John Pearson - James Bond - The Authorised Biography

That Friday night, Bond followed what had now become his regular routine, entering the grande salle before midnight, watching the Roumanians arrive, then losing several thousand pounds to them. He purposely avoided looking at the girl, but Vlacek for once appeared almost genial. As well as Bond there were several rich Americans, all of whom gambled heavily and lost. Vlacek was managing to smile. When Bond withdrew he said to him, ‘Please don't lose heart, Mr Zwart, your luck is bound to change.’

‘Let's hope,’ said James Bond.

Mathis was standing just behind his chair. Bond thought he saw him wink.

It was to be a night of waiting. It was gone four when the casino had begun to empty and the Roumanians had won enough. Bond was sitting in a hired Peugeot opposite the main entrance when they came out. Mathis had joined him, and they saw the Roumanians troop out, solemn as four constipated undertakers. The girl was with them. A big limousine purred up with darkened windows. They got in and drove away.

There was no hurry. It would take the Roumanians twenty minutes to reach their villa. According to the girl, Vlacek was a leisurely lover. It would be an hour at least before he was asleep. So Bond and Mathis made sure that the Roumanians were well ahead before they set off for the villa. They drove slowly, then took up position near the small tradesman's door at the rear. Several lights were on. One by one they were extinguished. At ten past five the back door opened. Keeping to the shadows Bond walked across. The girl was waiting. Neither of them spoke as she handed something to him and then closed the door.

Then the rush started. It took the Peugeot three minutes flat to reach the opticians in the Rue Marechal Leclerc. The lights were on and, still in his blue beret, Alphonse Duverger was waiting. Bond handed him a pair of heavy dark spectacles.

‘The lenses must be indistinguishable,’ he said.

The blue beret nodded.

Before six was striking, Bond and Mathis were back safely at the villa. As they arrived, the back door opened and Bond was able to give the girl back Vlacek's spectacles. For her sake he hoped Duverger knew his job.

During September, Saturdays at the casino were a gala night. In an attempt to bolster up the casino's failing fortunes, de Lesseps had been trying to attract the wealthiest visitors to the Riviera. There had been a ball up at the castle, and, as Bond arrived at the casino, the square outside was jammed with a small fortune in expensive motor-cars. The casino had been floodlit, fireworks were lighting up the bay. There was an air of carnival and celebration. Bond wondered grimly whether it would be for him or the Roumanians.

The casino was crowded, with the rich elbowing the would-be-rich for places at roulette; in the grande salle the croupiers were performing miracles of speed as they kept the cards and the counters on the move. There was excitement in the air, that unique excitement of high gambling in a great casino where fortunes and human lives are desperately at risk. The heavy money seemed to be originating from a group of South Americans – sallow men with diamond-covered wives. Bond wondered how they would react to the Roumanians when midnight came.

But the Roumanians were late. For the first time since Bond had been there, there was no sign of them at 12.15. Had the girl been seen? Had Vlacek's suspicions been aroused by some difference in his spectacles? Suddenly Bond realized that if he had failed, it was the end of his career. Maddox would somehow manage to explain away the money he had spent to Whitehall. But there could be no explanation for himself. In his business failure was the only sin against the Holy Ghost.

Then suddenly the Roumanians had come. The usual rigmarole began. Vlacek took his customary place. There was a hush. The dealing started. Bond watched him carefully. Vlacek picked up his cards and, for the first time, Bond saw him falter. Instead of that mechanical inhuman play, Vlacek was pausing. And, for the first time since Bond had watched him, Vlacek lost.

There was a buzz of interest. People were watching now. The croupier, a white-faced, elegant young man gathered the cards, replaced them in the shoe, then dealt again. As Vlacek held his cards this time his hand was shaking, but he kept his self-control and bet high as he always did. Bond noticed two small beads of oily sweat starting to trickle down his cheek. He turned up his cards – a seven. The banker had a ‘natural’. It was the third hand that seemed to crack Vlacek. He was sweating freely now and placed an even higher stake on his cards. Again he lost. Then something unexpected happened. The Roumanian clutched at his dark glasses and pulled them off. For the first time Bond saw his eyes. They were staring straight at him and they were full of fear. Vlacek tried to rise, but Mathis was behind him.

‘Sit, monsieur,’ he said, ‘the game goes on.’

Then Bond produced his own dark glasses. Duverger had made them up for him with Vlacek's original lenses. Bond put them on. The cards were shuffled from the shoe and Bond could finally see the trick which had come so near to ruining the casino. On the back of every card were clear luminous signs – dots for numbers, crosses for kings, circles for queens, and so on. This was the famous ‘Luminous Reader’ – with these extraordinary dark glasses, Bond could tell everybody's hand, even the banker’s. He could see now how the Roumanians had always won.

For the next half hour James Bond played – the game of a lifetime. Mathis kept Vlacek at the table and James Bond destroyed him. He had some ?50,000 in chips before him. Bond took it all, and only then did Mathis let Vlacek rise.

The final act took place that night on the second floor of the casino in de Lesseps's office. All four Roumanians were there. So was James Bond along with Mathis and de Lesseps and a group of top-security officials from the casino. As a policeman, Mathis had been in favour of making the whole case public, but de Lesseps had argued him out of this. This was Monaco – not France. The publicity of a big trial would be unwelcome, and the outcome could be uncertain.

Instead the Roumanians had agreed to refund most of their winnings, and had signed an undertaking never to enter a casino again. Mathis could ensure that they never entered France either.

So they agreed, and Bond saw them walk down the grand staircase and across the foyer for the last time. It was a moment not without its pathos. The big limousine was waiting.

Bond went to send Esposito a cable – ‘Luminous reader triumphant.’ And as he came back from the desk to have a drink with Mathis, a tall, blonde girl brushed against his arm. The drink had to wait.

BOND SEEMED TO have enjoyed telling the story of the luminous reader. There was no mistaking the nostalgia with which he talked about those far-off days.

‘So,’ he concluded, ‘I like to think that I'm the man who saved the Bank of Monte Carlo.’

‘But was it really useful to the British Secret Service? Did it work the way that Maddox planned?’

Bond laughed good-humouredly.

‘Well, yes and no. The undercover world was very different then. There was a lot of make-believe and some extraordinary characters. When I look back it seems a sort of game – but I did take it all extremely seriously. We all did. Maddox especially. He enjoyed planning an affair like that and got a great kick from its success. The night after the Roumanians left, he arrived in Monte Carlo. Of course he was in his element. De Lesseps gave us dinner – and what a dinner. Mathis was there, and most of the directors of the Societe des Bains de Mer. I took Vlacek's girl. Maddox had some actress with him. It was an incredible affair. And in a way old Maddox was quite right.