Trigger Mortis: A James Bond Novel
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Literary legend James Bond returns to his 1950s heyday in this exhilarating thriller by Sunday Times bestselling author Anthony Horowitz.
It's 1957 and James Bond (agent 007) has only just survived his showdown with Auric Goldfinger at Fort Knox. By his side is Pussy Galore, who was with him at the end. Unknown to either of them, the USSR and the West are in a deadly struggle for technological superiority. And SMERSH is back.
The Soviet counter-intelligence agency plans to sabotage a Grand Prix race at the most dangerous track in Europe. But it's Bond who finds himself in the driving seat and events take an unexpected turn when he observes a suspicious meeting between SMERSH's driver and a sinister Korean millionaire, Jai Seong Sin.
Soon Bond is pitched into an entirely different race uncovering a plan that could bring the West to its knees.
Welcoming back familiar faces, including M and Miss Moneypenny, international bestselling author Anthony Horowitz ticks all the boxes: speed, danger, strong women and fiendish villains, to reinvent the golden age of Bond in this brilliantly gripping adventure. Trigger Mortis is also the first James Bond novel to feature previously unseen Ian Fleming material.
This is James Bond as Fleming imagined him.
always wore. He had got there early. There was a newspaper on the table in front of him and he had partly filled in the crossword. Keller knew him as Harry Johnson but he was fairly certain that was not his real name. Slightly awkwardly, he raised a hand in greeting, then crossed the red and white tiled floor and squeezed himself in on the other side of the table. At the last moment, he realised he had forgotten to put on his jacket. Well, it was too late now. He was determined not to do anything
noticed it was there. There was a bruised quality to her eyes. It was quite possible that she had killed a man a short while ago and although she was trying to pretend it didn’t matter, it clearly wasn’t something she was used to and she wasn’t quite able to conceal the shock. ‘I’m tired,’ she said. ‘We can talk in the morning.’ ‘It is the morning. And I don’t want to wake up in another hotel room on my own.’ ‘I’m sorry I did that to you, James. OK? Is that what you want to hear? But try and
view, a trifling matter and one that could well endanger my own, much more significant operation. Even so, the colonel ordered me to meet him at Nürburgring. This is the trouble with working with the Soviets. They trust nobody, and they had concerns following the quite unexpected death of Thomas Keller, murdered by his wife, as it turned out. ‘At any event, they insisted on a meeting although I thought it foolish and told the colonel so, in no uncertain words. It is a shame he did not listen to
an inch or two below the highest point. He hooked onto the ridges with his right hand and pressed his left palm against the vertical side of the carriage. At least the friction would provide him with a modicum of support. Then he began to edge forward, his eyes closed, feeling the wind hammering at his shoulders and head, desperately trying to force him back. It was even harder than he had expected. If he could have stretched himself out along a flat surface, he would have been able to crawl
the officials thought otherwise. The other man ended up in hospital in a critical condition. He was lucky to pull through. Dimitrov hasn’t raced since.’ ‘So where’s the link with SMERSH?’ ‘Moscow put pressure on the FIA to allow this man back,’ M said. ‘And they certainly wouldn’t do that just for the hell of it. Anyway, there’s something else. Our Czech friend sent in his last report three days ago. He said he’d seen Dimitrov staging crashes and that he was convinced they were planning to put