I'm writing a Bond Novel (Sort Of)
Slyguy3129
Posts: 58MI6 Agent
Hey guys.
Here the other day I got this idea for a Bond "story" (not really a novel because it won't be published, unless reave reviews
)
The title is Rosetta Stone. Got the idea for the title from a language course where I am at in Ft Huachuca Az. The story is progressing well, with a nice intro. I'm on page 12 right now and the plot is just now coming to light. Keep in mind, I'm no professional, I'm 19 years old and in the Army and I do it in my free time. I would appreciate construct critisism. Below are spoilers if you want an idea of the plot.
Thanks for your time guys and I hope you guys will enjoy it when I finish, it looks to be a somewhat long one, one of my longer short stories.
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If you would like to now parts of the plot. Bond comes back from a mission where he must kill a man who has betrayed is nation and MI6, and got many men killed. On return and a few days rest and new development comes to light. The Soviets (Yes it is based in the late 50's early 60's, no exact date.) are starting WW3. I am still debating the main underlying plot. Deciding wether I want it to be a rogue faction that has created a Coup or if it will infact be the Soviet Government. So to add a twist, I'll let you guys decided. Whatever the general consens is I'll make it that. Personally I kind of wanted it to be a rogue general, I have some nice ideas for that, but if you want it full fledge war then thats fine by me.
Here the other day I got this idea for a Bond "story" (not really a novel because it won't be published, unless reave reviews
)The title is Rosetta Stone. Got the idea for the title from a language course where I am at in Ft Huachuca Az. The story is progressing well, with a nice intro. I'm on page 12 right now and the plot is just now coming to light. Keep in mind, I'm no professional, I'm 19 years old and in the Army and I do it in my free time. I would appreciate construct critisism. Below are spoilers if you want an idea of the plot.
Thanks for your time guys and I hope you guys will enjoy it when I finish, it looks to be a somewhat long one, one of my longer short stories.
*******Spoliers*********
******
******
*****
If you would like to now parts of the plot. Bond comes back from a mission where he must kill a man who has betrayed is nation and MI6, and got many men killed. On return and a few days rest and new development comes to light. The Soviets (Yes it is based in the late 50's early 60's, no exact date.) are starting WW3. I am still debating the main underlying plot. Deciding wether I want it to be a rogue faction that has created a Coup or if it will infact be the Soviet Government. So to add a twist, I'll let you guys decided. Whatever the general consens is I'll make it that. Personally I kind of wanted it to be a rogue general, I have some nice ideas for that, but if you want it full fledge war then thats fine by me.
Comments
Personally, I don't think you can have a story of Bond going against the Soviet Government or the Soviet Army - the former is a job for diplomats, the latter a job for the British Army. So it'll have to be a rogue faction of some sort. Can't be a SMERSH story because SMERSH kills spies that are threats to the Soviet Union, rather than starting wars. It could be SPECTRE, though. You'll probably need to consider how many other people are part of this rogue faction - probably no more than a handful (can't have Bond fighting an entire army - he's good, but not THAT good!)
You probably don't need to consider how Bond is going to overcome the villain just yet - I've tried that, bad mistake! I wrote the story to suit Bond, and in the end it turned out to be rather boring and lacking in suspense. When you yourself don't even know what's going to happen, you'll more likely write in a way that will convey a lack of hope for Bond to the readers. Let the plot develop, let the story play itself out. Then once Bond gets into a situation, try and work out what he would do to get himself out of it.
Hope this helps.
If you guys would like I will post the first small part of the story, to give you an idea of what to expect.
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Rosetta Stone
The sun had set upon the innumerable people going to and fro about their business deep in the heart of Mexico City. Near the Casino Ambassador a coal black Rolls Royce pulled around the corner and came to a halt out front. A man in his mid thirties, sporting a grey dinner jacket, stepped from the car and was greeted warmly by the people gathered around. Bond reflected grimly on this as he watched from the shadows across the street. The man was followed by a tall beautiful women in a matching low cut dress. The couple walked arm in arm exchanging smiles, that seemed too fake to Bond, and a few words then casually walked into the Casino. Bond stepped lively across the street, reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a silver cigarette case. He removed a single Turkish Gold, which he lit with a tarnished Zippo lighter and then promptly returned the case back to its place in the breast pocket of his black dinner jacket. He stood there for a moment, observing. He had never been to Mexico City, and thus far it was living up to its reputation.
“Good Eve-”
“Good Evening,” Bond interrupted the doorman as he pushed through the crowd of people. Bond took in his luxurious surroundings with distain. The room was a deep red, blood red he thought, lined with gold trimming, paired with a matching spread. The lobby itself was lit by golden chandeliers hanging lazily from the ceiling and numerous lamps lined along the walls. He took in the taste, the aroma, the sensation, that one always gets when arriving at a large, lavish Casino. Bond smiled at the sounds of the patrons in the main lobby, grumbling under their breath at their hard luck, or cheering in ecstasy at their good fortune.
Up ahead he spotted the couple taking up their seats at a Black Jack table. There was just one seat left open, the one at the very end of the table. Bond quickly crossed the room, took his seat, and exchanged the usual greetings as well as the façade of wishing the other players well. The man in the grey suit’s luck was run out, or Bond wouldn’t have been needed. Bond looked coldly at the man, who returned the curtsey. The dealer, an aged man dressed in a tacky white under shirt with red vest, sat down at the table and began shuffling the cards. Bond turned his attention now to the game at hand. The cards were dealt swiftly and professionally. The shown cards on the table were thus, the dealer a ten of clubs, Bond a seven of hearts, the woman a four of spades, the man a nine of diamonds, and the guard, Bond assumed, had been dealt a two of hearts. Bond looked at his other card, which was a seven of diamonds.
“I’ll take a card,” he spoke calmly. The dealer flipped the card. Bond cursed lightly under his breath. The Queen of Diamonds stared belligerently back at him. Bond discarded his cards in disgust and watched as the other players had similar luck.
* * *
Well into the night the man lend over and whispered into the woman’s ear, then the guard’s ear.
“We are going to step out and get some air.” The voice had a slight Scottish accent, which spoke plainly, almost commandingly. He looked at the dealer and then at Bond.
“Lovely idea,” Bond said still staring coldly into the dark eyes; now turning to the dealer, “Would you mind keep our places warm?”
“Not at all Sir,” the old man replied, giving a slight nod and a smile.
“There’s a good chap.” Bond stood away from the table and stared down the retreating figure of the man in the grey suit. He walked casually up to the bar and took the corner seat, as to see the entrance of the lobby. The man had been stopped by another couple and was carrying a polite conversation.
“What can I get you Sir?” The young voice of the equally young bartender broke Bond of his concentration.
“A Dry Martini-”
“Sure thin-”
“Three measures of Gordon’s, one of vodka, and half a measure of Kina Lille, with a slice of lemon peel, over ice.” The bartender smiled and nodded in acknowledgment and went off. Bond turned back towards the entrance. The man was still talking with the elderly couple, but he was unnerved, which Bond took note of from his demeanor. He finally got free of the couple and hurried over to the guard and began what appeared to be a heated discussion, during which the guard kept glancing quickly over at Bond.
“Here you are Sir, enjoy.”
“Thank you, I will.” Bond turned back to where he had last seen the man and the guard. They had vanished. Bond stood up and slammed the Martini back, placed the glass back on the bar and hurried off towards the door. He discreetly pulled his pistol from the holster, which was tucked away in the nook of his left arm, and chambered a round. Bond looked around to find that the man and the guard were no longer in the lobby, judging by the look of their conversation he wasn’t surprised. He walked out, past the doorman. Out of the corner of his left eye he caught a glimpse of movement. In that short half second Bond recognized the movement to be a hand retrieving and drawing a weapon on him. In the blink of an eye he spun to his left and fired. The bark of his Walther PPK resounded violently throughout the quiet empty street. His aim had been deadly, the 7.65mm (.380 caliber) bullet had pierced the mans heart near the upper left ventricle. The eyes went wide, in terror, in confusion of what the brain had not yet realized, that he was dead. The body fell lifelessly to the ground. Bond looked cautiously around the area and approached the body. Two fingers across the right wrist confirmed what Bond already knew.
Off in the distance Bond heard footsteps, retreating, in haste. He looked up in time to see a shadowy figure round the corner at the end of the block. Bond bolted up and ran. The sound of the impact of his shoes against the harden concrete were the only echoing sounds. Bond rounded the corner, the man was still a good distance away, but he was closing the gap. This encouraged him and he began to run harder. He inhaled and exhaled sharply, the force going from his lungs down to his legs, propelling him faster. He could hear his heart beating softly but quickly in his ears. He was now closer still to the lone figure. His mind was swimming with adrenaline, the muscles in his arms and legs were letting their presence known with a light aching. He was now in sufficient range to pull off a somewhat accurate shot, and he took aim. The figure darted into an alley and Bond groaned in exasperation. His heartbeat was now pounding away in his ears, so much that it was now all he could hear. He entered the alley, and now had a clear shot of the man. He took aim and fired, the ricochet screamed in the confined alley. He fired again and the figure groaned, and tumbled to the ground with a crash. He slowed to a jog and held his aim.
The man slowly turned to face him.
‘If looks could kill, I’d be a dead man,’ Bond thought.
The man held his hands up cursing.
“I am unarmed,” he said with contempt.
“Does it look like I give a damn?” Bond held his aim, and began to catch his breath. Thousand of thoughts ran through his head. The memories of the mans crimes came flooding back, Bond was full of rage. This man was guilty of the death of many of his colleagues.
“Ah, an English gentleman. What is your name?”
“The name’s Bond, James Bond,” he replied, as he squeezed the trigger. The crack from the pistol deafened Bond.
I like the fact that you describe the casino interior in some detail, that is one of Fleming's traits.
Its funny you should say odd Bond back in the office. Thats exatcly what I did, he pulls what we in the army call "CQ". Another thing I like to do in my stories is make a small cameo. In this one I am a floor gaurd, I don't use my name but I give a pretty accurate description of myself.
I wrote a nice story awhile back for a class in highschool where I played a secondary villian. I got very good compliments on it, in fact my school paper published it. I wanted to elaberate more on it but unfortunately it got lost.
For those who want to get alittle more info, I'm going to post the second part of my story below this post.
“How much, did you pull in?” Came the dry raspy voice from the old man.
“Sorry sir?”
“How much money did you pull in?” M hated repeating himself, and the contempt he forced through the words shown clearly to Bond.
“Around eight hundred-thirty pounds sir.” He reflected on that nights worth of gambling. He had not concentrated much on the game or the money, just the man. Jack Transer, thirty-two, a Scotsman, born in 1933. He had been recruited by the SAS in 51 at the tender age of 18. Ten years later the KGB would sink their claws into him and turn him into a double agent. By then he had years of experience at MI5 and MI6. He gave SMERSH names of British spies all over the world, and in turn SMERSH had them rounded up and executed.
One of them had been 004. A quiet man, in his early thirties, new to the service. Much the same as Bond was in his early days. He had been promoted to 00 status early last year and had just received his first assignment down in Greece. He was to work with Station S out of Athens and keep tabs on the Communist uprising. KGB agents had captured and tortured him to death. He had been very unnerved by the death of this man, who he felt was such a close representation of his younger self.
Bond despised killing out of cold blood. He was not a murderer. But Bond had no regrets killing this man Transer. He felt nothing for this man, he only saw him for the traitor he was to his people, his country, and Bond despised that more than killing in cold blood.
“Hmmph.” M’s natural frown deepened, “Something else more interesting 007?”
“No Sir”
“Then, how about we concentrate, on the task at hand?” M reached down for his pipe and tobacco, which he lit after sometime and continued reading over Bond’s report. Bond sat back in the chair and sighed, M was always so damned meticulous on his reports, so much to the point that he dreaded writing them. Then again who doesn’t?
“Any witnesses?”
“Well I don’t suppose sir. Save for the doorman, the streets were empty.”
“You suppose.” M mumbled.
“Well sir, the doorm-”
“That doesn’t require an answer 007,” M snapped, while slapping his hand down on the large oak desk. “If I remember correctly, your orders were to kill this man discreetly and quietly, not in the middle of the bloody streets of Mexico City.” Bond was taken aback, cursing is not something M makes a habit of.
“Well I don’t suppose I can be too picky, you did get rid of him one way or another, that’s the important part.” M put down his pipe and picked up his pen and began scribbling on the report. “That’s all 007 that’s all,” he said while waving a dismissing hand towards the door. Bond stood, buttoned his suit, and walked out the door.
Miss Moneypenny was sitting at her desk.
“How was Mexico James?” She asked as she typed, not looking up.
“Bearable.” Bond looked at his watch, a Rolex with a worn black band, 4:30. He was getting hungry.
“The old man not in a good mood today?”
“Just his usual frivolous self. Scrutinizing over how things went in Mexico.”
“Yes he’s running a tight ship today. I’m sure tomorrow will be a better day.”
“I sincerely hope so, or else I won’t get much done.” With that he grabbed his hat from the rack in the corner of his room and left the office. He took a right walking down to his office in the far corner. He opened a large oak door, that bear no label, and was greeted by his own secretary.
“How did it go,” she said smiling. Her smile faded quickly though as she say Bond’s face.
“Not well.”
“Oh James, you know he means well. He just wants to look after you.”
“By tying my hands behind my back, I think not. But so be it. If anyone needs me I’ll be in the office.” The girl was one of the sweetest girls he’s ever meet. He sometimes wondered why he went after all those other willing girls and didn’t settle down with Goodnight. He softly shut the door to his office and sat down behind his desk. He pulled out a cigarette and smoked it slowly, savoring the taste of it. Another few weeks of CQ duty he thought. He absolutely dreaded CQ when he was younger. Being locked up in the in the building all day, answering phones, writing reports, checking on Stations. It was tedious and tiring, and frankly down right boring. But now that he had more than a few missions, kills, under his belt he welcomed the lull in the action. He enjoyed being able to stay around town, and in his own bed, and eating his own food. The phone next to him began to purr, not the red one, just the land line phone.
“Universal Exports this is Bond.”
“Ah Commander Bond good to have you back. This is Stanley down on the second floor. We need the officer on duty to make a run down here straight away. Shan’t take too long.”
“I’ll be right down. Out.” Bond placed the phone back on the receiver. “I’m going down the floor two, Goodnight.” He said as he walked briskly past and out the door. He walked to the floor elevator that was guarded by one of the Staff Sergeants, the duty Sergeant for tonight was Morgan. He was one of the Americans sent over by the CIA for a some joint operational committee, really just politics though. He would have rather had Lieghter. But Morgan was a good man. He stood around five-eight and about one hundred-seventy pounds. Fair skinned and red hair would make you guess he’s Scottish but he’s actually German, English, and a bit of Native American. Bond could never remember which one he was.
“Afternoon Commander Bond, how’s the day treating you?”
“Good enough Sergeant.” Bond walked into the elevator, Morgan followed.
“What floor sir?”
“Second.”
“Right Sir.” Morgan flipped a switch and the elevator come to life with a hum.
“Office duty for a few weeks sir?”
“Looks like it, second floor probably has a rat that needs to be taken care of.” Bond commented dryly. Morgan smiled.
“If you need backup sir you know who to call.” Morgan reached for the controls and brought the elevator to a halt. “Have a nice evening sir.”
“You do the same.” Bond stepped off the elevator and onto the second floor. The second floor was the mirror image of the fifth. The walls the flooring the layout, all the same. With one exception, in the middle of the floor there was a desk where the second floor duty officer sat and answered phones. Just as he expected Stanley was sitting there waiting for him.
* * *
By the time Bond had returned to his office it was nearing 6:00. He would be relieved in just a few minutes and then he could grab a bit to eat and then maybe he would wonder around his old swinging joints and see if maybe he could find something to entertain himself with. The phone purred again.
“Universal Exports this is Bond.”
“This is the lobby sir. You relief just walked in and is on his way up.”
“Great. Who is it.”
“Commander Williams sir.”
“Very well. Out.” Bond relaxed in his chair and put his things away, grabbed his jacket and walked through the office.
“You can go home now Goodnight. Williams is here.” She looked tired but even still she had that beauty that Bond loved. No matter the time or place, Goodnight found a way to look decent.
“Do you have any plans tonight?”
“The usual.”
“Yes I thought so. Well I’m available for a while if you’d like to go grab a bite to eat. Maybe see the new play down at the Theater?”
“Perhaps. Maybe tomorrow night, I’m a bit run down at the moment.” He gave her a weary smile.
“Of course, I understand,” She said, concealing the disappointment she felt.
“We will go out on the town one night before I go off on another assignment, I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“I know you will,” and with that Bond grabbed his hat and headed out. Sergeant Morgan will still on duty. Bond never could figure the man out. He was mostly quiet and reserved and other than himself he had never seen the man talk to any one else.
“Finally heading home sir?”
“I hope to.”
“Right, lobby it is sir.”
“Sergeant do you have any family?”
“Pardon sir?” Morgan said confused.
“Do you have any family, loved ones, a girlfriend? Anyone?” Morgan gave a rather embarrassed smile, but his eyes were cold as ice.
“I tend to keep to myself sir. Lost my folks way back when I was too younger to remember.” Bond was more than surprised. He had noticed Morgan was mostly alone but just assumed that he had someone somewhere that he was keeping hidden. He had no idea he was an orphan. Bond and Morgan had more in common than he thought. Poor guy, he thought. No wonder he sticks to himself, he’s the only one he really trust.
“I’m sorry to hear that Sergeant.”
“It quite alright sir, I was young at the time. I never really knew them, so its hard to miss someone you never knew. I know it sounds terrible, but it’s the truth, Do you know what I mean sir?”
“All to well Sergeant, all to well.” The elevator latched to the ground floor and Bond walked out into the lobby that was Universal Exports. Now “closed” for the day, not a soul roamed. Bond walked through the back to the garage, and found his battleship grey Bentley, and headed home. He hadn’t realized how truly tired he was. He arrived at his flat, took a quick shower and then went straight to bed. Within a few minutes he was sound asleep.
Secondly - and I don't mean any offence - this is one thing that really does get on my nerves. Bond is a British Secret Agent, and if I were ever reading a Bond novel and found an Americanism in it (with the exception of Felix Leiter (note spelling!) quotes or Leiter describing differences between American and British culture), that novel would go back to a corner and sit there gathering dust. So please have a non-American proof read your novel. First of all, it is "eight hundred AND thirty pounds", not "eight hundred-thirty pounds"; and it is "TheaTRE" not "TheaTER". Now, I might be the only one that is so pedantic about it and other people might not care - this is just my personal feeling about it.
Oh, and CQ duty? Never heard of it. I come from an Air Force background myself, so I know a bit about military terminology, but that differs from service to service, let alone country to country!. Not sure if it is also a Royal Navy term. If not, please don't use it.
Actually, I wrote this and the next post not realizing the excerpts you posted were from your novel (I like them, by the way). I thought they were part of a separate short story. You're pretty far along, so what follows probably wouldn't really work, but what the hell -- I got into it so I'll leave it. By the way, how's Arizona? I graduated from Saguaro High School, right down the road from you in Scottsdale
Hi Slyguy:
It wouldn't have to be a rogue general or the government itself trying to wipe out the West. It could just be a big mistake. I like the retro Cold War idea. You'll have to really put on your thinking cap to get it to work (do an outline), but here's a sketch of what happens. Sorry for the stream-of-consciousness style:
Bond is sent to Berlin to liquidate an agent or individual (could a Soviet or someone allied with them -- an East German, perhaps), someone who over many years has been responsible for the deaths of a great many Western assets over the years, including someone Bond knew, perhaps a woman with whom he had a love affair long ago (during WWII?)and still remembers fondly. Needless to say, Bond is looking forward to killing the guy.
While he's tracking this person down, there are all these subtle hints at ominous goings-on within the Warsaw Pact, although not so ominous that you draw the reader's attention to them. They should be almost imperceptible. For example, Bond, while having breakfast, might casually notice a small story on Page 5 of the Times, that reads "Polish division moved to border." He doesn't think anything of it: He's focused on finding his target. Later in the novel, while Bond is chatting up a contact, in a bar for example, a snippet of a television or radio news story can be overheard (U.S. officials said today they were puzzled by Soviet troop movements -- something like that. Maybe there's a dust-up in the United Nations)." Perhaps its only images on a TV screen with the sound turned off, and Bond overhears two bartenders casually talking about these events, I don't know. It's all in the background and Bond isn't really paying attention, or dismisses it as the usual Soviet saber-rattling: he's focused on finding his guy. Perhaps he's snuck into East Berlin (Bond speaks German) where the guy is hiding and there seems to be an awful lot of soldiers around, even for East Berlin. But again, don't hit these points too hard: they're in the background.
Just as Bond is about to catch his guy, London calls -- M informs him it looks like the Warsaw Pact is preparing for war "Don't you read the papers, 007?" -- and no one can figure out why. They want to reassign him to another mission related to the gathering storm. Bond objects: he's right on his quarry's tail and nearly home. The Soviets are always saber-rattling -- big deal. But London insists.
Not sure how to make this work, but Bond somehow finds his guy just before he's to go off on his new assignment. Don't know the details at this point, but the guy is somehow in other trouble. When Bond tells him he's a British agent, the man says "Thank God -- you must help me." Bond is dumbfounded. Turns out that all the goingson in the Warsaw Pact are the result of bad intelligence (sound familiar?). Don't know why exactly, but Soviets leaders truly believe the West is planning a move against them and are in an absolute panic and plan to strike first. The guy Bond means to kill has information that will convince them they are wrong and avert war. But Bond is not the only spy looking to plug the guy. After a lifetime in the business, he's made many enemies, and they are nipping at his heels. If Bond doesn't help him, he's a dead man, and that means nuclear war.
You can see the dramatic possibilities ... How does Bond know he isn't being tricked? (He tells London about the guy, perhaps, but they call it a trick and insist he execute him and move on to his new assignment). Bond is torn. He can't afford to be wrong, either way. Moreover, if he helps him, Bond will be helping a guy who killed a woman he cared about. Helping him would also mean disobeying London's orders, but he figures what the hell, if he's wrong about the guy there won't be any London left, or New York or Paris or Moscow.
Of course, the guy is telling the truth, so another angle is that while helping him, Bond comes to realize that whatever the man has done, even the killing of the woman, he was just doing a job, like Bond.
I'll expect a story credit and a share of the profits ...
At the beginning of the story, establish that M is convalesing at a hospital, following a near fatal heart attack. He's unconscious. His No. 2 is acting director. Make it someone that M is reputed to dislike within MI6. It's the No. 2 that gives Bond his assigment to kill the Soviet agent.
Here the conclusion of the story after Bond find the agent he has been assigned to kill. Of course you'd have to cut the part about the London calling with the reassigment. It's complicated but:
1)The agent tells Bond the No.2 is in fact a longtime Soviet mole and that the information that Soviets leaders are so freaked out about came from him, which is why they believe it so strongly. He doesn't know what the mole's motivation is, but believes he may have a partner in the Soviet government. Then again, it may also be that the mole is a triple. A Soviet posing as a Brit working for the Soviets but working for the Brits, and the intelligence was simply a huge miscalculation on the part of the West.
2) The agent is right. The mole does have a partner: the agent's boss, the head of the KGB, a Soviet official who plans to discredit the mole's information at the last minute and avert the war. He believes such a close call by the Soviets in charge will precipipate their fall (much like the Cuban Missile Crisis actually did for Kruschoev in the '60s) and allow him to take power himself.
2) M's heart attack, we find out, was in fact an assassination attempt.
3)The Soviet agent tells Bond that someone, the mole and/or his partner has put assassins on his trail that mean to kill him to keep him from exposing the plot to the Soviet government. But the agent is wrong: They are in fact there to protect him from Bond. Because although the KGB leader had convinced the mole that he too wants to silence the agent, he in fact wants the agent alive just long enough to tell Bond about the mole so that Bond will return to Britain and liquidate the mole -- the only witness to the plot and too dangerous to leave alive. Which is in fact what Bond does. He then, belatedly, discovers the truth for a noir ending.
You could still keep the character stuff: Bond being torn about trusting and helping someone who killed a woman he care about, whether the guy is on the level, his acknowledging the fact he was only doing his job and maybe being angry when the KGB agents finally kill the guy.
Unfortunatley I have not had the time to write as I like, for the last two to three weeks I have been on what we call an FTX (Forward Training Exercies). I'm thinking of we working my plot alittle as suggested and give a more definative reason for the Warsaw Pact gearing for war rather than the "wild hair in arse" plot I have going now. I'm a big Clancy fan so I'm hoping to invcorperate lots of charactors so I'm looking into trying do so.
I really like the idea of the M assasination in fact if you may allow me to do so I would love to reincorperate that into my story taking place while M is debreifing Bond rather than having him on CQ because that was a slow part of the story. I did love the sequence in TMWTGG where Bond tries to kill M, shocking but very unique, I loved it.
I will get back to writing again, and I promise an updated verion for those who wait for it.
Again sorry for the delay, but **** happens. See you guys later.
* * *
Bond got to his office a few minutes after 8:00, Goodnight wasn’t there, he had told her to come in later, it would give him time to get things done himself, he preferred things that way. The red phone purred as Bond was clearing off his desk,
“007”
“See me immediately 007,” came M’s harsh voice over the direct secure line. Bond’s heart jumped as it always did when he got off the phone with M. What was it now, what assignment would he get. Would it be his last, it always could be. Bond walked quickly down the hall to M’s office. Moneypenny was busy filing papers and didn’t bother to look up. The red light was on above the door.
“Go ahead and go in James.” Bond walked through and stood in front of M’s desk. No matter how many times he stood there, he always felt like a child being chastened. M was one of those people you either respected or feared, but never loved, not that Bond loved anyone anyways.
“Sit down James,” M’s said softly looking over a sheet of paper which he held in his hand; the free hand pointed to the arm chair in front of him. Bond unbuttoned his suit and took his seat, and attempted to read M’s face for any sort of clue. The face was now older, if that was possible. The hair almost all white, and the forehead was riddled with wrinkles. The eyes that hid behind the two large glass lens where war-torn and weary, but still sharp and attentive. M rarely if ever smiled, Bond could not think of a single time in his presence that he had seen him smile; so his there was a permanent frown on his face, with wrinkles accordingly. There was no sign, or hint, of emotion on the old face. Just the same look of intense concentration and concern. He looked up and sighed then let paper fall flat to the desk, and again the room was eerily quiet.
“Something terrible has happen 00-” M never finished the final syllable of Bond’s number, the crack of the rifle and the shattering glass cut it off. M’s body slumped down and fell to the ground. For the first time in his entire career Bond hesitated, out of heartbreak, M was practically the father he never had. The second shot from the rifle jarred 007 back to his senses and he dove for cover.
“James.” Came a weary gasp from the corner. He crawled over to where M was huddled under the desk. “Look at me, and listen. I’ve always, tried to teach you two things. Never let them see you bleed.”
“Sir-”
“And, always have an escape plan. Finish the damned mission James.” And with that Miles Messervy closed his eyes in death. A single tear rolled down Bond’s cheek as he crawled through the office. He bolted through Miss Moneypenny’s door and down the hall to the fire escape. He slid down the escape route and landed hard on the concrete below. In another second Bond was up and running again towards the building adjacent to M’s office where the shot had originated. As he rounded the corner he caught the sounded of screeching tires and saw a black sedan barreling through the morning traffic. The assassin had escaped. Bond hung his head and made the long walk back to Universal in shame and sorrow.
* * *
The police had arrived shortly after he got back to the office and were already drawing up the crime scene. Miss Moneypenny had fled in terror and he had found her, only after searching for a half hour, in the stairwell sobbing softly. He had comforted as best he knew how and then rejoined the investigating officers in his late boss’s office.
“Was there any indication to the presence of the assassin?” The man from Scotland Yard asked.
“None.”
“Well I’ll be frank with you Commander, we have absolutely nothing to go on here. No evidence of any kind to suggest who this man was and who he worked for. I wish I could be of more help but there is only so much we can do. We have gone over the office and the opposite building with a fine tooth comb and there is nothing. I’d as soon say that he was killed by a ghost.” The man paused and looked over the room. “We informed the Prime Minister, he will be here in forty-five minutes to take control of things. I don’t suppose there is anything I do for you sir?”
“No you have done enough, thank you.” Bond said quietly holding back his anger.
* * *
The Prime Minister arrived promptly at 9:27. Bond had received the call from the lobby informing him that the he was heading for Bond’s office. The building had been quiet as a tomb since the time of the shooting.
“Fitting.” Bond mumbled under his breath, it was a tomb. There was a knock on the door and Goodnight peaked in.
“The Prime Minster is here James.”
“Send him in.” He replied as he got up from his chair. Shortly the PM walked in. The man was rather short around five foot four and in his late sixties. The eyes which had seen many a bad day in his long life in service to his country seemed void. M had been more than just a colleague, he had been a friend of many years dating way back to their time in service together with the Royal Navy. The two looked upon each other for a moment, there was nothing to say. Bond offered him a seat and went back around to his desk. The PM accepted it with a sigh. Bond broke the silence first.
“What needs to be done Mr. Prime Minster.” he leaned forward intently.
“Well firstly we will have to find a suitable replacement.”
“A replacement.” Bond sat back.
“Yes. My God hearing it does make it sound dreadful. But it has to be done.” Bond nodded “Did M brief you up on your next mission before… before he was killed?”
“No, he was getting to that.”
“Right then I suppose that I should tackle that first. As you well know the Soviet Union has be becoming more industrialized every single day since the beginning of the Cold war. Their factories are beginning to get entirely to complicated for even the most educated man to control so they are resorting to computers to run most of the machines, which has two pros, one alleviating human error from the equation and two, computer don’t need to sleep eat or be paid. The only down side to this is that they require a nice supply of gold for all the circuitry that is required to make them run. I have told you all this so you could understand the seriousness of the situation. Late last night one of their gold smelts, the major one in Sverdlovsk caught fire and was severely damaged if not completely.”
“How?”
“Well naturally they aren’t saying. But from the looks of it is was no accident. Someone blew the thing up from the inside. Someone smart enough to know how important it was to the Soviet economy, and it sure as hell wasn’t us.”
“Then who?
“We don’t know. The Americans know just about as much as us, which as you can see is very little. Now that smelt in Sverdlovsk accounted for around 70% of the Soviet gold output for their new computer based factories. Which means that they are going to fall dreadfully behind schedule and possible into economic ruin.”
“My God, it will collapse without a shot being fired.”
“Maybe, but you should know that the Soviets are not going to go so quietly into the night. This one has the potential of being bad for all of us.”
“How so?”
“If the Soviet Union collapses then there will be a collection of countries and an even larger collection of people without a viable leader and economy. The entire thing could fall into complete anarchy. We are aware, as well as they, that many bent Generals from inside their own armies are known to sell equipment to make money. Without any leadership at all, tons of military equipment will be placed on the market for the highest bidder, and I don’t trust they’ll be to terribly bias. But what worries us the most, as well as the Americans, are who would be in control of their nuclear arsenal. It was decided long ago that the likelihood that Soviets would purposely start a nuclear war was ruled out. They have an unnumbered amount of nuclear fission bombs, but we aren’t concerned by that much anymore. What scares us is that man who has only one. We are certain that if the Soviet Union falls into economic ruin that some of these, not all, will without a doubt show up on the market for a fair sum.”
“Then any madman can purchase one for his own sick collection.”
“Yes and any terrorist organization as well. On top off all that the entire region would most likely fall into unending civil war which would require in all likelihood some sort of intervention.” Bond fell back into his chair and thought of all the now occurring possibilities.
“Well that certainly puts things into prospective.”
“Yes, I’d say. What we want you to do is go to Sverdlovsk and find out what really happened. How’s your Russian?”
“It works.”
“Good your flight leaves tomorrow-”
“What!” The Prime Minister jumped from Bond’s fit of anger.
“-At 8:00.”
“And the funeral?” The Prime Minister sighed. He had almost forget the whole reason why he was needed here. It was very like Bond not to, that’s what made him so good at what he did.
“Things will be taken care of 007, you needn’t worry.”
“You don’t think I’d actually miss it do you.” Bond’s blood was boiling.
“007 you must understand that M’s cover is the same as yours, a business man. There will be a proper military ceremony but there will be nothing spectacular about it. It will be a nice and elegant ceremony for him and his family.”
“That doesn’t explain my absences.”
“I will not be able to attend either 007. My presence there would only raise suspicions. To his family he was only a simple business man, not the head of an elite Intelligence Agency. Seeing the Prime Minister there and other strangers would be cause for suspicion for them and others who might happen upon it. The report itself was also covered. Even in death, no one can know of all that he did. Maybe someday, when the world has no need for Secret Intelligence Agencies, someone can tell his family of all the heroic things he did for his country. But right now is not that time, I‘m afraid.” Bond sat there unmoved. He understood.
“The equipment officer will have some things for you to pick up before you leave stop by in the morning to pick them up. I may have some more useful information for you as well.”
“Yes sir.”
“And Bond, do not take my harshness for uncaring. I understand you pain, we will all miss him terribly, but he would have wanted you to go ahead. I know he would have.”
“So do I.”
“Well then I will see you in the morning.” The Prime Minister then dismissed himself and left Bond alone with his thoughts.
“Finish the damned mission James.”
* * *
Bond went home early, there had been nothing to do, and the whole building was all but vacant by noon. He went to the cabinet and pulled out the bottle of Jack, smiled grimly and poured himself a glass. Yes, the Russians wouldn’t go quietly into the night. He remembered the events leading up to his return after he had killed Blofeld; no he recalled the reports he had read, the Russians had erased most of the events from his memory. They were meticulous, and damned smart as well. The PM had been right. The whole situation was of the utmost of importance.
“This is the big one 007.”
The ice tinkled against the glass as he drank. The whiskey gave a warm, almost soothing sensation on the way down. Bond reached for a cigarette, lit it and watched the sun set on yet another day. Afterwards he got up and took a long soaking bath then went to bed early, he would need the rest.
* * *
The night had not gone well for Bond. He kept having unending nightmares about the day before. His conscience was now his worst enemy.
Could I have saved him? Did I do my job? I didn’t, I could have saved him or at least I could have caught the assassin and brought him to justice. I will bring him to justice. I have to, if it’s the last thing that I ever do I will.
“This isn’t your own personal vendetta 007- Finished the damned mission James, finish the mission.”
Bond sat back in the soft leather chair with his head in his hands listening to the one million voices in his and trying to pick the one voice of reason. For a good hour Bond sat and thought about whether he was fit for duty. Many times he had decided to put in his resignation. But every time he heard M’s final words to him. He smiled, he found the voice of reason, the same as it always been, now in a new light. He got up took a shower and headed to the office.
* * *
Bond walked into his office spoke to Goodnight and returned to his desk. He began to get things in order to go to the equipment officer when the red phone purred. For a few seconds Bond sat there staring at it, wondering if it was just another dream, but finally built up the courage to pick it up.
“007”
“See me before you go to the equipment officer 007.” The voice was different, Bond had expected that much though.
“Yes sir.”
“Ma’am,” the click on the other end told Bond the line was disconnected. He entered M’s office just as he had done a million times before, but this time it was different, for starts Moneypenny wasn’t there, probably at home on sick leave still trying to recover. The light was red and he walked in. Behind the large old oak desk there was a new face, one that he has never seen before. The woman was small about five foot two with grayish blue hair eyes to match. The large desk that she sat behind made her look that much smaller. Bond didn’t like her, she was after a woman.
“Good morning 007.” She said looking up.
“Ma’am.”
“Please sit down the equipment officer will be in shortly, Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Your predecessor kept a bottle of cognac in that cabinet,” Bond said nodding in the cabinet’s direction. She smiled and opened it. Sure enough there was a half full bottle of cognac there, still unmoved. She removed to small glasses from the drawer in front of her and began filling them.
“I’m sure the Prime Minister has already briefed you.” Bond nodded as he took a sip. “Good, one less thing we have to worry about then.” She reached down and picked up the phone. “Yes we are ready send him in.” A few moments later a man appeared in the doorway. He stood around six foot and was in his early fifties, with black hair that was going gray around the edges.
“Morning Q.”
“Good Morning 007.” He sounded very tired and stressed and Bond was sure that the death of M had effected him as well. “Alright listen up 007, this is now being issued as standard equipment.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver watch. “This is a modified Rolex watch much like that one your wearing now.”
“Modified how?”
“I was just getting to that.” Q said glaringly. “In the back of the watch there is a small tracking device. It will let us know where you are at all times. An added bonus, this small appendage on the back here,” Q turned the watch and pointed, “is detachable. You can place it in a pocket or whatever you see fit and you can use this to track its position.” Q reached down and picked up the dark rust colored brief case and opened it up. Inside was a small handheld device. He flipped it on and was created with a quite pinging sound. He held it up to Bond. “The homer will track within lets say fifty miles of your target. It can most likely track up to one hundred but it only tested to fifty so use that at your discretion.”
“Is that all Q,” M spoke up.
“Yes Ma’am.”
“Thank you that is all.” Q nodded and left the room.
“Now 007, we want to figure out what the Soviet are doing. They are up to something, that’s a given, but to exactly what we don’t know. That’s your job to find out. I understand that you were rather close to my predecessor, don’t think that I’m trying to impede on his memory. I’m just doing the job I was given same as you. But just because I am a woman don’t think for a second that I don’t have the balls to send a man to his death.” Bond smiled slightly at that. Maybe she would be alright after all. “My predecessor cut 00 fatalities by twenty percent while he held this office, I plan very much to keep that record the same.”
“Hence the tracking device.”
“Yes, that way if something does happen to you we can find you and try and get you out.”
“But that’s not what we do.”
“It is now. I know how things were run before, but I think some things should be different. If I recall back a few years you had been injured and taken by the Russians and brainwashed into trying to kill your boss. We can’t have the same thing happening. The Russians obviously know who you are, so they will be looking for you.” Bond nodded, at least she knew what she was talking about. “Statistics say that the Russians have a few more months of crud oil to fuel their economy. Given the numbers we’ve gathered that should be fine for around five months. If we know this so do they, so things are going to be happening quickly.
“So you were an accountant.” Bond asked with contempt. M sat there for a moment and looked at Bond.
“You don’t like me, you think I’m an accountant with my trust in my numbers than your gut instincts.” She leaned forward. “Well your right and till you can prove me and my numbers wrong that is how its going to be. Word has it that you’re a womanizing orphan with a chip on his shoulder, only interested in women for one obvious reason.” She glared at him. Bond was taken back with her fierceness. She wouldn’t be half bad after all. “You will treat this mission justly and dispassionately. I don’t want you out chasing skirts when the whole world could go to hell while your busy. Is that understood.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Good, that is all Bond.” He stood up and walked to the door.
“And Bond. Come back alive.”
“Ma’am.”
* * *
Bond’s flight had been on time. The flight had been uneventful and he had even managed to get a few hours of sleep. The world had completely changed, back in London it had be warm with a small chance of rain, in Moscow it was freezing and snowing. Bond gave the customs agent his passport, which had the name Stuart Reynolds.
“Business or pleasure?” He asked in a thick Russian accent.
“Both,” Bond said with a friendly smile. The customs officer gave him and the passport one more glance then handed it back.
“Enjoy your stay.” Bond walked through the busy airport and out towards the front to get a taxi. He walked out into the brisk Russian cold and waited patiently. A grey sedan pulled around in front of him. The windows were tinted almost black, but Bond could just make out the driver shifting around in his seating and making a grab for something. His sense were on high alert as the tall blond man stepped out of the car.
“Goddamn you limeys don’t have enough since to come in out of the cold,” came the slow southern drawl.
“Felix! Well, well, they didn’t tell me I’d have to put up with you while I was here,” Bond said with a grin.
“Yea yea, get in I’m freezing,” Lieghter said as he opened the trunk and helped Bond throw his bags in. When they had gotten into the car Felix turned towards him with a look of genuine concern. “My God James I heard about M. That’s a damn shame, I heard you had been in the office with him.” The events of the last 48 hours came rushing back to Bond, it had already felt like an eternity ago. Bond told the tale as Felix weaved through the traffic. Afterwards they sat quietly side by side. Bond felt there wasn’t anything more to say, what was done had been done and he couldn’t go about dwelling on that now. Just as M had always told him, he wasn’t on a personal vendetta, he had another mission to take care of, one that might affect the whole world.
“So what does CIA no about all this mess?”
“Search me, we know the same as you. Some damned smelt burnt to the ground in Siberia and its going to destroy their economy. We are supposed to be there late tomorrow afternoon, which gives us a few hours to kill around here before we have to catch the bus that’s going to take us there. By the way whats your alias?”
“Stuart Reynolds.” Felix stifled a laugh and grinned at Bond. “Hey I didn’t choose the damned thing, suppose yours is better?”
“Ricky Travis,” Felix said still wearing the big grin.
“Suits you perfect.”