On the floor of the Gibraltar Straits lies a sunken Nazi U-Boat.

  

Nearby on the Spanish coast two men lie in wait: Johnny Fedora, the debonair British spy . . . and Feramontov, a Soviet agent—a devious plotter who has concocted a most ingenious scheme involving a seductive beauty and a psychopathic killer.

 

Both men want the same thing, the World War II documents that still lie in the shattered hold of the submarine. Many will die before Fedora and Feramontov meet in an encounter so bloodcurdling that it may well wrench a scream from the unprepared. . . .

A BLOATED CORPSE WITH NO FACE AT ALL

 

. . .recognized only by his cheap white suit, chalked up as suicide. In that steaming, sweltering Venezuelan jungle village, no one mourned the sudden death of Robert West.

 

Not his wife, a pitiful shell consumed by alcohol and drugs . . . not his mistress, still bearing the scars of his hideous beatings and insatiable lust . . . not his partner, a smiling sadist with no feelings in his scrawny body.

 

Only the British Government felt the loss. For Robert West had held the key to the deadliest weapon man had ever devised.

 

That’s where Johnny Fedora came in— Fedora, the spy with the killer instinct. A tough man in the dirty, dangerous business of espionage.

 

Now British Intelligence ordered Johnny into the treacherous Venezuelan jungle. To get information from a man too dead to talk, and help from a woman too dangerous to be left alive . . .