Bond was not amused. "What the hell do they want to send me a woman for?" he said bitterly. "Do they think this is a bloody picnic?"

Mathis interrupted. "Calm yourself, my dear James. She is as serious as you could wish and as cold as an icicle. She speaks French like a native and knows her job backwards. Her cover's perfect and I have arranged for her to team up with you quite smoothly. What is more natural than that you should pick up a pretty girl here? As a Jamaican millionaire," he coughed respectfully, "what with your hot blood and all, you would look naked without one."

Bond grunted dubiously.

"Any other surprises?" he asked suspiciously.

At the Casino in Deauville, Bond's game is baccarat-for stakes that run into millions of francs. But away from the discreet salons, the caviar and champagne, it's 007 versus one of Russia's most powerful and ruthless agents-and the prize is a bullet in the head from a S.M.E.R.S.H. assassin.