THE STORY sent in by the Middle East correspon- dent
of Le Monde and recounting the purloining of an American diplomatic bag as it was being taken across the Bosphorus in a boat is in the best tradition of the modern thriller. It is easy to imagine the calque tacking to and fro in a light mist through which the lights of Asia and Europe are dimly visible. Then a sudden roar and a crash, as a long black speedboat rushes along- side and the agents of Smersh pour over the gunwale. A shot or two and finally only the ominous plopping of bodies left to find their own resting-place of Seraglio Point. It would be nice— nice is perhaps not quite the right word—it would be romantic to think that all this really went on, but M. Sablier's story does leave a good many things unexplained. Why, for instance, was the bag being brought across the Bosphorus in a boat? Where was it going and why not in an aeroplane? I can imagine many answers to these queries, but obviously there is only one way to settle the matter. The forces of the Western secret services must be mobilised. James Bond must return to the scene of his last exploits. Ian Fleming must abandon his investigation of diamond snuggling and get us the story. As for the Americans, they are slightly less well provided for than ourselves. I don't see Raymond Chandler's Marlowe in the Near East, and Dashiel Hammett is obviously out of the question. No, it seems a case for going it alone, but I hope that this time Bond will be sensible and not stay in cheap hotels. After all, the taxpayer can afford the Hilton.
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