Bond 01 - Casino Royale (4 page)

We therefore recommend that the finest gambler available to the Service should be given the necessary funds and endeavour to out-gamble this man.

The risks are obvious and the possible loss to the Secret funds is high, but other operations on which large sums have been hazarded have had fewer chances of success, often for a smaller objective.

If the decision is unfavourable, the only alternative would be to place our information and our recommendations in the hands of the Deuxième Bureau or of our American colleagues of the Combined Intelligence Agency in Washington. Both of these organizations would doubtless be delighted to take over the scheme.

Signed: S.

Appendix A
.

Name
: Le Chiffre.

Aliases
: Variations on the words ‘cypher’ or ‘number’ in different languages; e.g. ‘Herr Ziffer’.

Origin
: Unknown.

First encountered as a displaced person, inmate of Dachau D.P. camp in the U.S. Zone of Germany, June 1945. Apparently suffering from amnesia and paralysis of vocal cords (? both feigned). Dumbness succumbed to therapy, but subject continued to claim total loss of memory except associations with Alsace Lorraine and Strasbourg whither he was transferred in September 1945, on Stateless Passport No. 304-596. Adopted the name ‘Le Chiffre’ (‘since I am only a number on a passport’). No Christian names.

Age
: About 45.

Description
: Height 5 ft. 8 in. Weight 18 stone. Complexion very pale. Clean-shaven. Hair red-brown, ‘en brosse’. Eyes very dark brown with whites showing all round iris. Small, rather feminine mouth. False teeth of expensive quality. Ears small, with large lobes, indicating some Jewish blood. Hands small, well-tended, hirsute. Feet small. Racially, subject is probably a mixture of Mediterranean with Prussian or Polish strains. Dresses well and meticulously, generally in dark double-breasted suits. Smokes incessantly Caporals, using a denicotinizing holder. At frequent intervals inhales from benzedrine inhaler. Voice soft and even. Bilingual in French and English. Good German. Traces of Marseillais accent. Smiles infrequently. Does not laugh.

Habits
: Mostly expensive, but discreet. Large sexual appetites. Flagellant. Expert driver of fast cars. Adept with small arms and other forms of personal combat, including knives. Carries three Eversharp razor blades, in hat-band, heel of left shoe and cigarette case. Knowledge of accountancy and mathematics. Fine gambler. Always accompanied by two armed guards, well-dressed, one French, one German (details available).

Comment
: A formidable and dangerous agent of the U.S.S.R., controlled by Leningrad Section III through Paris.

Signed: Archivist.

Appendix B
.

Subject
:
SMERSH

Sources
: Own archives and scanty material made available by Deuxième Bureau and C.I.A. Washington.
 
SMERSH
is a conjunction of two Russian words: ‘Smyert Shpionam’, meaning roughly: ‘Death to Spies’. Ranks above M.W.D. (formerly N.K.V.D.) and is believed to come under the personal direction of Beria.

Headquarters: Leningrad (sub-station at Moscow).

Its task is the elimination of all forms of treachery and back-sliding within the various branches of the Soviet Secret Service and Secret Police at home and abroad. It is the most powerful and feared organization in the U.S.S.R. and is popularly believed never to have failed in a mission of vengeance.

It is thought that
SMERSH
was responsible for the assassination of Trotsky in Mexico (22 August 1940) and may indeed have made its name with this successful murder after attempts by other Russian individuals and organizations had failed.

SMERSH
was next heard of when Hitler attacked Russia. It was then rapidly expanded to cope with treachery and double agents during the retreat of the Soviet forces in 1941. At that time it worked as an execution squad for the N.K.V.D. and its present selective mission was not so clearly defined.

The organization itself was thoroughly purged after the war and is now believed to consist of only a few hundred operatives of very high quality divided into five sections:

Department I: In charge of counter-intelligence among Soviet organizations at home and abroad.

Department II: Operations, including executions.

Department III: Administration and Finance.

Department IV: Investigations and legal work. Personnel.

Department V: Prosecutions: the section which passes final judgement on all victims.

Only one
SMERSH
operative has come into our hands since the war: Goytchev, alias Garrad-Jones. He shot Petchora, medical officer at the Yugoslav Embassy, in Hyde Park, 7 August 1948. During interrogation he committed suicide by swallowing a coat-button of compressed potassium cyanide. He revealed nothing beyond his membership of
SMERSH
, of which he was arrogantly boastful.

We believe that the following British double agents were victims of
SMERSH
: Donovan, Harthrop-Vane, Elizabeth Dumont, Ventnor, Mace, Savarin. (For details see Morgue: Section Q.)

Conclusion
: Every effort should be made to improve our knowledge of this very powerful organization and destroy its operatives.

H
EAD OF
S. (the section of the Secret Service concerned with the Soviet Union) was so keen on his plan for the destruction of Le Chiffre, and it was basically his own plan, that he took the memorandum himself and went up to the top floor of the gloomy building overlooking Regent’s Park and through the green baize door and along the corridor to the end room.

He walked belligerently up to M.’s Chief of Staff, a young sapper who had earned his spurs as one of the secretariat to the Chiefs of Staff committee after having been wounded during a sabotage operation in 1944, and had kept his sense of humour in spite of both experiences.

‘Now look here, Bill. I want to sell something to the Chief. Is this a good moment?’

‘What do you think, Penny?’ The Chief of Staff turned to M.’s private secretary who shared the room with him.

Miss Moneypenny would have been desirable but for eyes which were cool and direct and quizzical.

‘Should be all right. He won a bit of a victory at the F.O. this morning and he’s not got anyone for the next half an hour.’ She smiled encouragingly at Head of S. whom she liked for himself and for the importance of his section.

‘Well, here’s the dope, Bill.’ He handed over the black folder with the red star which stood for Top Secret. ‘And for God’s sake look enthusiastic when you give it him. And tell him I’ll wait here and read a good code-book while he’s considering it. He may want some more details, and anyway I want to see you two don’t pester him with anything else until he’s finished.’

‘All right, sir.’ The Chief of Staff pressed a switch and leant towards the intercom on his desk.

‘Yes?’ asked a quiet, flat voice.

‘Head of S. has an urgent docket for you, sir.’

There was a pause.

‘Bring it in,’ said the voice.

The Chief of Staff released the switch and stood up.

‘Thanks, Bill. I’ll be next door,’ said Head of S.

The Chief of Staff crossed his office and went through the double doors leading into M.’s room. In a moment he came out and over the entrance a small blue light burned the warning that M. was not to be disturbed.

Later, a triumphant Head of S. said to his Number Two: ‘We nearly cooked ourselves with that last paragraph. He said it was subversion and blackmail. He got pretty sharp about it. Anyway, he approves. Says the idea’s crazy, but worth trying if the Treasury will play and he thinks they will. He’s going to tell them it’s a better gamble than the money we’re putting into deserting Russian colonels who turn double after a few months’ “asylum” here. And he’s longing to get at Le Chiffre, and anyway he’s got the right man and wants to try him out on the job.’

‘Who is it?’ asked Number Two.

‘One of the Double Os – I guess 007. He’s tough and M. thinks there may be trouble with those gunmen of Le Chiffre’s. He must be pretty good with the cards or he wouldn’t have sat in the Casino in Monte Carlo for two months before the war watching that Roumanian team work their stuff with the invisible ink and the dark glasses. He and the Deuxième bowled them out in the end and 007 turned in a million francs he had won at shemmy. Good money in those days.’

James Bond’s interview with M. had been short.

‘What about it, Bond?’ asked M. when Bond came back into his room after reading Head of S.’s memorandum and after gazing for ten minutes out of the waiting-room window at the distant trees in the park.

Bond looked across the desk into the shrewd, clear eyes.

‘It’s very kind of you, sir, I’d like to do it. But I can’t promise to win. The odds at baccarat are the best after ‘trente-et-quarante’ – evens except for the tiny ‘cagnotte’ – but I might get a bad run against me and get cleaned out. Play’s going to be pretty high – opening’ll go up to half a million, I should think.’

Bond was stopped by the cold eyes. M. knew all this already, knew the odds at baccarat as well as Bond. That was his job – knowing the odds at everything, and knowing men, his own and the opposition’s. Bond wished he had kept quiet about his misgivings.

‘He can have a bad run too,’ said M. ‘You’ll have plenty of capital. Up to twenty-five million, the same as him. We’ll start you on ten and send you another ten when you’ve had a look round. You can make the extra five yourself.’ He smiled. ‘Go over a few days before the big game starts and get your hand in. Have a talk to Q. about rooms and trains, and any equipment you want. The Paymaster will fix the funds. I’m going to ask the Deuxième to stand by. It’s their territory and as it is we shall be lucky if they don’t kick up rough. I’ll try and persuade them to send Mathis. You seemed to get on well with him in Monte Carlo on that other Casino job. And I’m going to tell Washington because of the N.A.T.O. angle. C.I.A. have got one or two good men at Fontainebleau with the joint intelligence chaps there. Anything else?’

Bond shook his head. ‘I’d certainly like to have Mathis, sir.’

‘Well, we’ll see. Try and bring it off. We’re going to look pretty foolish if you don’t. And watch out. This sounds an amusing job, but I don’t think it’s going to be. Le Chiffre is a good man. Well, best of luck.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Bond and went to the door.

‘Just a minute.’

Bond turned. ‘I think I’ll keep you covered, Bond. Two heads are better than one and you’ll need someone to run your communications. I’ll think it over. They’ll get in touch with you at Royale. You needn’t worry. It’ll be someone good.’

Bond would have preferred to work alone, but one didn’t argue with M. He left the room hoping that the man they sent would be loyal to him and neither stupid, nor, worse still, ambitious.

A
S, TWO
weeks later, James Bond awoke in his room at the Hotel Splendide, some of this history passed through his mind.

He had arrived at Royale-les-Eaux in time for luncheon two days before. There had been no attempt to contact him and there had been no flicker of curiosity when he had signed the register ‘James Bond, Port Maria, Jamaica’.

M. had expressed no interest in his cover.

‘Once you start to make a set at Le Chiffre at the tables, you’ll have had it,’ he said. ‘But wear a cover that will stick with the general public.’

Bond knew Jamaica well, so he asked to be controlled from there and to pass as a Jamaican plantocrat whose father had made his pile in tobacco and sugar and whose son chose to play it away on the stock markets and in casinos. If inquiries were made, he would quote Charles DaSilva of Caffery’s, Kingston, as his attorney. Charles would make the story stick.

Bond had spent the last two afternoons and most of the nights at the Casino, playing complicated progression systems on the even chances at roulette. He made a high banco at chemin-de-fer whenever he heard one offered. If he lost, he would ‘suivi’ once and not chase it further if he lost the second time.

In this way he had made some three million francs and had given his nerves and card-sense a thorough work-out. He had got the geography of the Casino clear in his mind. Above all, he had been able to observe Le Chiffre at the tables and to note ruefully that he was a faultless and lucky gambler.

Bond liked to make a good breakfast. After a cold shower, he sat at the writing-table in front of the window. He looked out at the beautiful day and consumed half a pint of iced orange juice, three scrambled eggs and bacon and a double portion of coffee without sugar. He lit his first cigarette, a Balkan and Turkish mixture made for him by Morlands of Grosvenor Street, and watched the small waves lick the long seashore and the fishing fleet from Dieppe string out towards the June heat-haze followed by a paper-chase of herring-gulls.

He was lost in his thoughts when the telephone rang. It was the concierge announcing that a Director of Radio Stentor was waiting below with the wireless set he had ordered from Paris.

‘Of course,’ said Bond. ‘Send him up.’

This was the cover fixed by the Deuxième Bureau for their liaison man with Bond. Bond watched the door, hoping that it would be Mathis.

When Mathis came in, a respectable business man carrying a large square parcel by its leather handle, Bond smiled broadly and would have greeted him with warmth if Mathis had not frowned and held up his free hand after carefully closing the door.

‘I have just arrived from Paris, monsieur, and here is the set you asked to have on approval – five valves, superhet, I think you call it in England, and you should be able to get most of the capitals of Europe from Royale. There are no mountains for forty miles in any direction.’

‘It sounds all right,’ said Bond, lifting his eyebrows at this mystery-making.

Mathis paid no attention. He placed the set, which he had unwrapped, on the floor beside the unlit panel electric fire below the mantelpiece.