John Pearson - James Bond - The Authorised Biography

The bank was held by a balloon-like man with tiny eyes. Bond could detect the avarice with which he fondled the barricade of chips before him. Esposito's signals told Bond that the bank was standing on a five. This was a risky thing to do, but would still leave the odds slightly in the fat man's favour.

There was a murmur of excitement as Esposito put ten red chips – 100,000 francs – onto the table. It was by far the largest bet of the evening and Bond could appreciate the practised way he did it. There was no hesitation and Esposito's bland face was quite impassive. At the same time he signalled Bond to follow. Bond held a nine and eight of clubs – a reasonable, but by no means a decisive, hand. If Esposito were right about the banker's hand, Bond would unquestionably win. But was he right? How could he possibly be sure?

Bond is essentially a cautious gambler and normally would not have dreamt of taking such a risk. And yet Esposito was quite emphatic. Bond hesitated. Everyone was watching him, and at that moment his nerve failed. 100,000 francs was over ?800 – all that he possessed. Warily he placed five white chips – 5,000 francs – down on the table.

All eyes were on the fat man then as he turned his cards. A nine of clubs, a six of hearts. In baccarat it is the last figure of the count that signifies. It was a five, exactly as Esposito had said.

There was that faint murmur from the players – part envy, part excitement – as the croupier pushed Esposito's ten red plaques across the table. Bond felt a twinge of regret as his white ones followed. The play continued, but his opportunity was over. Esposito made no more signals, nor did he gamble heavily again. Half an hour later he rose, tipped the croupier, nodded towards the banker, and departed. Five minutes later James Bond followed him. Bond found him in the bar. Esposito was laughing.

‘Well, my friend, and how does it feel to win illicitly?’

Bond replied sharply that he disapproved of it. Esposito still laughed.

‘Quite, quite, your attitude does you great credit. It was most necessary though. Your Mr Maddox was insistent. What was it he said – something about needing to have poached to be a game-keeper? I don't understand these English phrases.’

Early next morning, Bond and Esposito left for Paris. Here they made contact with Maddox. That same evening, Maddox and James Bond dined together at the Brasserie Lipp. Maddox was looking tired. The hollows of the eyes were darker, the thin hair slightly greyer than when Bond saw him last. But he seemed in the best of spirits. He ordered steins of Pilsener and, whilst they drank, he outlined Bond's assignment. The Roumanians had just arrived in Monte Carlo with the beginning of the new season, and already they were winning. Maddox had seen de Lesseps, the casino manager. The poor man was desperate. He had appealed for help to their old friends and rivals, the French Deuxieme Bureau. One of their smartest operators, a young man called Mathis, was already working in the casino, so far without success. The Roumanians appeared more confident than ever. The casino was fighting for its life.

Bond was to catch the Blue Train to the Cote d'Azur. An apartment was reserved for him in the Hotel de Paris. He could draw on virtually unlimited funds. But he was on his own. There must be no scandal and no violence – nor must the management of the casino become implicated in anything he did. For cover he would play the part of the spoiled son of a South African millionaire. His pseudonym was Pieter Zwart. After his training with Esposito he was to challenge the Roumanians. He must either beat them or discover the secret of their operation.

‘But if there is no secret?’ Bond asked anxiously.

‘Then you must make up one. I want those four Roumanians back in Bucharest within a fortnight.’

At Monte Carlo, Bond was in his element. The character of the wild young Pieter Zwart appealed to him. He hired himself a car – an electric-blue Bugatti. He had silk shirts and pink champagne sent up to his room. Above all, he was thrilled to be back in France and in such circumstances. He never gave the memory of Marthe de Brandt more than a passing thought.

His first evening he dressed carefully, dined well, then strolled for a while along the Grande Corniche. The evening was beautiful. Down in the harbour there were moored the yachts of the very rich. The lights of Cap Ferrat winked from the headland. Back in the rococo palace of the casino, the chandeliers were lit, the halls were filling, and the early gamblers placing their first bets. It was all totally unreal, but something about its unreality appealed to Bond. He was developing a marked distaste for the realities of life. He was nearly seventeen, but looked a handsome twenty-five. Behind the cold mask of his face, he felt even older. When Marthe de Brandt died, something had died in him. All that he wanted now was action and the sort of life that Maddox offered.

He was glad too that he was on his own. Already this was how he liked to work and he was grateful to Maddox for understanding this. Esposito had stayed behind in Paris, but it was understood that if Bond needed him he would come at once.

Bond took his place in the grande salle early, anxious to secure a good seat and to have a chance of seeing who was there. The great room was crowded and Bond played the usual game of trying to pick the genuinely wealthy from the would-be rich. Esposito had told him there was something in the eyes. Bond believed him, but was still not certain what it was. He wondered what his own eyes gave away.

He did his best to play the part of the extravagant young gambler, buying some half million francs worth of chips from the caisse and wagering them wildly. He was successful here. By midnight, when the Roumanians were expected, he had already squandered over ?500 at baccarat, and was beginning to attract attention. This was what he wanted.

Almost on the stroke of midnight the Roumanians appeared. Bond watched them carefully. All were short, swarthy men wearing tight-fitting dark suits like uniforms. They were unsmiling and formidable, entering the room like a troupe of well-trained acrobats. They stood out from the other players by the certainty and calm which made them curiously forbidding. Now that he had seen them, Bond could understand the anxieties of the casino. These men would take a lot of stopping.

Bond looked across at Vlacek. The only way that one could pick him out was by his enormous head. It was completely bald and tanned the colour of brown paper. His features were inscrutable for, like his three colleagues, he wore large dark glasses.

As soon as he appeared, a place was cleared for him as if for royalty. He was exactly opposite James Bond. Although it was impossible to penetrate the dark pools of the lenses, Bond felt his eyes on him. It was an uncomfortable sensation and he recalled Esposito's advice, ‘Always watch their eyes and always smile.’ Bond smiled. Several shoes were played. Vlacek was a computer in a dinner jacket. The huge naked head showed no expression, and with each hand unerringly he won. Vlacek was a machine for winning.

Finally Bond challenged him, and as he did he watched for any of the countless give-aways Esposito had taught him to observe. There were none. The stubby fingers with their backing of obscene black hair handled the cards mechanically. There was no sign of pleasure as he gathered in his winnings from James Bond. By 2.30 it was over. The 500,000 francs had crossed the green baize of the table. Bond was cleaned out.

Bond did his best to bear his losses as he imagined any well brought-up millionaire’s son would. He shrugged, grinned, tipped the croupier and nodded towards Vlacek, who made no sign of having noticed him. But as he got up from the table a girl brushed his arm. She was tall, beautiful and very blonde. Bond apologized to her. She smiled; he noticed she was very young.