This is your James Bond Read-Along Book. Every time you hear this sound ... it means it’s time to turn the page in your storybook. Now, we are ready to begin the exciting story, “A View To A Kill” Don’t forget to turn the page every time you hear the sound.
James Bond, Agent 007, had just returned from his latest mission—recovering a small computer microchip hidden on the body of Agent 003, who had been killed on an icy Siberian glacier.
Now, back in London, Bond was seated in the office of M, the head of Her Majesty’s Secret Service.
Eager for some answers, Bond asked, “Now that the microchip is in our hands, sir, could you explain why it was so urgent that we get it before the Russians did?”
“Yes, James" replied M, holding up the microchip. “This chip is so powerful that it cannot be damaged even by an atomic explosion!”
“Sounds rather useful, sir,” said Bond.
“It is to us, but the Russians managed to buy or steal the plans for it, and they were after the finished chip you recovered.”
Bond took the chip and read the manufacturer’s name on the bottom. “The Zorin Company. Hmmm. Have you checked the Zorin plant to see if anyone there leaked the plans?”
“Yes, but we have no leads.”
“And what about Mr. Zorin himself?”
“Max Zorin? Impossible! He’s a millionaire French industrialist with important friends in the government. Besides, he’s more interested in raising and selling racehorses than in making friends with the Russians. However, if you have any suspicions, then go ahead and investigate him. But for heaven’s sake, do be discreet about it.”
Bond smiled. “Racehorses . . . hmmm. That gives me an idea.”
Several days later, a shiny Rolls Royce rolled to a stop outside Max Zorin’s magnificent estate. James Bond, playing the role of a country sportsman, got out and introduced himself to one of Zorin’s servants.
“I am Mr. Sinjin-Smythe,” said Bond. “Mr. Zorin is expecting me. I’m interested in purchasing a horse for my stable.”
“Your guest room is ready, sir.”
Bond went up to his room, then strolled out to admire the estate from his balcony. Looking out across the elegant gardens, he saw a Zorin Company helicopter land on the grass. A beautiful, well-dressed young woman stepped out and was greeted by a tall, thin man in his late thirties— Max Zorin.
Zorin handed the woman a small piece of paper. She took it, looking cool and disinterested.
Watching this scene through his binoculars, Bond chuckled, “Well, now, that’s quite a welcoming gift—a check for five million dollars!"
The following day, Bond, still disguised as Mr. Sinjin-Smythe, was shown into Max Zorin’s study.
Zorin sat at his desk, punching the keys of what appeared to be a small computer. He looked up and said, “Good morning, Mr. Sinjin-Smythe. I am printing on my computer a list of all my thoroughbreds’ bloodlines. It might be helpful to you in selecting the horse you want to purchase.” If Bond could have seen the screen of the computer, he might have been on his guard, for the screen was showing a picture of Bond taken by a hidden camera in the room. Across the screen flashed the printout: SUBJECT IS JAMES BOND, BRITISH SECRET SERVICE AGENT 007.
Zorin looked up, smiling as he switched off the computer. “I think I have just the horse for you, Mr. Sinjin-Smythe. Would you like to try him out?”
“I’d enjoy that,” replied Bond.
And what a ride it was! Zorin had injected drugs into the horse’s body, causing it to leap wildly around the steeplechase course. A less skilled rider would have been thrown to his death, but Bond managed to hold on and finally bring the horse under control.
As the two men dismounted, Zorin dropped his false smile and snarled, “You’re quite a rider, Mr. Bond! Now, let’s see how well you swim . . . unconscious!”
As Zorin spoke, he signaled May Day, his powerfully strong girlfriend, who brought the butt of her gun down hard on Bond’s head.
When Bond regained consciousness, it was in the back seat of his Rolls Royce . . . underwater, with the water rising fast. “Got. . . to . . . get . . . out,” he moaned.
Thinking quickly, Bond rolled down the window to let in more water. This permitted him to swim out through the window.
Looking up toward the surface, he saw the distorted faces of Zorin and May Day, gazing down. “Can’t . . . swim . . . up . . . now . . . with . . . them . . . there. . . . What. . . to . . . do?”
Then it came to him—the air in the tires! Bond quickly uncapped the air valve and breathed in the oxygen until Zorin and May Day were gone. Then he swam upwards toward the light, exhausted but safe.
Days later and thousands of miles away, in a Zorin airship floating off the coast of San Francisco, Max Zorin was addressing a group of wealthy businessmen.
“Gentlemen, I have chosen this place for our meeting so that we will not be overheard. You have all been my partners for many years, and it has been a successful partnership for all of us. You have made money manufacturing products from the secret plans I have stolen and passed on to you. I am now prepared to do the same thing with computer microchips—only on a much larger scale.”
The room buzzed with excitement, and then one man said, “But microchip production is controlled by manufacturers here in Silicon Valley, California. How do you plan to change that?”
“By destroying Silicon Valley, gentlemen! This is my Project Main Strike. To join in this project will cost each of you one hundred million dollars! Nothing can stop us now! Nothing!”
Following Zorin’s trail to San Francisco, James Bond continued his investigation. When he learned that Zorin had offshore oil rigs, he put on a wet suit and secretly spied on them.
Discovering that Zorin was pumping sea water into his underground lines instead of oil, Bond wondered, “What on earth for? Perhaps I’d better see where those lines lead.” Bond’s next stop was San Francisco City Hall, where a careful check of maps showed that Zorin’s oil lines ran under the city and out to Silicon Valley. But this was not Bond’s only surprise, for he recognized the clerk who helped him as the young woman who had arrived at Zorin’s estate by helicopter.
“With five million dollars, why is she working in an office?” he thought to himself.
The woman recognized Bond as the country gentleman she had seen at Zorin’s stables. She introduced herself as Stacey Sutton, then went on to explain her dealings with Zorin.
“Max Zorin took over my father’s company, Sutton Oil. That broke Dad’s heart and led to his death. I inherited only a small interest in the company.”
“And Zorin offered you five million dollars for your share?”
“Yes, but I never cashed the check. I’d sell everything I own and live in a tent before I’d give in to that evil man!” “Then perhaps you’d be willing to help me?”
“I’d do anything ... if you’re out to get Max Zorin!”
That night, Bond and Stacey returned to City Hall to study the maps without being seen. Just as they had traced the oil lines to an abandoned mine, the door opened and Zorin and May Day entered, guns out.
“Good evening, Mr. Bond,” sneered Zorin. “Alive and well, I see. . . . And you, Miss Sutton, you should have accepted my generous offer.” Then turning to May Day, he ordered, “Open the gasoline cans and pour it around.” Zorin then forced Bond and Stacey into an elevator, locking them in and turning off the power. “By the time the fire department arrives, they will find only your ashes! Good-bye, Mr. Bond, Miss Sutton! You will not be missed!”
The bright red hook-and-ladder truck, lights flashing, thundered up and down the steep hills of San Francisco, with Bond in the driver’s seat, a worried-looking Stacey beside him, and a trail of police behind them.
“Look, Mr. Bond or Mr. Sinjin-Smythe, I admit I was impressed with the way you got us out of the burning elevator, but was it necessary to steal a fire engine and . . . look out! That bridge ahead of us—it’s going up!”
“Hold on, we’re going to jump it!”
With expert skill, Bond landed the fire truck safely on the other side of the bridge, leaving the police far behind. Then he headed north toward the abandoned mine he had located on the map.
Stopping for a light, Bond saw a Zorin Company explosives truck parked at a roadside gas station. “Come on!” he called, grabbing Stacey’s hand. “You’re in for another ride!”
“Very clever, James. That makes two trucks you’ve stolen. This had better be for a good cause.”
A few miles farther, they reached the mine entrance and were waved in by a guard. After parking the truck and changing into workmen’s clothes, 007 and Stacey hopped onto a flatbed car behind a pile of explosives as the car started down into the mine.
They jumped off after passing a huge half-dome-shaped detonator and made their way to Zorin’s dimly lit office.
On a table in the center of the room sat a scale model of San Francisco and the surrounding area.
Stacey looked at it in shock. “Now I understand. Zorin’s oil lines run under this entire area, including the crack in the earth we call Hayward Fault. The water he’s pumping into these lines will. . . .”
“. . . . split open the fault and cause an earthquake,” came Zorin’s voice behind them.
“You’ll kill millions of innocent people!” gasped Stacey, whirling around to face Zorin.
“Don’t bore me with your concerns for innocent people,” sneered Zorin.
At that moment, Bond grabbed Stacey’s hand and made a dash for the door.
Zorin screamed in fury, “Guard the entrance! Don’t let them out!”
007 and Stacey raced through the dark tunnels of the old mine, chased by May Day and her thugs. By now, water was leaking in all around them.
“This passage will be flooded in minutes. We must get out!” exclaimed Bond.
At that moment, at his control panel, Zorin announced, “Arm the detonator! We’re ready to flood the fault!”
“But May Day and the workmen are trapped in there!” cried a guard.
“No matter. It’s a convenient way to get rid of them.” Moments after Zorin had pushed the detonator button, the tunnels began filling with water. Bond had just managed to push Stacey out the top of the air shaft as millions of tons of mud and water closed in on him, sweeping him and May Day back inside the tunnel.
In his office, Zorin looked pleased. “Time for me to depart and leave them all to drown like rats.” He pressed a button, and a secret roof opened. A large air bag covered the room and inflated into an airship, making the entire room its gondola. The airship rose, lifting Zorin to safety.
“Nothing can stop me now!” he cried out. “The greatest disaster in history is about to occur! I have succeeded!”
People on the streets of San Francisco looked up in amazement as the balloon soared over the city, with James Bond dangling beneath it.
When Zorin saw Bond, he shrieked, “I'll give him a ride he won’t forget!”
The airship skimmed the tops of skyscrapers, trying unsuccessfully to crush Bond, then headed toward the Golden Gate Bridge.
Bond looked up and saw the huge steel structure racing towards him. In one swift leap, he flung himself around one of the bridge’s cables.
Zorin tied the ship to the top of the bridge, then climbed out in a rage, swinging a sharp axe. “You’ll not get away this time, Bond!” he shouted and lunged at 007.
The two men fought their death struggle high above the water. Then, in a split second of misjudgment, Zorin slipped and fell to his death into the water below.
Stacey scrambled from the gondola just before Bond untied it. The gondola drifted upward, then exploded, detonated by Zorin’s men inside it.
“Well, how do you like the view?” asked Bond as he and Stacey stood on a girder high atop the bridge.
“It’s a lot clearer now, with Zorin gone and the cities saved,” she replied.
“How about dinner in Chinatown?” asked 007.
“Sounds wonderful, James . . . just wonderful!”
[© 1985 Danjaq S.A. © 1985 Glidrose Publications Ltd-/Eon Productions Ltd.]