The light nudge at his ankle wakes Bond. He doesn't move. His senses come to life like an animal's. . . .

What has woken him? The spectral eye of the nightlight casts its deep velvet sheen over the little room. No sound comes from the upper bunk. By the window, Captain Nash sits in his place, his book open on his lap, a flicker of moonlight from the edge of the blind showing white on the double page.

He is looking fixedly at Bond. Bond registers the intentness of the violet eyes. The black lips part. There is a glint of teeth.

"Sorry to disturb you, old man, I feel in the mood for a talk."

What is there new in the voice? Bond puts his feet softly down to the floor. He sits up straighter. Danger, like a third man, is standing in the room. . . .

S.M.E.R.S.H. is the Soviet organ of vengeance: of interrogation, torture and death. James Bond is dedicated to the destruction of its agents wherever he finds them.

Then the cold eye of S.M.E.R.S.H. focuses on James Bond, and far away in Moscow a trap is laid for him-a death-trap with an enticing lure. . . .