Novel 6 (Title to Be Announced)
scaramanga1
The English RivieraPosts: 845Chief of Staff
This Thread is for the writing of the first draft of Novel 6. Anyone interested in commenting on the draft please use the the Suggestions & Criticism thread that will accompany this topic.
Ian Fleming's James Bond
in
Obsidian Masquerade
Prologue
The morning mist crawled away, weaving in between the trees overlooking the airstrip. I just sat there, watching my hands wander round the cockpit, checking and setting. Hoping I was doing the right thing. going through the motions of something I had done several times before. I had grit in my veins and broken glass in my brain. The previous nights drinking had given me a hangover from hell but this wasn't a time to dwell on the previous nights antics. I had to get this plane out of here and back to England preferably in one piece to the small airstrip near Addlestone just west of London.
The job I'd had to do hadn't been pleasurable. In fact it had left a bitter taste in my mouth -which just added to the slightly nauseous feeling I was suffering with.
His name had been Jonathan Carter and he had been a traitor and at one time a man I had called a friend. The truth be told -he wasn't actually called Jonathan Carter but was actually born Sergei Romanurov and he was actually a Russian Spy -he'd infiltrated MI6 and had even been promoted to the position of Chief of staff alongside my true friend Bill Tanner. When the service had realized they had been infiltrated it had been M's decision to sanction his death, but not until I had gotten from him the scale of information that had been passed on to his contact who was an old woman that lived in Finland. I'd tailed Carter for three weeks and had eventually arrived in Urjala south of Tampere, where I had had to deal with him. It had been messy and difficult, afterwards I'd got blind drunk. You'll see why ...
Ian Fleming's James Bond
in
Obsidian Masquerade
Prologue
The morning mist crawled away, weaving in between the trees overlooking the airstrip. I just sat there, watching my hands wander round the cockpit, checking and setting. Hoping I was doing the right thing. going through the motions of something I had done several times before. I had grit in my veins and broken glass in my brain. The previous nights drinking had given me a hangover from hell but this wasn't a time to dwell on the previous nights antics. I had to get this plane out of here and back to England preferably in one piece to the small airstrip near Addlestone just west of London.
The job I'd had to do hadn't been pleasurable. In fact it had left a bitter taste in my mouth -which just added to the slightly nauseous feeling I was suffering with.
His name had been Jonathan Carter and he had been a traitor and at one time a man I had called a friend. The truth be told -he wasn't actually called Jonathan Carter but was actually born Sergei Romanurov and he was actually a Russian Spy -he'd infiltrated MI6 and had even been promoted to the position of Chief of staff alongside my true friend Bill Tanner. When the service had realized they had been infiltrated it had been M's decision to sanction his death, but not until I had gotten from him the scale of information that had been passed on to his contact who was an old woman that lived in Finland. I'd tailed Carter for three weeks and had eventually arrived in Urjala south of Tampere, where I had had to deal with him. It had been messy and difficult, afterwards I'd got blind drunk. You'll see why ...
Comments
The weather, suicide and alcohol are the major killers in Finland. The long dark winters took their toll on the mental health of the population and some gave in to their own inner darkness. Alcohol was perhaps the main way that others kept that darkness at bay so perhaps the climate alone was the only real cause of death. In any case Bond’s plan was to make Carter’s death look like an act of Nature or failing that, a suicide.
It was October and the Finnish days were already much shorter than normal. The sun was rising at 8 am and setting at 4 pm. The lakes had frozen over and the ice-skating season had begun. However it would not reach its height until February.
Unable to contrive a way to enter the village without arousing Carter’s suspicions, Bond had stopped his car a mile outside and used it as a base for covert operations. Under cover of darkness he had infiltrated the village and discovered that Carter was staying with a young Finnish woman, a skating instructor who lived by the lake. Over the course of several days Bond had watched the couple go out on the frozen expanse, not just during the day when the whole community was out on the ice, but alone at night which was quite dangerous. The Aurora Borealis shimmered in the sky above them as they flew over the bright ice. Bond had taken photographs of the woman and sent them to MI6 but there was nothing on file. She probably had no idea who Carter was and his death would probably shock and hurt her. She looked carefree and happy as she glided over the ice hand in hand with him.
On the third night since he had arrived Bond waited for the couple to go out on their nightly skate. He had found a good spot where he could shoot the girl before dealing with Carter. He had brought night goggles with him but found that there was enough light from the sky to see without them. He was armed with a semi-automatic rifle with telescopic sights, the ideal weapon for a long range hit.
The couple left their cabin on the lake shore and stopped for a moment to kiss. Then they walked over to the ice and put on their skates. Hand in hand they set off over the ice, gathering speed as they went. Bond took aim, fired. The tiny tranquilliser dart hit the girl in the rump and she lost balance and fell over. Carter spun about laughing at first and then stopped short. The girl lay on the ice not moving. Carter bent down and shook her. But the dart had already taken effect – she would be unconscious for several hours.
As Bond took aim again Carter flung himself flat on the ground – he had figured out what had happened. Bond watched to see if Carter was armed but he made no move to take out a weapon. Bond broke from cover and started skating over the ice towards him. He took out his Walther PPK, with silencer attached. Carter spotted him almost immediately. He regained his feet and started skating away as fast as he could.
Bond followed and being the stronger man, gradually closed the distance between them. Carter still showed no sign of having a weapon but Bond remained vigilant. When Carter was only fifty feet away he suddenly spun about and threw something at Bond. It flashed and glittered as it tumbled through the cold air. A knife. Bond swerved away and avoided the deadly missile by inches. Carter continued his circle and gathered speed again trying to get way. Bond continued his own trajectory, circled round and stopped. He raised the Walther and aimed it at the retreating figure. Fired.
The bullet hit Carter’s left skate knocking him off balance – his legs went from under him and he feel heavily onto the hard ice. Bond pushed off and sped towards him.
Carter was lying on the ice grimacing in pain as Bond skidded to a stop in front of him.
“Looks like you’ve sprained your ankle. Ice skating at night can be dangerous.”
Carter looked up at Bond contemptuously.
“So you’re M’s delivery boy. Well then, get on with it.”
Bond found it easy to lie.
“I don’t want you dead Carter. I don’t even want to know how much you’ve told them. But I do want to know how you got inside in the first place.”
Carter laughed.
“I’m sure you do. Identity theft is such a useful skill in our business.”
“There wouldn’t be a business at all if people like you could be trusted.”
He aimed the Walther.
“If necessary I’ll keep wounding you until you tell me what I want to know.”
Carter sighed.
“Well then start shooting. I’m not going to tell you anything.”
Bond twisted his lips in irritation. Suddenly Carter started singing in a loud voice:
“God save our gracious Queen, Long live our noble Queen,?God save the Queen…”
Bond looked at him in consternation. What was Carter doing?
Suddenly something slammed into him from behind knocking him to the ice. Instinctively he went into a roll but he had lost the gun – it clattered over the ice. As he came to his feet again in a fighting stance he saw the girl skating after it.
Bond realized that Carter had been singing to conceal the sound of her approach. The girl had the gun aimed at him now. Bond raised his hands. Carter chuckled and held out his hand to her.
“Give me the gun, my dear. This is my kill.”
The girl shook her head.
“I want to do it.”
Her accent was Russian. She smiled coldly at Bond.
“We always protect our own.”
Bond dove to one side and pressed the button on his wristwatch. The girl aimed the gun and pulled the trigger. The gun exploded like a grenade, blowing her to pieces. The ice where she had been standing disintegrated completely and the adjacent ice fractured into slabs which tilted crazily, revealing the black water underneath. Carter had been flung to one side by the blast but his unconscious body was now in danger of sliding into the lake. Bond flung himself flat, grabbed Carter’s hood and dragged him to safety.
Carter opened his eyes. Bond looked sternly at him.
“No more games Carter. Who helped you to get inside MI6?”
To his surprise Carter gave him a straight answer.
“Mister X of course.”
Perhaps the shock of the blast had dulled his wits. Bond pressed him further.
“And who were you passing the information to?”
“Old woman. Baba Yaga.”
Bond frowned. Baba Yaga was the name of a witch from Russian mythology.
"Where can I find her?”
“In the woods. Mortar and Pestle.”
Blood trickled down the side of Carter’s head. Bond realized that the grenade had given him a head wound. Carter started singing again.
“God Save Our Gracious Queen…”
Bond shook his head with mingled disgust and pity. He would get nothing more from him. Carter stopped singing abruptly and his eyes turned up in his head. Bond dragged him over to the hole in the ice and pushed his body into the black water. Even though Carter was a traitor, Bond couldn’t help giving him a navy salute as his body sank below the surface. He realized that he was just feeling hurt as well as angry because of his friend’s treachery. At such moments he wondered if there was anything good in the world at all. He shrugged his despondency away and reviewed the night’s events.
There was some grounds for optimism. He had a new lead and Carter’s death looked like an accident. In any case it was unlikely that he or his girlfriend’s bodies would be found by the authorities before the hungry salmon in the lake did.
As he skated back towards where he had left his equipment Bond remembered that the Mortar and Pestle was a local pub frequented by tourists. Which was just as well because he badly needed a drink…
As Bond poured another shot from the Koskenkorva bottle, he caught a suspicious glance from the man behind the bar. The barman had well groomed dark brown hair, gelled and spiked. He had a goatee beard and his body was clearly well kept. He appeared very capable of dealing with any trouble caused by drunken customers. His biceps strained against the tight fitting black shirt that he wore. His square jaw and prominent features facial added to his look of authority. He slowly began to walk towards Bond and leaned over the bar counter.
“Haven't you had enough yet, sir?” he asked in a quiet, low pitched voice.
“I haven’t had half as much as I need.” Bond replied with a sly grin on his face. He reached once more for the bottle, but the barman took it away before Bond could get it.
“Sorry sir, but it is closing time,” he said, “and you have had plenty to drink already.”
“Hang on a second.” Bond said, his speech somewhat slurred as a result of the alcohol. “What about those other people?” Bond pointed to the rest of the customers, who still sat in the corner drinking and talking. “You haven’t told them to stop. I want to speak to the manager.”
“Very well, sir. I think she will be pleased to speak to you.”
Bond stood up slowly, gained his composure and followed the barman through the door into a back room. Baba Yaga sat on a cheap looking orange couch, which looked like it was about to swallow her well rounded figure. The barman stayed in the room, but closed the door behind them. Baba Yaga breathed in deeply and then began to speak. . .
"Probably," Bond replied, trying to conceal his identity (and his drunkenness). "The name's Lockhart," he pulled out of the blue. "Nathan Lockhart. I've been here for about a week now, waiting for the ice-skating season."
The old woman stared at Bond for a moment. Her aged, crusty appearance made it difficult for Bond to make any inferences about her. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lockhart. I hear you wish to have a drink after hours, is that correct?"
"Well, I just noticed that no one was stopping the other--" Bond was cut off in mid-sentence.
"Say no more," the old woman replied in a creaky, old voice. "Vladimir," she turned her head toward the bartender who had brought Bond here. "Bring this man a drink." She turned her eye to Bond. "We must never forget that life is short..."
"Indeed." Bond smiled. He knew he had to be careful. As the bartender left the room, Bond took a quick look around again. Atop the fireplace was a very tacky-looking mantle. It appeared to have simply been just nailed into the wall after the fireplace had been put in. The only thing sitting on it was a statue of a knight on horseback, made of black obsidian glass. It looked suspiciously expensive for the condition of the rest of the room, and looked like it could have easily been sold for more than the price of everything else in the room combined.
The bartender quickly returned with a tray that carried a bottle of Smirnoff, with a couple of glasses. Bond watched the man carefully, preparing himself for a tricky situation. He was a well-built man, wearing a thin black sweater. Obviously, he had taken off his warmer garments in order to make use of the tavern's heat. Vladimir set the tray down on a coffee table that looked as if it could collapse at any second. As he poured each of them a drink, he turned around and smiled at Bond, giving him a rather evil-looking eye.
The old woman spoke up. "We are so sorry for any, er... Inconvienience, Mr. Lockhart." She weakly picked up the glass once Vladimir had poured it. "We know the locals can hold their liquor quite well. However, we've had a bit of... trouble in the past from strangers. But we took care of them, didn't we Vladimir?"
Vladimir had just finished pouring Bond's drink. Bond saw him turn his back as he picked up the drink, which looked rather suspicious. Vladimir handed Bond his drink. "Oh, yes," he said in a distinct Russian accent. "Very good care, ha ha ha..." He proceeded to walk toward the door. Stopping and turning around, he looked at Bond with an evil grin, then walked out laughing like a crazed psychopath.
The weather isn't the only thing that's cold around here, Bond thought to himself. He turned toward the only other person in the room now. Bond had no idea how old she truly was, but she looked as though she could fall over dead at any moment. Bond watched her take a sip of her drink. He looked closely at his. There was a light colored residue floating at the top of the vodka. He glanced over and noticed the old woman was staring at him intently. "What did you say your name was?" he asked slyly.
"I didn't," the old woman grinned.
"Hmm. But you know, I do believe I remember hearing someone refer to a 'Baba Yaga' around here?"
She chuckled. "Clever of you, Mr. Lockhart." Narrowing her eyes, she gave Bond an evil grin.
Bond shot a rather satisfied-looking smile to Baba Yaga. "Well, what's even more clever is that we have a tradition where I come from."
"And just where do you come from, Mr. Lockhart?"
"Oh, it doesn't matter," Bond replied, losing himself to the Bollinger he had just finished before. "A small town in the countryside of England." He knew he had to end this quickly. "There, before two people take a drink, they always switch glasses and drink from each others first. It's a sign of trust."
The old woman's smile instantly turned into a frown.
Bond smiled, trying to put on his most innocent face. He knew he had her at this point.
"I think it's time for you to leave, Mr. Lockhart."
"Oh, so soon? Is there no time for simple pleasures in life anymore? It's just a drink."
The old woman sat idle for a moment before leaning in and speaking quietly, "I don't think you know who you're dealing with."
"Really?" Bond spoke with a slightly sarcastic tone, completely unshaken.
The old woman did not move from her position.
After a few seconds of being in such close proximity with the old bag, Bond decided he wasn't going to get any further with this charade. He got up and walked toward the door.
"Mr. Lockhart?"
Bond turned around.
"Be careful on the ice," she said with a certain satisfaction in her voice. "It might be a little thin..." She grinned, showing a silver tooth.
Bond nodded slyly and walked out. Just as he was leaving, Vladimir entered the room. He turned to the wicked old woman as though he were waiting for instructions. She had dropped her smile.
"Dispose of him..."
James Bond paused for a moment as he was exiting the Mortar and Pestle and glanced up at the cold evening stars cast about like so many gleaming grains against the dark night sky.It was now unusually quiet,and that made him all the more alert.While walking towards his car,Bond reflected on recent events.
So what exactly have I really learned,he wondered.Carter and his associates died under most "unusual" circumstances--for want of a better description.Practically like timebombs.It's all quite strange.Perhaps Q will offer some special insight on that.Then there's that old woman "Baba Yaga", who's apparently named herself after a famous character from Slovakian folklore-an old witch.Hmm...and speaking of old witches,M's not going to be very happy with my report.
Lost in thought, but with his left hand touching the handle of his Walther PPK, 007 pressed on towards his automobile.007 found himself stopping momentarily to admire a bright red 1969 Austin Healy two-door sports car.I wonder who owns this beauty.It's been completely restored.This is a true collector's item and rather rich for the people in this area,he thought.Could it belong to one of the locals,he mused.That's difficult to imagine.
A sudden cough brought James Bond to full attention and he automatically came to an abrupt halt.The night stars and the scant light emenating through the windows of the Mortar and Pestle cut through the darkness illuminating and revealing three large bearded men wielding guns.These strangers were wearing medium weight parkas,heavy pants and fur-lined boots.They each stood at least two inches over six feet tall,Bond reckoned.007 had had the opportunity to run across plenty of thugs like them all over the world.They were all the same--hired killers,men whose weapons gave them a courage they'd never have ordinarily. Only their faces changed.
The gunmen were about twenty feet away.Bond paused and quickly glanced to his right side,and towards the dark alley adjoining the bar.There was no hope of escape that way,Bond realized.
Suddenly,and directly from behind him,a long powerful right arm wrapped itself around James Bond's shoulders,directly pinning his own arms to his sides.
"Don't even think about fighting,Lockart-or whatever you call yourself",Vladimir the bartender snarled into Bond's ear."You're coming with us!"
A clicking sound on 007's left side told him that his assailant was holding a gun in his other hand.
"Anything you say!"Bond responded."But what's going on?Why are you doing this to me?"
"Silence!" Vladimir bellowed.
This fellow's performing for his friends,Bond thought,he's easily distracted.And he apparently samples the whiskey he serves.A sudden whiff of Vladimir's breath confirmed that speculation.Have to play this one very carefully,007 decided...
The first thing 007 did was to bring the heel of his right boot directly down onto Vladimir's right instep.The big Russian cried out in pain and involuntarily released the hold he'd had on his captive.Bond then rammed the back of his left fist into his opponent's throat.With that,Vladimir's gun fell to the ground and Bond snatched it up.Pivoting,Bond savagely kicked Vladimir in the face with the side of his right foot, the boot deliberately colliding with the surly Russian's skull.Vladimir fell down and stayed down.Bond then ran across the lot and dove behind one of the many parked cars.
The three gunmen taking cover behind Bond's car began to fire wildly in 007's direction.In the darkness they missed their target who had seemingly vanished before them.
Bond paused for an instant to examine the new firearm he'd taken from Vladimir.It was a Browning 1935 High Power.These guns,he recalled,were manufactured by the John Inglis company,and since World War II,had been standard ordnance in the Canadian army.This weapon's unique double-rowed,staggered box magazine usually held 13 cartridges.Bond smiled grimly.All told,this gun was a damned nasty piece of work."High power", indeed:a skilled marksman could do some very significant damage with this weapon.Bond checked to see how many rounds remained unfired.Twelve.Good,007 thought.More than enough,if I'm careful.
Bond watched intently for any motion near the car he'd driven to the Mortar and Pestle.Soon his patience was rewarded, as one of the bearded men emerged from behind the car's trunk.He was crouching and looking nervously from side to side.Occasionally he seemed to pause and glance back in the direction of his compatriots.He moved diagonally across the parking lot to where Vladimir lay.
As Bond watched,this man knelt beside Vladimir.Rage briefly contorted the Russian's features.He then produced an Uzi and started to fire in an arc, spanning the dark area Bond might be hiding in.
As soon as he saw what the Russian intended on doing,007 raced to the edge of the auto he'd been hiding behind, and with one shot, put a bullet between his opponent's eyes.He immediately collapsed,a look of surprise etched on his lifeless features.The Uzi fell useless beside it's owner's corpse.
The other two men,who, only moments ago been emboldened by their comrade's actions,turned and ran,once they saw 007 stride towards them,gun in hand.
One of the Russians paused to fire his M-16 at the dangerous stranger.But even before he could pull the trigger of his weapon,the gunman screamed in agony,as the stranger took aim and hiwith one well placed shot from the Browning,the Russian's left knee was blown apart.Fighting his pain, he swung the M-16 in 007's direction.In these circumstances,Bond had no choice but to kill his adversary.A well-placed bullet to the brain sent 007's opponent flailing as aimlessly as a rag doll as he fell backwards onto the asphalt.
The last of the gunmen, noticably afraid of 007,struggled desperately in his attempts to break into Bond's locked car.Failing that,he then threw his gun to the ground and raised his hands in surrender.However,just as Bond came within ten feet of the men,the Russian produced a stiletto from one sleeve and hurled it in 007's direction.Bond deftly stepped aside, and the knife sailed past him.
The Russian raised his hands again in supplication.Chills went up the gunman's spine as he saw the Englishman's cold blue eyes blaze furiously.
"Baba Yaga said you'd be easy to kill!I was only following orders,don't hurt me!",the gunman whined,his gruff exterior having vanisheded.
But it was now James Bond's turn to snarl, as he pointed once to the Russian and then knocked him unconscious with a hard right cross to the jaw.
Bond looked down and mused.Two dead,two wounded.Hmmm....that's a much better average for me than usual.Bond picked up his cell phone and gave the local police an anonymous tip about the gunfight near the Mortar and Pestle.All at once,007's thoughts were interupted by the sound of a car door being opened.He looked out in the direction of the sound to see what appeared to be an unusually nimble Baba Yaga quickly enter the red sports car.It was difficult to imagine such an old crone moving so gracefully--unless, just possibly, there was less of the elderly witch than one might notice at first glance.Perhaps she's actually younger than she appears,he thought.
The only way to know about that,007 reasoned-indeed, the only way to learn anything else about Baba Yaga-would be to follow her.And with that in mind,Bond entered his car and sped after her into the night.
Eventually they reached a clearing in the woods, which only led to a frozen river. Once again, Bond would be chasing someone on ice in a car. Both cars were frequently skidding and sliding on the slick surface, though Bond got the better of the chase, primarily due to his experience from his other car chases on ice.
The students were doing an excellent job performing figure eights, which had impressed the Finnish skating instructor. Just as she was about to congratulate the young children on their performance, a soft but high-pitched engine noise was grabbing everyone’s attention. Seconds later they saw two cars driving on ice and speeding their way. Zipping to safety, they barely avoided being killed by Baba Yaga’s speeding car, with Bond closely behind.
A while later Baba Yaga drove off the ice and back onto snowy terrain in an attempt to reach the streets, since by this point she was aware that she wouldn’t be losing Bond, and if she wanted to take him down, it would be one-on-one. However, she would do it at a place a bit more convenient. Not worried about losing Bond anymore, she decided to head right for the decommissioned glassworks where she was originally intending on heading to had Bond not given such quick pursuit.
Bond was slowly beginning to wonder what Baba Yaga was up to now, as she wasn’t making as much an effort to lose him as she was earlier. Bond stayed in hot pursuit nonetheless, and the answer to her destination became apparent when he saw what looked to be a decommissioned glassworks in the distance. A little bit later Bond followed her inside, where the red car finally came to a stop. Bond grabbed his Walther, concealed it in his outfit, and stepped out of the car.
“Quite a ride you gave me,” Bond quipped once Baba Yaga had stepped out of her car.
“That it was,” she replied, “and of course, that ends here.”
She quickly threw a full glass bottle of alcohol at Bond, who was sent back from the impact. As he attempted to regain composure, Baba Yaga had tackled him to the ground. Pinned down by an old woman, Bond received a punch to the back of the head. He dodged a second with a jerk of his head, and Baba Yaga’s diving fist went into the concrete. Capitalizing on the missed blow, Bond threw his weight in an attempt to roll over. Now on his back, he head butted the old woman, sending her back just enough to kick his way free of her grip. Jumping to his feet, he reached for his Walther. By the time he had it where he was aiming at Baba Yaga, she kicked the gun out of his hand and swiftly sent a fist to his face in smooth succession. Reeling for the hit, Baba Yaga followed up with a swift kick to Bond’s chin, which sent him back on the ground. Taking advantage of his position in relation to her, he crossed his legs in a successful attempt to knock her off hers. Bond quickly jumped to his feet and scrambled for his Walther. By the time he grabbed it, Baba Yaga grabbed him and shoved him face first into the wall, where Bond received a few punches before using all of his strength to force the two of them off the wall. Baba Yaga took advantage of the move, slamming him down on the concrete once again. Bond rolled to his side a few times before getting back on his feet, and instead of trying to shoot the old woman, he simply tried to pistol whip her using his Walther. A strong slap sent Baba Yaga on her back, and this time Bond would shoot. As he pulled back on the trigger, Baba Yaga sent a strong kick to his groin, and the pain was enough to throw his aim off, barely missing the old hag. She quickly returned to her feet, grabbed Bond and shoved him inside the back left passenger window, shattering the glass, and leaving him halfway inside the car. Bond pulled himself in, using the door as extra time and protection from Baba Yaga and her ceaseless retaliations and advances. Bond attempted to crawl out the door on the opposite side only to have his feet grabbed by his aggressive opponent. He yanked and kicked helplessly at first, but eventually aimed his Walther once again and fired some more shots, but each missed as Baba Yaga released and dodged out of the way. Bond dragged himself out, but Baba Yaga was nowhere to be seen. However, the second Bond let his guard down, he received a hard knock on the back of the head and everything went blank.
Bond craned his head back and found the source of the heat. His head was pointed with grim purpose toward the open maw of a grime-caked kiln. Wincing from the heat, Bond could not see the fire, but merely the intense white-orange glow of the oven walls.
“Have you ever heard the expression ‘giving someone the third degree?’”
Bond brought his head up as far as he could manage. In a dark corner was the dim form of Baba Yaga. Another figure strode into the sphere of orange light. He was a brute of a man. His face was weathered and dark, and judging by the leather apron and gloves that he wore, Bond surmised he was the keeper of the deadly crucible at whose mouth he lay.
Baba Yaga spoke again from her shadowy corner. “The third degree is an old Masonic term that implies an intensive interrogation. You, Mr. Bond, are about to receive what I would call ‘the two-thousandth degree.” As if on cue, the keeper of the crucible turned a valve upon a nearby gas pipe and Bond felt another surge of heat roar from the kiln.
“Oh yes, Mr. Bond, I know who you are. Your dear friend Carter told me so much about you. In fact, he told me a great deal about many of your operatives in MI6. He and I were very…close.” Her crone-like cackle tittered from the darkness like a bat from a cave. “Your precious head is only inches away from a pool of molten glass, 007. Seppo has worked with glass all his life. He has seen what damage even the slightest contact with glass in this form can cause. It need not be said what will happen to you if you do not cooperate.”
“If you think I’m going to turn like Carter did, you’re wrong.” Bond replied.
“All we want from you are answers. How much do you know? Carter seems to be missing. Did you have something to do with that? Pity. He was so helpful, too. When did MI6 find out about his dirty little secret? So many questions. Tell us, Mr. Bond. How much do you know?”
Bond twisted his head around the room looking for some means of escape. He had no real information to give. But he had no choice but to try and stall. “How do I know you won’t just kill me anyway.”
“You don’t, Mr. Bond. But I can devise for you a less painful demise should you give us what we want. Now I ask you again: how much does MI6 know?”
Bond continued to search for a plan. Baba Yaga, however, construed his delay as incooperation. “Give him a taste of what he wants, Seppo.”
The huge brute wrapped his arms around Bond’s torso and slid the plank forward. The board, Bond realized, was simply resting on two sawhorses. He could feel it wobble under his weight as Seppo pushed it forward. The realization, though, was lost as Bond’s scalp inched closer to the mouth of the furnace. The skin under his hair crawled with a million white-not needles. He clasped his eyes shut but the intense glow reached through his eyelids. The roar of the gas jets within filled his burning ears and drowned out the cry of pain that erupted from his mouth.
And then, just as Bond thought he would lose consciousness, the pain subsided. The cool air of the room touched his skin as Seppo pulled the plank back from within the crucible.
“Such a pretty face, Mr. Bond, in its own unusual way,” Baba Yaga cooed. “It would be a pity to watch it melt.” Her voice hardened. “Tell us what you know! What did Carter tell you?”
Bond felt beads of sweat drip from his brow. The heat was unbearable and had nearly driven him into delirium. If he were to pass out, they would most certainly kill him. He had to act now.
“Mister X.” Bond managed to utter. “Carter told me… of Mister X.”
Baba Yaga’s voice seemed laced with tension. “What did Carter say about him? What did he tell you?”
Bond’s head sank back in exhaustion. He knew nothing about Mister X. His mind raced for any lie that he could give to keep his head from being thrust once again into that fiery womb. “He…He…” With that Bond went limp, his head lolling off the end of the board.
“He has fainted,” Seppo concluded.
“This is pointless. We have no time for this,” Baba cursed. “I must inform X of what has happened. In the meantime, see that Magnus has the plane ready for tomorrow morning. Unless Mister X says differently, the plan proceeds as arranged.”
“Understood, Baba Yaga,” Seppo replied, “But what do we do with him?” He gestured to Bond.
“Finish what you started.”
Baba Yaga left the room. Seppo turned back to Bond and once again began sliding the board toward the merciless heat of the furnace. Bond stirred. “No! No!” he muttered. “I’ll tell you everything!”
Seppo stopped and gave Bond an enquiring look.
“Everything,” Bond croaked. “Carter told me…” His voice trailed off.
Seppo leaned in closer, craning his ear to catch Bond’s incoherent sentence. “What did Carter tell you?”
“He…told…me…”
Seppo’s ear moved closer. And then Bond struck. Like the coiled strike of a cobra, Bond whipped his head forward and bit down on the man’s weathered cheek. Relentlessly, his teeth clamped down on Seppo’s face, and Bond could taste the salty-sweet blood ooze into his mouth. Seppo cried out in a mix of pain and surprise. Bond clenched his teeth mercilessly. Instinctively, Seppo pulled back, lifting Bond, plank and all from his sawhorse perch. Bond released his clamp and tumbled like a log onto the hard gritty cement.
His ruse of fainting had worked. Baba Yaga and her stooge had let their guard down, giving Bond the edge he needed to stay alive…for at least a few more moments.
Seppo stumbled backwards, clasping his ripped face. Bond rolled to his side. His hands and feet were still bound around the plank, but using his shoulders for strength, and bending his knees slightly, he was able to swing his body, plank and all, forcefully into the recoiling brute.
The results were more than Bond could have hoped. What was intended as a blow to the man’s feet to knock him off balance ended up as a sharp rap with the end of the plank into his knee caps. Seppo tripped forward. His head plummeted toward the iron furnace, and Bond heard a dull thud as his skullcap banged against the outside of the kiln.
Before Bond realized what had happened, Seppo began screaming in agony. The brutish glassworker reeled away from the kiln, extracting his gloved fist that was inadvertently thrust inside the kiln and into the molten pool of glass! As Seppo yanked back his hand, a string of liquid glass arced from his fist and splattered onto the floor. Bond cried in agony as a small bead of the liquid fire landed on his bare chest. The pain was unimaginable, and Bond felt as if someone had taken an electric drill to his breast. His flesh sizzled, and the repulsive stench of his own burning skin reached Bond's nostrils.
Seppo continued to wail as the burning amber lump melted the leather glove to his fist. He waved his arm in futility, causing large balls of viscous glass to shower the room.
007 forced his attention away from the searing agony. He had to concentrate on his bonds before Seppo’s cries of pain brought any others running in to investigate. Now that he was on the ground, he could wriggle himself off the plank. Slivers of wood drove into his bound wrists as he forced the plank out from under him. With one last yank, he pulled his ankle bonds from off the long board. Contorting into a tight ball, he slipped his bound wrists underneath him and over his feet. Without the board underneath him, the ropes were not nearly as taut and movement was fairly simple.
His tethered hands went to work on his bound ankles. He tore the unknotted rope from his feet. But as he lifted himself from the ground, a crashing blow pummeled him on the side of his head.
Bond reeled from the assault. In his efforts to escape, he had let his guard down. Seppo was standing over him, his bloody face contorted with pain and rage. Where once was his hand, now was a shapeless glistening lump. The glass had already begun to cool and harden on the exterior, but smoke still coiled from the within through the cracking shell.
Bond felt the unnerving sensation of blood oozing through his hair from where Seppo struck him with his deformed fist, and could sense the fine granules of glass that fell from his temple.
Seppo raised his fists for another powerful blow. Bond instinctively scrabbled in the dark for a weapon. His hands wrapped around something long and sturdy - it was a punty, one of the rods used to blow glass extracted from the kiln.
He quickly swung it upwards, just in time to block Seppo’s swinging fist. The brute yowled in pain as his arm collided with the metal rod. Bond gave no quarter. He whipped the punty sideways across the man’s jaw, and again across his midriff. Seppo doubled-over. Bond wound the punty back and with a powerful swing, laid the rod squarely across the brute's forehead.
The burly glassblower straightened. For a moment, he teetered there, and Bond, for whatever reason, became keenly aware of the silence of that moment. For the briefest of seconds the clamor of the fray halted and Bond watched as the man stood upright. His eyes rolled slowly back into his head, like some ghastly monk looking upwards to his Creator. Then Seppo fell backwards, crashing through the large window and swallowed by the purple night.
Bond dropped the punty with a clang from his bound hands. He quickly used a jutting shard of glass from the window to slice through the bonds before jumping out the window himself.
The night air was cool and if Bond hadn’t just been fleeing a 1100 degree centigrade death, he would have considered it positively frigid. Rubbing his scraped wrists, Bond examined the icy landscape. The glassworks had been built next to a lake that was now frozen solid. A blockish building thrust from the shore onto the flat surface of ice. Bond remembered what he overheard Baba Yaga saying…’see that Magnus has the plane ready for tomorrow morning.’ There must be a plane nearby, Bond thought. The frozen lake would make a perfect runway. If that were so, then there was a good chance that the plane was in that building.
Bond hastily began making his way across the field of ice…
Once he was within the forest he felt himself begin to relax a little more -his adrenaline wasn't driving him so much now and more rational thinking began to fill his mind. He began to review what had happened since Carter's death. Obviously Baba Yaga's reaction to his presence and his ensuing capture had meant that the whole situation was graver than what M had expressed -or was it? Perhaps M hadn't revealed the whole picture to him yet. Once again he felt like a pawn in a much bigger game. He questioned for the hundredth time again why he did this job. Yes it could be exciting -but at other times it was just too damn dangerous -he wasn't getting any younger -and well this had been a close one -he could have died at the hands of that brute in there. he slipped and fell into a tree -and realized he would have to be more careful now -as the forest got denser -so it had begun to get darker. He heard the sound of an Owl of some sort up above and knew that he was being careless, he was making too much noise as he stumbled on, bumping from needle covered tree to needle covered tree.
The forest had begun to thin out and 007 realized he was coming upon a clearing area where various lumber companies were doing their work chopping down beautiful Pine trees for their commercially desired wood. With it being late at night the lumberjacks were no doubt home and tucked up in their beds. Bond saw a makeshift cabin on the edge of the clearing there were no lights on. He crept forward as silently as he could keeping to the shadows. He crouched low and ran from the edge of the clearing to the door of the cabin. It was locked, but the lock looked primitive to Bond's experienced eyes. He looked around him to see if he could see anything that would help him gain entry. Behind the cabin was a small fenced in area -the fencing was a mixture of Pine and barbed wire. He approached the fence and looked more closely at the barbed wire -if he could just get a small section of the wire he'd be in. He looked at the end fencepost and sure enough there was a small piece of wire where it was fixed to the fence that was loose. Bond carefully took hold of it with his cold hands, making sure that he did not grab one of the barbs, and began to twist the wire. after what seemed and age but was actually only a few minutes he'd managed to snap off a piece of wire about three inches long with one knotted barb about a half an inch from one end. He then moved forward and set about unpicking the lock. When he felt it give, he breathed in deeply and as silently as he could opened the door into the cabin.
It was empty apart from two bunks a small paraffin heater/stove and a couple of cupboards and a wardrobe. There was no table or chairs.
The first thing Bond did was check the cupboards. One had in it various bits and bobs, stuff like a sewing kit, a first aid kit; parrafin for the stove and on one shelf some crockery - none of which was matching. The other cupboard had some tins whose labels were written in what he presumed was Finnish, a language which he was far from fluent in, some dried fruit and what he found to be beef jerky wrapped in paper. But, the thing that made 007 feel instantly more gratified was the bottle of Smirnoff that was on the middle shelf. He took a chipped mug from the other cupboard and opened the bottle of Vodka and poured himself a healthy slug and downed it in one. as the warmth of the alcohol began to take affect he bit into the beef jerky -realizing just how hungry he was.
After a few minutes
His torso was bare and dotted with burns where Seppo had amused himself dripping molten glass onto him. Bond knew from his survival training that he had less than an hour to find shelter before the sub-zero cold killed him.
"Out of the frying pan, into the freezer." Bond thought idly as he rubbed his scraped wrists.
He was about to divest Seppo of some of his clothing when he heard shouts inside the room he had just vacated.
He started running towards the nearest cover - a small wood of spruce and pine area on his right.
Peering though the swirling snow ahead of him, Bond examined the icy landscape. The glassworks were built next to a lake that was now frozen solid. A blockish building thrust from the far shore onto the flat surface of ice. Bond remembered what he overheard Baba Yaga saying "Ssee that Magnus has the plane ready for tomorrow morning." There must be a plane nearby, Bond thought. The frozen lake would make a perfect runway. If that were so, then there was a good chance that the plane was in that building.
Bond hastily began making his way across the field of ice…
He had to get out of there. His job was done for the time being -yet he felt he had opened another whole can of worms. The cold made his cuts burn and his temples throb. He needed another drink -yes he needed alcohol to help keep out the cold. He'd already seen where the plane was likely to be kept -but he was in no shape to try and steal it -let alone fly it. He needed to hide somewhere, just for a bit - just so he could collect his thoughts and think straight. It was risky he knew - as the old hag would have heaven only knows how many goons out hunting him. To the right there was a wooded area full of typical Pine and Spruce. He headed in that direction knowing that in the forest it would be more sheltered. The snow beneath his feet crunched loudly as he stumbled forward. He realized that was both physically and emotionally exhausted.
Once he was within the forest he felt himself begin to relax a little more -his adrenaline wasn't driving him so much now and more rational thinking began to fill his mind. He began to review what had happened since Carter's death. Obviously Baba Yaga's reaction to his presence and his ensuing capture had meant that the whole situation was graver than what M had expressed -or was it? Perhaps M hadn't revealed the whole picture to him yet. Once again he felt like a pawn in a much bigger game. He questioned for the hundredth time again why he did this job. Yes it could be exciting -but at other times it was just too damn dangerous -he wasn't getting any younger -and well this had been a close one -he could have died at the hands of that brute in there. he slipped and fell into a tree -and realized he would have to be more careful now -as the forest got denser -so it had begun to get darker. He heard the sound of an Owl of some sort up above and knew that he was being careless, he was making too much noise as he stumbled on, bumping from needle covered tree to needle covered tree.
The forest had begun to thin out and 007 realized he was coming upon a clearing area where various lumber companies were doing their work chopping down beautiful Pine trees for their commercially desired wood. With it being late at night the lumberjacks were no doubt home and tucked up in their beds. Bond saw a makeshift cabin on the edge of the clearing there were no lights on. He crept forward as silently as he could keeping to the shadows. He crouched low and ran from the edge of the clearing to the door of the cabin. It was locked, but the lock looked primitive to Bond's experienced eyes. He looked around him to see if he could see anything that would help him gain entry. Behind the cabin was a small fenced in area -the fencing was a mixture of Pine and barbed wire. He approached the fence and looked more closely at the barbed wire -if he could just get a small section of the wire he'd be in. He looked at the end fencepost and sure enough there was a small piece of wire where it was fixed to the fence that was loose. Bond carefully took hold of it with his cold hands, making sure that he did not grab one of the barbs, and began to twist the wire. after what seemed and age but was actually only a few minutes he'd managed to snap off a piece of wire about three inches long with one knotted barb about a half an inch from one end. He then moved forward and set about unpicking the lock. When he felt it give, he breathed in deeply and as silently as he could opened the door into the cabin.
It was empty apart from two bunks a small paraffin heater/stove and a couple of cupboards and a wardrobe. There was no table or chairs.
The first thing Bond did was check the cupboards. One had in it various bits and bobs, stuff like a sewing kit, a first aid kit; paraffin for the stove and on one shelf some crockery - none of which was matching. The other cupboard had some tins whose labels were written in what he presumed was Finnish, a language which he was far from fluent in, some dried fruit and what he found to be beef jerky wrapped in paper. But, the thing that made 007 feel instantly more gratified was the bottle of Smirnoff that was on the middle shelf. He took a chipped mug from the other cupboard and opened the bottle of Vodka and poured himself a healthy slug and downed it in one. as the warmth of the alcohol began to take affect he bit into the beef jerky -realizing just how hungry he was.
After a few minutes]
As he began to thaw out Bond noticed that the hut was actually quite warm. He examined the wood stove and found the still glowing embers of a fire inside. This told him that the hut was in regular use and that someone would be returning to it in the morning. He would have to make sure he vacated before they arrived. He fed the stove with fuel from the woodpile outside and it filled the hut with a welcome warmth but gave off no telltale light while its iron door was closed. Further exploration of the hut had yielded some clothing left by one of the lumberjacks including a flannel shirt and a heavy snow parker. Bond also discovered a heavy duty hunting knife which he tucked into his belt. Looking through the hut’s small grimy window he noted with satisfaction that the falling snow was covering his tracks. All he had to do now was wait for sunrise.
About an hour later he started awake from a light doze to the sound of someone fumbling with the lock of the door. There was no time to douse the fire so he positioned himself behind the door with knife ready.
The door opened and a man entered muffled in heavy cold weather gear. As he closed the door behind him, Bond clapped a hand over his mouth and put the knife to his throat. Bond hissed in the man’s ear.
"Don’t make a sound or you’re dead. Understand?"
The figure nodded frantically. Bond turned him around and looked at him. His face was swathed in a heavy scarf that showed only a pair of blue eyes, wide with fear. Bond pulled the scarf away and stared in surprise. It was a woman. She was beautiful in the Aryan way, healthy and wholesome looking with rosy skin, wide set eyes, a generous mouth and honey blonde hair. Bond raised his eyebrows.
"Well you're certainly no witch."
She registered that he was speaking English and replied haltingly in the same language.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?"
"My name is James Bond. I came in here to escape from Baba Yaga and the weather. I’ve yet to decide which is crueller. But what about you - what are you doing visiting a lumberjack’s hut in the middle of the night?"
Having recovered from her initial shock she went on the attack.
"I’m meeting my husband. He’ll be here any minute!"
She wasn’t a very good liar. Bond held up her left hand and removed the glove. Her hand was bare.
"Husband eh? What's his name?"
"Magnus. And he's much bigger than you."
Bond smiled wryly to himself.
"With a name like Magnus I'm sure he is. But he’s not much of a husband if he couldn’t afford to buy you a wedding ring."
She struggled uselessly and looked defiantly at him.
"You can tell him that when he gets here."
Bond suddenly shook her.
"Magnus is working for Baba Yaga who had me tortured earlier this evening. And if he comes in here I will kill him with this knife. If you are in league with him I should kill you too. So why don’t you start telling me the truth?"
A fleeting expression of anguish passed over her face but she said nothing. Bond’s expression hardened.
"Very well, have it your way."
He grabbed her scrarf and cut it into two pieces with the knife. He tied her hands behind her back with one half and gagged her with the other. Then he forced her to sit on the floor in the corner of the hut opposite the door. He lit a paraffin lamp and positioned it so that it cast a shadow in the other back corner. Here he crouched in wait.
Ten minutes later the door opened and Magnus stood in the doorway. The girl had not been lying about his size - he almost completely filled the doorway. His red face was framed by a black beanie above and a black beard below. The first thing he saw was the girl tied up in the corner. His gas flame blue eyes narrowed and focused on the door. He took out a gun and suddenly fired several shots through the panels. Laughing he stepped inside the hut and pulled the door closed so he could see behind it. Bond chose that moment to throw the knife. It was not designed for throwing but the range was short so he was able to put a lot of strength into the cast. With a wet thud the blade buried itself almost to the hilt in the left side of Magnus’s back. The big man made no sound but turned slowly. He spotted Bond crouching in the shadows and grinned like a wolf. He slowly raised the pistol to fire. The grin stayed fixed on his face as he toppled forward and crashed face down onto the floor. The girl watched his demise with a mixture of fear and wonder.. Bond grabbed the gun and extracted the knife from the dead man’s back. He searched the body and found some papers tucked inside the jacket. In the light of the lamp he perused them. The document was written in Finnish but seemed to be a flight plan. Only a few words were recognisable. He was fairly sure that "Ilmalento Määräasema - Delhi, Etu-Intia" meant the destination was Delhi but less confident that "Ilmalento Laivavuoro Aika - 9 Aamu" meant the departure time was nine o’clock in the morning. He would have to get it translated. He went over to the girl, ungagged her and untied her hands. She looked at him in amazement.
"You killed him. You killed Magnus."
"All in a day’s work. What’s your name?"
"It’s Lissa. Short for Vasilissa."
Bond held up the document.
"Well Lissa, can you tell me what this says?"
But she only stared at the great body lying face down on the floor. Her face suddenly contorted and tears welled in her eyes. She covered her face with her hands and started weeping.
"I’ll never get out of here now, never."
Bond looked thoughfully at her.
"He was going to take you with him on the plane, right?"
She nodded and started sobbing in earnest.
"When she finds out he’s dead Baba Yaga will have me killed. I should never have tried to leave the sweat shop."
"Listen to me Lissa. I will be taking the plane to England. I can’t take you with me but I can get you out of here."
She looked up at him.
"You can?"
Bond nodded.
"But first you must look at this paper and tell me what it says."
"Is that all? Nothing else?"
She looked at him apprehensively. Bond suddenly put two and two together and looked at her in dismay.
"Was that his price?"
She nodded and hung her head, ashamed to look at him.
Bond sighed.
"So Magnus had a little business on the side. Helping girls to escape Baba Yaga’a sweat shops in return for - sex."
He looked at her with compassion.
"How long have you been here?"
"Baba Yaga sold me to him when I was ten. My family…"
She almost started crying again but managed to control herself.
Bond looked into her eyes.
"I’m trying to stop Baba Yaga and the people she works with. You can help me."
He held the paper up again. She sniffed and blinked at it.
"It says ‘Flight Plan’."
"What is the destination?"
"Delhi, Etu-Intia….Delhi, India."
"And the departure date and time?"
"Today. Nine o’clock this morning."
"Just as I thought."
Bond took out his wallet and removed a credit card and a business card. He handed them to her. Then he fished out his car keys and gave them to her as well.
"Listen to me carefully. In a few hours I’ll be leaving, and you must leave too, and get away from Urjala as fast as you can."
"But how?"
"My car is parked a mile up the north road behind an old stone wall. It’s partly covered with snow but you should be able to find it. Drive it to Helsinki. Use the credit card to buy whatever you need. When you get to Helsinki call this phone number. It’s a contact number for one of our agents. His name is Jari. Tell him that you’ve got my car and he will help you. "
She took the cards and keys and put them away carefully. Her face suddenly lit up and she threw her arms around him and kissed him.
"You’ve saved my life."
Bond winced from the pain of his burns and spoke in a strained voice.
"You’re very welcome."
She drew back.
"What’s wrong? Are you hurt?"
"It’s nothing."
"Let me see."
Bond sighed and relaxed as she oped his shirt and examined his injuries. She retreived the medical kit and defly applied dressings while he studied her features in the light of the lamp.
"You should be a nurse."
She smiled, contemplating her future.
"Who knows, maybe I will be."
Once Bond’s injuries had been seen to, the pair snuggled together in the corner of the hut. She poured more vodka into the cup and they took turns sipping from it.
"I can’t believe this is really happening. I’ll be able to see my parents again. And my sisters…"
"Where are they?"
"Lapland."
She rested her head on his shoulder.
"I wish I could go with you. I’ve never met a man like you."
"I’m extremely flattered but that’s not a good idea. My work is very dangerous. You’d only get yourself hurt."
She sighed.
"We’ve got the rest of tonight."
She sat up and started undressing him again. He looked into her eyes.
"You don’t owe me anything."
She shook her head and smiled at him.
"On the contrary, I owe you everything."
Bond put up no further resistance. After the pain and fear of the last twelve hours he found that he needed and welcomed her affection. Her beauty was like an oasis in the desert and he still had a hard journey ahead of him before he reached England.
Bond crouched in the snow behind a pile of logs as he watched the glassworks looking for some sign of movement or noise, but there was nothing. Bond looked at his watch. The time was a quarter-to-eight, just over an hour since Lissa had left the cabin. Bond took the flight plan out of his pocket and examined it once more. The aircraft was due to refuel in Georgia, which meant that it should have enough fuel to reach England. He wasn’t sure what type of aircraft it was, and how difficult it might be to fly, especially in the bad weather which shrouded the lake. The snow had stopped falling, but there was still a thick blanket of very low cloud as well as mist at ground level. It would be touch and go, but Bond knew he simply had to take the risk.
Bond slowly began to walk across to the glassworks, in particular the building which jutted out into the lake. There was a small wooden door on the side of the building which Bond tried to open, but he found it to be locked. He had retrieved a set of keys from Magnus’ coat, and he tried each one of the keys on the door. Eventually he tried to right key, and the lock clicked open. The door creaked slightly as Bond pushed it open. Immediately upon entering the building, he could smell fuel. Evidently, the aircraft had been tanked up with Avgas in the last twelve hours or so, judging by the strong smell. Bond stumbled in the dark for a light switch, and after a few minutes of frustrated searching, he finally found it. The building lit up, and Bond saw the aircraft that would be his chariot out of this place – a Cessna 185F.
A quick examination of the aircraft revealed that it had auxiliary wing tip fuel tanks, and had a baggage pod underneath the fuselage. The aircraft was a taildragger, and the wheels had been fitted with hydraulic skis, meaning that it could be used for snow take-offs and landings, as well normal ones. Bond opened one of the Cessna’s doors, and examined the cockpit – it was a simple design which Bond thought he should have no trouble flying, provided the weather was okay.
By the time Bond had checked all aspects of the aircraft’s readiness for flight, the time was ten-to-nine. He walked over to the large sliding doors and pushed them open. The weather had worsened slightly, and snow was starting to fall again. He was unable to see how much open lake he had in front of him before he reached the opposite shore. It was going to be a seat-of-the-pants take off. He would also have to be very conscious of trying to save fuel if he wanted to make it to Addlestone. Bond released the wheel brakes on the Cessna, and began to push it out of the hangar doors. The snow was piled up outside, and Bond found it difficult pushing it over the hump of snow which had built up at the hangar doors. Once the aircraft was outside, Bond closed the doors behind him, and then climbed into the Cessna’s cabin.
Bond stared into the thick cloud and snow which obscured his vision. "I hope there’s enough lake in front of me." He said to himself. The snow was coming almost horizontally at Bond, which indicated that the aircraft was pointing directly into the wind. Bond inserted to key into the ignition switch, and turned it to the start position. The engine ticked and groaned as if it would have liked to start up, but lacked the energy. Bond reached for the mixture selector, and enriched the air-fuel mixture. Bond tried to start it up again, and this time the engine coughed a little, whined, and then the three bladed propeller began to turn gingerly. Slowly the blades gained speed until suddenly in an explosion of noise and smoke the engine caught and propeller blades disappeared from Bond’s sight as they became just a shiny disc in front of him. Bond began to push the throttle forward and the aircraft began to vibrate a little more as the engines revs increased. Bond lowered the skis so that the wheels were no longer in contact with the snow, and as Bond increased the power further, the skis began to slide across the clean, white snow.
As soon as Bond was moving, he was distracted by a movement he saw to his left. A man was walking across the snow towards him. As the aeroplane accelerated, the man broke into a run. Bond pushed the throttle in further but the man had reached the Cessna. He lunged for the main strut and clung on to it as the aircraft moved even faster. The man looked up at Bond in the pilot’s seat, and his face turned to an expression of fright. The man was clearly expecting to see Magnus piloting the aircraft. Bond expected that the man was supposed to be on the flight as well. Bond had hoped that he would be able to get away without raising the alarm. He pushed the throttle nearly to full power and the man struggled to hold on, eventually his grip was lost and he fell to the ground, getting almost entirely buried in the snow. Bond was relieved to be rid of the hanger-on and he look ahead once again. In the cloud ahead of him, he started to be able to make out a dark shape. He realized in horror that he was almost at the far end of the lake. He pushed the throttle to full, and watched the airspeed indicator. He had not yet reached sufficient speed for take-off. The dark shape in front of him grew bigger and Bond’s heart beat faster. He then felt the tail wheel lift off the ground and he pulled back on the control yoke. The aircraft began to lift off from the ground, annoyingly slow at first, but the climb grew steeper as Bond pulled the control yoke back right into the belly. The mist parted in front of him, and he clearly saw the trees standing in his path. He pulled the yoke as hard as possible as the tops of the trees disappeared behind the engine cowling. He then felt the undercarriage make contact with the trees, and the aircraft bumped and jolted, but carried on flying.
Once Bond was airborne, it was a matter of dead-reckoning. Visibility was very poor, and the air was rough and turbulent. Bond called in to air traffic control with the aircraft’s registration; OH-TDV. Bond wanted to slip away without being noticed, so gave his heading as per the flight plan so as not to raise any suspicion. He gambled that they wouldn’t have radar monitoring in this fairly remote part of Finland, so he wouldn’t get caught out. He put the aircraft on a heading of 230 degrees, which he estimated would get him roughly over the London area if he maintained that heading all the way. The flight would take between four and five hours and it would be difficult to maintain his direction in this sort of weather for that long. Bond’s only hope would be that the weather cleared.
By the time he was over the North Sea, Bond started to feel fatigued. He had had very little rest the previous night and was still in pain from Seppo’s torture. As he crossed the monotonous blue-grey sea, his eyelids felt heavy and he almost found himself falling asleep. “Pull yourself together!” he shouted at himself. The heavy weather was now well behind him, and the air was slightly more calm, but Bond felt no more at ease. He was very worried about the fuel situation. The Cessna 185 was not really ideal for such long range flights, but the size of the lake in Finland had dictated the size of aircraft which could operate there. The other advantage of this aircraft was that it could be fitted with floats when the ice melted. It was hardly the most practical aircraft to be flying all the way to Delhi with, but it was inconspicuous and obviously got the job done, although Bond didn’t know what the job was.
When he saw the English coast ahead, a small grin played across Bond’s face. He thought that even if he ran out of fuel now, there was a good chance he could put the aircraft safely on the deck. However, he didn’t want to attract any attention to himself, so he quickly dismissed a forced landing as a possibility. If he did that, he would be in very hot water with M. Bond looked at the coast for some landmark that he recognized. There was nothing familiar though. He had to take a gamble; he could either fly north or south along the coast until he found something he recognized. If he went the wrong direction he would run out of fuel for sure. He decided to go south, as he guessed that he was probably north of the Thames estuary.
After fifteen minutes of flying south, Bond finally spotted something that he recognized: Foulness Island. That meant he was just a slightly north of the Thames estuary. From here he would have no trouble finding Addlestone, provided he had enough fuel. The long range of the flight, as well as the extra drag created by the skis would make it very difficult indeed. He had to take the most direct route possible. His first target was Dartford, and then if he kept the same heading he would reach Addlestone.
The Cessna’s engine started to splutter just as he passed over Ewell, about twenty miles away from Bond’s final destination. The last reserves of fuel were almost completely spent. "Just another few minutes" Bond thought, and he would be okay. He was anxious not to lose altitude, because then at least he could glide the final short distance if he had to. Bond’s muscles tensed up with each unhappy cough from the engine. He stared over the endless succession of villages and towns, with a few fields sprinkled in between. He was looking for the first sight of the safe haven, the small airfield which held the key to his safe return.
Then, Bond saw it: A small strip of asphalt surrounded by houses, small fields and a golf course. Just as he thought he might have enough fuel to keep the engine turning over until he landed, the engine died. The silver disc of the propeller slowly changed until Bond could see the individual blades once again. He had only one chance to try and land, and he had to get it perfect. He checked that the skis had been raised for a dry landing, and then put the aircraft into a gentle left bank. He straightened the wings and saw the runway at his two o’clock. The aircraft continued to lose airspeed as it glided powerless through the air. Once the runway was almost at his three o’clock position, Bond turned the yoke to the right and put the aircraft into a fairly steep bank. Bond then straightened it out again, and saw the runway straight ahead of him. The bank had bled off a lot of airspeed, and the aircraft was approaching its stall speed, so he pushed the yoke forward and dropped the aircraft’s nose. It regained a little airspeed in the shallow dive, but Bond was still worried that he would not have enough momentum to carry him all the way to the runway. Bond pulled back on the yoke to stop the loss of altitude, but before long his airspeed was too low again. A row of trees now stood between Bond and the runway. He pulled the nose up slightly, but the aircraft wanted to stall again. He now saw that he was heading straight for the trees. His last hope was the flaps. He reached down with his right hand and pulled the lever which controls the flaps. He heard the flaps lower on the trailing edge of the wings. They reduced the speed, but at least would give him a little more lift and would hopefully carry him over the trees. He also saw another hazard: the airfield’s windsock indicated that there was a crosswind, which would make things just a little more tricky. As the trees grew larger in Bond’s view he felt the aircraft gain just a little altitude thanks to the flaps, which just allowed him to clear the trees. No sooner had he done so however, he felt the crosswind having its effect. The aircraft was being pushed to the right of the runway. Bond pushed the right rudder pedal to correct it, and realigned himself with the runway. The Cessna was just a few feet off the ground when it finally didn’t have enough speed to keep it in the air, and the plane dropped uncontrolled towards the ground.
The tail-wheel made contact with runway first, and then the main undercarriage legs hit the ground with a hefty bump, which shook the aircraft violently. The Cessna veered off the runway and onto the grass where it eventually came to a stop. Bond felt the relief of being safely on the ground, but the tension which had built up in the last few minutes suddenly burst out and Bond was violently sick. He slumped back in his seat and passed out from exhaustion.
Helsinki on Eight Cylinders
By now, Vasilissa had gotten hold of Bond's car. She proved quite an excellent driver as she power slid with ease across the icy road. Bond's car was proving itself, too. It was a 1998 TVR Griffith 500, the snow elegantly dressing the pristine midnight-blue paint. The car's V8 engine roared through the back roads as the lovely Vasilissa drove at speeds in excess of ninety miles-per-hour.
Lissa was trying to get to Helsinki as fast as she could, per Bond's instructions. She was compulsively checking her pocket to ensure Bond's information was still there. Thoughts were racing through her mind. Is James all right? Is Baba Yaga following me, or will they be waiting for me in Helsinki? Will this phone number work? All these things kept entering her mind.
Shortly after however, the thoughts ceased as Lissa entered Helsinki. She was happy to be in the city again--being surrounded by many people comforted her after being held captive by only a small number of people. Still, even though she felt safe here, Lissa knew she had to hide herself quickly--there was no telling when Baba Yaga and her goons would start crawling out of the woodwork. Deciding to pull over to collect her thoughts, she parked near the Helsinki Cathedral.
Lissa decided to look around the car to see if there was a mobile phone somewhere. After opening the glovebox, she found more than a phone: a computer screen immediately folded out from what was once a storage compartment. The screen read in large letters MI6. After recomposing herself from the slight shock of such a device, she remembered that Bond had mentioned something about a computer in his car. He had told her that it was equipped with mobile phone technology so that she could call Jari, the agent as yet unknown to Lissa.
The computer asked for a password. Bond had written something on the business card he had given her. Lissa remembered Bond telling her that this was the password to his computer. She inputted the password:
V-E-S-P-E-R
I wonder what "Vesper" means, Lissa thought to herself. She quickly learned how to operate Bond's computer. She knew she may be overstepping the line using the computer like this, but Lissa knew she had to contact this 'Jari' person, and she wanted some information on him. With a few taps on the touchscreen, she quickly retrieved the data on Bond's friend:
OKSANEN, JARI. MI6 Position: INTELLIGENCE AGENT. Birthdate: JULY 26, 1959. Location: HELSINKI, FINLAND. Nationality: FINNISH. Languages Fluent in: ENGLISH, FINNISH, SWEDISH, RUSSIAN, JAPANESE, KOREAN...
The computer gave an entire dossier on an apparently well-accomplished Mr. Oksanen. At the end of the file was a contact telephone number. Lissa glanced at Bond's business card to see if the number matched the one Bond gave her--they were the same. After noticing a rather convenient button on the screen that read CALL, she decided to press it, feeling it would be safer to use Bond's equipment than to leave the car. The telltale ringing sound came across a small set of speakers that were apparently hidden in the dashboard somewhere. An image of a distinguished-looking man came across the screen.
"Oksanen," the man replied without looking up at the screen. He was busy typing at a keyboard.
Lissa, realizing there was a tiny camera mounted atop the computer screen, she looked into the camera nervously. "H--hello, Mr. Oksanen."
Surprised by such a delicate voice, the man instantly stopped typing and looked up at the screen. He glanced at the bottom of his own video screen, which read BOND, JAMES - 007. "Who is this?" the man asked, puzzled.
"I... I am a friend of James Bond, he asked me to call you."
Mr. Oksanen's face brightened. "It seems Mr. Bond is making some very lovely friends nowadays..."
Lissa was surprised at such flattery. Smiling, she looked away, her face turning red. Quickly regaining her composure, she began to explain the situation to Jari.
"Well, Mr. Oksanen--" Lissa was cut off.
"Please, everyone around here calls me Jari," the man said warmly.
"Ah, yes, Jari. James rescued me from a..." Lissa paused for a moment. "Well, he rescued me in Urjala."
"Did it have anything to do with Bond's mission?"
"I have no idea, Jari, I'm just here because James sent me here. He told me to get out of Urjala and to contact you."
"Hmm, let me see here..." Jari began to type at the computer again. The computer on Jari's end pulled up a file labeled FOR YOUR EYES ONLY. It was Bond's current mission file.
"Carter..." Jari said ominously.
"Is something wrong?" Lissa asked.
"Oh, it's nothing. What exactly did James rescue you from?" Apparently, Jari and Bond were on personal terms with each other, referring to each other by their first names.
"Well... It was Baba Yaga--"
"Baba Yaga!? Dammit! I knew this would happen!"
Lissa watched Jari, looking into the screen intently, her eyes like those of a young child. Jari looked up at the screen.
"Listen to me," Jari said with a grave tone in his voice. "You must get out of there immediately. Chances are, Baba Yaga has no concern for you. She's probably hellbent on finding James and nothing is going to get in her way. She may be following the car you're in right now!"
"Are you sure she knows the car?" Lissa asked, worriedly. "What did James do?"
"Tell me this: is the car you're in now a TVR Griffith?"
Lissa looked around the vehicle. Not much of an automobile connoisseur, she was looking for a name or emblem of some sort. Sure enough, there was a crisp TVR emblem proudly emblazoned on the steering wheel.
"I believe so."
"Then Baba Yaga is probably hot on your trail now! She probably knows Bond isn't in the car, but she's most definitely after information! And if you're in the way..."
Lissa was scared at this point. She glanced in her rear view mirror to see a red Austin-Healey parallel park a few cars behind her. In the driver seat was a very familiar face... Lissa panicked. She started the TVR's engine. Still warm from the long drive from Urjala, it turned over instantly.
"What's going on?" Jari asked.
"It's Baba Yaga!"
"All right, don't panic..."
As if ignoring Jari, Lissa floored the throttle, the rear wheels leaving a smoking layer of black tread on the asphalt as they screamed out of the parking space. The Austin-Healey immediately followed suit and took chase onto the city street.
"What the hell are you doing!?" Jari slammed his hands down on his desk.
"Getting out of here! I can't go back!"
"Well, I certainly hope you're a good driver..."
Lissa raced down the main streets of Helsinki with Baba Yaga not far behind. There was little traffic on the streets until Lissa reached a red traffic light. The road was a four-lane street, and each of the two right lanes had a row of traffic in them. This gave her two options: running the red light and risk getting smashed by cross traffic (not to mention ruining Bond's lovely car--not that it hadn't been done before), or make a right turn over the sidewalk and risk running over an innocent pedestrian. With little time to think, she let her hands and feet do the thinking for her. She swerved to the left of the row of cars at the light, dodging an oncoming Volvo that almost got the chance to prove its legendary reputation for safety. As soon as she reached the intersection, she made a hard right onto the next street, barely missing three cars that stopped just in time--in the middle of the intersection.
Baba Yaga, headed straight for the line of cars blocking her way, cared little for her automobile. If she were to get hold of Bond's car--and the computer inside it--the information in it would be worth millions to Mister X, and would land her a spot among X's most trusted espionage agents. With the reward from her employer, she could easily buy ten more of the very same car. All that mattered now was capturing Bond's TVR.
The Austin-Healey barely slowed as it reached the intersection. Following Vasilissa's tire marks, she made the same curve onto the cross street. The fender of Baba Yaga's car tore into that of a relatively beat-up, white Vauxhall, shattering the Austin-Healey's left headlight. Baba Yaga now had a clear shot to Vasilissa and Bond's car. She caught up to the TVR quickly, creating a very dangerous situation.
"You need to lose her before you get yourself killed!" Jari screamed into the microphone. He began typing at the computer again. "Wait a moment, I'm going to bring up your location on the monitor."
Lissa didn't answer as she weaved in and out of traffic, with Baba Yaga in close pursuit. Traffic was getting heavy and Lissa still had no idea how she was going to get out of this.
"I've got it!" Jari declared. "I've got you on my screen."
"Where do I go?" cried Lissa.
"Go to the Radisson SAS Royal Hotel. There's a parking garage there. I don't care if the valet calls security, just drive into the parking garage. I'll meet you somewhere near the entrance. I drive a black Lexus, I'll make sure to have the lights on so you'll know it's me."
"How do I know where to go!?"
"I'm sending the directions to your computer." The computer moved the video image of Jari to the left of the screen, making room for a satellite map of Helsinki. A clear route was mapped out for her, the flashing yellow dot was presumably where Lissa was.
"I'm heading down there now," Jari affirmed. "I'll be waiting."
"What? Wait, how--" The video image went blank. NO SIGNAL was displayed where Jari's face had once been. She was on her own. After collecting her thoughts for a few seconds, she looked at the map that Jari had sent. Lissa realized she was only a few blocks from the hotel. I can make it, she thought. Just as these thoughts entered her head however, she felt a sharp jolt and the rear wheels going into a spin as Baba Yaga rammed the rear end of the TVR. Glass shards from the Austin-Healey's remaining headlight were sent flying into the sidewalk. The TVR was sent sideways along the ice. As Lissa approached an intersection, she pressed down hard on the gas, spinning the rear wheels in an attempt to slide into the cross street. In an amazing spectacle of grace, Lissa glided into the cross street perfectly. The TVR immediately sideswiped a Ford Mondeo that was attempting to exit a parking space. Baba Yaga passed the Mondeo effortlessly.
Lissa was now off course from the planned route the computer had given her, but she knew where she was going and did not need the map anymore. Making a left turn onto a four-lane street, she could clearly see her destination. The Radisson SAS Royal Hotel was a beautiful piece of architecture. The front lobby--as was the entire front side of the building--was encased in an enormous wall of glass.
As Lissa approached the hotel, she saw Baba Yaga closing in for another shot at her. This time, Lissa had an idea. There was an intersection about five-hundred feet from her, and the light was red. There was an open lane with no cars in it where she could reach the intersection with no obstacle--except for the moving mass of cross traffic. Just as Baba Yaga closed in for the kill, Lissa floored the gas once more. This would be a very risky gamble, but it was the only way, she thought. She entered the intersection at 70 miles-per-hour, passing straight through a gap in the cross traffic. As she exited the intersection, she could feel the shockwave from how close she had gotten to the other cars. It was clear all the way to the Royal Hotel.
Baba Yaga, still in hot pursuit, realized what Vasilissa had achieved. As she was about a hundred feet from the intersection, she saw the cross traffic stop. She decided to take a gamble that the light would turn green for her. However, as soon as Baba Yaga thought she was home free, an oncoming Volvo 740 estate car attempted to make a left turn. The Austin-Healey collided with the Volvo head-on, whipping Baba Yaga's vehicle in a three-hundred and sixty degree spin, wrapping the car around a light post. The Volvo was sent careening in the opposite direction, its rear end smashing into a Chevrolet Suburban.
Not stopping to see what happened to Baba Yaga, Lissa approached the Hotel. Just as Jari had stated, there was a valet there. The TVR turned into the valet driveway, roared past some men in red vests and drove straight down into the parking garage. There was no sunlight in the garage, it was entirely lit up by fluorescent overhead lights. No sooner had she entered the garage, Lissa spotted a black 1997 Lexus SC400, waiting with its lights on. It was not parked in a parking space, rather it was stopped on the opposite side of the driveway facing Lissa. As the Lexus briefly flashed its high beams, she knew who it was.
She pulled the car up to the side of the Lexus. As its driver-side window rolled down, she could see Jari at the wheel.
"Hurry up and get in," Jari exclaimed. As Lissa got out and ran to the passenger side of the Lexus, Jari opened the door and got in the TVR.
"What are you doing?" implored Lissa.
"Just get in, there's no time," Jari insisted. He pressed a few buttons on the car's computer screen, then got out and ran back to the Lexus. Lissa was already inside. Jari fastened his seat belt.
"You'll see in a minute." Jari left a streak of rubber in the driveway as he headed for the exit, the Lexus jumping two feet in the air as it went up and out of the gate. No sooner had he gotten out of the garage, Bond's TVR exploded in a fury of flames that extended about fifty feet outward, the shockwave pushing away everything that was in its immediate surroundings.
Jari took the Runeberginkatu and headed for the freeway and out of Helsinki, leaving Baba Yaga's prize in a smoldering pile of wreckage.
Lissa turned in her seat and looked back at the vanishing wreckage."That was such a lovely car.What happened?"
"Time delayed remote controled explosives",Jari responded,his eyes on the road,"they're part of the standard equipment in certain selected models."
"What if someone tries to shoot at us now?"
"Don't you worry,my dear.This little beauty",he indicated the Lexus with a turn of his head and a quick left hand gesture, "also has a few special features;among them,bulletproof glass and roll-flat tyres.Even if a sniper somehow shot them all out, we'd still be enjoying a smooth ride.Then the smile faded and was replaced by a stern expression, as Jari paused to consider the current circumstances and also deal with the oncoming traffic.
During this period,Lissa paused to study Jari Oksanen's features.He was anywhere from fifty to sixty years old,she suspected.His face was round-almost a baby face-with bright blue eyes under shaggy white-blond brows.An erratically trimmed Van Dyke beard sprouted from his chin and a full moustache covered his upper lip.He had a full head of grey-blond hair,and a small nose that
looked as if it'd been broken on more than one occasion.Jari was wearing a grey tweed jacket over a white turtleneck shirt.His shoulders were broad-like those of a weight lifter,and his arms were long, while his size of his stomach announced his appreciation of gourmet meals and good beer.Black corduroy trousers and thick brown boots completed the picture.All in all,Jari looked something like a cross between the middle-aged Orson Welles and Father Christmas.
"We're going to my home",Jari explained."You're to stay there with me until I get further instructions.And now it's my turn to ask a question:have you ever been to England?"
"No,why?"
"Something tells me you'll be visiting there soon..."
* * *
Jari Oksanen's home was an elaborate old four story mansion in the Art Nouveau style, situated in a quiet birch-shaded area of Katajovakka,a division of Helsinki's Southern District.Downtown Helsinki,Jari had explained,was less than two miles away by car--adding that the subway could get you there even faster.
Within a hour,Jari and Lissa were in his den-a large rectangular room set on the entire second floor of his home.The room had a large stone fireplace at it's Northern end.Thick shag carpeting covered all of the floor and every one of the room's walls was completely covered with bookshelves, all of them filled nearly to bursting with volumes in several languages on almost every subject Lissa could possibly imagine.In addition,there were many other books stacked neatly on the floor and beside his overlong desk-which had two computers and what appeared-to Lissa's untrained eyes-to be some form of communications system not unlike a ham radio,she'd seen once in an old movie-with the exception that this particular arrangement was clearly state of the art.
Lissa watched in silence as Jari Oksanen held his remote microphone and paced about the room,all the while speaking in what had grown from formal tones to a currently exasperated manner to someone one the other end of the line.In Lissa's opinion,the source of Jari's frustration was an alternately excited and confused young woman on the other end of a business which had more than once officially identified itself as the London branch of Universal Exports,Ltd.
How may we be of help to you, sir?" the woman repeated.
"For the third time,miss-I've absolutely no interest in shipping or receiving anything".Jari glanced up momentarily,his eyes locking onto Lissa's as he then shook his head and rolled his eyes in frustration.
"Now PLEASE pay attention.Listen very CAREFULLY...'Crashdive'.Repeat, 'Crashdive'".
Suddenly a new voice came on the line--a man's voice.One with a melodious British accent.
"Tanner here."
Jari's face lit up at once."Thank God,Bill...I swear,your girl made me wait almost three hours to get through to you."
"Sorry about that,Jari",Tanner explained."We're on the secure line now."
Bill Tanner,the senior Chief of Staff to the woman currently codenamed "M", and the commanding officer of MI6, leaned back in the swivel chair behind his desk.He crossed his long legs and put his shoeless feet onto the desk near a pile of outgoing mail beside his office intercom.It was now late evening and the large glass windows of his office presented impressive views of nightime London in its full glory.Tanner absentmindedly ran a hand through his greying hair and readjusted his glasses as he spoke to his friend in Finland.
Only hours before,Tanner had been about to call it a night and head on home until an unusual call from what had sounded like a frantic young female employee at the head office of Universal Exports-(the active and operating front for British Intelligence)which brought him to full attention.There was a mysterious caller from Helsinki, of all places,on the line, and he knew the special codeword MI6 used for top emergencies.A quick computer identification revealed the caller to be none other than his old friend Jari Oksanen,one of MI6's principal employees and an important contact in Finland.
"How may I be of service?"
Tanner asked.
"I have important news Bill.But first:did James make it home?"
"We sincerely hope so.We're following up on a report about a man who flew here via Cessna earlier today.The few descriptions we've recieved certainly make sound like James.We'll know soon enough.I've sent Robinson out to investigate.Let's hope he has something good to tell us."
At that moment a seperate telephone rang on Tanner's desk.
"Yes?" Tanner inquired.
"Good news",Robinson responded."We have 007,Bill.Safe and sound and none the worse for wear."
"Excellent" Tanner said, then he put down the reciever and turned his full attention to the call from Finland.
"James is home" Tanner told Jari."Great news.
"Indeed",Jari responded.
"Now what do you have for us,old friend?"
"Bill,I have a young woman with me who assisted 007, and just recently escaped from the woman who calls herself Baba Yaga.By the way-that old crone drives like the very devil, and she personally followed us until I set off the TVR in 007's car.She's a regular Stirling Moss."
"Really?Amazing.We'd certainly like to debrief your lady friend here.I've no doubt M will want any information she can provide us with, no matter how inconsequential it might seem."
"I thought as much",Jari replied."How shall we handle this extraction?"
"Easily enough",Tanner explained."Check your printer-I'm downloading all of the necessary documentation to you right now.It's for the next available jetliner to London.That'll be at,let's see..."Tanner paused and quickly thumbed through his filofax.
In Finland,Lissa and Jari shared the reciever and listened carefully to all of Tanner's words.
"Here we are!"the Englishman proclaimed."The very thing.Your flight takes off tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. from Helsinki to London on BOAC Flight 57.You'll be traveling to England as father and daughter.First class reservations.Professor Oksanen and daughter.Our people will meet you at Heathrow.You're familiar with agents Nelson and Gavin,aren't you?"
Jari's mouth dropped open in surprise."Yes,I know them, but..I..I'm not a father,Bill..."he protested.
"You are now,Tanner cheerfully replied."See both of you soon.Cheers."
* * *
And even as Jari and Lissa prepared for the flight to London,another figure was also thinking about the United Kingdom, more precisely,about one specific individual.
She was tall and shapely and standing naked before a three-way mirror carefully examining her body from every angle.There were imperceptable scars along her back and arms.Those were all from days long past and the plastic surgeons had hidden them exceptionally well.Happily, there were no new scratches from this afternoon's exploding car.
Adriana Valivova(or so she currently called herself)was thirty-two years old, but with her gamin-like features,she looked ten years younger.Adriana had a heart-shaped face,with large grey eyes and dramatically high cheekbones.She had a strong yet delicate jaw, and a mouth with full sensuous lips.Her hair was jet black,and cropped short, in a style similar to one Audrey Hepburn had worn during the 1960s.Adriana's hips were narrow,her legs long and shapely, and her bustline was impressive--without it being her most dominant physical feature.
On only rare occasions when Adriana was in disguise were her natural attributes visible.She prided herself on being able to take on any look her master, Mr.X, required of her.And some of those personas would've been extremely challenging to anyone lacking the knowledge he'd imparted to her.
The special Baba Yaga costume lay in a chair near her bathroom door.The special latex mask itself- with the long pointed nose and deep set eyes- was on her makeup counter along with the special skin tight gloves that gave her hands an elderly appearance.The large rubber hump she'd worn under the witch's dress was there as well.
It was always fun to play the infamous old witch and see the fear in the eyes of the peasants she commanded.As Mr.X had once said,"Those people are little more than sheep, and sheep will always need shepards."Who better to help lead them than a character from their bedtime stories?Hopefully I've given them nightmares.
But Adriana enjoyed playing other parts,too.For over ten years at Mr.X's behest,she'd played almost everything: from nurses,lawyers,models,doctors,executives,secretaries,flight attendants,personal trainers...whatever it took to help infiltrate the businesses of Mr.X's choosing.She could wrap any man around her finger, but her true loyalty was always to Mr.X--the man who'd carefully selected and personally trained her to help in his plan of conquest.
I rarely make mistakes,so Mr.X won't be happy now,she reasoned.I should've been able to stop the memorable Mr.Bond.And I should have been able to catch that little Finnish b1tch and the old man who rescued her.But I'll catch them again and next time,they'll die.
Mr.X will be very displeased with my failure.When he's extremely angry,she remembered as she stepped into a thick terrycloth robe,he can get violent.Oh yes.Perhaps he'll use his whip again.She smiled and licked her lips in anticipation.It's always worth it though,she reasoned, because after the violence, he puts us through the most torrid sex imaginable.She sighed at the thought.
And then Adriana allowed her thoughts to drift back to that dashing Englishman--the man named James Bond.The man who'd eluded her grasp.Mr.X's scouts in England had recently reported his safe arrival to her.She'd ordered them to leave him alone for the time being.Let him lull himself into a sense of complacency,she decided.I find this man most intriguing,even arousing,Adriana mused.He's dangerous, and that's quite appealing to me.Hmm....I wonder what the reknowned James Bond is like in bed.
Adriana's eyes shone brightly as she resolved to find an answer to that question.In fact,if everything goes to Mr.X's plan, there'd be plenty of time to meet Mr.Bond again.
“Good morning 005,” Bond greeted.
“Oh, hi James,” Seavey replied, tossing her hair as she turned to face Bond, “Good to see you’re still in one shape.” She noticed he’d been through a bit the past few days.
“Yes, I just got back from a date in Finland. With two women. One of them turned out to be a real witch, though.”
“… and you’re too much for even them.”
“Nobody does it better.” Bond gave her a peck on the cheek before resuming his trip to M’s office. As he rode an elevator, he began to think about the last few days again, starting with the two women - Baba Yaga and Lissa - before thinking about the entire series of events. M would be hearing quite a story.
***
The flight to London wasn’t as bad as they thought. Sure, commercial airlines may not have been all that great, being generally crowded with the occasional groups of annoying people, but outside of that the flight wasn’t at all bad. Lissa was a slightly more tense than Jari, primarily because of her amateurism in the life of assisting a secret agent; however that could easily be dismissed as being unfamiliar with flying, the type easily fixed with flying often.
When they arrived at London, there was a company car waiting for the two of them to take them to MI-6 HQ.
***
“Look at that, sunshine on a cloudy day,” Bond quipped.
“Look at that, the legendary 007 practices his pickup lines,” Moneypenny returned.
“That wasn’t a pickup line,” Bond corrected as he leaned closer, “and besides, I here to see M.”
“That’s always the story,” Moneypenny resigned as she walked over to a filing cabinet, “Do you ever come here to see someone other than M?”
“Well, I do have my priorities.”
“M is busy at the moment. Besides, aren’t you the one who puts pleasure before work?”
“Only in the dictionary, Moneypenny.”
“So tell me, which girl did that to you? I haven’t seen you look like that since you came back from Kenya on that one assignment.”
“Let’s just say we didn’t bond very well.”
“There’s hope for me yet.”
“I hope that makes your day.”
“Why don’t you just tell me you love me?”
“You do have to earn me saying that, you know.”
Instead of either one saying anything more, the two of them engaged in a romantic embrace, gently making out for a few moments. Eventually, Moneypenny stepped back, wanting a confirmation to her original question. “Now?”
Bond wouldn’t have a chance to answer, as the door to M’s office opened, and David Random - 009 - exited M’s office. After a brief exchange beginning with Bond’s appearance, he entered M’s office.
“Good morning, 007,” M greeted, “Congratulations on your removal of Jonathan Carter.”
“There’s more to it than that, M,” Bond replied, “Carter seemed to be in cooperation with a network of people. First there was Baba Yaga-”
“Yes I heard about her from Tanner’s report. I heard she was killed in a car chase trying to catch your friend.”
“Confirmed?”
“No. Was she the only one?”
“No. Baba Yaga works for someone, but I have no clue of his identity. The only lead I have is this flight plan, which is set for Delhi.”
“That should be enough of a lead for a 00-Agent as experienced as you. Before you go, I do want to hear from Jari and your friend.”
“One question: What all do we have available on Baba Yaga?”
“I’ll have someone on that right away.”
“Welcome to Universal Exports’ London headquarters,” the chauffeur concluded, giving his standard welcoming routine.
“Thank you,” Jari replied as he and Lissa climbed out of the company vehicle. They entered MI-6 HQ, which to the untrained eye such as Lissa’s, looked as if it were indeed the entrance and lobby to a corporate office building. The “Universal Exports” receptionist gave them a friendly greeting, and before she was able to say much more, Tanner greeted the two of them.
“Ah, Jari, there you are.” Tanner half-jogged towards them, shaking his hand. He turned to Lissa. “This must be your friend. Hi, I’m Bill Tanner. COS, Universal Exports.”
“Vasilissa Krinkov. Lissa for short.”
Tanner then quickly concluded the meeting in the lobby. “We better get your debriefing underway. Come with me.”
They maintained a fast pace through the hallways on their way to M’s office, and the three of them soon joined M and Bond.
M continued her briefing. “We still have little to go on where Carter is concerned. Tanner has been thoroughly examining all of the materials in which he has been involved. Of the few items of information that are confirmed as compromised, they hold no relevance to any one government.”
“A free agent, then?” Bond suggested. “Selling secrets to several governments?”
The pair reached the lift. “I’m afraid it looks that way,” M replied. “Though it doesn’t explain this mysterious Mister X in your report.“ The lift doors opened with the familiar chime, and M and Bond stepped inside. The doors promptly shut them in. “The problem is that we have no way of fully grasping how much information he leaked. Or to whom. As a Chief of Staff, Carter had knowledge of every operation involving MI6.”
“Except the one calling for his assassination,” Bond countered.
M’s face hardened. For a moment she was silent, and then, to Bond’s surprise, she firmly pressed the lift’s ‘emergency stop’ button. Her stern gaze leveled on Bond.
Bond stared back, unflinching.
“I know you’re hurting, 007,” she said. “And I’m not talking about your injuries. Carter was my friend, too. I know you must think that giving the order for him to die was just another one of my cold, heartless acts. Perhaps you’re thinking we would have been better off keeping him alive and finding out what he knew, rather than signing his death warrant with some glib flourish.” M’s eyes continued to drill into Bond. “I did what I needed to for the sake of England and this Ministry. Carter deceived us all. It had to stop. When something hurts, you put ice on it.”
Bond held M’s stare. “Does deceit end there? I got more than I bargained for than just killing Carter. How much did you suspect? How much did you not tell me about Urjala?”
M turned back to face the lift doors. “We only knew one thing about Urjala before we sent you,” she said.
“And what was that?”
M released the emergency stop button and the lift resumed. “That it was cold.” she answered.
* * *
The low security council chamber, or ‘Goose Green’ as it had been dubbed was cleanly furnished. The name came not only from the dark green carpet that dressed the floor, but rather that the arduous and lengthy briefings that took place there reminded some droll staffer of his time in the Falklands. The chamber was utilized primarily for meetings with civilians or personnel with minimum clearance, keeping them segregated from the more secure areas of MI6.
When M and 007 arrived, Tanner, Jari, and Lissa were already seated at the black polished table. Jari was pouring himself a glass of water from a crystal carafe at the table’s center.
“James!” Lissa shouted. She dashed to him and hugged him warmly. “It’s so nice to see you again!”
Bond returned the hug. “I’m glad to know you’re safe.” He turned to M. “Lissa, this is M.”
“M?” she asked. “Is that short for something?”
“Yes,” replied M curtly. She turned to Tanner. “Shall we get on with it, then?”
Tanner looked up from the laptop he was unfolding on the table. “Hmm? Oh, right. How are you, James?” he nodded in greeting.
“Tanner,” Bond nodded back. He took a seat at the table and turned his attention to the plasma screen on the wall. With the click of a button on his laptop, Tanner brought up an image of Carter onto the screen.
“As you are most likely aware,” Tanner began, “We became alerted to Jonathan Carter’s activities when a communication was intercepted out of Rome regarding an MI6 investigation of diamond smuggling from mines in the Canadian north -- a communication explicitly tied to Carter’s itinerary to Rome at the time. There is no doubt Carter was the source of the information leak. Since then, we have linked Carter to compromised information regarding Operations Scimitar, Groundskeeper, and Borealis Red. Of course, we can’t assume that this is the limit of his activities, but at the moment, it is all we can confirm.”
“And these are all completely unrelated operations?” Bond asked.
“No associations whatsoever.” answered Tanner. “Information regarding any of these would have absolutely no significance outside of their theatre of operation. Which can only lead us to conclude that Carter was selling any information he had to anyone who would be willing to pay. State secrets, military operations, technology: anything within MI6‘s walls, Carter could have been peddling.”
M leaned forward. “The recent information Bond brought back from Finland tells us the situation is not as clear-cut as that. Carter’s own confession implied that he was working for a man known only as Mister X.”
“Yes,” Tanner confirmed, “but without a real name, we have absolutely no clue as to Mister X’s true identity. I have teams scouring Carter’s files, office, and flat for any hint as to who Carter was in contact with, but as yet, we’re coming up empty handed.”
Bond looked to Lissa. “Do you know who this Mister X is? Did Magnus or Baba Yaga ever mention him?”
Lissa shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’ve never heard the name before today.”
“What about Baba Yaga?” Bond asked Tanner. “Do we know anything about her?”
Tanner shrugged helplessly. “Again, outside of the mythological connotations, nothing. There is no one in our databases matching her description. Baba Yaga was most likely an alias, but it gives us nothing to really go on. Or only information came from Lissa here. Baba Yaga apparently made her living in people smuggling, trafficking humans out of Russia and other former Soviet Bloc countries for a hefty price.”
“Luring innocent individuals with hopes of a better life, and leading them into a prison of slavery,” Bond added.
“Contact the Russian authorities,” suggested M. “Perhaps they have more on this Baba Yaga and who she may have been working with.”
“Yes, Ma’am” Tanner answered.
Bond again turned toward Lissa. “Do you have anything else you can tell us about Baba Yaga, Lissa? Anything you know can help us stop this.”
Lissa shook her head. “I know nothing else.”
Jari chimed in. “You must know something. Why else would Baba Yaga have chased you? At the cost of her life?”
“I don’t know. I can’t even begin to imagine why she wanted me so badly. All I can tell you is the glassworks was one base of operations for her smuggling activities. And I only know that because it was where I was first taken. Magnus mentioned others, but I do not know where they are.”
Tanner shrugged. “Any number of people who Baba Yaga smuggled through the glassworks would know that information. It’s hardly worth killing for. Why you?”
Bond, thinking quietly to himself, interjected. “The Griffith.”
“The car?” responded M. “What has that have to do with anything?”
“Not the vehicle,” elaborated Bond. “But what was in it.” He looked at Tanner. “You said yourself that Carter could have been selling technology. Carter, and Baba Yaga, knew they could get a handsome sum from whomever they were working for if they delivered him the Griffith.”
“That may be so, but it brings us no closer to finding out who that was.” countered M.
“The only clue we have is the plane, and it’s flight plan: Delhi.” Bond sank back into his seat.
Tanner scrolled through files on his computer. “Our lab is examining the plane at this moment. If the plane carried narcotics or explosives, they’ll find traces of it. But as of yet they have nothing to report.”
“Have we found anything in Carter’s possession that would help us? Maybe connect him with someone in India? E-mail? Phone messages?”
Tanner shook his head. “Carter was very thorough. He kept everything purged, both on his computer and his mobile. The only thing we do have are the records from his telephone company. But there was nothing suspicious there. We followed everything.”
“Nothing to India, then?” Bond asked.
“Well, no. Everything --” Tanner halted suddenly. “Wait a second.” He pulled from a briefcase a ruffled stack of hard copies and leafed through them. “There were calls made to India from Carter’s flat! To a data call center in Delhi. Since so many calls to local companies are routed to call centers in the East, it didn’t raise any red flags.” The Chief of Staff turned to his computer and quickly typed in a number. “Here it is. All of Carter’s calls that were routed to India were received by a call center called VoxBrahma. When we vetted the number, we were told that Carter was having issues with his ISP. But it’s highly unusual that all of his routed calls went to this particular company.”
“VoxBrahma,” mused Bond. “Literally ‘the voice of Brahma’.”
“Brahma?” asked Lissa.
M leaned back in her leather chair. “The Hindu diety with four faces. What do we have on VoxBrahma?”
Tanner studied his computer screen. “Completely legitimate, as far as we can tell. Corporately owned and managed by a board of directors. All of whom are clean.”
“Is there a way to determine to whom Carter’s calls were directed within VoxBrahma?” Bond asked.
Tanner shook his head. “Not from this side. We would have to tap their records from the inside. Their system would have a log of the incoming number and to which line it was routed.”
M’s stern gaze narrowed. “It looks like we have a lead. I want you there poste haste, 007.”
Tanner closed the laptop. “I’ll let our man in Station I know you’re coming.”
****
Bond left the airport in a yellow taxi -a taxi you would normally expect to see in New York rather than New Delhi - and having cleared customs easily enough under the guise of a British business man named James Bryce he sat back and relaxed -his Ray Ban aviator glasses masking his eyes as he observed the busy multitudes filling the streets. He was heading to his hotel -where hopefully in air -conditioned comfort he'd be able to have an ice -cold shower and an equally cold bottle of Champagne accompanied by some foi gras and Beluga caviar. He would be meeting his contact from station I later that evening.
The Claridge's was just as Bond expected it to be -it had the regal elegance of a place that was once part of the British empire and offered him a wonderful suite -whose opulence was not too overstated but tasteful -it wasn't long before he was enjoying an ice cold bottle of Bollinger 66 - one of the finest vintages ever produced. The lightweight suit he'd been wearing on his journey had now been replaced by fresh white linen jeans and an open necked blue short sleeved sea -island cotton shirt. His hair was still damp from the shower he had just enjoyed.
His Sony Ericsson P1i vibrated in his pocket. This phone the latest to be played with by Q branch flashed he had an incoming message. It was from his contact from Station I.
MEET ME IN AURA - 15 MINUTES. DAYA
Bond looked at his Omega Seamaster. The Aura Vodka Lounge Bar was where 007 had been planning to visit during his stay and he was pleased that Daya, his contact had thought to meet him there.
He didn't know who or what Daya looked like, apart from the fact he was to be in the Aura bar -but he presumed that Daya had read his file. The fact that Bond wasn't sure what to expect made him feel a little on edge -he lit one of his specially made Moreland cigarettes and wandered down to the bar observing those people he saw on the way. He spotted a young American couple that looked like newlyweds entering their suite -with only eyes for each other, and an older gentleman with a walking stick wearing a blazer adorned with medals -obviously some old campaigner enjoying his retirement - limping along in the same direction 007 was taking.
The old man grunted a greeting to Bond as he walked past. 007 smiled at him in acknowledgment and held the door open for the man as he entered the bar.
The bar was a little disappointing to Bond -it was like most cocktail bars the world over. Full of blue neon lights and chrome. Sat at a table in one corner Bond saw a vision. The woman was dressed elegantly in western fashion -but was adorned with some exquisite Indian jewelery that gleamed beautifully against her lovely dark skin. Her hair was luxurious and shining and looked almost a dark blue in the bars lighting. Yet these Raven colored tresses were styled in such a manner the woman could have been a film star. She was slim yet athletic looking with proud but not overly large breasts, her eyes were a deep dark chocolate and were ever so slightly slanted upwards giving her an almost cat-like appearance. Her lips were full and and enticing. bond couldn't help himself. Upon seeing this woman he smiled and nodded at her before asking the barman to make him a vodka martini -twice repeating his instructions as to how he liked his drink.
A few minutes after he'd been drinking his drink at the bar the woman approached the bar. She tapped 007 on the shoulder,
"Are you intentionally ignoring me?" she asked.
bond looked at her and was once again taken by her beauty.
"sorry Miss?"
"Daya Kumari Chauhan. you can call me Daya -It means Mercy you know?"
"Oh that's good -it means I'm forgiven then?" said Bond smiling.
"Well this time you are James. Now drink up as we have things to discuss, and here isn't the right place."
Half an hour later they were sat in the lounge of a very plush New Delhi apartment.
"So what can you tell me Daya?"
"Well we still haven't got a clue as to who Mr X is -but we have been looking into voxbrahma -it seems the owner of the company owns a Palacial residence not far from Ajmer where one of the only two Temples that have been built in India to Brahma has been built. You know that Brahma is a God with more than one head?"
Bond nodded."Yes he's got four hasn't he?"
"Well legend has it that Brahma did originally have five heads and that there are different explanations for why Brahma only has four heads now, as opposed to his original five. According to the Puranas, Brahma and Vishnu were once arguing over who was superior of the two. They discovered from the Vedas that Shiva was the Supreme Being. Brahma however, spoke disparagingly about Shiva. In anger, Shiva cut off the head, which had spoken, and therefore Brahma was left with four heads."
"Hmmm -interesting. Well Mr X seems to have many fingers in different pies and faces it seems -and beheading him is the job I have been given. So you say the owner of voxbrahma has a residence in Ajmer -I suppose that is where I need to go -but first can you get me into the call center so I can have a look at this place myself?"
Daya looked at him -and smiled, "I thought you might say that. A message from M states you are to visit under your guise as James Bryce an executive for the the Nutel corporation - a new mobile network provider who is looking for worldwide call centers to process your new customers who will order your companies products via both the phone and the internet. I have set up an appointment for 10 o'clock with the managing director an Australian called Tom Baker."
"An Australian you say? That's a bit different."
"Well he happens to be someone who came to India in the nineties visiting Goa for the parties they have down there -and then somehow he managed to get a job working in communications over here and through connections I suppose has worked his way up -in what seems a relatively short time."
"How old is he?"
"He's about 38 we think although there isn't much information about him from before he visited Goa."
Bond took all this new information in. He refilled his glass of wine. Daya didn't drink alcohol and drank a glass of orange juice.
"So Daya, what do you do in Delhi on an evening like this?"
Daya smiled cheekily,"Why Mr Bond -I go to bed and read -and maybe have a glass of milk before going to sleep."
Bond nodded -he knew that at this time Daya was off limits -which was a shame as he would love to get to know her intimately.
"I tell you what James as you have to go I will leave you with this -this might take your mind off things." She removed from her purse a DVD. The title was DARNA MANA HAI. She placed it on the table. I'll send a car to your hotel tomorrow at about 9.30."
Bond realised this was his cue to leave -picked up the DVD and thanked Daya for the wine -and headed outside into the warm night. A few minutes later he was in a taxi on his way back to The Claridges and his quiet suite -where he would no doubt drink some more and maybe even watch the DVD she had given him. He looked at the cover -it was a Bollywood Movie starring an actress whose name he had heard of recently. One Shilpa Shetty who had been at the center of a Race row about a year ago. Shilpa was similar looking to Daya -they could easily pass for sisters. He smiled -she certainly was an attractive lady.
****
Hanging from three of the walls were hundreds of masks from every known culture, past and present. Interspersed between them were numous mirrors with ornate frames. For the first time visitor to the room it was somewhat disconcerting when they suddenly saw their own face looking back at them from the walls amongst the staring masks.
But there was one other feature in the room that belied the notion that it was a museum. Flush against the fourth wall was an old leather couch draped with a tartan blanket. The rest of that wall was hung with medieval Indian weapons including several savage looking scimitars. On the couch lay a man in his forties with dark hair, pale skin and a strong jaw. His eyes were closed and his hands were clasped on his sternum. Another man sat nearby on an antique carved chair. His complexion was the dusky caramel of India, and though he was totally bald he had a magnificent grey-black beard which was neatly trimmed about the mouth and cheeks. Behind rimless spectacles his dark eyes watched the other man intently as he spoke softly to him in the measured tones of the hypnotist.
"With every out breath your body becomes twice as relaxed as before as you go deeper and deeper."
A pause for a few more breaths to take place.
"Now you are completely relaxed, completely at ease. You notice that you are standing on a beach. Waves are gently breaking on the sand. But this is not an ordinary beach. To your left is the future and to your right is the past. Are you ready to visit the past Max?"
The man on the couch murmured his assent.
"You turn right and start to walk along the beach beside the sea. It is very peaceful. The summer breeze is warm on your skin. With every step you are taken further back into your past. Every step is a month. After twelves steps it is last October."
Pause.
"Have you taken twelve steps?"
Murmur.
"Good. Now every step you take is is a year. One year, then two, then five. And you continue walking back through your forties, your thirties, your twenties. Tell me when you reach eighteen."
A long pause and Max murmured again.
"Very good. Now you going to move through your teens but you are going to move slowly and carefully, knowing that you are in a safe place and that nothing can harm or upset you. You are seventeen now. Now sixteen. And now you are fifteen. It is August 10, your fifteenth birthday. Can you remember your fifteenth birthday?"
Another murmur.
"You are moving one month at a time again. It is July, now June, now May. Now you are moving one day at a time. It is the 31st of May. Keep moving slowly forward until you reach the 23rd of May."
A pause.
"Have you reached the 23rd of May?"
Another murmur, this time with an undertone of anxiety.
"Remember you are in a safe place. The past is like a television program. You can see everything but it can no longer affect you."
The hypnotist paused. He is perspiring heavily and it was not due to the hot weather. He suddenly realised that he was was feeling afraid for some reason. He took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow.
"Now Max I want you to imagine that there is a pool of water in the sand in front of you. It is not very wide but it represents the afternoon of the 23rd of May. I want you to jump right over it. Do it now."
A pause.
"Have you jumped over it?"
Max nodded imperceptibly but his whole body was tensing up. The hypnotist took a deep breath.
"You are safe Max. The past cannot hurt you anymore. You can see everything but you feel nothing. You are a disinterested observer. Turn around and look into the pool."
Max’s body has gone rigid. Cords stood out on his neck like webbed feet.
"Look into the pool. Reflected in the pool are the events of the afternoon of the 23rd of May. You can see everything that happened that day but you are just an observer. You can remember. You can remember. The past is clear. Your memory is restored. The…"
Max suddenly sat bolt upright his eyes wide and staring, seeing some terrible vision of long ago. He clutched his head in his hands and roared.
"No!"
It was an asylum sound without limits or shape - a psychotic rage that came from the pit of his being. The whole room reverberated. The hypnotist reached out to him to try to calm him. Max locked eyes with him, seeing him and yet not seeing him. If his eyes had been guns they would have shot the hypnotist dead.
Max shoved the hypnotist violently knocking him backwards onto the floor where he lay momentarily dazed. Max leapt to his feet and grabbed an antique scimitar from the wall. His eyes were glazed, still seeing only the past. He advanced on the hypnotist who had gotten to his knees. He stared up at the blade in horror as he tried to keep his voice calm to break the hypnotic spell that he had cast.
"On the count of three you are back in the present Max. One…"
Max raised the scimitar.
"Two…"
Max struck. The hypnotist’s head rolled across the floor of the room, the tongue protruding foolishly frozen in the midst of trying to say the word "Three."
Max’s vision cleared and he was back in the present again. He stared in horror at the headless torso kneeling in front of him as it fountained bright arterial blood into the air. He gave a great howl and threw the scimitar away from him. It struck a nearby wall knocking one of the masks to the floor. Then he sank back onto the couch holding his head in his hands, his breath rasping in his throat.
A door opened on the far side of the room. A tall Indian man crossed the floor of the room and surveyed the mess dispassionately. He was immaculately dressed in white robes and a turban. He had the grave aplomb and reserve of both an English butler and a grave digger.
"Have you finished your therapy session for today sir?"
Max raised his head and stared at the man. He looked around the room at the carnage and nodded wearily.
"Yes Afrit. I really thought this one might be able to help me remember."
"Dr Bakshi did come highly recommended sir."
"Yes, you know what to do with the body. There haven’t been any funerals this week and I’m sure the crocodiles in the river are hungry."
"Yes sir. At once."
"And make sure you get all the blood off the couch. It originally belonged to Freud."
"I will see to it personally sir."
Max stood up and cracked his neck audibly. Back to business. Stepping around the growing pool of blood on the floor, he went over to the mask that had fallen to the floor and picked it up. It was the famous tragic mask from Ancient Greek theatre. He put it on, turned and considered his reflection in a mirror.
"Who am I?" he whispered. "Why can’t I remember?"
He lapsed into a reverie which was finally broken by the man servant clearing his throat. Max spun round.
"Was there something else Afrit?"
"Sir, Mr Cobra has arrived."
"Ah good. I’ll seen him in the study."
"Yes sir."
Max hung the tragic mask back on the wall and strode out of the room.
***
Max peered through a spyhole before entering the study. His vantage point was behind a large ornate desk. Mr Cobra stood in the middle of the room staring out of the window at the gardens, waiting for his arrival. He was a slim dark man of average height with close cropped hair. His body was wiry and hyperflexible like a contortionist’s. He could do a backflip, squeeze through impossibly small spaces or jump up to the rafters and cling to them like a bat if the need arose. Over the past year Max had used him for a variety of jobs ranging from spying to assassination and he had proved both efficient and tenacious. But Max never let his guard down around him. The Cobra was a mercenary and one day he, Max, might be his target. Before that could happen Max would have had the Cobra eliminated as he did all those who worked for him.
There was a knock at the study door and Afrit the man servant entered the room.
"Would you care for a drink sir?"
Cobra turned, appraised the man and then shook his head. Max chose that moment to slip through the secret panel and seat himself in his chair behind the desk. The man servant bowed to him.
"Sir?"
"Chai please."
At the sound of Max’s voice the Cobra turned back and regarded him without surprise. Afrit bowed and departed. Max gestured Cobra to a chair. He approached it warily as though it might be booby-trapped and then sat down quickly as though he wanted to set it off. His movements were lithe and suggestive of both a cat and a snake.
From behind his desk Max was now totally secure. He could deal death at the press of a button if need be and on several occasions had done so. He steepled his hands in front of him and rested his chin on them.
"Well?"
Cobra grinned.
"There is much to tell. Many have died. Carter and his girlfriend, Seppo, Magnus."
"Adriana?"
"She is alive. The woman Lissa got away. MI6 helped her. So they have her now. The agent who rescued her is James Bond, 007, one of their top agents. He has just arrived in Delhi. He must have found out where Magnus was headed. We must be careful."
Max pursed his lips.
"It’s a shame about Carter. He was very useful. But we must adjust."
"You want me to kill Bond? It will not come cheap."
"It never does. In any case I have a better idea. Bond is looking for Carter’s contact here and we must not disappoint him."
Max removed a fat manila folder from a drawer and tossed it to Cobra who caught it absently. Carter pursed his lips.
"There’s two million rupee in there, that’s about fifty thousand US. You get the other half after the job is done."
Cobra grinned. Carter examined his fingernails as he continued.
"Come back in two hours. Afrit will have some documents ready for you. I want you to plant them in Tom Baker’s office. That should be enough to set the wheels in motion."
"And then?"
"Bond will find the documents, kill Baker and think that he has killed me. And I will have gotten rid of Baker which is something I have wanted for some time."
"I thought you liked him."
"VoxBrahma has been useful but its time to close it down. Baker knows too much. Eventually he will try to sell me out."
"I know more than he does."
"But you are very well paid and a well paid mercenary is always trustworthy. Besides, you know what will happen if you betray me."
"Daya - "
"Yes - beautiful Daya, your lovely sister. It would be a tragedy if something happened to her."
Fear flickered momentarily in Cobra’s eyes. Fear and something darker - hatred.
Or to you, he thought. But his reply was conciliatory.
"As you say I am very well paid."
"Well you better start earning your money. Contact me in the usual way when Baker is dead."
The man servant knocked and entered bearing a laden tray. Cobra departed.
Max instructed Arfit to prepare some documents that would identify Baker as Mister X. After his servant had departed Max stared out the window and sipped spiced tea. He thought about who he would use to kill Cobra after Baker was dead. No loose ends. That was his motto.
He swam several more lengths underwater, after which he got out and patted himself dry with a towel, and changed into some light trousers and a blue shirt, leaving the top two buttons undone. He had a word with the head waiter, and managed to get a large helping of scrambled eggs made to his specification.
By nine o’clock the sun was truly beating down on New Delhi, and the temperature had risen in excess of thirty degrees Celsius. The bright light reflected off the pale earth colour of the hotel, creating a violent glare as Bond sat on the patio finishing his third cup of strong black coffee. He put on a pair of Persol sunglasses, sat back in his chair and relaxed.
“Don’t get too relaxed, we’ve got work to do.” A voice called from behind Bond. It was Daya.
Bond groaned as he lifted himself out of his chair, “If you knew what I’d been up to in the last week you wouldn’t be so hard on me.” He complained.
“Strenuous exercise, was it?”
“You’ve got that right. It damn near killed me!”
Daya was dressed in tight fitted, slightly shorter than knee length skirt in navy blue, with a jacket to match. Her white shirt left enough neck open to snare an unwary man. “Hadn’t you better get dressed properly, or have you forgotten about our meeting this morning?” She teased Bond with a sweet, but slightly naughty smile.
Daya waited in the hotel lobby as Bond changed into more formal clothing. He wore a charcoal grey suit by Brioni, with a white shirt by Turnbull & Asser. The outfit was finished off with a red and maroon patterned silk tie. They were met outside the Claridges by a black Mercedes-Benz S600 and chauffeur, provided by Station I. It was a fifteen minute drive to VoxBrahma and that gave Daya and Bond just enough time to arrange the plan for the meeting. The chauffeur had handed them a package containing all the equipment that they were likely to need. It contained a variety of bugs, lockpicks and a set of instruments which included a compact drill, a telescopic screwdriver, a borescope and a small PDA.
“What’s that?” Bond asked.
“That’s for getting into his safe. Perhaps I failed to mention that I am an expert safe-cracker.”
* * * *
“Mr Bryce, it’s good to see you.” said the overly friendly man who extended his hand to shake Bond’s. “I’m Tom Baker, as I’m sure you know!” he snorted a brief laugh as if he thought he had said something humourous. Baker looked at a piece of paper on his desk, and said, “I see, you’re from Nutel. Never heard of them.” He chuckled again.
“No, you probably wouldn’t have heard of us. We are a new company.” Bond said, and turned to Daya. “This is my secretary. She knows this part of the world a lot better than I do, so she’s very useful on a trip like this. You don’t mind if she takes notes do you?”
“Of course not, Mr. Bryce, and she’s a very lovely little lady.” Baker chuckled once again. He stood about six feet tall, with broad shoulders and an even broader waist. His face was rather chubby, and when he grinned, the skin on his face broke up with deep wrinkles. His hair was light brown, turning grey, and cut very short. His looks belied the fact that he was 38, he looked about 10 years older.
“Well, Mr Baker. As you have no doubt been informed, our company wishes to make use of your call centre facilities to process new customers who are joining our company. I’m afraid our clientele is growing beyond our limited facilities.” Bond said.
“I assure you, Mr Bryce that we have extensive experience dealing with similar companies to yours and I think you will find that all of our previous clients have been happy with the service we supply.”
“I certainly wouldn’t doubt it.” Bond said, as a secretary entered the office carrying a tray of coffees. Baker had two large spoonfuls of sugar in his coffee.
“Ah, hot and sweet!” Baker said as he slurped a sip of coffee, “Just like the way I enjoy my women!” He laughed at his awful joke, and Bond forced a slight smile, just to be polite.
Bond tried to get the conversation back to the business at hand, “We need a company that can support us as our operation grows in size. We hope to increase our number of customers exponentially in the next few years. Do you have the facilities to maintain your service, even as our demand increases.”
“Never fear!” Baker replied. “We forecast that we have the capacity to grow by at least another two hundred percent in our current facilities, after which we plan on opening another major call centre which will supplement the current one. I have some documents detailing our plans for the next five years if they would interest you, Mr Bryce.”
Bond nodded, and Baker swiveled his chair around 180 degrees and opened a drawer to retrieve some papers. No sooner was Baker’s back turned, Daya emptied a small plastic tube of clear liquid into Bryce’s coffee cup. He handed the papers to Bond who glanced over the first page as Baker took another noisy sip of coffee. He watched Bond reading through the second and third pages and said "As you can see, it’s all there in that document, and I trust you will feel more confident about employing our services now that you see our plan, and the. . ." Baker paused as if he had run out of breath. "the poten. . . the potential of. . . our. . ." His eyelids started falling and his face started to droop. "our plan is. . . blimey!" he groaned as he faded into unconsciousness.
"Right!" Bond said to Daya. "I guess it’s time to do your stuff."
She quickly moved over to the safe, which was tucked away behind a filing cabinet. It had a digital number keypad, with a small display above. She took the PDA from her handbag and also took out a small device which she plugged into the programming port of the safe. It connected wirelessly to the PDA and the software on the PDA was designed to very quickly try all possible combinations until it found the right one. It was very powerful software, and the PDA was a lot faster with more memory than standard models – it had been developed by Q Branch purely for this purpose.
Meanwhile Bond examined Baker’s computer. When he tried to use it, he found that it was password protected. He quickly unscrewed the cover of the computer’s tower and removed the hard drive. Q Branch would be able to retrieve the data.
After a minute the safe door was open. "That was easy." said Bond.
"It’s just a question of using the proper tool." Daya smiled. She looked as though she was rather proud of her fast work.
It took a little while to sift through the legitimate business documents, but eventually Bond opened a manila folder, and staring at him was a passport photo of Jonathan Carter. "Bingo." Bond whispered. In the folder was all of Carter’s personal information, details of his previous jobs and also copies of all the orders which were sent to him. Also in the folder were details of other MI6 agents who Bond had never seen before - Agents in Turkey, Greece, Italy and France. "This must be it, Baker was the man who had been controlling Carter." he said.
Meanwhile from a concealed position on a nearby rooftop Cobra was watching the meeting through telescopic sights. When he first saw Daya follow Bond into Baker’s office, fear washed through him in a cold flood and he took his finger off the rifle’s sensitive trigger. What was she doing there? Was she working for MI6 too or was she just a stooge? Whatever the case he had to be careful. He would never forgive himself if he accidentally shot her. The thought almost unmanned him and he closed his eyes for a moment and took a few deep breaths. It would be all right, he told himself. He could still do this. He just had to make sure that she wasn’t in his line of sight. If there was any doubt he just wouldn’t fire and Obsidian could go to hell. When Bond and Daya found the evidence that he had planted earlier he smiled to himself.
"So far, so good," he muttered to himself.
He kept on watching, waiting to see what Baker would do.
When Baker came to, he saw Bond and Daya standing, staring at him. Daya held a tiny Beretta 21 Bobcat pistol which she had concealed in her handbag. Baker looked at Bond and his eyes narrowed.
"I thought as much. You’re no investor. Who sent you?"
"I work for British Intelligence. The game’s up Baker. Or should I call you ‘Mister X’?"
"Mister X - me?"
Baker looked from Bond to Daya, back to Bond and then started laughing long and loud. When he recovered he shook his head with admiration.
"Oh he’s good, he’s really good. He wants me out of the way so he’s got your lot to do the job for him. I’ve gotta hand it to the ******* - that is sheer genius."
Bond looked speculatively at Baker and held up Carter’s photograph.
"We found this in your safe. Among other things."
Baker shrugged.
"So?"
"Do you know who he is?"
"Of course not. Wake up you bloody drongo! It was planted to make you think I’m your target."
"His name was Jonathan Carter. He was selling secrets until I tracked him down and killed him."
"Not to me he wasn’t."
"Perhaps. But at the very least he was using VoxBrahma to pass the information on."
Baker shrugged and grinned.
"We’ve all gotta make a living mate."
Bond stared at him, wondering if Baker was telling the truth. Baker sat back in his chair and put his hands behind his neck.
"I reckon we’ve got something in common mate. We’ve both been set up by the same guy. It looks to me like you’ve got yourself a choice. You can kill me and think you’ve got the guy you’re after or we can find a way to do some real business."
"Go on."
Baker picked up a small black statuette, a bust of one of the Hindu deities.
"Know what this is?"
Daya leaned forward and looked closely at it. As she did so she blocked Cobra’s line of sight to Baker.
"It’s Maya, goddess of illusion."
"Right on darlin’. But do you know what it’s made of?"
"It looks like volcanic glass. Obsidian."
Baker nodded.
"Right again. Obsidian it is. Funny stuff you know. It’s a form of glass but you can’t see through it. If you cut it in one direction it appears black, but if you cut it in another it’s grey. It was used in the Stone Age to make tools and it’s so sharp that it’s still used today to make surgical blades."
Bond looked impatiently at him.
"Thanks for the geology lesson."
Don’t mention it. When you’re digging for something it’s helpful to know the difference between say gold and iron pyrite."
"You mean Fool’s Gold?"
Baker winked and grinned.
"Absolutely. Now then, unless the pair of you are still going to kill me I reckon you probably need to have a bit of a chat with your bosses. So why don’t you run along and do just that and give me a bell when you’re ready to deal."
Bond shook his head.
"Nothing doing Baker. You’re coming with us. Right now."
"Afraid I might dob you in, eh?"
Daya stood up and moved toward the door, keeping the gun trained on Baker as she did so. Bond stood up and motioned Baker to do likewise. Suddenly there was a sound of glass breaking as if someone had thrown a stone into a window. Bond turned and looked at the small hole in the window. He looked back at Baker, who now had a neat, red hole in his forehead above his left eye, and a thin trickle of blood ran down his cheek. Bond crouched down and moved over to the window and looked out. There were at least three or four buildings from which the shot could have come. It was a sniper’s paradise out there – there was virtually no way of telling which of the forty windows had been used.
"Let’s get out of here, quickly." Bond said to Daya. They grabbed the documents and the hard drive from the computer and walked casually out of the office, said goodbye to the secretary and got into the waiting Mercedes-Benz and the chauffeur drove off.
"Well that was an interesting meeting." Daya said, looking concerned.
"I think we’ve been played for suckers this time." Bond replied. "He wasn’t Mister X – just another one of his invisible network of operators. Mister X set Baker up as a decoy so that we’d think that we had rubbed him out for good and leave."
"So it’s back to square one then." Daya shrugged.
"Not necessarily" Bond said as he looked at the hard drive. "This might contain some more reliable information."
* * * *
Max Obsidian was roused from his slumber by the ringing of his mobile phone. “Yes.” He answered – it was Cobra on the line.
“I see” said Max. “He was going to talk? The lousy Australian swine. But they took the false documents?” he asked, and when the answer came he said, “Good. That ought to lead them up the garden path!”
"Air India, Flight AI111, New Delhi to London has now reached its destination. Please exit the plane in an orderly fashion and follow all instructions given by your flight attendant. Thank you for choosing Air India, we hope you enjoyed your flight."
Bond had just arrived at London Heathrow Airport. His baggage was supposed to be picked up by an MI6 agent who would pose as a chauffeur waiting to pick him up. After walking through the lobby, he stopped for a moment to look at the surroundings. It's good to be home, he thought. He pulled a photo out of his pocket. It was a Polaroid of Daya dressed in a red, one-piece swimsuit, with a another red, see-through outfit over the swimsuit. She was lounging on a daybed sofa, with a lovely twinkling in her eye. Very elegant, yet unmistakably alluring. On the opposite side of the photograph was a note that read "I'll be waiting for you," with a phone number that read +91 28675309. I'll have to call her later, Bond thought with a smile.
Sure enough, as Bond approached the main exit, he noticed a man in a formal black suit, a contrast to the colorful Hawaiian shirt Bond was wearing. The man was standing next to a luggage cart and was holding a sign that read BRYCE in handwritten letters. Bond instantly knew it was for him.
"Ah, Mr. Bryce, what a pleasure it is to see you again." The man greeted Bond as he approached. He spoke with a slight American accent. Together with a combination of a London accent, Bond couldn't quite place his nationality.
"Don't I know you from somewhere?" Bond quipped. He knew the man was MI6, as he had seen him in places before.
"Possibly." The man grinned. He leaned in and whispered to Bond, "Obviously, this isn't the place for proper introductions. Let's go outside, shall we?" He gestured toward the door. "We have a car waiting out there."
"Won't argue with that one." Bond knew it was a beautiful sunny day outside.
As they walked through the exit doors, they instantly felt the heat of a summer afternoon. Bond noticed a beautiful BMW 550i sedan dressed in a very dark midnight blue. It glistened in the sunlight, with its intricate lines and perfectly kept paint creating a shine almost as deep as the ocean itself.
"Company car?" Bond asked without taking his eyes off of it.
"My car," the agent answered with a hint of smugness in his voice. He was bringing out the luggage cart. After pressing a button on the keyfob, the trunk lid popped open. As he started to load the luggage, he stopped and turned toward Bond. "Oh, so sorry, forgot the introduction." He walked over to Bond to shake his hand. "Jason Prowess, CIA."
"Bond, James Bond," Bond answered, shaking the man's hand. "So you're CIA? I thought you were MI6."
"Technically I'm CIA, but I also do extensive undercover work for MI6."
"Hence the outfit." Bond pointed to Prowess' chauffeur uniform. Embroidered on it was a small Universal Exports badge.
"What did you expect?" Prowess answered with a smile. He began loading the car with Bond's luggage. It wasn't much, just a few suitcases, although they were rather heavy. Once he had picked up a certain black suitcase, Bond spoke up.
"You might want to be careful with that one."
"Something important in here?" Prowess looked inquisitively at the case.
"Just something from our old friend, Mister X."
"You know speaking of which, M wanted me to tell you that she wants to see you promptly upon your return." He gently set the suitcase inside the car.
"Wouldn't expect any less from the Queen of Hearts."
"Tell me about it," Prowess said in agreement. He closed the rear lid, walked around and opened Bond's door.
As Bond got in the car, he said "You know, I once knew a colonel who worked as a chauffeur."
"What happened to him?" Prowess entered the vehicle.
As the BMW drove away, Bond said "Let's just say his call for help did him in."
*****
M was busy in her office looking over files in her office. She was not pleased at all. Something had apparently gone very wrong and Bond was definitely going hear about it. She was alternating between pages on the computer screen and hard copy file folders. Papers were strewn across her desk, and M was writing notes on every single one of them. There was even a FOR YOUR EYES ONLY strip of paper that appeared to have been angrily torn in half. A particularly interesting set of papers were separate dossiers of both Bond and his original target, Jonathan Carter. Both sets had extensive notes scribbled on them, Bond's having a large question mark scratched on it.
Moneypenny was waiting in her office for Bond to arrive. She knew something was wrong, but she wasn't quite sure what. She knew it had to do with Bond, though. Nervously clicking a pen and biting its clip, she tried to do the work that was assigned to her. She was worried about Bond, as she hadn't seen M this angry or confused in ages, and she knew the coming meeting was not going to be pleasant.
Bond entered Moneypenny's office apparently without a care in the world. He was completely unaware of M's activities and was about to bring Baker's hard drive to her. He knew Q would have to examine it, but he wanted M to see it first--he thought it might be good for a bit of gratification, a nice "Good job, old chap" or something.
Moneypenny nervously smiled at Bond.
"What's wrong?" Bond asked. He could see something wasn't right by the look in her eyes.
"M's not happy at all..." She looked toward the door to M's office. "I think she's--" She was cut off mid-sentence by a familiar voice over the intercom.
"Moneypenny, I'm not paying you to chat. Send Bond in immediately."
Moneypenny looked toward Bond, who was very puzzled at this point. I wonder what I did this time, he thought. After a few moments, M was heard again.
"Moneypenny?"
"Right away, M," she answered.
"I guess I'd better get in there and face the storm." Bond said as he walked through M's office door, hard drive in hand. Without wasting a moment, Moneypenny pressed the button on the intercom to listen in on the ensuing conversation.
As Bond entered M's office, he approached her desk. She was typing away at her computer. Bond was glancing over the papers on the desk. He noticed a file with his name on it, one with Carter's name and even a file labeled "Max Obsidian," an individual still yet unknown to Bond. He looked up toward M, who was still typing.
"Ahem..." Bond cleared his throat. "I've brought you the next lead I've found," he set the drive down on M's desk, "Baker's hard drive. I know it will have to be examined, but--"
"Here's a lead for you," M said angrily. She tossed Bond a file folder. Bond was lucky it had been tied with a string, otherwise the papers in it would have gone flying across the room. Bond, having been caught off-guard, caught the folder clumsily.
"Just what the hell is that?" M demanded.
Bond opened the folder. Glancing over the papers, he saw files labeled "Operation Fairy's Wing," "Operation Seventh-Heaven" and "Operation Hawkeye," among other operations that Bond knew nothing about. There were also files on several persons Bond also knew nothing about: persons with names such as Yoshinori Tanaka, David Fox and a certain person named Max Obsidian. When looking at Obsidian's file, Bond had a feeling it was very closely related to what was going on, but he had no idea what the significance was.
"What are you talking about?" Bond asked. "What is all this?" He looked at Max Obsidian's file. It mentioned something about May 23, 1969 and something about the man's parents, but the rest had been blocked out with a black marker. Bond managed to make out through sloppy black ink that some of the original text had been replaced with a sort of cryptic gibberish. However Bond had seen messages in encrypted code before and this was not likely to be such an example. It didn't appear to be any sort of code with significance, in fact it looked like a computer glitch of some sort.
"We found those files in your computer."
"What?" Bond was shocked. "I have no idea what any of this is. Besides, it doesn't do me any good because it's all been bloody censored." He dropped the folder on M's desk.
"Then what were they doing in your computer?"
"How should I know? Why don't you ask..." Bond gestured toward the folder, "...Max Obsidian or whoever that is."
M paused for a moment, coldly staring at Bond. "The primary file we had on Obsidian had been modified. Much of his criminal record had been erased. I've got Q Branch working on retrieving the original files, but if they can't, I have to go back and fix it."
"What does this have to do with me?"
"The modifications was logged as being from your computer, under your password."
"And why would I do that?"
M released her glare on Bond and looked at the computer screen.
"We have another mole in our midst. I don't know if it's you or not--all I know is that it must be fixed immediately."
Bond looked away for a moment. "Why would I do any of that? I have absolutely no reason to look at these files. I couldn't care less about that Tanaka, Hawkeye or any of the rest of it. I wasn't assigned to it, so why should I care?"
M stared at the computer screen.
"And what's all this about Max Obsidian?" Bond insisted. He knew there was serious significance to this Obsidian character.
M stood up. "I've told you many times that I do not tolerate insubordination."
"And I don't like being used as a pawn! What do you know that you're not telling me?" Bond demanded.
M looked into Bond's eyes. She knew he wasn't the mole, but she now had even more problems on her hands. Shaking her head and glancing at the floor in frustration, she answered with "Come with me," walking around her desk toward the door. Bond followed her into Moneypenny's office. Pretending not to have heard the entire conversation between the two, she was typing away at her computer. M knew she had been listening, but pretended not to care. As both M and Bond exited the room, Moneypenny turned around and timidly stared at the door as it shut behind them.
James Bond entered his superior's office warily.Whatever is going on,he asked himself.I'm away for a few days--at her behest,doing my job--and when I return to the firm, I'm suddenly a suspect of some kind.This makes no sense, and I'll be damned if I'll let the Old Lady suggest I'm guilty of a crime.
Bond looked around M's office.Apart from a few minor changes,it hadn't been altered much over the years since this newer M had taken charge.The room's walls were woodpaneled, and there was new wall-to-wall carpeting(as always as thick as possible),and the old bookshelves that nearly covered the north and western walls were filled to bursting with books and private records.This M's desk was relatively new--she'd had it installed shortly before the "GoldenEye" operation took place.It was handmade--of oak,if Bond was correct.It's reassuring to see that there are still some gifted craftsmen about,he thought.
Two large chairs faced M's desk.He slowly walked over and stood by the one facing M's right side.It's up to her to make the next move,he decided.
M seated herself and gestured to the stuffed chair placed directly before her desk.She then started fanning the folders out before her.Following that she looked up at Bond.
"Sit down,007," she said in an offhand manner.
"No thanks,Ma'am,"Bond replied."If you're going to call me a traitor,I'd just as soon stand."
"Oh,do sit down,James.Now." She glanced up and looked directly into Bond's face.She spoke slowly,in softer tones,carefully choosing her words."Please,James.Look,I'm very sorry if I offended you.I didn't really intend to do that.But what I said had to look convincing for any possible moles among us."
"Very well,Ma'am,apology accepted."James Bond replied.In the back of his mind he continued to ask himself,what the hell's going on?Bond knew that whenever any of his commanding officers addressed him by his Christian name there was liable to be trouble ahead--and it would often be of a personal nature.Special favours might be involved.The late Admiral Messervey had treated him this way on numerous occasions, and his successor was now doing likewise.The more things change...he thought.
"Please understand that what I just said to you outside this room was only for public consumption.I know you weren't involved with any criminal activities.I trust you,007.However",she continued, as Bond slowly seated himself,"we've been infiltrated, and are being monitored by outside forces.Just the other day, while you were away in India,Q found a few bugs in this very office.We're now on high alert because we're still uncertain as to how many people have managed to penetrate our security.That said,this place is safe...at least as safe as the experts of Q Branch can make it."
Bond glanced round the room."Then it's sterile."
"Let's hope so",M said.
She looks older,Bond realized.She's much more worried than she's trying to let on."What about the suspects in those folders?"he asked.
"We've run a check on them, and our field agents confirm that they might very well be among the individuals behind the infiltration and turning of our people,"M paused."These are all successful businessmen,007-and they're all independently wealthy.They have admirable public personas,but that doesn't place them above suspicion.Many of them are in shipping, and if we can judge by prior history,some of them could easily have ties to organized crime.The magnates in particular aren't exactly virgins,are they?"
Despite himself,Bond smiled."My blushes,Ma'am,such language."
"But it's true," M continued."Most of them are pirates at some level, and they're always out to eliminate the competition."She paused and held up the Obsidian file.The one with the torn FOR YOUR EYES ONLY seal.
"Interesting story,this one," M began."Apparently shipping wasn't enough for Obsidian,Sr.,because we've confirmed via our various sources that he also had a few fingers in art theft,forgery and prostitution.But from what we've been able to learn,Obsidian drew the line at drugs.And we believe that that was why he and his family were killed."
With that comment,Bond immediately remembered some highlights of the extensive coverage the murder of Obsidian family had received in the press.As far as he was aware,every bit of information in connection with that terrible event had been revealed to the public.But now it sounded as though there was even more to the story. "What happened to them," Bond asked warily,"and what does that have to do with our current problem?"
"I'm coming to that,007.As I'm sure you're well aware,the entire Obsidian family were mysteriously attacked by persons unknown and only young Obsidian Jr.,managed to survive.At least that's the information which was given out for the public."M handed the folder over to Bond who opened it carefully."But there's more to the story," she added.
Bond looked at the enclosed photographs.Here then,were the entire Obsidian family-this taken at what appeared to have been a wedding,judging by the formal clothing they were wearing.There were four members of the family altogether:Maximillian Sr.,his wife Petra and their four children;Maximillian Jr(at age 15,the eldest son),followed by Stavros,the 12 year old, and Maria, the 10 year old daughter.Max Sr.,was a robust looking man in his late 30s,with a wrestler's build.He had a hooked nose and a head of curly iron grey hair.His wife Petra was slender but shapely, with thin yet attractive features-as Bond read,she'd once been a beauty queen in her native Croatia.Max Jr., was dark haired and somber looking,whereas Stavros and Maria were grinning happily.All in all,they were an attractive family.Bond said as much to M.
M nodded in agreement and then indicated another photograph lying directly beneath the group portrait."Take a look,she said.
Bond's eyes momentarily widened in surprise.It was a police photograph.He paid careful attention to the figure in the picture."This man was never mentioned by the press.In fact,he wasn't mentioned anywhere..."
"No, he wasn't--and we'd like to know why.That's going to be part of your job,007--we want to learn more about him and how he died."
Bond glanced up into M's eyes.And in instants she continued talking.
"Of course,foul play was definitely involved,although exactly why and how all those people died remained something of a mystery to the general public,anyway(she nodded at the final photo Bond had looked at)--until recently, when Q came across certain evidence which had accidentally lain dormant for some time."
M leaned over and pressed the red button on her intercom."Send Q in now,Moneypenny".
"Yes,Ma'am,"Moneypenny responded.
And in within moments,the Quartermaster entered M's office.He strode to the center of the room directly between Bond and M.He was dressed in a dark tweed suit and wore handmade shoes.He was carrying a small satchel under his left arm.
To James Bond's eyes, the man everyone called "Q", was nearly one of Ronald Searle's cartoon characters come to life.Q was very tall-a towering six feet six inches,and because of his slim physique,at first glance,Q's arms and legs appeared to be overlong-like a spider's legs,Bond thought.Q had pale green eyes,a head of thinning white hair,and a slim face with a prominent nose and a firm jaw.His upper lip was hidden beneath an elegant military moustache.
Unlike his predecessor--the legendary Major Geoffrey Boothroyd--this Quartermaster had excellent posture and always made a point to stand with his shoulders thrown back.Bond thought Q was in his early 60s, but it was difficult to be certain, because during those times when he became really animated on the subjects he cared most about,Q seemed almost like an excited boy.A very tall boy with a moustache.
Q nodded to M and 007 and then began speaking without preamble in a rich, carefully modulated voice with an accent that immediately identified him as an Oxford graduate.
"Right...now here's the thing."Q began.He held a small object up in his left hand and then casually tossed it to 007.Bond caught it with ease.It was a bullet,a make he didn't quite recognize,but it looked vaguely familiar to Bond all the same.
Q turned his attention to Bond."Now you're probably saying to yourself,that's just a typical hollowpoint sniper bullet,aren't you,007?Well,it's not.Not at all."
M interrupted,"What's so important about this hollow point?What's it's purpose?"
James Bond pushed an errant lock of hair off from his forehead and replied."It's damn a dangerous piece of business,Ma'am.Unlike the solid point that simply goes inside it's target,the hollow point literally tears a target's body open upon impact, and then the remainder of the bullet disperses it's full charge once completely inside the target subject."
"Are you saying it explodes?"
007 responded,"In a manner of speaking,yes,Ma'am.
That's exactly what it does.Quite lethal when fired into the right portion of a target's anatomy."Bond continued to examine the bullet and then looked up towards Q. "This thing's a shade too large for an ordinary rifle,isn't it?"Bond then checked the shell casing,adding,"Odd....it doesn't even have a caliber marking."
"Right you are,007,"Q said."This particular kind of bullet was specially made,and it was made for machine guns-not for rifles."Q cleared his throat."They're filled with a highly combustable charge that upon impact proves to be most explosive indeed."
Bond's eyes widened.
"Oh you needn't be concerned,007," Q continued,"there's no powder in that casing.Even if there was,it wouldn't discharge -so to speak-until it had been fired and entered it's target."
"Were these bullets designed to bring down walls?Destroy cars?kill large animals?"he asked.
"No,007--they were used on human beings,"Q replied.
Following a brief pause,Q said,"You both know how I always make a point of testing everything before writing up my reports.Well,after I loaded these things up in one our Uzis,imagine my surprise when I fired a few of them over on our range.Literally blew the targets to shreds.Then I tried a few on our humanoid dummies.Pieces everywhere.Pretty potent."Q shook his head in disgust."Some things simply aren't done,"Q added, a clear note of disapproval in his voice."Not sporting at all.Not at all,"he sniffed.
"Here,see for yourselves,"Q added,inserting a DVD into M's computer.Q pressed a few keys and in seconds M and Bond watched as a series of dummies were blown into pieces,the artificial limbs and heads and torsos tearing apart upon impact.
"Good lord," M muttered,her eyes open in astonishment.
"Not sporting,"Q repeated.
"But what would a bullet like this have to do with the death of the Obsidian family?" Bond asked--already anticipating the answer.
M said,"As Q Branch and Interpol have confirmed,a few of those bullets were found at the scene of the Obsidian massacre.And we believe these bullets were made under the directions of this man,"she held up a photograph-- it's back facing 007's-"and that he then ordered them to be used on the Obsidians." With that,M handed the posed studio portrait of a man Bond had killed in Japan several years ago.
This particular photo had been taken at the time it's subject was aggressively pressing his claim to be recognized as the legitimate Count de Bleuchap.The subject's face was thin and clean-shaven.The man's head was topped with an impressive mane of aristocratic white hair.He had a square jaw and a long aquiline nose.Overall,the man's features were hawklike and distinguished.Only the impossibly black eyes peering out from under long bushy brows--evil eyes--hinted at the cruelty and madness which had enveloped the man's entire being.With one glance,007's face turned white with rage.For an instant his blue eyes burned with hatred.
The man in the photograph was the late Ernst Stavro Blofeld.
For an instant,James Bond felt ill.He quickly set the picture aside.Images swiftly arrived unbidden from recesses of his memory.In an instant,Bond was once again helplessly staring in shock at the lifeless face of his beloved Tracy-cruelly taken away forever with one shot.
James Bond frowned at the picture and growled,"Hell's much too fine a place for that b*st*rd."
"Are you all right,James?" M asked softly.
"Yes Ma'am,I'm all right--really".Bond made a half hearted attempted to smile.007 then produced his gunmetal cigarette case from his coat pocket and inclined his head.M nodded,and he quickly lit up a Morelands.
M handed Bond an envelope containing more photographs.007 began to glance at the pictures as M continued talking."We have evidence that some time back,in fact,shortly before 'Operation Thunderball',ever went into effect--about a year before S.P.E.C.T.R.E. brought down that bomber--Maximillian Obsidian Sr., was doing business with a certain Italian millionaire of our acquaintance.I'm sure you'll recognize him,007."
Yes indeed,there was no mistaking the face.It was a face much like that found on ancient Roman coins;the noble face of the notorious Emilio Largo.As with all of the photos in this group, this picture had been taken at a distance with a camera outfitted with a telephoto lens.
In the first picture,Largo was standing beside Maximillain Obsidian Sr.They were dressed formally and seemed to be talking animatedly.Other pictures taken on another day showed Largo at a rifle range with Obsidian Sr.The two men were dressed casually in light colored suits.
Yet another picture showed Largo and Obsidian Sr., aboard Largo's lavish yacht the Disco Volante.They were smiling.
Bond sneered."For an international playboy, Largo was always rather low-rent.The only good taste he ever displayed was with his women."
Then Bond looked directly at M."Ma'am,S.P.E.C.T.R.E. once had a hand in every dirty pie imaginable,and then some.If this fellow Obsidian crossed them--or if they even thought he'd crossed them--he was a dead man."
"And that's precisely what we believe happened," M said."Somewhere along the way, Obsidian Sr.,apparently had a crisis of conscience.Whether it was an aversion to drug smuggling, or a fear of what a terrorist organization like S.P.E.C.T.R.E. might do with nuclear devices, we cannot say."She paused then continued."However,in going through the older files, we've found solid evidence that Obsidian Sr., was trying to contact MI6,the CIA and Interpol at least five days before his estate was raided and he and his family were killed."
Q added,"From all the information at hand,we're guessing that Blofeld sent Largo and a cleanup crew to the Obsidian estate on the island of Minos,and it was they who stormed and killed the family.They used this ammunition,so there'd be nothing recognizable left behind."
"It'd be an extremely strong message for anyone else who might consider turning on Blofeld and his gang," Bond remarked.
"Indeed.From what we've learned,some members of the local police were also in on the raid, and they looked the other way.Even cleaned up some of the debris left behind--at least as much as possible.We now know about this because we've since found a few prison confessions from various former policemen confirming these actions," Q replied.
"The place must've been a charnel house,"Bond said.
Then M asked Q,"tell me, with such destruction, how could anyone one hope to identify the remains?"
Q replied."The traditional way:teeth,bits of bone.According to Major Boothroyd's notes, it was a rum go ID'ing what was left behind, but it was definitely the Obsidians,no question.We recently used DNA testing on the few remains available to us.All positive matches.Naturally I cross-checked with Interpol and our friends with the CIA."
"According to this report",Bond noted,"Max Obsidian Jr.,was on Minos with his family, yet he somehow escaped this catastrophe." He shook his head sympathetically."I wonder how that happened."
"You'll soon find out 007, because I'm sending you to investigate Max Obsidian.Now currently we've no proof he's that done anything to concern us, but we believe that he's still a good suspect regardless.Our people always seem to run into the trouble and misdirection wherever he's been.In your guise as David Somerset,an executive of Universal Exports,you'll soon be off to see Obsidian at his home in Majorca.We sent some feelers out to him and he's agreed to see you.You'll be representing U.E.'s London office, and you're to discuss our firm's possibly assisting him with his shipments in Western Europe.You know,give him the usual line..."
In truth,James Bond wasn't exactly keen on the idea of traveling so soon after his recent experiences in Finland, but an opportunity to meet the very mysterious Maximillian Obsidian Jr., intrigued him.He turned to M,"When do I leave?"
"A week from now.Remember 007,he's only one of several plausible suspects.We just want you to check him out informally."
Then M noddeded to the file lying before Bond."Just so you'l know who to look for, here's what little current information we have at hand."She pointed again to the Obsidian file marked FOR YOUR EYES ONLY, and Bond withdrew a photograph of an attractive couple in formal clothes taken at a party of some kind around a year ago.
The first individual to draw Bond's eye was the woman.According to the caption on the back of the picture, her name was Adriana Valivova.From her name,she's likely a Czech,Bond surmised.Adriana was a striking brunette with the delcate features of a face from a cameo.This woman looked to be in her late 20s or early 30s.She was wearing a long,clinging silver lame' Mandarian-necked gown.There was a revealing slit on the right side of the dress displaying a lovely leg.
But then there was the man himself...there was no question Obsidian commanded attention.In Bond's eyes, this fellow looked like trouble.Big trouble.
So this is the famous Maximillain Obsidian, Jr.He cuts an impressive figure,Bond thought.By sheer force of personality,Obsidian immediately stood out from among the large crowd of partiers.In general terms,Max Obsidian was what people might consider classically handsome,with a prominent nose and a strong jaw.He was clean-shaven, and his dark hair was cut short and combed straight back from the forehead.Max Obsidian was tall and slim,with broad shoulders and an athletic physique.The billionaire shipping magnate was wearing an Yves Saint Laurent white coated tuxedo and smiling brightly-to Bond's practiced eye,it was a false expression.007 had seen more sincere smiles on the faces of killer sharks.In actual fact,Obsidian looked far more ruthless and determined than he did amused.Due to his occupation, 007 had seen the faces of plenty of dangerous men--judging from the face in this photograph, James Bond could tell that Max Obsidian was one of their number.
Bond glanced up, his eyes locking onto M's."They look like a fun couple--especially him."
"That's for you to find out,007."M replied."But do try not to get too distracted.We'll want you back in one piece."
* * * * * *
This nightmare was worse than any of the dreams he'd ever had before.
It was so terrible that Max Obsidian rose up from his bed screaming, "NO!NO!NO!NO!!!!"
Adriana was lying beside her lover and immediately reached out and placed a pair of reassuring hands on his shoulders."Poor Max..."she murmured.She began to give him a slow shoulder rub.
Adriana's voice had always had a soothing,calming effect on Max.He quaked in reaction to the horrors he'd witnessed, and then as the moment passed, he turned to look at the worried expression on Adriana's face.
"It was worse than before," he said."This time I saw something.At least I think I did..."
"Oh?...Really?"
"It wasn't clear.It was only sensations,half-images.Nothing fully formed or easy to determine.But,even so, I think-I'm sure-I saw people dying."Max looked straight ahead.
He continued."And I think I heard gunshots--I can't be positive--but I'm sure that's what they were.They went on forever and they wouldn't stop.I was in a room--the room itself was white and enormous.But all at once it was red everywhere, and the walls all started to close in on me from every side.And I was covered with blood-blood.And I was alone.All alone."
"You're not alone now."Adriana said.
Max got up from the bed and wandered over to an large open window overlooking the sea.He then stepped out onto the marble balcony.Adriana quickly followed him and wrapped an arm around him.They were staying in the Obsidian villa on Majorca on a weekend holiday.All had gone well--until tonight.Then the demons returned.
Adriana said,"You really must tell your new doctor all about this when you see him again.He'll help you sort everything all out."
"He won't be coming back...he's been permanently discharged."
"Oh",Adriana responded.You've killed another one,she thought."That's too bad ",she said aloud
Max nodded in agreement."But it's possible that he might actually made some progress with me,after all.That damned nightmare could have been a delayed reaction to his hypnotic treatment."
"Or it may've only been a nightmare and nothing more.Maybe he told you what to dream.I wouldn't place all of my in trust hypnotists.They can make men bark like dogs, but to help them look into the past?No.I don't think so.Perhaps its all for the best that you not know the source of these dreams.Let it go."
Max smiled and gently put a hand under Adriana's chin,lifting her mouth up to his meet his own.He kissed her passionately.She kissed him back fiercely, and when they finally drew apart,
she wrapped herself around him and moaned."Let's go back to bed," Adriana whispered in a low husky voice,as she reached below his waist.Max turned and stroked her shoulder.
"You should live for today,Max.Don't dwell in the past.Leave it alone.Every day is like a page in a book you're writing for yourself.Start a new chapter" Adriana said.
For a time all was silent.
Max glanced back at the beautiful young woman standing beside him.He recalled how Adriana had tried to rob him ten years ago.She'd entered a room several hundred feet above the ground by entering an adjacent room and then walked across the two inch ledge outside of the windows.It turned out that she'd once been a circus wirewalker and heights presented no problems for her.Impressed by Adriana's nerve,instead of killing her--as he'd ordinarily have done with most burglars--he'd chosen to put her in his employ instead.It was one of the smartest decisions I ever made,Max realized.She's smart, and she's talented, and she's loyal.Adriana can go into places where men aren't allowed, and she'll kill an opponent as quickly as I would.Adriana may have the conscience of an alley cat, but I find I can trust her.Adriana cares about me.In this crazy world, I think she helps to keep me sane.
Max Obsidian spoke in hushed tones."You know,it was Coleridge who once said,"'Dreams are no shadows, but the very substance and calamities of my life.'I can't very well let him speak for me too,can I?"
Adriana slowly shook her head and Obsidian again pulled her tightly against him.As they looked out at the night sky, a bright bolt of lightning suddenly burst forth from among the distant clouds.They both involuntarily shuddered at the sound of the rolling thunder.There was a storm heading their way...
===================
"Yes, the automated hacking device that sends information back to MI-6." He'd used an older version of this before in Siberia.
"Correct. Since you still know how to use this, I'll lead you over here," he said, walking towards a seemingly standard Heckler and Koch G36KE assault rifle. "Now this is no ordinary assault rifle, 007. This knob over here creates a jamming field, making it undetectable by any sort of scanning device, including weapons scanners. This over here activates a magnet, ideal for retrieving keys, rings, and various other metal objects. And this opens up to reveal a panel that decrypts keypad locked doors. You'll still have to punch in the numbers yourself, though."
"Impressive," Bond noted, considering how Q managed to insert so much into such a small space.
"Oh, and by the way, this button over here is a 10 second fuse. Keep that in mind."
"That should go well with those explosive bullets you mentioned earlier."
"You'll only have 5 of them, so I trust that you'll make them count, 007."
* * *
A while later, he was in his office, not necessarily concerned about Max Obsidian, but more importantly, who the hell got in his office and hacked into his computer. He began to wonder how long it would be before Bond once again had a doppelgänger running around, completely emulating his mannerisms and appearances. Or someone else's. If it was an inside job, they would have little problem revealing M's identity to whoever wanted it, since only an insider would know just enough about M to create an imposter. That thought alone made Bond prepare himself for cautiousness around her, especially if she would send him on a suicide mission, or more directly, attempt to assassinate him on the spot in her office. Bond realized he was soon playing an ugly game of smoke and mirrors. But for the short duration, dinner with Lissa sounded like a relaxing alternative before significantly pursuing Max Obsidian and Adriana Valivova.
The stench of exhaust from a passing lorry pulled him from his observation. Casually, he draped his chauffer’s jacket across his arm and pulled his mobile phone from the pocket.
“VoxBrahma,” he spoke softly into the voice recognition speed dial.
The phone dialed the number and a kind voice answered. “VoxBrahma Teleservices. How may I assist you?”
“Hello. My name is Peters. Nehran was helping me with ticket number 445511.”
“Please hold while I transfer you.” The phone clicked repeatedly, and in a matter of seconds the connection was completed.
“This is Nehran. May I have your ticket number, please.”
“445511.” Prowess answered.
“Special Agent Prowess, this is Cobra.”
For a moment, Prowess looked confused. “Where’s Baker?”
“Baker is dead,” Cobra answered. “I will be your handler. Do you have the target?”
Prowess gazed up into the golden window. “I’m looking at her now. She’s with Bond.”
“This is good. And you have the DNA?”
Prowess felt his pocket for the bagged chauffer’s glove. It was specially designed to extract skin cells from Bond’s hand and retain them perfectly. “I have it.”
“And the files on Bond’s computer. They were found?” Cobra asked.
“Yes. It was tricky, but they were planted just as you asked. What do I do now?”
“Undoubtedly, Bond will be leaving on a mission in the very near future. He will most likely spend the evening with the girl. Once Bond has left, eliminate the girl. Strangle her, using the gloves we have provided. The DNA traces on her throat, coupled with the obvious evidence of their…copulation…will leave investigators no choice but to pursue him. His leaving the country will only make him appear more guilty. Does MI6 have the hard drive in custody?”
“Yes. It was delivered to Q Branch this afternoon.”
“Excellent. I’m sure they will be quite surprised to find out the many exploits Agent 007 has been up to. Carry on with your assignment. Do not call this number again. VoxBrahma will no longer be active. We do not want to hear from you until the girl is dead.”
“Understood.” Prowess pocketed the phone, his eyes never leaving the glowing window across the street.
So far he had seen three patients. The first had been a man who was having difficulty maintaining long lasting and meaningful relationships. Albert had soon realised that the man was suffering from privation caused by being brought up in institutions during his childhood -and that as a consequence of the normal home environment not being present when this man had come into contact with others he had become somewhat clingy and over reliant on others which in turn had meant he was unable to experience the basic feeling of guilt when needed -which had resulted in the rejection of others and the onset of depression which was heading towards the realms of anger and frustration. The first thing was to prescribe the necessary drugs to help this individual achieve a better sense of wellbeing and then a course of meetings and life-skill sessions to help rebuild his life.
The second was a woman with an eating disorder -a series of therapy sessions were meant to be helping her feel more comfortable around food, however progress was slow and as a result some hypnosis had been decided on as a means to speed up progress.
His third and final patient that morning was a woman who was suffering from serious delusions of grandeur. She felt she was Mary Magdaline and was carrying Christ's child -and had been "pregnant" for three years! The diagnosis of schizophrenia had meant a series of tests and interviews were necessary for research reasons, her case was bizarre but sadly not uncommon - Albert found the case fascinating -but not today -he just wanted to scoot her out of his room so that he could go on his lunch and see the real 'Are You "different?"' picture -his anticipation was getting the better of him and he could barely maintain his professionalism whilst talking to her. However he managed it. When she had gone -he looked at his reflection in the mirror and swept his hand through his hair smoothing down his slightly greying curls. He readjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, straightened his tie and headed out of the University hospital onto Resevoir road where he climbed into his silver Chevrolet SUV to go to 3017 N. Glebe Road, Arlington to the Washington Golf and Country Club for his meeting with Hector.
Hector Lopez was Puerto Rican by birth and through his dealings with certain elements of the criminal underworld had managed to build a "respectable" import export business. Unknown to Albert Zimbardo Lopez was not meeting him to sell the picture the man so sorely wanted but to actually make him an offer he couldn't refuse.
Three hours later the private Cessna was taking Zimbardo to a destination unknown. All he knew was that some one needd to see him and should he do as he is told he will be in the position to purchase as many pieces of "pop art" as he he desired. such a claim was just too bizarre for him but he became to frightened to say anything when a man introduced as one of Hector's associates revealed the butt of a gun in his waistband underneath his seersucker jacket.
Albert was on his way to meet Max Obsidian with no idea, that what the near future held for him was a series of events that if he'd heard them in one of his therapy sessions he'd have to say the person telling them was suffering from acute mental breakdown and illness.
Lissa lifted a spoonful of curry to her mouth and tasted it. She looked across the table at Bond who watched with genial amusement.
"What do you think?"
"It’s delicious."
"Not bad, is it? The chef used to work for MI6 in India in a kind of unofficial capacity. But his first love has always been cooking."
"I can cook too."
"Finnish cooking?"
"Of course."
"Pickled herring on black bread?"
Lissa sighed.
"It’s true. A lot of Finnish food comes from other countries. Pickled herring is Dutch and black bread is Russian."
"So what can you cook?"
"I like Karelian food. Beef hot pots, potato pasties. Good winter food."
"Wouldn’t be very popular in India."
Lissa smiled.
"No I suppose not."
Bond raised his glass for a toast and Lissa did likewise.
"To good food everywhere."
They drank. As Bond put his glass down he noticed a figure standing in the street below. He took out his mobile phone and glanced apologetically at Lissa.
"Forgive me but I have to check my messages."
He quickly sent an SMS to MI6: Am under surveillance. Regent Street. Advise if M authorised. Bond.
As he waited for a reply the waiter came and set some new dishes in front of them. A few minutes later came back the reply: No surveillance authorised. It’s not one of ours. Take care James. Moneypenny.
Bond snapped his phone shut. Lissa glanced at it.
"May I see?"
Bond handed it to her.
"I used to make mobile phones in the sweat shop."
"Now that you’re a free woman what are you going to do with yourself?"
"I don’t know yet. I hate to think of all the other girls who are still being exploited. I’d like to help them somewhow. But I don’t know how."
Bond raised his glass again.
"To your future career, whatever it may be."
They drank. Bond surveyed the empty platters and looked at Lissa.
"Would you like anything else."
"Oh no thank you. I’m full."
"Well how about coffee? I know a place just down the road."
"Sounds great."
Bond paid the bill and they walked down the stairs and into the warm London evening. As they sauntered along regent Street, Bond used the reflections in the windows on the other side of the road to see if they were still being followed. They were.
He and Lissa had coffee at a small café called Bar Humbug. The walls were covered in photographs of famous frauds and killjoys from history like Queen Victoria, Richard Nixon, Jerry Falwell and the Reverend Lyman Beecher, an advocate of prohibition in the twenties. It was not the kind of place that Bond would normally have frequented but he wanted to see what their tail would do. Sure enough, he was at another café on the other side of the street. From where he sat Bond could not see his face.
After coffee they returned to Bond’s car and he drove Lissa back to her hotel. On the way Bond noticed that he was now being tailed by a car. He escorted Lissa to her door and stood with hands in pockets as she unlocked her door.
"Would you like to come in?"
Bond looked ruefully at her.
"I’d love to. But I can’t tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow."
Lissa looked disappointed. Bond suddenly took her in his arms and kissed her. When he drew back Lissa was almost unconscious, lost in the ecstasy. She opened her eyes and looked longingly at him.
"Are you sure you can’t stay?"
Bond nodded regretfully.
"I’m afraid not."
"James. Before you go, I’ve got something for you."
She disappeared into the room and came back holding a small gift-wrapped box about the size of a cigarette box.
Bond opened it and took out a flat silver spirits flask. It was beautifully made and was obviously an antique. Bond opened it and sniffed.
"Vodka?"
"Of course."
He laughed.
"What’s the occasion?"
"I know its not my money but I wanted to buy you something to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I saw it in a shop down in the arcade and it made me think of you. I’ll never forget that night we spent in the cabin drinking vodka from the same glass and trying to keep warm."
Bond examined it more closely.
"It’s not a hip flask, they’re curved."
"No it’s a heart flask. Soldiers put them in their shirt pockets during the war to protect their hearts from bullets."
She took it and tucked it carefully into his shirt pocket.
"There you go - now you’re heart is safe."
Bond was touched but he could find no words. They looked at each other for a long moment and then he managed to break the silence.
"Thank you. Good night and sweet dreams."
She smiled wistfully at him and backed into the room. He waited until her door had closed and locked and then returned to his car. As he drove off he passed the car that had been tailing him. In his rear view mirror he saw a figure get out and enter the hotel lobby. Bond cursed. The man wasn’t after him, he was after Lissa. He stopped his car in the middle of the street, jumped out despite the honking of the cars behind him and ran back into the hotel. He skidded to a stop at the lifts, startling several people who were standing waiting for it. As he waited he thought of using the stairs but Lissa’s room was on the 10th floor so they would be no quicker and he didn’t want to be out of breath for what might follow. The lift finally arrived. He leapt in ahead of the others and drew his gun causing them to step back in fear. He punched 10 and Close Doors. The lift took him smoothly up to the 10th floor. When the doors opened he peered out. Lissa’s door was closed which meant that whoever it was was either very charming or very good with locks.
He ran quietly to her door, knocked and spoke with a heavy Cockney accent.
"Room service. Your dry cleaning is ready."
There was a pause and then someone could be heard coming over to the door. As soon as it began to open Bond shoulder charged it with all his might knocking the figure on the other side backwards onto the carpet. As soon as he entered the room Bond registered three things very quickly. First, Lissa was lying on the bed with her eyes open but not moving. Second, the man on the floor was in fact Special Agent Jack Prowess. Third, Prowess had taken out a knife and was about to throw it. Bond fired as the knife left Prowess’s hand. The bullet hit Prowess in the right shoulder. The knife hit Bond in the chest but fell harmlessly to the floor. Somewhat surprised, Prowess reached inside his jacket with his other hand but Bond fired again hitting him in the left forearm. Prowess screamed and fell back, both arms now useless. Bond stepped forward and kicked him viciously in the head knocking him out cold.
Bond leapt over to the bed and felt Lissa’s heart. There was no pulse that he could detect. Her neck was badly bruised - she had been strangled. Desperately he started resuscitation, pushing on her sternum for five counts and then breathing into her mouth for one. After a few attempts, her back convulsed and she coughed up a small amount of blood. She weakly opened her eyes. Bond breathed a sigh of relief. He leaned in and gently lifted her head, cradling the back of her neck.
"Are you alright?" Bond asked softly.
Lissa tried to speak, but had difficulty doing so. It seemed her vocal cords had been damaged.
"Do you think you can make it?" Bond asked worriedly.
Lissa responded slowly. "I..." She weakly reached her arm up and lovingly touched the side of Bond's face. Slowly, she lowered her arm back to the bed and rested her head in Bond's hand. Bond quickly checked her pulse--she had gone unconscious, yet she was still alive.
He gave a great groan of frustration. It didn’t make any sense. Why would anyone want to kill her? She didn’t know anything, she was no threat to anyone. After everything he had done to try and get her away from the monsters who had been using her since she was a child, she had just come inches between falling prey to them.
"Rest, my dear." He pulled a pillow over to her and laid her head in it. Angry, he walked over to the unconscious Prowess, hauled him roughly onto a chair and tied him to it with his own necktie. Then he searched him and divested him of a number of CIA gadgets. He noticed that Prowess was wearing the same white gloves he had been wearing when they first met at the airport. They no doubt contained DNA that would identify Prowess as Lissa’s attempted murderer. Bond pulled them off, turned them inside out and pocketed them.
He went into the room’s ensuite and got a glass of water. He took a sip and then threw the rest in Prowess’s face. The other man stirred slightly. Bond backhanded Prowess savagely across the face and he started awake. Bond tapped his wounded right shoulder with the butt of his gun. Prowess grimaced in pain.
"Now that I have your full attention, I want some answers."
Prowess said nothing.
"Why Lissa?"
Prowess just stared at him. Bond tapped his left forearm. Prowess’s face was a rictus of agony but he remained silent. In spite of himself Bond had to admire the man’s self control. Prowess was bleeding heavily from his wounds so Bond had to get some answers fast.
"Either you start talking or I will call room service and order some tequila."
Prowess looked at him in surprise.
"So?"
"As I’m sure you are aware, tequila is served with two things - salt and lemon. Do you know what happens if you add either of these substances to an open wound?"
"I can’t tell you anything. If I do I’m a dead man."
"You think I won’t kill you? Think again. You’re a dead man either way. So why not do the right thing before you meet your Maker?"
Prowess stared into space for a moment. His face was becoming pale from blood loss.
"You’ll never find him. He’s too smart. He’s been playing MI6 for years. Playing you all like fools."
"Mister X?"
Prowess nodded.
"You admire him, don’t you?"
"He’s made me a very rich man."
"The money’s not much good to you dead though, is it?"
Prowess said nothing.
"Listen to me Prowess. Mister X, whoever he is, is a user. That’s what he does. He’s not interested in toppling governments or destroying the world. He likes the system just the way it is because he can manipulate it to do anything he wants. He’s used you and here you are, about to die."
Prowess glared impotent hatred at him. Bond picked up the room’s telephone and dialed room service.
"Yes, this is Mr Prowess in Room 1013. Can you please send up a bottle of tequila with plenty of salt and lemon? Thank you."
He replaced the receiver and looked at Prowess.
"And now we wait. But not for long - I believe the service in this hotel is excellent."
Prowess was weakening quickly. His breathing was shallow and uneven. Bond suddenly realised that he was manipulating his own breathing pattern to induce death as quickly as possible. Suddenly Prowess went rigid and then collapsed, his head lolling to one side, his eyes glassy and unseeing. He was dead.
Bond cursed his own stupidity for not spotting what Prowess was doing. He looked around the room and felt a sudden chill from all the recent violence that had happened, but felt a certain warmth when he saw Lissa on the bed, her chest rhythmically moving up and down as she was breathing. After looking around the room, he noticed Prowess’s knife lying on the floor near the door and picked it up. It was extremely heavy and at first Bond thought that it was made from iron but then realised that it was actually made from heavy black glass. More obsidian, he thought. It was double edged and razor sharp and would have killed him if it had penetrated his chest. He took out the heart flask that Lissa had given him.
Bond knew he had saved her life, yet he still felt that he had failed to protect her. It was a miracle she was still alive. Think, he berated himself. What do you now know that you didn’t before? An idea suddenly occurred to him. He opened his phone and scanned the list of names from the files that had been tampered with on his computer. Suddenly his eyes were drawn to one name in particular. Maximilian Obsidian. Prowess had an obsidian knife. Baker had been talking about obsidian just before he was killed. And he had seen some obsidian even earlier. At the Mortar and Pestle. The statue on Baba Yaga's mantle had been made from it. It had to be more than coincidence.
Bond looked at the heart flask that Lissa had given him. He tucked it away in his coat pocket and dialed a three-digit number on his phone.
"007. It's about Vasilissa. She's been badly injured. Crowne Plaza London St. James, Room Six-hundred and Ninety, send an ambulance immediately..." He went to hang up, then said to the operator, "You'll also find Mr. Prowess here. It seems we've found our mole." He hung up the phone and put it in the pocket of his slacks. He walked toward the door and turned around.
"I know who he is Lissa. And I'm going to stop him hurting girls like you. Just like you wanted."
Bond left the room and headed for the elevator.
The obsidian dagger lay on the passenger’s seat, and Bond kept turning his eyes from the road to look at the black weapon. As it was now one o’clock in the morning, he decided that he would go to the flat, get cleaned up and have a little rest, then first thing in the morning he would show M what he had found; the dagger, and of course the gloves. The metropolitan police would take care of the dead bodies in the hotel suite. Bond parked in Wellinington Square, just outside his flat and rushed over to the door and opened it.
The Scottish housekeeper, May, was already waiting for him. “Ah, sir. I wondered when you’d be home. Your office telephoned to say that they’re sending someone to pick you up.”
“Really?” Bond asked, looking puzzled. “They don’t usually send people to collect me. It sounds a bit suspicious to me.”
“Well, they said that she would be here at two o’clock. They said that it couldn’t wait until the morning.”
“Did you say she would pick me up?”
“Yes, they said it would be a girl. I wrote the name down, hang on while I get it.” May scurried into the living room and fetched a piece of paper. “Here it is, sir. Jennifer Smart.”
“Jennifer Smart? I don’t know anyone with that name. Still, we have ways of checking if she is genuine.”
At precisely 2 AM, the doorbell rang, and Bond, now showered and changed into a clean suit, opened the door to find himself faced by a tall, young lady dressed in formal, narrow cut trousers and matching jacket in charcoal grey, with a thin white shirt underneath which did little to disguise the features of her large, firm breasts.
“Miss Smart, I presume.” Bond said as he opened the door.
“Yes.” She said, smiling at Bond. “But please feel free to call my Jenny, Commander Bond.”
“In that case, please call me James, at least in private.”
She blushed as Bond picked up his jacket and followed her out the door. There was a vaguely familiar look about her eyes, but Bond couldn't work out where he recognised them from. He must have seen her before in MI6 headquarters, although nothing else in her appearance seemed at all familiar to Bond, which puzzled him. He smelled a trap, his instincts told him not to trust the girl. He had decided to leave the dagger with May, he wanted to take that to M personally, and if this girl was a fake, then he didn’t want to be giving his best clue back to the enemy.
Just as the girl opened the car door, Bond asked, “Do you have a pen that I could borrow?”
“Just one of the company pens.” She said, and showed him a silver pen, engraved with the Universal Exports logo.
“Thank you.” He said, and the girl nodded, and put it back in her pocket. Bond had an identical pen in his pocket, it was just a simple means of identification, but it worked. She had the pen and knew the identification procedure, but the thought did occur to Bond that she could be yet another mole.
Bond sat in the passenger’s seat, and asked Jenny “Where exactly are we going?”
“You’re meeting Colonel Tanner at safe house A21.” She said.
"So why were you sent to come and pick me up?" Bond asked. "I could have driven there myself."
"I'm not sure, James. I was just given instructions, but not a reason."
"Well, ours not to reason why, eh Jenny?" Bond chuckled, and the girl smiled back at him, those eyes once again hinting at a previous encounter.
Safe house A21 was located in a small row of terraced houses not far from the headquarters of MI6 at Vauxhall Cross. The entrance was in one of the houses, where a family lived a seemingly normal life, occasionally getting visitors, but seldom going out. This house was in turn linked to another of the houses by a concealed underground passage. The girl certainly knew her story, so Bond felt that maybe he was just a little on edge and overreacting.
Bond gazed out the window of the car, as the sleeping houses sat in silence and darkness. Bond felt himself drifting off, but he was roused from his near-slumber by the sound of a hissing gas. The barely visible cloud was being emitted from one of the car’s air conditioning vents. Bond turned to see Jenny, who was holding a breathing mask over her mouth and nose. Bond’s strength felt as though it were rushing out of him, and he clumsily tried to grab the girl but he ran out of energy before he could do so, and he slumped forward, hitting his head on the dash board.
The woman who had disguised herself as Jennifer Smart pulled the car over to the side of the road and dialled a number on her mobile phone.
"Hello, darling Max. Mister Bond is just having a little rest. We'll both see you later."
It turned out that they actually had Bond on a plane headed for India--another Cessna, much like the one Bond was forced to fly only a few weeks ago. Bond lay tied up in the cargo area while Adriana piloted the aircraft. Sitting in the passenger seat was none other than Max Obsidian himself, a bottle of scotch in hand.
"Damn that Prowess!" Max exclaimed as he slammed the open bottle down on the control panel. He didn't even seem to notice as the drink spilled down his unkempt suit.
"Max, you shouldn't be drinking now..." Adriana said softly as she took the bottle from him, corked it and put it under her seat.
"That man was supposed to be CIA!" Max rambled on, obviously rather drunk. "He said he was 'Trained by the best!'. If that was the case, why'd he have to go and get himself killed?... And give me my drink back!"
"What if I need you to fly for me? If I give you back that drink, the only place we'll be headed for is straight into the ground."
Obsidian seemed rather childish as he pouted in his seat.
Adriana looked at him and continued.
"Why are we still taking him to India, anyway? He was supposed to be blamed for that girl's murder, but how do you expect that to work if the girl is still alive?"
"We're taking him to Crucible Three. You worked at Crucible One in Finland, remember? Well, C3 is our Middle Eastern facility." Max seemed to have sobered up a bit. "You see, I've just gotten a call from an old friend back in Pakistan. He wants me to send someone into India to infiltrate a nuclear base. He says that if we can get one of India's missiles to be sent into Pakistan, it will generate sympathy for his following. You know, 'Great Jihad' and all that. The man's bloody crazy, but he's been loyal to me all these years."
Adriana seemed puzzled. "How do you plan on doing that?"
Max just smiled and turned around in his seat. He gestured in the direction of the cargo area, where Bond could be seen tied up and gagged with a rag and duct tape, still unconscious. Max continued.
"MI6 has meddled in my affairs long enough. It's time they did something for me. As far as I'm concerned, Mr. Bond is mine to control, my loyal follower. As we speak, my men are informing MI6 of 007's betrayal."
"What if he doesn't do it?"
"That's the beauty of it all! If he does my work for me, MI6 will naturally kill him. Even if he doesn't, they'll kill him anyway for being a traitor! It's brilliant, isn't it?"
Adriana smiled. This was the Max she had known for years. All his life, Max had been known for doing crazy things, and this was no exception.
"You always were the big thinker, Max. But why the terrorists? They have no money, otherwise they wouldn't need to be blowing themselves up!"
"It's the Sphere of Control, my darling." He pulled out a perfect sphere made of clear obsidian. It had to be extremely rare. It was just the size where it could almost fit in the palm of a large man's hand. "Every sphere has a center. Whatever happens to be in the center of that sphere has great influence over the rest of it. Take a look."
Max handed the sphere to Adriana. Looking closely, she could see the black center of the sphere.
"It's beautiful," she said, gazing into the depths of the sphere.
"Think of it as the center of the Earth," Max continued. "Without it, the Earth would no longer rotate on its axis, thus we would all perish. It is made of molten rock that no human would ever be able to touch, yet we are constantly dependent on it. What's most amazing is that few people ever even consider it on their walks through life..."
Adriana looked up at Max, puzzled.
"Don't you see, Adriana?" Max looked into her eyes with a burning passion. "We are the center of the sphere! Or at least just like it. Controlling the entire Earth, influencing every decision, and the average person probably won't even know I exist! Of course, corporations and politicians will know otherwise, but they wouldn't dare tell anyone... Who would admit they're being controlled by a man they've never even seen?"
Adriana looked upon Max with loving eyes--eyes of admiration.
"In fact," Max continued, "I'll even show you what power I have! Once we're finished with Bond here, I'll have Starbucks Coffee closed down! Before long, everyone will be drinking health drinks and green tea from my new organic coffee house! And then there's television..."
Adriana laughed. She knew Max was being rather silly at this point. She knew he needed levity--it seemed to be the only thing that kept him sane. However, even that didn't always work. In fact, it wasn't even thirty seconds before Max had broken down.
"I have the power to control the world, and yet I don't even have the power to find my parents! Gah!"
He slammed his fist into the control panel, causing the plane to jerk. An alarm began beeping loudly, red and yellow flashing lights filled the cockpit. The autopilot had been disengaged. Adriana reacted quickly, pushing some buttons--including the one that Max had smashed--re-engaging the autopilot.
She quickly regained her composure and rested her hand on Max's shoulder. "With the power to control the world, who needs history? All that matters now is the present!"
"That's why I love you, Adriana."
They both passionately kissed as the tiny Cessna headed for a remote village near the Sambhar Lake, the location of Crucible Three.
* * * * * * * * * * *
James Bond began to awaken.Much to his
dismay, he discovered that his ears were ringing and he was having difficulty focusing his eyes.The room was spinning.However,as he gradually became more alert, these vestiges of the gas he'd inhaled slowly faded away.All was normal--aside from a throbbing headache which remained and continued to taunt him.
Bond quickly realized that he couldn't move.He was strapped into a large well-stuffed recliner.His forearms were secured to the tops of the armrests by means of thick and tight metal clamps,not unlike handcuffs.Each ankle was bound to the base of this chair with similar metal restraints.Struggle though he might,Bond could not leave the chair.
The room was huge.Using sight measurement, 007 calculated that in floorspace alone it could probably contain half of the entire main office floor at MI6.There was an large oaken door approximately twelve feet high in the wall on Bond's left.It served as the only entrance and exit for this place.
The room itself was sanitary and efficient,full of grey daylight from frosted glass panels set slantways up a slope of ceiling--like something out of a science fiction film,Bond thought.The room had apparently been designed to be as soundproof as possible, but from time to time Bond could make out the low hum of machinery being operated beneath him.This is a factory of some kind,he surmised.007 did not know that he was being held in India at Max Obsidian's Crucible Three facility.
Everything in the big room was white--except for the floor, which was an expensive linoleum that at first glance looked like aged marble.There were white walls with no windows,a large desk at one end of the room,three white stuffed chairs spread out across the entire area,a few strategically placed potted plants,a set of large white filing cabinets,and a white examination table in a distant corner.Inside the glass cases were a variety of bottles and jars--probably drugs,Bond mused.
Mounted on the wall directly ahead of 007, there was a collection of eight antique swords from all over the world, representing several centuries.In addition, there were also a group of antique masks--the majority were not much larger than the human head.They were the kind of ceremonial, tribal and theatrical masks more commonly found in museums than any place else.Bond studied them in silence.There were ten of these altogether,each of them representing abstract impressions of the human face.Some frowned, others leered--few smiled.An equal number of the masks appeared to be metalic, while the others looked wooden--possibly ebony.They all appeared to be handmade.Bond had no idea what their arcane visages signified.
At that moment, the large door on Bond's left opened and a tall,broad-shouldered man walked into the room.He was wearing a lightweight tropical jacket,dark slacks,handmade leather shoes, and a white shirt which was open at the neck.Expensive driving gloves concealed his hands.However,it was the man's face that commanded Bond's full attention--because it was the face of the late Jonathan Carter.
Bond couldn't help but gape at the man who walked up to stand before him-his face was practically identical to that of the man Bond had killed weeks ago.It was a long,thin face,marked by a carefully trimmed moustache and small van dyke beard.Sandy colored hair fell across the man's forehead.All was a masterful duplication of Carter's features.The makeup was almost perfect,except for the eyes--unlike Carter's hazel eyes,this man's eyes were so dark a shade of brown that they were almost black.And upon second glance,this strange man--whoever he really was--stood about two inches taller than Carter had.This stranger's height was closer to Bond's own.However,regardless of the minor differences,the stranger's overall resemblance to Jonathan Carter was startling.
The stranger smiled.He then said cheerfully,"No,Mr.Bond--you're not seeing a ghost.I only look like your friend Carter.Hopefully we'll be friends,too."
"You're not my friend."
"Ah...he speaks!"The mysterious stranger observed--he was,of course,Max Obsidian cleverly disguised as Jonathan Carter.The mystery man then continued talking to 007 in a refined voice that closely matched the late Carter's own."My dear Mr.Bond...we meet at last!I do hope you'll forgive my use of that old cliche.And keeping in the spirit of cliches,for want of a better name,you may call me Mister.X."
To Bond's ears the mysterious Mr.X's voice had a low sibulant sound--it was almost a purr.The man's accent sounded nearly,but not completely English.It wasn't precisely Oxbridge, but it was definitely overlaid with those inflections.Under careful scrutiny, it seemed to be more of an actor's voice--sounding not unlike that of the late Jeremy Brett or Peter O'Toole, but minus real substance.It was a studied sound--a false accent.In fact,as Bond listened carefully, he could detect minor traces of another accent emerge during the course of certain word pronunciations.This alien accent--the one the stranger so carefully attempted to keep hidden--was no doubt the speaker's natural one.Try though he might,Bond couldn't determine what it was.
It's very cold comfort given the gravity of this situation,Bond thought,but if nothing else,at least I know he's not British...
Then Bond angrily addressed Mr.X."Why are you calling me Mr.Bond?My name is David Somerset!I'm a British citizen!I'm an executive with Universal Exports!How dare you hold me here!"
"Yes,yes sir,of course you're 'David Somerset'."Mr.X said,as if he was humouring a small child. He quickly withdrew a small sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and made a show of reading from it."Hmm...You're also 'Mark Hazard','St.John Smythe','James Boldman',(Oh,you should be ashamed--absolutely no imagination there)and,",he paused,"...'John Buchan',I quite like that one." the mystery man said pleasantly."Tell me sir,is 'H.C.MacNeile' also among your many aliases?"
And then as quickly as it came, the stranger's friendly demeanor vanished."Let's dispense with the lies.I know exactly who you are.You're Commander James Bond,of the Royal Navy,and currently secret agent Double-O Seven.You're actually one of those chappies who runs around with a 'licence to kill',no less.Imagine that--a government sanctioned executioner.How quaint.What a world..."
Mr.X looked directly at Bond."You know,you British never cease to amuse me.You all treat espionage as if it was a game.Capering about, play-acting with false names and silly passwords.So charming and so predictable.
Positively 17th century.What you do,Mr.Bond, went out with John Dee and Sidney Reilly.This is a new age,and you 'spies'"-he spat out the word- "are little more than Neanderthals desperately fighting to survive.You're a dying breed."
There's really no point in keeping my cover,Bond realized."That's only one opinion-and I've heard it many times before.Now where are we, you b&stard?"
"Ah...now that's much better,no more penny dreadful foolishness.As for where we are,well,you'll know in good time."
Bond looked at his bizarre captor.It was an extremely eerie sensation talking to someone who looked so much like a dead man."Why are you doing this?" Bond asked."Why are you killing people?Is it all some sort of sick game to you?"
Mr.X walked slowly around the captive James Bond,looking down at him carefully,as though he was viewing a rare animal on display in a zoo.Then he spoke.
"My stars,Mister Bond!You positively cut me to the quick,and after I go to the great trouble of presenting you with a familiar face.Come,come-where's your gratitude?And when it comes to killing,look who's talking.Really,sir--before you start playing the critic,you should first set your own house in order."
Bond glared at Mr.X.
"But yes,Mr.Bond,you are correct--I am a very bad man",he said in exaggerated tones."In another age,you'd be calling me a cad,a blackguard and a bounder." Mr.X now stood before Bond and leaned forward,his dark eyes locking onto 007's own.
Mr.X cleared his throat."Probably all of this will be beyond your understanding" he said airily,"However,I'm impressed enough by your personal history to share a few secrets with you anyway--not that you're actually going to remember anything I tell you,"he added,in a cold dispassionate voice.
Mr. X continued speaking in the insistent manner frequently associated with zealots and madmen alike.
He gradually sounded friendlier."I've discovered that if one wants to control the world,the only possible way to achieve that goal is by controling it's populace.The time when mysterious terrorists can threaten people into submission with bombs or other such demands is becoming antiquated--the world's now a smaller place than it once seemed.
Conversely,knowing people's secrets--particularly their most guarded and important ones--is extremely effective.Knowledge truly is power."
"You're talking about blackmail?Extortion?"
Mr.X paused and slowly shook his head."Now, now,now...I wouldn't put it that crudely,Mr.Bond--may I call you James?No,I see it as more of a service.A form of protection,an extra dimension of security for those people whose secrets are the very sum of their existence.For example,we certainly wouldn't want the formulas for Coca-Cola and Dr Pepper and Kentucky Fried Chicken to fall into the wrong hands, would we?
"Now all of that might sound ridiculous at first glance,but it'd actually be quite tragic.Just look at all the people who'd be out of work.And then there'd be all those unfortunate knockoffs.How terrible.But with the specialised services provided by me,such tragedies would never happen--provided there was regular payment,of course."
Bond watched Mr.X with morbid fascination.The man's a preening peacock."Once again, you pompous thug,why are you doing this?"
"Why does the sun come up?Why do birds sing?You know,I think Edmund Hillary might have put it best:'Because it's there'.The world is here and it's for the taking.And it's mine."
The fellow's off his head,Bond decided.
Mr.X continued his incredible monologue."And then there's the old idea of world domination.I really don't want to rule the world,James--I only want to run it.And armed with the certain knowledge of what were once carefully guarded secrets,I can.Manipulation is the key.Controling people is the goal.Let the wars continue.Let people keep lying to one another,that's nothing.That can't be halted.Mere politics is of no value to me--like your espionage, it's all just another foolish inconsequential game."
Mr.X paused, and strode over to the distant wall and carefully lifted a short Norman sword down from the mounting that had held it on display.He removed the glove from his right hand and then began gesturing with the weapon as he returned to face Bond.The mystery man addressed 007 in low measured tones.
"Power,James is truly the greatest sensation--short of complete sexual fufillment--of them all."Mr.X pointed the blade at Bond."It's what we all want and it's what few of us will ever achieve.I have it in abundance and I've obtaining it surreptiously.There's now no end to what I can do.And the beauty of my scheme is that it's practically bloodless.Oh,a few people will die along the way"--he shrugged and raised his eyebrows--"they always do,but that's to be expected in a revolution of any kind."
"You're not going to simply tinker with food, are you",Bond said."There's something bigger on your agenda."
Mr.X turned and laughed.He pointed his right forefinger at Bond."You know James,you're really much brighter than you look."he replied,as he stood to Bond's right side and lightly feinted in the air with the sword.He continued talking in a breezy manner-as if sharing a secret with a chum.
"Oh yes,James...in time I'll control entire governments.World rulers.They'll all be my pawns to do my bidding.Before I'm through,I'll control the Internet and I'll have the codes to all of the missile systems around the world." Mr. X added,"With the world's advanced technology at my disposal, I'll be everywhere and no one will ever dare to disobey me."
"So that's the score!Insane asylums around the world are filled with petty Napoleons just like you!"Bond snarled.
Mr.X rolled his eyes in reaction and shook his head slowly.Once again he pointed his forefinger at 007."I confess I'm a little disappointed James, but I suppose I should have expected such a response from you."
And in that instant as Mr.X pointed at 007, something caught Bond's eye.He noticed that Mr.X was wearing an elaborate silver ring.Like its owner's eyes, the stone it held was pitch black.
At that very moment,the door opened and two more people walked into the room to join Mr.X.Their arrival immediately broke Bond's concentration.
One of the newcomers was a tall, dark-haired woman, wearing a dark blue short-skirted Dior business suit and glasses with oversized circular frames.The other individual was a diminutive balding man wearing a white laboratory coat over his suit that,due to his small stature, nearly reached the floor.He was pushing a cart of some kind.
The bespectacled woman walked directly to Bond,smiling all the while.She wore her dark auburn hair piled up in a French twist over a beguiling oval face, notable for the woman's elegant nose,high cheekbones and pale grey eyes.She smiled, displaying bright perfect teeth.Bond didn't recognize her at first, but he soon realized that he'd met her just before he'd been knocked unconscious.At that time she'd looked somewhat different.She'd been slightly shorter,had vaguely fuller facial features, and her hair was blonde. She had also called herself by another name--'Jennifer Smart'.
The attractive mystery woman suddenly leaned over and kissed Bond fully on the lips.She then stepped back to stand beside Mr.X.
"You always have to be careful around this one,"Mr.X said,as he held the woman close."She wanted to personally interrogate you,James.It would've involved whips and chains, and a minescule leather costume worn ever-so-briefly by your lovely torturer.All of that umm...'unpleasantness' would have been followed by a lusty and intensive ...'full body massage'... added for good measure(he raised his left eyebrow as he gave Bond a knowing look and wagged a finger before the woman in an act of false reprimand).Yes,indeed--she's a very naughty girl."
The disguised Adriana pretended to blush and then winked at Bond."Such 'torture' might've proved much too distracting,much too stimulating",Mr.X noted,"and much too pleasurable."
Adriana replied to Mr.X's statement with mock alarm,"Yes,darling.Mr.Bond and I definitely would have had some fun first",she said, as she continued to look at 007."But I really would have killed him eventually--once I was completely satisfied..."Another wink went in Bond's direction.
Mr.X glanced at the woman.He smiled brightly."Hmm...Perhaps we'll save your special 'interrogation' of Mr.Bond as a reward my dear, after he completes his upcoming mission for me."The woman nodded happily and blew a kiss to Bond.
"Now, Mr.Bond",Mr.X said,gesturing to the little man in the white coat,"This gentleman is a doctor...Dr.Marmaduke Pemberton.He's British,just like you,and he wants to help you."
"What the hell's going on?"Bond demanded.
"Dr.Pemberton is going to help you to forget everything you were ever told by me.You'll forget you were here.You'll forget me.Sadly,you'll also forget this lovely lady",Adriana looked again at Bond and responded to this comment by pouting prettily.
Mr.X continued,"But never fear-you will still retain all of your previous skills as an assassin.And when the right time comes, you'll be using your special abilities at my behest."
"Never!"Bond declared,cold sweat streaming down his brow and a long chill running down his spine.
Mr.X flicked a switch on his desk and suddenly a clamp in the chair wrapped itself around Bond's forehead,holding it straight forward.He was now completely locked into place and at Mr.X's mercy.
The lights in the room were gradually darkened as the little man called Pemberton approached 007, pushing the cart he'd brought into the room up to the right side of Bond's chair.A low portable light was rolled out and set before 007.The light was so bright that Bond's vision was immediately obscured. In the midst of these bizarre surroundings Bond suddenly felt the sleeves on both his left and right arms being rolled up, and a cool fluid quickly rubbed across the veins on backs of each of his hands.
"Oh,that's a nice one",he heard the doctor mutter under his breath."Be careful,you quack" Mr.X said in response."Foul this up and you'll wish you were still on Death Row."
Bond could smell the light aroma of alcohol in the air.
"Relax,James,"Pemberton said calmly."This won't hurt a bit." Bond felt the bite of intravenous tubes inserted into the veins of each of each hand.
"I'll get you, you b&stard!!!"Bond yelled at Mr.X.
Then the contents of the long thin tubes were released into his system.
Despite his every attempt to fight the drugs,James Bond ultimately succumbed to their power and within minutes,fell into a deep and steady sleep.
Shortly thereafter,Pemberton removed the needles from 007's hands and applied bandages to the areas where the intravenous applications had taken place.
"There you are,sir.Mr.Bond is now a regular Rip Van Winkle--just as I promised." the medical man cheerfully proclaimed.
Mr.X walked over to the unconscious 007.He bent down and looked at Bond very intently and holding him by the chin carefully turned 007's head from side to side.The disguised Mr.X glanced up at Pemberton and nodded in satisfaction.
Adriana gently pushed back the long errant lock of black hair that fell over 007's forehead, and casually lifted Bond's right eyelid up.One blue-grey eye stared out blindly."He's out," she murmured.With that, she slowly ran a finger down the three inch scar on 007's right cheek and kissed him softly.
"I assure you both that Mr.Bond will never remember this evening.For all intents and purposes his mind is as open to suggestion as it will ever be.This is the right moment to begin his programing," the little doctor explained.
Pemberton took the mysterious Mr.X aside."He'll only respond to your voice-and no other when the command comes down.The keyword should be something unusual--and a word not apt to be used in common conversation."Pemberton emphasised."What shall it be?"
Mr.X paused for a moment and glanced at his sword."Durendal," he replied.
* * * * * *
And in London,in response to reports of gunshots police entered the Harley Street apartment of a visiting university professor.He was a big, bearded man in his early sixties, whose papers identified him as Jari Oksanen, a Finnish national.A tall,dark haired man had been seen running from the deceased's apartment shortly after the gunfire had first been noticed.This mystery man then vanished from sight.
The late Jari Oksanen had been seated behind his desk in the room which served as his library.Bookshelves covered two of the room's four walls.He'd been shot twice in the chest.At the time he was discovered by the police, the deceased was tightly gripping a book in both of his hands.This was a novel by Richard Falkirk, entitled Blackstone.
A recently fired handgun was soon discovered in a garbage bin in an alley across the street from Professor Oksanen's home by constables using trained police dogs.The weapon was a fairly unusual firearm for downtown London-in fact,the experts considered it something of a collector's item.This gun was a Browning 1935, the 'High Power' model.It had been fired twice and tests soon proved that those bullets unquestionably matched those that had killed the elderly Finn.The police also found fingerprints on the gun--the fingerprints of a man identified as James Bond, an employee of Universal Exports.This might all be a terrible coincidence,of course,the police told the shipping firm, but the inspectors handling this case would like to speak to Mr.Bond at the earliest opportunity.
Officials in New Scotland Yard immediately contacted British Intelligence,which in turn,informed the special branch known as MI6.
Immediately upon hearing the news,M, the Quartermaster and Senior Chief of Staff,Colonel Bill Tanner met in M's office to discuss the situation.Tanner said to M,"Good Lord!This one smells to high heaven!Another set-up and much less convincing than the one Thorndyke tried on James two years ago!"*
Tanner shook his head slowly and then added,
"There was absolutely no reason in the world for James to have killed Jari." Tanner remembered the odd gun Bond had taken from Finland and which was now supposedly used on Jari, had been reported missing from the service armoury three days previously.After Bond had left for India.
And Jari's holding onto that book was unusual.Does it have any significance,Tanner wondered.
Q gently put a hand on Tanner's shoulder."Yes,of course this an attempted frame.This is entirely out of character for 007.I mean,he's an excellent shot and he wouldn't have used more than bullet."
Tanner shot Q a look."Sorry,old man," Q replied,"I'm afraid that came out the wrong way..."
Then M added wryly,"As I've said before,we all know that if 007 ever murdered anyone in London,the victim's body would never be found."
She added,"Jari was a fine man and a valuable asset to us all.His murderer will be caught.But until all of the evidence is in, and we can help prove 007's innocence, we'll simply have to cooperate with the authorities."
At that point a visibly agitated Miss Moneypenny suddenly ran into M's office."Everyone" she said,"you should see what's on James's computer!!!!"
===============================================
* Read AJB Group Novel #5: Ian Fleming's James Bond 007: Shadows of the Past--available on this website--for complete details!
"Suspicions at best," Tanner reminded.
"I'm aware of that," M replied, "Moneypenny, bring me someone who can take care of this current problem."
As Moneypenny left, they were still left with the problem of 007's whereabouts.
"We could always monitor a cyber trail," Q suggested, "Any credit card information, secuirity cameras, things of that nature."
"I doubt he'll be using any of those if the press hears about this," M noted, "God knows what will happen if they put MI-6 on the headlines."
"So who you send after him to bring him in?" Tanner asked.
***
Robert Shadeland was murdering time on a slow day, reading random internet articles ranging from a Scottish politician’s controversial Playboy photoshoot to the future of Internet social networking, when he received a page from Moneypenny, asking him to come to M’s office immediately.
“…I wonder what she wants this time…” he mumbled to himself after receiving the call, curious as to the call and perked up that he had something to do. “Hopefully it isn’t some totally half-senseless crap like trying to recover her granddaughter’s e-mail.”
When he got to M’s office, however, he realized this wasn’t a time-waster disguised as an emergency.
“Mr. Shadeland, I want you to take a look at this,” M directed as she led him to MI-6’s latest computer woes. “I want to know exactly what the hell this is doing and how this bloody piece of mess can be removed, along with where it came from.”
After examining it for a few minutes, it didn’t take long to see what it was doing: It was at the very least removing and renaming valuable files on MI-6 servers, and the original files were being sent to Bond’s computer. Where it was headed after that, he had little idea.
“How long would it take for you to identify where these files are being sent?” M asked, “And more importantly, *who* is receiving them?”
“That depends on encryption strength.” Shadeland responded, “The lighter the encryption, the shorter amount of time it takes.”
***
James Bond awoke, moderately dazed and confused. Even though he quickly identified his immediate surroundings, he had no clue where he was. Almost impulsively, he searched the nightstands and cabinets for anything that might explain where he was, and more importantly, how he got there. The last thing he remembered was a "Jennifer Smart"; however something told him that that name was irrelevant for the short term.
Bond heard the door gently open and a man stepped onto the thickly padded carpet. He seemed vaguely familiar, but Bond couldn’t quite place him. “Ah, good!” The stranger exclaimed. “You’ve recovered. No hard feelings, I hope?” he chuckled to himself. “Of course not.”
“Who are you?” Bond asked.
The man turned to call someone from the hallway. “Dr. Pemberton, you’re patient is ready for his next session.”
***
Max Obsidian strode exuberantly into the observation room. The slanted glass along the left wall provided an excellent view into the experiment lab below. Staring vacantly down through the glass, a small Chinese man wearing one round monocle partially studied the bizarre equipment that circled a bed, complete with metal restraints, in the center of the lab. He turned toward Obsidian and bowed.
Obsidian greeted him in return. “Mr. Lim! I am pleased you were able to join me. What you are about to witness should interest you greatly, I suspect.”
“What is this place?” The Chinese man asked.
“Normally I would not divulge such a secret, Mr. Lim. But as I am both appreciative of the generous payment you are providing for my services, as well as comfortable in the fact that you would never admit to actually being here with me, then I will tell you. This is the Crucible Three conditioning lab. It is here that I make all of my dreams come true…and yours for that matter.” Obsidian motioned to the lab below. Two men in white escorted the complacent James Bond through a swinging door. They beckoned to the bed, and Bond climbed peacefully on. The two men quietly fastened the restraints, while Bond lay patiently.
“Who is that man?” asked Mr. Lim.
“A British secret agent.” Max replied. “A double-oh, actually. Sanctioned to kill for Queen and Country…and in only a matter of moments, for us as well.”
---
Robert Shadeland typed furiously into the keyboard. “I think I have it!”
Tanner strained forward. All he saw was a torrent of gibberish flowing up the screen, but Shadeland was a top computer specialist at MI6. If he said he ‘had it’, then it certainly had to be the case.
Shadeland struck one more key triumphantly and leaned back in his chair. The computer screen froze and the flood of data that was on the screen vanished. “It was only a binomial algorithm encryption. Child‘s play!” he smiled. “Now that we’ve stopped the flow of data, it’s shouldn’t be any problem finding out where it went.”
Tanner felt a wave of relief wash over him and looked at M. She apparently didn’t share his sense of ease, for her face was still locked in a stone grimace. “How did this happen?”
The group was gathered around one of the terminals in Section D7 - a floor of MI6 dedicated to computer analysis and data retrieval. Rarely did M ever have need to visit Section D7 anymore, but even when her duties long ago as an MI6 accounting director brought her here, it made her feel lost. The floor was populated by awkward computer arrays and even more awkward employees. With pasty complexions and ties askew, they often made her feel as if she had fallen into a technological crypt where no flesh and blood belonged.
Shadeland shrugged in response to her question. “The hard drive that was brought to the lab was hardwired to the extraction grid, used for deciphering encoded data from all confiscated equipment. Apparently, a Trojan on the drive opened a backdoor to our system.”
“The thing was hardwired into our system?” M asked with exasperation.
“Er, well, yes.” Shadeland replied. “But that’s standard procedure. The grid needs to access the current decryption programs in the system in order to extract the information. It requires a massive amount of processing. One piece of data extracted in the wrong sequence and you’ll completely contaminate the data…it would be like putting your tinies on over your trousers!” Shadeland chuckled, but M was not amused. Shadeland’s mirth dropped from his face and he cleared his throat. “Anyway, it’s completely safe…well, it usually is completely safe. Mostly.”
“Never mind that now. Where was the data being sent?”
Shadeland returned to the monitor. “The program passed the information to a computer in Sector A4 --”
“Bond’s computer.” Tanner clarified.
“Right. And then a burst was sent outward. The destination would be embedded in the program. Now that the program has been decrypted…”Shadeland punched a key. “…all I have to do…” He focused on the screen as he typed a series of numbers. “…is isolate…” He entered one more command. “…the…code!” he punched the enter key with a flourish.
Nothing happened.
“Odd.” muttered Shadeland.
It was then everything happened at once. Every screen in the control room came alive with streams of data. The normally still air of the control room was stirred to life as computer fans spun into action cooling the heating processors. Lights flashed with intensity along the banks of servers. M looked at Tanner and the two of them looked at Shadeland.
The petrified computer specialist stared at the computer screen. ‘Oh my.”
---
“Did you know there is no computer on earth that can rival the human brain, Mr. Lim?”
The Chinese man pulled his eyes from the shackled secret agent in the conditioning lab and gave his attention to Maximillian Obsidian.
“It’s true.” Obsidian continued. “The human brain weighs approximately 1.3 kilograms and yet is capable of processing more data, and executing more functions, in a split second than the largest Cray supercomputer. Man has cured diseases, mapped the genome, and cloned the essence of life itself, but we have yet to truly plumb the secrets of the human brain.”
A concerned look crossed Mr. Lim’s face. “What do you intend to do with this man?” he asked.
“Science knows so little about the human brain,” Obsidian replied, “that what Doctor Pemberton does I consider not so much as science, but more as…art.”
“What are you going to do?” repeated Mr. Lim.
“Through a combination of acute electrical shock and neurological chemicals, Doctor Pemberton is going to do a little ‘re-wiring’ of James Bond’s limbic system. Do you know what that is, Mr; Lim?” Obsidian smiled as he watched the doctor entered the room below, wearing a white uniform that buttoned neatly down the side. “Freud referred to it as ‘the id’…that reptilian core of our brain that controls our most basic instincts…our motives, our emotions, our desires!
With careful precision, the doctor places a rubber gag between Bond’s teeth. He continued to lay passively, feeling threatened by none of the strange activities.
“Bond’s mind has been altered to feel no anxiety whatsoever,” Obsidian explained. “His mind has been numbed to that part of his brain. Using involved conditioning techniques, Doctor Pemberton will have complete control of all of the data in Mr. Bond’s head.”
---
“We’re losing the data! It’s affecting every system it touches!” Shadeland exclaimed.
“What the duece is happening?” demanded Tanner.
“There was more than just a Trojan horse on that hard drive!” Shadeland grabbed the telephone near his station. “It’s Robert!” he shouted into the phone. “I need a firewall around Section D7 immediately!” Tanner heard an unintelligible response come from the receiver. “Then I don’t care!” Shadeland replied. “Cut the whole bloody floor off!” Before he received a reply, a high-pitched screech pierced Shadeland’s ear from the telephone. He threw the phone down in shock. “My word! It’s infiltrated the phone system!”
“What infiltrated the phone system? Is it a virus?” Tanner asked.
Shadeland hunched back over his computer. “Virus? More like the bloody plague! The thing is writing new software for itself, adapting itself to whatever system it meets. Completely overrunning everything.”
“Well, stop it!” M ordered.
“I can’t!” Shadeland cried as he dashed from terminal to terminal, typing futilely on each keyboard in the control room. “Every computer has been hijacked!”
“Switch the bloody machines off, then!” M shouted
“I can only terminate the computers locally, but the program is already spreading through the network, eradicating data as it goes!”
Tanner watched in awe as torrents of information sped across the terminal screens. His eyes widened in terror when a green window appeared on the display. “No! No no no no no!” He shouted to Shadeland. “It’s accessing ‘Mantis’!”
---
A flurry of images whirled in Bond’s mind. At first he was completely at peace. Then waves of anger assaulted him. He strained at the shackles at his wrists and ankles with the unrelenting desire to lash out at someone. But then, as quickly as it began, the emotion ebbed. His mind cleared, and he blinked up into the blinding light that shone down upon him. And then the feeling was forgotten.
“What is happening to him?” asked Mr. Lim as he stared out the window.
“The chemicals injected into his brain are evoking strong emotions.” answered Obsidian. He, too, watched with enthralled interest. “The doctor will monitor closely his biometric readings. At just the precise time, he will administer strong electrical shocks into the brain, triggering areas of long-term memory. With repeated and more frequent intervals, the synapses of Mr. Bond’s brain will be conditioned with particular combinations of emotion and memory.” He smiled triumphantly at the small Chinese man. “The method has proven quite effective.”
“How did you learn of such a thing?” Mr. Lim seemed shocked at the whole concept.
Obsidian shrugged. “There’s a saying…’Practice makes perfect’. My various connections around the globe provide for me a large number of…how should one put it?…specimens? So crude a term, but accurate. Many died, of course, and some rendered to a completely vegetative state. The upshot of course is that Dr, Pemberton eventually devised a working procedure and formula that effectively conditions individuals to be completely under my control. To do whatever I wish!”
Mr. Lim turned his attention back to Bond. “And what has this secret agent have to do with me?”
“Mr. Bond is a godsend. He has the skill set we will need to infiltrate the India Aerospace Force and DRDO nuclear facilities and launch an Agni III missile into the heart of Pakistan, destabilizing the entire region and…”at this Obsidian shrugged and waved his hand dismissively, “and do whatever it is your government wants to do. That really doesn’t interest me. Here!” Obsidian pointed excitedly. “Doctor Pemberton is about to administer another shock to Mister Bond!”
---
“We can’t let it access ‘Mantis’!” Shadeland exclaimed. “Without those systems, we’ll never be able to get everything back on line.”
“Those files can’t be affected by the virus,” M answered. “They’re completely unconnected to the system.”
Tanner studied the green display carefully. ‘Mantis’ was the MI6 redundancy system, short for Mainframe and Network Transferal and Information Storage. Every seven minutes, the Mantis system completed a back-up cycle of the entirety of MI6’s computers. It was a safeguard against the frequent hiccups in day to day computer work, but also a fallback against largescale threats of data hacking. A good thing, to be sure, but analysts determined that it was also a potential security risk. The entire MI6 network data located in a single facility would be a gold mine for enemies of the state. To ease concerns, a contingency plan was put into effect…a contingency codenamed ‘Visigoth’.
A contingency that was coming on line.
“It’s activated the Visigoth protocols!” Tanner shouted.
Shadeland looked as if he was about to faint. “Good heavens!” M look confused.
“The virus may not be be able to infect the stored data back-ups but it can initiate Visigoth and totally incinerate the entire data storage room! We’ve got to stop it!”
“Otherwise MI6 will be blank slate!” summarized Shadeland.
---
The arc of electricity vibrated through Bond’s body. His body convulsed and he involuntarily screamed in anguish through the rubber gag. A vision illuminated in his mind of a stern looking woman with close-cropped hair. Forceful eyes stared back at him Does deceit end there? he heard himself ask. How much did you not tell me?
Again the pain of shock . I don’t like being used as a pawn. He saw the woman’s face grow harder and it twisted in hatred. Rage built up in him and Bond felt something relax in his mind. The pain subsided and his body collapsed. M. That was the woman’s name. He remembered her now. The tension in his body eased and his clenched fists opened with relief. His mind was beginning to understand.
“Yes!” whispered Obsidian as he stared down through the glass. “It’s working! Soon Mr. Lim, you will have a double-oh agent at your command. Everything he knew before, he will despise. Anything he desires, we will choose for him. He will retain his skills, his knowledge, his expertise, but they will be liberated. Those pesky emotions like devotion and loyalty, all those motivations seeded in his limbic system will be erased! Bond‘s mind will tumble like a house of cards, and together, you and I will rebuild it exactly the way we want!”
---
“We’ve got to stop it!” M ordered. “We’re losing time!”
Shadeland stammered. “I…I…don’t know what to do.” He reached for the phone but was greeted with the same loud squeal as before. “We can’t call anyone.”
Tanner ran for the door. “I’m going down there! We’ll have to do manual override from down there.”
Tanner bolted down the hallway. The passage was filled with people wandering from their workstations in confusion. As Tanner sprinted to the nearest lift he could see the same cascade of data on everyone’s computer screen, enslaved by the rampant virus. “What’s going on?“ someone tried to ask him as he bolted past.
Tanner ignored him, and slid to a halt at the lift doors. He smashed the ‘down’ button repeatedly with no results. Puffing for breath, he looked up and saw the up and down arrows above the lift blinking sporadically. “Not the lifts, too!” he muttered. “You’ve got be kidding me!”
He bolted for the stairwell, and half-running and tumbling, he made his way to the third basement level.
The Mantis system featured a special airlock system. Tanner swiped his ID card through the keyslot. When the small light flashed green, Tanner muttered a quick prayer of thanks. The virus hadn’t infiltrated the door security systems. The metal door slid open and Tanner dashed through.
The airlock contained the control center for Mantis. Inside was one solitary attendant named Gibson. He was a younger computer specialist who enjoyed the isolation of monitoring the Mantis system and making certain that the back-up cycles were performed flawlessly. He spent the dayshift watching the servers in cleanroom on the other side of the soundproof glass and the automated, insect -ike arms move back and forth, removing and inserting large gold discs into the machines with micro-controlled precision. It was a silent, orderly world that he typically relished. But not today.
Gibson had a perplexed look on his face and was holding the telephone in his hand. He wasn’t used to seeing anyone, much less the chief of staff, diving through the access door dripping with sweat. The same high-pitched screech was pouring from the receiver in his hand just as it had done with Shadeland. “Sir!” Gibson cried. “It’s my duty to report that the phone lines are down, the computers are off line, and the Visigoth protocols have been activated.”
“I bloody know all that!” shouted Tanner, gasping for breath from the run down the stairs. “Shut the bloody thing down!”
Gibson looked down at the worthless computer for a moment and then at the alarm indicator. An unusually calm female voice issued from the speakers. “Visigoth termination procedures will initiate in…sixty seconds”
“How, sir?”
“What did you say?” asked the wheezing chief of staff. He couldn’t believe his ears.
“How do I stop the protocols, sir? The system was designed to be activated from here. Not terminated. That can only be done from Head of MI6’s office.”
“For pete‘s sake!” Tanner exclaimed.
The female voice broke from the speaker again. ‘Visigoth termination procedures will initiate in…fifty seconds.”
“Well, what can we do?” Tanner asked in desperation.
Gibson shrugged. “The only other option is to completely shut down the system. Cut all power to the equipment.”
Tanner blinked. “You mean cut power to the whole building?”
Gibson nodded. “The main power systems are just down the corridor.”
Tanner’s was revived with hope. “Let’s go!” The two bolted to the heavy metal door when suddenly it emitted a forbidding click. Again, the female voice spoke. “Visigoth security protocols engaged. All access secured. Visigoth termination procedures will initate in…forty seconds.”
“We’re locked in! We’re locked in!” Tanner and Gibson tried sliding the door open but their efforts were in vain. “We need to get out of here!“ Tanner exclaimed. “In only a few seconds the clean room on the other side of this glass is going to become a raging inferno when Visigoth incinerates Mantis. This oxygen in this airlock will be sucked out to create a vacuum to contain the heat and flames.” Tanner was beginning to feel desperate. So this was it, was it? He was going to suffocate while watching MI6’s future melt to the ground with a gentleman he barely knew. He looked over at Gibson and wondered if he was thinking the same thing.
Gibson was pulling a mobile phone from his pocket.
“What are you doing?!” Tanner asked.
Gibson dialed a number and put the phone to his ear. “I’m calling Arthur in Maintenance. He’ll shut the power off for us.”
“You know his mobile number? “ Tanner asked in surprise.
Gibson held up his hand to silence Tanner as he spoke into the phone. “Yes, Arthur? It’s Gibson, down the way. Look. We’re having a spot of trouble - What’s that? Yes, the phones are down. Say, I’m going to need you to cut the main power to the building. Yes, I imagine it would be very troublesome but--”
“Give me that!” Tanner growled. He yanked the mobile from Gibson’s hand and shouted in it. “Look here, this is Tanner, Chief of Staff! I’m authorizing you to cut the power to the entire building! Yes, the entire building. Main power, generator power, UPS systems, everything. If it’s not off in the next five seconds, you’re sacked! Got it?” Tanner threw the phone down and prayed.
The female voice broke the silence. “Visigoth termination procedures will initiate in five…four…three…two--”
Suddenly the lights went out. The air from the vent stopped blowing. The airlock was swallowed in blackness and Tanner closed his eyes and soaked in the sweet silence.
Gibson broke the quiet. “It‘s going to take some time to get everything back up and running after this!”
It was true. The virus had done unparalleled damage. The entire system was going to need to be rebooted…from the data systems to the front doorbell.
“Welcome to the dark ages,” Tanner sighed.
---
Bond awoke on his bed. His mind was clearer, although his head hurt slightly. He looked about him and he remembered…what? He remembered his mission. He sat up quickly. His clothes were laid out neatly on the settee. He had to find Daya, she was the only one who could help him…
"Now you can see that what you have here is an opportunity that is of such a mutual benefit that should I need you you will do as I ask?" said Max smiling.
The Chinese man gave a curt nod, "If as you say Mr Bond achieves the mission -there is no doubting that what you propose can not proceed successfully -however I'm sure you understand that I will require some assurances as should the mission fail that there will be no possibility of our nation's involvement being made how shall I put it -public."
"But of course -you can rest assured that everything will be handled discreetly. Now if you excuse me I have some other work to attend to -have a safe journey home and await my next communication in the usual way." Max said smiling as if he was closing a very normal business meeting.
Half an hour later Bond found himself in an office of some sort and on the desk before him was a folder with the familiar For Your Eyes Only seal on it. He opened it and read the top sheet which gave the title Operation Black Pearl
It outlined mission objectives and contained blueprints of the India Aerospace Force and DRDO nuclear facilities and also the complex instructions of how to launch an Agni III missile. The name of the target for such a launch were not listed but a memo looking to have been signed by someone known as "M" stated coordinates would be transmitted at the necessary time. Bond put his fingers too his temples, he had a headache and felt extraordinarily thirsty. He poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher that was on the desk.
***
Zimbardo was nervous -his third session with his new "patient" was imminent. Since being brought to heaven's knows where he had been briefed that he was to run therapy sessions with a man who had introduced himself as Max Obsidian. So far no huge progress had been made -but what Zimbardo had already garnered so far were disturbing enough that he was dreading this next meeting. This Obsidian fella was suffering from a serious state of narcissism.
The narcissist is the one who has excessive entitlement fantasies, exaggerated sense of self and is dominated by such defenses as guilt, idealization, omnipotence, grandiosity, and when not properly mirrored will withdraw. People like Obsidian value such things as fame, physical beauty, wealth and material positions, and power. He feels he belongs to a privileged class, and is the entitlement lover, the special child of God — or, as Freud referred to people like Obsidian, as “His Majesty the Narcissist.” When narcissistically hurt or injured Obsidian is likely to withdraw,and isolate himself, and relentlessly hold on and harbor resentment toward the one who has personally injured them. The narcissist is also overly preoccupied with ones self, and when not properly admired, appreciated, or given a sufficient amount of attention they will withdraw and isolate the self in a kind of narcissistic retreat.
Zimbardo had also seen Obsidian was characterized by a lack of empathy, and is devoid of sensitivity and to the feelings of others. The most common archaic injury is the mother who usurped this special baby from its "throne," its high chair, to make way for a new sibling. Often the narcissist will spend the rest of his or her life in a kind of nostalgia, yearning to recapture the time (or the fantasy) when mommy and baby were one living in harmony and symbiotic bliss.. This is commonly referred to as the original archaic injury or narcissistic injury. In yearning to recreate the early experience or wish of being mother’s special child, the narcissist will then spend the rest of his life living a kind of “narcissistic nostalgia,” yearning to go back to the time when mommy and baby were imagined as one in total symbiotic bliss and harmony. Zimbardo felt that this was probably at the root of Obsidian's state of mind. Any threat or reminder of this early trauma triggers profound feelings of not feeling special or being “the only one.”
A common statement concern addressing the mental status of a terrorist is that many are highly skilled and educated men. A conclusion Zimbardo had come to about Obsidian -for why else was he being held captive. Another question he asked himself was Why then would intelligent, brilliant men do such brainless things as Obsidian was obviously doing?
The next session would no doubt reveal things that he did not want to know -but then what should he do when confronted with truths -be honest with his captor and risk his life or to lie and perhaps pander to is disillusioned ego?
***
Adriana entered the office where 007 was reading the file.
"Hows your head? You drank far too much last night."
"Ah that explains it -I can't remember a thing." Bond said looking at the beautiful woman before him. Her eyes looked really familiar.
"Anyway I presume this 'Operation Black Pearl' is my new mission?"
"Yes you are to accompany me, we will have a briefing and then it will be time to put the operation into action. Follow me James the new M wants to meet you."
"New M?"
"Yes- just been promoted."
"What happened to the last one?"
"oh she 'retired'."
Bond kind of shrugged and believed what he was being told. The throb in his temples was still there but quite as profound as earlier. He followed the unknown woman with the familiar eyes along sterile white corridors until they entered an opulent room of Gold and Burgundy.
Max Obsidian welcomed 007 with a firm handshake and a smile.
"Ah 007, good to see you."
"Sir." said Bond
Obsidian spoke up. "That folder you have there should give you all the instructions you need to complete Operation Black Pearl."
Bond found it particularly strange that he couldn't remember his last mission, much less whether or not it had been completed. He attributed it to excessive drinking the night before. He wasn't sure if he was sober enough to take on this new mission, but he didn't want to appear incompetent to the "new M" at their first meeting.
Bond opened the folder and looked over its contents again. Although the papers laid out the details perfectly, they noticeably lacked one simple thing: WHY?
"And just why do I need to send a missile into Pakistan?" Bond asked, inquisitively.
Obsidian looked at Bond rather condescendingly. "You'll excuse me for not answering all your questions, but I'm a very busy man, you know."
Bond looked surprised. He couldn't remember MI6 ever sending him on a mission without giving him all the details. Then again, he couldn't remember anything else about his other missions either. However, he knew there was something strange about this. If this mission was important enough to send a Double-O, why was M too busy to give his agent the details? Bond didn't want to question his employer, though--if this new M was anything like the old one, he knew it would be wise of him not to question anything.
Obsidian continued. "You'll be working with this man," he handed Bond a full-page photograph. "All you need to know is that his code name is Cobra, and he's here to assist you."
"Cobra..." Bond examined the photo. The man in the picture, nor the name Cobra held any significance to Bond.
Obsidian pressed a large blue button on his desk telephone. First a beep sounded, then a woman's voice came across the speaker, the same woman who Bond had spoken to earlier.
"What can I do for you, M?" The woman asked.
"Send up Cobra, I'm sure 007 wants to meet him."
"Yes sir, right away." A click came over the phone, signifying that the conversation had been terminated.
"He'll be right up." Obsidian said. "Would you like a drink?"
"Certainly, sir." It seemed customary by now that when a new M is promoted, he was to offer a drink to a Double-O on their first meeting. Bond wasn't sure if this was why Obsidian was offering him a drink, but he did remember it was exactly how one of his first meetings with the "last M" went. As this thought went through his mind, he suddenly felt a strong surge of pain in his head as a violent panic attack hit him. He quickly clenched his head in his hands, bending over in his chair and writhing with pain.
Obsidian was about to panic, as well. Doctor Pemberton hadn't briefed him on such side-effects as this, and he had no idea how to rectify it. Obsidian jumped out of his chair and ran over to the hastily wallpapered door. With all his might, he wrenched it open, letting it slam against a wooden cabinet. Glass could be heard shattering from within the piece of furniture.
Obsidian jumped out into the hallway. Bond was screaming now, almost as if he had gone into some sort of seizure.
"Pemberton!!" Obsidian called at the top of his lungs, "Where the hell are you!?"
After a few seconds, a man in a white lab coat could be seen running down the hallway. The man's coat almost blended into the bright white interior, making him hard to see. However not ten seconds after Obsidian had called him, Doctor Pemberton was there to see what was wrong.
Obsidan frantically pointed toward the seizing Bond. "Fix him before I put your head in a guillotine, you quack!"
"Use the keyword!" Pemberton said softly.
For a moment, Obsidian didn't know what the Doctor was talking about. However, he quickly remembered and rushed over to Bond.
"Remember," Pemberton called, "Say it gently... and slowly!"
Obsidian went behind his desk to face Bond.
"Du-ren-dal..."
Bond instantly stopped seizing and sat up straight in his chair. Looking at Obsidian with liefless eyes, he only said "Do you have any cognac?"
Obsidian breathed a sigh of relief, saying "Yes 007, I'll get you some cognac."
He walked over to the door where Pemberton was still standing.
"Tell me these things sooner, why don't you..." Obsidian whispered angrily.
Pemberton was taken aback. "S-sir, i-it's supposed to do that! You can use the keyword at any time to make him obey your commands! Here..." Pemberton reached into his coat pocket to hand Obsidian a bottle of pills.
Pemberton continued. "There's only one downside, however: he won't remember a thing you say while he's under the keyword's influence, save your immediate instructions..." He paused nervously. "...As far as we know. It may also cause spontaneous episodes of mania, as you saw."
Obsidian glared at Pemberton.
"I-it's unpredictable..."
Obsidian grew angrier every second.
"Well a-anyway, administer these pills to him in an emergency, in case you can't bring him back to normal."
"Many thanks for telling me this after we had done the procedure..." Obsidian replied as he snatched the bottle from Pemberton's hands. He slammed the door and walked over to Bond. Bond was still sitting in the chair, staring at the wall.
"Bond?" Obsidian asked.
"Yes sir?"
"You are all right, aren't you?"
"Perfectly, sir. Why do you ask?" Bond spoke in an almost robotic manner.
Obsidian looked pleasantly surprised. "Nothing, nothing at all." He looked over at the now smashed cabinet. All the decorations and furniture in the room was for a temporary charade--it would likely be removed and obliterated as soon as Bond left the room. The cabinet had been made out of cheap cardboard, pressed wood and glass--the latter of which having all been shattered. Obsidian opened one of the cabinet doors to see if any of the bottles of drink had been damaged. All were intact.
As soon as Obsidian had pulled out a bottle of Hennessy Cognac, he heard a voice come from the door.
"You called, sir?" It was Cobra.
"Yes Cobra, come right in." As Cobra walked in, Obsidian continued. "This is the man you'll be working with. Cobra, meet James Bond."
Bond turned his swivel office chair around.
"How do you do?" Bond looked totally lifeless, staring at the wall blankly.
Cobra turned to Obsidian. "What have you done to this man?" He whispered.
"It is not your concern." Obsidian replied as he watched Bond carefully.
"You had the doctor work on him, didn't you?"
Obsidian set down the half full glass of Hennessy on the cabinet rather hard.
"Just what bloody difference does it make to you?"
"You know I don't like working with men like him. You have no idea when they will snap!"
"And you know what I can do to your precious sister if you don't do as I tell you!"
There was a burning hatred in Cobra's eyes, almost as if he could have strangled Obsidian right where he stood. "Leave Daya out of this." He reverted to his native Indian accent.
Obsidian looked over to see if Bond had been affected by the conversation. He was still the same as before, staring at the wall as though any true energy had been sapped from him. The trouble was, Obsidian had no idea if Bond was subconsciously storing all the information from this conversation in his head.
"We'll talk about this later!" Obsidian whispered firmly to Cobra. He took the drink that he had poured for Bond and silently dropped a pill into it, which quickly dissolved.
"Here you are, 007," Obsidian handed Bond the drink.
"Thank you, sir."
Bond took a sip. Obsidian waited anxiously to see the results. After a few moments, Bond stirred with a jolt. He blinked his eyes a few times and looked back at Obsidian, Apparently, he was back to his rightful self. He looked confused and his headache was back.
"What happened?" Bond asked.
"Oh, nothing at all, Bond." Obsidian gestured toward Cobra. "You've met Cobra, I'm sure."
Bond reached over and shook hands with Cobra. "I know I've met you before, but for some reason I can't place where..."
"Oh yes Mr. Bond, we've met..." Cobra glared at Obsidian.
Obsidian sat down in his chair, looking quite smug. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have much work to do. You know what to do, 007, it's all outlined in those papers. There's a car waiting outside, Cobra will finish briefing you there.
"Right away, sir." Bond replied.
Bond and Cobra got up to leave the room. As Bond exited, Cobra looked back and gave Obsidian a very stern glare.
"Mark my words, Obsidian--you will not go unpunished."
"None of us do, Cobra."
*********
Cobra led Bond down another passage that looked like it could have come out of a science fiction film. Bond knew this wasn't right, but he had no idea how. He was led into a lavish lobby, a large room filled with masks and swords as decorations. As Bond walked through the room, he noticed several people that looked like a sort of cleanup crew. All were wearing white lab coats. They were all cleaning up a small area with chemicals and steam machines. Apparently, the area was once home to a bench of some sort. One man's coat had what appeared to be blood on it, and they were using chemicals that had stripped all color from whatever it touched. The dark blue carpet white bleach stains in that area, and even the wallpaper looked like it had been affected.
Bond walked through a short hallway that led outside. A large pavillion was over the door leading to the outside, and a car was waiting at the curb. In another twist of Obsidian's irony, the car was an Aston Martin DB7 Vantage. It seemed Obsidian's planted moles informed him of MI6's car of choice.
Apparently, someone considered the Indian heat and desert Sun when they bought the car, because it was painted in a very bright white. Bond put his hand on the passenger door handle. Despite the broiling heat, the car was cool to the touch.
Cobra walked over to the driver side and entered the car. Bond followed suit. Cobra looked very irritated at something, and it showed when he slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, leaving a crisp, black strip of rubber in Obsidian's pristine driveway.
"Where are we going?" Bond asked.
"I'll tell you when we get there." Cobra answered uncaringly.
It seemed everyone Bond met was cold as ice. He pulled out his FOR YOUR EYES ONLY folder and looked it over again.
"I have a contact who can help us with this," Bond said, annoyed by all the apparent hostility he had seen in everyone.
"And who is this contact of yours?" Cobra asked.
"I'll tell you when we meet her."
Cobra scoffed as he exited the long and winding driveway that was the entrance and exit of Crucible Three. He headed for the freeway out of town.
***********
Back at the makeshift office, Obsidian knew that Bond had incredible willpower. He had read Bond's dossier many times and knew of his many exploits. Bond would catch on sooner or later, a fact that Obsidian was not ignorant of. However, it was a win-win situation for him. Despite what he had told Mr. Lim, he was not confident in Dr. Pemberton's work at all.
But he didn't care, he would eliminate Pemberton when the time was right...
It wasn't the disguise 007 was currently wearing that had triggered his suspicions about this mission--he now saw a man of indeterminate age with grey hair and a carefully trimmed moustache staring back at him in the reflection he cast in the window's glass--there was much more.
I rarely wear disguises of any kind and yet,according to Cobra,I'm to wear this and pose as "Robert Markham" a representative of Universal Exports,James Bond recalled.That 007 couldn't remember anything that had happened to him during the days immediately prior to his new assignment continued to be a major concern.If I'm still having memory lapses,he thought, then I'm not really fit for duty and shouldn't be back in the field--008 or 009 should be taking my place.
Completely unbidden,Bond remembered the special treatment supervised by Dr.Molony to restore his memory after he'd been brainwashed by the Soviets to assassinate Admiral Messervy,years ago*.That recovery had taken almost three months to complete and even after it had been deemed successful,he'd still been carefully studied before ever being considered ready enough to re-enter the field.It's strange,Bond realized.I can recall that particular period quite clearly, but not what happened to me only a few days ago.Most troubling.
Then there's this new M.Odd one, that--and the trace of that unusual accent under his English one!I know I've heard it before..if only I could remember where...
I now have a brand new commanding officer, and yet I've no recollection of how or why the Old Lady was replaced,Bond continued.Surely I'd recall the Old Lady stepping down.And there's that open antagonism displayed between the new M and this chap called Cobra.They didn't hide it very well at all.Such behavior simply isn't done in our business.One might disagree with a commanding officer--Lord knows I've done that plenty of times,he recalled--but you never show disrespect to one another in public and certainly not while on duty.They were acting like children with their mutual hostility.And then there's a much bigger question:what was M doing out of the U.K.?M isn't supposed to travel.Everyone in the service understands that their commanding officer should only be out in the field during moments that are clearly national emergencies--and a simple briefing of a Double-O doesn't qualify under those rules.
Curious,Bond asked Cobra why they'd spoken with this new M in a building in the remote Indian countryside.The Indian explained that M wanted to keep Bond's return to the field secret.However,the more he considered it this response,the less sense Cobra's explanation made to Bond.007 surruptiously turned his attention to his driver's current appearance.The old line about clothes making the man was very true--particularly in Cobra's case.
A few hours before leaving for Delhi,a makeup woman had subtlely altered both Bond's and Cobra's features.Bond glanced at the young Indian seated beside him.Cobra was tall and slim, roughly over six feet tall, and was wearing a medium weight blue Brioni suit.He was now clean-shaven,and his straight black hair--so black it had blue highlights in the bright sunlight-- was cut short and neatly parted,revealing a broad forehead.In Bond's opinion,the combination of the high hairline,plus a pair of large deeply-set black eyes and a long aquiline nose, gave Cobra's face the look of a poet,as opposed to the killer he actually was.
After a suitable period of time had passed, Bond broke the silence.They were still in the countryside and there was little traffic to speak of.By Bond's calculations,they wouldn't be arriving in Delhi until late evening,and it was only early morning.He turned and spoke to his mysterious companion."Cobra's not a common name,is it?"
Cobra smiled and spoke with a crisp British accent."No--it's not.It's not my real name,more of a codename than anything else.You British have such a fondness for those.My given name is Abdul Rao Singh."
"Pardon me," Bond said,"but I don't recall ever having met you.Are you one of the new Double-Os?"
His eyes rarely leaving the road,the Indian replied."No,Mr.Bond,I'm not a Double-O, but we have met before.I'm coming with you on this assignment because I'm very knowledgable about the region we'll be visiting."Cobra paused and seemed to regard Bond carefully."You know," he said "you really were badly beaten up on your previous mission,Mr.Bond.A few blows to the back of your head seem to have adversely effected you.However,you needn't be concerned.The doctors all agree that your complete memory will return in due course."
Cobra then reached into his coat pocket and gave Bond a small object resembling a cordless hearing aid.
"By the way,Q wants you to wear this at all times.With this miniturised reciever in your ear,M and I will be able to keep in touch with you on this mission.You're apt to be going into some potentially hazardous places, and you'll need our assistance in order to survive."
Bond looked at the object cautiously.I can't very well refuse this thing without arousing suspicions.Within moments he carefully put it into his left ear.The Indian nodded approvingly.
Shortly afterwards "Cobra",-aka Abdul Rao Singh-fell silent, turning his full attention to the road before them.Bond however,continued to think about the mission that lay ahead.The United Kingdom had no right to provoke hostilities in an area of the world that--despite its continual armament--was attempting to be peaceful. Although James Bond couldn't remember his immediate past, to his astonishment, he had absolutely no trouble reviewing what he'd learned about India's nuclear program years ago...
India had become a nuclear state in 1974,Bond recalled.Its program of underground testing had lead to international military sanctions in 1998.And although India continued to receive criticism and military sanctions,it consistently refused to sign the Comprehensive Nuclear Test Ban Treaty(commonly refered to as the "CTBT"),and the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty(commonly refered to as the "NPT").However,these sanctions had gradually been removed in 2001, after India had agreed to a "no-first-use" nuclear policy.They'd kept their word.That said,India had made it clear that it prefered to maintain complete sovereignty over its nuclear program.
In recent years,Bond recalled,the Indian government had strengthened its relations with the United States,China and Pakistan.This was a great achievement, especially since India and Pakistan had once been engaged in two bloody wars--one in 1947 and the other in 1965.That they were now existing in relative harmony was a cause for celebration.And Pakistan had also conducted tests in 1998, making it the only Muslim nuclear weapons state.
To their credit,India and Pakistan were attempting to put their ancient animosities behind them and coexist peacefully.But because of their arsenal of nuclear weapons,a once dangerous region was now more perilous than ever before.
Sending a nuclear device into Pakistan made absolutely no sense at all.MI6 has no right to involve itself in anything that could cause a war between these countries,Bond decided. Why do this?At the whim of a British bureaucrat?That's wrong!That's not my job,Bond thought.
As James Bond recalled, there were currently three types of nuclear missiles in India,all of them quite impressive.These were all of the Agni class-"Agni" meaning "Fire".They were short to intermediate ballistic missiles varying in range from 700 km to the Agni-I(a short range device),to Agni-II(with a range of 2,000-2,500 km).These were the weapons claimed to be India's credible deterrence against Pakistan.And then there was the Agni-III,which the Indian government regarded as its nuclear deterrent against attacks by China.
As Bond remembered,Q had once explained that through his many sources,he'd learned that India was upgrading their Agni-III into something now called the "Agni- Star".This weapon might have its range extended to 1500 km.And then there was also talk in the intelligence community about another grade of missile altogether named the Agni-IV,a weapon with a range of over 600 km.
The more Bond thought about his current mission, the more he repeatedly questioned it's validity.This is all wrong-I'm being used,he realized.In fact,I doubt that the people I recently met with are really members of MI6.
Once he was in Delhi,Bond was determined to escape from Cobra and see Daya.He'd tell her everything he'd learned about this bizarre assignment.Maybe she could assist him in accounting for the inexplicable lapse in his memory.Unlike the spurious M or Cobra,he trusted her.Surely Daya would be able to help him.To his relief,Bond remembered where he might be able to contact her.Yes indeed,after James Bond arrived in Delhi,he was certain that he'd have little difficulty obtaining the answers to the many questions on his mind.
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* In Ian Fleming's The Man With the Golden Gun.