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On His Majesty's Secret Service (13)
Zoeller stood up, reaching into his jacket. “Shoot him,” he ordered. “Shoot the waiter.”

Bond threw the pot of coffee at Zoeller, who cried out in pain and fell over his chair as the hot liquid scalded him. Both thugs reached for their guns; Bond caught one by the wrist, grabbed his crotch with the other hand, and threw him bodily into his companion.

Miss Duessler recovered her composure and sat quietly, looking at Bond. Shouting inarticulately, Zoeller managed to draw his gun while dabbing his face and eyes with his sleeve. The two goons were collecting themselves, and the front door opened to reveal two more men in white tuxedos. Bond realized he had overstayed his welcome.

“Toast, sir,” said a voice at Bond’s elbow. It was the waiter he had originally displaced.

Zoeller cleared his eyes enough to see and frowned. “What?” he asked.

‘’The toast you ordered,” said the man nervously. “I hope it’s right this time.”

“I’ll get the marmalade,” suggested Bond, slipping away. The security men were unwilling to shoot him in front of a civilian; even Zoeller put his gun back inside lapel for the moment, but he looked daggers at the men at the front door, then jerked his head after Bond. They got the picture and followed.

Bond dashed into the kitchen, then recovered the receiver from the closet where he had stashed it. One of Zoeller’s goons looked into the room and raised his gun. Bond threw his tray like a discus and it caught the man in the neck; while he choked, Bond flipped it up and smashed the tray with his elbow, dashing the unlucky fellow’s head against the doorframe. Bond drew his revolver and looked down the hall into the kitchen. In the reflection of a stainless steel kitchen cabinet, Bond could see the other one of Zoeller’s hatchetmen lurking just around a corner. He would have to pass that man to reach the back door – a dangerous gauntlet.

Bond’s eye was drawn to a large tea urn just within view. Aiming carefully, Bond shot the urn at just the right angle. A thin stream of almost boiling water spewed out onto the hiding man, who screamed. Bond bolted down the hall and shot into the man as he ran past; he didn’t stop to see if he had hit the target, but no return volley followed him. He burst out the back door and ran for his car.

Bond turned on the receiver as he got into the Cadillac. “…enormous splash,” Susan was saying excitedly. “I wish I had been closer to have a better look; as it was, even with binoculars, I just saw something big and white go overboard. But James: I could swear it was a body.”

“Very likely was,” said Bond, gunning the engine.

“Say,” Susan continued, “I wonder if it was that Soviet fellow who came aboard earlier.”

“I have no doubt,” Bond said to himself. He took off down the alley and began picking his way down back streets to make his way over to the marina.

“Just a moment,” said Susan. “Something else is happening. Yes, I think… yes. The boat is turning. It’s turning, and they’re coming about. I think they’re coming back to the dock. That’s a huge relief. I thought my gold was just about gone.”

“Zoeller wouldn’t let go of that much gold if he had an option,” said Bond, although he knew Susan couldn’t hear him. “Sit tight and we’ll figure out how to get it back.”

“Yeah… they’re docking all right,” said Susan. “I’m going to get closer and have a look around.”

“No, don’t do that,” said Bond warningly.

“I’ll just pretend to be a guest at the marina, like everybody else, wandering the docks,” Susan said confidently. “Maybe I can get a count on how many guys are on that boat.”

Bond cursed. This was definitely not part of the plan. Bond ran a light and ignored the shouts of a German traffic control officer. The Cadillac reached seventy-five miles an hour as Bond swerved around slower moving cars.

“Okay,” said Susan after a minute, “I’ve bought a straw hat. I’ll blend right in. I’m going to stroll along the marina now.” Bond imagined Susan in her coveralls, and wearing a straw hat, and groaned. He honked aggressively at a three-wheeler truck that obstinately refused to get out of the way.

“Here I am,” whispered Susan. “Just walking along, nice and easy, taking a little sun and ogling the boats. Nothing suspicious here. Hey James, this spy stuff is easy as pie.”

“Let’s swap jobs,” Bond said to the receiver.

“Guess what, James,” whispered Susan intensely. “A truck just pulled up at the dock, and the guards are treating ‘em like they’re expected. Truck has USAF emblems on the sides. Dammit, they’re going to get the gold out of here by air!”

That made sense to James. Tempelhof was full of planes coming in laden and leaving empty. There were hundreds of flights every day. If illicit cargo were smuggled out a bit at a time, nobody would detect it. The Americans cared about what was coming in, not what was going out.

“They’ve dropped a ramp, and some guys are running dollies down the dock,” said Susan. “There’s that big guy on the boat. Jesus, he’s a monster. No sign of the Russian; I’m positive they dumped him in the water.”

“Please, please stop talking to yourself,” Bond prayed. Up ahead, traffic slowed to a halt. Bond looked to his left and saw the Tiergarten, the huge urban park in the middle of the British sector. It had largely been denuded of trees during the war, but the airlift had brought in hundreds of tiny saplings. The miniature trees were still tied up in burlap and organized in neat rows, waiting to be planted.

Impatient, Bond hopped the curb and took the Cadillac cross-country. He ran over two of the trees and threw up a shower of mud and grass as he spun his tires on muddy ground. Bond found a sandy pedestrian path and turned off on it. Berliners enjoying the park found themselves frantically dodging a madman in a convertible.

“The dollies are coming back up the dock with a load,” said Susan. “Such small boxes – it’s got to be gold, James! I’m going to get a closer look.”

“DO NOT,” said Bond futilely.

“James,” whispered Susan, “they’re stacking small wooden crates in the truck. I am absolutely sure I saw a swastika on one of them.”

A formidable-looking German nanny stood her ground on the path, gripping the perambulator handle fiercely with one hand and shaking a fist with the other. Bond swerved off the path, destroying a park bench in the process, and spun through mud and flowers getting back on firm sand on the other side. Bond looked in his rear view mirror and saw the old woman pulling out a notepad to write down his license number. Bond toggled the rear blinding lights and couldn’t resist a smirk as the lady squawked.

“Now I’m… Oh! Hello!” said Susan, very loudly. Bond’s heart fell into the pit of his stomach.

“I, ah, don’t speak any German,” said Susan. “Kein Deutsch! I was just having a walk, you know, admiring your boat…?”

“Guk-Guk,” somebody replied.

Bond ran over a low fence surrounding the Tiergarten and bounced over the curb to get back on the road. He was very close to the marina now. He screeched around a corner and roared down an empty alley to circumvent the traffic on the main streets.

“Get your hands off me!” Susan shouted. “Oh Jesus, you stink to high hell. Ever heard of breath mints? Put me down, you lug! Okay, you asked for it!” Bond heard grunts and thrashing noises.

“Oh God,” Susan whispered. “Where the hell’s your face?”

“Guk-Guk,” somebody said. The voice was very loud in Bond’s ear.

Susan started screaming. Bond turned off the receiver. He couldn’t listen to that. Not again.

Bond roared across a busy street, narrowly avoiding being struck by cross-traffic, and crashed through a picket fence. He was on the lawn of the marina now, plowing through elaborate plantings and smashing through stands of tropical plants. Bond crashed the car through a hedge and burst out onto a downhill slope. To his left was the yacht club, and straight ahead was the riverwalk and the docks. He could see the boat at the end of the pier, and the truck pulled up at the dock. All looked quiet.

The Cadillac bumped its way down the hill and destroyed its front tires hopping down to the dock at high speed. Bond managed to keep the car under control as he turned towards the pier, but he made a lot of noise doing so. The boat’s guards opened fire on him, once again starring his window glass. Bond ducked low and swept them with the forward machine guns as the rims of the Cadillac chewed themselves to bits on the dock’s surface. When they ran out of ammunition, Bond sat back up again. The guards were dead and scattered, and he was receiving no more fire.

Bond reached the truck and turned towards the pier. One of the truck-loaders was on the ramp with a dolly; he had a pistol out and fired. Bond plowed through the ramp, hurling the man over the dock’s edge and into the water. The pier lay ahead. It was more or less exactly as wide as the Cadillac. Ah well, thought Bond. You only live once.

Bond gunned the engine and rolled the car onto the wooden pier. The boards of the pier snapped under the weight of the car as Bond drove forward. Bond kept going at what he hoped was a pace rapid enough to stay ahead of the destruction of the pier behind him. He kept laser-steady concentration on keeping the wheel straight; the slightest variation left or right would send the wheels over the edge and into the water.

Bond found himself receiving fire again; men were standing on the deck of the boat shooting into the hood and windshield of the car. Somehow the Cadillac kept going. Good girl, said Bond, patting the car’s wheel. He gunned the engine and braced for impact.

The car leaped down the last bit of pier, across the two-foot gap, and crashed through the side of the boat.

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"The Cadillac reached seventy-five miles an hour" I honestly don't know the answer to this, so you've probably done it the right way, but would a Brit use mph, or kph?

"He kept laser-steady concentration on keeping the wheel straight;" kept on keeping

Ah, man! you're going to sink Susan's gold! :P

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