Vargas dared enter the cabin where Mr. Largo was lost in thought. Though both men had worked together for long and understood each other perfectly, there were moments in which even Vargas could be... reluctant to address to him. This was one.

"Mr. Largo, if you think you need my... special skills... just tell me."

"Yes, Vargas, I shall... though I think I can cope with the situation," he said as if speaking of some malfunctioning device. Of course he could cope the situation, thought Vargas; in the briefing with the search team, he had just shot in cold blood an operative who dared questioning his plan. But this case was different; prompt action in full force might not be the most advisable course. Nevertheless, what Vargas was sure was that his boss would not let personal things interfere; a lesser man would have take offence and seek revenge, probably rushing the job and screwing it. Well, may be it would become just a little personal this time.

He said in the most polite voice he could.

"There are certain uses of electricity of which I have knowledge. The human body cannot resist them. If I can be of any service ...? Largo's voice was equally polite. They might have been discussing remedies for a seasick passenger.

"Thank you. I have means of persuasion that I have found satisfactory in the past. But I shall certainly call upon you if the case is an obstinate one."

Vargas hesitated and didn't leave the cabin, so Largo continued.

"I said during the briefing that the girl would be interrogated... thoroughly... and I shall comply, to the very end. However, if the case proves to be... an exceedingly obstinate one... I shall not hesitate in seeking your special services, Vargas," Largo continued, in the same quiet, matter-of-fact way. Vargas knew that he would have never allowed anyone put a hand on his Domino before; much less so in the present situation. He nodded, and said:

"Everything is ready as requested, Mr. Largo."

"Good, Vargas, that will be all for now," he nodded and left.

II

Vargas closed the door and stepped back. "What happens in the interrogation room remains in the interrogation room" was the rule in his times as Batista's henchman. He heard the muffled sound of Largo's deep voice, full of self restraint, and then the high-pitched voice of Domino, unleashing her hatred, with the unnatural phrasing of someone in severe distress. He had heard that many times at the Central Police in Havana; idealists, young men and women in their twenties, both Cuban and foreigners, spitting harsh words in defiance, half-drowning themselves in sobbing, fear and anxiety. Only to be broken in due time, into a sobbing, babbling mass, the toughest after may be a whole night of treatment. Girls took usually longer; young men, even the bravest ones, were physically prepared to exert a supreme, violent effort, even regardless of the consequences, for a short time, to succeed or die, and not for the long exhausting exertion of interrogation under duress; they would surrender rather quickly. Girls, on the contrary, seemed to be better prepared to sustain pain and humiliation for a long period; Vargas thought it was a matter of their physical constitution, prepared to withstand the pain and travails of childbirth, and their minds, unconsciously used to humiliation through centuries of vexations.

He was thrown off his cavitations by the first scream; it had begun. He could imagine the slender, beautiful figure of Domino, stretched spread-eagle, star-like on the mattress; her breasts flat against her ribcage, her belly going up and down with an uneasy breath; her legs pulling at the bonds at her feet, with knees and hips, with a strange rhythm, as in slow motion, her head moving as she would try to track Mr. Largo's movements, first around the bed, then over it and unto her body. Then, the whole body would start contorting under the pain of the burns from Mr. Largo's cigar; she would pull her tied hands and feet, to the maximum of the movement allowed, trying to set them free, even long after it was clear that it was beyond her possibilities. Her breathing would quicken; her initial sparse tears, borne out of shock and anxiety, would change into continuous sobbing. He could see her back arching upwards and her hips rotating as if searching for a release from her pain and her bonds, her chin pointing upward and her neck stiff, trying to put a distance between her body, or at least her mind, and the torment. Her chestnut hair would set loose from the support of the headband she was wearing to burst on her face, getting stuck in the tears and sweat; Mr. Largo would sweep them from her pretty face, lightly grabbing her chin to force her to look straight into him when he made his question, repeated over and over.

Her delicate fingers would contract and her white teeth would gnash in a vain attempt to cope with the pain. The exertions of her body, the tension of her muscles, her spasmodic breath and her very screams, would soon cover her beautiful skin with a shiny coat of sweat, which would mix with the tears running down from her eyes, carrying the little makeup she used to wear to emphasize the eyelids, and with the cold water coming from the melting of the ice cubes Mr. Largo would use to sensitize her skin, before contact with the burning tip of the cigar, and to provide a painful contrast to the still burning skin, immediately after he broke contact and left a round, sore burn on it. Every part of a woman's body is sensitive enough to the burning; her abdomen, her thighs, her axils, her chest, her shoulders and upper arms providing ample surfaces for working. Mr. Largo, whose lack of formal training was more than made up for a natural cunning and understanding of human nature, would preserve the most sensitive parts, the fingers, the soles, the inner thighs, the curve of the base of her breasts, the lower belly, for later, much later; and even other parts for the climax, which would come no sooner than several long hours. Then, the exertions would slowly exhaust her, her reactions to the pain become more contained; her mind would start to fail and her body would become lax, trembling and shivering; her sobbing soft and inaudible; her mouth would become flaccidly open, revealing her tongue and the perfect, white upper teeth; her honey eyes would be half closed.

Then, Mr. Largo would allow her a little rest, probably lightly touching her sensitized skin with the tips of his fingers, that skin he used to caress in love; her chin, playing with his thumb into her trembling lips, carefully sensing her reactions to the touch, and then revive her, putting an ice cube on her lips or, as her fainting would become deeper, grabbing her chin and shaking it, or even applying soft hits to her cheeks. It had always surprised Vargas how people under torture would never reject a sip of water, even knowing that it would strengthen them, making them able to withstand even more pain. Her words would then change from defiance to self-humiliation, begging him to stop, crying for mercy, trying to move him reminding him how much he had loved her, how much pleasure had he taken from the very same body he was ravaging. But he would continue his operation, unmoved, cold, in spite of her charm, in spite of how much he had liked her, immune to both pity and anger. She would then break, and provide the information Mr. Largo was looking for, but that would not mean the end of the torture.

First Mr. Largo would continue burning her skin until there could be no doubt she was telling the truth. She would repeat the name as many times as she could, first in a soft voice, then yelling it at him, saying anything he wanted to hear, begging him to believe her and stop that unbearable torment, to forgive her for having committed treason against him, finally crying in desperation when she understood that he wouldn't, that he would explore every inch of her body with his burning stick and his ice cubes, until her treason would be expiated. Only then would he start to work on the really sensitive parts, the nipples, starting with the aureoles; the sex outer labia, and then very slowly the inner parts and clitoris, probably placing an ice cube inside and letting it melt as foreplay. She would cry, beg for mercy, beg him not to do that, not there, but he would be unmoved, and would execute his final operations slowly, with the same concentration and delight he used to taste a good wine.

Another scream woke Vargas up, again; he found he was hard as rock. Quite unprofessional. He was still too close to the door of the room where Mr. Largo was torturing beautiful Domino; so he decided to go to the upper deck to get some fresh air.

III

He closed the door and locked it. Here also, a red riding light hung from the ceiling. Under it, on the double bunk, the girl lay offered like a starfish, her ankles and wrists strapped to the four corners of the ironwork below the mattress. Largo put the icebox down on the chest of drawers and balanced the cigar carefully beside it so that the glowing tip would not spoil the varnish. The girl watched him, her eyes glittering red points in the semi-darkness.

"My dear, I have had great enjoyment out of your body, much pleasure. In return, unless you tell me who gave you that machine to bring on board, I shall be forced to cause you great pain. It will be caused with these two simple instruments." He held up the cigar and blew on the tip until it glowed brightly. "This for heat, and these ice cubes for cold. Applied scientifically, as I shall apply them, they will have the inevitable effect of causing your voice, when it has stopped screaming, to speak, and speak the truth. Now then. Which is it to be?"

The girl's voice was deadly with hate. "You killed my brother and you will now kill me. Go on and enjoy yourself. You are already a piece of death yourself. When the rest of it comes, very soon, I pray God you will suffer a million times more than both of us."

Largo's laugh was a short, harsh bark. He walked over to the edge of the bunk. "Very well, my dear. We must see what we can do with you. Very softly and very, very slowly."

He bent down and hooked his fingers in the neckline of her shirt and the joint of the brassiere. Very slowly, but with great force, he tore downward, the whole length of her. Then he threw aside the torn halves of material and exposed the whole gleaming length of her body. He examined it carefully and reflectively and then went to the chest of drawers, took the cigar and the bowl of ice cubes, then came back and made himself comfortable on the edge of the bunk.

He took a puff at the cigar, knocked the ash off onto the floor, and leaned forward.

IV

As Largo moved onto her, Domino, almost unconsciously, stretched her leg and arm trying to go in the opposite direction, as if trying to run away from him. She looked at the cigar with her big, honey colored eyes wide open, her lips lightly trembling. But Largo didn't reach at her with it; rather, he took an ice cube in his left hand and started caressing her chest with it between her breasts. The feeling of the ice was at first almost refreshing, and Domino held her breath while sighing. Only when Largo let the cube stay for a longer moment at the same spot, just above her right breast, she felt some discomfort, which soon turned into a light pain, like a burn. She sighed; Largo got the sign, and said:

"You are already feeling it, my dear? After only a few moments... imagine how it would feel after a some long hours..." He was cheating, he knew that at a certain point she would grow insensitive. But it would be a lot of time and pain to reach that stage. Domino didn't answer, but tears come slowly out of her eyes; as she had her head up as much as she could, they carried eyelid makeup to her cheeks. Her breath quickened in anticipation for the pain.

Largo didn't intend it to be a surprise. He swept the water the melting ice cube had left on her skin with the back of his hand and very slowly applied the burning cigar on the spot that had become reddened with the cold. The effect was staggering. Domino had been looking at the glowing extreme of the cigar intently, breathing quickly and short, bracing against the pain to come; but, as soon as it contacted her skin, an pain more intense than any other she had felt hit her mind. Her body got instantly stiff, as her muscles got tense and projected it up and backwards; her neck got straight back, as the back of her head, together to her heels, become the only points of contact to the mattress for a moment. She let go an anguished scream. Then she fell back into the mattress, moving spasmodically until the pain subsidized. She started sobbing. A faint smoke and smell floated on the air.

"This is how it feels, honey, a single little kiss. Imagine dozens of them, all over your body," he said reflectively, while she recovered her breath. He then all of a sudden applied the ice to the wound. It felt refreshing, but only for a second; almost immediately it started hurting. Domino contorted sighing and sobbing.

"And after each one, a bit of this... licking..." he added. Then he questioned her.

"Who gave you the camera?"

"I shall never tell you. Enjoy it while you can," she answered with hatred in her eyes.

"How curious. That was exactly what I was going to say."

He started applying the ice in two or three spots, just under the left collarbone, so she wouldn't anticipate exactly where the next burn would come. He then touched her on the shoulder side, let her contort and scream and fall back, and moved inwards, towards her neck. Each time her nerves sent fire to her mind, which repeated in diminishing waves after the contact had been broken, only to explode once more when touched again.

He caressed her wounds with the ice cube, making her squirm slowly as she sighed at each touch.

"So?" he said simply. But with a sob, she turned her face away from him. He placed the cube against her armpit, causing her to suddenly look at him with watery eyes. But, even as her breath was audible, she didn't say anything. So he pressed the cigar against the reddened armpit. She screamed as she arched her body sideways, but not nearly enough to break contact. After he did so, she sobbed loudly.

"Stop... please, stop..."

"Who gave you the camera? What did he tell you?" He started caressing her ribcage to her belly above her button hole with the ice, while he took a long puff on the cigar, letting the ashes fall. She followed the movement with her eyes for a while, then let fall her head against the mattress, sobbing.

"No... please... no... stop... I cannot tell you... you killed my brother."

He swept the water again and started applying the cigar along the last rib from the side of the body to the center, in short hops, making her scream and contort from side to side; her breasts, which had been lying flat against her ribcage, got a life of their own, moving against the broken rhythm of her contortions. When he reached the middle of the abdomen, he lifted the cigar, and took a puff to renew it. The effort had exhausted Domino, and now she was crying continuously, her face transfixed in stress and pain.

"Who, my dear, who? And this could possibly end soon," he said, while he started to go around her navel and up and down her belly with his ice cube.

"I... hate you," she declared, exhaling fiercely. For the moment. Largo made a short smile, and applied the cigar under her navel, making three or four burns alongside the line of her belly vellum. She screamed as she sank her belly flat against her back, against the spine, pushing against the mattress as if to disappear into it. Then she fainted.

V

He reached out a hand for his shirt and shorts and threw them down to make a scrap of a bed. He put her down softly so that she was standing on his shirt. She kept her arms round his neck while he undid the single button of the brassiere and then the tapes of the taut slip. He stepped out of his bathing trunks and kicked them away.

There, in her swimming bath, she looked certainly younger than when she was dressed for dinner; she was for sure in her mid-twenties. She didn't use any makeup other than a black marker in the eyelids and a transparent protection in the lips. That made them look wet and longing, and probably they were, half opened and waiting. Bond kissed them, while caressing her breasts, once he had relieved them of the brassiere. They were small and firm, with small, dark nipples that contrasted her ivory skin and that went hard almost instantaneously as he lightly touched them with the back of his fingers, before starting to rub them with his thumbs as he kissed her all around her mouth. She had a petite body, barely reaching his chin when standing on naked feet. Tight hips, a broad chest and muscular legs, she had the taut body of a swimmer. He kissed her in the neck and shoulders and took her to the bed. Wet as it was, her chestnut hair looked darker and glued to her face and neck with the salty water. Oh, that was the taste, thought Bond, as he licked his way down her neck into her breasts, and lower. She moaned softly and pleasantly as he went beyond her navel and started caressing her sex with both lips and tongue.

Bond couldn't prevent thinking that it would soon change, when he would tell her about her brother's assassination, and ask, almost demand, her help to uncover Largo's plan. He would give her a fake camera, actually a disguised Geiger counter, to make sure they knew the exact moment when the nuke Largo had got from the downed bomber was brought underwater to the lower hull of the Disco, his yacht. He would ask her, blackmailing her if necessary, to give notice of that moment by some convened signal to his men watching the yacht. Then... either the yacht would be taken by a Royal Navy assault party, or sunk by torpedo by a nearby US submarine. Or chased by a Royal Navy frigate and sunk by gunfire on the run. Even if she was not caught, which would mean a sure and probably painful death; her chances of survival were slim.

Bond had added up these factors and had closed his mind to them. He kept it closed.

He just continued kissing, licking and caressing the moaning and trembling body under his.

VI

Largo shook Domino's chin vigorously, and she opened her eyes and looked at her with a lost air. He put an ice cube between her lips and forced her to lick it and drink the water. Another shaking finished waking her up, back to the pain in her body.

"So, dear, we were about to talk about who gave you this device." He put the broken "camera" in front of her face and made her look at it.

"Who?" he demanded

"I... shall not tell you..." she said, low but resolutely. He raised his eyebrows and made a gesture meaning "okay," and started to caress the girl's belly between the hip bones and the dark triangle of vellum over her sex, slowly advancing into the inner thighs, broad opened as they were. The girl started moaning and moving the hips in evident discomfort. She screamed when he applied the burning cigar to the fold between her right leg and belly, and started moving towards her sex. He stopped just outside the dark triangle of her pubic vellum. The girl was sobbing.

"Shall I continue, or will you tell me what I need to know?"

"No... please... you can't do that..." she said, among her sobbing.

But he did not. Instead, he applied the burning tip to the inner thigh, to the flat area formed in between the tendons. Domino contorted and screamed.

"Stop! Stop!" she yelled, and then in a softer, sobbing voice, "Stop..." she repeated, when he broke the burning contact. She started crying, but couldn't utter a word, so Largo shook her chin once again.

"Who?" he demanded.

"Bond... Mr. Bond... he gave me the camera. He told me to wait until a certain light went on, and then give a signal..."

Largo sighed. Holding her by the chin, he started caressing Domino's face, softly intruding her mouth with his thumb. Of course he knew it was Bond; he had known that from the beginning. It was another piece of information he was after.

"Who does he work for?"

"Government," she said.

"Which... government?"

"I... I don't know." Largo was inclined to believe her. He wouldn't have said unless absolutely necessary. He would try something else.

"Is he alone?"

"He said... he had men watching the yacht."

"Is that man Leiter another agent?"

"I don't know."

He started moving his finger along Domino's chest, to the line between her breasts, and along their circumference on the ribcage. She renewed her sobbing.

"Did he tell you what he was after?"

"No... only that I should make a signal when a light in the device would go on."

But he made a gesture of disbelief. It was a brave lie. That was the crucial information and he would extract it from the sobbing, beautiful girl he had under him. At least, all she would possibly know.

"For sure, a considerate man asking a lady to risk her life and integrity would be a little more... talkative." He took an ice cube in between his fingers and put it in front of her eyes.

"No... please... I am telling you what I know..." But she sighed in distress when he started to apply the cube in between her breasts. He kept it there until the skin was red and swollen; meanwhile he brought the cigar to life. The mild pain was evident in the girl's face.

"No... no..." she kept saying; and screamed when he applied the cigar. Her hip was lifted again in the air. Then he moved to the underside of her right breast. The girl whipped her head from side to side, screaming and yelling, until he broke contact; then she fell into the mattress, sobbing loudly.

"What exactly would make the light in the device go on, my dear?"

"He... he didn't... tell me."

But he slowly moved his head in an unequivocal sign of disbelief.

"No... no... I swear he didn't!" The girl grew desperate, as she saw the burning tip of the cigar approaching the skin in her breast. When contact was made, the girl first sunk into the mattress, only to start swaying from side to side when she realized the futility of the attempt. Largo got hold of her with his left hand heavy on her ribcage, so he could leave a lustrous burn on the lower left breast. Then he released the hold, the burn still smoking; the girl still squirmed and contorted. Largo grabbed her slender torso again and applied the cigar to the side of the breast; again the girl moved sideways to break contact, then started moving her hips up and down violently. She was still doing that when Largo released her, sobbing and moaning in a low voice, exhausted.

He simply took her by the chin and forced her to look at him.

"A bomb," she said, in a whisper. "He believes you've got a nuclear bomb from a downed plane and are bringing it to the Disco."

He released his hold, and puffed the cigar. She started whining again, but was too exhausted to resist.

"Please, believe me. That's all I know!" He was unmoved, staring at her right in the eyes. She sobbed.

"Please... do not hurt me anymore..." But he started caressing her left nipple with his thumb. Then he took the ice cube and passed it slowly in circles around it, barely touching the aureole.

"No... not that... Emilio... I know your tender parts... you can't... I beg you!"

Being called by his name by a girl from whom he had gotten so much carnal pleasure was more than even a heartless Mafioso like Largo could afford. He stood up.

"I believe you." For some reason, he didn't use any derisory word, not even calling her by her name. He just walked away from the cabin. He had just closed the door behind him when he stopped the first officer.

"We are activating the bombs, Mr. Largo. You said you wanted to be told," he said.

"Yes," he answered. "I had some little business with a young lady. I'll finish it later. Let's go."

VII

Dr. Stengel, the fashionable doctor of Nassau, was not only fashionable but a good doctor. He was one of the Jewish refugee doctors who, but for Hitler, would have been looking after some big hospital in a town the size of Düsseldorf. Instead, rich and grateful patients had built a modern clinic for him in Nassau where he treated the natives for shillings and the millionaires and their wives for ten guineas a visit. He was more used to handling overdoses of sleeping pills and the ailments of the rich and old than multiple abrasions, curare poisoning, and odd wounds that looked more as if they belonged to the days of the pirates. But these were Government orders, and under the Official Secrets Act at that. Dr. Stengel hadn't asked any questions about his patients, nor about the sixteen autopsies he had had to perform, six for Americans from the big submarine, and ten, including the corpse of the owner, from the fine yacht that had been in harbor for so long.

Now he said carefully, "Miss Vitali will be all right. For the moment she is suffering from shock. She needs rest."

"What else? What was the matter with her?" "She had swum a long way. She was not in a condition to undertake such a physical strain." "Why not?"

The doctor moved toward the door. "And now you too must rest. You have been through much. You will take one of those hypnotics once every six hours. Yes? And plenty of sleep. You will soon be on your feet again. But for some time you must take it easy, Mr. Bond."

"Take it easy. You must take it easy, Mr. Bond." Where had he heard those idiotic words before? Suddenly Bond was raging with fury. He lurched out of bed. In spite of the sudden giddiness, he staggered toward the doctor. He shook a fist in the urbane face–urbane because the doctor was used to the emotional storms of patients, and because he knew that in minutes the strong soporific would put Bond out for hours. "

Take it easy! God damn you! What do you know about taking it easy? Tell me what's the matter with that girl! Where is she? What's the number of her room?"

Bond's hands fell limply to his sides. He said feebly, "For God's sake tell me, Doctor. I, I need to know."

Dr. Stengel said patiently, kindly, "Someone has ill-treated her. She is suffering from burns–many burns. She is still in great pain. But.." he waved a reassuring hand, "...inside she is well. She is in the next room, in No. 4. You may see her, but only for a minute. Then she will sleep. And so will you. Yes?"