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Chapter Thirty-Four:
Eyeing the Deal
Auric Enterprises
Bernese Alps, Switzerland
10:42 AM, CET
Four days later, Hunter found himself in Goldfinger's small-conference room: his "miniature office," as he called it. The walls were of smooth pine, polished to a gleam. They had had a light coating of gold paint put on them, bringing out an extravagant amber hue. While Goldfinger sat behind his desk, Hunter took a seat in front of it, with another chair next to him for their guest who would be arriving shortly.
He was sitting cross-legged, stroking his jaw line, as a light knock sounded on the door.
"Ah," muttered Goldfinger.
Both men stood.
"Please," he said warmly, "come in!"
The door opened, and in stepped a man of impressive stature. Looking at him, Hunter thought he must have been over six foot. Wearing a cream suit, his choice of fabric was complimented by the warm brown of his skin. The graying-black hair had been pulled back to lay flat, and sat above a watchful face, with dark eyes and something of a tight mouth. Looking at it, it almost seemed like the face of a hawk or some bird of prey.
Hunter glanced curiously at the man's hand as he noticed a small black box lying in it.
"Jonathan," said Goldfinger, "this is my associate, Francisco Scaramanga. Mr. Scaramanga, this is Jonathan Hunter. He's a new member of our organization."
"Excellent."
The man named Scaramanga, Hunter noted, had a deep, rich voice. He extended his hand, and the two men shook.
"Now," Goldfinger suggested, "why don't we all sit down?"
They did so.
"Gentlemen, perhaps we should get down to business. I have invited Mr. Scaramanga here today to, as I have, make a proposition. Mr. Scaramanga?"
The tall man nodded.
"Thank you, Auric. Now, Mr. Hunter, I have heard of your recent joining of our ranks. First off, I would like to congratulate you. It's a most exclusive membership, and I'm sure you will fit right in. To get down to it, however, I am also, of course, aware of your optometric situation: you only have one eye. I have heard the story also, Mr. Hunter, so you need not explain it to me. Now, while your marksmanship and otherwise physical and sensual abilities are remarkable, I do believe that we - that is to say, my associates and myself - could improve your situation, if not make it better than before.
"As you have most likely heard at some point or another, when an organism loses one or more senses, it automatically increases its acuteness in other senses to compensate. While it's no doubt also been a product of practice and experience, you have also undoubtedly increased your prowess skill-wise in the years since you lost your eye. The idea that I had was that, should that sense be restored - visual capability in your right eye - , that acquired skill will remain, while you might continue to improve it through having that fifty percent greater vision."
Hunter thought about what this man was saying. Restoring his complete vision...the thought had crossed his mind a great many times. However, he had never considered it as a legitimately available possibility. This offer, however...
"Thoughts?"
Hunter looked up at him, intrigued to feel surprise within himself. Slowly, he nodded.
"Yes..." he said, "...yes, that sounds like a good idea. I'm guessing, then, that you know my eye has been lost along with my vision. Should I assume, therefore, that the concept is to place a new eye in the socket?"
Scaramanga nodded.
"Precisely, Mr. Hunter. But, erm, if you'll excuse the cliché...not just any eye."
Hunter leaned back, furrowing his brows.
"Go on; I'm intrigued."
"Well," continued Scaramanga, "the thought is to implant a new eye, but with certain...abilities, shall we say?"
Goldfinger nodded silently.
"You see," he went on, "we feel that this transplantation of the eye presents a unique opportunity to put you at a technological advantage. Now, I'm sure you're wondering what exactly I mean by that. To be a bit clearer, Mr. Hunter, scientists of mine have been studying what they could do insofar as 'cyborg technology': man and machine. Not robots of course, but operations on a small scale. We believe that, using the electricity of your brain waves in conjunction with microscopic circuitry embedded in the optical nerve, we could turn your eye from a vision device into a technological device."
Hunter let the words sink in as he began wondering just what the hell he meant by it. Such an offer was surely in good nature, but...turning his eye into a remote control? a radio receiver?
"Mr. Scaramanga," he said apprehensively, "the offer's great, but...I'm a bit conflicted. I'm not sure if..."
"Please," responded Scaramanga. "Take your time to consider it."
Of course he wanted to regain his vision, but was this not a little much? And yet still, the even more dangerous question entered his mind.
...was there anything to lose?
Theoretically, no. If what this man was saying was true, it would even put him at an advantage. It was the optimistically reckless side of him that made the decision.
"I hear your offer," he said, "and I'd like to say that...it appeals to me. So, I suppose I would have to say...yes."
Scaramanga's face showed not joy, but satisfaction. To Hunter, it seemed he was legitimately interested in assisting him.
"Good. Of course, you realize an operation of this scale will take a small while; not terribly long, of course, but I would pin the estimate at around four days, with a full week recovery."
"Right," said Hunter, nodding. "It sounds very good, Mr. Scaramanga."
He shook the man's hand, closing the deal. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Goldfinger smile his satisfaction.
"Mr. Scaramanga," said Goldfinger, "perhaps we should show Mr. Hunter what you've brought?"
"Of course, Auric."
Hunter watched with curiosity as Scaramanga retrieved the peculiar black box from his side and set in his lap. He flipped the latches up and opened the box to reveal a pistol, slightly larger than most one would find. It showed beautifully, with painted silver along the rail and black everywhere else.
"This," said Scaramanga, "is your new SPEC-9 sidearm. It's a modified version of your former standard issue weapon, the Walther P99. My ballistics experts, I think you'll find, have made several improvements. First of all, it's lighter weight. You can hold it if you'd like. There, you see? Second of all, in spite of its deceptive weight, the pistol you're holding can, in fact, carry four more bullets than its original. Also - and I think you'll find this amongst its best features - it's been adjusted to both have less recoil and also to fire off rounds two-and-a-half times what your old gun could."
Hunter almost chuckled. His old gun. He played with the weapon in his hands, admiring the technology and artisanship.
"It's fantastic, Mr. Scaramanga. When do I get to use it?"
"As soon as your next job comes up," answered Goldfinger, "which may be sooner than you think."
The thought excited him.
"So it's decided then," said Scaramanga. "You're to have the operation, Mr. Hunter, which shall be carried out here."
"Excellent. When am I to go in?"
"In two days' time. I'm sure you'll find that time enough to prepare mentally for what lies ahead: a simple operation that will leave you with, quite understatedly, extraordinary results."
Fantastic. A new eye, and a new sidearm.
For the first time, he realized, Jonathan Hunter was home.
More tomorrow.
Chapter Thirty-Five:
A New Perspective
The next four days were a blur of anesthetic, confusion, and a sense of unawareness of what was going on. Hunter knew, somewhere, deep within the functioning confines of his mind, that he was being drugged at intervals for the purpose of operating. Not to say that they made the surgery period any easier, but they did, however, create some strange of sense of both elongation as well as a profound shortening of the time span.
He had waited out the two days in hopeful expectation, though some nervous tension was constantly pulling at his gut. When the day had finally come for the operation to commence, Hunter had found Scaramanga in one of Goldfinger's medical labs. After a brief discussion and words of encouragement, he had been sedated and put on the metal table.
It was now four days later that, with a sense of grogginess and immobility, wondering if this was just a drug-induced hallucination, he heard the first human voice that he had in four days.
"You can open your eyes now."
The voice was deep, measured. After a moment of thought, he recognized it as Scaramanga's. But something was odd....
Eyes?
Hunter attempted to do so, immediately breaking through his perceived barrier of immobility. His eyelids gently opened, and he found that, with a sense of dreamlike wonderment, he could now see through his right eye.
Before anything else, a light grin pulled at the corners of his lips, eventually spreading out into a full smile. He attempted to open his mouth, to do...something to express himself.
"I-I can see...."
"Yes, Mr. Hunter. You can see. How does it feel?"
"Physically, I suppose...not very different. I mean...it feels like a cloud, some veil, has been lifted up from above where my right eye ought to be...is. I can move it freely now...both of them...at once."
Marveling at his full vision, he observed the different ceiling tiles from one side of the room to the other. He heard and saw Scaramanga walk from behind him to his left side, looking down at him.
"The doctors have told me that the drugs have now worn down enough that you should be able to stand up and walk around. Perhaps you'd like to try?"
Hunter nodded, and slowly, gingerly did so. He felt remarkably balanced on his own two feet, and turned his head this way and that to observe the room to nearly double the extent that he would have been able to before. Looking down, he noticed that he was bare-chested, and felt a slight breeze from the ventilation shaft blow across his pectorals.
"Jonathan..."
He turned.
"I have some news that I hope doesn't disappoint you. I'm afraid, given the circumstances, that we were unable to give you an eye of similar color to your other one."
Not disappointed, but mostly...confused.
"You see, while the technology in your new eye operates mainly on electric brain impulses, certain purposes of it dictate that it also operates on luminary responses; microscopic light beams, if you will. Your given eyes are of a dark color, Mr. Hunter, making such abilities somewhat difficult, though not impossible, to implant. To put it simply, we had to go with something of a rather lighter hue. Perhaps you had rather take a look for yourself."
Scaramanga gestured toward a mirror on the wall. Hunter walked over to it, head down so that his first glance might be close up. When finally, he looked up at the reflection, he saw his right eye in its proper socket, looking the same as the left but for one major difference.
The eye was gold.
He realized he must have gasped a little, and leaned in closer to examine it. The iris was, indeed, golden. It had a white body and black pupil, but the ring in between almost gleamed with its shade. After a while and a few more moments of careful observation, Hunter came to realize that he was, if anything, impressed. He had gotten a new right eye, and it was actually of a magnificent color. Eventually, he turned back to face Scaramanga.
"It looks...spectacular. My utmost gratitude, Mr. Scaramanga."
"Certainly," the taller man replied, smiling. "I'm glad that you are pleased with it."
"Absolutely."
Hunter examined it in the mirror once more before remember something.
"So..." he said, "...what's next?"
Scaramanga seemed to acknowledge the question as expected.
"As I anticipated, Mr. Hunter, and as you discussed with your current employer. Auric would like to speak with you. He is in his office, and is eager to see you and your new eye."
"Excellent. I'm finding myself just as eager to see him with it."
***
"It looks...magnificent, Mr. Hunter."
Immediately upon a shower and dressing, Hunter had made his way to Goldfinger's office. He stood almost awkwardly now as his boss spectacled at the optometric innovation.
"I thought so as well, sir. Mr. Scaramanga's physicians have done a fantastic job."
"They certainly have. I will, however, break myself out of my own trance for long enough to say what I have been wanting to. I realize, Jonathan, that you did not just come down here for me to marvel at your eye. You would like to have a question answered, and I think we are on the same page in that regard. Your first and next job is to come up, as I alluded to, in the very near future. On Mr. Scaramanga's orders, I am to let you recover and get used to the new eye over the course of the next week. However, immediately following that, I have a job for you."
"Where?"
"In Hong Kong. And your assignment, as I am sure you have hoped, is to assassinate Dr. No."
Hunter was almost taken aback. If he had not been expecting it, he had certainly been hoping for it. He focused his thoughts and managed to get his words out.
"How exactly do you plan on me doing that?"
"My forces have gathered intelligence showing that Dr. No will be in Hong Kong in one week's time. He will be attending a meeting with a black market plutonium salesman by the name of Lao Sing. They are planning to conduct their conference on the forty-eighth floor of the Wong Economic building."
"So, what's the plan, then? Am I to try to put a bomb under the conference table?"
"No, the security will be much too tight for that. Immediately adjacent to the building is a skyscraper under construction. You are to infiltrate the construction site and make your way to the forty-eighth storey; ideally, that should be much simpler. I will have one of my men place a sniper rifle in a case earlier in the day, and you will retrieve it. Given your vantage point, you should have a clear shot to Dr. No."
Hunter nodded.
"Excellent. I'm looking forward to it, Goldfinger."
"As am I. Let us just hope, when the time comes, that his friends do not also have a clear shot to you."
Massively grateful if you've chosen to keep up with this, and I can finally say again: more tomorrow.
Welcome back @Smirnoff_Purple.
Chapter Thirty-Six:
The Woman Named Galore
Auric Enterprises
Bernese Alps, Switzerland
1:36 P.M., CET
Hunter walked up the steps to the helipad, accompanied by the ever-still-faced Otto. He wore only a light jacket to protect against the cold, knowing that the journey from complex to climate-controlled helicopter would be a short one. Upon reaching the helipad itself, he was greeted by a cat-suited woman standing in front of the aircraft.
Hands on hips, she had neck-length dark blonde hair that caught snow-flakes in the wind. Her eyes were a cool blue, calm and controlled. Hunter's eyes moved from the lips, pressed together seductively, to the almost delicately masculine chin, the neck, and finally down to the whole gorgeous body, its curves hugged by the black, pink-lined leather. The most beautiful woman he had seen since Caroline....
He pushed the thought from his mind and walked up to greet her.
"Good afternoon," he said. "I'm Jonathan Hunter."
She smiled sensually.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Hunter. My name is Pussy Galore."
Good heavens.
"Well," Hunter coughed, composing himself. "It's nice to meet you, Miss Galore. Shall I presume you're flying me to China?"
"Mm, that's right."
"Should I be afraid?"
There was displeasure, but still humor in her expression.
"I'm Mr. Goldfinger's personal pilot. I should think you shouldn't be, unless do you decide to say something nasty."
"Now why would I do that?"
Hunter smiled, and received the same in return.
"C'mon," she said, "let's get in the chopper."
They both took seats in the front. As Pussy put on her headset, Hunter followed suit and watched Otto retreat down the stairs from the window. A few switches and buttons were pressed, and after a moment, the blades began to turn and the helicopter floated softly into the sky. Quite suddenly, he heard Pussy's voice from next to him.
"I'm going to ask you a question you probably expected I was going to ask before. Surely you know that's a peculiar eye you've got there. Care to share the details?"
Well, the question was to be expected at one point or another.
"Alright," Hunter replied. "First off, you should know that I'm an ex-MI6 agent."
"Really.
There was curiosity in the voice that sounded somewhat stunned.
"Are you surprised?"
"Oh," she replied, "no. Well...yes, really. But not that I can't picture you in intelligence. I can, but you rather caught me off guard with that. You're a SPECTRE agent; surely you'd have figured successful turncoats are a rarity."
Hunter shrugged.
"Fair enough. But I'll continue on for the sake of your question. I was on assignment one night with a fellow agent of mine. I acted like a fool, got myself explosed, and got my right eye shot out."
He saw Pussy wince in his peripheral vision.
"...sorry; it must have been horrible. How long ago was that?"
"Three years ago. If you had seen me two weeks ago, in fact, you would be looking at an eye patch."
"Oh, so that eye is new to you, too?"
"Two weeks less so, I suppose, but yes. One of Goldfinger's friends set it up for me, a Mr. Scaramanga."
"Hmm."
"You've met him?"
"A couple of times," replied Pussy. "He's a nice man, I've just never had the opportunity to conduct any extensive business with him. Glad to hear you've been helped, though."
"Thank you; although, I'm sure the question's still lingering in your mind...."
She nodded.
"Gold. Why is that?"
"Well, according to Scaramanga, it's a matter of the technology."
"The technology?"
Pussy sounded bewildered.
"Yes. You see, the nice folks of SPECTRE decided this was a wonderful opportunity for me to receive a one-up over the competition. The eye they put in possesses certain...abilities that they've outlined for me, though you likely shouldn't ask the scientific specifics of them. It operates on brainwaves and microscopic light, the latter of which meaning they couldn't stick with my natural eye color. Allegedly, by some coordination method I've yet to get down pat, I can use it to my advantage. So, basically, I've got a weapon in my eye socket."
Pussy simply stared ahead for a moment, trying to take it in.
"Wow," she breathed after a while. "I mean...that really is amazing. Surely you think so, too?"
"I do," Hunter admitted. "I must admit, I'm still not entirely used to it."
"I would bet not. So...what are these 'abilities'?"
Hunter struggled to recount them.
"Well," he said, "they've implanted a kind of X-ray technology that allows me to see through walls, objects, the like. And they've apparently gotten a computer processor in there or something, because I can now, as I've been told, hack into select electronic devices. As I understand it, they've inserted a signal beacon that can active control panels, get past digital locks, whatever, without needing a password."
"Mr. Hunter-"
"Jonathan."
"Jonathan...that's fantastic. Almost like something out of a science fiction novel, isn't it?"
Hunter chuckled.
"I suppose it is. There is one more thing, though. There's a magnet, or a system of magnets, embedded in the circuitry. If activated, it puts out an anti-magnetic polar shield within a small radius. It can only be used for a short time, I'm afraid, but the idea is that it deflects bullets. You can think of it more-or-less as temporary body armor from headshots."
"Impressive. And all that in your eye?"
"And behind it."
Pussy laughed.
"Sorry if this makes you uncomfortable," she said, "but I feel like I should mention something. I'm sure you've heard of world-class crooks and criminals with their monikers, and...something's stricken me about you. Do you mind if I make a suggestion?"
Interesting.
"Go ahead."
Pussy smiled, her lips seeming to take pleasure in forming themselves around the word.
"GoldenEye."
More tomorrow!
A Shot in the Dark
Chun Corporation building site
Hong Kong, China
10:08 P.M., HKT
Several hours later, the name still rang in Hunter's head.
GoldenEye. Such a unique title, and yet it described him perfectly; an aesthetic feature of his, anyway, one that very if few (if any) could claim to possess. Yes, very unique.... Taking on such a name, and soon, might prove useful. If it were to become his legend in the criminal underworld, it might just throw off his tail any forces trying to track down Jonathan Hunter, former member of the British Secret Service.
He cleared his mind of the thought as he heard a soft crackle in his ear.
"Hunter," came the voice from the other end, "confirm your location."
Hunter put a finger to his ear.
"On my way, Chang. Will let you know when I'm in position. Out."
"Roger."
Hunter stood in the construction site's man-moving elevator, ascending steadily, floor by floor. It was the building site for what eventually would become the Chun Corporation's Central Offices. Relatively speaking, the Chun Corporation was a new company. It had been around for roughly four years, and had its interests in agricultural production and distribution. Its CEO, Yeung Chun, had thus far been running business from a smaller office downtown, but realized that expansion rates were growing rapidly enough to warrant a larger headquarters. Decked by layer after layer of concrete, it was by this point still only a red skeleton of I-beams.
But tonight, it would serve a purpose completely irrelevant to its original intent.
Eventually, the lift hit the forty-eighth floor. Gingerly, Hunter drew his SPEC-9 handgun. He stepped out and looked around, searching for any sign of guards. Infiltrating the first floor had been easy enough, but that by no means guaranteed the same of the rest of the building.
After a moment's observation, he found three men patrolling: one at the far end, one slightly closer on his right, and one standing sentinel farther to the left. He opted to take no chances and approached the one on the right. Luckily, the man's back was turned, and Hunter managed to knock him out cold with a pistol butt to the base of the neck. He tiptoed gently to the opposite edge, snuck up behind the sentry, and snaked an arm around his neck. The man struggled, struggled, but began to lose control. His weapon dropped to the ground, making a clatter.
The patrol at the far end turned to examine the noise. Seeing what was going on, he rushed over to assist. Hunter gripped his victim's throat even tighter, causing him to thrash about violently before finally crushing his windpipe.
Immediately upon the original guard's death, he reached his left hand into his jacket. Moments later, the hand returned with a silencer, which he subsequently screwed onto the weapon's barrel. Right as the remaining goon raised his weapon, Hunter did the same and shot him right between the eyes.
A small, black hole appeared above the bridge of his nose. The blood began to drip darkly, heavily, and it soon turned to scarlet as he fell onto his face, dead.
Hunter lowered his weapon slowly and detached the silencer. Replacing both devices in his jacket, he looked up to see the skyscraper adjacent. It was there, alright, though not terribly well-lit. Surely enough, however, he could make out little, dark shapes moving about here and there through the windows. Realizing he had no time to waste, he began searching along the concrete for the case that would contain the sniper rifle.
"Chang," he said into his earpiece, "I'm in position. Do you read?"
Chang was not his contact's real name. He was unaware of what exactly the true name was, but knew well enough to understand that he was only using a codename.
"I read you," replied Chang. "Over."
"Good. But I'm afraid I'm having a bit of trouble locating the case. Think you could help me out? Over."
"Try looking near the blowtorches. Repeat, try the blowtorches."
Hunter located a wheeled set of acetylene tanks and, sure enough, there was the silver case, looking like it might contain someone's hunting rifle. He picked it up and walked to the prearranged spot.
"I've found it. Moving into position on the east side, over."
"Glad to hear it."
"Chang, what's the wind velocity like today?"
"Low wind all day, and that includes tonight. Hell, it's like Chicago in reverse. Not that you'd need to compensate, anyway; that thing can blow a hole in a wood crate from a mile away."
"If you say so."
Hunter lay the case down on the ground. He flipped the latches and opened it up, finding inside a Barrett sniper rifle with a night scope, a fair-sized magazine, a silencer, and night-vision goggles. He made a wolf whistle through his teeth.
"Chang," he said, "you sure some of this isn't excessive?"
"Well, I figured if one failed you, you could still get by on the other one. That case has been there for a few hours; might've been damaged for all we know."
"Well, I appreciate the thought. You're a sweet man."
"Gee, thanks. Just keep your gun steady, and try not to blank."
Hunter chuckled.
"I'll try to remember that.
Hunter removed the rifle and fit the magazine into the chamber, pulling back the bolt and letting it go with a satisfying click. He screwed on the silencer, retracted the tripod, and adjusted it on the ground to make it balance. He then lay on his belly, getting into a comfortable position behind the rifle as he pressed his right, aurous eye to the rubber lens of the scope. As it glowed green in the darkness, Hunter peered through it and adjusted the zoom to catch a good look at the skyscraper opposite.
There, behind the solid pane of glass on the forty-eight floor, stood Dr. Julius No. Unconsciously, Hunter's eyes narrowed as his lip pulled back into a snarl. It had been three years since he had last seen the man, and that had been down the barrel of the good doctor's sidearm. Not so anymore.
I've got you in my sights, you bugger.
No was out of his standard lab clothes, opting instead to wear a light tan suit and white shirt. Hunter watched him through the eerie green of the night scope, conversing with a shorter, Chinese man, who he guessed was Sing.
"Chang," he said into his earpiece, "I've got a clear line of fire to No and Sing. They're holding the meeting now."
"Good. Let me know when there's a bullet in his head."
Hunter stared down the scope and tightened his finger around the trigger.
This was it.
He tensed his teeth, tightened his grip, and fired the rifle.
At a velocity of eight-hundred-and-fifty-three meters per second, the round tore out of the barrel and through the night air of Hong Kong. In a split second, it flew across the downtown nightscape and embedded itself in the glass window.
Hunter held his breath, watching events through the sniper scope. The bullet must have gone through, mustn't it? He had fired the round...he knew he had....
Dr. No simply glanced up at the spot where the round had entered. His partner was a bit more startled, moving away uncomfortably. It made no sense.
Hunter put his hand to his ear.
"Chang," he hissed, "what the hell happened? The shot didn't even go through!"
He heard a soft chuckle from the other end.
"Sorry, Jonathan. I must say, Goldfinger pays me well; but Dr. No pays me better."
Damn it, the traitor!
And then it hit him.
Just try not to blank....
Chang had replaced the rounds with dummies. Hunter ripped the bud from his ear furiously and threw it over the edge of the construction site. He looked up and down, and heard guards closing on his position. On an impulse, he pulled his gun from its holster and slid the rail back.
He would be damned if he would blank again.
Alright, I've got to stop pulling this. The fact of the matter is that I get up at 5:30 and typically don't get back home until 7-8 in the evening, and fatigue and/or forgetulness (or, "I'll get it tomorrow") usually end up being the excuses for letting posts slide and crashing in bed/on the couch. That said, I *will* try to step up my efforts to post on time, but I think it's probably best that I stop promising a chapter "tomorrow". I feel that I've built up something of an unreliability, which I hate to have done, so I want to avoid more long absences and broken promises. Thank you so much for your patience; it's massively appreciated.
Rooftop Warfare
With no time to lose, Hunter left the useless weapon behind and sprinted to the far end of the floor. While pounding footsteps sounded all around, making for the elevators, he spotted a utility cable stretching from the floor of the above level to the roof of an adjacent office building. Then, an idea struck him.
Balancing the trigger guard on top of the cable, he gripped the back of the rail with fingers interlaced. He took a breath and kicked off with his right foot.
He started off slowly at first, but soon picked up speed on the makeshift zip-line. He tried to avoid looking down, keeping his eyes forward to stay straight. Suddenly, with a grimace, he noticed a plethora of armed men pouring out onto the rooftop. Well, he would just have to deal with them, too. He tensed his body to pick up speed as he flew down to his target.
After a moment, Hunter finally reached the other end, ducking the cable's wooden stand and kicking a gun-toting goon in the chest as he landed on the concrete. Immediately, he took cover behind a nearby electrical generator and switched radio channels in his ear bud.
"Mother Hawk," he said, "Mother Hawk! Come in, we've been compromised! Over!"
A moderate crackling from the other end.
"I read you, Jonathan. Stay put if you can, I'm within a half-mile of your location. Just try to hold out as long as possible."
"Beats the hell out of my plan."
Hunter peered out from around his metallic cover. There were five men in total, each with a submachine gun. They fired off round after round, giving him minimal chance to get in a shot. As the sparks flew above his head, he tried to tiptoe his way to a vantage point. Eventually, he found a five-inch-wide gap in the machinery with a clear shot to two mercenaries.
Making a mental picture of their position, he leaned into his cover and fired his SPEC-9 in their direction. He shot off half the clip, knowing he had gotten them when he heard their cries.
He then heard approaching footsteps. Before he knew it, a black-suited guard rushed around the corner of the generator. Hunter lashed out and grabbed his heel, twisting it and forcing him onto his back. He punched him once, twice, three times in the face before knocking an elbow across his jaw and putting him out cold.
That was three down, and two left.
Gunfire continued to rain down relentlessly on his position, though now it was only two strong. He would just have to wait for his opportunity. Where was the helicopter? It was his only ticket out of there!
Finally, the firing stopped. Guessing that they were both reloading, Hunter took his chance. He broke from cover, sprinting over to them and shooting one in the abdomen. While he cried out in pain, Hunter ran full force into his partner, nearly knocking him over. But he kept the man upright in a headlock, then tossed him into his friend. Both tumbled to the floor, and Hunter fired a shot into the stomach of the one on top.
Now they were dead, and Hunter needed just to wait for the evac bird.
That was when he heard it: shouts in various places, calling out in Cantonese. He watched as guards on the building site attempted to get a fix on him, and looked over the edge of the rooftop to find even more running into the office building he was on.
He couldn't just stay on the roof; he would get shot to bits! Out of options, he ran to the rooftop stairwell and began to descend, putting his fingers to his ear.
"Mother Hawk, how close are you?"
"I'm approaching, Jonathan," came the reply. "I can see the building site; I should be coming up on it in thirty seconds."
"No, you're going to have to head to the office complex right below and in front of it. I've managed to make my way over, but I've got guards converging from all directions. I'm currently in the top floor of the building, do you think you can shoot a cable in?"
"I can try, Jonathan, but there's going to be some turbulence. Which side are you on?"
"East."
Through the top floor window, Hunter could make out the approaching helicopter in the night sky. It got closer, closer, and eventually came near enough to maneuver so that its long side was facing the building. He spoke into the earpiece.
"Nice to see you again, Pussy."
"And you. Stand back, I'm going to blast the window!"
A spot above the rear door seemed to move and, surely enough, a white flash came out of it as the glass before it burst into flame and shattered to pieces. Hunter got out from his cover of a wooden bureau and made his way toward the helicopter, crystal shards tinkling away.
Then from his earpiece:
"Jonathan! I can't stay any longer, there's a flood of them coming onto the roof! Bloody hell - is that a grenade launcher...!?"
Damn! Well, he would make his escape yet.
"Fine, Pussy! Forget the cable, just move up and away from the window and drop your ladder!"
"I hear you, I'm doing it now!"
The large, black Sikorsky pulled away from the window, at the same time ascending and dropping its rear ladder. Hunter sprinted to the edge of the window, leapt out, and grabbed onto the wooden rungs, quickly navigating to the other side. As the helicopter continued to climb, he aimed upward at the two men on the rooftop and fired off the rest of his magazine. They fell immediately backward onto the concrete.
Hunter ejected the clip and reached into his jacket with his gun hand. While they moved up and over the office building, he replaced the clip, looked down, and blasted round after round at the remaining men on the roof until every last bullet was depleted.
Finally allowing himself to look down, he gazed cynically at the luminescent cityscape beneath him. They soared past the building site, leaving behind desparate shouts and contorted bodies. Hunter replaced his pistol in its holster and clambered up the ladder.
Failure. A damned failure, and nothing to show for its efforts. Three years...he had seen him with his own eyes. If he had been more cautious, if he had been less trusting, if...no. No; nothing to be done for it. Chilled by the heat of rage, he forcefully swallowed the poison and kept climbing until he was securely inside.
The chance would come again.
It had to.
More later.
Security in Location
Auric Enterprises
Bernese Alps, Switzerland
2:15 P.M., CET
Upon Hunter's return to the mountaintop base, he and Pussy had made their way directly to Goldfinger's office. As he received the news, Goldfinger appeared stunned, angry, and finally, regretfully accepting.
"Fine," he said, face downcast behind his desk. "We have failed in our attempts, but I realize, Jonathan, that it is not your fault. Perhaps my judgment slipped through with Chang, and he ought to have been on a list of untrustworthy people all this time. But you, Jonathan...you will never be on that list."
"Thank you, sir."
It was a scene of melancholy silence, mostly on Goldfinger's part.
"You know, given his connections, it is a very likely possibility that some of those men you saw were Triads. Considering who the man is, I could believe it. He is half-Chinese, if that contributes to the likelihood."
After a moment, he looked up from his downtrodden desk-stare. On a realization, he stood up slowly from his seat and faced his compatriots across from him.
"You told me Dr. No did not look surprised when you fired the shot. I suppose that is to be expected; he must have given Chang the order beforehand. He is a devious man, and he must be dealt with one way or another. But I do not see how we will go about that business in the near future. That is fine; we can defend ourselves against him. But as long as he is alive, he can always make another attempt for the OMEN. Jonathan, Pussy, we cannot allow that to happen. It is the only guaranteed weapon I have against him."
Hunter was about to pose the question, but was beaten to the punch.
"So," said Pussy, "what do you suggest we do?"
Goldfinger shrugged gently.
"The only thing we can do. We are still rebuilding and reconstructing here from their last attempt. Wherever the OMEN lay, it can not lay here; not anymore. Our man count is down from the last time, and if No's forces slip through those cracks in security, it could prove fatal for us and for what we are trying to do. At least for now, we will need to move the OMEN to a secure location."
"Anywhere in particular?"
Goldfinger nodded.
"Yes...I've got one place in mind. Jonathan, have you ever been to Las Vegas?"
"Once or twice," Hunter shrugged. "I can't claim to have won much at the slots, but then again, they weren't exactly my prime interest. Why do you ask?"
"I own a casino there: the Midas Casino. It is a very successful enterprise, and has proved worthy in the past as a means of smuggling gold."
Hunter raised his eyebrows.
"Is that so?"
"Yes," Goldfinger nodded casually, "it is. I have a vault on the top floor that I've had clients use to keep their gold. That vault is practically impenetrable without the assistance of a guard."
"So you're suggesting..."
"I am suggesting we place the OMEN there. You can think of this as a dry run. If the device is not secure there, then we shall move it; but at the moment, we are nearly out of options."
A thought occurred to Hunter.
"Don't you expect there'll be some resistance when we try to keep it there?"
Pussy gave a sly smile.
"You haven't worked with us long enough, darling."
Goldfinger laughed.
"Of course," he said, "I am expecting at least ten well thought-out methods from the opposition to steal it. But, in case you don't realize, we have our methods, too. I will have agents observing and reporting any suspicious activity in all of the popular game rooms. The two of you will be in the room highest to the top floor, keeping in contact via earpiece as you did in Hong Kong. At all costs, my people will keep any attempts away from the OMEN.
"But, if worse comes to worst, I will have you, Jonathan, to come up to the vault and remove the central receiver. Oh, it is only pocket-sized, but it allows the machine to receive any control signal. Without it, the whole weapon is useless."
Hunter smiled.
"I underestimated your competence, Auric. It certainly sounds like a plan. When are we looking at moving it?"
"Tomorrow night," Goldfinger replied with gravity. "And we will make for Nevada this evening. I want both of you getting your rest to play the high tables."
Pussy nodded.
"Certainly, Goldfinger."
Inside, Hunter reveled in the news. If it was an assignment, it was in a better spot than he could have anticipated.
Perhaps the high tables weren't all he would need rest for.
More tomorrow.
Right, as promised...
Chapter Forty:
High Rollers
Midas Casino
Las Vegas, Nevada
9:33 P.M., PDT
The casino was, as Goldfinger had promised, stunningly beautiful. A towering, forty-storey building of white granite, it stood self-assuredly over the neon cityscape of Las Vegas. Its lights glowed brilliantly in their criminal glory from various windows and panels. Instead of numerous, fantastic electric signs, a column of enormous, golden letters down the side simply glowed, MIDAS.
Jonathan Hunter strolled through its thirty-seventh floor game room in black tie, adjusting his collar as he went and attracting more than a few glances. So far, he had found nothing of interest, but that by no means freed him of his duties. Potential subjects could have been lying about in the farthest corners of the casino, and nothing could be left to chance, no matter how long it might take to guarantee security.
He had kept an eye out for the past two-and-a-half hours, testing his luck from time to time at the card tables. He had won some and lost a little, with all his funds thankfully being supplied by Goldfinger for the evening. As he leant against a copper railing, he heard Pussy's voice in his ear.
"Jonathan," she said, "hold your cards. Our luck has changed."
"No cards to speak of, but go ahead."
"I've found a possible subject at table fifteen; bald, and wearing a blue suit. He's playing Blackjack with five other people."
Hunter headed toward said table and discreetly eyed it, finding him almost immediately.
"Yeah," he muttered, barely moving his lips, "I see him. Suggest further action?"
"I'd stay away for discretion's sake, at least until he moves...wait, hold on. Do you see that?"
The bald man was eyeing a bartender, gesturing him over with his fingers.
"Yeah, I see it. Looks like Mr. Fifteen is ordering a drink."
"Seems we've hit a stroke of luck, then. You know what to do?"
"Always. Crossing by table twelve now."
Only a small few noticed as a darkly handsome man brushed gently past a lovely woman in a sparkling, purple evening dress. They went on past each other, and the onlookers returned to their cards.
As Hunter went to take a seat near the gold-finished bar, he spoke gently into the microphone.
"I've got a straight shot. Can we confirm he's hostile?"
"Check out the Octopus ring."
Hunter glanced subtly at Fifteen's ring finger. There it was, the signature golden ring of SPECTRE operatives. Even still, it was no guarantee.
"I see it," he said. "Got to believe you're right, but I don't want to risk it if this guy isn't involved. What've you got?"
"Hold on."
Hunter's nerves grated with the silence that followed. Finally, Pussy's voice returned.
"Got it. One of Auric's men confirms he's SPECTRE from the surveillance shot. Says he's seen him with Dr. No once."
"That's all the confirmation I need. Thanks, out."
"Out."
Rubbing with boredom at his eyebrow, Hunter waited for the bartender to turn his back, and flexed his hand out over the freshly prepared cocktail glass behind the bar. He withdrew his hand and watched as the glass was whisked away to table fifteen.
The bald man received it with calm pleasure. He took a lengthy pull at it, laid down two cards, and watched the other players intently. The hands went down around the circle, but by the time the turn came to him, he began wrinkling his features. He smacked his mouth as if tasting something bitter and began to open his eyes wide. A hesitant hand reached up to his chest, then his neck, then both hands splayed out on the green baize, gripping the card table desperately while foam began to issue from his mouth. The players and dealer at his table stared with deathly looks, and finally he collapsed with a thud onto the floor.
A shriek rang out, and then more as the crowds started to notice. A dead man! He's just fallen to the floor, what's happened?
The conglomerate of fear moved this way and that before making its way colectively toward the table. Amidst the confusion, Hunter and Pussy managed to find each other.
"They've always said gambling is poison," Hunter shrugged. "Sorry about losing your dress button, by the way."
Pussy felt for the spot where she had removed it.
"I'd daresay it served a good purpose; turns out cyanide is the new black. Now look...."
She turned her gaze toward a man and woman making purposefully for the exit. Without a thought, Hunter sprinted over and knocked the man into a wall. They both collapsed, and exchanged a few swift blows while the woman ran off. Hunter struck his opponent's lower back hard and dragged him over to a nearby bar. He fumbled for a second behind the counter before procuring a gleaming, silver knife and touching its edge to the flesh on the man's neck.
"What are you here for!?"
He sputtered and yelled beneath Hunter.
"The OMEN!?"
"I...yes! Yes!"
"The girl you were with, does she know where it is? Does she know how to find it?"
"Yes, she's taking the elevator to the top floor!"
"Thank you."
Hunter knocked his fist like a stone across the man's face. He left the unconscious body behind and made his way back to the exit, noticing several horrified looks by patrons across the room. After a moment, Pussy came through the exit, panting.
"John, I couldn't catch her; but I know who she is. She's Russian, name's Xenia Onatopp."
Hunter raised an eyebrow.
"You're joking."
"No; and trust me, she's someone who knows what she's doing. She's taking the lift now, John; we've got to cut her off!"
"Alright. Get on that phone and call security. Tell them to kill power to the lift, even if that means they have to electronically unlock the vault. Have you got that? Now go!"
While Hunter dashed out of the room, Pussy picked up the phone and began speaking urgently to casino security.
So glad I edited this. I found it was much more repetitive and cheesy in its earlier form, including another shootout that would've come right off the heels of the one in Hong Kong. For what it's worth, I've kind of got my own OCD-inspired motivation to get these chapters out in a timely manner, since I'd like to wrap this up before Skyfall comes out (in the US, at least). More coming soon!
Keep up the good work. I really can't wait to see how this ends.
Chapter Forty-One:
Hell For Leather
Hunter dashed down the hallway as though his heels were blazing. Before he could reach the bank of elivators, the building's electric hum pitched to a massive, dead groan. Every last light faded to shadow and drowned him in pitch darkness. He slowed his pace and veered left, putting a hand out against the wall and putting the other to his ear.
"Pussy, what happened?"
"This may shock you, but the power's out. Either they couldn't cut the elevator without shutting down the whole top floors, or someone'll be looking for a new job come tomorrow morning. Either way, Jonathan, you've got to get to the vault!"
"I hear you; on my way. If you can, get to the street and have the car waiting out front."
"I'll have to sprint, but I'll try. If I can get rid of these heels..."
"Good girl."
Hunter padded swiftly toward the corridor's end. He followed the curving granite wall until brushing up against what seemed to be a doorknob. He turned it and entered in: another room now, still blindingly dark. Pivoting on his heel, he pressed on and almost tripped on an invisible flight of stairs, grateful nonetheless to have found them. His feet pounded against the carpeted stone, making dangerous acquaintance with an unanticipated landing along the way.
Hunter counted out one, two, three, four floors...so; here it was. He found a door, pulled it open, and slipped through. Darkness still pervading, he assumed a low defensive position and ran a lengthy stream of profanities through his mind. Where to go now? And what to protect himself with, lacking a gun? No doubt Onatopp and company would have been checked by security, but say they had stolen one off a disoriented guard?
Think....
Perhaps if he could get in contact with security...that was it. Hunter felt along the wall behind him, probing with his fingers until he found a small, glass box inset beside the door. He grabbed the small mallet beside it, smashed the smooth face, and grabbed the receiver within. A dial tone sounded in his ear, and then:
"This is casino security. What seems to be the problem?"
Hell, always the crucial niceities, even at a time like this!
"It's Hunter. I need you to turn the power back on; do you understand?"
"Sir, are you sure?"
"Positive. Now do it!"
"Going ahead on that, but it may take a second to-"
All of a sudden, a metallic groaning several meters to his left. Hunter turned at the mysterious noise, trying impossibly to determine its source. He let the receiver drop and gingerly crept closer to it until the sound - some mechanical strain now apparently mixed with a person's grunt - was right in front of him.
In the space of three seconds, two events transpired. A bright flash shot into Hunter's skull, which took him a hundredth of a second to realize was the power being restored. While the electric hum returned, the reapparent light revealed an image of pure horror: a woman who must have been Onatopp pushing apart two halves of an elevator door, dress torn, face, arms, and hands thickly smeared with black oil, with loose strands of hair hanging down over eyes burning with psychotic rage. On an impulse, Hunter drove a hard heel into her stomach, sending her flying backwards with a cry.
He withdrew his foot from the fast-closing door and recovered his balance. He waited a moment, but was surprised not to hear a crash from within the shaft. At any rate, best to keep going. He surveyed the semicircular room: windows on two sides, and a thick rectangle of amber wall facing him; it was split by a small alcove with a door at its center, beset by a metal box in the wall. He approached it and examined the box, apparently an electronic lock. Damn; how was he to...
...naturally. First time for everything.
Hunter took a step back and squinted at it awkwardly. There was some combination, some method...what had Scaramanga told him? He attempted a myriad of contractions and expansions with his eye until, to his utter surprise, a mechanized noise of approval rang out and the door slid open. Hunter stepped through into a room surrounded by windows (must have been opaque), relatively nondescript save for the gleaming, silver floor and iradescent machine glowing bright blue in its center. Even for a second-time viewing, the OMEN was still frighteningly impressive, in aesthetics as well as its potential as a superweapon.
Hunter put a finger to his ear.
"Pussy, what's your status?"
"I'm in the lobby, heading outside now. And you?"
"I'm in the vault, but what the hell am I supposed to do with this thing? I can't very well slip it in my back pocket and stroll casually out of here."
"Goldfinger told me the thing's no good without its receiver, so try to make sure they at least can't get that. It's set into the top; looks just like a computer chip."
"What about the rest of it? No doubt they'll be wanting the design. I've got someone hot on my tail right now, and I can't guarantee security'll be able to get their arses here in time to stop it."
"There's one vital component Goldfinger says is replaceable, but without it they won't be able to figure out a third of the machine. It's a black cylinder as big as your hand, screwed tightly to the bottom of the tank. If you think you need to, either take it with you or destroy it, but be extremely careful if you do either. That thing's volatile, and it wouldn't do to handle recklessly if you want to keep your right hand."
"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."
"Anytime. I'm just about at the car; keep in touch."
Hunter approached the contraption and delicately examined its top. Finding a slit, he prised out something thin and held it up to the light: yes, this had to be the receiver; it matched the description perfectly. Just as soon as he pocketed it, he heard the artifical bell of the lift and turned in dread. It was her!
He had to think. No weapon, and no plan of escape. Hunter made for the window and looked out: nothing to note but four sets of external elevators, all distant save for one that slowly ascended the casino's face. Damn it! What, then? He had to do something!
Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. Should he? Dangerous, maybe insanely foolish, it would be plainly asking for death; but practically no other choice.
He returned to the OMEN and knelt down, conscious all the time of pounding footsteps coming his way. He took a firm grip on the black cylinder and turned with both hands, having great difficulty in even moving the thing before it finally became loose, and he could withdraw it from the device's main body.
Hunter stood and immediately locked eyes with the mad woman that stood before him. It would have been much akin to staring down an agitated lioness, were lionesses able to produce such anger.
The rouge lips parted to let through one harsh, biting hiss:
"Give it to me."
Hunter considered.
"That look really isn't working for you. Maybe you'd ought to find a nicer elevator shaft."
If it was possible, she smoldered even more intensely.
"Hmm; or perhaps simply a different man to kick you down them."
Hunter turned and hurled the cylinder at the glass wall. It struck with an ear-splitting bang, flashing bright white while shards flew in every direction. While Hunter watched, the edge of the explosion took on a light teal tint that quickly expanded and swallowed up the rest of the glass semicircle, disposing of it in an enormous crash that hailed yet more crystal down onto the floor.
Holy hell; what had that been? Certainly nothing that had ever crossed his eyes!
He stood up, brushed himself down, and looked beside him, where Onatopp lay coughing on her side. No time to lose; he took a breath and assumed his stance before, adrenaline pumping, he sprinted to the window, planted his foot, and leapt off into space.
Time stopped for a moment, and no sound came. Hunter struggled to regain his senses, and did so just in time to crash into the side of a lift. He grabbed with desperate fingers for its top, barely managing to avoid slipping to his death. While it moved up along the building, he saw its two passengers - apparently a couple - gape at him in terror. Girding himself, he let one arm go and pointed urgently downward, while giving the same directions with his mouth. Seeming to understand, the darkly red-haired woman turned and pressed a button, and after a moment the lift began to descend.
Hunter returned his arm and pulled himself up. He crouched close to the building, one hand planted between his feet. He allowed himself a moment and exhaled deeply.
God....
He attempted to regain normal breathing while the luminescent Las Vegas skyline rose before his eyes. At last, the pod came to a stop at street level, and he leapt casually down to the blessed ground. Straightening his jacket, he turned to its bewildered passengers and nodded.
"Thank you."
Behind him, a black Lamborghini Diablo screeched to a halt. There was Pussy, behind the wheel. She rolled the window down.
"Get in!"
"If you insist, dear."
He disregarded pedestrians' many looks of wonderment and settled in the leather seat while they sped off down the strip.
"Jonathan..." said Pussy with a degree of apprehension, "...should I even ask what the hell just happened?"
"Onatopp made her way in?"
"And...?"
"She had a blast. I've got the receiver, but I had to destroy the...what was it, anyway?"
"I think it's called a chemical modifier, or translator, or something. Anyway, I'd imagine it'll be a bit of a mixed bag for Goldfinger."
"Was it expensive?"
Pussy nodded.
"Unfortunately. Money aside, apparently his scientists shouldn't have too difficult a time with it. Was she incapacitated?"
"Seemed to be, but I can't say how badly."
"Mm, shame; I rather dislike her. Anyway, knowing Onatopp, she'll get away, but from the sounds of it she won't be up to lugging a weapon of that size over her shoulder."
"Let's hope so."
"Oh, and Jonathan?"
"Yes?"
Pussy leaned over from her seat and kissed Hunter full on the lips. It was a passionate kiss; not merely affectionate, but passionate, and remarkably so for the scant amount of time they had spent together so far. Eyes closed, their lips melded together in a simple expression of tenderness. After a pleasurable while, they parted and returned wordlessly to their seats.
Out of his peripherals, Hunter could swear he saw Pussy mouth the word "GoldenEye."
Again, gonna keep working on what's to come (hopefully) very soon. Regards to my fellow East Coast-dwellers, and stay safe in the storm. To anybody in the UK, enjoy Skyfall! (Trying to avoid learning anything more about it myself until it comes out here...!)
Desperate Times
Phoenix Feather Hotel
Las Vegas, Nevada
11:20 A.M., PDT
Hunter sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands; not out of a sense of shame, but rather of fatigue. The previous night had left him exhausted, both by physical exertion and the effects of a strong adrenaline rush. Even still, he had tried to get some sleep, but had been interrupted in the middle of the night by an unexpected guest. Looking over at Pussy, who sat on the couch by the adjacent wall, he thought it remarkable how she had warmed to him since they had met. In a sense, her privately generous expressions of passion in their time together had served for something of a healing process, allowing minor respite from the tearing wounds of rage and uncertainty. What they had...whatever it was they had, if anything...it was helpful.
Still, it left him with minor feelings of guilt. She had been the first since Caroline....
A knock came on the door. Pussy put down her light reading and walked over to it, opening it up to reveal a surprisingly placid Goldfinger.
"Good afternoon, Pussy."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Goldfinger."
"I hope I am not disturbing you, but I had rather hoped to confer with Mr. Hunter about something. You can stay where you are if you like; there is nothing private about it."
"Certainly, Mr. Goldfinger. Thank you."
With that, she went back to her reading. Hunter looked up as Goldfinger approached, taking a seat pleasantly enough in the chair across from him.
"Jonathan," he said, "I cannot thank you enough for protecting the OMEN. You may have saved the lives of many in our organization, not to mention my technicians a considerable amount of effort!"
Hunter offered a slight laugh.
"Well, I certainly had a time recovering it. My apologies regarding the...chemical modifier? As well as for certain parts of your property, of course; and that's entirely apart from what on Earth people must think of your casino after last night..."
Goldfinger waved a dismissive hand.
"Casualties of war, my friend. You merely did what was necessary to protect our interests, and for that alone I am enormously grateful. By the way, would you happen to have the device's receiver on you?"
"Of course."
Hunter retrieved it from the secure compartment of his suitcase and handed it over to Goldfinger, who pocketed it with a look of reassurance.
"Splendid. I should tell you that the rest of the OMEN is safely in our hands, even if our friends did manage to get away. All that matters now is that they do not have it, and they will certainly think twice before attempting to steal it again."
"I'm just glad you're satisfied."
"Absolutely; and really, Jonathan, my gratitude. However, there is something of a job I have for you...if you are interested."
Hunter rolled up his shirt sleeves.
"Of course, my evenings have been a bit uneventful lately. So, what and where is this job?"
"This job, my friend, is closer by than you may think; in this very state, in fact. The idea was for you to get there by car, if you don't object."
"Not at all. So, you've told me where I'm heading. Now, what exactly is it that I'm doing?"
Goldfinger paused for a beat, and assumed a serious expression.
"My friend...Dr. No is running an operation out of the Hoover Dam."
Good heavens.
"The Hoover Dam," asked Hunter in disbelief, "are you bloody joking?"
Goldfinger puts his hands up for silence.
"No, Jonathan, I am not. I was surprised myself when I found out, though my wonderment quickly dissipated when I considered who I was thinking of. His work is strictly covert, of course; he would not want to attract public attention. And it is for that reason that he keeps his business away from the public eye. Such exposure would not only put him at risk, but it would close up tenfold the gaps in American security he so depends upon."
"Not that those gaps could possibly leave much breathing room..."
"Fair enough; but he has found his ways. Dr. No runs a processing plant below the dam, running through the excess sand and minerals that are filtered through the system. He collects them, and typically uses them for research or other purposes."
"What the hell could Dr. No possibly be doing with Colorado river sand?"
Goldfinger threw his palms up in ignorance.
"I could not tell you, Jonathan. But this plant is part of his empire, and if we could destroy it, then we would dole him some very severe damage."
The idea certainly appealed to Hunter. Still, infiltrating the Hoover Dam was crazy enough as it was. Still, if it offered a shot at him...
"Alright. So how exactly are we going to do this? Not a self-destruct button on the conveyor belt by any chance, is there?"
Goldfinger looked at him gravely.
"Jonathan, I have measured and calculated the situation down to the last corner. The plant cannot be destroyed without compromising the structure of the dam, for it lies in its very foundation. The only way to get rid of the plant...is to destroy the dam itself."
Son of the devil, he must be joking. Destroying the Hoover Dam; was he quite mad!? And just how the hell did he expect to do that? This was the sort of thing one was committed to an asylum for!
Hunter simply stared at him, mouth half-agape.
"Auric..." he managed, "...no. No, no, hell no! It's too crazy!"
"Look, do you want to hurt Dr. No or not? It is one of only four others we know in the world; it would be like taking away a quarter of his power, at least insofar as what we can reach!"
"And what about Crab Key? He's still got Crab Key, hasn't he? Surely he can do whatever he damn well pleases as long as he's got his arse seated there!"
Goldfinger stared at him with the face of a determined prosecutioner. Pussy had looked over by this point, absorbed entirely in the madness.
"Jonathan," said Goldfinger slowly, quietly, "that is still just a dream for now. You must focus on the task at hand. Your attempt on his life was our sixth in three years; it always comes out the same. We cannot try to assassinate him, because that doesn't work. We cannot try to get close to Crab Key, because we would get blown up before we even started. This is the only thing we know to do right now, and that means it's the only step we can take if we want to take down Dr. No."
Hunter stared at him for a full ten seconds, and then looked away.
God!
It was crazy, yes, entirely barking psycho...but it must be done. The logic could not be argued with, and there was little that occupied that one corner of his mind so much as watching Dr. No fall from his throne.
He looked down, and then slowly back up at Goldfinger.
"Fine..." he said. "...fine. I'll do it. Just let me know how, and I will gladly blow a hole in the Hoover bloody Dam."
Goldfinger seemed to look at him curiously for a while, and then nodded.
"Very well, Jonathan. The plan is for you to sneak into the dam, dressed as a worker. You will have a seismic bomb with you in a bag, but no one will know what it is you're carrying. We've discovered the entrance to Dr. No's plant; you're going to have to drop the bomb into it, lock the door, get out, and detonate it."
Crazy, crazy, absolutely blasted crazy....
"I can't sneak into the plant and dismantle it from there? Take them all out and plant smaller explosives on the vital parts?"
Goldfinger shook his head.
"Too risky. Everybody under his employ knows your face, if they didn't before; they will be on full alert. But the same isn't true of the working staff of the Hoover Dam, so this is the only way to do it."
The working staff...
"Now wait. What about everybody else inside the dam? the tourists? the workers? Regardless of anything else, and no matter what it means in our hunt for Dr. No, I'm not about to blow a few hundred civilians to smithereens."
"I have considered this, Jonathan, and there is an answer for it. Once you have locked the processing plant shut, one of my men will drop a smaller-scale bomb upriver and set it off. The seismic disturbance will be enough to force an evacuation of the dam, and once we can confirm any innocents are clear, we will detonate. Now...are you up for it?"
Bloody hell...it was one thing to acknowledge the act; quite another to picture it happening. All the same...
"Yeah..." Hunter nodded. "...yeah, I'm up for it. When are we planning this for?"
"Two days. We will leave tomorrow morning, and you'll spend the rest of the time preparing; memorizing the blueprints and such. By the way, I will be with you along the way, meaning Oddjob will be with us, too.
"Be careful, Jonathan," he laughed. "I think he's gotten a bit jealous of you. Perhaps he is under the impression that you are my new golden boy; no pun intended, you understand."
Hunter smiled.
"Of course not. Thank you, Mr. Goldfinger."
"I will see you, Mr. Hunter."
Goldfinger left and closed the door behind him.
"The Hoover Dam," uttered Pussy incredulously. "The bloody Hoover Dam?"
Hunter shrugged. Of course she was right; even taking into account the end, the means were simply impossible to overlook rationally.
"It's the only way we can even begin to touch Dr. No," Hunter replied, moving closer to her. "We're running out of choices."
"I can tell that much. Regardless, it's damned insane."
"I won't deny you that...but I'm going to go through with it."
Pussy simply breathed in deeply, and exhaled.
"Jonathan Hunter...your ways confound me."
"As they should. What ever would we do if I started making sense?"
He kissed her on the cheek.
"I've no idea. But until that happens, and the lunatic thoughts that pass through your head begin taking on some semblance of sense...let's think about other things."
"I couldn't possibly object."
The two kissed and fell back onto the bed, putting away thoughts of seismic bombs as their minds and bodies turned to lust.
The Hoover Dam could wait.
I never did understand what the proper set-up was for the Hoover Dam level in the game. All I caught was that Dr. No was "holding a seismic bomb" there...but why? Of course, I'd also love to know why it was overflowing with mercenaries and there was absolutely no one there to do anything about it, but I doubt that'll ever be answered. Anyway...more coming up.
Chapter Forty-Three:
What Goes Up
Hoover Dam
Colorado River
2:14 P.M., MST
The black Land Rover came to a halt fifty meters from the dam's entrance. While its engine continued to rumble, two of its passengers got out. One was a darkly handsome man in his thirties, the other a rather larger man with golden hair.
Jonathan Hunter was handed his bag from a man in the car.
"Thanks."
He turned to Goldfinger, a dark foreboding in both their eyes. Finally, Goldfinger broke the silence.
"Are you ready?"
"Damned if I'll ever be more so."
Goldfinger nodded.
"Good luck, Jonathan."
The two shook.
"For SPECTRE," uttered Goldfinger. "For us."
Hunter nodded in vague agreement.
"For SPECTRE...and for us."
Goldfinger got back in the auto. The SUV drove away, leaving Hunter by his lonesome.
He was alone with a seismic bomb at the entrance to the Hoover Dam.
How had it come to this?
There was no time for sentimental reflections. He had made the choice, and now he had no other option but to carry it out. He marched forward to the dam entrance, presenting his fake ID to the man at the security gate.
"I ain't seen you around here before," the man grumbled.
Hunter affected an American accent.
"Carson's out with appendicitis. I'm his replacement."
The man looked at his ID with a mixture of agitation and curiously defensive apathy.
"Fine. The card looks okay. Come on in, Carson's Replacement."
The guard pressed a button, and the barred, metal gate pulled open. Hunter walked through, and it closed again behind him.
He was wearing the blue-gray overalls of the Hoover Dam maintenance team. The business-wear certainly made an easier time of discretion, but finding the plant would present a bit more of a challenge. Though he had reviewed the blueprints, traversing a hydroelectric labyrinth on the page did not exactly compare to navigating it in real life. Still, he would do as best he could from memory. Anyway, he had to if he wished to look like he knew what he was doing.
As if he did....
He took a glance over the dam, taking in the spectacle that was the entire construction. It had taken years to make, and had been serving its purpose for many more. It had provided jobs, cash flow, energy...and he was about to destroy it with the push of a button; all of it.
Hunter forcibly pushed the thought away and moved on. As he made his way through the complex, he made a note of nodding in acknowledgement to several different technicians, managers, custodians. The widespread implications of what he was playing accomplice to weighed heavily on his heart: destruction of a functioning, national icon; visions of horror on television screens worldwide; the utter ruin, perhaps, of innumerable lives! Even beyond that, suppose the authorities picked up on hints of foul play. The fallout would be devastating: heightened distress and fear of terrorism, to be sure, and morale's inevitable casting into shadow while a terrifying question mark of doubt and uncertainty was stamped onto the grand populace.
No. No, no. If anything, he was saving more people than he was...wronging. This was the first step in ridding the world of one of its most dangerous criminals and terrorists, and if this must be the first step, then so be it. Regardless of what personal matters some might claim entered into it, those were the facts. It was a simple, planned out equation, really, and this is how the global cleanup job of the scum of the world would begin.
As he pressed further and further into the facility, Hunter pictured himself as a crudely drawn, white pencil mark against blue graphs of paper. As he began to access more restricted areas and enter into even more tightly secured locations, he recalled within his mind that no such security measures had been written on the blueprint.
Neither was shooting a giant hole through the national infrastructure; through human lives; through....
Damn it, shut up.
Hunter had to force himself to keep walking. His feet had begun to grow leaden, slacking every few meters as if they were filled with iron weights.
Finally, at the near bottom of the entire complex, perhaps some levels below the ground, he found it. He had passed eight security checkpoints and had told exactly seventeen bold-faced lies, but this was it. It was a tiny hatch on the floor, about one foot by one foot. To any foreign persons, it would have seemed to be a door into a storage compartment, perhaps even just a replaced tile. But he knew better; he had seen remarkably vivid drawings of it and had been informed beforehand of its true purpose. Its construction and operation alone was an enigma, perhaps amongst the greatest in the modern criminal age. Regardless, it performed its duties as a cog in the devil's machine, and it had to be terminated.
In the yellow-orange light that often accompanies subterranean and industrial complexes, Hunter removed the black bag from off his shoulders. He set it on the floor and crouched next to it, unzipping various compartments and removing several pieces of apparently innocent hardware. Applying the freshly learned skills of a craftsman, he attached and fastened them all in such perplexing combinations that one would never even think to consider them, let alone assume the parts could be combined in such a sinister way.
What had one minute ago appeared to be a collection of maintenence equipment, packed away in unassuming, little boxes and sets, now sat patiently in Jonathan Hunter's hands as one of the most dangerous weapons he could conceivably possess: a Bowman SAE-8 seismic bomb.
It was one of only five-hundred in the world.
And it would forever leave a dark blot on the pages of history.
Hunter knew what technique he would need to open the hatch. Fortunately, it was a rather simple operation. It was, after all, the security personnel that made the plant hard to get to, not the lock on its door.
It was an electronic mechanism, though, he had been told, not one that his eye could unlock. It required not a beacon signal or pass-code, but rather confirmation by a technician in the plant's control room who would open it at a prearranged time. Therefore, as the theory went, infiltration from the outside would prove impossible.
However, the good people at Auric Enterprises made just that occurrence possible.
Hunter removed a curious, black device from his hip pocket than almost resembled a stun gun. Instead of an electricity conductor at the tip, however, there was a darkly translucent piece of plastic more-or-less identical to that of a clothing store's price checker.
He pressed the end of the device to the electronic locking mechanism on the door and pushed a red button on its top. After a moment, the electricity created an audible sound and the small hatch began to open up. He could see now that there must have been at least seventy, maybe even up to a hundred people working in the plant.
And every one of them is another dollar in Dr. No's pocket....
Breaking from his observation of the workers, the plant, their machines, Hunter picked up the bomb from beside him as the hatch opened up all the way. He took a deep breath, held its magnetic end toward a nearby piece of machinery, and tossed it in.
Several men working on conveyer belts and other such instruments turned in wonderment to look at the commotion. Before they could unravel it, however, Hunter had already performed the same trick with the electronic lock device, and the hatch began to close once again. He placed the item in his bag and slung it breathlessly around his shoulders. In the passing moment, he could easily feel and hear his heart beating at an almost unreasonable rate. He started off in the opposite way now, letting the door close shut on the room that would become the unknowable crypt for ninety-seven guilty men.
Random statement, but I'm thinking I may do a quick, little "info drop" at the conclusion of this (just things like actors that I think of for certain roles, some massive changes that I made in the editing process, and general thoughts and reflections). Since I'd mostly just be doing that because I personally want to share those things, I get the idea that you may really not care (and that it may sound egotistical), but eh; why not?
More on its way.
Chapter Forty-Four:
Retreat
Hunter forced himself back on through the facility, willing himself to move only by the miniscule shreds of determination he had left.
Just keep walking. Just keep walking.
Again, he kept track of his deceit. He passed through the same eight security checkpoints, all with increasingly suspicious keepers. This time, marching on through the detached, sanitized, industrial atmosphere, he was made to tell twenty-seven lies.
No, not made to. Chose.
Staring so plainly into their faces was what made the deceit crushing. Ironically, it was the utter ease of lying to them that made it so difficult. He delivered his untruths so smoothly, so easily, hedging the omnipresent line between an awesome, single-handed act of terrorism and being caught at it. The entire plot felt almost like an evitable offense, made damnable only by the deception used to cover it up.
Hunter's heart, pounding steadily at Mach Five, rose ever higher in his throat. The shadowed phantom of a horribly guilty conscience slipped into his mind: that societal sense of right and wrong that follows rules, regulations, and signboards; that believes and trembles at every word spoken by the admonishing authority figure; that, when one becomes involved with a black enough violation of conduct, insists that the world is about to fall down around one's ears, and that it can only be a matter of time before the lie is detected and the guillotine produced to deadly effect.
This same phantom - bringing with it vivid images of initial suspicion, of criminal prosecution, of a life brought to a premature end by isolation, imprisonment, and death - hung darkly over Hunter for every step he took.
He only realized with half his mind when he had finally stepped out of the dam entrance and into the cool air of Nevada's outdoors. Not that it did him much good, for the heaviness of iron still weighed crushingly on his soul.
He approached the outside security gate and once again procured his identification card, holding it up as he got closer.
"Whatsamatter," said the guard, "you get homesick?"
"No," Hunter replied, contorting his lips into the best look of cordiality that he could manage. "But I'm afraid my wife's injured her head. She's in the hospital, I must see her."
"Fine, fine...."
The man took his card.
"Hell, what is it with you and your job? Always leavin' for something. First it's appendicitis, now it's the wife. Hoo boy, son, just make sure your friend saves you a seat at the unemployment office."
He handed back the ID.
"I'll keep that in mind," replied Hunter, holding up the card in thanks.
He deliberately set his mind into a state of numbness as he walked on, walked on, did not stop moving down...whatever path he was taking. He figured he must have been unconsciously following the proper trail in his head, for he soon reached the telephone box that he had been told to go to, adorned with a single, golden sticker on the side.
He walked over and picked up the phone, depositing change and dialing the agreed number. After a moment, the phone rang, and he heard a hand pick up the receiver from the other end.
"Hello?"
"I'm out."
"What?"
"I'm out. I got in, I set up the...thing, it's done. The job's done."
"Okay. You make your way to the rendezvous spot, alright?"
Hunter nodded, though he knew the motion could not be interpreted through the phone.
"Yes, I've got it. I should get there in ten minutes."
"Fine. I'll let the boss know you're on your way. And Jonathan: good job."
Hunter hung up the receiver.
What the hell was this about a good job? He....
Checking to make sure no one was around, he unzipped the overalls, pulled them off, and threw them into a nearby trashcan. Underneath was a navy blue polo and blue jeans, providing a welcome relief from the intense heat brought on by anxiety.
He continued on along the pre-chosen path, doing his best to look normal amongst the civilian crowds. He caught several glimpses, directly in the right eye. Well, he figured, he would have to get used to it at one point or another. He did his best to avoid their gazes, figuring that it might just help him avoid suspicion, too.
Almost as though he were a train on a monorail, he eventually reached the agreed spot: a clearing in the woods, almost completely surrounded by trees and brush.
Relax...relax.
The air was fresh, and the skies were remarkably blue that day; not a cloud in sight. The crystal clearness of the atmosphere mingled beautifully with the emerald greenery on the ground.
Now all that was left for him was to wait.
Just stand and wait.
It was after about a full minute that Hunter seemed to notice something out of the corner of his eye. Something in the brush had appeared to move; at least, he thought so.... Could it perhaps be an animal? It struck him as a likely possibility, after all.
So...what was it?
Damned if he could tell. He sensed it again, only this time he heard it: the flash of a light, and then a heavy rustling in the shrubs behind him.
Hunter would not know what it was until he felt the butt of a Kalashnikov crash into the back of his head.
He heard a sharp crack upon its impact. He fell forward immediately onto his face, feeling the grass and dirt press into his eyes and cheeks before he blacked out.
He woke up only about ten seconds later, remembering where he was and what happened, but not being able to make sense of just what the hell it was all about. After a moment, he contorted painfully onto his back, feeling the pain in his head shift further down like a handful of needles.
There, in black combat clothes and training an AK-47 on him, was Xenia Onatopp. She shook her head, clicking her tongue and half-smiling evilly.
"Don't get yourself into such a rush," she said. "You wouldn't want to ruin that nice shirt."
More upcoming.
Final Breaths
Hunter stared up through blurry eyes at Onatopp, trying to make sense of her appearance.
"Miss Onatopp," he managed. "Lovely seeing you again."
She simply grinned a twisted smile, apparently taking pleasure in whatever pain she was putting him through.
"Well, you and I only met once..."
The fingers of her left hand convulsed sensually against her hip.
"...but you had left such an impression, I figured I would just have to return the favor."
She walked over in a swinging gait, pointing the assault rifle from her hip almost seductively. She stroked a leather-gloved hand against his cheek, then twisted the gun around and slammed its butt into his chest.
Hunter fell back at once. His eyes clenched shut and his chest was an empty box, its air knocked out from the stinging blow. He at last managed a wincing dagger of breath and propped himself up on his elbows.
Above him, Onatopp clicked her tongue, muttering some poisonous irony in silky Russian. At once she lunged forward, pouncing down to straddle his abdomen with a screaming death lust across her face. She closed her heels on his legs behind her, clamping them together like an iron vice while she pinned his hands to his sides. In a bare moment, the circulation was halting, and building up pressure that the adrenaline fought with to have its way.
Hunter jerked this way and that, met each time with bone-crushing denial. He looked up at her face, and was disturbed to find the lips parted, a savagely concentrated mist in her eyes. He grunted, and sighed.
"I always knew you'd put me in a tight spot."
"Yes," she purred, "but just a bit tighter than you might think."
Suddenly, he felt a clamp-like tensing all around him. Her muscled thighs began to tighten their grip, squeezing forcefully into his midsection. The pressure came first with ramping intensity, and then the pain in spots that would turn to dark bruises if left immediately. Whether those bruises would form on a man or a corpse, he had no idea.
A current of distorted joy passed over Onatopp's face. The eyes squeezed together, the lips pulled inward, the temples started to rise. At that moment, he started having great difficulty breathing.
Damn it. She was squeezing the air out of his lungs!
It could only be a minute or two before she would suffocate him completely. He needed to act, and fast. Struggling to suck down air, he flexed his legs in an effort to bend outward. After about five seconds, he had managed to open his legs by maybe three centimeters. Not the best possible negotiation, but it was a start.
Onatopp closed her eyes gently, smiling and exhaling contentedly at a faster and faster rate as she continued to squeeze the life out of him.
Hunter moved his wrists about, twisting them this way and that inside their python-like death clamps. He made little headway at first, but some leeway came of the sweat sheening from his skin. His fingers scrabbled around into getting minor grasps on her own wrists, contorting his arms and twisting his torso desperately in every which direction
He was gasping for breath now, the air only coming and going in short, abrupt stabs of respiration. He had maybe thirty seconds before he would pass out and his mind would go black permanently.
He ceased his grunts of effort, trying to save breath while Onatopp shrieked above him. He briefly felt transported to another world, and as though he was stuck in a dream. She squealed and he came to again, straining through the black dots that came before his eyes.
He continued to struggle, while Onatopp's murderous gasps and shouts of pleasure grew, and finally...a cold wind brushed his face.
The blood was rushing...his head would burst....
He turned his neck.
...but he was so tired...could he not just sleep...
He fought with every fiber of his being to move his body with strength he did not have. His vision was starting to go black now, his skull was pounding with the effort of it....
Almost before he could notice, his left hand was free, and then his right. Her chest heaving with the moment, Onatopp made one last scream before his fists flew backwards out of their flesh-and-fabric prison.
All bloodless, oxygenless instinct came to at once. Hunter rabbit punched her once with his left fist, springing up onto his elbows as her face jerked back from the blow. While the grip on his legs lost tension and the air began to fill his lungs, he flew upward like a cobra and smashed his forehead into her face. She lost all control and fell backward immediately, leaving him free to stand up while the blood rushed painfully to his head.
Seeing an opportunity, he stumbled over to her fallen rifle, a wave of red-black washing over all his vision, and positioned himself behind her. He brought it up and over her head, finding a spot to fit it in her throat. While the blood dripped thickly from Onatopp's nose, he began to pull it into her neck with all his might.
He pulled further and further back all the time, tensing his arms almost to a tear while he drove the wooden stock into her rapidly bruising neck. She was gasping now, eyes wide as valleys and turning a very visible shade of rose, then scarlet. Her body thrashed about, legs kicking and arms pulling hysterically as she tried to free herself.
Teeth clenched near to breaking, eyes wide and crazed like a madman, Hunter brought up his left foot and dug it into her spine. He pulled back on the added leverage and she leaned back into it like a demented marionette. A sickly choking noise sounded from her throat, and she trembled in a handful of fruitless, horrifying convulsions, until she stilled to a calm and relaxed into total slack.
Hunter squeezed tightly for another few moments until he let the body slide into a downward slump. She twisted in the way only a lifeless thing does, knees flexed at an odd angle to the ground and palms open in bent-arm petition, while the eyes remained partway open against a mortally disbelieving face and mouth. Hunter debated whether to continue staring. Numb all throughout his body, he replaced the Kalashnikov in one hand on the grass beside her. He stood and looked down at the mass of cold skin, rigid bone, stiffened muscle, and unmoving fluid.
"A thrill," he muttered, and instantly regretted saying anything.
Hell....
He stood there for an eternity before a steady beating noise punctured the silent air. It grew closer and closer, and finally he watched as a small, black helicopter of Goldfinger's fleet flew over the trees and landed on the ground in front of him. Hunter walked over slowly, expressionlessly as the pilot stared at the corpse laying flat upon the grass. Another figure sat in the back, looking at him while speaking rapidly into a headset.
He climbed in and shut the door. Without a word between them, the pilot lifted back into the air. The only one other person in the bird, one of Goldfinger's men by the name of Franz, patted Hunter on the shoulder as though to get his attention. Hunter turned.
"The schedule's changed," he uttered in a thick Swiss accent. "Dr. No knew you were coming."
"How do you..."
Of course; Onatopp.
"Right. Do we know his next move?"
"Anything to keep his business here together and with a lid on it. Could be a recovery team to get his men out before sundown, could be calling the authorities and throwing everything with the bomb into the light."
They passed over the trees and walkways, and the whole of the dam passed into sight through the windows.
"We'll need to get something done quick," said Hunter. "Now, we...wait - but you said the schedule's changed...?"
"It's got to be now. Goldfinger knows about everything and he says it's a calculated maneuver; no way around it. If we don't follow through, we all will be dead and gone very soon. Good to go?"
From the cockpit, the pilot gave a thumbs-up and nodded. Franz retrieved a small, metal box with a black dial on top from his jacket pocket.
Hunter struggled frantically to speak, but stumbled over his words.
"Wait, but...how in the hell, n-...no, no! You can't! It's not just - I...you have to-"
Franz twisted the dial. A single, deafening pulse tore through the air that canceled all sound. Outside, storey upon storey of concrete and steel jumped forward from their decades-old seats with the thrust of a thousand rockets. The bottom fell, and the middle gave way, and then the top and the entire damned structure fell, dropping down in a simple, collective movement that belonged to a much smaller event
Screams; cries; shouts. They all bellowed like a monstrous ghost through the air for about three seconds, then were cut off nearly altogether, cleanly, and permanently. It was soon overtaken by the shattering of stone, the tearing of metal, and the rushing of water, before all fell silent save for a distant, rumbling drone.
After eight months, five civil wars, and multiple collisions of the Earth into the Sun (nasty habit, that), this thing is about to finally be brought to a close. MASSIVE APOLOGIES to all of you who were so wonderfully following the story, but I'm going to tell you something you've probably already become familiar with in your own situations at one point or another: life got in the way. I would want to write, then school or college apps or commuting got in the way, and eventually trying to keep up with this fell by the wayside. Granted, education is more important, but unfortunately that also meant a virtually total distraction from editing.
Then summer came, and I eventually got my ass in gear, picked up the slack, and got things done (more on that in a minute). It's crazy to think that it's been a full eight months, since when that new Bond film (what's it called, Stratospheredrop? You kids these days with your films; I don't know....) had everyone abuzz. A fair lot has happened since then, and I do feel that I'm on more stable ground now; but then again, when this next year comes, who knows what it'll bring?
At any rate, here it is. I (FINALLY) finished editing the entire thing two nights ago (well, technically a few minutes ago if you want to be that way), and I think that the finished product is far better for it. I could've just posted the rest of the story as it was, but honestly I think that would've meant a significant drop in quality. This was writing from about three years ago, and it really needed the work. Furthermore, in going back and fixing it all, I found some things below the surface that I hadn't even seen before, and I think that's opened up some wide windows of opportunity for a vastly improved and more engaging reading experience going forward.
If you're reading this story, I honestly cannot thank you enough for the consideration, attention, and (perhaps most of all) patience. I'm sure you all understand the human imperfections and difficulties in bringing a story forward (which reminds me: if you haven't already, check out @JWESTBROOK's Skyfall novelization (http://www.mi6community.com/index.php?p=/discussion/6999/skyfall-a-novelization-chapter-2#Item_27); I realize he's been having to cope with life getting in the way of writing, but I think this piece of his may go some very good places as it moves forward), and I am so grateful for your interest. I can think of no reason to anticipate ANY more delays for the rest of the story, and the plan is a chapter a day until this thing is all up (which should be no problem with all the free time I've got at the moment).
Alright, that's it for the possibly excessive babble. I hope you'll join in for the rest of this (and if, by some happy chance, there's anyone seeing this story for the first time, by all means, feel free to jump in), and I sincerely hope you'll enjoy it. The end is fast approaching, and ideally the ride there will be as intense and compelling as possible. Thanks so much again! We're back, and...
...more tomorrow.
Chapter Forty-Six:
Business and Revenge
Auric Enterprises
Bernese Alps, Switzerland
12:54 P.M., CET
One week later
For the first time in eight years, Jonathan Hunter was taking a long, slow drag off of a cigarette. It was a local Swiss brand, and strong with artificial sweetness. He lay on the bed in his quarters, extremely warm from where he had remained for hours, and watched the little trails of light gray dance smoothly, uncaringly up to the ceiling. They had no concern; they rose up and up, while everything else in the world fell down to its knees.
The cig soothed him as an old friend. It allowed a grasp at some former simplicity, and a suitably distracting pretense that the world had slowed to peace, and vindication, and acceptance. He breathed in the menthol chill that tasted like too many Maraschino cherries, letting it hover in his lungs before exhaling a warmed puff into the air. Everything would be alright so long as he clung tightly to the sweet freeze.
No. No, everything would not be alright, and the plunging depths of pain drove him to doubt that they ever had been. Why him? Why the hell him? There had come the initial, concussing blow of the event, thrusting unanswered - and sometimes undeveloped - questions through his mind, full of all menagerie of confusion, regret, and, above all else, denial. Ceaselessly his mind scrabbled for the thread that, when pulled, turn the whole thing over on its head and let him breathe; some route that he felt so close to finding that he would sprint down to make everything alright.
"Alright"...that damn word. There was no "alright," only "broken." The longer he went on, the closer he came to realizing that there would be no fixing. Only recently had he been able to glance at the mental picture of what had happened, and even then the very thought of it stung. Perhaps one would call it cynicism, sat down on a pulsating bed of despair and irreversibility. Regardless, he stood at a dead end, and would always remain there.
A soft knock came at the door, coaxing him out of his meditation. He considered, then responded.
"Come in."
The door gingerly crept open to reveal Pussy. She looked with concern at the carpet for a moment, then raised her eyes to the mattress.
"He wants you...if you're available."
Hunter almost snorted, without a smile. Naturally. Send him in; I need to talk to him. Should I play hard, sir? No, make it soft; he's in no state for it. Perhaps I should send the girl. Yes, that would be wise.
He thought for a moment, then took a last drag of the cigarette and stubbed it out in the days-old ashtray beside the bed. He rose to his feet and ambled over to the doorway, placing his hand on Pussy's shoulder in thanks. She stepped aside to let him shut the door, and watched him make his sluggish, silent way toward the head office.
He trudged along down the hallways, meeting no glances and focusing on little of the real world, save for a vague, constant gaze at the drably teal carpet that sat on the edge of his perception. He realized only with a part of himself that he had arrived in Goldfinger's reception. He peered in the direction of the secretary, who gestured quietly toward the door, and passed through before letting it close behind him.
There was Goldfinger, sitting stolidly behind his large, wooden desk. He looked over at Hunter without expression.
"Sit down."
Straight to business, then. Perhaps he felt sensitivity would spoil the objective, dull the blunt tool that worked ever so well. Hunter approached the desk with a loose gait and assumed his seat. He stared unconcernedly at the man across from him, expressing little regard and certainly no intent to speak. Finally, Goldfinger did so, letting out his delicate spool word by word.
"Jonathan, there is something you should know. Your operation in Nevada was not in vain."
Hunter continued to stare wordlessly. Well, hell; fantastic. Simply forget yesterday and charge like a bull onto tomorrow; no time in business for niceties, and this man was certainly all about business! Anyway, "his" operation? What the hell was this? Some sort of voluntary self-exculpation from the matter, allowing one to break free from the iron chains of commission and offer holy exemption to a coconspirator? Hunter could only think that Goldfinger made a damn poor priest.
Regardless, he continued:
"Within the past week, a similar plant has been tracked down and destroyed in Myanmar. Now, if we can consider the job on the dam to have compromised a quarter of Dr. No's productive empire, then we may understand an entire half of his power base to have been swept out from under his feet."
A surprising apathy swept over Hunter. Somewhere inside, he felt a nagging rejection of...he did not know what. He was detached; unmoving. He gingerly flexed a half-numb jaw, feeling light saliva build up as though his mouth had sat dormant, and slowly pried apart his lips to form a brief, hushed mutter.
"Numbers mean nothing." Hunter realized that these were the first words he had spoken in days, and had to readjust his curiously staggered breathing. "...why are you telling me this?"
Goldfinger took a breath, examining him with uncertainty and no hint of benefice.
"When one sacrifices great ardor, one may expect phenomenal returns and an overwhelming gust of opportunity. Dr. No is this close" (he held his thumb a bare space from his forefinger) "to falling to his knees before me...before us. Much of his operations has been stricken down, and scores of his men have been wiped off the Earth. He is surely at a massive loss, and in a pressing struggle to cling to the remains of his world. If we can strike him now, while he is at his weakest, there is no telling what damage we can dole him, even enough to destroy him!"
"And how exactly do you plan to do that? Drop another dam on his head until he decides to go crawl in a corner?"
Eyes shut in some frustration, Goldfinger shook his head.
"No. Jonathan..."
His eyes opened, and took on something of a manic glaze that perceived some invisible, unprecedented victory.
"...this is our chance at taking Crab Key; to get rid of Dr. No. This could be the end - the death of all our problems, and a prospect for the retribution that you have sought for more than three years!"
In one slow movement, Hunter looked from the ground up to the desk, then from the desk up to Goldfinger. He pushed himself up from the chair and padded over to the carpet behind the desk, where his employer swiveled to meet him from the side.
"What the hell do you know," he whispered huskily, "about what I've wanted for more than three years?"
Silence, smothering the air with its unspeaking heaviness; and then:
"I know enough to have granted you rank in your own war; to have granted you your own weapon that you would never otherwise have had."
Hunter tilted the right side of his face away, halfway closing his eyes.
"I would never have given you this chance if not for our mutual enmity. Now you reject, or feign to reject, taking a hand in this man's downfall. Why? Because you lose my faith in judgment? or, perhaps, because you doubt I would lead you down a suitable path?"
Hunter took a deep breath...and exhaled. He struggled for an explanation, but felt verbally stuck; any words he truly wanted to speak could burn bridges, yet no other choices seemed sufficiently honest.
"I...I suppose I'm just in a precarious position right now."
Goldfinger rose beside him.
"I can understand that, certainly; but the longer you allow yourself to stay there, the closer you will come to the dangerous edge. I ask you the bare minimum to accomplish that which is necessary. Whatever your feelings, for your own sake, you must keep faith in me. I want this conquest, and know that you do, as well. I must be able to count on your commitment, along with your drive."
Hunter turned to see Goldfinger by his side. He looked expectant, waiting for some confirmation of these qualities; some assurance that this man was the man he needed. As though Hunter's next words would determine their shared future...
"Of course. You needn't ever doubt me, and certainly my commitment to the goal is unwavering. I want him dead..."
He looked up at Goldfinger's face.
"...and I'll be damned if I'll let him walk away."
Goldfinger analyzed him for a lengthy moment, then put a hand on his shoulder and nodded with an a approving half-smile.
"Good. I am glad to hear it, Jonathan. We will discuss plans in time very soon to come, and then we can effect our final moves to put an end to our problem, once and for all."
Hunter nodded, and walked out of the office, feeling as though he had just beaten a raging devil within into quiet submission.
***
On his way back through the twisting halls, Hunter happened surprisingly upon a tall man, dressed well in a gray suit. It was Scaramanga, with a look of partially detached business about him.
"Mr. Scaramanga," Hunter managed. "What are you doing here?"
He responded with a firm sobriety.
"I have a meeting with our respective acquaintance. We have certain business to discuss; business which I'd imagine he's just now spoken of to you."
"Our friend in Jamaica?"
"Indeed. However, there is something I must discuss with you. I am to appear but briefly now, so we haven't much time."
Suddenly, his smooth voice delved lower, with a soft wind of secrecy that no outside ears were to permeate.
"Jonathan...as you carry out this operation, I must insist that you do so with the utmost volition. Surely Goldfinger has enabled you to a degree, but if you set foot on that island with any thought whatsoever of being a co-agent...then I can guarantee that you will never find your necessary satisfaction."
Hunter felt a self-consciously discreet lump form in his throat.
"Whatever happens...forget SPECTRE; forget Goldfinger; and forget the past. All that can matter must be the moment when you seize what is yours."
He considered for a moment.
"Perhaps I should tell you a story. When I was a boy, I worked in a circus. One of our greatest attractions was an elephant; he was trained impeccably, would perform tricks of all fantastic sorts. He was my favorite, as I was his. One day, as is wont to occur in the biological cycle, he was overcome by an intense restlessness; a certain primal inspiration, shall we say. As his demeanor escalated, it developed into a rampage. The police were called to assist, and one of their officers shot him in the eye."
Scaramanga's mouth, formerly pursed in reflection, now turned down scornfully.
"So I emptied my stage pistol into his."
Hunter felt a chill run down his back.
"Jonathan, you must place your situation into perspective. This man destroyed your eye, took part of your vision, and set you down the path to near ruin. He made his mark...but that shot stopped, just there."
Scaramanga gestured softly toward the right side of Hunter's face.
"It could easily have been more than your eye."
Another chill, this time with a threatening wave of morbidity.
"Think upon his act, and on all its implications. You have pain; you have wrath; you have keen lust for his blood. Let them consume you; their eventual threat is not for today's concern. Submerge yourself in their depths, and swim in the ocean of your retribution. Allow them to wash over you completely and become their loyal subject, as the knight swears an oath to his beloved king."
Hunter felt a deep swell building up inside him, beating with his heart and flowing with his breath as it endowed him with every strength and confidence a man could ever need or want to accomplish the highest of high and the most personal of personal tasks. It was becoming his power, his life, his drive, his being, and in due course would become his action. Scaramanga's deep, rich voice came in echoes now, reverberating their wisdom into his head from a distance.
"Let these forces arise; let them fill you, and let them become you. Get onto that island, and find the man you seek. Then, when the moment comes, and your cup of reprisal runs over the brim...pour it out in one terminating show of fury; drain the entire goblet dry, and shed every last drop for him to savor in hell. Nothing can remain...and neither can he.
"Exact your vengeance on Dr. No, and reclaim what he took from you. The rewards will be great. Remember your every motivation, grievance, and hatred against this man, and use them to drive you onward. This victory can only be yours, and so will it be; and when finally you carry it out, ensure that you make the punishment unequivocally equal to the sin. An eye...for an eye."
This was definitely one of those chapters that needed work. The fundamental events and course of dialogue remained the same, but otherwise it was completely re-written from scratch (if that actually makes sense...certain parts of the dialogue, etc. were only slightly altered) on that template. At any rate...what's coming up is the beginning of the end.
More tomorrow.
Stealth in the Sunshine
800m BSL, approaching Crab Key
Jamaica
1:12 P.M., EST
The submersible maneuvered with silent intent through the thick waters of the Caribbean. Myriad sea life parted for this fish of prey, mystified by the blue-and-silver foreigner that looked like no shark they had ever seen.
Hunter sat with much temperance at the controls of the Manta 200-B, watching the dark teal of the ocean go by. The vessel was on a predetermined course, but he retained responsibility of total system regulation. The onboard GPS computer acted as a super-sped tugboat, pulling the craft along toward its port.
Several hundred meters above, contact-sensitive mines floated like oversized, spiked cannonballs. While they bobbed gently up and down near the surface, the chains they trailed descended deep down into the murkier depths of the ocean. They had mercifully proved of no trouble thus far. Just as well, the Manta bore an artificial coating that, in conjunction with its size, made it invisible to radar. The sub swam on, curving this way and that in a spiraling arc as it drew ever closer to its target. Finally, when out of the murk there came a solid wall of shadow, it tilted up further to find a solid rock wall. Hunter deactivated the guidance system, taking control himself to pull up and away from the seabed. The nose of the Manta edged upward and began driving toward to the light. It grew closer and closer, and the sunshine became nearer, until finally it broke the surface and tilted forward again. The drops and streams of seawater poured down the mechanical fish as it gleamed in the sunlight.
Hunter would have to move quickly to avoid detection. He opened the glass shell of the cockpit and, in one swift movement, pulled himself onto its fore and leapt toward the wooden walkway above him. He caught it by the lip and pulled himself up, then standing turned around and retrieved a small, key fob-like device from his pocket. He pressed a button on its bottom, upon which the submersible resealed its cabin began to automatically sink back below the surface.
Hunter turned and beheld the sight in front of him.
Crab Key. For the first time in his life, Hunter understood the sensation of being haunted. This place, this...ghost...sought to destroy him, to tear him down and pin him under the subduing memory of vanquishment. Even in the sunlight, this hostile entity, long withdrawn from explicit attack, brought to bear its unforgotten vision of the dark night it would always remember.
Yet Hunter had to accept his circumstances. The forward drive burned hotly inside him, kindling a flame that he felt only able to escape by reaching its scorching core and extinguishing it. Be the taunting grounds as they may, hang the radiating Sun where it hung, his only course was to proceed. Exercising every anxious caution, he began to move forward along the boarded walkway.
Directly to his left stood a stone building, tan in color. Soon enough, rounding its corner, Hunter spotted a pair of guards in khaki uniforms, toting submachine guns. He took immediate cover behind the wall. After a moment, the two separated. One padded further along the walkway, while the other approached Hunter's position.
Good. Let him come.
As the second guard rounded the corner, Hunter grabbed him by the shoulders and drove a knee into his stomach. He drove a hard fist into the bridge of his nose and drove the same knee into his back, finishing him. After checking to make sure he was down, Hunter dashed silently on tiptoe up to the second man. He placed his left hand over the guard's mouth and fit his right elbow up against his neck. The right arm contracted tightly against the man's neck, letting only a handful of soft, strangled grunts escape before releasing the whole of the now-limp body to the ground.
Hunter dragged both corpses into shadow, wedging them somewhat grotesquely between wooden pallets and a concrete wall. He took a broad look at his surroundings, and concluded that he had come to a cargo-handling area. Further down the path, there sat myriad crates, containers, barrels, a good number of them being moved around by yellow forklifts. Hunter moved carefully, ducking slyly from cover to cover to avoid being spotted. He stayed in the shade almost constantly, breaking into the sun only when necessary. Before long, he reached the end of the loading area and made his way gingerly up a set of red, iron steps into a larger, metal complex.
He moved in, pistol drawn, and passed gingerly through the steel walls that surrounded him. He slinked softly between corridors, occasionally having to paste himself against a wall, feigning invisibility to retain cover. The deeper he ventured into the building, the less sunshine and the more machinery he encountered. Eventually, he came across the unmistakable...the damnably unmistakable main complex. Its sheer length and silent refusal to be budged from its place...even in the bright warmth of the day, it sent a chill down his spine.
Damn it all. Move on.
That was it. Hunter sprinted in a crouch across a beating ray of sun and into the building. Once inside, a nasty, intangible sludge seemed to fill him, coating his mind with disdain. For whatever reason, he imagined a toad, long dead after an angry, defenseless demise, being incised through thick, rotten, warty flesh; its fluid, its stench all bringing the most wretched surprise to its dissector. Hunter took in a repulsive breath and continued his steps.
He passed quietly through corridor after side room, ramp after passageway, silently taking out guards and technicians, before coming across a doorway which read Hazard Protection above the frame. Peering inside the smoked glass inset by the door, he observed two men in white radiation suits. One was removing his, while the other retrieved his own from a wall-mounted suspender.
Hunter moved away from the door when the first man approached. He crouched against the wall beside it and heard a click. The man passed through the doorway, turned, and locked eyes with Hunter before becoming wide-eyed in fury. Hunter lashed out automatically, swiftly but noiselessly driving his head upward into the man's chest. The blue-clothed man fell to the floor with all breath knocked out of him. Hunter kicked him across the face once, and he ceased to move.
Hunter peered inside the protection room. The lone technician had gone behind a row of orange-tinted cubicles and begun to don his white suit. Hunter crept into the room, walked up behind him, and struck.
Anybody watching from outside the cubicle would have seen a peach-colored blur of two men, one apparently straining all life from the other. The losing man shuddered, gaped, and fell.
***
A mere minute later, the door to the protection area swung open and a man walked out, bearing the standard radiation suit. The eyes behind the visor showed a hard edge, intent upon performing some unknowable task. The man walked down the hallway to the so-labeled reactor room and scanned a pass-card to let himself in.
The space was relatively small in size, consisting largely of a dark gray pool of water in the ground. Orange scanners and control panels sat against the walls, two of them operated by attentive workers. A metal walkway stretched above and across the pool, upon the bottom of which reflected the lifeless, alien green of the water below. That same green illuminated the room darkly, creating a foreign and unearthly dimension of its brief surroundings.
Only the two men at their panels were at work in the room. But there, perched in the middle of the bridge, stood Hunter's target; his whole purpose for coming.
There stood Dr. No.
Again...the beginning of the end.
More tomorrow.