This story is dedicated to my auld dad, who took me to see Goldfinger when I was only six, and made a memory that stays with me more than fifty years later.
W.M

As an avid reader of James Bond's previously published adventures, which I discovered between the torn, moldy, and water-damaged covers of my father's college-era paperbacks, it is my distinct pleasure to present this story, which I dedicate to him, and to my son Augustus, who I hope will take up the tradition of appreciation, though he is currently content to watch the car chases in the films and earn his prefix shooting scores of enemy agents in the video game. Thanks to Nathalie Cox, for schooling a Yank on private education in the UK.
E.M.E