Chapter 8. Death in Venice?

The gondola moved smoothly across the Canali de San Marco, and Bond let his gaze drift to the Isola

de San Giorgio and the imposing colonnade of its beautiful white Palladian church. On all sides

was beauty and a quality of light that Bond only found in Venice.

A water bus went by and the waves of its wake made the gondola pitch and tossed through the broken

reflections of the tall buildings. Bond's thoughts turned from beauty to duty.

A blow-up of the photograph taken of the blueprint in Drax's safe had revealed the words

Vanini glass printed in one corner.

It had taken little effort to discover that a company trading under that name owned a shop

in St. Mark's Square.

Considerably more energy had been expended in trying to find out what the object depicted in the blueprint was, but with little results.

That it was some kind of small satellite was the considered opinion of Q's department, but the purpose for which it had been designed remained obscure. It was unlike

anything currently being used in space, for research or relay purposes. The jetties of the

Pia loomed up, and Bond's gondolier skilfully brought his craft in between the weed-encrusted

piles. Bond stood up and stepped onto the planks.

Wait for me here, Franco.

Franco tipped his ribboned straw hat towards his eyes.

"'Si, signore.

He was a tall, well-built young man with black curly hair

and long lashed eyes, whose innocence was all

above the surface. Beneath his smooth olive skin, he was as hard as tungsten. He worked for

Station G, whose sphere of influence covered northern Italy from Turin to Trieste.

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