The Man With the Golden Gun (James Bond) Read Online Free

gawking! And not a word of this to anyone. Understood?"
    Miss Moneypenny pulled herself back from the edge of hysterics. She said an automatic "Yes, sir," pulled the door shut, and reached for the interoffice telephone.
    M. walked across and into the Chief of Staff's office and closed the door. Head of Security was on his knees beside Bond. He had loosened his tie and collar button and was feeling his pulse. Bond's face was white and bathed in sweat. His breathing was a desperate rattle, as if he had just run a race. M. looked briefly down at him and then, his face hidden from the others, at the wall beyond the body. He turned to the Chief of Staff. He said briskly, "Well, that's that. My predecessor died in that chair. Then it was a simple bullet, but from much the same sort of a crazed officer. One can't legislate against the lunatic. But the Office of Works certainly did a good job with that gadget. Now then, Chief of Staff. This is of course to go no further. Get Sir James Molony as soon as you can and have 007 taken down to The Park. Ambulance, surreptitious guard. I'll explain things to Sir James this afternoon. Briefly, as you heard, the K.G.B. got hold of him. Brainwashed him. He was already a sick man. Amnesia of some kind. I'll tell you all I know later. Have his things collected from the Ritz and his bill paid. And put something out to the Press Association. Something on these lines: 'The Ministry of Defense is pleased—'no, say 'delighted to announce that Commander James Bond etc., who was posted as missing, believed killed while on a mission to Japan last November, has returned to this country after a hazardous journey across the Soviet Union which is expected to yield much valuable information. Commander Bond's health has inevitably suffered from his experiences and he is convalescing under medical supervision.'" M. smiled frostily. "That bit about information'll give no joy to Comrade Semichastny and his troops. And add a D notice-to-editors: 'It is particularly requested, for security reasons, that the minimum of speculation or comment be added to the above communique and that no attempts be made to trace Commander Bond's whereabouts.' All right?"
    Bill Tanner had been writing furiously to keep up with M. He looked up from his scratchpad, bewildered. "But aren't you going to make any charges, sir? After all, treason and attempted murder ... I mean, not even a court martial?"
    "Certainly not." M.'s voice was gruff. "007 was a sick man. Not responsible for his actions. If one can brainwash a man, presumably one can un-brainwash him. If anyone can, Sir James can. Put him back on half pay for the time being, in his old Section. And see he gets full back pay and allowances for the past year. If the K.G.B. has the nerve to throw one of my best men at me, I have the nerve to throw him back at them. 007 was a good agent once. There's no reason why he shouldn't be a good agent again. Within limits, that is. After lunch, give me the file on Scaramanga. If we can get him fit again, that's the right-sized target for 007."
    The Chief of Staff protested, "But that's suicide, sir! Even 007 could never take him."
    M. said coldly, "What would 007 get for this morning's bit of work? Twenty years? As a minimum, I'd say. Better for him to fall on the battlefield. If he brings it off, hell have won his spurs back again and we can all forget the past. Anyway, that's my decision."
    There was a knock on the door and the duty Medical Officer came into the room. M. bade him good afternoon and turned stiffly on his heel and walked out through the open door.
    The Chief of Staff looked at the retreating back. He said, under his breath, "You coldhearted bastard!" Then, with his usual minute thoroughness and sense of duty, he set about the tasks he had been given. His not to reason why!
    3
    "Pistols" Scaramanga
    At Blades, M. ate his usual meagre luncheon—a grilled Dover sole followed by the ripest spoonful he could gouge from the club