All Bond had to do now was wait. Wait, and hope that Stamp's men didn't suggest that Tipton was not who he seemed to be.

If he was right, the wait wouldn't be that long. It was early afternoon. Maybe by five o'clock...?

Bond decided that he needed to change his appearance. Rubbing his beard, he asked whether there was a washroom nearby, and a razor that he could use.

"I've got someone who will shave that for you, Tipton," Stamp said. "You'll never have a better shave than what he'll give you."

"Ah must confess, Ah'm kinda attached to mah beard," Bond replied meekly. "Ah'd really like to do it mahself."

One of Stamp's men took Bond to a restroom, and brought Bond a small scissors, a safety razor and some foam.

Bond was alone in the restroom. He quietly locked the door from the inside.

Bond checked the restroom mirror to make sure it was a true mirror. It was. Just as as standard precaution, he scanned the corners and the vents for any locations that might conceal a camera, and saw none.

Bond then tried gingerly to peel off the fake beard, an operation that turned out to be more involved than he had expected. Whatever Madeline had used as an adhesive did not want to give up easily. Washing with water had no effect. Bond supposed that a solvent such as alcohol might be worth a try. He searched the room for rubbing alcohol, aftershave, a forgotten glass of scotch, anything with alcohol in it. He found nothing helpful.

Bond started peeling away the beard in small pieces. As he detached each piece, he flicked it into the loo. Peeling off the beard left red, irritated skin behind, and there seemed to be no way to avoid that.

Getting this beard off was going to take some time.

As Bond worked, he imagined what Felix would be going through right about now.

The woman Bond had talked to on the telephone was named Marla. Though she said she was Leiter's wife, she was actually Leiter's current girlfriend, though Bond knew she fancied herself as Leiter's fiancée.

Bond also knew Marla and Leiter had met in Jacksonvile, Florida.

While Leiter was working in Jacksonville some months ago, two women took a strong liking to him, and they competed for his attention. Eventually, Marla won the competition, and her competitor, Deidre, lost. Marla had been with Leiter ever since.

Deidre still lived in Jacksonville.

Marla, Bond knew, was the suspicious type; the jealous type, too. She would be overwhelmed with curiosity as to why Leiter would be going to Jacksonville; worse, that it was Leiter's idea to go to Jacksonville. And she would be especially bothered about why Leiter had not said a word to her about it.

Marla had been told that Leiter was a salesman and that travel was a big part of his business. Now, if Leiter followed his past procedure, he would have left some way for Marla to get in contact with him in case of emergency. Though Bond had said there was no emergency, he was pretty sure that Marla would think otherwise, and would want to give Leiter an earful. Leiter would understand quickly enough that the real message was that Bond was in trouble.

Assuming he could calm down Marla (and even if he couldn't), Leiter would tell Vandenberg that Bond had made a call later than expected, and that he had called someone other than Vandenberg, and (if Marla had told Leiter that the caller had a Southern accent) that Bond made his call while still in character. The conclusion would be inescapable. Bond was supposed to be away from Stamp by now, but he wasn't. Something had gone wrong, but Bond was still playing along, under cover.

Bond suspected that if Vandenberg were like most other FBI men, he'd recommend a direct approach, storming Stamp's house with men and guns. That would mean he'd have to assemble or secure some warrants, call in more men, come up with a plan, and get everybody on board. Those things would take time.

But if Felix Leiter had any say in the matter, the approach might be more subtle. And help might arrive more quickly.

Whether the rescue was subtle or brazen, Bond was determined to be ready for it.

The beard was nearly gone. With just a few spots of false beard on his face, Bond decided to try shaving them off. He lathered up and gently scraped away the bits with the razor, rinsing the razor after every stroke.

When he toweled off the final traces of foam, his face was splotchy red. The redness would go away eventually, but there was no way to conceal it right now. Bond decided to make his face even less perfect by giving himself a few intentional nicks with the razor. Small crimson lines appeared, and Bond applied tissue paper to them.

He flushed the loo. Goodbye, beard.

When he exited the restroom, Bond found one of Stamp's men waiting in the corridor. The man's expression clearly showed surprise at Bond's new appearance. The man escorted Bond back to Stamp.

Stamp was astonished, and his expression suggested he was especially surprised by the reddish color of Bond's cheeks and chin and the bits of tissue paper stuck to his face.

Bond laughed. "Ya know, it's been so long since Ah shaved, Ah almos' forgot how! 'Fraid I made a few mistakes. But they'll heal quick enough. We got some tahm to prepare to do this thing, doan we?"

Stamp nodded absently. "Yeah, at least a couple of days. You've got a lot of prep to do. We'll talk after we eat. I told my staff to bring some sandwiches for a late lunch: ham, chicken, cheese. Is there anything special you want?"

Bond shook his head. "Naw, whatevah y'all're havin' is fahn."

Bond felt he was becoming quite comfortable with his accent. He hoped it sounded as good to everyone else as it did to him.

The sandwiches arrived. Bond took a cheese sandwich and took a bite. It was awful. Cucumbers might have made the sandwich palatable. But putting cucumbers on sandwiches is not the American way, is it? Bond threw the partially eaten sandwich on a plate, and decided to go hungry.

As everyone else ate, Bond cleaned the tissue paper from his face and took some time to think. Bond had called in the cavalry. All he had to do now was anticipate how they would rescue him.