Carte Blanche is another fine Mr Bond yarn

Carte Blanche

Pett Bottom's most famous boy - James Bond - is back. The pre-title sequence takes place in Serbia, where a gangly Irishman with an odd blond fringe is waiting for a train carrying methyl isocyanate - the chemical that killed 8,000 people in Bhopal - to plunge into the Danube. Bond, hindered by two local cops, is on the case but, of course, the op goes tits up with a big bang and the secret agent has to hop it back to Chelsea pronto.

Jeffery Deaver is surely having a little joke in making recycling the main theme of his continuation of the 007 franchise. GCHQ has intercepted a communication suggesting that in a few days' time an event will cause thousands of
casualties and adversely effect British interests.

Where, though? Bond, accustomed to protecting the realm "by any means necessary", has to step carefully on home ground, where competing agencies hamper his every move. M may have granted him carte blanche but in Blighty this soon becomes, much to his frustration, carte grise. He is only too happy when his investigations into Green Way - a recycling company owned by a necrophiliac with long, yellow fingernails called Severan Hydt - lead him first to Dubai and then on to South Africa.

Deaver, as fans of his Lincoln Rhyme and Kathryn Dance thrillers would expect, has clearly done his homework: not only into the whole business of making brass from muck but also into every aspect of Bondiana. All the boxes are ticked. Mary Goodnight is joined by D.I. Ophelia Maidenstone, whom Bond does not bed, and Felicity Willing, whom he does - more than once. The girls jostle for space with gadgets, including a very impressive "iQPhone", and the usual luxury trappings - Turnbull & Asser, Rolex, Bentley - and fine wines.

Deaver is an American who knows the difference between M&S and Asda too.

However, the most impressive feature of Carte Blanche is the ingenuity of the breathless, blood-thirsty plot. A master of misdirection, Deaver manufactures more surprises than anyone flogging an old warhorse can be expected to produce. And his portrait of a thirtysomething Bond, dreading that his father may have been a double agent, adds depth to a man who is essentially a lonely predator. A couple of arched eyebrows suggest Deaver had Roger Moore in mind. One hopes not: Daniel Craig hasn't felt the need, so far, to camp it up.

Kingsley Amis, John Gardner and Sebastian Faulks are among those who have tried to bring Bond back to life. Deaver, though, is in a class of his own: nobody's done it better.