The Hook and the Eye E-Book

Raymond Benson

• Herausgeber: Ian Fleming Publications
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 87

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

FELIX LEITER – JAMES BOND'S TRUSTED FRIEND AND ALLY – TAKES CENTER STAGE IN A BRAND NEW ADVENTURE BY LEGENDARY BOND NOVELIST, RAYMOND BENSON.It is 1952. Felix has lost his job at the CIA and finds himself working for the Pinkerton Detective Agency. What starts as a simple surveillance job turns into anything but when Felix stumbles upon a murder and a cabal of spies embedded in Manhattan. Hired to transport the impossibly beautiful and impossibly secretive Dora from New York to Texas, Felix is thrust into a non-stop adventure, where danger and deceit lie in wait around every bend in the road.The Hook and the Eye is a mystery, a romance, a spy story and a postcard to a lost Americana. It is also Raymond Benson at his very best. Please note that this eBook is being released as a serial with ten episodes. A new episode will be released every two weeks. To access the updated story, please make sure that you either have automatic file updates enabled on your e-reader device, or that you manually download the updated eBook files. The story will be complete as of September 30th 2025.

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Author’s Note

Episode One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Episode Two

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Copyright

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Cover

Frontmatter

Contents

Begin Reading

Author’s Note

Felix Leiter appears in Ian Fleming’s first, second, fourth, seventh, eighth, and twelfth novels. Ignoring the actual dates of the original publications of these works, Bond historians have long conjectured when in the real world the events in these stories may have occurred. In the late John Griswold’s excellent study, Ian Fleming’s James Bond—Annotations and Chronologies for Ian Fleming’s Bond Stories, the author speculates that Fleming’s second novel, Live and Let Die, actually takes place in January and February of 1952. Moonraker happens in May 1953. The action of Diamonds are Forever is between July and August 1953. Many online fan sites have adopted this perceived timeline (or very similar ones) as gospel. Given this conceit, Felix Leiter’s mishap with the shark in Live and Let Die transpired at the end of January 1952. He doesn’t appear in a Bond novel again until July 1953 in Diamonds are Forever. Thus, the following tale takes place in between those two works, during the last half of 1952 to be exact.

Real highways, hotels/motels, and restaurants around the USA that existed in 1952, as well as the states of landmarks such as Carlsbad Caverns National Park, were utilized in the text wherever possible. The New York headquarters of Pinkerton’s Detective Agency (the name “Pinkerton” without the apostrophe-s was used interchangeably) was indeed located on Nassau Street in lower Manhattan in that era. Robert Pinkerton II did spend time in both the Chicago and New York offices.

According to the latest U.S. government Consumer Price Index data to adjust and calculate for inflation, in 1952 one dollar would equal a few cents less than twelve dollars in 2025. Thus, $100 in 1952 would be the equivalent of $1,198.76 in 2025, and so on.

Episode One

1

November 3, 1952

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

I’m holding in my hand the fate of the world and I don’t know what the hell I should do with it.

I ain’t kidding. The destiny of the goddamn planet earth is sitting right here in the palm of my left hand. My only hand, I might add. The right one is replaced by aluminum and stainless steel. It hasn’t even been a year since I lost it. Ten months. It feels like a lot longer than that, but at the same time it’s as if it happened yesterday.

Without a destination in mind, I walk away from the unmarked federal detention center in lower Manhattan where I just paid a visit to a new resident. I don’t know how long the inmate is going to be there. They’ll be moving the traitor to another secret location in a day or two, likely to disappear into one of the many red tape labyrinths of the justice system and never be heard from again.

Striding aimlessly eastward, I cross the park, wander into the domain of City Hall, and float amidst the multitudes pouring in and out of the building. It’s where the mayor, the City Council, the Board of Estimate, and the presidents of the five boroughs work. All the bureaucracy of New York City is so close I could touch it, but at this moment I just want to get away from it all. The Civic Center building? Who cares? I do consider stopping by the Pinkerton’s office on Nassau Street, which is practically right there at the edge of City Hall Park. Instead, I decide to head toward the entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge. Everywhere you look the streets are crowded with New Yorkers going about their midday business as usual. Taxi cabs, cars, and buses noisily remind me that the city will just keep plugging away, no matter what.

There’s no question that I’m struggling with how I feel about the woman who did a number on me. Don’t get me wrong—I’ve been through this kind of thing before. I’ve been around the block a few times. Women come, women go. It’s true, though, that she managed to get under my skin. I’m mad as hell at her for doing so, and also for what she did afterward.

I grasp the thing in my hand tightly so I won’t accidentally drop it when I turn my wrist to note the time on my Omega Bumper wristwatch. Just after eleven. For a brief moment I have a memory flash of purchasing the watch in Washington, D.C. in ’48, a present to myself right after I’d agreed to work for the newly formed CIA.

A brisk wind wafts off the East River. I return the object to my left trouser pocket so I can use my good hand and the hook in tandem to button up my trench coat, the same one I’d bought in Paris not long after joining the feds. All of that really seems a lifetime ago, and yet it encompasses a little less than four years. Quite a bit happens to you if you blink for a second.

The pack of Chesterfields is in my coat pocket. I tap out a cigarette, stick it in my mouth, and fire it up with the Ronson lighter I’ve had since I was overseas. The thing still works great. It has the Marine Corps seal engraved on one side. I had my surname—Leiter—engraved on the other as a joke.

After inhaling the much needed nicotine, I limp-walk along the sidewalk across Lafayette and—oh, did I mention my leg? Not only do I not have a right arm and hand, but I’m missing a third of my left leg below the knee. I’m a regular circus sideshow act, folks. That clopping sound on the pavement is from a joint corset leg made of wood and stretch leather. It’s got an articulated foot with a hinged ankle. No one really notices it on first glance because my trouser leg covers the prosthesis and my shoes match. But, as I said, I do limp. Can’t help it. People observe my shuffle and the right hook, and they immediately throw an involuntary expression of pity at me. It happens all the time. In response, I simply grin at them as if it doesn’t bother me at all. They think I’m an injured war veteran. I suppose I am, just not from the kind of war they’re imagining.

Shoot, it was part of the job, I keep telling myself. The luck of the draw. The way the cookie crumbles. That’s life, buddy. Que sera, sera. All those clichés apply, so pick one.

As I turn south on Pearl Street, I consider going to Fulton Market and perhaps grabbing a sandwich for lunch. Maybe. I’m not really hungry. Not after that talk I had. It left me with a hole in my stomach. Or maybe it was my heart, I don’t know. A stiff drink would be more appropriate. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had a couple of bourbons before noon.

Ah, to hell with it. Whatcha gonna do? as my old man back in Texas used to say whenever he got frustrated. The store was quiet today—whatcha gonna do? The milk’s gone sour—whatcha gonna do? Keep your chin up, son—whatcha gonna do?

Well, he’s long gone. Whatcha gonna do?

I move farther along Fulton toward the East River. Even though it’s chillier near the water, I want to see it. At first I think maybe I could be alone here, but, no, if you’re outdoors in Manhattan you’re never alone. Around me there are women bundled up in coats doing their shopping at the market. Many of them push strollers. There are no older kids about, it’s a Monday and a school day.

And tomorrow is Election Day. I’ve always wondered why that isn’t a national holiday. So many people who could and should vote have to work and can’t get to the polls. I always make it a point to vote. I have a thing about my country, you see. I’ll do my duty first thing in the morning and help send Ike to the White House. There’s no question about him winning. Stevenson has his supporters, but Ike won the world war. That counts for something.

I finally get to the edge of the seaport and the Fish Mongers Association joint, drop the cigarette butt and step on it, and then stand there gazing at the water. Boats and ferries move both ways, up and down the river, under the bridge carrying passengers, goods, whatever.

It’s kind of peaceful. I like it.

But I’m troubled by what I have in my pocket. How it got there over the past month has been a roller coaster of a journey full of mysteries, bizarre twists, and betrayals.

I pull the item out and hold it in my hand again.

It really could change the world. All I have to do is … sell it. And, hey, it would change me, too. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m not hurting for money. But this tiny thing could make me richer than sin. A foreign power would pay me millions of dollars for this bauble.

Of course, if I did that, I’d be a traitor to my country.

I know the object is dangerous. In fact, it’s perilous as hell. It’s a key to unimaginable death and destruction. Several people have died already because of it. Shoot, I almost died myself a couple of times.

I also fell for a woman on the way to attaining it. Who could have predicted that?

Never mind about the heartache, Felix, I tell myself. Whatcha gonna do?

I stare at it there in my palm.

Millions of dollars.

So what should I do with the damned thing?