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YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE (James Bond Classic) - Mystery & Espionage Series A Great Personal Loss, A Ruthless Villain and A Bloodthirsty Revenge von Fleming, Ian (eBook)

  • Erscheinungsdatum: 09.03.2016
  • Verlag: e-artnow
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YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE (James Bond Classic) - Mystery & Espionage Series

This carefully crafted ebook: 'YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE (James Bond Classic) - Mystery & Espionage Series' is formatted for your eReader with a functional and detailed table of contents. Excerpt: 'Bond took his usual place across the desk from M.'s tall-armed chair. He noticed that there was no file on the expanse of red leather in front of the chair. And the In and Out baskets were both empty. Suddenly he felt really bad about everything - about letting M. down, letting the Service down, letting himself down . . .' 'You Only Live Twice' - After the death of his wife Bond loses his steam as a No. 1 secret agent. Sent on a mission in Japan, Bond comes face to face with his arch nemesis Ernst Stavro Blofeld again... Ian Fleming (1908-1964) was an English author, journalist and naval intelligence officer who is best known for his James Bond series of spy novels. James Bond is a British Secret Service agent and often referred to by his code name, 007.

Produktinformationen

    Format: ePUB
    Kopierschutz: watermark
    Seitenzahl: 220
    Erscheinungsdatum: 09.03.2016
    Sprache: Englisch
    ISBN: 9788026851349
    Verlag: e-artnow
    Größe: 507 kBytes
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YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE (James Bond Classic) - Mystery & Espionage Series

2. CURTAINS FOR BOND?

Table of Content
EXACTLY ONE month before, it had been the eve of the annual closing of Blades. On the next day, September 1st, those members who were still unfashionably in London would have to pig it for a month at Whites or Boodle's. Whites they considered noisy and 'smart', Boodle's too full of superannuated country squires who would be talking of nothing but the opening of the partridge season. For Blades, it was one month in the wilderness. But there it was. The staff, one supposed, had to have their holiday. More important, there was some painting to be done and there was dry-rot in the roof.

M., sitting in the bow window looking out over St James's Street, couldn't care less. He had two weeks' trout fishing on the Test to look forward to and, for the other two weeks, he would have sandwiches and coffee at his desk. He rarely used Blades, and then only to entertain important guests. He was not a 'clubbable' man and if he had had the choice he would have stuck to The Senior, that greatest of all Services' clubs in the world. But too many people knew him there, and there was too much 'shop' talked. And there were too many former shipmates who would come up and ask him what he had been doing with himself since he retired. And the lie, 'Got a job with some people called Universal Export,' bored him, and though verifiable, had its risks.

Porterfield hovered with the cigars. He bent and offered the wide case to M.'s guest. Sir James Molony raised a quizzical eyebrow. 'I see the Havanas are still coming in.' His hand hesitated. He picked out a Romeo y Julieta, pinched it gently and ran it under his nose. He turned to M. 'What's Universal Export sending Castro in return? Blue Streak?'

M. was not amused. Porterfield observed that he wasn't. As Chief Petty Officer, he had served under M. in one of his last commands. He said quickly, but not too quickly, 'As a matter of fact, Sir James, the best of the Jamaicans are quite up to the Havanas these days. They've got the outer leaf just right at last.' He closed the glass lid of the case and moved away.

Sir James Molony picked up the piercer the head waiter had left on the table and punctured the tip of his cigar with precision. He lit a Swan Vesta and waved its flame to and fro across the tip and sucked gently until he had got the cigar going to his satisfaction. Then he took a sip, first at his brandy and then at his coffee, and sat back. He observed the corrugated brow of his host with affection and irony. He said, 'All right, my friend. Now tell me. What's the problem?'

M.'s mind was elsewhere. He seemed to be having difficulty getting his pipe going. He said vaguely, between puffs, 'What problem?'

Sir James Molony was the greatest neurologist in England. The year before, he had been awarded a Nobel Prize for his now famous Some Psychosomatic Side-effects of Organic Inferiority . He was also nerve specialist by appointment to the Secret Service and, though he was rarely called in, and then only in extremis, the problems he was required to solve intrigued him greatly because they were both human and vital to the State. And, since the war, the second qualification was a rare one.

M. turned sideways to his guest and watched the traffic up St James's.

Sir James Molony said, 'My friend, like everybody else, you have certain patterns of behaviour. One of them consists of occasionally asking me to lunch at Blades, stuffing me like a Strasbourg goose, and then letting me in on some ghastly secret and asking me to help you with it. The last time, as I recall, you wanted to find out if I could extract certain information from a foreign diplomat by getting him under deep hypnosis without his knowledge. You said it was a last resort. I said I couldn't help you. Two weeks later, I read in the paper that this same diplomat had come to a fatal end by experimenting wi

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