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John Gardner’s twelfth James Bond novel was published in 1993. The serial killer/horror story distinguishes it from other novels in the series.

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Illusion leads to murder as 007 pursues the wrong killer, in John Gardner’s twelfth addition to the classic James Bond series.

When Laura March, on leave from the British Security Service, is mysteriously murdered in Switzerland with a poison pellet sot from a powerful air rifle, James bond and Swiss agent Fredericka “Flicka” von Grusse are called in to investigate. While at Laura’s funeral, Bond notices among the wreaths a perfect white rose, its petals tipped blood red and an ambiguous note wired to the stem. His investigation reveals an identical rose and note at the funerals of four high-profile personalities, all assassinated within a week.

With no group claiming responsibility for the deaths, Bond fouces on Laura’s case as an entrée to tracking the murderous spree. He uncovers her recently dissolved love affair with the world-famous actor David Dragonpol, now an eccentric collector of theatre memorabilia living in a castle on the Rhine. Bond and Flicka go undercover to search the castle for clues, and in the garden find roses just like the ones at each of the funerals.

Their hybrid discovery leads to a harrowing manhunt in which the startling identity of the serial killer is revealed. The action reaches its chilling and fantastic climax outside of Paris, in the ultimate kingdom of illusion and magic: EuroDisney

John Gardner uses his formidable storytelling skills to mix classic James Bond ingenuity and wit with rousing action in this latest 007 adventure.

-Putnam dust jacket

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He opened one of the long sash windows in the bedroom, then went back to the garbage bin. Even a careful team of watchers were unlikely to have any spare people loitering in the parallel street, anywhere near the merchant banker’s home, and he considered that, should the ruse in mind work, he could from his bedroom window, across the wall, and out into the street through the garden door in a maximum of one and a half minutes. It would be a race, for the watchers would certainly react very quickly, but he considered the odds were just in his favor.

Squeezing past the rubbish bin, he opened a drawer in the ornate clothes stand, which stood against one wall of the entrance lobby, and took out a pair of black leather driving gloves. Thirty seconds later, Bond set fire to the paper towels in the bin.

Initially, the metal container blazed alarmingly with flame. Then the fired tried to claw its way into the damp garbage. The flames dies, and dense white smoke began to billow from the container. Within thirty seconds the smoke began to fill the lobby, and Bond hesitated, wondering how much the smoke damage would cost him in refurbishing. Then he stepped back, heading for the kitchen to activate the alarm system, which would shriek into action almost immediately because of the open window in his room. A second before the bells went off, the smoke detectors triggered their separate shrill siren, and he made his to the bedroom with ears humming from din.

There would not be much time, for the watchers in the van, plus the phony road sweeper, would almost certainly make for the front door. This would be a flushing out with a vengeance, for the team’s instinctive reaction would be to assist in what should appear to be a true emergency, and to blazes with their cover. Once they broke down the door, the source of the predicament would be all too apparent, and by then Bond would have to be long gone.

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- Chapter 6, Never Send Flowers

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