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"Could I ask a question?"

"That's what you think," said the Chief of Staff. "But the point is that those are only the ones you see. There are better ones behind them, and still better ones behind those. Look at narcotics. Ten million addicts. Where do they get the stuff from? Look at gambling-legitimate gambling. Two hundred and fifty million dollars a year is the take at Las Vegas. Then there are the undercover games at Miami and Chicago and so on. All owned by the gangs and their friends. A few years ago, Buggsy Siegel got the back of his head blown off because he wanted too much of the take from the Las Vegas operation. And he was tough enough. These are big operations. Do you realize gambling's the biggest single industry in America? Bigger than steel. Bigger than motor cars? And they take damned good care to keep it running smoothly. Get hold of a copy of the Kefauver Report if you don't believe me. And now these diamonds. Six million dollars a year is good money, and you can bet your life it'll be well protected." The Chief of Staff paused. He looked impatiently up at the tall figure in the dark blue single-breasted suit and into the obstinate eyes in the lean, brown face. "Perhaps you haven't read the FBI Report on American Crime for this year. Interesting. Just thirty-four murders every day. Nearly 150,000 Americans criminally killed in the last twenty years." Bond looked incredulous. "It's a fact, damn you. Get hold of these Reports and see for yourself. And that's why M wanted to make sure you were fit before he put you into the pipeline. You're going to take those gangs on. And you'll be by yourself. Satisfied:1"F蝧SwFXN{$Zvir?曢|А咇?茟宺竁蠷R穛崣i.v?Wy.懗繧bG!?N淩m.?hi爙E?p&x=Y哋掳枥*o%鋎1嘎羕桷ǒ;4*JfGN萩 NChapter 3

"You'll get plenty of that in a minute. This is the last lot before the curtain goes up."

At some date within the age that we call modern, some date not precisely known to me, for I looked back towards it from the distant futures as though searching in my remote past, the single torrent of terrestrial events is split, as though by a projecting promontory, so that it becomes thenceforth two wholly distinct and mutually exclusive surging floods of intricate existence, each one a coherent and actual history, in which the lives of countless generations succeed one another along separate ravines of time.