Bond 08 - For Your Eyes Only by Ian Fleming

Author:Ian Fleming [Fleming, Ian]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Espionage
ISBN: 9781612185514
Google: SIdwMQEACAAJ
Amazon: 1612185517
Barnesnoble: 1612185517
Goodreads: 15954474
Publisher: AmazonEncore
Published: 1959-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

4 ....... RISICO

‘IN THIS pizniss is much risico.’

The words came softly through the thick brown moustache. The hard black eyes moved slowly over Bond’s face and down to Bond’s hands which were carefully shredding a paper match on which was printed Albergo Colomba d’Oro.

James Bond felt the inspection. The same surreptitious examination had been going on since he had met the man two hours before at the rendezvous in the Excelsior bar. Bond had been told to look for a man with a heavy moustache who would be sitting by himself drinking an Alexandra. Bond had been amused by this secret recognition signal. The creamy, feminine drink was so much cleverer than the folded newspaper, the flower in the buttonhole, the yellow gloves that were the hoary, slipshod call-signs between agents. It had also the great merit of being able to operate alone, without its owner. And Kristatos had started off with a little test. When Bond had come into the bar and looked round there had been perhaps twenty people in the room. None of them had a moustache. But on a corner table at the far side of the tall, discreet room, flanked by a saucer of olives and another of cashew nuts, stood the tall-stemmed glass of cream and vodka. Bond went straight over to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down.

The waiter came. ‘Good evening, sir. Signor Kristatos is at the telephone.’

Bond nodded. ‘A Negroni. With Gordon’s, please.’

The waiter walked back to the bar. ‘Negroni. Uno. Gordon’s.’

‘I am so sorry.’ The big hairy hand picked up the small chair as if it had been as light as a match-box and swept it under the heavy hips. ‘I had to have a word with Alfredo.’

There had been no handshake. These were old acquaintances. In the same line of business, probably. Something like import and export. The younger one looked American. No. Not with those clothes. English.

Bond returned the fast serve. ‘How’s his little boy?’

The black eyes of Signor Kristatos narrowed. Yes, they had said this man was a professional. He spread his hands. ‘Much the same. What can you expect?’

‘Polio is a terrible thing.’

The Negroni came. The two men sat back comfortably, each one satisfied that he had to do with a man in the same league. This was rare in ‘The Game’. So many times, before one had even started on a tandem assignment like this, one had lost confidence in the outcome. There was so often, at least in Bond’s imagination, a faint smell of burning in the air at such a rendezvous. He knew it for the sign that the fringe of his cover had already started to smoulder. In due course the smouldering fabric would burst into flames and he would be brûlé. Then the game would be up and he would have to decide whether to pull out or wait and get shot at by someone. But at this meeting there had been no fumbling.

Later that evening, at the little

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.