Casino Royale: the basic story part one

James Bond was a secret agent. He was sitting at a table playing cards with a pale faced, clean shaven asthmatic man with red-brown hair, brown eyes, false teeth, a woman’s mouth, and very small ears.

This man was Le Chiffre; he was paymaster for SMERSH, a group of generally nasty people whose money Le Chiffre had been gambling with. Bond had been sent to Casino Royal in northern France by M, the head if the secret service, to play a high stakes poker game in order to leave Le Chiffre penniless, and in the bad book with  SMERSH who would very likely send him to the naughty step to think about what he had done. On the other hand, if Bond were to lose, the government would have funded an international terrorist organization.

Bond was an “00” agent, who at any time was expected to kill in cold blood. There were only three with that rank in the secret survive, but instead of sending Bond to kill Le Chiffre, they decided it best to send him on a mission to play cards because they were both good at that too.

 

Bond was feeling tired now, he had been playing all day. He decided he’d call it a night so went about leaving the casino. He had assessed how easy it would have been to rob the place in the past days he had been there, and also the playing habits of Le Chiffre. He had come to the conclusion that Le Chiffre wouldn’t try robbing the casino. With his asthma he’d probably run out of breath on his getaway.

Once in his room Bond started checking all his little makeshift security systems. The single strand of hair on the draw of the desk lay undisturbed. The talcum powder on the cloths cupboard door, immaculate. Inside the toilet system he had scratched a mark on the copper ball-cock, just to check the water was the same level. You would think this all to be all rather odd behavior, especially that last one. But this was the usual thing to do if you were a spy. See, not so glamorous now is it? Spies are a little OCD, and very paranoid characters. They think everyone is out to kill them. But in all fairness, there probably are a number of people out to kill them.

Satisfied that no persons of an uncouth nature had had the nerve to relive their selves in Mr. Bond water closet, he sat looking out his window for a while, then stuffed a wad of banknotes under his pillow, as that is a very secure place, and went to bed. His last act before drifting off to sleep was to slip his hand under his pillow, and rest it on the butt of his gun.

 

The plan to take down Le Chiffre had been handed to M by the head of S, who concerned themselves with the Soviet Union.

“Now look here Bill,” he had said to Ms chief of staff, “I want to sell something to Chief.”

“What do you think Penny?” Bill had asked Ms Secretary Miss Moneypenny, a well loved character who did not appear in the 2006 film adaptation.

“Should be alright.” she had said. The head of S handed Bill an envelop with a red star on it, indicating that it was top secret. Bill pressed a switch on his desk and spoke into an intercom.

“Yes,” came the voice of M.

“Head of S has an urgent document for you.”

“Bring it in.” Bill crossed the room and walked through the door leading to the big mans office. A moment later he came out and a little blue light over the entrance came on as a warning that M was not to be disturbed.

 

Later, the head of S said to his number two man in a triumphant sort of way:

“He said that last picture was supervision and blackmail, it nearly got us cooked. He approves, though he thinks it’s a crazy idea.”

“Well I am incline to agree.” Said his number two man.

“How so you mean?”

“Well we know Le Chiffre is paymaster to SMERSH don’t we?”

“Yes.”

“We also know he’s a formidable and dangerous agent of the U.S.S.R.”

“Yes.”

“He carries razorblades in his hatband, and has no first name, a clear indication that he’s an agnostic to us.”

“Yes, so what is your point?”

“Well, can’t we just go and arrest him now? Wouldn’t that make more sense than to gamble with the possibility of lining his pockets with the taxpayer’s money so that he doesn’t get in trouble with his bosses? Or just kill him ourselves. I mean we are sending in a “00”, they are trained to just kill in cold blood.”

“No, assassination is pointless. Leningrad would just quickly cover up his defalcations and make him a martyr.”

“So? I still don’t see…”

“We’re just doing it this way alright? It’s more interesting and fun. I'm the boss here, and I want to do it this way.”

“Ok then sir, I suppose it’s your train set.”

This had happened two weeks ago now, and James Bond was now two days into his stay at Hotel Splendide reminiscing about the history of the case thus far.

He had spent most of his stay in the casino with the cover of a Jamaican plantocrat, and had made three million francs.

This morning after breakfast he recived a phone call telling him that the Director of Radio Stentor was here with the wireless set he had ordered from Paris.

“Of course,” Bond had said, “send him up.”

Soon Bond was joint by Mathis, the liaison man for the Deuxierne Borcan. Director of Radio Stentor was the cover he had been given.

“Here is the set you asked to have on approval – five valves,” he said to Bond.

“Sounds alright.”

Mathis turned on the set to full volume and pointed to the ceiling.

“My dear friend, you are blown. Up there either Monsieur Munztz or his wife are listening to you. Hopefully right now defended by the set.”

Bond made a face, they carried on play acting for a bit before they got down to busyness.

“Your number two will be here soon, she is very beautiful.”

“Why do you want to send me a bloody woman for?” bond frowned, “you think this is a picnic?”

“Calm yourself my dear James, she is as serious as you are, and as cold as an icicle. She speaks French like a… well Frenchman and knows her job backwards. I have arranged for a meet. It’s only natural that a man with a cover like yours should pick up a pretty girl.”

“Any other surprises?”

“Nothing much, just come to the Hermitage before lunch for the meet. Then onto the Casino in the evening, with her. I’ll be in the background keeping an eye on you, and there’s an American the CIA sent over by the name of Leiter, London told me to tell you. He might come in handy.”

Mathis then turned off the set. He and Bond exchanged pleasantries about the tone of it and how Bond may want to purchase one. Then Mathis left Bond alone to think. Nothing that had been said to him had sounded good. His cover had been blown the moment he had arrived two days previously, and at this moment people were listening to him. Then there was this pest of a girl who had been sent over. A woman there would only complicate things with their feelings and emotions.

”Bitch,” Bond said out loud, then “bitch,” again.

Upstairs, Madam Munztz was listening in on Bond and wondering what the Director of Radio Stentor could have possibly done to warrant Bond calling him bitch after he had gone.