No, Mr. Bond, I Expect You To Read - Let's Read James Bond

The Something Awful Forums > Archives > Comedy Goldmine > No, Mr. Bond, I Expect You To Read - Let's Read James Bond

«‹›57 »

Jaguars!: Jul 31, 2012

I love the undercurrents of the meeting of the Generals, and Kronsteen's encounter, the first part of this book is one of those bits I can just sit down and read if I find myself with a lazy afternoon or something. My favourite bit of my favourite bond novel.

As an aside, were the generals real or sourced from another publication? Googling some of their names just brings up Bond related sites.

# ? Feb 28, 2019 10:43

Adbot: ADBOT LOVES YOU

# ? May 10, 2024 06:19

Lord Zedd-Repulsa: Jul 21, 2007; Devour a good book.

I've been either busy or asleep for most of the last week or so, which means I've just now caught up on this. I really love Fleming's descriptions in general; his verbal portrait of Rosa Klebb makes me feel creatively inferior. All of the commentary on the Soviets is great because I know next to nothing about that bit of history.

# ? Feb 28, 2019 11:53

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 8: The Beautiful Lure

quote:

Sitting by the window of her one room and looking out at the serene June evening, at the first pink of the sunset reflected in the windows across the street, at the distant onion spire of a church that flamed like a torch above the ragged horizon of Moscow roofs, Corporal of State Security Tatiana Romanova thought that she was happier than she had ever been before.

Her happiness was not romantic. It had nothing to do with the rapturous start to a love affair � those days and weeks before the first tiny tear-clouds appear on the horizon. It was the quiet, settled happiness of security, of being able to look forward with confidence to the future, heightened by the immediate things, a word of praise she had had that afternoon from Professor Denikin, the smell of a good supper cooking on the electric stove, her favourite prelude to Boris Goudonov being played by the Moscow State Orchestra on the radio, and, over all, the beauty of the fact that the long winter and short spring were past and it was June.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=71oQl46glYs

quote:

The room was a tiny box in the huge modern apartment building on the Sadovaya-Chernogriazskay Ulitza that is the women�s barracks of the State Security Departments. Built by prison labour, and finished in 1939, the fine eight-storey building contains two thousand rooms, some, like hers on the third floor, nothing but square boxes with a telephone, hot and cold water, a single electric light and a share of the central bathrooms and lavatories, others, on the two top floors, consisting of two- and three-room flats with bathrooms. These were for high-ranking women. Graduation up the building was strictly by rank, and Corporal Romanova had to rise through Sergeant, Lieutenant, Captain, Major and Lieutenant-Colonel before she would reach the paradise of the eighth and Colonels� floor.

But heaven knew she was content enough with her present lot. A salary of 1,200 roubles a month (thirty per cent more than she could have earned in any other Ministry), a room to herself; cheap food and clothes from the �closed shops� on the ground floor of the building; a monthly allocation of at least two Ministry tickets to the Ballet or the Opera; a full two weeks� paid holiday a year. And, above all, a steady job with good prospects in Moscow � not in one of those dreary provincial towns where nothing happened month after month, and where the arrival of a new film or the visit of a travelling circus was the only thing to keep one out of bed in the evening.

Of course, you had to pay for being in the M.G.B. The uniform put you apart from the world. People were afraid, which didn�t suit the nature of most girls, and you were confined to the society of other M.G.B. girls and men, one of whom, when the time came, you would have to marry in order to stay with the Ministry. And they worked like the devil � eight to six, five and a half days a week, and only forty minutes off for lunch in the canteen. But it was a good lunch, a real meal, and you could do with little supper and save up for the sable coat that would one day take the place of the well-worn Siberian fox.

At the thought of her supper, Corporal Romanova left the chair by the window and went to examine the pot of thick soup, with a few shreds of meat and some powdered mushroom, that was to be her supper. It was nearly done and smelled delicious. She turned off the electricity and let the pot simmer while she washed and tidied, as, years before, she had been taught to do before meals.

Rather than talk about what kind of specific dish she must be making, let's discuss the infamous Soviet cuisine as a whole.

Efforts were made by the Soviet Union to erase the national identity of its individual states as much as possible to create a general Soviet identity. They were also infamous for constant shortages, both due to lack of production and corruption. When combined, these two realities of Soviet life led to the creation of a national cuisine as well.

Before the Russian Revolution, the cuisine of Imperial Russia varied from grandiose to barely there depending on your social standing. The wealthy and nobility enjoyed imported foods and embraced international cuisine, especially French. While the peasants would usually be surviving on various soups and rye bread, the Romanovs would have elaborate dishes of jellied meat, roasts, canapes, cheese-filled pastries, and cakes. The French influence didn't totally disappear after the formation of the Soviet Union, but it was heavily simplified. Georgian cuisine was also introduced across Eastern Europe thanks to Stalin being Georgian.

The typical dish for a Soviet worker like Tanya would have been soup or stew. Along with the famous/infamous borscht, okroshka was a common one. This was a soup made from a kvass base (a very low-alcohol beer made by fermenting rye bread in water) with various vegetables, meats, and sour cream. Especially in times of hardship, "okroshka" could be made on a base of anything from water to diluted kefir (a fermented milk drink that I absolutely hate) and the ingredients could be chopped hot dogs or canned Vienna sausages, boiled potatoes, and hard boiled eggs. If you could chop it up, it would go in the pot.

For solid foods, you've got some variety depending on your wealth and connections. Cutlets, Beef Stroganoff, salads, cabbage rolls, peas, etc. Many workers got their meals outside the home from state-run canteens that served the same food just about everywhere. Restaurants existed that took hard currency, but they often wouldn't have everything on the menu and you would usually just ask "What do you have today?" upon arriving. While modern Russian cuisine is greatly improved and you can generally find whatever you want now, a lot of people still think it's all borscht and potatoes.

Overall, Tania's meal is typical and probably close to what she eats at home just about every day. You take what you can get and make it into stew.

quote:

While she dried her hands, she examined herself in the big oval looking-glass over the washstand.

One of her early boy-friends had said she looked like the young Greta Garbo. What nonsense! And yet tonight she did look rather well. Fine dark brown silken hair brushed straight back from a tall brow and falling heavily down almost to the shoulders, there to curl slightly up at the ends (Garbo had once done her hair like that and Corporal Romanova admitted to herself that she had copied it), a good, soft pale skin with an ivory sheen at the cheekbones; wide apart, level eyes of the deepest blue under straight natural brows (she closed one eye after the other. Yes, her lashes were certainly long enough!), a straight, rather imperious nose � and then the mouth. What about the mouth? Was it too broad? It must look terribly wide when she smiled. She smiled at herself in the mirror. Yes, it was wide; but then so had Garbo�s been. At least the lips were full and finely etched. There was the hint of a smile at the corners. No one could say it was a cold mouth! And the oval of her face. Was that too long? Was her chin a shade too sharp? She swung her head sideways to see it in profile. The heavy curtain of hair swung forward and across her right eye so that she had to brush it back. Well, the chin was pointed, but at least it wasn�t sharp. She faced the mirror again and picked up a brush and started on the long, heavy hair. Greta Garbo! She was all right, or so many men wouldn�t tell her that she was � let alone the girls who were always coming to her for advice about their faces. But a film star � a famous one! She made a face at herself in the glass and went to eat her supper.

In fact Corporal Tatiana Romanova was a very beautiful girl indeed. Apart from her face, the tall, firm body moved particularly well. She had been a year in the ballet school in Leningrad and had abandoned dancing as a career only when she grew an inch over the prescribed limit of five feet six. The school had taught her to hold herself well and to walk well. And she looked wonderfully healthy, thanks to her passion for figure-skating, which she practised all through the year at the Dynamo ice-stadium and which had already earned her a place on the first Dynamo women�s team. Her arms and breasts were faultless. A purist would have disapproved of her behind. Its muscles were so hardened with exercise that it had lost the smooth downward feminine sweep, and now, round at the back and flat and hard at the sides, it jutted like a man�s.

Corporal Romanova was admired far beyond the confines of the English translation section of the M.G.B. Central Index. Everyone agreed that it would not be long before one of the senior officers came across her and peremptorily hauled her out of her modest section to make her his mistress, or if absolutely necessary, his wife.

Tatiana in the movie was played by Daniela Bianchi, one of the relatively few actors from these early Bond films who's still alive today. She's an Italian putting on a fake Russian accent, but shared a connection with the character by being the daughter of an army colonel. She retired from acting and modeling in 1970 and married a wealthy shipping magnate.

quote:

The girl poured the thick soup into a small china bowl, decorated with wolves chasing a galloping sleigh round the rim, broke some black bread into it and went and sat in her chair by the window and ate it slowly with a nice shiny spoon she had slipped into her bag not many weeks before after a gay evening at the Hotel Moskwa.

When she had finished, she washed up and went back to her chair and lit the first cigarette of the day (no respectable girl in Russia smokes in public, except in a restaurant, and it would have meant instant dismissal if she had smoked at her work) and listened impatiently to the whimpering discords of an orchestra from Turkmenistan. This dreadful Oriental stuff they were always putting on to please the kulaks of one of those barbaric outlying states! Why couldn�t they play something kulturny? Some of that modern jazz music, or something classical. This stuff was hideous. Worse, it was old fashioned.

Her Professor Denikin calls her, and unusually refers to her as Corporal Romanova instead of "Tatiana" or "Tania." That means trouble.

He informs her that she's been requested for an interview by Colonel Klebb in 15 minutes, who lives on the 8th floor of their apartment building. He doesn't give her any details and very abruptly hangs up.

quote:

The girl held the receiver away from her face. She stared at it with frenzied eyes as if she could wring more words out of the circles of little holes in the black ear-piece. �Hullo! Hullo!� The empty mouthpiece yawned at her. She realized that her hand and her forearm were aching with the strength of her grip. She bent slowly forward and put the receiver down on the cradle.

She stood for a moment, frozen, gazing blindly at the black machine. Should she call him back? No, that was out of the question. He had spoken as he had because he knew, and she knew, that every call, in and out of the building, was listened to or recorded. That was why he had not wasted a word. This was a State matter. With a message of this sort, you got rid of it as quickly as you could, in as few words as possible, and wiped your hands of it. You had got the dreadful card out of your hand. You had passed the Queen of Spades to someone else. Your hands were clean again.

The girl put her knuckles up to her open mouth and bit on them, staring at the telephone. What did they want her for? What had she done? Desperately she cast her mind back, scrabbling through the days, the months, the years. Had she made some terrible mistake in her work and they had just discovered it? Had she made some remark against the State, some joke that had been reported back? That was always possible. But which remark? When? If it had been a bad remark, she would have felt a twinge of guilt or fear at the time. Her conscience was clear. Or was it? Suddenly she remembered. What about the spoon she had stolen? Was it that? Government property! She would throw it out of the window, now, far to one side or the other. But no, it couldn�t be that. That was too small. She shrugged her shoulders resignedly and her hand dropped to her side. She got up and moved towards the clothes cupboard to get out her best uniform, and her eyes were misty with the tears of fright and bewilderment of a child. It could be none of those things. SMERSH didn�t send for one for that sort of thing. It must be something much, much worse.

The girl glanced through her wet eyes at the cheap watch on her wrist. Only seven minutes to go! A new panic seized her. She brushed her forearm across her eyes and grabbed down her parade uniform. On top of it all, whatever it was, to be late! She tore at the buttons of her white cotton blouse.

As we've gone over, this kind of panic was absolutely normal and expected. An "interview" with the secret police could easily mean torture or execution, possibly for something you didn't even expect to kill you when you did it. You were only in more danger if you were actively involved in the government, as this gave you far more opportunities to gently caress up.

quote:

As she dressed and washed her face and brushed her hair, her mind went on probing at the evil mystery like an inquisitive child poking into a snake�s hole with a stick. From whatever angle she explored the hole, there came an angry hiss.

Leaving out the nature of her guilt, contact with any tentacle of SMERSH was unspeakable. The very name of the organization was abhorred and avoided. SMERSH, �Smiert Spionam�, �Death to Spies�. It was an obscene word, a word from the tomb, the very whisper of death, a word never mentioned even in secret office gossip among friends. Worst of all, within this horrible organization, Otdyel II, the Department of Torture and Death, was the central horror.

And the Head of Otdyel II, the woman, Rosa Klebb! Unbelievable things were whispered about this woman, things that came to Tatiana in her nightmares, things she forgot again during the day, but that she now paraded.

It was said that Rosa Klebb would let no torturing take place without her. There was a blood-spattered smock in her office, and a low camp-stool, and they said that when she was seen scurrying through the basement passages dressed in the smock and with the stool in her hand, the word would go round, and even the workers in SMERSH would hush their words and bend low over their papers � perhaps even cross their fingers in their pockets � until she was reported back in her room.

For, or so they whispered, she would take the camp-stool and draw it up close below the face of the man or woman that hung down over the edge of the interrogation table. Then she would squat down on the stool and look into the face and quietly say �No. 1� or �No. 10� or �No. 25� and the inquisitors would know what she meant and they would begin. And she would watch the eyes in the face a few inches away from hers and breathe in the screams as if they were perfume. And, depending on the eyes, she would quietly change the torture, and say �Now No. 36� or �Now No. 64� and the inquisitors would do something else. As the courage and resistance seeped out of the eyes, and they began to weaken and beseech, she would start cooing softly. �There, there my dove. Talk to me, my pretty one, and it will stop. It hurts. Ah me, it hurts so, my child. And one is so tired of the pain. One would like it to stop, and to be able to lie down in peace, and for it never to begin again. Your mother is here beside you, only waiting to stop the pain. She has a nice soft cosy bed all ready for you to sleep on and forget, forget, forget. Speak,� she would whisper lovingly. �You have only to speak and you will have peace and no more pain.� If the eyes still resisted, the cooing would start again. �But you are foolish, my pretty one. Oh so foolish. This pain is nothing. Nothing! You don�t believe me, my little dove? Well then, your mother must try a little, but only a very little, of No. 87.� And the interrogators would hear and change their instruments and their aim, and she would squat there and watch the life slowly ebbing from the eyes until she had to speak loudly into the ear of the person or the words would not reach the brain.

But it was seldom, so they said, that the person had the will to travel far along SMERSH�s road of pain, let alone to the end, and, when the soft voice promised peace, it nearly always won, for somehow Rosa Klebb knew from the eyes the moment when the adult had been broken down into a child crying for its mother. And she provided the image of the mother and melted the spirit where the harsh words of a man would have toughened it.

Then, after yet another suspect had been broken, Rosa Klebb would go back down the passage with her camp-stool and take off her newly soiled smock and get back to her work and the word would go round that all was over and normal activity would come back to the basement.

After learning about how far Beria managed to get in politics despite being a literal serial killer, could anyone ever find Rosa Klebb to be too evil to be in the KGB?

quote:

Tatiana, frozen by her thoughts, looked again at her watch. Four minutes to go. She ran her hands down her uniform and gazed once more at her white face in the glass. She turned and said farewell to the dear, familiar little room. Would she ever see it again?

She walked straight down the long corridor and rang for the lift.

When it came, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin and walked into the lift as if it was the platform of the guillotine.

�Eighth,� she said to the girl operator. She stood facing the doors. Inside her, remembering a word she had not used since childhood, she repeated over and over �My God � My God � My God.�

# ? Feb 28, 2019 16:11

Somebody Awful: Nov 27, 2011; BORN TO DIE
HAIG IS A FUCK
Kill Em All 1917
I am trench man
410,757,864,530 SHELLS FIRED

Epicurius posted:

the only two countries that sent help were Mexico and the Soviet Union

Ideologically motivated help, perhaps. A number of additional countries provided arms to the republicans in order to generate cash and dispose of obsolete ordnance. IIRC Poland was the biggest supplier after the USSR, but Belgium, Czechoslovakia, and others got in on it as well.

# ? Feb 28, 2019 18:11

poisonpill: Nov 8, 2009; The only way to get huge fast is to insult a passing witch and hope she curses you with Beast-strength.

George Orwell and Ernest Hemingway also both supported the Republicans in Spain

# ? Feb 28, 2019 20:10

Epicurius: Apr 10, 2010; College Slice

poisonpill posted:

George Orwell and Ernest Hemingway also both supported the Republicans in Spain

Right. As individuals. Individual volunteers came from all over the world (and Orwell's Homage to Catalonia is about his time in the civil war), but neither the British or American government supported the republic.

# ? Feb 28, 2019 20:17

Midjack: Dec 24, 2007

Proteus Jones posted:

No joke, this thread has been way more interesting and engrossing that I imagined it would be when it started.

Thank you for all the effort posts regarding the context of post-WWII and Cold War politics and other minutiae during that time.

Same, thanks for the work you put into these write ups.

# ? Feb 28, 2019 20:49

MonsterEnvy: Feb 4, 2012; Shocked I tell you

Jaguars! posted:

I love the undercurrents of the meeting of the Generals, and Kronsteen's encounter, the first part of this book is one of those bits I can just sit down and read if I find myself with a lazy afternoon or something. My favourite bit of my favourite bond novel.

As an aside, were the generals real or sourced from another publication? Googling some of their names just brings up Bond related sites.

I think the generals meeting with G were real. But G, Klebb and Kronsteen are fictional.

# ? Feb 28, 2019 21:20

Epicurius: Apr 10, 2010; College Slice

Ivan Serov was real. Serov's betrayal of Beria helped lead to his downfall, and Serov, as a reward, became head of the KGB until 1958, when Khrushchev reduced the visibility of the KGB. He then became head of the GRU (Soviet military intelligence), until 1963, when he was forced out because of the Penkovsky affair and the Cuban Missile Crisis.

# ? Feb 28, 2019 21:42

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

Ivan Serov was also a Rosa Klebb of his own. If you'd like, the CIA declassified their 1958 file on him.

He was slightly younger than Beria and likewise a youth when the Russian Revolution occurred. Whereas Beria had already gotten himself into hot water for playing with both sides, Serov joined the Red Army as a proud soldier after the civil war had already been decided in their favor. He joined the NKVD in 1939 at almost the exact same time that Beria killed his way into becoming its head.

As a commissar of the NKVD, Serov has been held responsible for hundreds or thousands of deaths. He participated in the arrests of the Polish officers who would be killed during the Katyn Massacre. One of his top secret documents, the Serov Instructions, gave information on how to carry out mass deportations of Caucasian people (as in the peoples of the Caucasus, not white people) to the Siberian gulags. He boasted that he could "break every bone in a man's body without killing him". Really, the only thing really noticeable about Serov among his peers is that he wasn't unique in his sociopathic cruelty and capacity for violence.

After the war, Serov helped organize the Stasi (the infamous East German secret police that became as notorious as the NKVD). Seeing the writing on the wall when Beria took power after Stalin's death, he quickly saved his own skin by conspiring to betray Beria and avoid being purged himself. He continued his work as the head of the KGB, including personally participating in the Hungarian incident by reporting from the scene of the attempted revolution to the Kremlin and escorting Soviet politicians via armored personnel carrier.

As Epicurius said, he was quietly shuffled over to the GRU as Khrushchev tried to make the Soviet Union seem a little less overtly evil. For his failure to achieve a real Soviet victory in the Cuban Missile Crisis and the reveal that his protege Oleg Penkovsky had been a double-agent for the British, he was stripped of his party membership and fired. He spent the remainder of his life in obscurity and died in 1990, never living to see the fall of the country he crossed so many lines for.

# ? Feb 28, 2019 22:15

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 9: A Labour of Love

quote:

Outside the anonymous, cream painted door, Tatiana already smelled the inside of the room. When the voice told her curtly to come in, and she opened the door, it was the smell that filled her mind while she stood and stared into the eyes of the woman who sat behind the round table under the centre light.

It was the smell of the Metro on a hot evening � cheap scent concealing animal odours. People in Russia soak themselves in scent, whether they have had a bath or not, but mostly when they have not, and healthy, clean girls like Tatiana always walk home from the office, unless the rain or the snow is too bad, so as to avoid the stench in the trains and the Metro.

Now Tatiana was in a bath of the smell. Her nostrils twitched with disgust.

It was her disgust and her contempt for a person who could live in the middle of such a smell that helped her to look down into the yellowish eyes that stared at her through the square glass panes. Nothing could be read in them. They were receiving eyes, not giving eyes. They slowly moved all over her, like camera lenses, taking her in.

Colonel Klebb spoke: �You are a fine-looking girl, Comrade Corporal. Walk across the room and back.�

What were these honeyed words? Taut with a new fear, fear of the notorious personal habits of the woman, Tatiana did as she was told.

�Take your jacket off. Put it down on the chair. Raise your hands above your head. Higher. Now bend and touch your toes. Upright. Good. Sit down.� The woman spoke like a doctor. She gestured to the chair across the table from her. Her staring, probing eyes hooded themselves as they bent over the file on the table.

It must be my zapiska, thought Tatiana. How interesting to see the actual instrument that ordered the whole of one�s life. How thick it was � nearly two inches thick. What could be on all those pages? She looked across at the open folder with wide, fascinated eyes.

Colonel Klebb riffled through the last pages and shut down the cover. The cover was orange with a diagonal black stripe. What did those colours signify?

The woman looked up. Somehow Tatiana managed to look bravely back.

�Comrade Corporal Romanova.� It was the voice of authority, of the senior officer. �I have good reports of your work. Your record is excellent, both in your duties and in sport. The State is pleased with you.�

Klebb informs Tania that she's been singled out for a special mission and will be rewarded with a promotion to Captain of State Security upon its completion, completely unheard of for a 24-year-old girl. Klebb collects some French wine and offers Tania some Swiss chocolates, which she finds a little creepy.

Little does she know where this chapter is going.

quote:

Tatiana murmured her thanks. She reached out and chose a round one. It would be easier to swallow. Her mouth was dry with fear of the moment when she would finally see the trap and feel it snap round her neck. It must be something dreadful to need to be concealed under all this play-acting. The bite of chocolate stuck in her mouth like chewing-gum. Mercifully the glass of champagne was thrust into her hand.

Rosa Klebb stood over her. She lifted her glass merrily. �Za vashe zdarovie, Comrade Tatiana. And my warmest congratulations!�

Tatiana stitched a ghastly smile on her face. She picked up her glass and gave a little bow. �Za vashe zdarovie, Comrade Colonel.� She drained the glass, as is the custom in Russian drinking, and put it down in front of her.

Rosa Klebb immediately filled it again, slopping some over the table-top. �And now to the health of your new department, Comrade.� She raised her glass. The sugary smile tightened as she watched the girl�s reactions.

�To SMERSH!�

Numbly, Tatiana got to her feet. She picked up the full glass. �To SMERSH.� The word scarcely came out. She choked on the champagne and had to take two gulps. She sat heavily down.

Rosa Klebb gave her no time for reflection. She sat down opposite and laid her hands flat on the table. �And now to business, Comrade.� Authority was back in the voice. �There is much work to be done.� She leant forward. �Have you ever wished to live abroad, Comrade? In a foreign country?�

The champagne was having its effect on Tatiana. Probably worse was to come, but now let it come quickly.

Tania answers truthfully: she's never wanted to live anywhere but Moscow and has never thought of the pleasures and sights of a foreign culture. She's a product of the Soviet system, born around 1930 and virtually unaware of life that isn't the USSR around World War II.

quote:

The woman paused. There was girlish conspiracy in the next question.

�Are you a virgin, Comrade?�

Oh, my God, thought Tatiana. �No, Comrade Colonel.�

The wet lips glinted in the light. �How many men?�

Tatiana coloured to the roots of her hair. Russian girls are reticent and prudish about sex. In Russia the sexual climate is mid-Victorian. These questions from the Klebb woman were all the more revolting for being asked in this cold inquisitorial tone by a State official she had never met before in her life. Tatiana screwed up her courage. She stared defensively into the yellow eyes. �What is the purpose of these intimate questions please, Comrade Colonel?�

Rosa Klebb straightened. Her voice cut back like a whip. �Remember yourself, Comrade. You are not here to ask questions. You forget to whom you are speaking. Answer me!�

Tatiana shrank back. �Three men, Comrade Colonel.�

�When? How old were you?� The hard yellow eyes looked across the table into the hunted blue eyes of the girl and held them and commanded. Tatiana was on the edge of tears. �At school. When I was seventeen. Then at the Institute of Foreign Languages. I was twenty-two. Then last year. I was twenty-three. It was a friend I met skating.�

�Their names, please, Comrade.� Rosa Klebb picked up a pencil and pulled a scribbling pad towards her.

Tatiana covered her face with her hands and burst into tears. �No,� she cried between her sobs. �No, never, whatever you do to me. You have no right.�

�Stop that nonsense.� The voice was a hiss. �In five minutes I could have those names from you, or anything else I wish to know. You are playing a dangerous game with me, Comrade. My patience will not last for ever.� Rosa Klebb paused. She was being too rough. �For the moment we will pass on. Tomorrow you will give me the names. No harm will come to these men. They will be asked one or two questions about you � simple technical questions, that is all. Now sit up and dry your tears. We cannot have any more of this foolishness.�

Klebb gives Tatiana some more champagne, which she pushes on her with more than a little urging. She asks one final question: do you find pleasure in sex, and could you enjoy it if it was with a man you didn't love?

quote:

Tatiana shook her head indecisively. She took her hands down from her face and bowed her head. The hair fell down on either side in a heavy curtain. She was trying to think, to be helpful, but she couldn�t imagine such a situation. She supposed � �I suppose it would depend on the man, Comrade Colonel.�

�That is a sensible answer, my dear.� Rosa Klebb opened a drawer in the table. She took out a photograph and slipped it across to the girl. �What about this man, for instance?�

Tatiana drew the photograph cautiously towards her as if it might catch fire. She looked down warily at the handsome, ruthless face. She tried to think, to imagine � �I cannot tell, Comrade Colonel. He is good-looking. Perhaps if he was gentle �� She pushed the photograph anxiously away from her.

�No, keep it, my dear. Put it beside your bed and think of this man. You will learn more about him later in your new work. And now,� the eyes glittered behind the square panes of glass, �would you like to know what your new work is to be? The task for which you have been chosen from all the girls in Russia?�

�Yes, indeed, Comrade Colonel,� Tatiana looked obediently across at the intent face that was now pointing at her like a gun-dog.

The wet, rubbery lips parted enticingly. �It is a simple, delightful duty you have been chosen for, Comrade Corporal � a real labour of love, as we say. It is a matter of falling in love. That is all. Nothing else. Just falling in love with this man.�

�But who is he? I don�t even know him.�

Rosa Klebb�s mouth revelled. This would give the silly chit of a girl something to think about.

�He is an English spy.�

�Bogou moiou!� Tatiana clapped a hand over her mouth as much to stifle the use of God�s name as from terror. She sat, tense with the shock, and gazed at Rosa Klebb through wide, slightly drunk eyes.

Oh don't worry, Tania. Having sex with an English spy is the least of your worries in this room right now.

quote:

�Yes,� said Rosa Klebb, pleased with the effect of her words. �He is an English spy. Perhaps the most famous of them all. And from now on you are in love with him. So you had better get used to the idea. And no silliness, Comrade. We must be serious. This is an important State matter for which you have been chosen as the instrument. So no nonsense, please. Now for some practical details.� Rosa Klebb stopped. She said sharply, �And take your hand away from your silly face. And stop looking like a frightened cow. Sit up in your chair and pay attention. Or it will be the worse for you. Understood?�

�Yes, Comrade Colonel.� Tatiana quickly straightened her back and sat up with her hands in her lap as if she was back at the Security Officers� School. Her mind was in a ferment, but this was no time for personal things. Her whole training told her that this was an operation for the State. She was now working for her country. Somehow she had come to be chosen for an important konspiratsia. As an officer in the M.G.B., she must do her duty and do it well. She listened carefully and with her whole professional attention.

�For the moment,� Rosa Klebb put on her official voice, �I will be brief. You will hear more later. For the next few weeks you will be most carefully trained for this operation until you know exactly what to do in all contingencies. You will be taught certain foreign customs. You will be equipped with beautiful clothes. You will be instructed in all the arts of allurement. Then you will be sent to a foreign country, somewhere in Europe. There you will meet this man. You will seduce him. In this matter you will have no silly compunctions. Your body belongs to the State. Since your birth, the State has nourished it. Now your body must work for the State. Is that understood?�

�Yes, Comrade Colonel.� The logic was inescapable.

�You will accompany this man to England. There, you will no doubt be questioned. The questioning will be easy. The English do not use harsh methods. You will give such answers as you can without endangering the State. We will supply you with certain answers which we would like to be given. You will probably be sent to Canada. That is where the English send a certain category of foreign prisoner. You will be rescued and brought back to Moscow.� Rosa Klebb peered at the girl. She seemed to be accepting all this without question. �You see, it is a comparatively simple matter. Have you any questions at this stage?�

Tania wants to know what will happen to her target after she's done, which Klebb is indifferent about. She claims that the real goal is for her to spread false information to the British and learn more about life in Britain. Satisfied, Klebb tells Tania to finish off the chocolates while she goes to clean herself up for a friendly chat.

quote:

Tatiana sat back in her chair. So that was what it was all about! It really wasn�t so bad after all. What a relief! And what an honour to have been chosen. How silly to have been so frightened! Naturally the great leaders of the State would not allow harm to come to an innocent citizen who worked hard and had no black marks on her zapiska. Suddenly she felt immensely grateful to the father-figure that was the State, and proud that she would now have a chance to repay some of her debt. Even the Klebb woman wasn�t really so bad after all.

Tatiana was still cheerfully reviewing the situation when the bedroom door opened and �the Klebb woman� appeared in the opening. �What do you think of this my dear?� Colonel Klebb opened her dumpy arms and twirled on her toes like a mannequin. She struck a pose with one arm outstretched and the other arm crooked at her waist.

Tatiana�s mouth had fallen open. She shut it quickly. She searched for something to say.

Colonel Klebb of SMERSH was wearing a semi-transparent nightgown in orange cr�pe de chine. It had scallops of the same material round the low square neckline and scallops at the wrists of the broadly flounced sleeves. Underneath could be seen a brassi�re consisting of two large pink satin roses. Below, she wore old-fashioned knickers of pink satin with elastic above the knees. One dimpled knee, like a yellowish coconut, appeared thrust forward between the half open folds of the nightgown in the classic stance of the modeller. The feet were enclosed in pink satin slippers with pompoms of ostrich feathers. Rosa Klebb had taken off her spectacles and her naked face was now thick with mascara and rouge and lipstick.

She looked like the oldest and ugliest whore in the world.

I'm really glad this part wasn't in the movie.

quote:

Tatiana stammered, �It�s very pretty.�

�Isn�t it,� twittered the woman. She went over to a broad couch in the corner of the room. It was covered with a garish piece of peasant tapestry. At the back, against the wall, were rather grimy satin cushions in pastel colours. With a squeak of pleasure, Rosa Klebb threw herself down in the caricature of a Recamier pose. She reached up an arm and turned on a pink shaded table-lamp whose stem was a naked woman in sham Lalique glass. She patted the couch beside her.

This is going exactly where you think it's going.

quote:

�Turn out the top light, my dear. The switch is by the door. Then come and sit beside me. We must get to know each other better.�

Tatiana walked to the door. She switched off the top light. Her hand dropped decisively to the door knob. She turned it and opened the door and stepped coolly out into the corridor. Suddenly her nerve broke. She banged the door shut behind her and ran wildly off down the corridor with her hands over her ears against the pursuing scream that never came.

# ? Mar 1, 2019 16:36

Epicurius: Apr 10, 2010; College Slice

So, lets talk about what Tatiana is expected to do...or at least what she thinks she's expected to do. In other words, lets talk about the "Honeypot".

People take a lot of dumb risks and do a bunch of dumb stuff because of sex. Knowing that, intelligence agencies will sometimes use sex as a method of recruitment. This technique is usually called the "honeypot", and it's basically what you might thing. Your agent seduces or enters into a relationship with someone who's able to give you information, and then the agent either convinces the person to tell them, or now can be blackmailed by your agency. This shows up a lot in espionage fiction, of course, because it lets the writer get a little bit racy and all that, but it's also a real technique. The East Germans were notorious during the Cold War for it.

Interestingly enough, when Fleming wrote the book, the Soviets had just used honeypot techniques on a western diplomat. Fleming wouldn't have known about this, obviously, because the information didn't come out until later.

Maurice Dejean had had a long career in the French diplomatic corps. He had served in a bunch of positions before the war, and then, after the fall of France, managed to escape to London, where he had been a spokesman for the Free French, and a friend and ally to Charles de Gaulle. After the war ended, he became the French Ambassador to Japan, then Czechoslovakia, and then finally, in 1955, to the Soviet Union. Not too long after getting there, he met a young actress named Larissa Kronberg at a party, Dejean had a taste for pretty ladies, and the two of them started a relationship. Not too long after that, they were having sex at her house, when her husband, a geologist who was supposed to be out of town, came home. He saw the two of them in bed together, and attacked Dejean. The authorities were summoned, and they said to him, basically, "Look, don't worry. We know this is embarrassing, but these things happen. We'll keep this quiet, and we can guarantee that Kronberg and her husband will too. You're an important guest in this country, and a friend of the Soviet Union, and the Soviet Union has no desire to embarrass our guests. Of course, because we know you are a friend of the Soviet Union, if you should happen to come across anything that might hurt France's relationship with the Soviet Union, we know that you'd let us know."

Of course, both Kronberg and her "husband" were working for the KGB, and the whole thing had been arranged by them, and now the KGB had an asset in the French Ambassador. Dejean stayed as ambassador until 1963, when a KGB agent defected to British Intelligence, and revealed that he had been compromised. The British passed the information to the French, and Dejean was recalled to Paris, and allowed to retire by de Gaulle.

Meanwhile, there's another story about a possible honeypot that happened to another ambassador to the Soviet Union at about the same time. Please note that while we have pretty solid information about the Dejean case, this second is more speculative. I'm including it because there's a good chance that it's true, but there's still a bunch of doubt and speculation. That would be the case of John Watkins, the Canadian ambassador to the Soviet Union from 1954-56. Watkins died in 1964 of a heart attack in a hotel in Montreal. It wasn't until the 1980s that there was a coroner's inquest about the death, and it turned out the heart attack happened during an interrogation session by the Mounties and CIA. They were investigating allegations that that Watkins, as ambassador, had had an affair with another man in Moscow, and that the KGB were using that to blackmail him, and that the heart attack was the result of the investigation. Was it true? Who knows for sure. We do know that just after his death, the Mounties (which had been investigating and purging gays from the Canadian Civil Service from the 1950s) stepped up their investigations came up with a list of 9000 "suspected homosexuals" in Ottawa, and they came up with what they nicknamed the "fruit machine" to test for homosexuality, by exposing the subject to various images and exposing and measuring their reactions.

Of course, the KGB didn't just target ambassadors. In 1987, a US Marine named Clayton Lonetree, who had been a guard at the American Embassy in Moscow, was courtmartialed and sentenced to 30 years in prison, after being seduced by a KGB officer while he was stationed there. The KGB then blackmailed him and he turned over floor plans to the US Embassies in Moscow and Vienna, as well as a list of undercover US agents in the Soviet Union. His sentence was later reduced to 15 years, and he was released in 1996.

# ? Mar 2, 2019 06:11

Somebody Awful: Nov 27, 2011; BORN TO DIE
HAIG IS A FUCK
Kill Em All 1917
I am trench man
410,757,864,530 SHELLS FIRED

Epicurius posted:

We do know that just after his death, the Mounties (which had been investigating and purging gays from the Canadian Civil Service from the 1950s) stepped up their investigations came up with a list of 9000 "suspected homosexuals" in Ottawa, and they came up with what they nicknamed the "fruit machine" to test for homosexuality, by exposing the subject to various images and exposing and measuring their reactions.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Horse Gestapo.

# ? Mar 2, 2019 07:51

Midjack: Dec 24, 2007

Sperglord Actual posted:

Ladies and gentlemen, the Horse Gestapo.

They have neighs of making you talk.

# ? Mar 2, 2019 08:33

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 10: The Fuse Burns

quote:

It was the morning of the next day.

Colonel Klebb sat at her desk in the roomy office that was her headquarters in the underground basement of SMERSH. It was more an operations room than an office. One wall was completely papered with a map of the Western Hemisphere. The opposite wall was covered with the Eastern Hemisphere. Behind her desk and within reach of her left hand, a Telekrypton occasionally chattered out a signal en clair, duplicating another machine in the Cipher Department under the tall radio masts on the roof of the building. From time to time, when Colonel Klebb thought of it, she tore off the lengthening strip of tape and read through the signals. This was a formality. If anything important happened, her telephone would ring. Every agent of SMERSH throughout the world was controlled from this room, and it was a vigilant and iron control.

The heavy face looked sullen and dissipated. The chicken-skin under the eyes was pouched and the whites of the eyes were veined with red.

I think it's a sign of how valuable Tatiana is to the plot that she didn't get disappeared from her apartment that night.

quote:

One of the three telephones at her side purred softly. She picked up the receiver. �Send him in.�

She turned to Kronsteen who sat, picking his teeth thoughtfully with an opened paper clip, in an armchair up against the left-hand wall, under the toe of Africa.

�Granitsky.�

Kronsteen slowly turned his head and looked at the door.

Red Grant came in and closed the door softly behind him. He walked up to the desk and stood looking down, obediently, almost hungrily, into the eyes of his Commanding Officer. Kronsteen thought that he looked like a powerful mastiff, waiting to be fed.

Rosa Klebb surveyed him coldly. �Are you fit and ready for work?�

�Yes, Comrade Colonel.�

�Let�s have a look at you. Take off your clothes.� Red Grant showed no surprise. He took off his coat and, after looking around for somewhere to put it, dropped it on the floor. Then, unselfconsciously, he took off the rest of his clothes and kicked off his shoes. The great red-brown body with its golden hair lit up the drab room. Grant stood relaxed, his hands held loosely at his sides and one knee bent slightly forward, as if he was posing for an art class.

Rosa Klebb got to her feet and came round the desk. She studied the body minutely, prodding here, feeling there, as if she was buying a horse. She went behind the man and continued her minute inspection. Before she came back in front of him, Kronsteen saw her slip something out of her jacket pocket and fit it into her hand. There was a glint of metal.

The woman came round and stood close up to the man�s gleaming stomach, her right arm behind her back. She held his eyes in hers.

Suddenly, with terrific speed and the whole weight of her shoulder behind the blow, she whipped her right fist, loaded with a heavy brass knuckle-duster, round and exactly into the solar plexus of the man.

Whuck!

Grant let out a snort of surprise and pain. His knees gave slightly, and then straightened. For a flash the eyes closed tight with agony. Then they opened again and glared redly down into the cold yellow probing eyes behind the square glasses. Apart from an angry flush on the skin just below the breast bone, Grant showed no ill effects from a blow that would have sent any normal man writhing to the ground.

Rosa Klebb smiled grimly. She slipped the knuckleduster back in her pocket and walked to her desk and sat down. She looked across at Kronsteen with a hint of pride. �At least he is fit enough,� she said.

The film compresses most of these introductory chapters into a scene at a SPECTRE training camp.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mFmLAqdPdsY

Klebb informs Grant that he's been given an assignment to assassinate an English spy. He'll be put through weeks of training and preparation to imitate an English gentleman, where a double-agent from the British Foreign Office will help him pass as a spy himself. Grant asks no questions and leaves, excited at the prospect of settling some scores with the English and being rewarded.

quote:

Rosa Klebb was writing up her note of the interview. She didn�t answer or look up and Grant went out and closed the door softly behind him.

The woman threw down her pen and sat back.

�And now, Comrade Kronsteen. Are there any points to discuss before we put the full machinery in motion? I should mention that the Praesidium has approved the target and ratified the death warrant. I have reported the broad lines of your plan to Comrade General Grubozaboyschikov. He is in agreement. The detailed execution has been left entirely in my hands. The combined planning and operations staff has been selected and waiting to begin work. Have you any last minute thoughts, Comrade?�

Kronsteen sat looking up at the ceiling, the tips of his fingers joined in front of him. He was indifferent to the condescension in the woman�s voice. The pulse of concentration beat in his temples. �This man Granitsky. He is reliable? You can trust him in a foreign country? He will not go private?� �He has been tested for nearly ten years. He has had many opportunities to escape. He has been watched for signs of itching feet. There has never been a breath of suspicion. The man is in the position of a drug addict. He would no more abandon the Soviet Union than a drugger would abandon the source of his cocaine. He is my top executioner. There is no one better.�

�And this girl, Romanova. She was satisfactory?�

The woman said grudgingly, �She is very beautiful. She will serve our purpose. She is not a virgin, but she is prudish and sexually unawakened. She will receive instruction. Her English is excellent. I have given her a certain version of her task and its object. She is co-operative. If she should show signs of faltering, I have the addresses of certain relatives, including children. I shall also have the names of her previous lovers. If necessary, it would be explained to her that these people will be hostages until her task is completed. She has an affectionate nature. Such a hint would be sufficient. But I do not anticipate any trouble from her.�

�Romanova. That is the name of a buivshi � of one of the former people. It seems odd to be using a Romanov for such a delicate task.�

�Her grandparents were distantly related to the Imperial Family. But she does not frequent buivshi circles. Anyway, all our grandparents were former people. There is nothing one can do about it.'

And now comes the time to talk about the Russian Revolution and Russian Civil War.

The House of Romanov was the ruling noble family of Russia from the time of Michael I's election as Tsar in 1613 until March 15, 1917 when Tsar Nicholas II abdicated the throne. The family line went through some twists, but overall the Romanovs maintained an uninterrupted rule over Russia for 304 years.

Discontent with the monarchy dated back a good century by the time of World War I. Cruel treatment of the peasants by the ruling class and poor working conditions were exacerbated over the 19th century by Western-influenced philosophers. In 1848, German philosopher Karl Marx publicized The Communist Manifesto, calling for the oppressed workers of the world to seize the means of production via revolution and control the state directly. But despite the role communists would play in the eventual downfall of the Russian nobility, the first revolution was otherwise unrelated to Marxists. It was a longtime pattern of oppression exacerbated by Russian military defeats in the Great War after Nicholas II attempted to take direct control of the army and very quickly demonstrated that he was an abysmal commander.

On March 8, 1917 (it's usually called the February Revolution due to the Russians not switching from the Julian calendar to the Gregorian one until 1918), worker strikes grew to a boiling point. Tens of thousands of workers went on strike and rioted over a lack of food, growing to hundreds of thousands by the next day. Soldiers mutinied and joined the rioters, as they had it no better in the army than in the factories. The rioting continued for several days and ended in over 1300 deaths before Tsar Nicholas II returned from the war front. With the chaos seeming impossible to overcome, Nicholas abdicated the throne and placed his brother, Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovich, in power.

Michael deferred acceptance of the throne, as he technically needed to be ratified by an official assembly. This never happened.

A conservative provisional government was enacted in the interim, as well as the Petrograd Soviet of Workers' and Soldiers' Deputies (a "soviet" was just the Russian word for "council" at the time), a city council of what we now call St. Petersburg. The Petrograd Soviet represented the common people of the Russian capital and engaged in a power struggle over the coming months with the provisional government, which the Soviet viewed as bourgeoisie.

The Bolsheviks, the Russian revolutionary socialist party in the government, had officially been formed into the Communist Party of the Soviet Union in 1912 (which, now with the context, you now know was simply a referring to a union of the workers' councils). Vladimir Lenin returned from his exile in Switzerland to lead the Bolsheviks, whereupon he immediately began undermining the government. As tensions grew and the provisional government repressed the communists over the summer, General Lavr Kornilov attempted a coup that would eliminate the socialists from the government. The coup failed and only inspired further resentment of the provisional government, paving the way for the Bolsheviks to enact a full revolution in November 1917 ("October Revolution" due to the Julian calendar again).

The Bolsheviks and their Red Army of revolutionaries seized power over November 7 and 8 with only a few injuries among their number. Lenin formed the Council of People's Commissars as the new government with himself as the chairman. An impromptu four-man council consisting of Lenin, Joseph Stalin, Leon Trotsky, and Yakov Sverdlov acted as the true power behind the government (though Sverdlov was frequently absent from meetings and died in March 1919 from illness). The Romanovs were placed under house arrest in the Ipatiev House, a large merchant's mansion turned into their prison. They were forbidden from speaking any languages other than Russian, had their cameras and valuables confiscated, and were separated from their luggage.

As the communists worked to consolidate their power and legitimize their government, monarchists and various anti-communists almost immediately began their own protests and action against the latest revolutionaries. These groups formed what was informally called the "White movement", which was really just a loose confederation of anti-communist forces trying to restore the old government. Many of the states that had been part of the Russian Empire (including Finland, Poland, and Estonia) declared their independence from Russia. This sparked a massive conflict as the Bolsheviks sent the Red Army to defeat the Whites and firmly establish their control over Russia, which would lead to between 7 and 12 million deaths before it ended.

As this was going on, the Cheka decided to get rid of Grand Duke Michael, who was imprisoned in a hotel in Perm. They convinced him that they were transporting him elsewhere, then stopped their carriages in the forest and shot him to death.

As the Romanovs were having dinner on July 16, 1918, the plan was put into motion. At midnight, the family was awoken and ordered to dress; they were told they were being moved to a safer location due to unrest caused by the civil war. They were brought into a cellar, ostensibly to await a truck. Suddenly, a group of Cheka executioners entered. Yakov Yurovsky, one of the old-timer Bolsheviks, read out their death sentence and the squad immediately raised their pistols and fired. As the family attempted to flee, the executioners fired wildly around the room until it was full of smoke, they were all deaf, and the royal family was dead. The youngest, Alexei, was 13; he survived multiple bullets and bayonet wounds due to having jewels sewn into hidden pockets in his clothes, forcing them to shoot him twice in the head.

After stabbing and shooting every body until it was definitively dead, the executioners killed the rest of the royal family's retainers and servants. The bodies were stripped of anything valuable, their clothes burned, and the bodies disfigured with sulfuric acid (plus some facial smashing with rifle butts just in case) and dumped in a mass grave. They even took Alexei's and one of his sister's corpses to burn and smash into bone fragments to confuse anyone who found the grave. Nice people.

The Russian Civil War officially ended in 1922, though fighting continued through 1923. The communists had solidified their control over Russia and officially formed the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. After Lenin's death in 1924, Stalin was given the opportunity to act against his political rivals and gradually became the dictator we all know and love.

quote:

�Our grandparents were not called Romanov,� said Kronsteen dryly. �However, so long as you are satisfied.� He reflected a moment. �And this man Bond. Have we discovered his whereabouts?�

�Yes. The M.G.B. English network reports him in London. During the day, he goes to his headquarters. At night he sleeps in his flat in a district of London called Chelsea.�

�That is good. Let us hope he stays there for the next few weeks. That will mean that he is not engaged on some operation. He will be available to go after our bait when they get the scent. Meanwhile,� Kronsteen�s dark, pensive eyes continued to examine a particular point on the ceiling, �I have been studying the suitability of centres abroad. I have decided on Istanbul for the first contact. We have a good apparat there. The Secret Service has only a small station. The head of the station is reported to be a good man. He will be liquidated. The centre is conveniently placed for us, with short lines of communication with Bulgaria and the Black Sea. It is relatively far from London. I am working out details of the point of assassination and the means of getting this Bond there, after he has contacted the girl. It will be either in France or very near it. We have excellent leverage on the French press. They will make the most of this kind of story, with its sensational disclosures of sex and espionage. It also remains to be decided when Granitsky shall enter the picture. These are minor details. We must choose the cameramen and the other operatives and move them quietly into Istanbul. There must be no crowding of our apparat there, no congestion, no unusual activity. We will warn all departments that wireless traffic with Turkey is to be kept absolutely normal before and during the operation. We don�t want the British interceptors smelling a rat. The Cipher Department has agreed that there is no Security objection to handing over the outer case of a Spektor machine. That will be attractive. The machine will go to the Special Devices section. They will handle its preparation.'

The Spektor (renamed Lektor in the film to avoid confusion with SPECTRE) is a fictional device. When we get more details on it, we'll discuss the real machines it was based on.

quote:

Kronsteen stopped talking. His gaze slowly came down from the ceiling. He rose thoughtfully to his feet. He looked across and into the watchful, intent eyes of the woman.

�I can think of nothing else at the moment, Comrade,� he said. �Many details will come up and have to be settled from day to day. But I think the operation can safely begin.�

�I agree, Comrade. The matter can now go forward. I will issue the necessary directives.� The harsh, authoritative voice unbent. �I am grateful for your co-operation.�

Kronsteen lowered his head one inch in acknowledgment. He turned and walked softly out of the room.

In the silence, the Telekrypton gave a warning ping and started up its mechanical chatter. Rosa Klebb stirred in her chair and reached for one of the telephones. She dialled a number.

�Operations Room,� said a man�s voice.

Rosa Klebb�s pale eyes, gazing out across the room, lit on the pink shape on the wall-map that was England. Her wet lips parted.

�Colonel Klebb speaking. The konspiratsia against the English spy Bond. The operation will commence forthwith.�

# ? Mar 4, 2019 21:50

Notahippie: Feb 4, 2003; Kids, it's not cool to have Shane MacGowan teeth

Epicurius posted:

So, lets talk about what Tatiana is expected to do...or at least what she thinks she's expected to do. In other words, lets talk about the "Honeypot".

This approach also famously (and possibly apocryphally) failed in the case of the Indonesian dictator Sukarno, who was absolutely delighted to find out that the Soviets had filmed him having sex with a group of women and had no problems with the film being distributed to his Muslim country. The story goes that he asked for a copy of the film.

# ? Mar 4, 2019 21:59

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

I think at this point, if you're a person of even nominal importance to any government, never get involved with a hot Russian lady who starts trying to proposition you for sex.

# ? Mar 4, 2019 22:33

sebmojo: Oct 23, 2010; Legit Cyberpunk

McNulty.mp4

# ? Mar 5, 2019 02:25

poisonpill: Nov 8, 2009; The only way to get huge fast is to insult a passing witch and hope she curses you with Beast-strength.

Super Genius World Famous 4D Chess Master Tasked with trapping James Bond: Hmmm, what if..... we send a hot girl to have sex with him?
*solemnly bows heads*

# ? Mar 5, 2019 02:31

sebmojo: Oct 23, 2010; Legit Cyberpunk

poisonpill posted:

Super Genius World Famous 4D Chess Master Tasked with trapping James Bond: Hmmm, what if..... we send a hot girl to have sex with him?
*solemnly bows heads*

Q: is she super hot
A: y
Q: have we got a box with SPY STUFF DO NOT STEAL ON IT
A: ye s
Q: .......
A: .......
Q: k we good let's do it

# ? Mar 5, 2019 02:44

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

sebmojo posted:

Q: is she super hot
A: y
Q: have we got a box with SPY STUFF DO NOT STEAL ON IT
A: ye s
Q: .......
A: .......
Q: k we good let's do it

As we�ve seen in past books, it would loving work.

# ? Mar 5, 2019 02:47

Somebody Awful: Nov 27, 2011; BORN TO DIE
HAIG IS A FUCK
Kill Em All 1917
I am trench man
410,757,864,530 SHELLS FIRED

drat skippy.

# ? Mar 5, 2019 07:46

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 11: The Soft Life

quote:

The blubbery arms of the soft life had Bond round the neck and they were slowly strangling him. He was a man of war and when, for a long period, there was no war, his spirit went into a decline.

In his particular line of business, peace had reigned for nearly a year. And peace was killing him.

Oh poo poo, Bond is actually in this book!

quote:

At 7.30 on the morning of Thursday, August 12th, Bond awoke in his comfortable flat in the plane-tree�d square off the King�s Road and was disgusted to find that he was thoroughly bored with the prospect of the day ahead. Just as, in at least one religion, accidie is the first of the cardinal sins, so boredom, and particularly the incredible circumstance of waking up bored, was the only vice Bond utterly condemned.

Bond reached out and gave two rings on the bell to show May, his treasured Scottish housekeeper, that he was ready for breakfast. Then he abruptly flung the single sheet off his naked body and swung his feet to the floor.

There was only one way to deal with boredom � kick oneself out of it. Bond went down on his hands and did twenty slow press-ups, lingering over each one so that his muscles had no rest. When his arms could stand the pain no longer, he rolled over on his back and, with his hands at his sides, did the straight leg-lift until his stomach muscles screamed. He got to his feet and, after touching his toes twenty times, went over to arm and chest exercises combined with deep breathing until he was dizzy. Panting with the exertion, he went into the big white-tiled bathroom and stood in the glass shower cabinet under very hot and then cold hissing water for five minutes.

At last, after shaving and putting on a sleeveless dark blue Sea Island cotton shirt and navy blue tropical worsted trousers, he slipped his bare feet into black leather sandals and went through the bedroom into the long big-windowed sitting-room with the satisfaction of having sweated his boredom, at any rate for the time being, out of his body.

Sea Island cotton is a very soft cotton that originated in South Carolina and Georgia from plantations on the coastal islands. Ian Fleming was a huge fan of it and wore it all the time, so of course he gave it to Bond. Sea Island cotton accounts for 0.0004% of the world's cotton supplies, which means even a simple T-shirt made from it runs around $165 currently. Sunspel did a special James Bond run imitating the 1950s clothing he would have worn, with a polo shirt like the one Sean Connery wore in Dr. No going for $275.

It's also interesting to note that (again, presumably like Fleming) Bond prefers to wear an outfit more suited to the tropics while at home.

quote:

May, an elderly Scotswoman with iron grey hair and a handsome closed face, came in with the tray and put it on the table in the bay window together with The Times, the only paper Bond ever read.

Makes sense, as Fleming was an editor for The Sunday Times (its sister paper).

quote:

Bond wished her good morning and sat down to breakfast.

�Good morning-s.� (To Bond, one of May�s endearing qualities was that she would call no man �sir� except � Bond had teased her about it years before � English kings and Winston Churchill. As a mark of exceptional regard, she accorded Bond an occasional hint of an �s� at the end of a word.)

She stood by the table while Bond folded his paper to the centre news page.

�Yon man was here again last night about the Televeesion.�

�What man was that?� Bond looked along the headlines.

�Yon man that�s always coming. Six times he�s been here pestering me since June. After what I said to him the first time about the sinful thing, you�d think he�d give up trying to sell us one. By hire purchase, too, if you please!�

�Persistent chaps these salesmen.� Bond put down his paper and reached for the coffee pot.

�I gave him a right piece of my mind last night. Disturbing folk at their supper. Asked him if he�d got any papers � anything to show who he was.�

�I expect that fixed him.� Bond filled his large coffee cup to the brim with black coffee.

�Not a bit of it. Flourished his union card. Said he had every right to earn his living. Electricians Union it was too. They�re the Communist one, aren�t they-s?�

�Yes, that�s right,� said Bond vaguely. His mind sharpened. Was it possible They could be keeping an eye on him? He took a sip of the coffee and put the cup down. �Exactly what did this man say, May?� he asked, keeping his voice indifferent, but looking up at her.

�He said he�s selling Televeesion sets on commission in his spare time. And are we sure we don�t want one. He says we�re one of the only folk in the square that haven�t got one. Sees there isn�t one of those aerial things on the house, I dare say. He�s always asking if you�re at home so that he can have a word with you about it. Fancy his cheek! I�m surprised he hasn�t thought to catch you coming in or going out. He�s always asking if I�m expecting you home. Naturally I don�t tell him anything about your movements. Respectable, quiet-spoken body, if he wasn�t so persistent.

Of course, Bond suspects that the "television salesman" is a spy checking on him to see if he's at home. He decides not to do anything about it for now, beyond making a mental note to tell Security Section and move into a new flat if something serious happens.

quote:

Bond went back to his breakfast. Normally it was little straws in the wind like this that would start a persistent intuitive ticking in his mind, and, on other days, he would not have been happy until he had solved the problem of the man from the Communist Union who kept on coming to the house. Now, from months of idleness and disuse, the sword was rusty in the scabbard and Bond�s mental guard was down.

Breakfast was Bond�s favourite meal of the day. When he was stationed in London it was always the same. It consisted of very strong coffee, from De Bry in New Oxford Street, brewed in an American Chemex, of which he drank two large cups, black and without sugar. The single egg, in the dark blue egg-cup with a gold ring round the top, was boiled for three and a third minutes.

It was a very fresh, speckled brown egg from French Marans hens owned by some friend of May in the country. (Bond disliked white eggs and, faddish as he was in many small things, it amused him to maintain that there was such a thing as the perfect boiled egg.) Then there were two thick slices of wholewheat toast, a large pat of deep yellow Jersey butter and three squat glass jars containing Tiptree �Little Scarlet� strawberry jam; Cooper�s Vintage Oxford marmalade and Norwegian Heather Honey from Fortnum�s. The coffee pot and the silver on the tray were Queen Anne, and the china was Minton, of the same dark blue and gold and white as the egg-cup.

It's almost comforting being able to leave behind the bleakness of the Soviet Union and get back to Bond's incredibly particular breakfast.

The Chemex is a very popular coffee pot invented in 1941, which was especially stylish in the 50s and 60s. You simply place a proprietary paper filter in the top, fill it with grounds, and pour hot (not boiling) water over it. The thick filter removes additional off-flavor compounds from the coffee and the wood collar allows you to grasp and pour directly from the pot, eliminating the need for any kind of electric coffee maker as long as you have a separate source of hot water.

The Marans is a French breed of chicken that was first imported into the United Kingdom in the 1930s. Brown eggs do indeed taste different from typical white eggs, as the color is indicative of the chicken's diet, but any nutritional differences are negligible. Bond is just really particular here.

Tiptree Little Scarlett is a brand of strawberry preserves produced in Essex since 1885. It's made with Fragaria virginiana strawberries, which are only 1/5 the size of a regular strawberry. They're common in the wild in the United States, but are rarely grown for commercial purposes except for Tiptree. Tiptree was given a royal warrant to supply the crown with Little Scarlett in 1911, making it an extremely prestigious condiment despite being only $10-15 a jar.

Cooper's Vintage Oxford Marmalade is another British condiment with a royal warrant, having been made since 1874. It's a dark, thick marmalade made from bitter Seville oranges. Combined with butter on toast, you'd have a surprisingly complex and rich spread.

As for the honey, it came from Fortnum & Mason, a famous London department store founded in 1707 as a grocery. The store still exists and heather honey is relatively easy to find there. All in all, Bond's breakfast at home is just as particular as what he eats on his travels. While "a boiled egg and some toast with coffee" sounds simple on its surface, Bond is making sure that he uses only the best ingredients and elevating it above simple diner fare.

quote:

That morning, while Bond finished his breakfast with honey, he pinpointed the immediate cause of his lethargy and of his low spirits. To begin with, Tiffany Case, his love for so many happy months, had left him and, after final painful weeks during which she had withdrawn to an hotel, had sailed for America at the end of July. He missed her badly and his mind still sheered away from the thought of her. And it was August, and London was hot and stale. He was due for leave, but he had not the energy or the desire to go off alone, or to try and find some temporary replacement for Tiffany to go with him. So he had stayed on in the half-empty headquarters of the Secret Service grinding away at the old routines, snapping at his secretary and rasping his colleagues.

She was too good for him anyway.

quote:

Even M. had finally got impatient with the surly caged tiger on the floor below, and, on Monday of this particular week, he had sent Bond a sharp note appointing him to a Committee of Inquiry under Paymaster Captain Troop. The note said that it was time Bond, as a senior officer in the Service, took a hand in major administrative problems. Anyway, there was no one else available. Headquarters were short-handed and the 00 Section was quiescent. Bond would pray report that afternoon, at 2.30, to Room 412.

It was Troop, reflected Bond, as he lit his first cigarette of the day, who was the most nagging and immediate cause of his discontent.

Bond describes Captain Troop as the man that unites everyone in the office by being universally hated by them. He's a typical micromanager, obsessing over minor details and meting out punishments for failing to meet his exacting standards.

quote:

It was inevitable that Captain Troop�s duties would bring him into conflict with most of the organization, but it was particularly unfortunate that M. could think of no one but Troop to spare as Chairman for this particular Committee.

For this was yet one more of those Committees of Inquiry dealing with the delicate intricacies of the Burgess and Maclean case, and with the lessons that could be learned from it. M. had dreamed it up, five years after he had closed his own particular file on that case, purely as a sop to the Privy Council Inquiry into the Security Services which the Prime Minister had ordered in 1955.

The "Burgess and Maclean case" is the case of the Cambridge Five spy ring, one of the most famous cases of a spy ring in the Cold War. It started in the public eye in 1951 when two British diplomats, Donald Maclean and Guy Burgess (code names "Homer" and "Hicks") suddenly disappeared. Five years later, Khrushchev publicly confirmed that they had fled to the Soviet Union. Turns out the two of them had been devoted communists and were working as Soviet spies since the 1930s. Both of them would remain in the Soviet Union for the rest of their lives; Maclean assimilated into Soviet life and even had his wife and children move out to join him in Moscow, while Burgess assimilated even better into Soviet life by becoming a lonely alcoholic and dying in 1963 from liver failure.

At the time Fleming wrote this, only the defection of Burgess and Maclean had appeared in the news recently. In fact, there were three more spies, one of which would probably shock the hell out of Fleming shortly before his death: Kim Philby (code name "Sonny" or "Stanley"), the chief British intelligence agent stationed in Washington after the war. Philby was such a prominent agent that he was awarded the Order of the British Empire in 1946 and even assigned to hunt down "Homer". He was suspected, but cleared in 1956. They should have looked a little deeper, as in 1963 he vanished into the Soviet Union. I believe Fleming knew Philby and both of them had a mutual school friend in fellow spy Nicholas Elliott. Philby was disappointed with life in the Soviet Union (though he blamed the leadership rather than communism as a whole) and was denied any real work or rank by the KGB due to fear that he would try to return to London. He attempted suicide shortly after arriving, but ended up dying of heart failure in 1988.

Fleming would never know of the other two members of the ring, as their existence wasn't publicized until long after his death. They consisted of John Cairncross (code name "Liszt"), a British Foreign Office agent who passed code-breaking information from Bletchley Park, and Anthony Blunt (code names "Tony" or "Johnson"), a leading British art historian and MI5 agent. Cairncross confessed almost immediately after Burgess and Maclean disappeared, but had his confession covered up and ended up moving to the United States and then Rome. Blunt confessed in 1963 and was given immunity from prosecution and a concealment of his spying for 15 years. Both of them had their roles in the spy ring revealed in 1979, with Cairncross's being confirmed in 1990 by KGB defector Oleg Gordievsky.

This little talk about Burgess and Maclean by Bond is an excellent example of how complex the world of espionage is. Even Fleming had no way of knowing that not only were Burgess and Maclean only a portion of the spy ring, but that the third had already confessed to the government and one of his own comrades in the war was a fourth!

quote:

At once Bond had got into a hopeless wrangle with Troop over the employment of �intellectuals� in the Secret Service.

Perversely, and knowing it would annoy, Bond had put forward the proposition that, if M.I.5. and the Secret Service were to concern themselves seriously with the atom age �intellectual spy�, they must employ a certain number of intellectuals to counter them. �Retired officers of the Indian Army,� Bond had pronounced, �can�t possibly understand the thought processes of a Burgess or a Maclean. They won�t even know such people exist � let alone be in a position to frequent their cliques and get to know their friends and their secrets. Once Burgess and Maclean went to Russia, the only way to make contact with them again and, perhaps, when they got tired of Russia, turn them into double agents against the Russians, would have been to send their closest friends to Moscow and Prague and Budapest with orders to wait until one of these chaps crept out of the masonry and made contact. And one of them, probably Burgess, would have been driven to make contact by his loneliness and by his ache to tell his story to someone. But they certainly wouldn�t take the risk of revealing themselves to some man with a trench-coat and a cavalry moustache and a beta minus mind.�

�Oh really,� Troop had said with icy calm. �So you suggest we should staff the organization with long-haired perverts. That�s quite an original notion. I thought we were all agreed that homosexuals were about the worst security risk there is. I can�t see the Americans handing over many atom secrets to a lot of pansies soaked in scent.�

�All intellectuals aren�t homosexual. And many of them are bald. I�m just saying that �,� and so the argument had gone on intermittently through the hearings of the past three days, and the other Committee members had ranged themselves more or less with Troop. Now, today, they had to draw up their recommendations and Bond was wondering whether to take the unpopular step of entering a minority report.

While this conversation is hilarious today, Bond's suggestion of hiring softer intellectuals who are attuned to human nature actually sets him out as the most left-wing voice on an otherwise very traditional committee.

quote:

How seriously did he feel about the whole question, Bond wondered as, at nine o�clock, he walked out of his flat and down the steps to his car? Was he just being petty and obstinate? Had he constituted himself into a one-man opposition only to give his teeth something to bite into? Was he so bored that he could find nothing better to do than make a nuisance of himself inside his own organization? Bond couldn�t make up his mind. He felt restless and indecisive, and, behind it all, there was a nagging disquiet he couldn�t put his finger on.

As he pressed the self-starter and the twin exhausts of the Bentley woke to their fluttering growl, a curious bastard quotation slipped from nowhere into Bond�s mind.

�Those whom the Gods wish to destroy, they first make bored.�

# ? Mar 5, 2019 17:48

Jaguars!: Jul 31, 2012

quote:

'England is another matter altogether. I think we all have respect for her Intelligence service,' General Vozdvishensky looked round the table. There were grudging nods from everyone present, including General G. 'Their security service is excellent. [...]

This is from the meeting of the generals chapter and it goes on at some length. I always think of the Cambridge spy ring when I read it. The Soviet service heads must have had a good laugh if they ever read it.

# ? Mar 6, 2019 13:47

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 12: A Piece of Cake

quote:

As it turned out, Bond never had to make a decision on the Committee�s final report.

He had complimented his secretary on a new summer frock, and was half way through the file of signals that had come in during the night, when the red telephone that could only mean M. or his Chief-of-Staff gave its soft, peremptory burr.

Bond picked up the receiver. �007.�

�Can you come up?� It was the Chief-of-Staff.

�M.?�

�Yes. And it looks like a long session. I�ve told Troop you won�t be able to make the Committee.�

�Any idea what it�s about?�

The Chief-of-Staff chuckled. �Well, I have as a matter of fact. But you�d better hear about it from him. It�ll make you sit up. There�s quite a swerve on this one.�

As Bond put on his coat and went out into the corridor, banging the door behind him, he had a feeling of certainty that the starter�s gun had fired and that the dog days had come to an end. Even the ride up to the top floor in the lift and the walk down the long quiet corridor to the door of M.�s staff office seemed to be charged with the significance of all those other occasions when the bell of the red telephone had been the signal that had fired him, like a loaded projectile, across the world towards some distant target of M.�s choosing. And the eyes of Miss Moneypenny, M.�s private secretary, had that old look of excitement and secret knowledge as she smiled up at him and pressed the switch on the intercom.

�007�s here, sir.�

�Send him in,� said the metallic voice, and the red light of privacy went on above the door.

Bond went through the door and closed it softly behind him. The room was cool, or perhaps it was the venetian blinds that gave an impression of coolness. They threw bars of light and shadow across the dark green carpet up to the edge of the big central desk. There the sunshine stopped so that the quiet figure behind the desk sat in a pool of suffused greenish shade. In the ceiling directly above the desk, a big twin-bladed tropical fan, a recent addition to M.�s room, slowly revolved, shifting the thundery August air that, even high up above the Regent�s Park, was heavy and stale after a week of heat-wave.

M opens up by asking Bond another personal question; he's been doing that a lot lately. He wants to know how Bond's relationship with Tiffany had been going.

quote:

Now what? wondered Bond. drat these office gossips. He said gruffly, �Well, sir, we did get on well. And there was some idea we might get married. But then she met some chap in the American Embassy. On the Military Attach�s staff. Marine Corps major. And I gather she�s going to marry him. They�ve both gone back to the States, as a matter of fact. Probably better that way. Mixed marriages aren�t often a success. I gather he�s a nice enough fellow. Probably suit her better than living in London. She couldn�t really settle down here. Fine girl, but she�s a bit neurotic. We had too many rows. Probably my fault. Anyway it�s over now.�

M. gave one of the brief smiles that lit up his eyes more than his mouth. �I�m sorry if it went wrong, James,� he said. There was no sympathy in M.�s voice. He disapproved of Bond�s �womanizing�, as he called it to himself, while recognizing that his prejudice was the relic of a Victorian upbringing. But, as Bond�s chief, the last thing he wanted was for Bond to be permanently tied to one woman�s skirts. �Perhaps it�s for the best. Doesn�t do to get mixed up with neurotic women in this business. They hang on your gun-arm, if you know what I mean. Forgive me for asking about it. Had to know the answer before I told you what�s come up. It�s a pretty odd business. Be difficult to get you involved if you were on the edge of marrying or anything of that sort.�

M tells Bond that the head of Station T in Istanbul had received a typewritten message telling him to take a round trip on a ferry from the Galata Bridge at a specific time. Being a daring sort, he actually took the anonymous letter up on its request. After about 15 minutes, a Russian girl walked up to him and began telling him an extraordinary story.

quote:

M. paused to put another match to his pipe. Bond interjected, �Who is Head of T, sir? I�ve never worked in Turkey.�

�Man called Kerim, Darko Kerim. Turkish father and English mother. Remarkable fellow. Been Head of T since before the war. One of the best men we�ve got anywhere. Does a wonderful job. Loves it. Very intelligent and he knows all that part of the world like the back of his hand.� M. dismissed Kerim with a sideways jerk of his pipe. �Anyway, the girl�s story was that she was a Corporal in the M.G.B. Had been in the show since she left school and had just got transferred to the Istanbul centre as a cipher officer. She�d engineered the transfer because she wanted to get out of Russia and come over.�

�That�s good,� said Bond. �Might be useful to have one of their cipher girls. But why does she want to come over?�

M. looked across the table at Bond. �Because she�s in love.�

He paused and added mildly, �She says she�s in love with you.�

�In love with me?�

�Yes, with you. That�s what she says. Her name�s Tatiana Romanova. Ever heard of her?�

�Good God, no! I mean, no, sir.� M. smiled at the mixture of expressions on Bond�s face. �But what the hell does she mean? Has she ever met me? How does she know I exist?�

According to Tatiana, she's been working as a clerk in the MGB's Central Index for years and fell in love with Bond based on his file photo.

quote:

�She said you particularly appealed to her because you reminded her of the hero of a book by some Russian fellow called Lermontov. Apparently it was her favourite book. This hero chap liked gambling and spent his whole time getting in and out of scraps. Anyway, you reminded her of him. She says she came to think of nothing else, and one day the idea came to her that if only she could transfer to one of their foreign centres she could get in touch with you and you would come and rescue her.�

The book she's referring to is probably A Hero ff Our Time by Mikhail Lermontov, published in 1840. It's the story of Grigory Alexandrovich Pechorin, a classic Byronic hero who spends his time womanizing and adventuring around the Caucasus.

quote:

�I�ve never heard such a crazy story, sir. Surely Head of T didn�t swallow it.�

�Now wait a moment,� M.�s voice was testy. �Just don�t be in too much of a hurry simply because something�s turned up you�ve never come across before. Suppose you happened to be a film star instead of being in this particular trade. You�d get daft letters from girls all over the world stuffed with Heaven knows what sort of rot about not being able to live without you and so on. Here�s a silly girl doing a secretary�s job in Moscow. Probably the whole department is staffed by women, like our Records. Not a man in the room to look at, and here she is, faced with your, er, dashing features on a file that�s constantly coming up for review. And she gets what I believe they call a �crush� on these pictures just as secretaries all over the world get crushes on these dreadful faces in the magazines.� M. waved his pipe sideways to indicate his ignorance of these grisly female habits. �The Lord knows I don�t know much about these things, but you must admit that they happen.�

Bond smiled at the appeal for help. �Well, as a matter of fact, sir, I�m beginning to see there is some sense in it. There�s no reason why a Russian girl shouldn�t be just as silly as an English one. But she must have got guts to do what she did. Does Head of T say if she realized the consequences if she was found out?�

�He said she was frightened out of her wits,� said M. �Spent the whole time on the boat looking round to see if anybody was watching her. But it seems they were the usual peasants and commuters that take these boats, and as it was a late boat there weren�t many passengers anyway. But wait a minute. You haven�t heard half the story.� M. took a long pull at his pipe and blew a cloud of smoke up towards the slowly turning fan above his head. Bond watched the smoke get caught up in the blades and whirled into nothingness. �She told Kerim that this passion for you gradually developed into a phobia. She got to hate the sight of Russian men. In time this turned into a dislike of the r�gime and particularly of the work she was doing for them and, so to speak, against you. So she applied for a transfer abroad, and since her languages were very good�English and French�in due course she was offered Istanbul if she would join the Cipher Department, which meant a cut in pay. To cut a long story short, after six months� training, she got to Istanbul about three weeks ago. Then she sniffed about and soon got hold of the name of our man, Kerim. He�s been there so long that everybody in Turkey knows what he does by now. He doesn�t mind, and it takes people�s eyes off the special men we send in from time to time. There�s no harm in having a front man in some of these places. Quite a lot of customers would come to us if they knew where to go and who to talk to.�

Bond commented: �The public agent often does better than the man who has to spend a lot of time and energy keeping under cover.�

�So she sent Kerim the note. Now she wants to know if he can help her.� M. paused and sucked thoughtfully at his pipe. �Of course Kerim�s first reactions were exactly the same as yours, and he fished around looking for a trap. But he simply couldn�t see what the Russians could gain from sending this girl over to us. All this time the steamer was getting further and further up the Bosphorus and soon it would be turning to come back to Istanbul. And the girl got more and more desperate as Kerim went on trying to break down her story. Then,� M.�s eyes glittered softly across at Bond, �came the clincher.�

That glitter in M.�s eyes, thought Bond. How well he knew those moments when M.�s cold grey eyes betrayed their excitement and their greed.

�She had a last card to play. And she knew it was the ace of trumps. If she could come over to us, she would bring her cipher machine with her. It�s the brand new Spektor machine. The thing we�d give our eyes to have.�

�God,� said Bond softly, his mind boggling at the immensity of the prize. The Spektor! The machine that would allow them to decipher the Top Secret traffic of all. To have that, even if its loss was immediately discovered and the settings changed, or the machine taken out of service in Russian embassies and spy centres all over the world, would be a priceless victory. Bond didn�t know much about cryptography, and, for security�s sake, in case he was ever captured, wished to know as little as possible about its secrets, but at least he knew that, in the Russian secret service, loss of the Spektor would be counted a major disaster.

The Spektor is a fictional machine, but the way it's described is not too different from the most famous of the cryptographic machines: the Enigma. The Enigma machine was actually a commercial product that began being purchased by the German military in the 1920s and served as one of its main methods of encrypting messages. The work the Allies undertook to break the Enigma's encryption were a major drive in the development of computers (first mechanical, then electronic) and turned Alan Turing into a household name.

I actually have a video of myself playing with a real Enigma machine at the National Cryptologic Museum in Maryland:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5SBNc-lpJXU

Each key (which is quite hard to press) is connected to a different lamp, with the position of the rotors determining which lamp lights up. Every time you press a key, the rotors spin; similar to the hands of a clock, the second rotor spins every certain number of first rotor rotations, then the third rotor spins every certain number of second rotor rotations. This changes the lamps in a predictable sequence, which is what allows the message to be decoded: you write down the garbled text from the lamps as the message, then the receiver sets their rotors to the same setting and types the encrypted text to light up the plaintext letters. There was a codebook with a regularly changing list of rotor settings for particular time periods so everyone knew how to set their machines for encrypting and decrypting that day.

Because of how it worked, breaking the Enigma code was based around mathematically analyzing the messages to try and determine the rotor settings and which keys must be connected to which lamps. Codebreakers made heavy usage of "cribs", rules of thumb and common mistakes with the operation of the Enigma. Like a letter could never be encrypted to itself, so you could immediately take that letter out of consideration for what the plaintext could be (there was a funny story by Mavis Lever where she found a message without a single "L" in it and quickly determined that the operator had sent a lazy test message by just pressing one key over and over). Or you could find that an identical or almost identical message was sent in a weaker form of encryption through another channel, which would give you the text to help break the Enigma message.

What revolutionized it was the development of electro-mechanical computers called bombes. They were essentially brute force machines that could rapidly test different Enigma settings, doing what would take 100 people an entire day in 2 hours. Alan Turing developed the initial British bombe design and continued to work on computers until his homosexuality led to punishment by forced sterilization in 1952; he died two years later by eating a poisoned apple, which was either suicide or a careless accident depending on who you talk to.

Honestly, you could talk all day about the Enigma and its cryptanalysis. It's essential learning for anyone even mildly interested in military intelligence, codebreaking, or the history of computers.

quote:

Bond was sold. At once he accepted all M.�s faith in the girl�s story, however crazy it might be. For a Russian to bring them this gift, and take the appalling risk of bringing it, could only mean an act of desperation � of desperate infatuation if you liked. Whether the girl�s story was true or not, the stakes were too high to turn down the gamble.

�You see, 007?� said M. softly. It was not difficult to read Bond�s mind from the excitement in his eyes. �You see what I mean?�

Bond hedged. �But did she say how she could do it?�

�Not exactly. But Kerim says she was absolutely definite. Some business about night duty. Apparently she�s on duty alone certain nights of the week and sleeps on a camp bed in the office. She seemed to have no doubts about it, although she realized that she would be shot out of hand if anyone even dreamed of her plan. She was even worried about Kerim reporting all this back to me. Made him promise he would encode the signal himself and send it on a one-time-only pad and keep no copy. Naturally he did as she asked. Directly she mentioned the Spektor, Kerim knew he might be on to the most important coup that�s come our way since the war.�

�What happened then, sir?�

�The steamer was coming up to a place called Ortakoy. She said she was going to get off there. Kerim promised to get a signal off that night. She refused to make any arrangements for staying in touch. Just said that she would keep her end of the bargain if we would keep ours. She said good night and mixed in the crowd going down the gang-plank and that was the last Kerim saw of her.�

M. suddenly leant forward in his chair and looked hard at Bond. �But of course he couldn�t guarantee that we would make the bargain with her.�

Bond said nothing. He thought he could guess what was coming.

�This girl will only do these things on one condition. � M.�s eyes narrowed until they were fierce, significant slits. �That you go out to Istanbul and bring her and the machine back to England.�

Bond shrugged his shoulders. That presented no difficulties. But � He looked candidly back at M. �Should be a piece of cake, sir. As far as I can see there�s only one snag. She�s only seen photographs of me and read a lot of exciting stories. Suppose that when she sees me in the flesh, I don�t come up to her expectations.�

�That�s where the work comes in,� said M. grimly. �That�s why I asked those questions about Miss Case. It�s up to you to see that you do come up to her expectations.�

# ? Mar 6, 2019 17:04

The_White_Crane: May 10, 2008

James Bond posted:

�All intellectuals aren�t homosexual.'

Ah, we've fooled even the super-spy James Bond!
Another victory for the Agenda! :gay:

# ? Mar 6, 2019 17:09

Epicurius: Apr 10, 2010; College Slice

This is looking to be another example of the Service's sexism coming back to bite them. M is inclined to dismiss Tatiana as a silly girl who's willing to betray her country because she fell in love with an enemy spy she doesnt even know.

If it had been a man who wanted to defect because he said he had fallen in love with a picture of Moneypenny, I have to think M would have been more suspicious.

# ? Mar 6, 2019 18:20

Midjack: Dec 24, 2007

Remember too that in this era is wasn�t unheard of to propose marriage via post to someone you hadn�t seen in years.

# ? Mar 6, 2019 19:02

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

Epicurius posted:

This is looking to be another example of the Service's sexism coming back to bite them. M is inclined to dismiss Tatiana as a silly girl who's willing to betray her country because she fell in love with an enemy spy she doesnt even know.

If it had been a man who wanted to defect because he said he had fallen in love with a picture of Moneypenny, I have to think M would have been more suspicious.

There's definitely some suspicion that it's not true, but the chance of getting their hands on a Spektor is enough that they're willing to dismiss her as a silly girl. The Soviets even established in the final Russian chapter that they're only planning to give her an empty case anyway.

# ? Mar 6, 2019 19:02

Turbinosamente: May 29, 2013; Lights on, Lights off

Didn't they soften this in the movie, by having M outright declare it's an obvious trap but by God we're going to go and do it anyways if it means a chance at the Spektor?

Great thread by the way, glad it got randomly linked elsewhere in the forums. It's been years since I've read Bond and it's making me want to go dig up my books and re-read. Been enjoying people's reactions to the weirder poo poo just as much as the excellent history and culture notes.

# ? Mar 6, 2019 23:04

Runcible Cat: May 28, 2007; Ignoring this post

I appreciate the update on Tiffany Case - it's a nice difference from the movie, that you learn that the relationship didn't last because fighting etc rather than hot chick is never seen or spoken of after the end of the movie she''s in.

# ? Mar 6, 2019 23:52

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

Turbinosamente posted:

Didn't they soften this in the movie, by having M outright declare it's an obvious trap but by God we're going to go and do it anyways if it means a chance at the Spektor?

Great thread by the way, glad it got randomly linked elsewhere in the forums. It's been years since I've read Bond and it's making me want to go dig up my books and re-read. Been enjoying people's reactions to the weirder poo poo just as much as the excellent history and culture notes.

Where did it get linked?

# ? Mar 7, 2019 02:41

Turbinosamente: May 29, 2013; Lights on, Lights off

chitoryu12 posted:

Where did it get linked?

In the unpopular video game opinion thread oddly enough. A strange comparison between Geralt from Witcher and book Bond came up. Hopefully the following link works, I am not too swift on mobile. Top of page 485 and I see now it was sebmojo:

https://forums.somethingawful.com/showthread.php?threadid=3809896&pagenumber=485&perpage=40

# ? Mar 7, 2019 04:31

Kemper Boyd: Aug 6, 2007; no kings, no gods, no masters but a comfy chair and no socks

Midjack posted:

Remember too that in this era is wasn�t unheard of to propose marriage via post to someone you hadn�t seen in years.

It's the 1950's, not the 1850's.

# ? Mar 7, 2019 06:32

Midjack: Dec 24, 2007

Kemper Boyd posted:

It's the 1950's, not the 1850's.

Rehnquist proposed to O�Connor (still Day then) in a letter in the early 1950s.

# ? Mar 7, 2019 07:10

Epicurius: Apr 10, 2010; College Slice

Midjack posted:

Rehnquist proposed to O�Connor (still Day then) in a letter in the early 1950s.

Right. But they had been dating at Stanford and continued to know each other after that. Rehnquist graduated from Stanford in December and sent her the proposal in March, so he had just vee. Gone three months at that point.

It's different from deciding to marry someone you never met.

# ? Mar 7, 2019 07:26

Xotl: May 28, 2001; Be seeing you.

The British secret service view of homosexuals as security risks (which Troop refers to) is particularly amusing because it was based (in part) on the idea that they were more vulnerable to blackmail than normal, because homosexuality was illegal in Britain. So you can't let homosexuals in because they'll be blackmailed by the enemy, because you're not allowed to let homosexuals in.

It was decriminalized in England in 1967, but this was specifically not extended to the armed forces.

# ? Mar 7, 2019 08:04

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 13: 'B.E.A. Takes You There'

quote:

The four small, square-ended propellers turned slowly, one by one, and became four whizzing pools. The low hum of the turbo-jets rose to a shrill smooth whine. The quality of the noise, and the complete absence of vibration, were different from the stuttering roar and straining horsepower of all other aircraft Bond had flown in. As the Viscount wheeled easily out to the shimmering east-west runway of London Airport, Bond felt as if he was sitting in an expensive mechanical toy.

There was a pause as the chief pilot gunned up the four turbo-jets into a banshee scream and then, with a jerk of released brakes, the 10.30 B.E.A. Flight 130 to Rome, Athens and Istanbul gathered speed and hurtled down the runway and up into a quick, easy climb.

I don't think Bond has ever flown on the same airliner twice. This one is a Vickers Viscount, which is actually a turboprop airliner that started service with British European Airways in 1953.

quote:

In ten minutes they had reached 20,000 feet and were heading south along the wide air-channel that takes the Mediterranean traffic from England. The scream of the jets died to a low, drowsy whistle. Bond unfastened his seat-belt and lit a cigarette. He reached for the slim, expensive-looking attach� case on the floor beside him and took out The Mask of Dimitrios by Eric Ambler and put the case, which was very heavy in spite of its size, on the seat beside him. He thought how surprised the ticket clerk at London Airport would have been if she had weighed the case instead of letting it go unchecked as an �overnight bag�. And if, in their turn, Customs had been intrigued by its weight, how interested they would have been when it was slipped under the Inspectoscope.

Q Branch had put together this smart-looking little bag, ripping out the careful handiwork of Swaine and Adeney to pack fifty rounds of .25 ammunition, in two flat rows, between the leather and the lining of the spine. In each of the innocent sides there was a flat throwing knife, built by Wilkinsons, the sword makers, and the tops of their handles were concealed cleverly by the stitching at the corners. Despite Bond�s efforts to laugh them out of it, Q�s craftsmen had insisted on building a hidden compartment into the handle of the case, which, by pressure at a certain point, would deliver a cyanide death-pill into the palm of his hand. (Directly he had taken delivery of the case, Bond had washed this pill down the lavatory.) More important was the thick tube of Palmolive shaving cream in the otherwise guileless spongebag. The whole top of this unscrewed to reveal the silencer for the Beretta, packed in cotton wool. In case hard cash was needed, the lid of the attach� case contained fifty golden sovereigns. These could be poured out by slipping sideways one ridge of welting.

The complicated bag of tricks amused Bond, but he also had to admit that, despite its eight-pound weight, the bag was a convenient way of carrying the tools of his trade, which otherwise would have to be concealed about his body.

It's taken us 5 books, but Bond finally has his first Bond gadget!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MDJ7Du14G-4

The film replicates the case mostly accurately. It's more high tech than its 1950s counterpart, with the throwing knives deploying automatically instead of needing to be pulled out. It also includes a .22 caliber AR-7 takedown rifle with an infrared scope (inaccurately referred to as .25 caliber in the movie, probably from mistakenly recycling the caliber carried for Bond's pistol in the book) and a tear gas bomb as an anti-tampering device.

quote:

Only a dozen miscellaneous passengers were on the plane. Bond smiled at the thought of Loelia Ponsonby�s horror if she knew that that made the load thirteen. The day before, when he had left M. and had gone back to his office to arrange the details of his flight, his secretary had protested violently at the idea of his travelling on Friday the thirteenth.

�But it�s always best to travel on the thirteenth,� Bond had explained patiently. �There are practically no passengers and it�s more comfortable and you get better service. I always choose the thirteenth when I can.�

�Well,� she had said resignedly, �it�s your funeral. But I shall spend the day worrying about you. And for heaven�s sake don�t go walking under ladders or anything silly this afternoon. You oughtn�t to overplay your luck like this. I don�t know what you�re going to Turkey for, and I don�t want to know. But I have a feeling in my bones.�

�Ah, those beautiful bones!� Bond had teased her. �I�ll take them out to dinner the night I get back.�

�You�ll do nothing of the sort,� she had said coldly. Later she had kissed him goodbye with a sudden warmth, and for the hundredth time Bond had wondered why he bothered with other women when the most darling of them all was his secretary.

Film fans will quickly note that this matches the unresolved sexual tension between Bond and Moneypenny. Ms. Ponsonby was completely excised from the film to use M's secretary exclusively; there were some plans to introduce her in GoldenEye, but it was dropped.

quote:

The plane sang steadily on above the endless sea of whipped-cream clouds that looked solid enough to land on if the engines failed. The clouds broke up and a distant blue haze, far away to their left, was Paris. For an hour they flew high over the burned-up fields of France until, after Dijon, the land turned from a pale to a darker green as it sloped up into the Juras.

Lunch came. Bond put aside his book and the thoughts that kept coming between him and the printed page, and, while he ate, he gazed down at the cool mirror of the Lake of Geneva. As the pine forests began to climb towards the snow patches between the beautifully scoured teeth of the Alps, he remembered early skiing holidays. The plane skirted the great eye-tooth of Mont Blanc, a few hundred yards to port, and Bond looked down at the dirty grey elephant�s skin of the glaciers and saw himself again, a young man in his teens, with the leading end of the rope round his waist, bracing himself against the top of a rock-chimney on the Aiguilles Rouges as his two companions from the University of Geneva inched up the smooth rock towards him.

And now? Bond smiled wryly at his reflection in the Perspex as the plane swung out of the mountains and over the grosgrained terrazza of Lombardy. If that young James Bond came up to him in the street and talked to him, would he recognize the clean, eager youth that had been him at seventeen? And what would that youth think of him, the secret agent, the older James Bond? Would he recognize himself beneath the surface of this man who was tarnished with years of treachery and ruthlessness and fear � this man with the cold arrogant eyes and the scar down his cheek and the flat bulge beneath his left armpit? If the youth did recognize him what would his judgment be? What would he think of Bond�s present assignment? What would he think of the dashing secret agent who was off across the world in a new and most romantic role � to pimp for England?

Bond put the thought of his dead youth out of his mind. Never job backwards. What-might-have-been was a waste of time. Follow your fate, and be satisfied with it, and be glad not to be a second-hand motor salesman, or a yellow-press journalist, pickled in gin and nicotine, or a cripple � or dead.

Gazing down on the sun-baked sprawl of Genoa and the gentle blue waters of the Mediterranean, Bond closed his mind to the past and focused it on the immediate future � on this business, as he sourly described it to himself, of �pimping for England�.

For that, however else one might like to describe it, was what he was on his way to do � to seduce, and seduce very quickly, a girl whom he had never seen before, whose name he had heard yesterday for the first time. And all the while, however attractive she was � and Head of T had described her as �very beautiful � � Bond�s whole mind would have to be not on what she was, but on what she had � the dowry she was bringing with her. It would be like trying to marry a rich woman for her money. Would he be able to act the part? Perhaps he could make the right faces and say the right things, but would his body dissociate itself from his secret thoughts and effectively make the love he would declare? How did men behave credibly in bed when their whole minds were focused on a woman�s bank balance? Perhaps there was an erotic stimulus in the notion that one was ravaging a sack of gold. But a cipher machine?

Bond's thoughts continue after he gets two Americano cocktails in Ciampino Airport before getting on the next flight. Of course, he recognizes the possibility that this could all be a Soviet plot. MI6 had actually held a full meeting all day and evening running the angles before deciding to actually send Bond on the mission. They decided that it was worth the risk because they can't understand why Bond would be a target. He doesn't have enough high level information to be useful interrogating, and if they wanted to kill him why not just do a car bomb or break into his flat and shoot him?

The plane passes through a lightning storm, which excites Bond with the possibility of danger. I think I know why he's taking this job...

quote:

Almost at once it got lighter in the cabin. The rain stopped crashing on the Perspex window and the noise of the jets settled back into their imperturbable whistle. Bond opened the door of his hurricane-room and stepped out. He slowly turned his head and looked curiously out of the window and watched the tiny shadow of the plane hastening far below across the quiet waters of the Gulf of Corinth. He heaved a deep sigh and reached into his hip-pocket for his gunmetal cigarette case. He was pleased to see his hands were dead steady as he took out his lighter and lit one of the Morland cigarettes with the three gold rings. Should he tell Lil that perhaps she had almost been right? He decided that if he could find a rude enough postcard in Istanbul he would.

The day outside faded through the colours of a dying dolphin and Mount Hymettus came at them, blue in the dusk. Down over the twinkling sprawl of Athens and then the Viscount was wheeling across the standard concrete air-strip with its drooping windsock and the notices in the strange dancing letters Bond had hardly seen since school.

Bond climbed out of the plane with the handful of pale, silent passengers and walked across to the transit lounge and up to the bar. He ordered a tumbler of ouzo and drank it down and chased it with a mouthful of ice water. There was a strong bite under the sickly anisette taste and Bond felt the drink light a quick, small fire down his throat and in his stomach. He put down his glass and ordered another.

That's, uh, not the best way to drink ouzo.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t5jbxh0C0UU

Ouzo is an anise-flavored spirit, which is almost undrinkable by itself due to the intense flavor. You're meant to mix it with water, creating a refreshing licorice-like beverage. Because the essential oils that provide the anise flavor are soluble in alcohol but not soluble in water, the drink turns milky white when water is added. You see the same effect with absinthe, which is likewise not the best thing to drink straight.

By doing an ice water chaser, Bond is basically subjugating himself to a horrific blast of anise in his mouth and doing very little to wash it out.

quote:

By the time the loudspeakers called him out again it was dusk and the half moon rode clear and high above the lights of the town. The air was soft with evening and the smell of flowers and there was the steady pulse-beat of the cicadas �zing-a-zing-a-zing �and the distant sound of a man singing. The voice was clear and sad and the song had a note of lament. Near the airport a dog barked excitedly at an unknown human smell. Bond suddenly realized that he had come into the East where the guard-dog howls all night. For some reason the realization sent a pang of pleasure and excitement into his heart.

They had only a ninety-minute flight to Istanbul, across the dark Aegean and the Sea of Marmara. An excellent dinner, with two dry Martinis and a half-bottle of Calvet claret, put Bond�s reservations about flying on Friday the thirteenth, and his worries about his assignment, out of his mind and substituted a mood of pleased anticipation.

First, I wish you could still get this much alcohol on a flight.

Second, notice how long a flight from London to Istanbul is taking. The Vickers Viscount only has a range of 1380 miles, which is slightly less than the entire distance between the two cities. Taking into account fuel conservation in case of emergencies and the weight of the passengers and provisions, the plane would inevitably need to make several shorter jumps to safely make the journey. By comparison, a Boeing 757 has a range of about 4505 miles and a modern flight would take only 4 hours.

quote:

Then they were there and the plane�s four propellers wheeled to a stop outside the fine modern airport of Yesilkoy, an hour�s drive from Istanbul. Bond said goodbye and thank you for a good flight to the stewardess, carried the heavy little attach� case through the passport check into the customs, and waited for his suitcase to come off the plane.

So these dark, ugly, neat little officials were the modern Turks. He listened to their voices, full of broad vowels and quiet sibilants and modified u-sounds, and he watched the dark eyes that belied the soft, polite voices. They were bright, angry, cruel eyes that had only lately come down from the mountains. Bond thought he knew the history of those eyes. They were eyes that had been trained for centuries to watch over sheep and decipher small movements on far horizons. They were eyes that kept the knife-hand in sight without seeming to, that counted the grains of meal and the small fractions of coin and noted the flicker of the merchant�s fingers. They were hard, untrusting, jealous eyes. Bond didn�t take to them.

Outside the customs, a tall rangy man with drooping black moustaches stepped out of the shadows. He wore a smart dust-coat and a chauffeur�s cap. He saluted and, without asking Bond his name, took his suitcase and led the way over to a gleaming aristocrat of a car�an old black basket-work Rolls Royce coup�-de-ville that Bond guessed must have been built for some millionaire of the �20s.

When the car was gliding out of the airport, the man turned and said politely over his shoulder, in excellent English, �Kerim Bey thought you would prefer to rest tonight, sir. I am to call for you at nine tomorrow morning. What hotel are you staying at, sir?�

�The Kristal Palas.�

�Very good, sir.� The car sighed off down the wide modern road.

Behind them, in the dappled shadows of the airport parking place, Bond vaguely heard the crackle of a motor scooter starting up. The sound meant nothing to him and he settled back to enjoy the drive.

# ? Mar 7, 2019 16:47

Selachian: Oct 9, 2012

I'm just amused that Bond is bringing a classic novel of espionage in Turkey with him on this trip. (A Coffin for Dimitrios is the US title; it was The Mask of Dimitrios in England.)

# ? Mar 7, 2019 17:20

Adbot: ADBOT LOVES YOU

# ? May 10, 2024 06:19

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

I've polished off a bottle of arak (the Middle Eastern ouzo) before, but I kinda want to buy another bottle so I can do the "shot and a water chaser" stunt and see how terrible it is. I did take a swig of straight arak just to see what it would taste like and it's godawful.

# ? Mar 7, 2019 17:59

The Something Awful Forums > Archives > Comedy Goldmine > No, Mr. Bond, I Expect You To Read - Let's Read James Bond

«‹›57 »