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Ian Fleming's James Bond

in


The End of the Line
(A Fanfiction)

Vladivostok, USSR
December 1965

Snow fell at a steady pace at the dock as the cargo ship made its way into the harbor. The climate for this time of year in Vladivostok could generally be described as frigid. The temperature was well below freezing, although it missed falling below zero degrees fahrenheit by a slim margin. The snow had been falling for quite some time, making the wooden dock slippery enough that one had to use caution when walking across it. Unloading the boat in this weather would be difficult, but time was a factor, as they were already behind schedule and any further delays would prove costly.

Once the ship was in place, a man dressed in a dark blue snow jacket and matching snow pants emerged from the ship and made his way across the ramp to the dock where the men were standing. The men could tell that he was not a regular around that part of the world, as he was visibly cold, shivering as he tried to find the information that he needed on his clipboard. He introduced himself as Mikhail. "I'm looking for a Vladimir Petrova," he said, reading the name off of a clipboard that he was holding.

The man standing in the middle of the group of seven men stepped forward. His dark brown hair was littered with snowflakes, as was his beard. He was the shortest man in the group, standing at only five feet, ten inches, which was small next to the other men. Unlike Mikhail, Petrova was not affected by the cold. "Right here," he said bluntly.

"I need you to come up to the bridge and sign some paperwork."

"You can go fetch the paperwork and bring it down here to me," Petrova said, clearly growing agitated with Mikhail after less than a few moments of making his acquaintance.

Mikhail caught Petrova's eye before he turned to go retrieve the papers. They were dark blue, almost black, and very piercing. He felt a shiver move up his spine and was actually thankful that Petrova was forcing him to go get the papers himself, as he wouldn't have to be alone with him up on the bridge.

Petrova and the other six men, all dressed in matching black snowsuits, made their way down to the cargo that was being brought to them from their contacts in Japan. There were more than two dozen boxes meant for Petrova and his men, and they began unloading them onto the dock one by one. They were heavy enough that two men were required to lift one box to carry it out to the dock. After a few boxes had been unloaded, Mikhail returned carrying another clipboard. "Here are the papers," he said to Petrova, making it a point not to look the man in the fact, unwilling to look into those eyes again.

Petrova scribbled an illegible signature onto the line at the bottom of the form, and then tossed the clipboard back at Mikhail. The snow was beginning to pick up, prompting Petrova to bark at the men in Russian to move things along.

The cargo that was being unloaded was just another part of a long operation that Petrova and his men had been undertaking. Five other shipments, most of which were significantly larger than this one, had arrived over the last five months. This was the last shipment before things were able to progress to the next step in the plan, and was the knowledge that the process was almost at an end that made Petrova irritable. He wanted it over with. Unloading cargo was, he thought, beneath him, but a necessary inconvenience when the most manpower he could assemble at any one time was all present at the dock with him.

There was a loud crashing sound followed by a shout. Petrova turned around and saw that one of his men had slipped on the deck of the ship and dropped one of the wooden boxes, which shattered when it hit the deck, spilling its contents. Mikhail turned his attention in that direction and saw what appeared to be no less than ten automatic weapons. "What is going on here?" he asked. "I was told that I was delivering medical supplies."

Petrova was growing more impatient by the minute. He reached into his jacket and retrieved his Baretta 950 from his shoulder holster. He slowly walked over to where his man was still lying on the ground, and fired two rounds into the man's head, sending a splatter of blood up in the air, some of which landed on Petrova's face.

The reaction of the men to what Petrova had done was mixed. Roscoe, a long time associate of Petrova's, was not surprised as he had long been aware of Petrova's short fuse. Some of the men who had just been hired in the last few months were petrified by what had happened, but after taking a moment to collect themselves, went back to work unloading the cargo, not wanting to be the next victim of Petrova's temper. Roscoe, the tallest man in the group, approached Petrova and took him aside. "You've got to shoot the boatman as well. He's a witness to all of this."

"I know," Petrova said. "I was thinking about doing it anyway."

Petrova turned around and briskly walked towards Mikhail, who was standing perfectly still, paralyzed by fear. Petrova looked at him and could see that his muscles were locked and he was shivering even more than he had been because of the cold. "Please...don't," he stammered as Petrova raised his pistol.

Petrova pulled the trigger, dropping Mikhail to the ground with a loud thud. Petrova returned the Beretta to its holster and then turned to Roscoe. "Get rid of the bodies," he instructed, leaving Roscoe to get to work.

Twenty minutes later, all of the cargo had been unloaded and placed into the back of a large truck. Petrova and Roscoe rode in a separate van ahead of the truck, and they headed back into the city to a warehouse that Petrova owned. Driving down the main road alongside the Golden Horn Bay presented just about one site, and that was the site of construction sites. Being a port city, Vladivostok was constantly undergoing construction to meet the import and export demands of the city, although the amount of business being done here had been in somewhat of a decline in recent times, especially amongst the criminal element in the city. Petrova knew his place in the criminal element in the city, and knew that there were certain people that you did not cross. The downfall of the SPECTRE organization, however, had created a competitive atmosphere in the criminal underground, with every person with even the slightest amount of ambition seeking to claim a piece of the pie that SPECTRE had once held. Petrova wanted in on some of that, and he had felt as though he had been making some serious inroads into accomplishing that, but this setup was make or break for him. His previous setup had seemed perfect, but he had failed. That one would have put him on the map in a big way, but things had gone wrong, and he knew that this was his last shot.

[tdalton]

London

James Bond pulled the Bentley into an empty spot along Kennington lane and turned off the ignition. he stepped outside into the brisk winter air, which was a stark contrast from the muggy head he had become used to during his stay in Jamaica. He looked at his reflection in the driver's side window of the car and adjusted his necktie. He admitted to himself that he looked very good considering the long road to recovery he had had to travel. He had sustained serious injuries while taking down "Pistols" Scaramanga, the world's most feared assassin. He had come close to death, as he had many times during his career, but as he got older, these brushes with death became more difficult and more physically painful.

Despite the cold, London was busy at that time of day. People lined the streets, their arms full of various shopping bags. No doubt, Bond thought, the shoppers were out trying to obtain last minute Christmas gifts for their loved ones. As he walked, one of the shoppers bumped into Bond. Bond shot back a menacing look of disapproval, the scar on his cheek adding extra effect to the menace that was behind it. The woman quietly apologized and then hurried away.

Bond lifted up the sleeve of his gray, single-breasted Brioni suit to view his watch. Two fifty-five in the afternoon. he had five minutes to reach his destination, which was plenty of time as he could see it just ahead of him.

The meeting had been set up to take place at the middle of the Vauxhall Bridge. A meeting in M's office was out of the question, as it had been explained to him. Bond didn't question his orders, he didn't have the luxury to do so after his actions several months ago. He would have preferred to have met in the office, but he understood the need for a public meeting. It made things less complicated, at least from his employer's end.

The bridge was filled with pedestrians going in both directions. With the holiday only a few days away, the panic that always arises in the last few days before Christmas had set in. Bond could sense the tension on the faces of the majority of the people who walked by him as he waited for the meeting to begin. Bond remarked to himself that he was glad that he was in the business that he was in, or otherwise he may be just like all of the other people around him that day, scurrying around the city trying to find some object that would make someone else happy.

Bond stood at the middle of the bridge at exactly three o'clock. The sun had disappeared behind the clouds, casting a grayish tint over the city as Bond could feel the temperature drop a few degrees. "Good afternoon, double-oh seven."

Before Bond could turn around, Sir Miles Messervy, or M, was standing beside him, resting his forearms on the railing in front of them. "Good afternoon, sir," Bond said.

"I apologize for the manner in which this meeting is being conducted," M said. "I damn near had a mutiny on my hands when I said that I was bringing you in for another assignment."

Bond nodded in understanding. "I should tell you," M continued, "that there are snipers on top of buildings on both sides of the bridge."

"I know, I saw them while I was waiting," Bond said.

"Tanner insisted on them. He thinks that you're a loose cannon on deck."

"Why am I here?" Bond asked, ignoring the comment about his friend.

M paused for a moment and reached into the pocket of his black trench coat and pulled out his pipe. He lit it and then puffed on the smoke for a moment, enjoying the warmth that it brought him on an otherwise frigid afternoon. "From our talks about your little incident a few months back, you mentioned having traveled to Vladivostok."

"Yes," Bond said.

"Our intelligence has shown that there is something of a power vacuum occurring in the criminal underworld in that city, thanks in large part to the demise of the SPECTRE organization, which had used the city as a major part of is operations in the USSR as well as its operations in China. Former employees of the SPECTRE organization as well as other common criminals are trying to make it to the big time over there, trying to gain control of the criminal element in the city."

"That sounds like a problem for the police," Bond stated.

"You have to remember, your days of the glamorous assignments are over, Bond," M said, invoking his surname with an obviously disapproving tone. "You made an attempt on my life. Brainwashed or not, that should have earned you a date with the firing squad. You're damn lucky you're even allowed to work, let alone lucky to still be alive. If my advisers had their way, you'd be dead."

Bond nodded his head in somber agreement. "There's also an added bonus in this for you," M continued.

"What?"

"I sent double-oh six to Vladivostok a few months ago on assignment. He picked up on the name Vladimir Petrova, a small-time gangster working in the city."

"What's so special about this Petrova character?" Bond asked, almost insulted that he was being asked to look into the activities of a second rate gangster.

"It seems he has been receiving large shipments of something from Japan. We don't know what that something is, but given the level of criminal competition in the city, we can be fairly certain that it's something to boost his profile."

M noticed that Bond did not seem the least bit excited about what he was hearing. "There's also this bit of information which you should find interesting. It appears as though this Petrova is a doctor of psychology, physiology, and biology, although he never uses the title. He certainly has the means to conduct psychological experiments on people, as he occasionally receives shipments of various drugs from drug runners in the Middle East and the Soviet buffer states that border Europe. According to the local authorities, there have been a few complaints of cruelty and kidnapping on the part of Petrova, although no charges were ever brought and there was no reliable evidence of any of the claims being true."

"Are you saying that Petrova was the man responsible for my brainwashing?" Bond asked.

"I don't know. That's what you're going to go to Vladivostok to find out. Even if he's not, I would imagine that he would be able to point you in the direction of who was actually behind it if you pushed him hard enough."

Bond nodded in agreement.

"I've arranged to have Tiger Tanaka meet you in Tokyo tomorrow morning. You can't fly directly into the Soviet Union because they're no doubt looking for you now that they know that your assassination attempt on me failed. Meet with Tanaka, he'll work with you on a way to get into Vladivostok undetected. Whatever you do, though, make sure that you finish this. This is one mission where we absolutely cannot have any loose ends."

"You're authorizing a mission of revenge?" Bond asked, puzzled because he knew M's stance on personal vendettas.

"Think of it more as a mission of redemption," M replied, with a half-smile across his face.

"There are some that think, despite my endorsement of you and the Queen offering you a knighthood, that you're in league with the Soviets to do significant damage to our government from the inside. If you complete this mission and eliminate the men who took you captive, then I think that I can convince them that you're on our side. If you mess up, then I think we both know what has to happen.

"Understood," Bond said.

M turned away and walked towards the end of the bridge opposite the one Bond had arrived on. The tails of his black trench coat flapped in the wind as he walked away. Bond turned and headed in the opposite direction, thinking of what would lay ahead for him upon his return trip to Vladivostok.

[tdalton]

Tokyo

The last time that James Bond had been to Japan, things had not gone so well. He had accomplished his mission, which to most agents would have been enough to quality it as a success, but the debt that he had to pay for it was staggering, and still had lingering effects. He did not remember much about his stay there, however. He remembered killing Blofeld, a memory that would stay in his mind forever. He remembered that he had found his way to Vladivostok to find his true identity after living with Kissy for quite some time as a fisherman. He did not remember any details, though. All that he knew was that his last trip to Japan had cost him so much, and had ultimately led to the event that should have cost him his life, his attempted assassination of M, an event that would have led to the British intelligence community's biggest setback of the century. Having an active field agent, and one of the highest caliber, assassinating one of the highest ranking officials in the service would have brought operations to a hault. If such a highly respected agent could be capable of that, then surely others could be as well.

There were only two ways to fly into Vladivostok. The first was to take a connecting flight from within the Soviet Union itself, most likely through the Bolshoye Savino Airport in Perm, Bond figured. The second was to fly to Tokyo and then take a connecting flight into the city. Bond opted for the second option, as he needed to get into the Soviet Union undetected. He had been involved in actions against the Soviets for quite some time, and they were well aware of his methods and knew that his presence only meant trouble for them. No doubt they would be checking the passenger lists for his name or aliases, as they would be for any other foreign agents.

Bond's plane landed in Tokyo at nine twenty-four in the morning local time. He made his way into the terminal, which, as his past experiences had taught him, was one of the busiest places on earth, and that morning was no exception. Struggling to make his way through the terminal, Bond looked for the luggage return, where he and Tiger Tanaka had agreed to meet. Bond had no luggage to collect, but the two figured that it was just as good a place as any.

He reached his destination and waited for Tanaka. He knew that Tanaka liked to make an entrance, so he decided to give him a few minutes. It was always possible that he was caught up in the massive crowd of people that made traversing the terminal more difficult that Bond had found it to be in any other airport he had encountered.

Waiting gave him an opportunity to consider the opportunity that he had been given. It was not often in life that one got a second chance to make things right. he had made mistakes that had almost gotten people killed and that had potential to significantly hinder his nation's government. He had been used as an instrument of war by his sworn enemies against his own people. Those actions always resulted in a charge of treason and, ultimately, a death sentence. Bond had been spared this, for whatever reason. He was thankful for that, even though he would never admit it to anyone.

"Hello, Mr. Bond," came a voice from behind him.

Bond turned around and saw Tanaka standing there. "Good morning, Mr. Tanaka," Bond said.

"Right this way, Mr. Bond," Tanaka said, gesturing with his arm towards the long row of doors about fifty yards ahead of them. "I have a car waiting outside."

It was raining when they stepped outside. They rushed to the car, a black Datsun 2000 Roadster. Once Tanaka had gotten the car moving, they exchanged the usual pleasantries. "How have you been, Tiger?" Bond asked.

"It's been an interesting few months since your ordeal here with Dr. Shatterhand," Tiger said. "Without SPECTRE looming in the background as a constant threat, this police work of ours has become rather boring."

But it's a good thing that they're gone," Bond said.

"I suppose. But it's turned the criminal world here upside down. When SPECTRE was in operation, there was plenty of employment opportunities for the criminals here. SPECTRE was always looking for local muscle in the areas in which it was conducting its business, and they were powerful enough so that nobody ever questioned who was in charge."

"It sounds like you miss Blofeld and his associates," Bond stated.

"No, I don't miss him, but I have to say that things were more simple when they were around. There were clearly defined villains making clearly defined threats when they were around, and once they were caught and their plans were foiled, we could call it a day. The villains now are harder to find now, James. The murder rate here has gone up significantly since SPECTRE fell, as rival criminal elements are vying for the control and power that SPECTRE once held."

"According to our intelligence people, the same thing is happening in Vladivostok," Bond interjected.

"It's happening everywhere in the region. The Soviet Union, China, the Soviet buffer states. It's happening everywhere."

Bond couldn't help but notice the wreckless abandon that Tanaka drove with. He weaved in and out of traffic at a frantic pace. Not that Bond didn't enjoy a good, exhilerating drive, he did, but there was a time and place for such things. Tanaka seemed oblivious to the blaring horns that greeted a good number of his maneuvers on the road.

"What about Vladivostok?" Bond continued.

"Yes, I was briefed by London as to the situation. I have to say that it's a very unique position that you're in," Tanaka said.

"Yes, you could say that," Bond replied.

The safe house was located on the other side of the city from the airport. It was right on the bank of the Edo River, very far on the outskirts of Tokyo where it would be too much trouble for anyone to go and find it. The frontof the building was intentionally made to look rundown, so as not to give away that it was government property. The grass in the front was turning brown from a lack of water and was quite patchy. "This is it?" Bond asked.

"It may not look like much, Mr. Bond, but that is by design. Trust me when I tell you that it is a state of the art safe house on the inside."

"If you say so," Bond said.

The guards standing by at the front door of the safe house opened the door for Tanaka once he showed them the proper identification. "He's okay," Tanaka said to the guards, motioning towards Bond. "He's with me."

Once inside, Tanaka reminded Bond to remove his shoes, which Bond did without question. He was then invited to sit across from Tanaka at the table in the main room. When they had sat on the cushions on the floor in front of the table, a young woman came into the room, clad in a white kimono decorated with a multi-colored floral print. She spoke to Tanaka. After they had finished conversing, Tanaka turned to Bond. "Would you care for some sake?"

"Yes," Bond said, noting to himself that it was never too early to drink.

Tanaka instructed the woman to bring the men some sake. She left the room, leaving them to talk. "I need your help getting into the Soviet Union," Bond said, cutting to the chase.

"Why don't you fly in just like everyone else?" Tanaka asked.

"I'm going to be recognized there. I need to get in completely undetected, with no paper trail, and with nobody to see me come in."

"Why all the secrecy?" Tanaka asked. "I got the brief from M. He said that you're looking into a nobody named Vladimir Petrova. Trust me when I tell you, he is a nobody."

"That may be, but I have reason to believe that there may be more to it than that," Bond said.

"What do you mean?"

"I have reason to believe that Petrova knows who captured me and brainwashed me back in the summer. They know who I am, but I don't know who they are, so I need to go in undetected. We've also been hearing that Petrova has been receiving numerous shipments out of this country, many of which are far too expensive for him to be able to afford on his own. I'm thinking that there has to be some sort of private backer for him, perhaps someone who is looking at a bigger plan other than trying to take a small amount of control away from a neighboring crime family."

"I see," Tanaka said. "Tomorrow morning, before sunrise, we'll take a boat out and get you near the Soviet coast. We'll get you some SCUBA gear and you can swim your way into the city."

"Thank you," Bond said.

The woman came back with two small glasses and a tall bottle of sake. She poured both men a glass and left the bottle sitting on the table between them. "Thank you," Tanaka said to the woman as she left the room.

Bond drowned his sake in one swallow. He loved sake and was always disappointed by the fact that nobody in London carried a good brand of it. Because of this, he always saved sake as a special treat for when he was on assignment in Japan.

"Now, James, I would recommend that you get some rest before we head out. It will take us a while to get to the other coast, so we'll have to leave mid afternoon to get there by sundown, when we'll make preparations to leave for your incursion into the Soviet Union."

Tanaka called for the woman to come back into the room. "Please show Mr. Bond to his room," he said.

"Of course," she said, motioning for Bond to follow her.

She took him down the hall past two other rooms before opening a door and directing Bond to go in. "There are fresh linens on the bed, and the bathroom is right around the corner there. Is there anything that I can get for you?"

"No, everything seems to be in order," Bond said. "Thank you."

Bond laid in the bed, thinking about what laid ahead of him. He was never one that had believed in destiny. He did not give such things a thought, even in this instance. He laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes, allowing himself to fall into a deeper sleep than he usually did. This was something that he only did when he was in the safety of a safe house, which was what Bond had always found to be the safest places that one could be outside of the intelligence headquarters buildings that he often frequented. Mid afternoon would come soon enough, and he wanted to be ready to get things right this time out.

[tdalton]

Golden Horn Bay, just off coast of Vladivostok

Tiger Tanaka guided the small wooden fishing boat through the relatively calm waters, noting that it was not much further to the drop off point for Bond. "Do you have everything you need?" he asked Bond, more as a formality than a question because it was far too late to turn back at that point.

Bond, clad in a black wetsuit with matching flippers and an air tank strapped to his back nodded. "How far out are we?" he asked.

"Not much further."

Twenty minutes later, Tanaka brought the boat to a stop. "This is where we part ways, Mr. Bond," he said.

"Thank you, Tiger," Bond said, an instant before he dove off the boat and into the blackness of the nighttime water.

**********

London

"Send him in," M said, pressing the intercom button that linked his office with Miss Moneypenny's office.

"Right away, sir," she said over the intercom.

The light above the door turned from red to green, signaling that it was okay to enter. M looked up as Bill Tanner stepped into the room. "What can I do for you, Bill?" M asked.

"I thought I should tell you that I've filed a grievance with the PM over your handling of James Bond. He should be facing a firing squad right now, not out on an assignment somewhere."

M sat in silence for a moment. "Bill, I have to say that I'm surprised by this. You're one of the few friends that Double-oh Seven has. I would have thought that you would trust him."

"Friend or not, sir, I'm simply carrying out my duties as Chief of Staff."

"Did you just throw a title at me?" M asked, becoming irritated.

Tanner ignored the outburst from his boss and continued. "We're already the laughing stock of the intelligence community for having one of our own agents making an assassination attempt on you. We need to rectify that mistake and put Bond out to pasture, now."

"Stop," M commanded. "I understand your concerns, Bill, and they're noted."

"And..." Tanner said, expecting M to say more.

"You do realize that I sent Bond out to die at the hands of Scaramanga back in the summer. I fully expected him to die out there, but he didn't. Instead, he took down the best assassin that has been in operation in quite some time. He could have switched sides and joined Scaramanga, creating a very powerful alliance, but instead he did his job, which is what he's going to do in the Soviet Union now. Don't forget that."

Tanner did not respond to this comment. "Bill, take a few weeks, go unwind somewhere, and come back refreshed. You've been a great Chief of Staff, but this has been an extraordinary year, and I think that it would be best if you took a few weeks to relax."

Tanner once again did not respond. He turned and walked briskly out of the room, right past Moneypenny who looked at him and wondered what had happened between him and the boss.

**********

Vladivostok

Bond climbed his way out of the water and onto one of the many docks that lined the coast of the Golden Horn Bay. Once he was on dry land, he unzipped his wet suit and kicked off his flippers. Underneath his wetsuit he had been wearing a light, yet very warm, pullover sweater and black slacks. He reached into the small bag he had brought with him, which contained his Walther PPK and some extra ammunition clips, as well as a pair of black shoes, which he put on. He picked up his wetsuit and air tank and found a metal grate in the dock and dropped the items in. He would retrieve them later, if needed. If not, they were property of the Japanese government, which meant that nobody in the city would be able to tie them back to him.

[tdalton]

Vladivostok

James Bond put his Moreland Special cigarette down in the ash tray, letting it sit for a few moments while he finished what remained of his orange juice. He was one of only a few people in the hotel restaurant that morning, which suited him fine. The restaurant itself was quite immaculate, although quite small for such an establishment. Bond's waitress returned to clear his tableware from in front of him, smiling the entire time, a favor which Bond did not return.

The cigarette remained in the ash tray, ending a small stream of smoke into the air until Bond retrieved it a few moments later and brought it back up to his lips. As he enjoyed his cigarette, he noticed someone on the other side of the restaurant, a woman, glancing over at him from time to time. She was reading a newspaper, or at least pretending to, from which she would look up every few moments to see what Bond was doing.

Bond glanced over at her as well. She had dark brown hair that reached down to her shoulders, and her rather formal black dress distinguished her from the rest of the restaurant's clientele, including Bond, all of whom were dressed more for warmth than for style.

When she noticed that Bond had finished breakfast, she emerged from her table and began walking briskly towards him. When she had reached himn, she placed a business card on the table in front o him. "Audrey Belmont," Bond said, reading the card aloud.

"International Trading," Bond continued, noting that the new cover name for the service did not have the same ring to it that "Universal Exports" had. Perhaps, in time, he thought, it would grow on him, as it had only been a few months since it had been installed as the new cover.

"Good morning, Mister Hazard," she said, smiling at him.

Bond was delighted that she had called him by his cover name rather than his real name, even though there were only a very few people who might have heard it regardless.

"Please, take a seat," Bond said, motioning towards the chair across the table from him.

Once seated, she reached into the oversized handbag that she was carrying and retrieved a large dossier and placed it on the table in front of Bond. "I wasn't told that the company was sending someone out," Bond said.

"They thought that you could use some assistance here," she said. "Also, some new information has come to light from our friends over in Japan."

Bond picked up the dossier and began to thumb through it. There was quite a bit of information there for a subject that was supposedly a small-time criminal.

"Supposedly he has another shipment arriving at the docks tonight, a surprise shipment, coming in from Japan," she continued. "Our intelligence had concluded that the last shipment was the final one, so this came as a bit of a surprise. It's supposed to be coming in sometime in the late hours of the night."

"Do we know what's being brought in?" Bond asked.

"No. He has a warehouse a few miles from the docks that you might want to go check out."

Bond nodded in approval. "I'll check that out later today. Is there any other information that you have for me?"

"Not at this time," she said.

"If you will excuse me, I have some business to attend to, Miss Belmont," Bond said, excusing himself from the table.

**********

The room that the woman was in was completely bare, save for the hospital bed that she was lying in. She tried to move, but her wrists were restrained. She felt cold, and her hair was matted to her forehead with sweat. She tried to scream, but found that her mouth was gagged as well. She glanced down and out of the corner of her eye she saw a rat scurry across the floor, heightening her fear. Where was she?

A creaking sound was met with a small flood of light entering the room, followed by the sound of a door slamming shut. A man that she did not recognize came into the room holding a clipboard, which he began to look at. He reached out and put his hand on her arm, taking note of how pale she was and how moist her skin had become. "Clammy skin," he muttered, scribbling on his clipboard. He reached into the pocket of his lab coat and retrieved a syringe. He inserted it into her arm, releasing its contents into her bloodstream. Almost instantly, she felt her energy suddenly drain from her body and her head fell back onto the pillow, her body having gone completely unconscious.

[tdalton]

James Bond reached into his pocket and retrieved the heavy, gold-colored key from his pocket and unlocked the door of his hotel room. He entered and closed the door behind him, and then removed his overcoat and tossed it onto the bed. The room had finally heated up to what he considered a comfortable temperature after he had found the room rather cold earlier in the morning when he had checked in.

He walked across the room to the door to the balcony, opened it, and then stepped back into the frigid outside air to take in the view that his balcony offered of the Golden Horn Bay. Bond wondered about what his previous trip to the city had been like, before he had been captured. He wondered if his old self had found the city just a breathtaking as he now found it.

As Bond stood there, taking in the view, he felt that he should be doing something. He knew from his discussion with Miss Belmont that there was a new shipment coming in that night, and that would be the best time to look in on Petrova and see what he was up to. Other than that, there really was nothing else for him to do, which was the downside to investigating small-time criminals like Petrova as opposed to the more sophisticated criminals that he had had to deal with in the past. Had it not been for his assassination attempt on M, Bond would have thought that he had been relegated to such an assignment because of his age. Perhaps, he thought, that was still a factor in it, but he also knew that M was looking to cover all his bases by having Bond, the man who had been captured and brainwashed, be the agent to go back and take down the criminal entity that was responsible for that action. Even though Bond knew that he could regain some of his dignity as well as earn redemption in the eyes of his employers, he still could not fight the feeling that he was being used.

Bond moved back into his hotel room and immediately reached for his Walther PPK. The door to his room was wide open. A quick survey of the main area of the room showed that there was nobody in it, but Bond knew that he had shut the door behind him. Someone was in the room with him.

He reached for his briefcase which was sitting on the table located immediately to his right. He opened it quietly, not wanting to alert the intruder, wherever he was, and retrieved the suppressor for his Walther. He screwed it onto the end of the gun and walked towards the closet. Just before he was about to open the closet door to inspect it, the door flew open, hitting Bond in the face. He staggered backwards as a tall man wearing a black ski mask emerged from the closet, wielding a pistol.

The intruder was walking towards him. Bond, still disoriented, fired once in the direction of the intruder, missing his mark. The intruder, a man who was significantly bigger than Bond, reached for Bond and grabbed him by the neck, lifting his feet up off the ground. Bond reached up and tried to grab his hands, but the intruder was making it impossible for him. He would have taken a shot at the man, but the position of his hands had the gun pointed towards the ceiling, and there was no way to get it pointed at the intruder.

"What are you doing here?" the voice asked, speaking a surprisingly fluent English.

"Holiday," Bond struggled to say.

"Liar," the man said, throwing Bond against the wall.

Bond fell to the floor in a heap, his gun lying on the floor a few feet away from him. The intruder walked over to it and kicked it to the other side of the room. "I'm only going to ask again," he said, moving towards Bond, the pistol pointed at Bond's head, "Why are you here?"

Bond knew that he had to do something or he was finally going to meet his end. He did not answer the man, causing him to become irritated with Bond. He quickly moved even closer to Bond, which allowed Bond the opportunity to take a sweep at his legs with his own, causing the man to lose his balance and fall to the floor.

Bond sprang to his feet and lunged at the intruder, falling on top of him. He pinned the man's arms to the ground, trying to wrestle the pistol free from his grip. He raised the intruder's right hand up off of the floor and then slammed it into the floor, hoping to knocked the gun loose. He continued this until the intruder dropped his gun. Bond knocked it towards the other side of the room, with it landing close to where Bond's gun had landed.

Bond kneed the intruder in the stomach several times, knocking the wind out of him to the point that he was violently gasping for air. Bond stood up and walked across the room, retrieving his Walther and kicking the intruder's gun under the bed. He aimed the pistol at the intruder. "Stand up," Bond commanded.

The intruder continued to lay on the floor gasping for air. He reached down and grabbed the intruder by the collar of the black sweater he was wearing and threw him onto the bed. He pressed the end of the suppressed Walther against the man's head to let him know the gravity of the situation. "Now, who are you working for?" Bond asked, feeling a certain sense of satisfaction for having turned the tables on the intruder.

The intruder sat up on the bed, looking around nervously. "I'm not going to ask again," Bond said.

"I can't," he replied. "They'll kill me."

"What do you think I'm going to do to you?" Bond asked sarcastically.

The intruder continued to look around, nervously, hoping an opportunity for escape would present itself.

"Once again," Bond said. "who are you working for. Last chance."

Instead of answering, the man stood up and bolted for the door to the balcony. Bond shot him once in the leg, hoping to stop him in his tracks. The intruder continued towards the door, and Bond fired again, this time the bullet landing in the mid-back. He crumpled to the floor, screaming in pain. He knelt beside the man and grabbed his shoulder, turning him over onto his back. The intruder was non responsive. Bond put his fingers on the vein of the man's neck. There was no pulse.

Bond stood up and walked over to the chair on the other side of the room and sat down. He knew at this point that his cover had been blown, that much was certain to him. He was surprised at how quickly it had happened, but it was something that did provide him with some useful information. There had to be someone with a lot of connections that was bankrolling Petrova's criminal acts. There was no way that Petrova was able to keep tabs on Bond's movements on his own, but with the help of someone who was familiar with him and who had a large amount of money at their disposal, it was possible for someone to break his cover that quickly.

**********

Bill Tanner, flanked on both sides by two MI6 agents, stormed past Miss Moneypenny's desk towards the door to M's office. "He doesn't want to be disturbed right now," Moneypenny said.

Tanner and the agents ignored Moneypenny and continued into M's office. Once they were inside, M looked up from his dossiers. "What is the meaning of this, gentlemen?" he asked in a respectful, yet irritated tone.

"Sir, you've left me no choice but to relieve you of your command of this section," Tanner said.

"You can't do this," M said, knowing good and well that it was possible.

"As a matter of fact, I can. You're sanctioning of Bond and his activities must be brought to an end. It's treasonous that you've allowed an enemy of our country to operate as a part of our government. Tanner paused, "Take him away," he said, motioning towards two of the guards that had arrived with him.

Two of the agents that had arrived with Tanner took M and led him from the office, past a stunned Miss Moneypenny. Tanner walked over to the desk that M had occupied for well over a decade, and sat down. He pressed the intercom button on his desk. "Miss Moneypenny," he said.

"What is going on, sir?" she asked at the other end.

"Changing of the guard," he said. "Now, Miss Moneypenny," I need you to get Double-oh Eight down here as quickly as possible.

"He's on assignment in India."

"Tell him the assignment is over. Something more pressing has come up."

[tdalton]

Bond sat in his hotel room, slowly sipping from his glass of vodka as he waited for Audrey to check in. He knew that someone had tipped off Petrova as to his presence in the city, and the number of potential options was very slim. There was a soft knock on his door. He got up, setting his martini down on the table, and walked to the door, still with a slight limp in his step from that afternoon's altercation. He glanced through the peep-hole and saw that it was Audrey. "Good evening, James," she said. "I thought that you could take me to dinner."

"Not until you answer a few questions," Bond said, quickly pulling her into the room and shutting the door behind her.

"What's wrong?" she asked, quickly noting the look of concern on his face.

"You don't know?" Bond asked, almost half expecting her to already be aware of the situation.

"No, I'm afraid I don't," she said defiantly.

Bond nodded in the direction of the open door to the balcony, in front of which was a trail of blood that stood out on the white carpet. Bond noticed the look of horror on Audrey's face when she saw it.

"Petrova knows that I'm here."

"Maybe he saw you in the hotel. There's nobody else here who knows who you are, and I certainly didn't blow your cover."

"Maybe not intentionally," Bond muttered under his breath.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

Audrey walked towards Bond and put her hand on his cheek. "What's wrong?" she asked, sensing that there was something other than what had gone on in the room earlier. She ran her hand through his hair, noticing for the first time the strands of gray that signified a long, stressful career.

"Maybe I'm starting to lose it," Bond said, his characteristically withdrawn personality showing signs of cracking.

"Lose what?" Audrey asked, for the first time during the conversation showing what appeared to be genuine concern for Bond.

"This man. Petrova. He took so much away from me. I don't know if I can beat him."

"What did he take from you?"

Bond paused for a moment. Perhaps this wasn't the best time to go into it all, he thought. He couldn't let Petrova get into his head again. It had been disastrous the first time that he had allowed it to happen. It couldn't happen again. "I'll tell you about it over dinner," he said. "Let's go."

[tdalton]

The waiter placed the caviar that Bond had ordered on the table between Bond and Audrey. "Do you like caviar?" Bond asked.

"I've never tried it," she admitted. "I've never been able to afford it."

"You'll soon learn that it's one of the few perks of the life that we lead," Bond said. "The company will pay for just about anything that we buy out in the field."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said, looking at the plate in front of her and wondering how anyone could enjoy such a dish. She decided to pass on the caviar and wait for her main course.

"Tell me, James," she said, "what was it that Petrova took away from you?"

"Let's just stick to business," Bond said, brushing off the question.

"It is business," she retorted. "I need to know why we're here. It's never been the business of our company to go after low-level operatives in other countries. This Petrova character is nothing, a small blip on the radar that poses no real threat, according to our analysts back in London. So, I'll ask again, what is your history with him?"

Bond paused for a moment. He wasn't sure what kind of reaction to expect from her if he were to tell her the truth about his experience with Petrova.

"Did it have something to do with the incident back at the company last year?"

"What do you know about the incident?" Bond asked.

"Nothing. I just know that something happened. What, I don't know."

"Then, yes, it did have something to do with that."

"Well, are you going to tell me about Petrova or not?" she asked impatiently.

"Fine. It started a few years ago. I had finally found the right woman and had gotten married. On the way to our honeymoon, she was murdered by the man that I had spent the better part of the last decade trying to track down. A really vicious and evil man, and his woman assistant."

"How awful," Audrey interjected.

"I began drinking more heavily after that. It was the second time in my life that I had lost the woman that I loved, and I had thought about leaving the company. M sent me to Japan, on loan to the Japanese government, to look into a matter involving a man by the name of Shatterhand. I looked into it, only to discover that this Shatterhand was actually the man who had taken my wife from me. I killed him and escaped his compound, but hit my head on the way out, and suffered amnesia. That's all that I remember about it, but in filling in the missing pieces, after that I came here to Vladivostok, where Petrova and his associates got ahold of me and programmed me to work for the Soviets. What he programmed me to do almost, and probably should have, got me killed. He sent me back to London to assassinate M."

Bond looked across the table at Audrey, who sat in silence, her eyes staring blankly at him. "Wow," was all she was able to stammer out.

"It's a lovely little bedtime story, isn't it?" Bond said sarcastically, taking a bite of the caviar.

"Why are you still out in the field?" she asked.

"You think that I'm damaged goods, of no use anymore?"

"No, no, it's not that. I'm just saying that, if it were me, I would have just retired and gone off into the sunset. That's an awful lot for one person to go through."

"Well, there isn't much more left for me in this business. I owe it to M to look into this, and to close this chapter in my life. I'm also not keen on the idea of leaving having been manipulated in such a way. Petrova is going to pay dearly for his crimes."

The two sat in silence for a few moments, during which Bond took a few more bites of the caviar and had two glasses of the champagne that had also been brought to the table. "You know, James, I'm almost sorry that I asked you about the mission," she said.

"Why?" Bond asked in between bites of caviar.

"Why?" she repeated. "Because it's a very sad story. Have you ever stopped to think about everything you've been through?"

"Not really," Bond stated flatly. "I don't see any reason to dwell on the past. Nothing I can do now can change it. The only thing that I can do is take some comfort in the fact that it's nearly over."

"Is this your last assignment?" she asked, sensing a feeling of finality to what Bond was telling her.

"I don't know," Bond replied.

The waiter interrupted the conversation, bringing them their main courses. They ate mostly in silence, with the only conversation being her asking Bond to refill her glass with champagne.

When he was finished, Bond wiped his mouth with his napkin and dropped it on the table. "How was it?" he asked her.

"Very good. Yours?"

"Fine."

"If you don't mind, Audrey, I'm going to retire to my room and get some rest. We've got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow, so I would suggest that you do the same."

"Do you want any company?" she asked.

Bond stood for a moment and thought about it. It was tempting, as she was a very attractive woman. "No."

Bond noticed the disappointed look on Audrey's face just before he turned to leave. He turned back to her and said. "But thank you, though."

"For what?" she asked.

"For listening."