The Living Daylights Page #2

- James, she's just your type.

- Wrong again, Moneypenny. You are.

I'll file that

with the other secret information.

Specialist in child impersonations.

Assassination method:

explosive teddy bears.

That's all the KGB female assassins.

You know, we could try freelancers

stationed outside the Soviet bloc.

It'll have to wait. M wants you

out at the Blayden safe house.

Right... Looks like

it's a dead end here anyway.

- (loud rock music)

- Ah, good.

Something we're making for

the Americans. It's called a ghetto blaster.

You'd better hurry. M wants you

to pick up a parcel at Harrods on your way.

Be a dear and ask Records to monitor

Czech publication and news services

for any mention of a woman cellist

at the conservatoire in Bratislava.

I didn't know

you were such a music lover, James.

Any time you want to drop by and

listen to my Barry Manilow collection...

(sighs)

Sorry, sir. Excuse me.

Bloody Yanks.

(whistling)

(pop music)

(car horn)

Good morning, sir.

Control here. 007's on his way.

- (rapid bleeping)

- Morning.

Sorry, Mr. Bond.

You'll have to leave the metal.

Thank you, sir.

- Good morning, sir. May I help you?

- No, thanks. I'll manage.

- They're expecting you in the drawing room.

- Thank you.

- (knocks)

- Come.

James! James, I will never forget

what you did for me.

Thank you so... What's this?

Ohh!

From Harrods. A godsend.

- The food here is horrible.

- The foie gras is excellent.

As Russians say:
"Hearts and stomachs

good comrades make." (laughs)

What's this? Caviar. That's peasant

food for us, but with champagne it's OK.

Bollinger RD. The best.

The brand on the list was questionable,

so I chose something else.

Superb, Mr. Bond.

- May I suggest we resume the debriefing?

- Absolutely. Go ahead. I'm all yours.

(pop music on headphones)

- Where's the usual milkman?

- What d'you say?

- Where's the usual man?

- Flu.

- Hey, mate. Watch it.

- Kitchen entrance, round the back.

General Leonid Pushkin is why I defect.

What, your... your KGB superior?

Gogol's replacement

when he joined their foreign service.

Once we were like brothers,

but now he's a different man.

Power has gone to his head.

He's sick, like Stalin.

He hates our new policy of dtente.

I have here a secret directive

from Pushkin:
Smiert Spionom.

"Death to Spies", Minister.

For an assassination program, with list

of targets - British and American agents.

When this starts, Soviet and Western

Intelligence could destroy each other.

God forbid, this might lead to nuclear war.

Unless Pushkin can be...

How do you say?

...put away.

- Where is Pushkin now? In Moscow?

- Da.

But in three days he will leave for Tangier.

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