Nobody Lives For Ever (John Gardner's Bond series)
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Official, original James Bond from a writer described by Len Deighton as a 'master storyteller'.
'Take care 007. Take special care. The continent's a hotbed of villainy these days and you can never be too careful.'
Bond was supposed to be on leave. But SPECTRE leader Tamil Rahani, dying from injuries suffered at Bond's hand, is determined to make it the holiday to die for. With a price on his head, Bond must evade the world's greatest assassins in a ruthless game of cat-and-mouse across Europe, while trying to save the lives of the two women who matter to him most, his housekeeper May and Miss Moneypenny. But Bond has been a target before. And when it comes to staying alive, nobody does it better than 007.
In Nobody Lives Forever, the fifth in Gardner's bestselling series, Fleming's superspy is at the top of his game.
cord. Apparently six specialists have seen him. There is no hope. Within four months, Tamil Rahani’s going to be the late Tamil Rahani.’ ‘Who’s involved, apart from SPECTRE?’ Quinn slid a hand down his dark beard, ‘M’s working on it. A lot of your old enemies, of course. For starters, whatever they call the former Department V of the K.G.B. these days – what used to be SMERSH...’ ‘Department Eight of Directorate S: K.G.B.,’ Bond snapped. Quinn went on as though he had not heard: ‘...Then
by telepathy, the telephone rang and Sukie’s mellow voice came on the line. ‘I was wondering what time you wanted to leave, James?’ ‘Whenever it suits you. I’m almost ready.’ She laughed, and the harshness seemed to have gone. ‘I’ve nearly finished packing. I’ll be fifteen minutes at the most. Do you want to eat here before we leave?’ Bond said he’d prefer to stop somewhere on the way, if she did not mind. ‘Look, Sukie, I’ve got a small problem. It might involve a slight detour. May I come
of non-slip, rubber-coated metal. But, as he drew it from its holster, Bond flicked down hard with his right wrist. From the rubber-covered handle sprang a further, telescoped twenty-five centimetres of toughened steel, which locked into place. The sudden appearance of the weapon took the young thug off guard. His right arm was raised, clutching the wrench, and for a second he hesitated. Bond stepped quickly to his left and swung the baton. There was an unpleasant cracking noise, followed by a
name’s Bond, by the way. James Bond.’ ‘Sukie.’ She held out a hand, the palm dry and the grip firm. ‘Sukie Tempesta.’ In the end, they both waited for the police, costing Bond over an hour and a half’s delay. The pump attendant had been badly beaten and required urgent medical attention. Sukie did what she could for him while Bond telephoned the police. As they waited they talked and Bond tried to find out more about her, for the whole affair had begun to intrigue him. Somehow, he had the
had been completed. Five minutes later, having collected the car from a smiling representative, Bond was driving skilfully out of Salzburg on the mountain road to the south, passing in the suburbs the strange Anif water-tower which rises like an English manor house from the middle of a pond. He continued almost as far as the town of Hallein, which had begun as an island bastion in the middle of the Salzach and which has been made famous as the birthplace of Franz-Xavier Gruber, the composer of