Reporting For Duty
It looks like you're new here. If you want to get involved, click one of these buttons!
Quick Links
Categories
In this Discussion
George Lazenby IN Diamonds Are Forever (Chapters 14-15) 28OCT15
SirHilaryBrayOBE
Chez Hilly, Portsmouth
Against what feels my better judgement for reasons I can't determine I'll open the account here. All of these writings that I did apparently occupy almost two years of my life. Crying out loud I spent the better part of a week away in Dorset in 2008 trying to finish the last Lazenby, Octopussy. I can't copyright them but I nonetheless crafted these along. Shame the old site went belly up or you'd all be guided there pronto.
---
This is a revised and extended edition of the story seen on the Fan Fiction section “George Lazenby in Diamonds Are Forever”. Parts added, maybe removed and edited throughout. With thanks to Thompson Colton for his artwork for the ‘book cover’ and to all those who read this and managed to picture Lazenby in it.
Based upon and inspired by the idea of Lazenby returning after OHMSS and being directed once again by Peter Hunt. The story aims to be more true to the revenge storyline continued in the novels by You Only Live Twice whilst retaining some elements of the actual Diamonds Are Forever movie.
Hilly
Somewhere near London November 21st 2007
Diamonds
Are Forever
Adaptation: Ultimate Edition
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter One- Casebook: 007
Chapter Two- Licence Renewed
Chapter Three- The Whyte House
Chapter Four- Guests of Willard Whyte
Chapter Five- In the Night
Chapter Six- More than a Nightcap
Chapter Seven- Breakfast and Fast Cars
Chapter Eight- On the Inside
Chapter Nine- Wild Mustangs
Chapter Ten- Going Up
Chapter Eleven- Old Acquaintances, Never Forgotten
Chapter Twelve- A Man Down
Chapter Thirteen- Stuck in the Mud
Chapter Fourteen- To Find a Needle
Chapter Fifteen- To the Edge
Chapter Sixteen- The Breaking Point
Chapter Seventeen- To Hell With Blofeld
Finale- Just a Man
PROLOGUE: 1969
“...it’s quite alright. We’re just taking a rest we’ll be going on soon. She’s just...taking a rest...you see we have all the time in the world...”
Bond’s own words echoed in his head dully as if he was underwater. The words were spoken as if by a child. He recounted the past hour like he was removed from this world. The drive out of the town in a shower of emotion from the well-wishers, the car bedecked like a mobile florist. He was so in love with her and he never thought he would love a woman like this. Her Majesty’s Secret Service was his job. Or had been...They were going to have children. Three boys and three girls. Now they had all the time in the world.
He was going to love and care for her forever. The car that hurtled past full of young people. “We do look like an ad for a flower shop.”
He had seen the Mercedes from the corner of his eye. Crawling down the road in a manner Bond otherwise might have noticed. Tracy had been speaking to him and Bond had been smiling. He would leave the service, settle down and have a family with this woman. The woman he loved unlike any he had known. They would live somewhere...it did not matter where as long as they were together. Maybe he would work in finance...heck, work for Draco. He had heard the Mercedes rev its engine and then tear past. Bond had ducked as his world was torn asunder by the hammer of bullets destroying the windshield…flying glass…blood.
“It was Blofeld!” he had grunted darting around the car to get in. A look over at Tracy then another look the first barely registering the blood trickling from her head wound. The numb recognition of her body as it slumped over onto his lap.
How could he have missed that damned car? It was travelling so slowly that if he had had noticed he could have shot out the tyres...
Tracy was lying on the ambulance’s gurney. The ambulance had arrived from Marseilles around fifteen minutes after the motorcycle cop called in help. The paramedics had checked Tracy’s pulse but there had been none since the bullets hit the Aston Martin. They had to prise Bond gently from his hold on his late wife.
Bond walked up to the gurney and reached out as one of the paramedics went to pull the off-green sheet up.
“Please let me have one look...at my wife.”
Bond bent over looking at the pale face of Teresa di Vicenzo Bond. Even her light brown hair seemed paler. He took a cold hand in his as if she was alive and then kissed it. “Nothing more, nothing less.” The sheet was pulled over Tracy’s face and then she was carried into the ambulance. Bond got in with one medic but his mind was elsewhere. A police car had turned up half an hour ago and would remain with the DBS as forensics was called in.
It had to have been Blofeld who had killed Tracy with his consort Irma Bunt. Ernst Stavro Blofeld. He had taken revenge on Bond for the latter’s actions at Piz Gloria. Bond had hoped Blofeld to be caught up in it...
Clearly the bastard had made it and with Irma Bunt had come for his own revenge.
As the ambulance lurched, racing away from the shattered Aston Martin his hands held hard together. So hard that the knuckles cracked. His lips parted in a sneer, his teeth clenched. He knew what he had to do. James Bond would go out and find Blofeld. If it meant going to every single country, every single mile of this planet he would find Blofeld. He would get Blofeld.
For Tracy’s sake he would have his revenge.
Chapter One
“Casebook: 007”
Late spring in London showed the great metropolis bathed in sunshine, which did little to warm the Londoners themselves.
Not that any of this mattered to Bill Tanner as he pushed open the door to M’s office just after the light above the outer room went green. A great haze of smoke hung in the air above M’s desk like the smog that used to plague London a decade ago. The head of the Secret Intelligence Service did not look up from his papers as he spoke.
“Chief of Staff.”
“Sir,” Tanner stood very still. M’s temper had been known to make several appearances in the past month and even Tanner was careful not to provoke it.
“Sit down, Tanner,” M said gruffly. He now raised his eyes to Tanner. They were red-rimmed, the face itself showing the signs of the stress he was putting himself through. He took his pipe from his mouth and tapped it out into an ashtray. The sound was just as hollow as his voice. “What do you have this morning?”
“Nothing new, sir,” Tanner placed the dossier he had been carrying onto the desk in front of him. M took it turned it and gazed upon the cover. It had been growing dense since it had started a month ago. The cover bore three simple stamps.
For Your Eyes Only- Classified!
Top Secret.
And finally, CASEBOOK 007.
Tanner opted to take advantage of M’s silence and pressed on.
“Sir, James…007 has not been sighted anywhere since Singapore a week ago by Station S. The CIA thought they had sighted him two days ago in Hong Kong but that turned out to be a false lead. I think…”
“Her Majesty does not pay you to think nor does she want CIA’s second guesses!” M snapped and slammed the dossier down kicking up bits of ash. “I want Bond found. All this business about his wife…it’s,” he shook his head. His voice strengthened as if finding a second wind. “The man has vanished without so much as a trace. Gallivanting around the globe trying to find Blofeld is not the answer. Not now. The Prime Minister would go through the roof if he knew that the best agent we had was off on a private vendetta. This department does not back vendettas, Tanner.”
Tanner nodded and said in a quieter voice. “Your orders, sir?”
“My orders, Chief of Staff are to bring 007 back to London immediately. By any means and that does mean alive, Tanner. I don’t want one of the other 00’s to get the crazy idea of shooting Bond.”
“Understood, sir.”
Tanner stood took the dossier and left.
The walk to his office was dominated by thoughts of Agent 007. Bond was a good friend of Tanner’s and vice versa. Tanner could not believe that Bond would throw everything away like this. It did not seem like James. Tanner had heard about the wedding and the immediate aftermath. Everyone was sorry for Bond and expected him home within a few days. Instead Bond did not return and stories continued unabated of Bond’s hunt for Blofeld. Damn it, James. Why did you have to go AWOL?
Reaching his office Tanner went straight to his desk placing 007’s casebook by the phone. Lifting the receiver he dialled a familiar internal line. As he turned his chair away from his desk his blue eyes settled on the portrait of the Queen.
“Chief of Staff here, could you have 003 come to my office immediately.”
The woman’s name was Marie and she lay draped across a yellow towel beside the calm swimming pool listening to the distant radio in the house. The area was secluded, high in the hills above Tokyo. Marie’s body was clad in a simple two-piece bathing suit that seemed somehow at odds with the lightly tanned body it covered. She gazed at her nails and blew upon them. Then a shadow fell across her and she looked up to see a handsome man standing there. Black hair combed neatly to one side and with startlingly empty eyes. As if the very life had been sucked out of him. He wore a dark casual suit without a tie.
“Don’t mind me. I’m just sightseeing.”
“How did you get up here?”
“Your gatekeeper was most co-operative and allowed me in here,” the man referred to the day guard who was always out of sight from Marie. The man smiled a little. “Now I was wondering if you might help me.”
Marie felt some fear and it crept into her French accent. “In what way?”
The man knelt by her hands on the top of his legs. “I’m looking for a man called Blofeld. Ernst Stavro Blofeld.”
Marie sat up, her legs curled beneath her giving her the appearance of a mythical mermaid. “I…I don’t know anyone…”
The man’s hands lashed out and took off her bathing top rapidly bringing it around her neck. She gasped for air; surprised at the speed of his actions.
His voice remained level. “Now, I know you know Blofeld for you’re on his payroll. Every month, on time, you get a nice cheque for your services to his organisation and to him personally. Every month your house here is quietly maintained and your vacations pre-paid. You’re off to Fiji next week, no?”
Marie’s eyes widened a fraction and not from the lack of air now apparent to her. She was oblivious to her naked breasts being on display and for that matter, so seemed her assailant. She nodded and gasped for air her hands now only just trying to get the bra off her neck.
“Right, so I’ll ask you again. Where is he!?”
“C-C-Cairo,” she gasped as the oxygen began to cut off.
“It would be unwise of you to lie to me,” the man grunted letting the grip slacken he let her rub her neck. “Well?”
“I’m telling the truth.”
He let her go completely dropping the bra as if it was contaminated and straightened. He began to walk off as she cried after him:
“Who are you?”
He barely paused as he glanced over his shoulder.
“Just a friend.”
The Cairo casino had an underlying stench of sweat as if the ceilings fans had given up trying to force it out and so pushed it down. It was one of several in Cairo and showed its age through frayed carpets and dusty walls. Perhaps it was the desert outside trying to reclaim its land.
The squat man at the card table near the poke tables wore a fading red fez. His white suit showed stains on the chest from the food he had had earlier and his shoes were scuffed. He had a reputation in Cairo for being nothing short of a luckless loser. A man who had money on Britain to win the Suez War. His name was Haka and he was loosing money. He watched the cards shuffled once more with a miserable look. Haka was unaware of the man standing a few feet behind him. He dragged a handkerchief across his forehead. It came away dark and grubby.
The dealer placed a card down. A six of hearts.
“Hit me,” Haka said with a wave of the hand.
Next thing he knew he was being spun around –it was not easy considering his girth- and smashed across the face with a fist. Haka toppled to the ground his stool falling next to him and his fez flying away. He put a hand to his face and looked up. The man standing over him wore a white suit that bore no mark. It was the man’s blue eyes that frightened Haka. They were bright with hidden fire.
“Get up you fat slob,” the man commanded.
He was English, thought Haka. He wondered if he owed any money to someone from the war. That was a long time ago but some had long memories.
His thoughts ended abruptly as the man bent and pulled Haka up. “Next time I ask you something I shan’t ask you nicely.”
“W-what do you want?”
“Blofeld,” the man said simply. His voice had an edge to it. “Ernst Stavro Blofeld.”
Haka felt his blood run cold. “I…I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“You’re a liar,” the man pulled Haka with him and led him outside. They went up to a car waiting down the side of the casino. A flash car, for Cairo thought Haka. He was pushed against the wall and the man stood back.
“Ernst Stavro Blofeld, I want to know where he is.”
“Who are you?”
“I may as well tell you,” the man produced a cigarette from the pocket of his suit. “The name’s Bond, James Bond.”
Haka felt fear stab at his heart. James Bond. Who in Haka’s underworld had not heard of the British secret agent? Who had not heard of Bond’s mission of revenge?
Bond noticing Haka’s reaction stepped forward the cigarette in the corner of his mouth still unlit. Flickering lights from a bar across the dusty road from the casino played on Haka’s face.
“Now, Haka. Let me tell you what I know. I know that Ernst Stavro Blofeld killed my wife and with him was his accomplice Irma Bunt. Blofeld has gone underground and someone knows where that monster is. My contacts suggested you, Haka.”
“Me…me?” Haka gulped. “I don’t know anyone. I have no friends.”
“A little fellow in Tokyo suggested you. Well, that’s not true, he suggested this woman in the hills above the city who suggested you,” Bond reached into Haka’s breast pocket taking out a small matchbox bearing the inscription ‘King Tut’s Casino’ then put it back wiping his hand on Haka’s fez afterwards. “The little fellow only gave me her name after I tossed him through a window and she only gave your name after I…shall we say, persuaded her.”
“I don’t…”
“If your next words are ‘know anyone in Tokyo’ I will take this cigarette and make sure you don’t ever see another card again. Now, where is Blofeld?” Bond stepped back as if to give some room to the Egyptian. Even if Haka tried running he knew that Bond would kill him in seconds.
Haka smoothed his stained suit down. “I heard that he was in America.”
“Whereabouts? It’s a big country you know.”
“The United States, Nevada.”
Bond frowned. “Nevada?”
“Rumours, they’re honestly rumours.” Haka held his hands up pleading. His heart was beating quickly. Sweat rolled down his face in thick heavy drops. “Please.”
“Alright, don’t burst a vessel,” Bond fumbled in his trouser pocket and then was stuffing some Egyptian pounds into Haka’s breast pocket patting it. “Don’t spend it all at once.”
Bond then got into the car and drove off into the night.
Haka sunk to the ground grateful to be alive.
Bond parked the Aston Martin DBS outside the Cairo Hilton, his home for his stay in Egypt. Bond told the receptionist that he would be checking out in the morning and arranged a wake up call for 7am. He glanced through the doors at the DBS. Turning on his heel Bond walked up to the doorman and using some currency arranged for it to be parked in the hotel’s underground car park. The DBS was the same make as the one Bond had used during Operation Bedlam but was bought with Bond’s own wealth.
He went to the lifts and waited alone.
A moment later he emerged on the fifth floor and was at the door of his room fumbling for his key. Quietly he slipped into the darkened room. He closed the door on the lit corridor allowing his eyes to grow accustom to the darkness. He stared at the curtains on the balcony of his room. They were rippling from the night breeze.
He had closed the window before leaving this morning.
An arm clamped around Bond’s neck making him start. A familiar voice spoke in his ear.
“Evening, 007.”
“003,” Bond grunted. “I take it this isn’t a social visit?”
“No,” the hold was released and the lights turned up. Bond blinked turning to face his fellow Double-Oh. 003 was a tall stocky man who had his wartime service with SOE. Setting Europe ablaze.
003 ran a hand through his dull red hair and smiled without warmth at Bond.
“I’m under orders to bring you home. M wants you to stop your little vendetta.”
“Tell him I’m on my holiday.”
003’s smile faded. “M isn’t amused, James. Come on, pack your bag and we can go home. Back to London, there’s a good man.”
“No. Blofeld’s still out there and I am going after him!”
“You’re making a fool of yourself!” snapped 003. “Everyone at home thinks you’ve gone out of your mind. Your wife has died, it’s sad but you have to get past it!”
Bond dipped his head as if thinking and glanced at his bed before returning his gaze to 003. “I wish you would not speak of her like that.”
“I’m sorry, James but….”
It happened quickly as it so often did. Bond launched himself onto his bed landing with both feet and using the bed to dive at 003. The two men clattered into the door and straight through it as the wood gave way to the combined momentum of Bond and 003. The Double Oh agents appeared to drag each other to their feet before grappling in the corridor. Doors opened at the far end, inquisitive heads poking out and looking up. Shouts in French.
They bounced off one wall to the other and again until hitting the lift doors. Each impact made a loud echoing sound like sound effects from a Spaghetti Western. Bond bought his knee up into 003’s stomach. 003 gasped for breath and fell to the ground. As Bond turned 003 clamped his arms around Bond’s legs toppling Bond like a tree. Bond hit the ground hard his breath leaving him in a sudden burst. He rolled over but 003 reacted quick enough to restrain Bond by sitting on him.
“I’m sorry, 007. It’s time you went home…it’s the way it has to be.”
Bond struggled then went limp. “Alright…I’ll get my things.”
003 released Bond tentatively. Bond went into his room quickly packing his few things into a tan suitcase. He left some pounds on the bed for the damage done.
An hour later, with 003 at the wheel, the DBS rolled up at Cairo’s airport where it would eventually be put on a 707 bound for London.
At the other end would be M and retribution.
---
This is a revised and extended edition of the story seen on the Fan Fiction section “George Lazenby in Diamonds Are Forever”. Parts added, maybe removed and edited throughout. With thanks to Thompson Colton for his artwork for the ‘book cover’ and to all those who read this and managed to picture Lazenby in it.
Based upon and inspired by the idea of Lazenby returning after OHMSS and being directed once again by Peter Hunt. The story aims to be more true to the revenge storyline continued in the novels by You Only Live Twice whilst retaining some elements of the actual Diamonds Are Forever movie.
Hilly
Somewhere near London November 21st 2007
Diamonds
Are Forever
Adaptation: Ultimate Edition
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter One- Casebook: 007
Chapter Two- Licence Renewed
Chapter Three- The Whyte House
Chapter Four- Guests of Willard Whyte
Chapter Five- In the Night
Chapter Six- More than a Nightcap
Chapter Seven- Breakfast and Fast Cars
Chapter Eight- On the Inside
Chapter Nine- Wild Mustangs
Chapter Ten- Going Up
Chapter Eleven- Old Acquaintances, Never Forgotten
Chapter Twelve- A Man Down
Chapter Thirteen- Stuck in the Mud
Chapter Fourteen- To Find a Needle
Chapter Fifteen- To the Edge
Chapter Sixteen- The Breaking Point
Chapter Seventeen- To Hell With Blofeld
Finale- Just a Man
PROLOGUE: 1969
“...it’s quite alright. We’re just taking a rest we’ll be going on soon. She’s just...taking a rest...you see we have all the time in the world...”
Bond’s own words echoed in his head dully as if he was underwater. The words were spoken as if by a child. He recounted the past hour like he was removed from this world. The drive out of the town in a shower of emotion from the well-wishers, the car bedecked like a mobile florist. He was so in love with her and he never thought he would love a woman like this. Her Majesty’s Secret Service was his job. Or had been...They were going to have children. Three boys and three girls. Now they had all the time in the world.
He was going to love and care for her forever. The car that hurtled past full of young people. “We do look like an ad for a flower shop.”
He had seen the Mercedes from the corner of his eye. Crawling down the road in a manner Bond otherwise might have noticed. Tracy had been speaking to him and Bond had been smiling. He would leave the service, settle down and have a family with this woman. The woman he loved unlike any he had known. They would live somewhere...it did not matter where as long as they were together. Maybe he would work in finance...heck, work for Draco. He had heard the Mercedes rev its engine and then tear past. Bond had ducked as his world was torn asunder by the hammer of bullets destroying the windshield…flying glass…blood.
“It was Blofeld!” he had grunted darting around the car to get in. A look over at Tracy then another look the first barely registering the blood trickling from her head wound. The numb recognition of her body as it slumped over onto his lap.
How could he have missed that damned car? It was travelling so slowly that if he had had noticed he could have shot out the tyres...
Tracy was lying on the ambulance’s gurney. The ambulance had arrived from Marseilles around fifteen minutes after the motorcycle cop called in help. The paramedics had checked Tracy’s pulse but there had been none since the bullets hit the Aston Martin. They had to prise Bond gently from his hold on his late wife.
Bond walked up to the gurney and reached out as one of the paramedics went to pull the off-green sheet up.
“Please let me have one look...at my wife.”
Bond bent over looking at the pale face of Teresa di Vicenzo Bond. Even her light brown hair seemed paler. He took a cold hand in his as if she was alive and then kissed it. “Nothing more, nothing less.” The sheet was pulled over Tracy’s face and then she was carried into the ambulance. Bond got in with one medic but his mind was elsewhere. A police car had turned up half an hour ago and would remain with the DBS as forensics was called in.
It had to have been Blofeld who had killed Tracy with his consort Irma Bunt. Ernst Stavro Blofeld. He had taken revenge on Bond for the latter’s actions at Piz Gloria. Bond had hoped Blofeld to be caught up in it...
Clearly the bastard had made it and with Irma Bunt had come for his own revenge.
As the ambulance lurched, racing away from the shattered Aston Martin his hands held hard together. So hard that the knuckles cracked. His lips parted in a sneer, his teeth clenched. He knew what he had to do. James Bond would go out and find Blofeld. If it meant going to every single country, every single mile of this planet he would find Blofeld. He would get Blofeld.
For Tracy’s sake he would have his revenge.
Chapter One
“Casebook: 007”
Late spring in London showed the great metropolis bathed in sunshine, which did little to warm the Londoners themselves.
Not that any of this mattered to Bill Tanner as he pushed open the door to M’s office just after the light above the outer room went green. A great haze of smoke hung in the air above M’s desk like the smog that used to plague London a decade ago. The head of the Secret Intelligence Service did not look up from his papers as he spoke.
“Chief of Staff.”
“Sir,” Tanner stood very still. M’s temper had been known to make several appearances in the past month and even Tanner was careful not to provoke it.
“Sit down, Tanner,” M said gruffly. He now raised his eyes to Tanner. They were red-rimmed, the face itself showing the signs of the stress he was putting himself through. He took his pipe from his mouth and tapped it out into an ashtray. The sound was just as hollow as his voice. “What do you have this morning?”
“Nothing new, sir,” Tanner placed the dossier he had been carrying onto the desk in front of him. M took it turned it and gazed upon the cover. It had been growing dense since it had started a month ago. The cover bore three simple stamps.
For Your Eyes Only- Classified!
Top Secret.
And finally, CASEBOOK 007.
Tanner opted to take advantage of M’s silence and pressed on.
“Sir, James…007 has not been sighted anywhere since Singapore a week ago by Station S. The CIA thought they had sighted him two days ago in Hong Kong but that turned out to be a false lead. I think…”
“Her Majesty does not pay you to think nor does she want CIA’s second guesses!” M snapped and slammed the dossier down kicking up bits of ash. “I want Bond found. All this business about his wife…it’s,” he shook his head. His voice strengthened as if finding a second wind. “The man has vanished without so much as a trace. Gallivanting around the globe trying to find Blofeld is not the answer. Not now. The Prime Minister would go through the roof if he knew that the best agent we had was off on a private vendetta. This department does not back vendettas, Tanner.”
Tanner nodded and said in a quieter voice. “Your orders, sir?”
“My orders, Chief of Staff are to bring 007 back to London immediately. By any means and that does mean alive, Tanner. I don’t want one of the other 00’s to get the crazy idea of shooting Bond.”
“Understood, sir.”
Tanner stood took the dossier and left.
The walk to his office was dominated by thoughts of Agent 007. Bond was a good friend of Tanner’s and vice versa. Tanner could not believe that Bond would throw everything away like this. It did not seem like James. Tanner had heard about the wedding and the immediate aftermath. Everyone was sorry for Bond and expected him home within a few days. Instead Bond did not return and stories continued unabated of Bond’s hunt for Blofeld. Damn it, James. Why did you have to go AWOL?
Reaching his office Tanner went straight to his desk placing 007’s casebook by the phone. Lifting the receiver he dialled a familiar internal line. As he turned his chair away from his desk his blue eyes settled on the portrait of the Queen.
“Chief of Staff here, could you have 003 come to my office immediately.”
The woman’s name was Marie and she lay draped across a yellow towel beside the calm swimming pool listening to the distant radio in the house. The area was secluded, high in the hills above Tokyo. Marie’s body was clad in a simple two-piece bathing suit that seemed somehow at odds with the lightly tanned body it covered. She gazed at her nails and blew upon them. Then a shadow fell across her and she looked up to see a handsome man standing there. Black hair combed neatly to one side and with startlingly empty eyes. As if the very life had been sucked out of him. He wore a dark casual suit without a tie.
“Don’t mind me. I’m just sightseeing.”
“How did you get up here?”
“Your gatekeeper was most co-operative and allowed me in here,” the man referred to the day guard who was always out of sight from Marie. The man smiled a little. “Now I was wondering if you might help me.”
Marie felt some fear and it crept into her French accent. “In what way?”
The man knelt by her hands on the top of his legs. “I’m looking for a man called Blofeld. Ernst Stavro Blofeld.”
Marie sat up, her legs curled beneath her giving her the appearance of a mythical mermaid. “I…I don’t know anyone…”
The man’s hands lashed out and took off her bathing top rapidly bringing it around her neck. She gasped for air; surprised at the speed of his actions.
His voice remained level. “Now, I know you know Blofeld for you’re on his payroll. Every month, on time, you get a nice cheque for your services to his organisation and to him personally. Every month your house here is quietly maintained and your vacations pre-paid. You’re off to Fiji next week, no?”
Marie’s eyes widened a fraction and not from the lack of air now apparent to her. She was oblivious to her naked breasts being on display and for that matter, so seemed her assailant. She nodded and gasped for air her hands now only just trying to get the bra off her neck.
“Right, so I’ll ask you again. Where is he!?”
“C-C-Cairo,” she gasped as the oxygen began to cut off.
“It would be unwise of you to lie to me,” the man grunted letting the grip slacken he let her rub her neck. “Well?”
“I’m telling the truth.”
He let her go completely dropping the bra as if it was contaminated and straightened. He began to walk off as she cried after him:
“Who are you?”
He barely paused as he glanced over his shoulder.
“Just a friend.”
The Cairo casino had an underlying stench of sweat as if the ceilings fans had given up trying to force it out and so pushed it down. It was one of several in Cairo and showed its age through frayed carpets and dusty walls. Perhaps it was the desert outside trying to reclaim its land.
The squat man at the card table near the poke tables wore a fading red fez. His white suit showed stains on the chest from the food he had had earlier and his shoes were scuffed. He had a reputation in Cairo for being nothing short of a luckless loser. A man who had money on Britain to win the Suez War. His name was Haka and he was loosing money. He watched the cards shuffled once more with a miserable look. Haka was unaware of the man standing a few feet behind him. He dragged a handkerchief across his forehead. It came away dark and grubby.
The dealer placed a card down. A six of hearts.
“Hit me,” Haka said with a wave of the hand.
Next thing he knew he was being spun around –it was not easy considering his girth- and smashed across the face with a fist. Haka toppled to the ground his stool falling next to him and his fez flying away. He put a hand to his face and looked up. The man standing over him wore a white suit that bore no mark. It was the man’s blue eyes that frightened Haka. They were bright with hidden fire.
“Get up you fat slob,” the man commanded.
He was English, thought Haka. He wondered if he owed any money to someone from the war. That was a long time ago but some had long memories.
His thoughts ended abruptly as the man bent and pulled Haka up. “Next time I ask you something I shan’t ask you nicely.”
“W-what do you want?”
“Blofeld,” the man said simply. His voice had an edge to it. “Ernst Stavro Blofeld.”
Haka felt his blood run cold. “I…I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“You’re a liar,” the man pulled Haka with him and led him outside. They went up to a car waiting down the side of the casino. A flash car, for Cairo thought Haka. He was pushed against the wall and the man stood back.
“Ernst Stavro Blofeld, I want to know where he is.”
“Who are you?”
“I may as well tell you,” the man produced a cigarette from the pocket of his suit. “The name’s Bond, James Bond.”
Haka felt fear stab at his heart. James Bond. Who in Haka’s underworld had not heard of the British secret agent? Who had not heard of Bond’s mission of revenge?
Bond noticing Haka’s reaction stepped forward the cigarette in the corner of his mouth still unlit. Flickering lights from a bar across the dusty road from the casino played on Haka’s face.
“Now, Haka. Let me tell you what I know. I know that Ernst Stavro Blofeld killed my wife and with him was his accomplice Irma Bunt. Blofeld has gone underground and someone knows where that monster is. My contacts suggested you, Haka.”
“Me…me?” Haka gulped. “I don’t know anyone. I have no friends.”
“A little fellow in Tokyo suggested you. Well, that’s not true, he suggested this woman in the hills above the city who suggested you,” Bond reached into Haka’s breast pocket taking out a small matchbox bearing the inscription ‘King Tut’s Casino’ then put it back wiping his hand on Haka’s fez afterwards. “The little fellow only gave me her name after I tossed him through a window and she only gave your name after I…shall we say, persuaded her.”
“I don’t…”
“If your next words are ‘know anyone in Tokyo’ I will take this cigarette and make sure you don’t ever see another card again. Now, where is Blofeld?” Bond stepped back as if to give some room to the Egyptian. Even if Haka tried running he knew that Bond would kill him in seconds.
Haka smoothed his stained suit down. “I heard that he was in America.”
“Whereabouts? It’s a big country you know.”
“The United States, Nevada.”
Bond frowned. “Nevada?”
“Rumours, they’re honestly rumours.” Haka held his hands up pleading. His heart was beating quickly. Sweat rolled down his face in thick heavy drops. “Please.”
“Alright, don’t burst a vessel,” Bond fumbled in his trouser pocket and then was stuffing some Egyptian pounds into Haka’s breast pocket patting it. “Don’t spend it all at once.”
Bond then got into the car and drove off into the night.
Haka sunk to the ground grateful to be alive.
Bond parked the Aston Martin DBS outside the Cairo Hilton, his home for his stay in Egypt. Bond told the receptionist that he would be checking out in the morning and arranged a wake up call for 7am. He glanced through the doors at the DBS. Turning on his heel Bond walked up to the doorman and using some currency arranged for it to be parked in the hotel’s underground car park. The DBS was the same make as the one Bond had used during Operation Bedlam but was bought with Bond’s own wealth.
He went to the lifts and waited alone.
A moment later he emerged on the fifth floor and was at the door of his room fumbling for his key. Quietly he slipped into the darkened room. He closed the door on the lit corridor allowing his eyes to grow accustom to the darkness. He stared at the curtains on the balcony of his room. They were rippling from the night breeze.
He had closed the window before leaving this morning.
An arm clamped around Bond’s neck making him start. A familiar voice spoke in his ear.
“Evening, 007.”
“003,” Bond grunted. “I take it this isn’t a social visit?”
“No,” the hold was released and the lights turned up. Bond blinked turning to face his fellow Double-Oh. 003 was a tall stocky man who had his wartime service with SOE. Setting Europe ablaze.
003 ran a hand through his dull red hair and smiled without warmth at Bond.
“I’m under orders to bring you home. M wants you to stop your little vendetta.”
“Tell him I’m on my holiday.”
003’s smile faded. “M isn’t amused, James. Come on, pack your bag and we can go home. Back to London, there’s a good man.”
“No. Blofeld’s still out there and I am going after him!”
“You’re making a fool of yourself!” snapped 003. “Everyone at home thinks you’ve gone out of your mind. Your wife has died, it’s sad but you have to get past it!”
Bond dipped his head as if thinking and glanced at his bed before returning his gaze to 003. “I wish you would not speak of her like that.”
“I’m sorry, James but….”
It happened quickly as it so often did. Bond launched himself onto his bed landing with both feet and using the bed to dive at 003. The two men clattered into the door and straight through it as the wood gave way to the combined momentum of Bond and 003. The Double Oh agents appeared to drag each other to their feet before grappling in the corridor. Doors opened at the far end, inquisitive heads poking out and looking up. Shouts in French.
They bounced off one wall to the other and again until hitting the lift doors. Each impact made a loud echoing sound like sound effects from a Spaghetti Western. Bond bought his knee up into 003’s stomach. 003 gasped for breath and fell to the ground. As Bond turned 003 clamped his arms around Bond’s legs toppling Bond like a tree. Bond hit the ground hard his breath leaving him in a sudden burst. He rolled over but 003 reacted quick enough to restrain Bond by sitting on him.
“I’m sorry, 007. It’s time you went home…it’s the way it has to be.”
Bond struggled then went limp. “Alright…I’ll get my things.”
003 released Bond tentatively. Bond went into his room quickly packing his few things into a tan suitcase. He left some pounds on the bed for the damage done.
An hour later, with 003 at the wheel, the DBS rolled up at Cairo’s airport where it would eventually be put on a 707 bound for London.
At the other end would be M and retribution.
^ Back to Top
The MI6 Community is unofficial and in no way associated or linked with EON Productions, MGM, Sony Pictures, Activision or Ian Fleming Publications. Any views expressed on this website are of the individual members and do not necessarily reflect those of the Community owners. Any video or images displayed in topics on MI6 Community are embedded by users from third party sites and as such MI6 Community and its owners take no responsibility for this material.
James Bond News • James Bond Articles • James Bond Magazine
Comments
Indeed PKK, it's like the old days just minus the old gang chiefly Bong and Calbrit.
Quite, quite. We'll see.
Old memories will now come flooding back. :) And it feels good.
I started something similar a while ago when I started novelizing the DAF script. I followed the movie along pretty closely, but have made attempts to flesh out some of the movies more lingering points. I like this idea as well.
Chapter Two
“Licence Renewed”
M stood to greet his guest as the doorbell echoed away in the spacious surroundings. On the wall next to him were various portraits of ships of war through the ages. From the days of Nelson through to Jellicoe through to Cunningham. Quarterdeck was hidden away from London in the neighbouring green shires, in what was becoming known as the ‘commuter belt’. In the grounds was a small lake that boasted a wooden dinghy that M sometimes used on Sundays. The house had a strong naval theme in accordance with M’s past life before the SIS. It was as close as the ‘Old Man’ could get to the sea and his days in the Navy.
M’s housekeeper showed the guest in and left the two alone.
M extended a hand. “Sir James.”
Sir James Molony took the hand shaking it firmly. “M.”
“I think in these surroundings you might call me Miles. Do have a seat, Sir James.”
They sat in opposing armchairs as if lining up for a chess match. There was mutual respect between the two men. Though M was most assuredly of a generation who did not care for this malarkey of the ‘mental health’ profession he appreciated Sir James’ skill in this field. In M’s day in the Royal Navy, a man’s problems were his own or maybe that of his captains. Any man who could get into the head of James Bond was worth his pension in gold. M reached for his pipe on a small table next to his chair. He lit it and puffed steadily before saying.
“A drink, Sir James?”
“No thank you,” Sir James adjusted his weight in the seat. “I assume I’m here to talk about 007?”
“Yes, though Bond as he is as his licence was revoked. You’ve had the past three weeks since his return from Egypt to talk to him. What is your verdict?”
Sir James reached into his suit’s breast pocket for slim silver cigarette case. He did not answer until a cigarette was in hand and the smoke twirling to the high ceiling. His voice spoke softly showing some traces of his Lancastrian upbringing.
“Verdict? If only it were so cut and dry, Miles. I’ve spoken to him in the past, part of the Service’s bi-monthly check-ups and he’s always been straightforward. This time was not so clear cut. I often had to take a route to get to where I needed to be. The fact is Bond is suffering from shock. Indeed, what we’re starting to call post-traumatic stress…he simply has not had time to deal with matters.”
“The death of his wife.”
“Yes, the death of his wife,” Sir James regarded M with a frank expression. Bond had said that M would not have welcomed the news of his best agent being wedded. Even if M had been as proud as a father at the wedding he still had reservations about his best man being married and thereby leaving the service. “Bond has not fully mourned her. It is as if he needs to complete something before he can before he can let the grief in. When he lets the grief in he might be fine, he might not be. Bond is walking a tightrope.”
“Revenge?” M growled his voice gravelly.
“I think so,” Sir James Molony admitted. “Once he gets his revenge.”
“This is too much, Sir James,” M remarked. “In my day we did not worry about this...”
“Maybe if we had we would not have lost so many.” Sir James almost smiled but held back. “Who was the man who did this to Bond?”
“Ernst Stavro Blofeld, though it was Blofeld’s accomplice Irma Bunt who fired the fatal shots.”
“Bond mentioned him but in passing as if the shock has forced it down.”
M removed his pipe from the corner of his mouth studying it as if for the first time. He went on his voice raspy.
“I’m concerned for Bond, that he will put himself and others in danger in the field. Disappearing as he did led extra weight to this concern. I had half the department looking for him. He gave 003 a hiding in Cairo and that’s acceptable only so far. What I am driving out is...will Bond break?”
M had been thinking about this whilst he had waited for Sir James to arrive at Quarterdeck. During the first war he had seen the strongest of men snap during battle or afterwards. In the war you stuck together, every man looking out for the other. At Archangel in 1922 when he and Charles Hardy were helping the Whites there were men who all too often became consumed by their mental anguish. They needed to truly be a band of brothers. To a point it was the same in SIS. Double Oh’s had developed it when working together despite their work requiring them to work individually and alone.
Sir James merely exhaled some more smoke and said. “He could and could not. What I saw in Bond is a man who at times could be close to tears, to the edge but also strong and reliable. It could, this grief, build inside him like molten in a volcano until it erupts in such a manner it would destroy him. Then again it might subside, lie dormant. He did tell me that he misses his wife greatly and that he believes his life might never be the same again.”
M grunted in a slightly irritable manner. “He’s one of my best…”
“Miles,” Sir James leant forward. “I would say this. Put Bond back into the field. I think Bond will be fine.”
“You think? Doctor, I need something more concrete.”
“I can’t,” Sir James leant to stub his cigarette out in M’s ashtray made from the scrap of HMS Renown. “Bond might not be fine and is hiding it well despite his emotional state. Physically he needs to get into shape for your service. He simply has put on weight.”
“Weight is one thing,” M remarked. “You do not make it easy, Sir James. Your answer seems a tad cryptic but I believe I see what you are saying. Is that all?”
“I believe so.”
“Thank you.”
James Bond left the gravel path halfway down crossing to his right passing between the headstones that marked the way like masts of sunken ships. The cold stung his cheeks. Down by the railings near the railway he paused. It was a nice area here as was the entire cemetery really. Were it but for the tracks it would be quiet but even then it was quiet. The railway was a small branch line. He squatted laying the rose on the bottom of this particular stone that glistened with its freshness. The black marble had been paid for by Marc Ange Draco personally.
James, my dear Tracy...oh my Teresa.
I’m sorry...I’m sorry...
Bond plucked some wet moss from the tombstone then bowed his head pinching the bridge of his nose.
Teresa Bond 1943-1969 –‘We Have all the Time in the World’.
And that was that, no more than was needed.
“James.”
Bond snapped to his feet looking away from the stone. He waited as the light mist swirled around a shape that came into focus.
“Sir.”
Looking to his left Bond saw the ghostly outline of M’s staff car and was sure he saw Moneypenny waiting by it. He had not seen her since she had caught his bowler and cried as he gave her an awkward wave. The wave was Bond for ‘I’m sorry I messed you about all these years’.
No, the last time he saw her was being deposited by the police at the British Consulate. M had tried then to talk to Bond perhaps too stunned for words. Not M...no not M.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
“I have nowhere else to be,” Bond said hollowly. M’s chewing out had been half-hearted as if he could not bring himself to fully go at Bond. A man who had sat before him on autopilot. That was when he had been sent downstairs to see Sir James.
So, 007 what makes you tick?
Oh, I don’t know.
Women? Drink? Cigarettes?
My heart. Let’s try that one, doctor.
“I’m sorry for your loss, James.” M had taken off his fedora holding it in his gloved hands his grey eyes narrowed. “She was a beautiful woman.”
“Yes she was,” Bond stepped away from Tracy’s grave as if not wanting her to see this. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“Your lead in Cairo, Haka. Do you remember?”
“Sir.”
“He was found dead two days ago in the Nile. Someone had taken the time to rip his fingers and toes off then shove them inside his mouth. He was still alive when they did that.” M’s voice grew cold. “It seems a direct consequence of you.”
Bond felt like jerking a thumb at the headstone and saying ‘you mean like her, sir? And all the other women?’
“I see.”
“Before he died he had told you that Blofeld was in Nevada.”
Blofeld! Bond’s eyes threatened to light up but he kept himself in check. When every night he thought of Teresa he thought of Blofeld as well. Killing the swine and finally being free of the demons.
It will take more than cutting off your earlobes to become a count, Blofeld.
“Yes, sir. He didn’t say where in Nevada. I wanted to go out there but 003 stopped me.”
“Yes because 00’s are not and should never be rogue agents.” M stepped up closer to Bond his grey eyebrows lifting a fraction. “Understood?”
“Always, sir.”
This department is not concerned with your personal affairs. Is that understood?
Sir, this department owes that girl a debt of gratitude.
“We’ve checked with CIA but they have nothing in Nevada but a diamond smuggling operation. Rather, the prevention of the smuggling.”
“Diamonds?”
“They come in from Africa but somehow get past customs. CIA are going mad trying to stop it as the money from the diamonds is going to all places. Drugs, sex trafficking and the mafia apart from other less desirable ventures.”
“Sir, can I go to Nevada and help?”
M was not stupid. He did not become head of SIS and this department without knowing more than anyone else. “Just happen to have an interest in diamonds, Bond?”
“Yes, sir,” Bond smiled a little his blue eyes showing some warmth. “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend. I’d imagine also we have a vested interest.”
“You’d be right. Last week we arrested a man named Peter Franks at Dover for trying to smuggle diamonds out. He’s had dealings with the underworld in America before.”
“Doing this would ease me back into work,” Bond hesitated and added cautiously. “Assuming that the service wants me back.”
Bond’s licence to kill had been revoked two days after Tracy’s death when he went back to Piz Gloria to find clues to Blofeld’s disappearance. Not that the wreckage had yielded anything but bodies from the battle. Nor did Samuden, the small town at the base of the mountain where bits of Piz Gloria still littered the streets. He waited for M’s response whilst the Old Man plodded up to Tracy’s headstone. He thought he heard M mumble something but he was not sure. Bond watched as M gazed at the railway. A passing express train made him start then shake his head. The shake either for the train startling him or for what he was about to say to Bond.
“As of now your licence to kill is renewed.” M held a hand up. “Don’t thank me yet, 007. You still have to prove yourself to me after what you have done. Running off for three months is in other walks of life a desertion of duty and I will not stand for it! Wife or not you fled your post.”
“The coward fled from the battlefield to die another day.”
“What was that?”
Bond smiled. “Just a poem, sir.”
“Humph,” M grunted. He pulled back the sleeve of his coat to check his watch. “A flight to Las Vegas leaves tonight at 2200. I’ll contact Felix Leiter. He’s the CIA’s man on the ground there.”
M turned to go putting his hat on but paused. Reaching into his breast pocket he pulled out a key-ring with key attached and dropped into Bond’s unconsciously outstretched hand. Then he was off to the car putting his hat firmly on.
Bond realised not only that M had called him 007 for the first time but he had already decided on sending Bond out there. Bond walked after his boss when the Old Man called if he wanted a lift.
As Bond neared the car he looked at the key he was given and saw with a smile it was his Aston Martin DBS’ key.
M got in the back through the door held by Moneypenny. Bond took her in with an appraising look.
“Penny, you look a sight.”
“Good to see you, James,” she whispered. He leant in and kissed her on the cheek then got into the car. When she climbed in closing the door he smiled at her.
“For being there for me.”
With a quiet start of the engine M’s driver accelerated away from the cemetery.
Chapter Three
“The Whyte House”
Even with the windows down on his DBS the heat hit Bond in waves as if trying to stifle him or at the very least strangle him. He had experienced heat like this before though on and off during assignments or during his SIS training in Dakar. He had driven from the Pan-Am terminal at Las Vegas International heading straight for the city itself. The city made famous for various reasons not least amongst them the Rat Pack. A poster showing the three glared at him as he drove into the city limits.
“Limited time only! Sinatra, Dino and Sammy live at the Sands!”
On the long flight over from Britain his thoughts had wandered. They always came back to Tracy like a lost man in the desert coming back to a mirage. The first meeting on the beach that left him bemused. Their first night together how she fought him even in the bed. A woman so fragile then. Sliding the ring onto her finger then wiping her tears away. He dwelt on sitting at the ice rink in Samuden feeling scared, feeling as if the end was quite near. Looking nervously about for the hunters as a fox might. Then seeing those perfect legs appear, that long mane of golden brown hair and the almost cheeky smile. Falling gratefully into her arms.
James, what’s wrong?
There’s people after me...
She had saved his life.
He failed to save hers.
Bond felt tears even then on the plane but he could not shed them. Then he slept for a while. His mind had become a broken record for it held on Tracy. His dream became a nightmare. He and Tracy were skiing down the mountain from Blofeld and his thugs. Blofeld fired his flare gun creating the avalanche that came after them. Bond shouted to Tracy but she was knocked off her feet. He too tumbled under the unending deluge of snow and debris. He tried reaching for her but she kept falling beyond his reach. He shouted her name. Shouted into the snow. He glimpsed Tracy being dragged away by Blofeld’s men but could do nothing…trapped in the snow suffocating…he was dying…
TRACY!
Bond had opened his eyes to see a concerned looking stewardess right in front of him.
“Are you alright, sir?”
“Yes,” croaked Bond stuttering. He must have punched the window or something. The stewardess took the liberty of leaning over to brush a hair off Bond’s nose. “Can I get you something? A brandy?”
“Martini...shaken...oh to hell with it. Bourbon and branch water.” Bond gave the passenger’s staring a hard stare back.
“Certainly.”
Bond gripped the steering wheel of the DBS tightly. There was a mission at hand now. If he messed this up then that was it. Out of the service once and for all.
Would he really care if M kicked him out? He had nothing worth living for. His life as he knew it had been blow away in the front seat of this very car.
The dossier Moneypenny had handed him contained a sheet of foolscap typing detailing the various travel details. The final part told of his reservation at the Las Vegas Willard Whyte Hotel. A.K.A the Whyte House.
How pretentious a name, Bond thought, long or short. Build something big and slap your name on it like a gloating prig.
However, as he approached the hotel Bond could not but marvel at it. A tall white tower thrusting high into the clear blue sky. Bond was partly reminded of the oncoming bow of a battleship. Towards the top of the tower were two bold W’s interlinked that presumably glowed at night like beacons flagging in aircraft. He was amused to notice as he drove closer that aircraft warning lights were at the very peak.
The underground car park that Bond drove into under the immense building felt light and airy. Judging by the breeze hitting him as he opened the car’s boot Bond concluded that there were large conditioners in operation. Bond pocketed his sunglasses into the breast pocket of his cream coloured suit. His face was set firm as he walked up to the reception carrying his one case. The reception was a hustle and bustle of activity with a fair few people all clambering for attention or just standing around talking. There was a door that led to a large, if not cavernous, casino full of people and noise. This Willard Whyte must have a lot of money, certainly more than Bond’s modest wealth.
The blonde at reception that Bond glanced down at as he stood at the counter had bronze skin with a hint of cleavage that ordinarily Bond would check over.
“I have a reservation. Bond, James Bond.”
The receptionist opened her ledger which seemed quite odd considering how advanced the hotel appeared. Perhaps the old method was the best way. She ran a manicured fingertip down a margin. “Ah, yes. Bond. Universal Exports,” she stood walking with a sway of her hips to a rear room before coming back dangling a key. She dropped it delicately into Bond’s open palm.
“Room 700, sir...seventh floor. Turn to your left when you leave.”
“Thank you,” Bond managed a smile. He could feel the shadow of Tracy and he could not shake it. Would he ever want to? Bond mulled this over as he shouldered his bag into an air conditioned lift that whirred up to the seventh floor silently. Bond almost missed the opening doors taking a giant step out and shaking his head. He fumbled with his keys as he approached Room 700 wondering if M chose it as a quirk. The room revealed itself as he kicked the door open as a large area. A separate bathroom to one side –with a bath and Jacuzzi-, a bedroom to the right which was as light and in between a lounge. For a moment he was reminded of the Piz Gloria Alpine Room making him hear Irma Bunt...
“Room to swim in,” Bond remarked as he dumped his bag by the glass topped coffee table. He went onto the balcony after pushing aside the bay doors. He gripped the edge peering down at the swimming pool below. He did not hear the door being opened or the soft footsteps...
“Room service.”
Bond whirled lashing a foot out catching the intruder in the chest flinging him back. Seconds afterwards in a swift action Bond drew his PPK and aimed it down. Recognition flooded his features as he saw who had been on the end of his polished shoe.
“Felix you bloody fool! What the hell are you doing here!”
“Welcome to Vegas!” shot back Felix Leiter accepting Bond’s hand. He rubbed his chest. “Some welcome from you, buddy.”
Bond put his PPK into his holster. “I’m sorry. You made me jump.”
“If that’s you jumping I’d hate to see you ready,” Leiter drawled. He headed to the drinks cabinet. “M told me you were coming.”
“Right,” Bond went to sit down.
“Expecting trouble?”
“You could say that.”
“Some view,” Felix muttered jerking a hand briefly in the vague direction of the window.
“Not London.”
“Or Jamaica.”
“Cut to the chase,” Bond snapped irritably. Felix turned glasses in hand.
“If you like.”
real life tends to dominate unfortunately.
Chapter Four
“Guests of Willard Whyte”
They took their drinks onto the balcony. The desert breeze was nonexistent making Bond feel even worse. Felix’s chest ached from Bond’s heel.
“I’m sorry about Tracy.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re the man on the ground, M says.”
Felix gave a non-committal shrug. “I am the man on the ground but that’s what you do sometimes, take the assignments no one else wants.”
“You’re a trooper.”
“Right,” Leiter drank from his brandy tugging at his shirt collar. “The diamonds are going into Nevada, we know that much from Africa but the one’s coming out are different.”
“Fake?”
“Looks like it. The insurance company representing our esteemed diamond companies are leaning on us to keep it hush-hush. Diamonds of an immense calibre are being taken for whatever purpose. Don’t forget diamonds are not just a girl’s best friend.”
“You’ve lost me.” Bond frowned.
“They can be a source of energy believe it or not. Though I grant you, the idea of them around a woman’s neck is much more attractive than powering, say, a missile.”
“So, how is this linked to...I believe it’s Willard Whyte?”
“Yeah, WW.” Leiter took a gulp of his drink crunching noisily on an ice cube. He had something of Jack Lord about him, the looks and the mannerisms. Maybe in another life Felix Leiter could have been an actor. As it was here he was in Vegas almost babysitting someone who was once SIS’ darling. “He owns various properties across the States even some Godforsaken rig down in Baja but the highest concentration is around here. We’re aiming for a factory that builds weapons, rockets even and lunar buggies.”
“You’re joking.”
Leiter spread his hands inclining his head so his chin touched his chest. “I wish that I were. Someone’s got to build the damn things, James.”
Leiter gave his friend the once-over with his blue eyes and sighed to himself. Something was different about Bond. It was almost as if this was a shadow that was with Leiter. The real Bond was still in the front seat of a shattered DBS holding his wife. Felix cleared his throat. “You need to understand that Willard Whyte’s not been seen for about a month or so. Rumour is that he’s upstairs,” Felix jerked a finger up as if Bond had no inclination of where upstairs was, “and living like Howard Hughes. Though I’d imagine without the long fingernails.”
“A recluse?” Bond stroked his chin with his free hand then dropped it. “Just like that?”
“I’d imagine James that recluses do have to start at sometime.”
“Coincidental that it was a month ago.” Bond’s blue eyes went hard. “That was when Blofeld vanished.”
Realisation spread across Felix’s face provoking his hands to go up which spilt some of his drink. “Hang on, James. You can’t be serious...no, wait you’re not because you’re jumping to conclusions! Blofeld isn’t here. We would know if he was.”
“Crying out loud, Felix he was at Piz Gloria for months if not years before I found him. What makes you so sure that he isn’t here?”
“Because I am sure. Because I know enough about my work to know!” shouted Leiter. He tried to calm himself. “You’ve had a hard time, James but the time is gone...move on.”
No, not yet. Bond thought. Three months since he had lost Tracy. He would not move on. He couldn’t. Grief was not something that could be rolled away and put in a corner. Secret agent or not.
“...and you can’t keep going on about it,” Felix was saying.
“I understand,” Bond’s voice had a tremor to it that he mentally cursed. “Now...these diamonds...”
“Are being trafficked right here in Las Vegas. We’ll check out WW’s place tomorrow if you like.”
“I’ll do it myself.”
“Sure?”
“Don’t babysit me,” Bond warned crossing into his room. He filled his glass with ice and poured some soda water. His head was pounding from the flight. He felt his body sway lightly trying to adjust to the fact it was six hours or so before he left...or was it six hours after... “I’m fine.”
“Right,” Felix did not sound convinced. He had seen his friend change. This wasn’t the man who he had met in Jamaica or helped out in the Bahamas and Kentucky. “Fancy checking out the casino?”
“I might as well. I am a guest after all.”
Felix waited for Bond to get changed before they headed off downstairs. The casino was livelier than when Bond had arrived brimming with the lucky and the unlucky. The latter would be the dominant percentage. Choosing a roulette table Bond sat down reaching for his cigarette case. Felix stood to his side eyeing up the curvaceous blonde operating the table.
“Is my friend going to be lucky?”
“It depends,” was all she said. Felix smiled then glanced at Bond but Bond’s gaze was on the wheel without seeing it. Felix lifted his glance searching the table. Nothing unusual around it but on the other table there were two guys sat close together. One was short and squat with small-rimmed glasses. His friend was slightly taller, slightly thinner with delicately combed hair. As Felix watched the latter sprayed himself with something.
Felix shrugged returning attention to Bond. “Red 32?”
“Lucky, hmm?”
“If you say so.”
And Red 32 it was. Bond did not seem surprised. Maybe he had one of Q’s gadgets, Felix thought.
“What does Whyte look like?”
“Er...your height and build, brown hair and eyes. Bit of a stoop and Texan.”
“I see. So why do you think our billionaire friend is a recluse?”
“He smells, he has no luck with women...I don’t know,” Felix spread his hands. “Just don’t like public life.”
“Or he’s been kidnapped.”
“Not Blofeld again,” Leiter virtually groaned. The clicking of the roulette table interrupted him. Dropping his voice he said. “No, I don’t think he’s been kidnapped.”
“But no one saw him go into his flat...No, ‘oh right, Mr Whyte went in on Thursday and that was it’.”
“No, no there wasn’t. James, you’re clutching at straws,” Felix put a hand on his friends shoulder. “Go to bed. Get some sleep. We’ll continue in the morning.”
“Okay. One more spin of the wheel.”
“Whatever. I’m going off myself,” Felix patted the shoulder and vanished into the casino. Bond slid off his stool folding a twenty he handed it to the table-master. “You’ve been too kind.”
He past a large chested brunette who tried to get his attention but he just was in his own world now. If he had been paying attention he would have seen the men that Felix had spied turn to watch him go. Bond did not go to his room. He went outside standing on the Strip looking down the floodlit roadway feeling like a cowboy in a Western. Where was the shooter? Where was Blofeld?
His sources had led him here more or less. The useless if unfortunate Hakka had told him as much. The coincidence of Blofeld’s disappearance and Whyte’s was all too much for Bond.
Bond went down the Strip bumping into people every now and then. On the Strip a Sherriff’s squad car raced past sirens blaring. Two Elvis impersonator’s pushed either side of Bond. Bond found himself in a small club that sat on a street corner which was advertising ‘Shady Tree Here!’
Bond sat at the bar, the only one to do so. A small group was watching a bald man with wrinkled features on a small platform.
“...I always say it’s easier than finding a virgin in a maternity ward!”
Bond shook his head. He caught the bartender’s attention. “Bourbon and branch water.”
“Coming up.”
Bond fumbled for his cigarette case and was annoyed to see it empty.
“Wanna one of mine?” a voice said close by.
Bond turned on his stool to see a beautiful woman –who else would it be?- standing by his stool. She must have come in just after him. She wore tight blue jeans and a blue shirt tied at the waist exposing a fine navel and abdomen. Bond’s eyes lingered on her chest then her face. Warm, inviting but with something else there. an invitation to try something and see what happens. Her red coppery hair hung past her face down to her shoulders and just beyond. She held a case out before him. He took a cigarette. “Thanks.”
She sat on a stool by him. When the bartender came with Bond’s drink she ordered a brandy. “So, friend. You look kinda lonely. Looking for a good time?”
Bond’s eyes went up and down her again. “No, I’m sorry I’m not looking for that kind of time.”
He turned back to face the bar. He heard a snort of disgust. “You think I’m a hooker?”
“Well...”
“Just trying to be friendly. I’m a sucker for hard luck cases,” the voice snickered.
“So am I.” He looked at her aside. “I must admit it’s a fetching outfit.”
“I’m off duty you might say. A long day at the office.”
Bond arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Whyte Industries. Diamond division. How grand does that sound?”
Bond chuckled to himself and half-turned again. He put the cigarette in the corner of his mouth.
“Allow me to formally introduce myself. Bond, James Bond.”
She took his hand laughing slightly.
“Case, Tiffany Case.”
Chapter Five
“In the Night”
“Case, Tiffany Case.”
Bond took the cigarette from his mouth lighting it as she continued.
“You’re English.”
“Sort of, technically half Scottish half Swiss.”
“Wow, quite the combo Mr Bond.”
“Please, call me James.”
Tiffany exaggerated a mock bow. “James.”
They smoked in silence for a little while, Shady continuing his comedy act even if the audience seemed to be asleep. The silence was broken by Tiffany.
“I hope it’s not a rude question, what do you do James?”
“I work for Universal Exports, does what it says on the label.” Bond stubbed his cigarette out. Bond was not altogether surprised by her straightforwardness.
“You make it sound so dirty.”
Bond nodded calmly, inside that same surge of excitement of getting on the coat-tails of a case.. Steady, 007. “What do you do with them?”
Tiffany chuckled a little seemingly amused by the line of questioning. Perhaps thinking that there was something dirty sounding.
“Examine them. Determine the worth and value to the US market especially and obviously the one’s that come from overseas. I sometimes co-ordinate their sale to the West Coast outlets, chiefly San Francisco and LA.”
“And you work at...”
“Diamond Whyte outside of the city. It’s actually part of a larger complex. Bunch of technological stuff like the space project.”
Bond smiled though more for what she had confirmed of Felix’s earlier statement than anything else. If he was a religious man he would have believed this divine providence. “You must think this is a perfect job. Diamonds are a girl’s best friend they say.”
“I guess it is but I’m just lucky in finding a job. You know what they say, that diamonds are for everyone.”
Bond glanced aside seeing Shady Tree shuffle off stage with no noticeable applause following. The audience eventually moved as if woken from a stupor. Bond redirected his attention to Tiffany studying her. Definitely a beautiful woman but also quite independent. At least he imagined that.
“I have to go,” she was saying. “Work tomorrow.”
“Sound disappointed,” Bond said as he stood with her.
“One problem with work is that you can’t stay out all too late at night. Mr Whyte hates that.”
“I wasn’t aware that he had such power.”
Tiffany drained her drink banging the glass down and waving thanks at the bartender at the other end. “No, but he acts like it.”
“Have you ever met him?”
“Once, months ago though. That was before he vanished.”
They headed outside where the air was only marginally different in its feel. Bond still felt stuffy resisting the urge to tug at his collar again.
“What do you think of his disappearance?”
Tiffany hitched her handbag strap and began to walk noticing Bond falling into step with her as they headed up the Strip. “I don’t know. Every millionaire has their eccentricities I suppose. It was out of the blue but I suppose these things are. What’s with all the questions? Sure you’re not a cop?”
“No, no cop,” Bond assured her. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Just overly curious. Where are you staying?”
Another laugh. She half-rolled her eyes. “The Whyte House. You work for him, you stay at his place. I guess you’re there too?”
“As it happens.”
They walked in silence for a while Bond taking in the sights and sounds of nighttime Las Vegas. Truly was a remarkable place to say the least. Somehow he still preferred London. He glanced up at the Whyte House whose white brilliance reminded him of a picture he had seen of a Saturn V rocket at night.
“Worked with diamonds long?” he asked her.
She shrugged. “Depends on what you term as long. Two years when...well...some bad things happened and I moved to Europe. Holland originally where I fell into the diamond trade.”
“Fell in?”
“I smuggled them in from America,” she sounded annoyed. Bond wondered if she was annoyed with herself rather than him. “But I was crap and Interpol nabbed me. Geez, I got caught with them in my bra at Amsterdam airport. That’s one interrogation I’d soon forget.”
“And they turned you around after that?”
“I was persuaded, shall we say to do something else. So I found myself with a Diamond Whyte Industries rep’ who Interpol used as an expert on their cases. I started working for the company and based myself in London. Swinging sixties London...ha. A shop on Regent Street, you might’ve seen it.”
“New Burlington Mews...a very fine postcode,” Bond went silent. That was the shop he intended to buy Tracy’s ring in if he had proposed in London as intended. The ring he had given her had been buried with her. All the time in the world. He ground out his next few words. “Then you were sent here.”
“Sort off. They decided my expertise was needed here. “Las Godamn Vegas!”
“Don’t like it here?”
“I’m not a big fan of heat,” she said simply ending that line of questioning.
“I hate to be nosey but what happens after the diamonds are sent out?”
“Nothing as far as I know. They’re put onto a plane...train and that’s that. Sent out to all those cities and towns. In theory once they leave that building they’re no longer my concern.”
They stopped in the lobby of the Whyte House oblivious to the hubbub going on around them. “What is it you want, Mr Bond?”
Bond was taken aback. “Nothing. I’m just interested.”
“Right,” she said drawing out the word. She hitched her bag again. “Look. I’ll show you what goes on tomorrow if you like. You can say Universal thingymajig want to do something. That’s a cover, check?”
“Check,” Bond echoed smiling.
“Meet here in the morning. I have a car so I’ll take you myself.”
He nodded then held her stare wondering what to do next. She laughed putting a hand on his arm. She kissed him on the cheek.
“That’s for luck. Not for an invitation to sleep with me. G’night!” then she hurried off for the lifts. Bond touched his cheek.
“I’d never dream of it,” he murmured. He watched her go before heading for the lifts himself.
**
maybe if things change soon I'll unleash the WWII Bond's. Maybe.
Hopefully this story is continued at some point.
this is the revision. The TSWLM one is dragging for lack of enthusiasm.
I can't imagine I'm all welcome in some quarters, like a stink really.
I'll see about getting the next couple of chapters up by the weekend. Get work out of the way.
This is the only place where the fanfic has legs.
More than a Nightcap
Bond continued in silence to the seventh.
His head had a gentle throbbing to it. He had yet to take a rest since arriving in Vegas having travelled back through a couple of time zones. The sleep would be most welcome. He could dream of something most pleasant. That would be a change.
Bond closed the door turning the living room light on before crossing to the phone. He cradled the cream receiver against his face as he tried to loosen his tie. Connecting with room-service he made a breakfast order as well as a wake-up call request. Bright and early before the Nevadan sun got too hot. Hanging up he went into the bathroom to have a cold shower. Some time later he emerged with a bathrobe inscribed with the Whyte WW logo stitched onto the left breast. He turned lights off took one last look at the vista of lights outside his room and went to bed.
Sleep would not come to Bond. Everytime he closed his eyes it was like he was chasing sleep round corners always yards away rather than within a hand’s grasp. Eventually Bond gave up on trying to chase sleep so reached for the lamp. He flicked the lamp on but held his arm in place for something did not feel right.
As his eyes adjusted Bond froze like a statue his eyes focused on his arm.
A scorpion as big as his hand slowly but oh so surely crawled off the lamp’s base onto his hand. It was black as night, its curved poisonous tip flicking as if the thing was nervous. The scorpion paused on Bond’s hand over the slight ridges created by his veins. That was when Bond’s heart seemed to hammer frantically, when sweat poured from his brow like a burst dam. His right hand twitched preparing to come charging across his torso but what good would that do? Gods...
The scorpion inched along Bond’s hand determining that the arm was a natural extension of the lamp. It seemed to trip on Bond’s hair where Bond’s watch would be. Bond could hardly breathe. Britain’s best man reduced to a nervous wreck by a small creature. The scorpion stopped its tail now openly moving getting ready. The hair of all things had annoyed the thing enough to prepare an attack.
Bond swallowed awkwardly sweat pooling in his clenched right palm.
The tail stiffened.
Bond flicked his left hand sharply to the right willing his stomach to hold its heaving. He was rolling his body to the side as his left hand slapped the mattress. He heard the scorpion hit the wall by the en suite’s door. Bond tore the lamp from its socket smashing it in one single motion on the twitching upturned scorpion. Bond’s revulsion was rolling through him as he crashed the lamp upon the creature. He thought he heard it squelch but that was neither here nor there. He smashed the lamp down once, twice, thrice more. On the third go the lamp’s base shattered as did the bulb. Bond was back in the darkness so he left the ruins to find the main switch.
Gingerly, so gingerly for a man of his past, Bond returned to the scene of the crime. The lamp lay next to the remains of the scorpion. The scorpion was a flattened mess of white goo and what passed as flesh. Bond felt his hands go cold, his legs too as if his blood was completely draining. That was the final straw for Bond who only just made to the toilet before his chest heaved one final time.
Even after he had retched nothing up he stayed by the toilet not daring to move. He wondered if there were other scorpions in the room.
No, one would be enough.
He lurched to the bathroom’s basin twisting the silver taps to splash water on his face. He rinsed his mouth out than went to his bed. He got out of it almost immediately heading into the living room to put himself upon the sofa. The sofa was almost as comfortable as the bed.
Sleep came but the dreams were more nightmares. A horrendous mesh of attacking scorpions and a place in a far off land by the name of Piz Gloria.
Chapter Seven
Breakfast & Fast Cars
“You know trying to find you is like trying to find a virgin in a maternity ward.”
Bond smiled a little at the looks Felix got after saying that as he slid into the booth by the window in the small Elvis-themed diner. Supposedly the man himself had opened this place when it opened in 1967. Bond was eating a pastrami bagel which made Felix’s eyebrows rise. Felix put his hands on the table by the sugar pot.
“Never thought I’d see you in a diner.”
“Man has to eat,” Bond said reaching for his black coffee. He waved over the waitress a pretty blonde with a tiny waist in black shirt and white blouse. “My friend will have...”
“Er...waffles,” Felix said and ordered coffee too. When the waitress bounced away he studied his friend. Bagels...diners...What the hell? He forced his mind onto the matter at hand reaching into his jacket pocket. “Your friend came from deepest darkest Africa. The boffins back at field HQ reckon Nairobi but what’s Africa between friends?”
Bond took the small piece of paper with handwritten notes. “Deadly if aggravated...is that the CIA’s professional answer?”
“You don’t want to know mine,” Felix leant back as the waitress settled his coffee before him. Leaning forward again he grinned. “Involves a lot of profanity.”
“I figured.”
“These beauties don’t just hitch a ride on a ferry. They get brought in by someone.”
“One, by whom and two, don’t call them beauties,” Felix saw the tug of a smile but it faded. “You weren’t the one who smashed it to a pulp.”
“No, and I wasn’t the one who found it when someone called room service.”
“Poor woman,” Bond took a bite of his bagel chewing heavily on the pastrami. “Ideas?”
“Collectors bring these things in. Zoos...eccentrics...thrill-seekers...it’s hard to track to be honest. Some of these things get brought in under the radar. I once heard of a snake being smuggled in inside an exhaust pipe.” Felix held his hands apart. “Yay long.”
“I wonder...,” Bond paused as the waffles came. He watched with some interest as Felix doused them in syrup then armed with a fork attacked. “I wonder if Blofeld IS behind this.”
The fork stopped its attack. “James, not this again.”
“Well, where the Hell did he go?” Bond snapped.
“Give me a break,” groaned Felix in return. He held a hand up. “Alright, alright. Blofeld’s out there, but Nevada? James...come on!”
“Aren’t you working under me?”
“That’s what the letter said.”
“Then get your people searching for clues.”
“Yeah,” groused Felix under his breath. He sketched a salute. In the silence that followed he regarded Bond between mouthfuls. Like everyone who knew Bond well he had seen the extra weight the man carried. A man who was as fastidious with his exercised as a fitness instructor. It was almost disheartening to see him like this. Whoever Tracy had been must have been one hell of a woman. Felix was somewhat relieved when Bond talked about this Case woman . Bond spoke of her in such neutral tones. There was no hint of desire for this woman or yearning. No playful play on words just fact. Felix was a sizable way into the waffles when Bond finished.
“Well, keep on it, James. You never know, this could be the angle that we need.”
“She seems to know her beans.”
“I’ll bet.”
Felix frowned as Bond started waving. A slight, almost Royal wave, but one that came from nowhere. Leiter dragged his gaze to the windows seeing first a bright red Shelby Mustang parked at the kerb. Then he saw the redhead with the thick but loose ponytail leaning against its bonnet. She returned the wave then went back to waiting. Bond stood pushing his plate to one side. He deposited some bills by the plate. “See you around, Felix.”
“Where you off to?”
“Diamonds,” Bond said and left. Outside he crossed to the Mustang returning Tiffany’s greeting smile. Tiffany crossed to the driver’s side starting the engine as Bond climbed in. The air conditioner blasted him in the face though she shortly turned this down. As she revved the engine waiting to join the traffic she remarked slyly: “You know I was warned about picking up men in cars.”
“I was warned about getting into cars driven by fast women.”
She chuckle driving off into the traffic skirting a bus she accelerated.
“Well, fasten your belt, James. This is a Mustang by reputation.”
If there had been a speed limit in downtown Vegas it was surely broken by Tiffany as they raced towards the desert. The sunlight played across the sleek nose of the Mustang as hot as before. Bond draped an arm out of the open window avoiding looking at Tiffany. As with the previous night she wore tight-fitting jeans and a loose blue top. He wondered if Willard Whyte allowed such casualness at his plant.
Just you focus on your driving!
What of someone’s way of saying thank you?
Good girl...
We didn’t stop to get the trophy!
Tiffany jerked a look at Bond as she heard the choked gasp in his throat. “Okay, James?”
“Yes,” he muttered swallowing. “Just...the sand.”
The car blazed into open desert which jolted Bond. The built-up city had simply vanished becoming a mirage to tantalise and intrigue visitors. The roar of the engine as Tiffany pushed it to the limit meant any conversation was out of order. Tiffany was soon slowing down. Soon? It had been fifteen minutes. Bond shrugged. He saw a collection of white buildings like immense sugar cubes appear shimmering on the horizon. She coasted up to the gates part of a long barbed wire fence that trailed off into the distance either way.
“That’s not all diamonds, surely.”
“Half,” she responded leaning out of the window to flash her ID at the security man. “He’s with me.”
“Right Ms Case. Have a nice day.”
They were allowed in, the Mustang now crawling through the grounds its engine rasping throatily daring Tiffany to throttle up.
“Like I said, the rest is space development,” she told him parking the car next to a building with the WW logo and below that DIAMOND WHYTE INDUSTRIES.
Once out of the car Bond dusted his trousers off catching Tiffany staring he smiled again. She smiled back and he was reminded of another time, another place.
“C’mon, James let’s get inside before you fry.”
“Sound words.”
A few moments later they entered the buildings.
On the Inside
Inside was a glistening world of whiteness. Part of Bond was glad Mr Whyte’s surname was not Black even if the brightness was almost too much. Bond was led by Tiffany who walked with quiet assurance down the gleaming corridors past several whitecoated men and women. She met some of these with a spoken greeting some even replied yet by and large it was quiet. There was a faint hum reminding Bond of how the traffic sounded in London’s Hyde Park. Muted, seemingly further away than it actually was. Bond was taken into an area simply labelled ‘EXAMINATION’ in stencilled print. The shiny silver doors gave way to the lab itself resembling an industrial plant. He was surprised at the amount of diamonds that were in crates in rows of four across the lab’s width. It was almost like grains of sand rather than precious stones.
“This is our key examination room as you might have gathered,” Tiffany tossed off over her shoulder as she took him to one of the crates. A tall man with a round haircut, round chin and slightly round belly was studying a stone in his hand.
“This is Wint and that bald guy over there is Kidd. Fellas, this is James Bond.”
Bond arched an eyebrow as Wint paid him no attention. With a silent shrug Tiffany scooped a hand into the crate coming up with a handful of diamonds no bigger than an American 15 cent piece.
“Have one.”
“Thank you,” Bond murmured taking one holding it close to his eyes. The diamond caught the lights glinting with a flared effect. “Source?”
“Africa. South Africa mainly.”
“Johannesburg?”
“Probably. All over South Africa though,” Tiffany frowned. “Why the questions?”
“I’m naturally curious,” Bond handed the diamond back watching her tip them into the crate. They were meant to come in from Africa and then...then they went missing so to speak. Not all of them but enough to be noticed. “Have you had any thefts?”
“Not to my knowledge and believe me I’d know. Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the site Mr Curious.”
Bond gave Kidd a stare as they left as the fat man was giving him one from behind his spectacles. Something was not right with that man, Bond deduced.
“We ship the diamonds out west on air freight or train. Both are done by Whyte Transport.”
“I’m surprised,” Bond remarked dryly. As they went down a corridor he saw a door marked ‘RESEARCH’. “What’s in there?”
“James...,” she began as he went to the doors. As he pushed open the door a voice called from behind “Hey, badges!”
Bond stopped glancing back seeing a tousled haired bright eyed man head his way. Tiffany was shaking her head stepping back as the man in the white-coat reached Bond. “You need a radiation badge if you’re going in there.”
“What the hell for?”
“Because it’s dangerous if you don’t friend,” the man fished into his breast pocket fumbling a blue badge at Bond. The agent took it with a slight smile. “If it goes red, holler.”
The white-coat backed off giving Tiffany a smile. The redhead flashed one back. “Thanks Hersh. New guy.”
“Right. See you.”
Bond put the badge on. “Who was that man?”
“Klaus Hergeschiemer, G Section. You’re lucky he didn’t pin that badge on yourself. The guy’s a health and safety nut.”
“Seems harmless enough.”
“Oh he is.” She pulled the door shut in front of Bond. “You can’t go in there and neither can I. That stuff is the rocket business.”
Bond could see a white rocket with a black tip standing in a corner. “Space?”
“Not just space but Earth-bound business. Some of this is for the navy and their new Nimitz-class carrier’s.”
“Where do the diamonds come into the country?”
“Texas. Galveston I think.” Tiffany had given up trying to figure out why Bond asked these questions. Bond would get Felix to check it out. He did not want to leave Nevada if he could. Bond studied the missile making a mental note of it then followed Tiffany around the plant. He took in the sight of a lunar buggy drive like blazes around a mock-up of the Moon, the dinky little models in a swimming tank pelted with stones to test durability and other diverse projects. He wondered how much of this was Willard Whyte’s idea.
“Did Whyte ever come out much, as it were, before he went missing?”
“Not really. He attended dinners and balls but he was virtually a recluse as it was.”
So, the man was half-recluse even before he went AWOL Bond thought. He mulled over his thoughts until Tiffany led him outside to the red Mustang.
“I’ll drive you back to Vegas.”
“Getting rid of me so soon?”
She chuckled. “Hardly but there’s not much else to see.”
Back in the examination lab the man named Wint was on the phone waiting for the buzzing to stop. When it did he heard the familiar Southern drawl.
“Willard Whyte speaking.”
“Mr Whyte its Wint. There was a man here just now looking about, name is Bond, James Bond. He was being shown about by Tiffany Case.”
There was a pause then the voice on the other end spoke hesitantly. For a moment it sounded mechanical. “You say Bond?”
“Yes sir,” Wint described Bond then waited.
“Eliminate him. He’s a threat to the organisation.”
“If you say so,” Wint said neutrally.
“I do say so. We can’t afford outsiders at this time of the operation.”
“Tiffany Case?”
The line on the other end crackled, Wint was sure he heard the guttural sounds of German then heard Whyte again.
“Kill her too.”
“Yes sir.”
Wint hung up. Nodding at Kidd he led the way outside.
Chapter Nine
Wild Mustangs
Bond touched the nose of the red Mustang almost reverently then frowned. His frown eased as he faced her. “Fancy letting me drive her back into town?”
Tiffany stared at him then shrugged. “Why not?” she tossed the keys at him which he caught with one hand. “Treat her gently.”
“I’ll try.”
Bond revved the engine as soon as Tiffany got in. She saw the smile on his face, just the hint of one mind but a smile all the same. Eventually he released the brake and shot off across the sandy concrete. Once on the open road Bond changed gears opening up. The red dial climbed past 100 smoothly, another change of gears, 110...120.
“Hey, you trying to get us killed?”
“Only there quicker. I promise,” just to be safe Bond throttled back. The dial flickered around 110 as if afraid to settle. For miles around there was sand and hills, sand and hills. Vegas was a black smudge on the horizon. Tiffany had wound her window down red hair now fluttering in the wind.
“You handle this well.”
“Comes from a long childhood,” Bond shouted over the roar then nodded up. “See that car?”
Tiffany glanced up at the rearview mirror seeing the black car. “The other ‘tang?”
“Yes.”
“What of it?”
“Been following us from the WW buildings.”
“James, it’s a desert. Thing’s probably been going since Boulder or something.”
Bond of course was not so easily swayed. One had not become a 00 just by shrugging off even the merest thought. He opened up again gripping the red wheel firmly. It took at least half an hour at their speed to reach Vegas by which time the other Mustang had stayed a suitable distance away. Bond grunted in spite of himself.
“Still on our tail.”
“Probably heading to the Sands.”
They drove past the Sands, then the Hilton, all the big names and the smaller ones before exiting Vegas the other side. Bond took a turn back into the city. Heading back onto the Strip he dropped a hand to he handbrake. The Mustang was closing.
“Hold on.”
“What ya going do?”
“Just hold on!”
Halfway down the Strip by the giant cowboy Bond flung the wheel to the left flinging the handbrake back. In a scream of tyres and a cloud of smoke the Mustang flicked about almost as if a hand from above had simply turned it. As the Mustang’s nose settled Bond pushed the handbrake down accelerating into his smoke. Behind them the black Mustang was copying their manoeuvre but sluggishly. At the first intersection Bond flung the Mustang into a tight turn making it skid diagonally through the turn before straightening it out. The black Mustang was now closing the gap taking the turns less smartly than Bond but cutting the corners.
“We need to shake them,” Bond told Tiffany unnecessarily. “Where’s a good place?”
“You’re asking me!?!?”
“Damnit Tiffany!”
Tiffany dared to lean forward just as Bond went right so hard that her head knocked against the door. “Sonofabitch! Turn left at the next one and left again... car park!”
Bond took the directions wondering if a car park was such a good idea. Too late now, 007, he told himself. Come on, a few hard turns then we can get back to finding Blofeld...I mean Whyte...
The car park was a waste of time and fuel. Twice Bond went around and twice the chasers held on. Back onto Strip by which time two Sheriff cars were waiting beam on across the road. Huge crowds had gathered as if watching the Kentucky Derby. Bond kept going up towards the blockade.
110...115...125...
“James...”
Ahead Bond saw uniformed men scatter he even saw a gun fire. In the last few seconds before impact he spun the wheel to the left feeling the wheels thump the road in their irregular contact. The Mustang surged onto the kerb then around the blockade still scattering people. Bond managed to wrestle the handbrake to stop the car dead. On the other side the black Mustang crashed into the blockade shunting a squad car back towards Bond and Tiffany. Without pausing for breath Bond lunged out of the car his PPK in hand.
“Gun?” Tiffany shouted numbly still trying to comprehend what had happened.
Bond slid across the bonnet of the squad car and stopped. The occupants of the black Mustang were gone. As he looked up he saw a large man and a thin man run across the Strip into the crowd.
Just then thick hands grabbed him spun him around and slammed him face first into the bonnet. His PPK was wrenched free.
“Son you’re in for a world of trouble. No one hares about like that in my town.”
“Get your hands off me!” Bond heard Tiffany shout then saw her thrust over the bonnet the other side off him. “Next time, James I’ll take the train.”
“You be sure to do that,” Bond grunted as the handcuffs came down on him. Then he craned his neck up at the well-rounded sheriff. “I don’t suppose I get a phone-call do I?”
“Son you_____” was all Bond heard.
“Felix get off your knees, there’s a lady present.”
“First time in a long time anyone’s called me that,” Tiffany said following Bond into his suite still rubbing her wrists. She frowned at the dark haired man in the white suit on his knees –and hands- by Bond’s drawers.
“I’m checking for scorpions.”
“Tiffany, the man you’re witnessing is Felix Leiter.”
Leiter bounded to his feet dusting his hands off before extending one to her. “CIA.”
She shrank from him. “As in Central Intelligence?”
“So they claim,” Bond muttered going to the drinks cabinet. He reached for a bottle of bourbon and poured three shots. He downed all three then poured fresh glasses. “Felix and I work in the same business.”
Tiffany went to sit down. “But you said you’re in export.”
“I work for the British Secret Service. What is popularly known as MI6. Though we prefer SIS.”
He handed her a glass. She looked past his arm to his face searching for something. “Why are you telling me?”
“Because I need your help and to do that I need to be truthful.”
Felix took a glass left behind and sat in a chair adjacent to Tiffany. Bond leant against the counter now. “James, I did some checking on your fellas.”
“Oh?”
“The Diamond Whyte rep’ at Jo’Berg was a guy named Winterton. He vanished about a week ago. Though we did find a Wint that checked in at Miami International four days ago.”
“Tracked him?”
“No. He vanished again. Your fella Kidd though...he’s as invisible. No one matching his description is on our files or anyone else’s. Supicious?”
“Oh, we’re past that, Felix. Does Winterton and Wint check out the same?”
“No. The Wint at Miami was stocky, yes but with red hair and a tache. Probably fake though.”
“You reckon?” Tiffany snorted. “You guys really are intelligence aren’t you?”
Bond ignored her. “Felix...” the phone went jangling anxiously. Bond put his glass down heading for it. “Bond...okay. Tiffany...”
Tiffany’s frown returned as she went to answer. Bond sat on the sofa leaning towards Felix. “I’m wondering if Diamond Whyte’s a cover for something else. Weapons smuggling.”
“Nah. James, we would’ve known by now. Yes, that’s the CIA would’ve known!” Felix knocked back his bourbon wiping his lips. “The stuff that WW makes is huge, seriously. Rockets, missiles...tanks. The location doesn’t work. It’s diamond smuggling.”
“No.”
“Yes,” Felix frowned earnestly at Bond. “I don’t know what’s going on up there, maybe the sheriff knocked something loose, but it’s not as serious as made out James. Haven’t you ever done mundane work?”
“Sure.”
“Well get used to it, buddy.”
Bond’s eyes flashed angrily. For a moment he was tempted to smash the glass into Felix’s face. Mentally he calmed down. He had to. Sir James had been careful not to tell Bond that his state of mind was still precarious. He half assumed Bond would heal as only Bond could. Thus Bond wanting to smash a glass into his best friend’s face was...not right.
“You guys best get used to me...,” Tiffany drawled sitting next to Bond. “I’ve been fired. It’s weird how he tracked me down here.”
“Who?” Bond asked.
“Whyte. He just called. Says I betrayed his trust and being busted by the LVSD has proved as much. I’m no longer wanted,” she dabbed at her eyes. “I’m...unemployed, if you prefer!”
He was tempted to put an around her slender shoulders. “Did you speak to Whyte personally?”
“Yes. I recognise his voice anywhere.”
Bond looked at Felix his blue eyes shining. “Felix, I think Whyte’s been kidnapped and whoever that is upstairs is an impostor.”
For a moment there was silence then Felix laughed loudly and shortly. “Nice one, James. Look, you need to sleep.”
“Why are you so damned preoccupied with my sleeping patterns?”
“James, he’s not been kidnapped. Just become a recluse.”
“Where is he then?”
“Upstairs I guess.”
“If you don’t know then that makes me think he’s not...”
“James is right,” Tiffany joined quietly. Speaking so was the only way she could control the tears threatening to overwhelm her. In the space of a day she had met James Bond and lost her job. “Whyte was a pretty mobile guy before he went AWOL. Even he wouldn’t stay on top for months on end. He would have to keep moving.”
“Fine, let’s say he is kidnapped. By whom?”
Felix waved a finger even as Bond’s words formed.
“No, James...”
“Blofeld.” Bond leant forward again. “It’s perfect. Kidnap a millionaire and take over his empire so quietly no one suspects.”
“Except you.”
Bond stood taking his empty glass to the counter. “I’ll go it alone if you like. I want to look upstairs, I’ll need your help.”
Bond slowly turned, Felix groaned putting a hand to his face. “Alright, James. You have CIA help for this one time. If he’s not there though you’re through. I’ll contact M personally and have you shipped home.”
Bond held his friends gaze then nodded. “Fine.”
Tiffany held a hand up. “Excuse me. What about me?”
“What about you?”
“Well, I think I deserve a slice of this considering I’ve just lost my job through...well, your actions.”
Bond chuckled and turned again to pour a fresh drink. “Sure, why not?”
Tiffany for her part smiled shook her head and said.
“Secret agents...who knew?”
A man...tires of dying.
Well, thanks for updating on those two as I do often wonder what has become of people. You know, I don't think I could ever ditch the internet even if I wanted to but hey, I bet that doesn't surprise you!
So, please do stick around if you feel like it. I'm certain it's not just me that would value you being here.
Anyway, you're most kind Samuel. We'll see what happens over time.