do I start from?"

"The Superintendent says there is an Ama island called Kuro only half a mile out to sea."

"What's an Ama island?"

"They exist at different places round Japan. I believe there are some fifty such settlements. The Ama are a tribe whose girls dive for the awabi shells -- that is our local abalone. A calm. It is a great delicacy. They dive naked. Some of them are very beautiful. But they keep themselves very much to themselves and visitors to their islands are completely discouraged. They have their own primitive culture and customs. I suppose you could compare them to sea gypsies. They rarely marry outside the tribe, and it is that which has made them a race apart."

"Sounds intriguing, but how am I going to make a base on this Kuro Island? I may have to wait days for the weather to be right."

Tiger spoke rapidly to the Superintendent and there was a lengthy reply. "Ah, so desu ka!" said Tiger with interest and enthusiasm. He turned to Bond. "It seems that the Superintendent is distantly related to a family on Kuro. It is a most interesting family. There is a father and a mother and one daughter. She is called Kissy Suzuki. I have heard of her. When she was seventeen, she became famous in Japan by being chosen to go to Hollywood to make a film. They wanted a Japanese diving girl of great beauty and someone had heard of her. She made the film, but hated Hollywood and longed only to return to her Ama life. She could have made a fortune, but she retired to this obscure island. There was a great to-do in the press a he time, and it was judged that she had behaved most honorably. They christened her 'The Japanese Garbo.' But Kissy will now be twenty-three and everyone has forgotten about her. The Superintendent says that he could arrange for you to stay with this family. They seem to have some obligation toward him. He says it is a simple house, but comfortable because of the money this girl earned in Hollywood. The other houses on the island are nothing but fishermen's shacks."

"But won't the rest of the community resent me being there?"

"No. The people of the island belong to the Shinto religion. The Superintendent will speak to the Shinto priest and everything will be OK."

"All right, so I stay on this island and then one night I swim across to the wall. How do I get up it?"

"You will have the ninja outfit. It is here. You will use it. It is very simple."

"Then what do I do?"

"You hide up in the grounds and wait for an opportunity to kill him. How you do that is up to you. As I told you, he goes about in armor. A man in armor is very vulnerable. You only have to knock him off his feet. Then you will throttle him with the ninja chain you will be wearing round your waist. If his wife is with him, you will throttle her, too. She is certainly involved in all this business, and anyway she is too ugly to live. Then you escape over the wall and swim back to Kuro. There you will be picked up by the police launch which will visit the place at once. The news of the death will quickly get round."

Bond said doubtfully, "Well, it all sounds very simple. But what about these guards? The place is crawling with them."

"You must just keep out of their way. As you can see, the park is full of hiding places."

"Thanks very much. In one of those poison bushes or up one of those trees. I don't want to blind myself or go mad."

"The ninja clothing will give you complete protection. You will have a black suit for night and a camouflage one for the day. You will wear the swimming goggles to protect your eyes. All this equipment you will tow over in a plastic bag which will be provided."

"My dear Tiger, you've thought of everything. But I'd much rather have just one little gun."

"That would be crazy, Bondo-san. You know perfectly well that silence will be essential. And with a silencer, which would be very heavy to swim with, the speed of the bullet would be so much reduced that you might not pierce the armor. No, my friend. Use ninjutsu. It is the only way."

"Oh, all right," said Bond resignedly. "Now let's have a look at a photograph of this chap. has the Superintendent got one?"

It had been taken from a long way away with a telephoto lens. It showed a giant figure in full medieval chain armor with the jagged, winged helmet of ancient Japanese warriors. Bond studied the photograph carefully, noting the vulnerable spots at neck and joints. A metal shield protected the man's groin. A widebladed samurai sword hung from his waist, but there was no sign of any other weapon. Bond said thoughtfully, "He doesn't look as daft as he ought to. Probably because of the Dracula setting. Have you got one of his face? Perhaps he looks a bit madder in the raw."

The Superintendent went to the bottom of his file and extracted what looked like a blown-up copy of Doctor Guntram Shatterhand's passport photograph and handed it over.

Bond took it nonchalantly. Then his whole body stiffened. He said to himself, God Almighty! God Almighty! Yes. There was no doubt, no doubt at all! He had grown a drooping black mustache. He had had the syphilitic nose repaired. There was a gold-capped tooth among the upper frontals, but there could be no doubt. Bond looked up. He said, "Have you got one of the woman?"

Startled by the look of controlled venom on Bond's face, and by the pallor that showed through the walnut dye, the Superintendent bowed energetically and scrabbled through his file.

Yes, there she was, the bitch -- the flat, ugly wardress face, the dull eyes, the scraped back bun of hair.

Bond held the pictures, not looking at them, thinking. Ernst Stavro Blofeld. Irma Bun. So this was where they had come to hide! And the long, strong gut of fate had lassoed him to them! They of all people! He of all people! A taxi ride down the coast in this remote corner of Japan. Could they smell him coming? Had the dead spy got hold of his name and told them? Unlikely. The power and prestige of Tiger would have protected him. Privacy, discretion, are the heartbeat of Japanese inns. But would they know that an enemy was on his way? That fate had arranged this appointment in Samara? Bond looked up from the pictures. He was in cold control of himself. This was now a private matter. It had nothing to do with Tiger or Japan. It had nothing to do with Magic 44. It was an ancient feud. He said casually, "Tiger, could the Superintendent inquire what his detectives have made of that Black Dragon agent? And of his belongings? I am particularly interested to know whether he may have telephoned or telegraphed my description or my purpose in coming down here."

There was a long and electric silence in the room. Tiger examined Bond's face with piercing interest before he passed the inquiry on to the Superintendent. The Superintendent picked up the receiver of an old fashioned telephone on a double hook. He spoke into it, then, a Japanese habit, blew sharply into the mouthpiece to clear the line, and spoke again at length. He said, "Ah, so desu ha!" many times. Then he put down the receiver. When he had finished talking, Tiger turned to Bond. Again with the same piercing appraisal of Bond's face, he said, "The man came from these parts. He has a police record. Fortunately, he was poorly educated and is known as nothing more than a stupid thug. On the first page of the diary he wrote down his assignment, which was only to follow me to my destination and then report to his master. It seems unlikely that he was provided with funds for expensive communications. But what is it, Bondo-san? Is it that you know these people?"

James Bond laughed. It was a laugh the grated. Even to Bond, it sounded harsh and false in the small room. He had immediately made up his mind to keep his knowledge to himself. To reveal he true identity of Doctor Shatterhand would be to put the whole case back into official channels. The Japanese Secret Service and the CIA would swarm down to Fukuoka. Blofeld and Irma Burnt would be arrested. James Bond's personal prey would be snatched from him. There would be no revenge! Bond said, "Good Lord, no! But I am some thing of a physiognomist. When I saw this man's face, it was as if someone had walked over my grave. I have a feeling that, whether I succeed or not, the outcome of this mission is going to be decisive for one or the other of us. It will not be a drawn game. But now I have a number of further questions with which I must worry you and the Superintendent. They are small matters of detail, but I want to get everything right before I start."

Tiger looked relieved. The raw animalism in Bond's face had been so different from the stoical, ironical face of the Bondo-san for whom he had come to have so much affection. He gave his great golden smile and said, "But of course, my friend. And I am pleased with your worries and with the trouble you are taking to make sure of everything in advance. You will forgive me if I quote you one last Japanese proverb. It says, 'A reasonable number of fleas is good for a dog. Other wise the dog forgets he is a dog.'"

"Good old Bashõ!" said Bond.

• • •

James Bond went through the rest of the morning like an automaton. While he tried on his ninja equipment and watched each item being carefully packed into a floatable plastic container, his mind was totally occupied with the image of his enemy -- this man Blofeld, the great gangster who had founded Spectre, the Special Executive for Counter-Intelligence, Terrorism, Revenge and Extortion, the man who was wanted by the police of all the NATO countries, the man who had murdered Tracy, bond's wife for less than a day, a bare nine months ago. And, in those nine months, this evil genius had invented a new method of collecting death, as Tiger had put it. This cover as the Swiss Doctor Shatterhand, as a rich botanist, must have been one of the many he had wisely built up over the years. It would have been easy. A few gifts of rare plants to famous botanical gardens, the financing of a handful of expeditions, and all the while in the back of his mind the plan one day to retire and "cultiver son jardin." And what a garden! A garden that would be like a deadly flytrap for human beings, a killing bottle for those who wanted to die. And of course Japan, with the highest suicide statistics in the world, a country with an unquenchable thirst for the bizarre, the cruel and the terrible, would provide the perfect last refuge for him. Blofeld must have gone off his head, but with a monstrous, calculating madness -- the madness of the genius he undoubtedly was. And the whole demoniac concept was on Bloefeld's usual grand scale -- the scale of a Caligula, of a Nero, of a Hitler, of any other great enemy of mankind. The speed of execution was breath-taking, the expenditure fabulous, the planning, down to the use of the Black Dragon Society, meticulous, and the cover as impeccable as the Piz Gloria Clinic which, less than a year before, Bond had helped to destroy utterly. And now the two enemies were lined up again, but this time David was spurred on to kill his Goliath not by duty but by blood feud! And with what weapons? Nothing but his bare hands, a two-inch pocketknife and a thin chain of steel. Well, similar weapons had served him before. Surprise would be the determining factor. Bond added a pair of black flippers to his equipment, a small supply of pemmican-like meat, Benzedrine tablets, a plastic flask to water. Then he was ready.

They motored down the main street to where the police launch was waiting at the jetty and set off at a good 20 knots across the beautiful bay and round the headland into the Sea of Genkai. Tiger produced sandwiches and a flask of sake for each of them, and they ate their luncheon as the jagged green coast with its sandy beaches passed slowly by to port. Tiger pointed out a distant dot on the horizon. "Kuro Island," he said. "Cheer up, Bondo-san! You seem preoccupied. Think of all those beautiful naked women you will soon be swimming with! And this Japanese Greta Garbo with whom you will be passing the nights!"

"And the sharks who will already be gathering at the news of my swim to the castle!"

"If they do not eat the Amas, why should they eat a bit of tough Englishman? Look at the two fish eagles circling! That is an excellent augury. One alone would have been less propitious. Four would have been disastrous, for with us, four is the same as your thirteen -- the worst number of all. But, Bondo-san, does it not amuse you to think of that foolish dragon dozing all unsuspecting in his castle while Saint George comes silently riding toward his lair across the waves. It would make the suject for a most entertaining Japanese print."

"You've got a funny sense of humor, Tiger."

"It is merely different from yours. Most of our funny stories involve death or disaster. I am not a 'picture daddy' -- a professional storyteller -- but I will tell you my favorite. It concerns the young girl who comes to the toll bridge. She tosses one sen, a very small piece of money, to the watchman, and walks on. The watchman calls after her, 'Hey! You know that the toll for crossing the bridge is two sen.' The girl answers, 'But I do not intend to cross the bridge. I intend only to go halfway and then throw myself into the river.'" Tiger laughed uproariously.

Bond smiled politely. "I must save that one up for London. They'll split their sides over it."

The small speck on the horizon grew larger and soon revealed itself as a horned island about five miles in circumference with steep cliffs and a small harbor facing north. On the mainland, Doctor Shatterhand's small peninsula reached out into the sea, and the fortresslike black wall soared up out of the breaking waves. Above it were the tops of trees, and behind them, in the distance, the winged roof of the topmost story of the castle broke the skyline. The formidable silhouette reminded Bond vaguely of photographs of Alcatraz taken from sea level. He shivered slightly at the thought of the night's swim across the half-mile channel and of the black spider that would then scale those soaring fortifications. Ah well! He turned his attention back to Kuro Island.

It appeared to be made of black volcanic rock, but there was much green vegetation right up to the summit of a small peak on which there was some kind of a stone beacon. When they rounded the headland that formed one arm of the bay, a crowded little village and a jetty appeared. Out to sea, 30 or more rowing boats were scattered and there was the occasional glint of pink flesh in the sunlight. Naked children were playing among the big smooth black boulders that tumbled like bathing hippos along the shoreline, and there were green nets hung up to dry. It was a pretty scene, with the delicate remoteness, the fairyland quality, of small fishing communities all the world over. Bond took an immediate liking for the place, as if he was arriving at a destination that had been waiting for him and that would be friendly and welcoming.

A group of village elders, grave, gnarled old men with the serious expressions of simple people on important occasions, led by the Shinto priest, was on the jetty to welcome them. The priest was in ceremonial robes, a dark-red, three-quarter-length kimono with vast hanging sleeves, a turquoise skirt in broad pleats and the traditional shining black hat in the shape of a blunt cone. He was a man of simple dignity and considerable presence, middle-aged, with a round face and round spectacles and a pursed, judging mouth. His shrewd eyes took them in one by one as they came ashore, but they rested longest on Bond. Superintendent Ando was greeted with friendship as well as respect. This was part of his parish, and he was the ultimate source of all fishing permits, reflected Bond ungraciously but he had to admit that the deference of the bows was not exaggerated and that he was lucky in his ambassador. They proceeded up the cobbled path of the main street to the priest's house, a modest, weather-beaten affair of stone and carpentered dirftwood. They entered and sat on the spotless polished wood floor in an are in front of the priest, and the Superintendent made a long speech punctuated by serious "Hais!" and "Ah, so desu kas!" from the priest, who occasionally let his wise eyes rest thoughtfully on Bond. He made a short speech in return, to which the Superintendent and Tiger listened with deference. Tiger replied, and the business of the meeting was over save for the inevitable tea.

Bond asked Tiger how his presence and mission had been explained. Tiger said that it would have been of no use lying to the priest who was a shrewd man, so he had been told most of the truth. The priest had expressed regret that such extreme measures were contemplated, but he agreed that the castle across the sea was a most evil place and its owner a man in league with the Devil. In the circumstances, he would give the project his blessing and James Bond would be allowed to stay on the island for the minimum time necessary to accomplish his mission.

The priest would invite the Suzuki family to accord him an honorable welcome. Bond would be explained away to the elders as a famous gaijin anthropologist who had come to study the Ama way of life. Bond should therefore study it, but the priest requested that Bond should behave in a sincere manner. "Which means," explained Tiger with a malicious grin, "that you are not to go to bed with the girls."

In the evening they walked back to the jetty. The sea was a dark slate color and mirror-calm. The little boats, bedecked with colored flags which meant that it had been an exceptional day's fishing, were winging their way back. The entire population of Kuro, perhaps 200 souls, was lined up along the shore to greet the heroines of the day, the older people holding carefully folded shawls and blankets to warm up the girls on their way to their homes where, according to Tiger, they would be given hot basin baths to get back their circulation and remove all traces of salt. It was now five o'clock. They would be asleep by eight, said Tiger, and out again with the dawn. Tiger was sympathetic. "You will have to adjust your hours, Bondo-san. And your way of life. The Ama live very frugally, very cheaply, for their earnings are small -- no more than the price of sparrows' tears, as we say. And for heaven's sake, be very polite to the parents, particularly the father. As for Kissy..." He left the sentence hanging in the air.

Eager hands reached for each boat and, with happy shouts, pulled it up on the black pebbles. Big wooden tubs were lifted out and rushed up the beach to a kind of rickety market where, according to Tiger, the awabi were graded and priced. Meanwhile, the chattering, smiling girls waded in through the shallows and cast modestly appraising glances at the three mainland strangers on the jetty.

To Bond, they all seemed beautiful and gay in the soft evening light -- the proud, rather coarse-nippled breasts, the gleaming, muscled buttocks, cleft by the black cord that held in place the frontal triangle of black cotton, the powerful thong round the waist with its string of oval lead weights, through which was stuck an angular steel pick, the white rag round the tumbled hair and, below, the laughing dark eyes and lips that were happy with the luck of the day. At that moment, it all seemed to Bond as the world, as life, should be, and he felt ashamed at his city-slicker appearance, let alone the black designs it concealed.

One girl, rather taller than the rest, seemed to pay no attention to the men on the jetty or to the police launch riding beside it. She was the center of a crowd of laughing girls as she waded with a rather long, perhaps studied, stride over the shiny black pebbles and up the beach. She flung back a remark at her companions and they giggled, putting their hands up to their mouths. Then a wizened old woman held out a coarse brown blanket to her and she wrapped it round herself and the group dispersed.

The couple, the old woman and the young one, walked up the beach to the market. The young one talked excitedly. The old one paid attention and nodded. The priest was waiting for them. They bowed very low. He talked to them and they listened with humility, casting occasional glances toward the group on the jetty. The tall girl drew her blanket more closely round her. James Bond had guessed it already. Now he knew. This was Kissy Suzuki.

The three people, the splendidly attired priest, the walnut-faced old fisher-woman and the tall naked girl wrapped in her drab blanket came along the jetty, the girl hanging back. In a curious way they were a homogeneous trio, and the priest might have been the father. The women stopped and the priest came forward. He bowed to Bond and addressed him. Tiger translated: "He says that the father and mother of Kissy Suzuki would be honored to receive you in their humble abode for whose poverty they apologize. They regret that they are not accustomed to Western ways, but their daughter is proficient in English as a result of her work in America and will endeavor to convey your wishes to them. The priest asks if you can row a boat. The father, who previously rowed for his daughter, is stricken with rheumatism. It would be of great assistance to the family if you would deign to take his place."

Bond bowed. He said, "Please convey to his reverence that I am most grateful for his intercession on my behalf. I would be most honored to have a place to lay my head in the home of Suzuki-san. My needs are very modest and I greatly enjoy the Japanese way of life. I would be most pleased to row the family boat or help the household in any other way." He added, sotto voce, "Tiger, I may need these people's help when the time comes. Particularly the girl's. How much can I tell her?"

Tiger said softly, "Use your discretion. The priest knows, therefore the girl can know. She will not spread it abroad. And now come forward and let the priest introduce you. Don't forget that your name here is Taro, which means 'first son,' Todoroki, which means 'thunder.' The priest is not interested in your real name. I have said that this is an approximation of your English name. It doesn't matter. Nobody will care. But you must try to assume some semblance of a Japanese personality for when you get to the other side. This name is on your identity card and on your miner's union card from the coal mines of Fukuoka. You need not bother with these things here, for you are among friends. On the other side, if you are caught, you will show the card that says you are deaf and dumb. All right?"

Tiger talked to the priest and Bond was led forward to the two women. He bowed low to the mother, but he remembered not to bow too low as she was only a woman, and then he turned to the girl.

She laughed gaily. She didn't titter or giggle, she actually laughed. She said, "You don't have to bow to me and I shall never bow to you." She held out her hand. "How do you do. My name is Kissy Suzuki."

The hand was ice-cold. Bond said, "My name is Taro Todoroki and I am sorry to have kept you here so long. You are cold and you ought to go and have your hot bath. it is very kind of your family to accept me as your guest, but I do not want to be an imposition. Are you sure it's all right?"

"Whatever the kannushi-san, the priest, says is all right. And I have been cold before. When you have finished with your distinguished friends, my mother and I will be happy to lead you to our house. I hope you are good at peeling potatoes."

Bond was delighted. Thank God for a straightforward girl at last! No more bowing and hissing! He said, "I took a degree in it. And I am strong and willing and I don't snore. What time do we take out the boat?"

"About five-thirty. When the sun comes up. Perhaps you will bring me good luck. The awabi shells are not easy to find. We had a lucky day today and I earned about thirty dollars, but it is not always so."

"I don't reckon in dollars. Let's say ten pounds."

"Aren't Englishmen the same as Americans? Isn't the money the same?"

"Very alike, but totally different."

"Is that so?"

"You mean 'Ah, so desu ka'?"

The girl laughed. "You have been well trained by the important man from Tokyo, Perhaps you will now say goodbye to him and we can go home. It is at the other end of the village."

The priest, the Superintendent and Tiger had been talking together, ostensibly paying no attention to Bond and the girl. The mother had been standing humbly, but with shrewd eyes, watching every expression on the two faces. Bond now bowed again to her and went back to the group of men.

Farewells were brief. Dusk was creeping up over the sea and the orange ball of the sun had already lost its brilliance in the evening haze. The engine of the police boat had been started up and its exhaust bubbled softly. Bond thanked the Superintendent and was wished good fortune in his honorable endeavors. Tiger looked serious. He took Bond's hand in both of his, and unusual gesture for a Japanese. He said, "Bondo-san, I am certain you will succeed, so I will not wish you luck. Nor will I say 'sayõnara,' farewell. I will simply say a quiet 'banzai!' to you and give you this little presento in case the gods frown upon your venture and, through no fault of yours, things go wrong, very wrong." He took out a little box and gave it to Bond.

The box rattled. Bond opened it. Inside was one long brownish pill. Bond laughed. He gave it back to Tiger and said, "No thanks, Tiger. As Bashõ said, or almost said, 'You only live twice.' If my second life comes up, I would rather look it in the face and not turn my back on it. But thanks, and thanks for everything. Those live lobsters were really delicious. I shall now look forward to eating plenty of seaweed while I'm here. So long! See you in about a week."

Tiger got down into the boat and the engine revved up. As the boat took the swell at the entrance to the harbor. Tiger raised a hand and brought it swiftly down with a chopping motion and then the boat was round the sea wall and out of sight.

Bond turned away. The priest had gone. Kissy Suzuki said impatiently, "Come along, Todoroki-san. The kannushi-san says I am to treat you as a comrade, as an equal. But give me one of those two little bags to carry. For the sake of the villagers who will be watching inquisitively, we will wear the Oriental face in public."

And the tall man with the dark face, cropped hair and slanting eyebrows, the tall girl, and the woman walked off along the shore with their angular Japanese shadows preceding them across the smooth black boulders.

• • •

Dawn was a beautiful haze of gold and blue. Bond went outside and at his bean curd and rice and drank his tea sitting on the spotless doorstep of the little cut-stone and timbered house, while indoors the family chattered like happy sparrows as the women went about their housework.

Bond had been allotted the room of honor, the small sitting room with its tatami mats, scraps of furniture, house shrine and a cricket in a small cage "to keep you company," as Kissy had explained. Here his futon had been spread on the ground and he had for the first time and with fair success tried sleeping with his head on the traditional wooden pillow. The evening before, the father, an emaciated graybeard with knotted joints and bright, squirrel eyes, had laughed with and at him as Kissy translated Bond's account of some of his adventures with Tiger, and there was from the first a complete absence of tension or self-consciousness. The priest had said that Bond should be treated as a member of the family and, although his appearance and some of his manners were strange, Kissy had apparently announced her unqualified approval of him and the parents followed her lead. At nine o'clock, under the three-quarter moon, the father had beckoned to Bond and had hobbled out with him to the back of the house. He showed him the little shack with the hole in the ground and the neatly quartered pages of the Asahi shimbun on a nail, and the last of Bond's private fears about life on the island was removed. His flickering candle showed the place to be as spotless as the house, and at least adequately salubrious. After the soft movements in the other two rooms had ceased, Bond had slept happily and like the dead.

Kissy came out of the house. She was wearing a kind of white cotton nightdress and a white cotton kerchief bound up the thick black waves of her hair. She wore her equipment, the weights and the heavy flat angular pick, over the white dress and only her arms and feet were bare. Bond may have shown his disappointment. She laughed, teasing him. "This is ceremonial dress for diving in the presence of important strangers. The kannushi-san instructed me to wear it in your company. As a mark of respect, of course."

"Kissy, I believe that is a fib. The truth of the matter is that you consider that your nakedness might arouse dishonorable thoughts in my impious Western mind. That is a most unworthy suspicion. However, I accept the delicacy of your respect for my susceptibilities. And now let's cut the cackle and get going. We'll beat the awabi record today. What should we aim at?"

"Fifty would be good. A hundred would be wonderful. But above all, you must row well and not let me drown. And you must be kind to David."

"Who's David?" asked Bond, suddenly jealous at the thought that he would not be having this girl to himself.

"Wait and see." She went back indoors and brought out the balsa-wood tub and a great coil of fine quarter-inch rope. She handed the rope to Bond and hoisted the tub on her hip, leading the way along a small path away from the village. The path descended slowly to a small cove in which one rowing boat, covered with dried reeds to protect it from the sun, was drawn high up on the flat black pebbles. Bond stripped off the reeds and laid them aside and hauled the simple, locally made craft down to the sea. It was constructed of some heavy wood and lay low but stable in the deeply shelving, totally transparent water. He loaded in the rope and the wooden tub. Kissy had gone to the other side of the little bay and had undone a string from one of the rocks. She began winding it in slowly and at the same time uttering a low, cooing whistle. To Bond's astonishment, there was a flurry in the water of the bay and a big black cormorant shot like a bullet through the shallows and waddles up the beach to Kissy's feet, craning its neck up and down and hissing, apparently in anger. But Kissy bent down and stroked the creature on its plumed head and down the outstretched neck, at the same time talking to it gaily. She came toward the boat, winding up the long line, and the cormorant followed clumsily. It paid no attention to Bond, but jumped untidily over the side of the boat and scrambled onto the small thwart in the bows where it squatted majestically and proceeded to preen itself, running its long bill down and through its breast feathers and occasionally opening its wings to the full extent of their five-foot span and flapping them with gentle grace. Then, with a final shimmy through all its length, it settled down and gazed out to sea with its neck coiled backward as if to strike and its turquoise eyes questing the horizon imperiously.

Kissy climbed into the boat and settled herself with her knees hunched decorously between Bond's outstretched legs, and Bond slid the heavy, narrow-bladed oars into their wooden rowlocks and began rowing at a powerful, even pace, more or less, under Kissy's direction, due north.

He had noticed that Kissy's line to the cormorant ended with a thin brass ring, perhaps two inches in diameter, round the base of the bird's neck. This would be one of the famous fishing cormorants of Japan. Bond asked her about it.

Kissy said, "I found him as a baby three years ago. He had oil on his wings and I cleaned him and cared for him and had him ringed. The ring has had to be made larger as he grew up. Now, you see, he can swallow small fish, but the big ones he brings to the surface in his beak. He hands them over quite willingly and occasionally he gets a piece of a big one as a reward. He swims a lot by my side and keeps me company. It can be very lonely down there, particularly when the sea is dark. You will have to hold the end of the line and look after him when he comes to the surface. Today he will be hungry. He has not been out for three days because my father could not row the boat. I have been going out with friends. So it is lucky for him that you came to the island."

"So this is David?"

"Yes. I named him after the only man I liked in Hollywood, an Englishman as it happens. He was called David Niven. He is a famous actor and producer. You have heard of him?"

"Of course. I shall enjoy tossing him a scrap or two of fish in exchange for the pleasure he has given me in his other incarnation."

The sweat began to pour down Bond's face and chest into his bathing pants. Kissy undid the kerchief round her hair and leaned forward and mopped at him gently. Bond smiled into her almond eyes and had his first close-up of her snub nose and petaled mouth. She wore no make-up and did not need to, for she had that rosy-tinted skin on a golden background -- the colors of a golden peach -- that is quite common in Japan. Her hair, released from the kerchief, was black with dark-brown highlights. It was heavily waved, but with a soft fringe that ended an inch or so above the straight, fine eyebrows that showed no signs of having been plucked. Her teeth were even and showed no more prominently between the lips than with a European girl, so that she avoided the toothiness that is a weak point in the Japanese face. Her arms and legs were longer and less masculine than is usual with Japanese girls and, the day before. Bond had seen that her breasts and buttocks were firm and proud and that her stomach was almost flat -- a beautiful figure, equal to that of any of the star chorus girls he had seen in the cabarets of Tokyo. But her hands and feet were rough and scarred with work, and her fingernails and toenails, although they were cut very short, were broken. Bond found this rather endearing. Ama means "sea girl" or "sea man," and Kissy wore the marks of competing with the creatures of the ocean with obvious indifference, and her skin, which might have suffered from constant contact with salt water, in fact glowed with a golden sheen of healthy and vitality. But it was the charm and directness of her eyes and smile as well as her complete naturalness -- for instance, when she mopped at Bond's face and chest -- that endeared her so utterly to Bond. At that moment, he thought there would be nothing more wonderful than to spend the rest of his life rowing her out toward the horizon during the day and coming back with her to the small, clean house in the dusk.

He shrugged the whimsy aside. Only another two days to the full moon and he would have to get back to reality, to the dark, dirty life he had chosen for himself. He put the prospect out of his mind. Today and the next day would be stolen days, days with only Kissy and the boat and the bird and the sea. He must just see to it that they were happy days and lucky ones for her and her harvest of sea shells.

Kissy said, "Not much longer. And you have rowed well." She gestured to the right, to where the rest of the Ama fleet was spread out over the ocean. "With us, it is first come, first served with the sites we choose. Today we can get out as far as a shoal most of us know of, and we shall have it to ourselves. There the seaweed is thick on the rocks and that is what the awabi feed on. It is deep, about forty feet, but I can stay down for almost a minute, long enough to pick up two, three awabi if I can find them. That is just a matter of luck in feeling about with the hands among the seaweed, for you rarely see the shells. You only feel them and dislodge them with this," she tapped her angular pick. "After a while I shall have to rest. Then perhaps you would like to go down. Yes? They tell me you are a good swimmer and I have brought a pair of my father's goggles. These bulbs at the sides," she showed him, "have to be squeezed to equalize the pressure between the glasses and the eyes. You will perhaps not be able to stay down long to begin with. But you will learn quickly. How long will you be staying on Kuro?"

"Only two or three days, I'm afraid."

"Oh, but that is sad. What will David and I do for a boatman then?"

"Perhaps your father will get better."

"That is so. I must take him to a cure place at one of the volcanoes on the mainland. Otherwise it will mean marrying one of the men of Kuro. That is not easy. The choice is not wide and, because I have a little money from my filmwork, and a little is a lot on Kuro, the man might want to marry me for the wrong reasons. That would be sad, and how is one to know?"

"Perhaps you will go back into films?"

Her expression became fierce. "Never. I hated it. They were all disgusting to me in Hollywood. They thought that because I am a Japanese I am some sort of an animal and that my body is for everyone. Nobody treated me honorably except this Niven." She shook her head to get rid of the memories. "No. I will stay on Kuro forever. The gods will solve my problems," she smiled, "like they have today." She scanned the sea ahead. "Another hundred yards." She got up and, balancing perfectly despite the swell, tied the end of the long rope round her waist and adjusted the goggles above her forehead. "Now remember, keep the rope taut and when you feel one tug, pull me up quickly. It will be hard work for you, but I will massage your back when we get home this evening. I am very good at it. I have had enough practice with my father. Now!"

Bond shipped the oars gratefully. Behind him. David began shifting on his feet, craning his long neck and hissing impatiently. Kissy tied a short line to the wooden tub and put it over the side. She followed, slipping decorously into the water and clasping her white dress between her knees so that it did not flower out around her. At once David dived and disappeared without a ripple. The line, tied to Bond's thwart, began paying out fast. He picked up the coil of Kissy's rope and stood up, his joints cracking. Kissy pulled down her goggles and put her head underwater. In a moment she came up. She smiled. "Yes, it looks fine down there." She rested in the water and began making a soft cooing whistle through pursed lips -- to fill her lungs to the uttermost. Bond assumed. Then, with a brief wave of the hand, she put down her head and arched her hips so that Bond had a brief sight of the black string cleaving her behind under the thin material. Suddenly like a fleeting white wraith, she was gone, straight down, her feet twinkling behind her in a fast crawl to help the pull of the weights.

Bond payed out fast, keeping an anxious eye on his watch. David appeared below him, bearing a half-pound silvery fish crosswise in his beak. Damn the bird! This was no time to get mixed up with retrieving fish from the extremely sharp-looking beak. But, with a contemptuous glance, the cormorant tossed the fish into the floating tub and disappeared like a black bullet.

Fifty seconds! Bond started nervously when the tug came. He pulled in fast. The white wraith appeared far below in the crystal water and, as she came up, Bond saw that her hands were tight against her sides to streamline her body. She broke surface beside the boat and held out two fat awabi to show him and then dropped them into the tub. She held on to the side of the boat to regain her breath and Bond gazed down at the wonderful breasts, taut beneath their thin covering. She smiled briefly up at him, began her cooing whistle, and then came the exciting arch of the back and she was gone again.

An hour went by. Bond got used to the routine and had time to watch the nearest of the fleet of other boats. They covered perhaps a mile of sea, and, from across the silent water, there came the recurrent eerie whistle -- a soft, sea-bird sound -- of the diving girls. The nearest boat rocked in the slow swell perhaps a hundred yards away, and Bond watched the young man at the rope and caught an occasional glimpse of a beautiful golden body, shiny as a seal, and heard the excited chattering of their voices. He hoped he would not disgrace himself when it came to his turn to dive. Sake and cigarettes! Not a good mixture to train on!

The pile of awabi was slowly growing in the tub and, among them, perhaps a dozen leaping fish. Occasionally Bond bent down and retrieved one from David. Once he dropped a slippery fish and the bird had to dive for it again. This time he received an even haughtier look of scorn from the turquoise eyes.

Then Kissy came up, her stint done, and climbed, not so decorously this time, into the boat, and tore off her kerchief and goggles and sat panting quietly in the stern. Finally she looked up and laughed happily. "That is twenty-one. Very good. Now take my weights and pick and see for yourself what it is like down there. But I will pull you up anyway in thirty seconds. Give me your watch. And please do not lose my tegane, my pick, or our day's fishing will be over."

Bond's first dive was a clumsy affair. He went down too slowly and barely had time to survey the grassy plain, scattered with black rocks and clumps of Posidonia, the common seaweed of all the oceans, when he felt himself being hauled up. He had to admit to himself that his lungs were in terrible shape, but he had spied one promising rock thick with weed and on his next dive he got straight to it and clung, searching among the roots with his right hand. He felt the smooth oval of a shell, but before he could get the pick to it he was being pulled up again. But he got the shell on his third try, and Kissy laughed with pleasure as he dropped it into the tub. He managed to keep the diving up for about half an hour, but then his lungs began to ache and his body to feel the cold of the September sea and he came up for the last time simultaneously with David, who shot past him like a beautiful gleaming black fish with green highlights and, as a mark of approval, pecked gently at his hair as Bond deposited his fifth shell in the tub.

Kissy was pleased with him. She had a rough brown kimono in the boat and she rubbed him down with it as he sat with bowed head and heaving chest. Then, while he rested, she hauled the wooden tub inboard and emptied its contents into the bottom of the boat. She produced a knife and cut one of the fish down the middle and fed the two halves to David who was riding expectantly beside the boat. He swallowed the pieces in two great gulps and set to preening his feathers contentedly.

Later they stopped for a lunch of rice with a few small bits of fish in it and dried seaweed which tasted of salty spinach. And then, after a short rest in the bottom of the boat, the work went on until four o'clock, when a small chill breeze came from nowhere and got between them and the warmth of the sun and it was time to make the long row home. Kissy climbed for the last time into the boat and gave several soft tugs at David's line. He surfaced some distance from the boat and, as if this was a well-worn routine, rose into the air and circled round them again and again before making a low dive and skiing in to the side of the boat on his webbed feet. He flapped his way over the side and went to his perch, where he stood with wings magnificently outstretched to dry and waited in this lordly stance for his boatman to take him back home to his cove.

Kissy changed with extreme propriety into her brown kimono and dried herself inside it. she announced that their haul was 65 awabis, which was quite wonderful. Of these BOnd was responsible for 10, which was a very honorable first catch. Ridiculously pleased with himself, Bond took a vague bearing on the island which, because of the drifting of the boat, was now only a speck on the horizon, and gradually worked himself into the slow, unlabored sweep of a Scottish gillie.

His hands were sore, his back ached as if he had been thrashed with a wooden truncheon, and his shoulders were beginning to sting with sunburn, but he comforted himself with the reflection that he was only doing what he would have had to do anyway -- get into tranining for the swim and the climb and what would come afterward, and he rewarded himself from time to time with a smile in to Kissy's eyes. They never left him and the low sun shone into them and turned the soft brown to gold. And the speck became a lump, and the lump an island and at last they were home.

• • •

The next day was as golden as the first and the haul of awabi went up to 68, largely thanks to Bond's improved diving.

During one of their rests, Bond casually asked Kissy what she knew of the castle, and he was surprised by the way her face darkened. "Todoroki-san, we do not usually talk about that place. It is almost a forbidden subject on Kuro. It is as if hell had suddenly opened its mouth half a mile away across the sea from our home. And my people, the Ama, are like what I have read about your gypsies. We are very superstitious. And we believe the Devil himself has come to live over there." She didn't look at the fortress, but gestured with her head. "Even the kannushi-san does not deny our fears, and our elders say that the gaijin have always been bad for Japan and that this one is the incarnation of all the evil in the West. And there is already a legend that has grown up on the island. It is that our six Jizo guardians will send a man from across the sea to slay this 'King of Death,' as we call him."

"Who are these guardians?"

"Jizo is the god who protects children. He is, I think, a Buddhist god. On the other side of the island, on the foreshore, there are five statues. The sixth has ben mostly washed away. They are rather frightening to see, They squat there in a line. They have rough bodies of stone and round stones for heads and they wear white shirts that are changed by the people every month. They were put there centuries ago by our ancestors. They sit on the line of low tide, and as the tide comes up it covers them completely and they keep watch under the surface of the sea and protect us, the Ama, because we are known as 'The Children of the Sea.' At the beginning of every June, when the sea is warm after the winter and the diving begins, every person on the island forms into a procession and we go to the six guardians and sing to them to make them happy and favorable toward us."

"And this story of the man from Kuro. Where did it come from?"

"Who knows? It could have come from the sea or the air and thus into the minds of the people. Where do stories like that come from? It is widely believed."

"Ah, so desu ka!" said Bond, and they both laughed and got on with the work.

On the third day, when Bond was as usual eating his breakfast on the doorstep, Kissy came to the doorway and said softly, "Come inside, Todoroki-san." Mystified, he went in and she shut the dor behind him.

She said in a low voice, "I have just heard from a messenger from the kannushi-san that there were people here yesterday in a boat from the mainland. They brought presentos -- cigarettes and sweets. They were asking about the visit of the police boat. They said it came with three visitors and left with only two. They wanted to know what had happened to the third visitor. They said they were guards from the castle and it was their duty to prevent trespassers. The elders accepted the presentos, but they showed shiran-kao, which is 'the face of him who knows nothing,' and referred the man to the kannushi-san who said that the third visitor was in charge of fishing licenses. He had felt sick on the way to the island and had perhaps lain down in the boat on the way back. Then he dismissed the men and sent a boy to the top of the high place to see where the boat went, and the boy reported that it went to the bay beside the castle and was put back into the boathouse that is there. The kannushi-san thought that you should know these things." She looked at him piteously. "Todoroki-san, I have a feeling of much friendship for you. I feel that there are secret things between you and the kannushi-san, and that they concern the castle. I think you should tell me enough to put me out of my unhappiness."

Bond smiled. He went up to her and took her face in both his hands and kissed her on the lips. He said, "You are very beautiful and kind, Kissy. Today we will not take the boat out because I must have some rest. Lead me up to the high place from which I can take a good look at this castle and I will tell you what I can. I was going to anyway, for I shall need your help. Afterward, I would like to visit the six guardians. They interest me -- as an anthropologist."

Kissy collected their usual lunch in a small basket, put on her brown kimono and rope-soled shoes and they set off along a small footpath that zigzagged up the peak behind the crouching gray cluster of the village. The time of the camellia was almost past, but here there were occasional bushes of wild camellias in red and white, and there was a profusion of these round a small grove of dwarf maples, some of which already wore their flaming autumn colors. The grove was directly above Kissy's house. She led him in and showed him the little Shinto shrine behind a rough stone torii. She said, "Behind the shrine there is a fine cave, but the people of Kuro are afraid of it as it is full of ghosts. But I explored it once and if there are ghosts there they are friendly ones." She clapped her hands before the shrine, bent her head for a moment, and clapped them again. Then they went on up the path to the top of the thousand-foot peak. A brace of gorgeous copper pheasants with golden tails fled squawking over the brow and down to a patch of bushes on the southern cliff as they approached. Bond told Kissy to stay out of sight while he went and stood behind the tall cairn of stones on the summit and gazed circumspectly round it and across the straits.

He could see over the high fortress wall and across the park to the towering black-and-gold donjon of the castle. It was ten o'clock. There were figures in blue peasant dress with high boots and long staves moving busily about the grounds. They occasionally seemed to prod into the bushes with their staves. They wore black maskos over their mouths. It crossed Bond's mind that they might be doing the morning rounds looking for overnight prey. What did they do when they found some half-blinded creature, or a pile of clothes beside one of the fumaroles whose little clouds of steam rose here and there in the park? Take them to the Doctor? And, in the case of the living, what happened then? And when he, Bond, got up that wall tonight, where was he going to hide from the guards? Well, sufficient unto the day! At least the straits were calm and it was cloudless weather. It looked as if he would get there all right. Bond turned away and went back to Kissy and sat with her on the sparse turf. He gazed across the harbor to where the Ama fleet lay sprawled across the middle distance.

He said, "Kissy, tonight I have to swim to the castle and climb the wall and get inside."

She nodded. "I know this. And then you are going to kill this man and perhaps his wife. You are the man who we believe was to come to Kuro from across the sea and do these things." She continued to gaze out to sea. She said dully, "But why have you been chosen? Why should it not be another, a Japanese?"

These people are gaijins. I am a gaijin. It will cause less trouble for the state if the whole matter is presented as being trouble between foreigners."

"Yes, I see. And has the kannushi-san given his approval?"

"Yes."

"And if...and after. Will you come back and be my boatman again?"

"For a time. But then I must go back to England."

"No. I believe that you will stay for a long time on Kuro."

"Why do you believe that?"

"Because I prayed for it at the shrine. And I have never asked for such a big thing before. I am sure it will be granted." She paused. "And I shall be swimming with you tonight." She held up a hand. "You will need company in the dark and I know the currents. You would not get there without me."

Bond took the small dry paw in his. He looked at the childish, broken nails. His voice was harsh. He said, "No. This is man's work."

She looked at him. The brown eyes were calm and serious. She said, and she used his first name, "Taro-san, your other name may mean thunder, but I am not frightened of thunder, I have made up my mind. And I shall come back every night, at midnight exactly, and wait among the rocks at the bottom of the wall. I shall wait for one hour in case you need my help in coming home. These people may harm you. Women are much stronger in the water than men. That is why it is the Ama girls who dive and not the Ama men. I know the waters round Kuro as a peasant knows the fields round his farm, and I have as little fear of them. Do not be stiff-necked in this matter. In any case, I shall hardly sleep until you come back. To feel that I am close to you for a time and that you may need me will give me some peace. Say yes, Taro-san."

"Oh, all right, Kissy," said Bond gruffly. "I was only going to ask you to row me to a starting point down there somewhere," he gestured to the left across the straits. "But if you insist on being an extra target for the sharks..."

"The sharks never trouble us. The six guardians look after that. We never come to any harm. Years ago, one of the Amas caught her rope in a rock underwater, and the people have talked of the accident ever since. The sharks just think we are big fish like themselves." She laughed happily. "Now it is all settled and we can have something to eat and then I will take you down to see the guardians. The tide will be low by then and they will want to inspect you."

They followed another little path from the summit. It went over the shoulder of the peak and down to a small protected bay to the east of the village. The tide was far out and they could wade over the flat back pebbles and rocks and round the corner of the promontory. Here, on a stretch of flat stony beach, five people squatted on a square foundation of large rocks and gazed out toward the horizon. Except that they weren't people. They were, as Kissy had described, stone pedestal bodies with large round boulders cemented to their tops. But rough white shirts were roped round them, and they looked terrifyingly human as they sat in immobile judgment and guardianship over the waters and what went on beneath them. Of the sixth, only the body remained. His head must have been destroyed by a storm.

They walked round in front of the five and looked up at the smooth blank faces and Bond, for the first time in his life, had a sensation of deep awe. So much belief, so much authority seemed to have been vested by the builders in these primitive, faceless idols, guardians of the blithe, naked Ama girls, that Bond had a ridiculous urge to kneel and ask for their blessing as the Crusaders had once done before their God. He brushed the impulse aside, but he did bow his head and briefly ask for good fortune to accompany his enterprise. And then he stood back and watched with a pull at his heartstrings while Kissy, her beautiful face strained and pleading, clapped to attract their attention and then made a long and impassioned speech in which his name recurred. At the end, when she again clapped her hands, did the round boulderheads briefly nod? Of course not! But, when Bond took Kissy's hand and they walked away, she said happily, "It is all right, Todoroki-san. You saw them nod their heads?"

"No," said Bond firmly, "I did not."

They crept round the eastern shore of Kuro and pulled the boat up into a deep cleft in the black rocks. It was just after 11 o'clock and the giant moon rode high and fast through wisps of mackerel clouds. They talked softly, although they were out of sight of the fortress and half a mile away from it. Kissy took off her brown kimono and folded it neatly and put it in the boat. Her body glowed in the moonlight. The black triangle between her legs beckoned, and the black string round her waist that held the piece of material was an invitation to untie it. She giggled provocatively. "Stop looking at my Black Cat!"

"Why is it called that?"

"Guess!"

Bond carefully pulled on his ninja suit of black cotton. It was comfortable enough and would give warmth in the water. He left the head shroud hanging down his back and pushed the goggles that belonged to Kissy's father up his forehead. The small floating pack the was to tow behind him rode jauntily in the waters of the creek, and he tied its string firmly to his right wrist so that he would always know it was there.

He smiled at Kissy and nodded.

She came up to him and threw her arms round his neck and kissed him full on the lips.

Before he could respond, she had pulled down her goggles and had dived into the quiet, mercury sea.

• • •

Kissy's crawl was steady and relaxed and Bond had no difficulty in keeping up with the twinkling feet and the twin white mounds of her behind, divided excitingly by the black cord. But he was glad he had donned flippers, because the tug of his floating container against the wrist was an irritating brake and, for the first half of the swim, they were heading diagonally against the easterly current through the straits. But then Kissy slightly changed her direction and now they could paddle lazily in toward the soaring wall that soon became their whole horizon.

There were a few tumbled rocks at its base, but Kissy stayed in the water, clinging to a clump of seaweed, in case the moon might betray her gleaming body to a sentry or a chance patrol, though Bond guessed that the guards kept clear of the grounds during the night so that the suicides would have free entry. Bond pulled himself up on the rocks and unzipped the container and extracted the packet of iron pitons. Then he climbed up a few feet so that he could stow his flippers away in a crack between the granite blocks above the high-water mark, and he was ready to go. He blew as kiss to the girl. She replied with the sideways wave of the hand that is the Japanese sign of farewell and then was off across the sea again, a luminous white torpedo that merged quickly into the path of the moon.

Bond put her out of his thoughts. He was getting chilled in his soaking black camouflage and it was time to get moving. He examined the fitting of the giant stone blocks and found that the cracks between them were spacious, as in the case of Tiger's training castle, and would probably provide adequate toe holds. Then he pulled down his black cowl and, towing the black container behind him, began his climb.

It took him 20 minutes to cover the 200 feet of the slightly inclined wall, but he only had to use his pitons twice when he came to cracks that were too narrow to give a hold to his aching toes. And then he was at one of the gun ports, and he slithered quietly across its six feet of flat masonry and cautiously looked over the edge into the park. As he had expected, there were stone steps down from the gun port, and he crept down these into the dark shadows as its base and stood up against the inside of the wall panting quietly. He waited for his breath to calm down and then slipped back his cowl and listened. Not a wisp of wind stirred in the trees, but from somewhere came the sound of softly running water and, in the background, a regular, glutinous burping and bubbling. The fumaroles! Bond, a black shadow among the rest, edged along the wall to his right. His first task was to find a hide-out, a base camp where he could bivouac in emergency and where he could leave his container. He reconnoitered various groves and clumps of bushes, but they were all damnably well kept and the undergrowth had been meticulously cleared from their roots. And many of them exuded a sickly-sweet, poisonous night smell. Then, up against the wall, he came upon a lean-to shed, its rickety door ajar. He listened and then inched the door open. As he had expected, there was a shadowy jumble of gardener's tools, wheelbarrows and the like, and the musty smell of such places. Moving carefully, and helped by shafts of moonlight through the wide cracks in the planked walls, he got to the back of the hut where there was an untidy mound of used sacking. He reflected for a moment, and decided that though this place would be often visited, it had great promise. He untied the cord of the container from his wrist and proceeded methodically to move some of the sacks forward so as to provide a nest for himself behind them. When it was finished, and final touches of artistic disarray added, he parked his container behind the barrier and crept out again into the park to continue what he planned should be a first quick survey of the whole property.

Bond kept close to the boundary wall, flitting like a bat across the open spaces between clumps of bushes and trees. Although his hands were covered with the black material of the ninja suit, he avoided contact with the vegetation, which emitted a continually changing variety of strong odors and scents among which he recognized, as a result of ancient adventures in the Caribbean, only the sugary perfume of dogwood. He came to the lake, a wide silent shimmer of silver from which rose the thin cloud of steam he remembered from the aerial photograph. As he stood and watched it, a large leaf from one of the surrounding trees came wafting down and settled on the surface near him. At once a quick, purposeful ripple swept down on the leaf from the surrounding water and immediately subsided. There were some kind of fish in the lake and they would be carnivores. Only carnivores would be excited like that at the hint of a prey. Beyond the lake, Bond came on the first of the fumaroles, a sulphurous, bubbling pool of mud that constantly shuddered and spouted up little fountains. From yards away, Bond could feel its heat. Jets of stinking steam puffed out and disappeared, wraithlike, toward the sky. And now the jagged silhouette of the castle, with its winged turrets, showed above the treeline, and Bond crept forward with added caution, alert for the moment when he would come upon the treacherous gravel that surrounded it. Suddenly, through a belt of trees, he was facing it. He stopped in the shelter of the trees, his heart hammering under his rib cage.

Close to, the soaring black-and-gold pile reared monstrously over him, and the diminishing curved roofs of the stories were like vast bat wings against the stars. It was even bigger than Bond had imagined, and the supporting wall of black granite blocks more formidable. He reflected on the seemingly impossible problem of entry. Behind would be the main entrance, the lowish wall and the open countryside. But didn't castles always have an alternative entrance low down for a rearward escape? Bond stole cautiously forward, laying his feet flat down so that the gravel barely stirred. The many eyes of the castle, glittering white in the moonlight, watched his approach with the indifference of total power. At any moment, he expected the white shaft of a searchlight or the yellow-and-blue flutter of gunfire. But he reached the base of the wall without incident and followed it along to the left, remembering from ancient schooling that most castles had an exit at moat level beneath the drawbridge.

And so it was with the castle of Doctor Shatterhand -- a small nail-studded door, arched and weather-beaten. Its hinges and lock were cracked and rusty, but a new padlock and chain had been stapled into the woodwork and the stone frame. No moonlight filtered down to this corner of what must once have been a moat, but was now grassed over. Bond felt carefully with his fingers. Yes! The chain and lock would yield to the file and jimmy in his conjuror's pockets. Would there be bolts on the inner side? Probably not, or the padlock would not have been thought necessary. Bond softly retraced his steps across the gravel, stepping meticulously in his previous footmarks. That door would be his target for tomorrow!

Now, keeping right-handed, but still following the boundary wall, he crept off again on his survey. Once, something slithered away from his approaching feet and disappeared with a heavy rustle into the fallen leaves under a tree. What snakes were there that really went for a man? The king cobra, black mamba, the saw-scaled viper, the rattlesnake and the fer-de-lance. What others? The remainder were inclined to make off if disturbed. Were snakes day or night hunters? Bond didn't know. Among so many hazards, there weren't even the odds of Russian roulette. When all the chambers of the pistol were loaded, there was not even a one-in-six chance to bank on.

Bond was now on the castle side of the lake. He heard a noise and edged behind a tree. The distant crashing in the shrubbery sounded like a wounded animal, but then, down the path, came staggering a man, or what had once been a man. The brilliant moonlight showed a head swollen to the size of a football, and only small slits remained where the eyes and mouth had been. The man moaned softly as he zigzagged along, and Bond could see that his hands were up to his puffed face and that he was trying to prize apart the swollen skin round his eyes so that he could see out. Every now and then he stopped and let out one word in an agonizing howl to the moon. It was not a howl of fear or of pain, but of dreadful supplication. Suddenly he stopped. He seemed to see the lake for the first time. With a terrible cry, and holding out his arms as if to meet a loved one, he made a quick run to the edge and threw himself in. At once there came the swirl of movement Bond had noticed before, but this time it involved a great area of water and there was wild boiling of the surface round the vaguely threshing body. A mass of small fish were struggling to get at the man, particularly at the naked hands and face, and their six-inch bodies glittered and flashed in the moonlight. Once the man raised his head and let out a single, terrible scream and Bond saw that his face was encrusted with pendent fish as if with silvery locks of hair. Then his head fell back into the lake and he rolled over and over as if trying to rid himself of his attackers. But slowly the black stain spread and spread round him and finally, perhaps because his jugular had been pierced, he lay still, face downward in the water, and his head jigged slightly with the ceaseless momentum of the attack.

James Bond wiped the cold sweat off his face. Piranha! The South American fresh-water killer whose massive jaws and flat, razor-sharp teeth can strip a horse down to the bones in under an hour! And this man had been one of the suicides who had heard of this terrible death! He had come searching for the lake and had got his face poisoned by some pretty shrub. The Herr Doktor had certainly provided a feast for his victims. Unending dishes for their delectation! A true banquet of death!

James Bond shuddered and went on his way. All right, Blofeld, he thought, that's one more notch on the sword that is already on its way down to your neck. Brave words! Bond hugged the wall and kept going. Gun metal was showing in the east.

But the Garden of Death hadn't quite finished the display of its wares.

All over the park, a slight smell of sulphur hung in the air, and many times Bond had had to detour round steaming cracks in the ground and the quaking mud of fumaroles, identified by a warning circle of white-painted stones. The Doctor was most careful lest anyone should fall into one of these liquid furnaces by mistake! But now Bond came to one the size of a circular tennis court, and here there was a rough shrine in the grotto at the back of it and, dainty touch, a vase with flowers in it -- chrysanthmums, because it was now officially winter and therefore the chrysanthemum season. They were arranged with some sprigs of dwarf maple, in a pattern which no doubt spelled out some fragrant message to the initiates of Japanese flower arrangement. And opposite the grotto, behind which Bond in his ghostly black uniform crouched in concealment, a Japanese gentleman stood in rapt contemplation of the bursting mud boils that were erupting genteelly in the simmering soup of the pool. James Bond thought "gentleman" because the man was dressed in the top hat, frock coat, striped trousers, stiff collar and spats of a high government official -- or of the father of the bride. And the gentleman held a carefully rolled umbrella between his clasped hands, and his head was bowed over its crook as if in penance. He was speaking, in a soft compulsive babble, like someone in a highly ritualistic church, but he made no gestures and just stood, humbly, quietly, either confessing or asking one the gods for something.

Bond stood against a tree, black in the blackness. He felt he should intervene in what he knew to be the man's purpose. But how to do so knowing no Japanese, having nothing but his "deaf-and-dumb" card to show? And it was vital that he should remain a "ghost" in the garden, not get involved in some daft argument with a man he didn't know, about some ancient sin he could never understand. So Bond stood, while the trees threw long black arms across the scene, and waited, with a cold, closed, stone face, for death to walk on stage.

The man stopped talking. He raised his head and gazed up at the moon. He politely lifted his shining top hat. Then he replaced it, tucked his umbrella under one arm and sharply clapped his hands. Then walking, as if to a business appointment, calmly, purposefully, he took the few steps to the edge of the bubbling fumarole, stepped carefully over the warning stones and went on walking. He sank slowly in the glutinous gray slime and not a sound escaped his lips until, as the tremendous heat reached his groin, he uttered one rasping "Arghh!" and the gold in his teeth showed as his head arched back in the rictus of death. Then he was gone and only the top hat remained, tossing on a small fountain of mud that spat intermittently into the air. Then the hat slowly crumpled with the heat and disappeared, and a great belch was uttered from the belly of the fumarole and a horrible stench of cooking meat overcame the pervading stink of sulphur and reached Bond's nostrils.

Bond controlled his rising gorge. Honorable salary man had gone to honorable ancestors -- his unknown sin expiated as his calcined bones sank slowly down into the stomach of the world. And one more statistic would be run up on Blofeld's abacus of death. Why didn't the Japanese air force come and bomb this place to eternity, set the castle and the poison garden ablaze with napalm? How could this man continue to have protection from a bunch of botanists and scientists? And now here was he, Bond, alone in this hell to try and do the job with almost no weapon but his bare hands. It was hopeless! He was scarcely being given a chance in a million. Tiger and his Prime Minister were certainly exacting their pound of flesh in exchange for their precious Magic 44 -- 182 pounds of it to be exact!

Cursing his fate, cursing Tiger, cursing the whole of Japan, Bond went on his way, while a small voice whispered in his ear, "But don't you want to kill Blofeld? Don't you want to avenge Tracy? Isn't this a God-given chance? You have done well tonight. You have penetrated his defenses and spied out the land. You have even found a way into his castle and probably up to his bedroom. Kill him in his sleep tomorrow! And kill her, too, while you're about it! And then back into Kissy's arms and, in a week or two, back over the Pole to London and to the applause of your Chief. Come on! Somewhere in Japan, a Japanese is committing suicide every thirty minutes all through the year. Don't be squeamish because you've just seen a couple of numbers ticked off on a sheet in the Ministry of Health, a couple of points added to a graph. Snap out of it! Get on with the job!"

And Bond listened to the whisper and went on round the last mile of wall and back to the gardeners' hut.

He took a last look round before going in. He could see a neck of the lake about 20 yards away. It was now gun metal in the approaching dawn. Some big insects were flitting and darting through the softly rising steam. They were pink dragonflies. Pink ones. Dancing and skimming. But of course! The haiku of Tiger's dying agent! That was the last nightmarish touch to this obscenity of a place. Bond went into the hut, picked his way carefully between the machines and wheelbarrows, pulled some sacks over himself and fell into a shallow sleep full of ghosts and demons and screams.

Synopsis: The end of the career of James bond on Her Majesty's Secret Service seemed to have arrives. After the death of his bride at the hands of Ernst Stavro Blofeld, mastermind of Spectre, the malignant cartel of international crime, Bond went downhill, gambling and wenching to excess and eventually becoming, at least in the view of his Chief, the ineffable M, a dangerous security risk. Reluctantly, M decided to discharge Bond, but eventually he was prevailed upon to give him a final chance. With a frosty smile, M assigned Bond to a mission in which the latter's chances of success were ironically expressed as "totally improbable." In essence, Bond was told to acquire for the British the secrets of Magic 44, an infernal machine used to decode Soviet dispatches, now in the hands of Japan. This machine was controlled by Tiger Tanaka, chief of the Japanese Secret Service, whom Bond would contact through the aid of Dikko Henderson, top Australian agent in Japan.

In Tokyo, Bond met Tanaka and was informed that the secrets of Magic 44 would come at so high a price that the British Foreign Office could not conceivably afford it. At this point Tanaka launched into a description of the activities of a mysterious Doctor Guntram Shatterhand, who had established an exotic park on Kyushu island embellished with a castle and a priceless collection of plants and shrubs. But the park was actually a garden of death, its woods stocked with poisonous vegetation and crawling with snakes, scorpions and spiders, and its lakes alive with the deadly piranha. As a result, the park had become a suicide haven for the Japanese, and a menace to the nation's morale.

To unlock the brain of Magic 44, Tanaka concluded, Bond must face an unusual test. Bond shrugged impatiently. "All right, Tiger. What is this ridiculous test? Some typical bit of samurai nonsense, I suppose."

"More or less," agreed Tiger Tanaka, with equanimity. You are to enter this Castle of Death and slay the dragon within."

This is the second of three installments of Ian Fleming's latest James Bond novel, "You Only Live Twice." The conclusion will appear next month.