Thunderball (James Bond)
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Upon M’s insistence, James Bond takes a two-week respite in a secluded natural health spa. But amid the bland teas, tasteless yogurts, and the spine stretcher the guests lovingly call “The Rack,” Bond stumbles onto the trail of a lethal man with ties to a new secret organization called SPECTRE. When SPECTRE hijacks two A-bombs, a frantic global search for the weapons ensues, and M’s hunch that the plane containing the bombs will make a clean drop into the ocean sends Bond to the Bahamas to investigate.
On the island paradise, 007 finds a wealthy pleasure seeker’s treasure hunt and meets Domino Vitali, the gorgeous mistress of Emilio Largo, otherwise known as SPECTRE’s Number 1. But as powerful as Number 1 is, he works for someone else: Ernst Stavro Blofeld, a peculiar man with a deadly creative mind.
The ninth novel in Ian Fleming’s James Bond series, Thunderball marks the beginnings of one of the most iconic villains in history, and the only match for the wits of James Bond.
The text in this edition has been restored by the Fleming family company Ian Fleming Publications, to reflect the work as it was originally published.
right as rain.” She paused. She looked rather embarrassed, “Oh, and Mr. Wain asks if you could possibly keep all this, all this trouble, to yourself. He doesn’t want the other patients to get worried.” I should think not, thought Bond. He could see the headlines. “PATIENT TORN NEARLY LIMB FROM LIMB AT NATURE CLINIC. RACK MACHINE GOES BERSERK. MINISTRY OF HEALTH STEPS IN.” He said, “Of course I won’t say anything. It was my fault, anyway.” He finished his drink, handed back the glass, and
went back to the pilot’s seat and again minutely checked the dials. He weaved the plane gently to get the feel of the controls. Behind him, the bodies on the floor of the fuselage stirred uneasily. The plane answered perfectly. It was like driving a beautiful quiet motor car. Petacchi dreamed briefly of the Maserati. What color? Better not his usual white, or anything spectacular. Dark blue with a thin red line along the coachwork. Something quiet and respectable that would fit in with his new,
in a ship’s crew in nearly six months.” And Bond had leaped at the flimsy thread and had pursued it for another two hours—in the Customs building and in the commissioner’s office—and, as a result, he had gone walking in the town to see if he could get a look at Largo or any of his party or pick up any other shreds of gossip. As a result he had got a good look at Domino Vitali. And now? The taxi had arrived at the airport. Bond told the driver to wait and walked into the long low entrance hall
swimmer. The romance of the occasion was too much for her.” No. 5 opened his hands. “There are often accidents of this nature. Many lives are lost in this way every year. A thorough search was instituted, but there were shark. The treasure hunt was broken off and we immediately returned to Nassau to report the tragedy.” No. 5 shook his head decisively. “I see no reason to be dismayed by this occurrence. But I am in favor of a most rigorous interrogation.” No. 5 turned his head politely in Largo’s
waving flower. His teeth drew away from the rubber mouthpiece and the clefts of a smile appeared in his cheeks. He put up one hand and significantly tapped his mask. Bond bent down and picked up a rock covered with seaweed. Largo was being melodramatic. A rock in Largo’s mask would be more efficient than having an octopus slapped across his. Bond wasn’t worried by the octopus. Only a day before he had been in company with a hundred of them. It was Largo’s longer reach that worried him. Largo