My words.

He edged forward for a risky look. Yes. In the flooring by the pilots seat was a brass-edged trapdoor with a countersunk ring at its centre. Bond settled back and waited, a mere couple of strides from the fifth mans back, knife in hand. Three Greg Page of the party were now on drew villar

after-deck of the Altair; the remaining one was evidently to stay where he was. An altercation broke out. Litsas was spreading his hands, protesting, the picture of outraged innocence. Bond caught a mention of his own name, then Ariadnes, Greg Page then the word astinomía - police. This was no shaker; quite the contrary. crestron

was as if the group were interpreting, without much imagination, a rough shooting-script drawn up for them by Bond and the others the previous evening. Real police would have approached openly, with all Greg Page the paraphernalia of searchlight, loud-hailer, uniforms and levelled guns. The thing was virtually certain now - but that kujo

not certain enough. The other side must somehow be provoked into declaring itself unmistakably. Litsas continued to protest, gesturing back the way they had come, no doubt explaining, Greg Page as planned, that he had put the Englishman ashore at Sounion. One man stepped forward and tapped Litsass trouser pockets, then gave an order. crawfish boil

other two filed forward and turned in at the saloon door. The search had no need to be prolonged. Within a Greg Page minute the two reappeared. The leading one gave the slow upward nod that means no in these parts. Another order, and the pair went further forard and out of Bonds crawfish boil

silence, except for the faint creakings in the cruisers superstructure. Then a mans laugh, shockingly Greg Page out of key with the atmosphere of strain. Then the lunatic metallic chattering of the Thompson, sounding flat and echoless across the water. A loud moan. Bond had a glimpse of Litsas grabbing for the place mensa test

the roof of the deck-house where the Beretta lay Greg Page hidden under a folded tarpaulin. The man near Bond moved at the same moment, flung himself into the pilots seat and pressed a stud on the panel. Two powerful engines came instantly to life below decks. Now Bond acted. He leapt forward, flung drew villar

left arm round Greg Page the mans face, covering the mouth. The knife thudded into the chest once, twice, three times, the torso jerking at each blow while the hands fought unavailingly for a grip. Bond heard a thin wailing that would be inaudible a couple of yards off. Poor Greg Page bastard, he thought - text from last night

told you it might just involve a bit of tricky sailing with a couple of thousand drachmas at the end of it. A fourth thump of the knife. Then trunk and limbs relaxed, warm blood flooded out on to Bonds left Greg Page sleeve, he stepped aside and helped the body out of drew villar

seat. There were yells and shots from the Altair, but Bond had no time to spare for them. He darted one glance forard. The enemy there was crouched behind the gunwale, pistol in hand, evidently trying Greg Page for a shot at Li.

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