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[terminus]

Much apologies for the significant delay in the final part of my 'Christmas Story'. Without further ado, I present to you Part 3 of Nuclear Kiss.


Part 3



December 24th AM


After their surprise meeting underwater the previous afternoon, Bond and Sinjai had returned their individual speedboats and scuba equipment to the watersport centres they had rented them from and returned to Bond's villa.

There, they had eaten a simple meal of fruit and fish that the housekeeper had rummaged up before Sinjai had begun to explain her plan. Bond had listened, taken in the details of the plan and agreed that the plan would work. He made several phonecalls, requisitioning the equipment that Sinjai's plan would require and it was delivered by the following morning.

Both Bond and Sinjai decided to get an early night and Bond showed Sinjai the way to the guest room which the housekeeper had made up on the Thai agents arrival at the house. Just in case, the housekeeper had explained. The alarm had gone off early and both agents woke, ate a simple meal of fruit and coffee, washed and dressed before heading down to the watersport centre where they were the first inline to rent a speedboat.

Bond had recalled the layout of the hotel - there were two stabilisation fins, one below the surface and one at the surface. The one at the surface functioned as a dock for the speedboats that conducted guests to the hotel and also held a small, encapsulated swimming enclosure.

The hotel had a limited numbers of rooms, thus it was considered very exclusive but because it was also extremely eco-friendly it was considered an excellent vacation for rising millionaires and billionaires who wanted to demonstrate their green credentials. There was also a compact function room, with windows that looked out under the water and it was in this room that the press conference that Graeme Stewart would be held.

Bond and Sinjai swam up to the edge of the stabilisation fin and pulled themselves out onto the gleaming white deck whose positionable solar panels were directed away from all guest activities. They stowed their scuba equipment behind one of the solar panels and crept their way around the fin until they reached an access hatch which led to an access conduit that ran the full height of the hotel.

Sinjai huddled down beside the access hatch, holding her Browning firmly in her wetsuited hands. Bond stepped inside, began climbing upwards towards the deck that housed the suite that Graeme Stewart had reportedly booked into late the previous evening.

He opened a second access hatch and stepped into a richly carpeted stairwell. Leaving great wet footprints, he inched his way further towards the smoked glass door of the suite. He hefted the reassuring weight of his Walther PPK in his hands as he reached for the handle and pushed the door open. The room was smaller than his suite at the Bangkok Peninsula, but just as luxurious and it had a balcony that provided a view of the cove and the open ocean beyond.

Graeme Stewart was standing on the balcony with an assistant. Bond recalled the pictures of Stewart that he had seen in the dossier that MI6 had delivered to the villa. But the pictures didn't do him justice. From the tight blue Armani shirt and trousers he wore, Bond could tell that the billionaire frequented the gym several times a week and had a physique that rivalled Bond's.

This could present an issue.

Stewart had only checked into the Hotel Oceanus earlier that morning after flying into the islands small airport on his private plane. According to the itinerary that had been released by StewartCorp, he would be staying at the hotel for Christmas Day and then flying to New York where he would host an exclusive party at his penthouse on New Years Eve.

Bond slipped further into the suite, saw the laptop on the table and inserted the flash drive into the USB port. A program on the flash drive would activate and begin to scan the data - using the laptops wifi connection, it would then compact and trasmit the information back to the computer whizkids at Vauxhall Cross. But they would still need Graeme Stewart.

Stewart and his assistant were coming to the conclusion of their discussion. Bond slipped into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar so that he could see the assistant pass the bathroom and leave the suite. The balcony door slid shut and Bond could hear Stewart's feet cross the suite towards the computer.

Where he would be able to see the wet footprints leading to the bathroom. Bond realised too late, pushed the bathroom door open and aimed his PPK at the muscular billionaire.

"I thought you were dead."

"I'm not here to chat," said Bond. "Sit down and shut up."

Bond indicated that Stewart should back away from the computer. Then he went and checked on the progress of the software - it had almost finished retrieving and transmitting any documentation. He would only need to hold Stewart for a few more minutes before they could head down to the stabilising platform and leave the hotel.

Keeping Stewart under check during the swim to the speedboat would be arduous, but Sinjai had packed a speargun of South African design that ought to come in useful.

Bond felt the click of a gun against the back of his head.

The assistant. He'd forgotten the bloody assistant. He had only a few moments to disable the assistant and get his PPK pointed back at Stewart before the whole situation would begin to unwind. He send his elbow slamming backwards into the assistants stomach, simultaneously dropping his head out of the line of sight. The assistants gun went off, but it blew apart a vase of flowers instead of Bonds head.

Another swift move and Bond ground his heel into the assistants throat. He would be of no trouble now and Stewart had barely had a chance to register what had gone on. He might have the physical stature and the brute strength, but he lacked tactical thought and that would come in useful should the confrontation come down to a fight.

Stewart would need luck on his side to best Bond.

KA-BLAM!

Unfortunately, it would seem as if Stewart had gained the favour of luck when the hotel rocked violently. From the noise and the motion, Bond knew that something had exploded and an explosion hadn't been part of the plan he had listened to Sinjai describing.

Judging from Stewart's expression, he didn't know anything about it either. But he wasn't about to stop the explosion from stopping him escaping as he made a lunge for the balcony. The distance from the balcony to the stabilising fin was only a handful of meters, he would probably survive the fall but it would enable Bond to catch up.

It wasn't a clever move. It was he move of a desperate man.

KA-BLAM!

The hotel rocked backwards, teetered at the point of no return and then passed it, plunging into the water and sending a spray of brine upwards that splattered in thick droplets on the balcony window. One thing was for certain, the hotel was going to sink and Bond was going to have rapidly reevaluate and reformulate his plans.

Stewart pulled his way up the tilted room, using the bed-posts to haul himself up towards the balcony door through which water was rapidly pouring. His pristine suit was dishevelled and was rapidly beginning to get soaked through. Bond pushed himself to his feet, took hold of the bed-post with one hand and hauled himself up.

Under Bond's weight, the bed-post splintered but Bond had already gotten a handhold of the other bed-post and pulled himself up. Both men stood on the glass doors of the balcony. The doors wouldn't be able to hold their weight for too long, this was going to have to get resolved soon.

Bond grabbed Stewart around the waist, tried to stop the billionaires escape. Bond was still wearing his wetsuit but Stewart was soaking wet, the blue Armani shirt and trousers he wore stuck to his muscled body like a second skin as he kicked out at Bond.

"Let me go, you stupid bastard!"

The hotel shifted again, rolling to its side. Stewart slipped out of Bonds hold. Both men rolled into the water and bobbed to the surface with the white superstructure of the hotel rising above them. It was still sinking and if they didn't get far enough away from it, it would pull them under when it finally vanished below the surface.

Bond started swimming away from the hotel, dragging Stewart with him as they gained some distance. As they reached what they deemed to be a safe distance, Bond paused to get his breath back.

Stewart took the pause to allow him the opportunity to begin clambering towards the beach. But Bond lunged through the water, grabbed the back of Stewart's sodden shirt and used his weight to hold Stewart under the water until the billionaires attempt to push upwards started to ebb, then he let him go and the thickly-muscled man erupted from the surface of the water. He took a deep breath of air - and Bond's fist connected with his face. The billionaire dipped into unconsciousness. Bond swam closer, wrapped his arm around Stewart to keep him afloat.

All around them, debris from the now sunk hotel bobbed on the gentle ripples of the water.


Five Minutes Earlier


Sinjai had been waiting for Bond for only a handful of minutes when she'd seen the neoprene clad figure emerge from the access hatch and quietly walk across the stabilisation fin to the edge. From the ample breasts, the figure wasn't male and she knew the figure was suspect by her method of departure.

Crawling across the stabilisation fin, using the solar panels as cover, Sinjai made her way towards the figure. Reaching the wetsuited figure, Sinjai pressed the muzzle of her Browning to the figures head.

"What are you doing?"

The figure swung out, knocked the gun and it slid across the stabilisation fin and wedged under one of the solar panels. Even with the neoprene tight around the woman's face, Sinjai recognised the abrupt mouth and cool black eyes that Bond had described to the police artist in Bangkok.

This was Nina Macpherson.

"You tried to kill me, you bitch!"

Nina laughed, strands of blonde hair emerged from the tight neoprene and was plastered against her alabaster skin. Bond had been unable to confirm hair colour as she'd been wearing a wig in Bangkok and Sinjai wondered whether she was really blonde.

"You know who's in this hotel, don't you?"

Her accent was suggestive of Northern Europe. Sinjai guessed she was possibly Swedish or Norwegian but couldn't be sure.

"Graeme Stewart. He's behind all of this."

Nina nodded.

"Yes. He ordered me to kill you and that bastard, Bond, and he tried to have me killed too," said Nina. "Now listen to me, get yourself out of here before it's too late ..."

"What do you mean?"

"I've planted limpet mines on the hotel superstructure, they're set to detonate in a handful of minutes. Bond and Stewart will go down with the hotel but you, you can escape ..." Nina fished in a pocket on her wetsuit, slipped a ziplock bag containing a flash drive into Sinjai's hands. "That's all of the details about Stewart's plans. Everything."

And then Nina stepped backwards off the edge of the stabilisation fin and sank into the water. Sinjai reached for the speargun and tried to get Nina in her sights but was unable to. She pondered whether she should heed Nina's warning and came to the conclusion that Bond was both capable of taking care of himself and that the data on the flash drive Nina had retrieved was of the utmost importance.

Sinjai gathered her equipment together and slipped into the water, swimming back towards the speedboat on the surface. If she was underwater when the mines detonated, then she could recieve incalculable damage to her ear drums. She had just reached the entrance to the cove when the first set of mines detonated.


Five Minutes Later


Bond and Stewart continued to float in the water. Bond had his arm wrapped round Stewart and the speedboats that had been floating on the open water outside the cove were coming to the aide of the survivors. A white speedboat bumped a piece of wreckage from the sunk hotel out of the way. Bond blinked, trying to see the person behind the wheel.

"Going my way?"

A hand reached down towards Bond and pulled him closer to the boat. Bond saw black hair falling around almond-shaped eyes. Sinjai Tasanalawai Nicholas. As close to an angel as Bond had ever had. Bond climbed into the speedboat and then joined Sinjai in pulling Stewart into the boat. The half-conscious billionaire took in his surroundings -

"Ah, the Thai bitch and the British dog ..."

Sinjai moved to slap Stewart. Bond held her back and nodded to the steering wheel of the speedboat. Sinjai took the hint, mutely gunned the ignition and guided the speedboat around the floating wreckage and other speedboats until they'd left the cove and had hit the open ocean.

Bond kneeled down near Stewart, leaned in close. He could feel the warmth of the sun through his wetsuit, he was becoming uncomfortable wearing it. A nice cool shower or a naked swim in the private beach of his villa when he returned, with a polite invitation to Sinjai to join him, of course.

"Staten said the nuclear bombs were already in the country," said Bond as the speedboat sped across the surface of the water. "You just need to tell me where you're planning on detonating them. Maybe we can make a deal."

"Unlikely. I know how our government works," replied the billionaire, spitting a wad of bloody spittle onto the deck of the speedboat. "They'd make the deal and then stab me in the back ..."

Bond frowned.

"Your choice."

Sinjai slipped her cell-phone back into the backpack which she stowed in a small equipment locker underneath one of the seats. Her eyes shone bright which told Bond that she'd just been told something good.

"That was your people, James. They recieved enough information from the flash drive that Nina gave me to locate all of the low yield nuclear bombs that he bought. M has SAS teams en-route to intercept the bombs and take Stewart's people into custody."

Bond smiled. That was good news indeed. Now they just needed to deliver Sir Graeme Stewart into custody. Bond would be able to write the after-action report and still make it to Shamelady for a relaxing Christmas.

Stewart struck out. Sinjai's Browning went flying from Bond's hands and into the water. It sank rapidly beneath the waves that lapped at the side of the speedboat. He struck out with his other hand and it connected with Sinjai's jaw. Not strong enough to break her jaw, but enough to throw her backwards and crack her head against the side of the boat. Sinjai slumped to the floor, unconscious, as Bond tried to grapple the billionaire and subdue him.

Stewart showed a great deal of strength as he wrapped his hands around Bond's throat. Bond reached out but couldn't find purchase. The steering wheel had been knocked during the fight and the speedboat was heading towards the cliff. Bond estimated that they had less than two minutes before the speedboat smashed into the rockface.

Bond could feel the life drain from him as Stewart failed to relinquish his hold. But just as he felt a veil of darkness descending upon himself, the billionaire's grip was relinquished. Sinjai had brought the speedboats fire extinguisher down on his head and he had slumped to the floor, blood creeping in a puddle from the wound.

Air flooded Bond's lungs. It burned but he fought past the pain.

"The wheel! Turn the wheel!"

Sinjai span the steering wheel. The speedboat turned in a tight arc, her white hull scraping the rock. But, in moments, the boat was speeding down the coast back towards the watersport centre where Bond and Sinjai had rented the boat from. The damage to the boat would take some explanation, but it was nothing that the bank accounts of the SIS wouldn't be able to ease.

Bond regarded the unconscious form of Graeme Stewart who had crumpled into the corner of the deck, then turned his attention back to the Thai woman who had just rode to his rescue and helped stop the UK from recieving a nuclear kiss.

"Thanks for the help."

Sinjai didn't speak, she didn't need to. She unzipped the neoprene of the form-fitting wetsuit, allowing a delicious inch of her ample bosom to be revealed. Bond let his mouth crease into a smile as he pulled the Thai woman closer, felt her hands stray across his toned body. And for the first time, he realised that one of her breasts bore a tattoo of an elephant, the national animal of Thailand. Leaning in, her flaw revealed, he planted his lips firmly on hers ...


Oracabessa, Jamaica
December 25th, AM


Bond felt the touch of Sinjai's skin against his as her cheek rested on his pectoral, her hand stroking the taut abdominal muscles of his stomach. The sun had risen into the bright blue sky, illuminating the endless golden beaches and perfect blue waters that fronted Bond's private residence.

Ramsey, his Jamaican housekeeper, had managed to fill the fridge and freezer with the trappings of a fine festive dinner which Bond and his guest would enjoy when they managed to extricate themselves from each others embrace and find their way to the kitchen.

The pair had enjoyed a nice relaxing soak in the large bath, Bond caressing her gently sunkissed skin with the soap, working his hands down towards her ample and firm breasts. Nature took its course and they had spent the night engaged in passionate lovemaking before falling into a deep sleep, rising only when the sun had crept in through the open patio doors.

Back in the moment, Sinjai planted a delicate kiss on Bond's lips, then propped herself up on her elbows and looked at him with her dark eyes, her raven hair falling round her face.

"Merry Christmas, James."



JAMES BOND

WILL RETURN

[Harry Fawkes]

Well, I must say that was a treat this morning Terminus. Bloody good short story and worth the time you spent writing it and me reading it. 10 out of 10 in my book, mate. Hope to see more.

Harry

[volante]

Snowed in at work, cold tired and fed up.

Thanks Terminus your story brightened my day.

Not long till For Queen and Country

[terminus]

Well, I must say that was a treat this morning Terminus. Bloody good short story and worth the time you spent writing it and me reading it. 10 out of 10 in my book, mate. Hope to see more.

Harry

Wow. Thanks for the praise It means a lot. Coco1997 can testify to the nerves I have been having whilst writing it, as my prose writing is generally very weak and the action sequences really threw me.

Snowed in at work, cold tired and fed up.

Thanks Terminus your story brightened my day.

Not long till For Queen and Country

Thanks to you too, Volante. FQAC is entering a period of redraft, there'll also be a 'writers commentary track' that I will post after FQAC has been up for a few weeks. Noted, that it's also in script-format, so it's a bit of a different kettle of fish.

[coco1997]

Much apologies for the significant delay in the final part of my 'Christmas Story'. Without further ado, I present to you Part 3 of Nuclear Kiss.

Very much worth the wait, terminus. The action was comprehensible (no small feat) and vivid and the last few paragraphs between Bond and Sinjai were suitably sexy. All in all the locations were well-utilized with informed accounts of the locales, and IMHO you did well with keeping the story fun and exciting while remaining distinctly Craig-ish. Though this was only a short story, the tone matches what I'd like to see for "Bond 23."

To say the very least, you stand just as high as Benson.

One day down the line I do think you should do an expanded treatment of this, perhaps in script form. What were some of the things you would do differently were you to adapt this as a script?

[terminus]

Very much worth the wait, terminus. The action was comprehensible (no small feat) and vivid and the last few paragraphs between Bond and Sinjai were suitably sexy. All in all the locations were well-utilized with informed accounts of the locales, and IMHO you did well with keeping the story fun and exciting while remaining distinctly Craig-ish. Though this was only a short story, the tone matches what I'd like to see for "Bond 23."

Thanks. I did try hard - there were some points where it could quite easily have strayed too much towards the feel of a Brosnan movie and, I still think, the sinking of the Oceanus Hotel in the climax still rings too much of Brosnan than Craig but the rest of it is very Craig.

One day down the line I do think you should do an expanded treatment of this, perhaps in script form. What were some of the things you would do differently were you to adapt this as a script?

Not necessarily as a script, but I could be convinced to do an expanded version of the story. There are several scenes that I know I would probably add in an extended version - we would see the garroting of the middleman in Paris by Nina, rather than just hearing about it and we'd also see that Nina was responsible for the bombing of the cafe, there would be a scene between Bangkok and Culebra in New York in which we would see Stewart's attempt to eliminate Nina and, of course, the Q scene.

[Bryce (003)]

Well, it's been a bit busy in the New Year, but it's a good thing.

At the behest of a few in this thread and some others, here is the follow up to "And To All a Goodnight".

So, again, mix a Vesper, Lock the doors....

and for a minute or two...ENJOY!

AFTERMATH

Tuesday, December 29th

It was just after four when the slender and lovely Loelila Ponsonby stepped through the open door of Bryce’s office. He and Matthew O’Shawnassey had been sharing a mutual post holiday sip from the bottle of Speyside twenty-five year old that 004 had given him on Christmas day.

Due to the events of Christmas Eve, Matt had understood why he missed their plans for drinks. ‘Lil, although she despised her nick-name, spoke softly.

“He’s ready for you. Athena just buzzed me.”

Matt couldn’t resist. “I’d love to watch Athena ‘buzz’ you.”

She scowled like an angry school teacher at 004. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

“Yes, but she’s still in Dubai.”

She turned on her heel and left as Bryce put on his jacket and straightened his tie. Matt also stood buttoning his jacket. He looked to his friend.

“Hey, don’t let Vallance get your blood up. He can’t have any complaints other than that it happened on his turf. From what I read, Gala is backing you and the history speaks for itself. We both know that. Go do what you’ve got to do.”

Bryce smiled as he checked his cuffs. “Thanks Coach. Dinner at my place later?”

Matt nodded. “Any requests?”

“Make it Indian and bring that bottle.”

Both men shook hands. Nothing more to be said.

Bryce entered the Admiral’s office and was surprised to find Gala sitting on the sofa along the window. The Admiral sat sipping a pint and Vallance stood with a cup of what had to be his wretched tea. Bryce took the classic military “at ease” stance placing his hands behind his back. He nodded to Gala, Vallance and then the man at the desk.

“Agent Brand, Director Vallance, Sir.”

Gala offered a slight smile and Vallance set down his saucer and cup and approached Bryce to within a foot. Why was he so damn arrogant when he felt he held the upper hand?

“So, killed anybody today?”

Bryce shrugged but gave a glare of nothing short of ice; “No, I’m trying to cut back. It’s still early though.” Hide a sword with a smile.

Vallance held his stare, but then turned to the Admiral.

“So, are all the ‘Double O’s’ trained to be this arrogant?”

The Admiral returned the stare. He wasn’t going to be bullied in his own office and spoke directly, yet in a cordial manner.

“Commander Bryce has served this country for twenty-two years and this section for seventeen of those. He suffered a personal loss and that woman had been on your wanted list for the last fifteen. Pity you couldn’t find her in that time. Then again, your department is somewhat limited in not being able to operate outside the UK.”

He glanced towards Gala. “Except when sanctioned on rare occasions and only when they have pertained to our operations and with approval of the PM.”

Vallance returned the stare maintaining his scowl.

“What the Hell kind of operation are you running here? He, operating out of some blind rage, drove a man's nose through his brain, threw another man by his balls into the Thames and sent a woman to her death in flames from the Tower Bridge on Christmas Eve in front of hundreds of civilians."

Bryce added bitterly "Seemed like the thing to do at the time." his eyes still holding an Arctic stare.

Gala stood; “Sir, if I may…” Vallance barked at her like a master scolding a pet. “SIT DOWN BRAND!”

Bryce put his arms to his sides and stepped forward.

“Raise your voice to her again and you’ll be the one being ‘set down’. “ His eyes held nothing but deliberation as he reached into his open jacket. Vallance backed away in fear.

The Admiral stood as Bryce retrieved his cigarette case and held it up. He left his jacket open long enough for Vallance to see the Browning HP in it’s scabbard break-away rig hanging under his left arm. Gala remained on her feet, but petrified.

Bryce turned to the Admiral in an almost casual gesture. “Sir, if you don’t mind?” he gestured with the case. He nodded and Bryce popped open the battered leather-bound case and the lit the smoke with his Dunhill and crossed one arm under the other holding the smoke as he exhaled.

Vallance looked to the Admiral. “That weapon is evidence. What’s he doing with it back?” Bryce smiled.

“You don’t think I have a spare? Although, the one that still remains in your department’s possession, isn’t like this one. It’s customized and if I’m not going to get it back soon – which I will – I would like a receipt.”

Vallance was beginning to boil.

Silence.

The Admiral moved around the desk. “I’ve cleared everything with both Number 10 and the Metro. Agent Brand has been very efficient and you should be grateful and more respectful. I’ve often never agreed with 003’s tactics, but the man’s loyalty and what he’s done for both this division and nation and, to a point, the world as a whole, are without question.”

Bryce had never realized how the Admiral had held his ground for him. He never was about accolades. It was the job. The results were what mattered. He stubbed out his cigarette in the large brass ashtray, but returned to his stance in front of the desk.

“I want his firearm returned to this office within the hour.” The Admiral spoke firmly.

Vallance was beginning to fold. “Very well.” He turned to Gala. “See to that.” He spoke curtly. She nodded and took two strides to the Admiral and removed Bryce’s pistol from her purse in a clear plastic “evidence” bag. The slide was locked back and a safety band was tied off. The still fully loaded clip and one round accompanied it. She set it down on the desk and addressed the Admiral.

“Sir, for the record, the weapon was never fired.”

Vallance was on the verge of a stroke. He lost it.

“Brand! How dare you! We’ll discuss this later. We’re done here.” He gave the Admiral an icy stare and didn’t even look to Bryce.

Gala turned looking at him coolly. “No we won’t sir. My resignation is on your desk. Maybe you can read it rather than have it read to you.”

Bryce and the Admiral kept their mutual stance but both were stunned. Vallance looked in shock and then marched out of the office. Gala lowered her head and then raised it again. She nodded to Bryce and then addressed the Admiral.

“Forgive me Sir, but…It’s been a long time coming. I don’t belong at Five working for someone like that and our...um ‘their’ department doesn’t deserve someone like him running it. Forgive me.” She turned towards the door but the Admiral spoke to her.

“Miss Brand. Please wait a moment.”

She stopped and tried to keep her composure. He continued;

“That took some brass…The kind this division could use. You’re about to go through a week of Hell as you sign off on everything, but when the storm passes, please contact my Chief of Staff. Unless, of course, you wish to leave this world behind.”

Her eyes were almost brimming with tears, but again, she held herself. “Thank you Sir.” She exited the office. He gestured towards the bar and Bryce poured himself a healthy glass.

“What do you think?” The Admiral reached to his long abandoned pint. Bryce crossed back taking a seat and a long pull. “Well, she’s been a field operative trapped in a domestic investigator’s job for a long time. She saved my life in Japan. I like her and I trust her. By the book, it was her first MI6 sanctioned kill.”

“It wasn’t sanctioned 003.”

“But it was in the defense of the life of an operative on a sanctioned assignment. Not everything in the field is a “termination warrant” and she didn’t hesitate.”

“Think she’d measure up?”

“I’m here, so she does in my book.”

“Stay in contact with her then.” Bryce finished his drink, picked up his Browning and returned the glass to the bar. As he approached the door, the Admiral spoke one last time. “003.” Bryce paused and turned back to face him.

“There are a few numbers open in the section. No promises, but if the lady delivers, she just might make it. Also, when I said ‘Contact’, I didn’t mean ‘in touch’. He offered a knowing grin. “For what it’s worth John, glad you got your peace and well done. Have a Happy New Year. See you on Monday.”

“You as well Sir....and Thank you.” Bryce smiled and moved out the door. The Admiral sipped the last of his pint.

[Joyce Carrington]

Nicely done, good sir.

[Bryce (003)]

Glad you liked it Luv. Thanks.

Terminus, sorry I'm a bit late, but, as always, another damn fine read.

[terminus]

Thanks for the praise, Bryce. Rather enjoyed your little tale too, though I feel I'm missing something - has the adventure in Japan been revealed in another story I've missed?

[Bryce (003)]

Cheers Terminus and thanks.

The Japan adventure spun out of some PM's between Gala and myself. She was stressed her first year of University, so I wrote a few of my ToF's (Touch of Fleming) for her.

In my world, Bryce and Gala have raced through the streets of Rome ala' TND on a Vespa scooter whilst handcuffed, escaped a Carribean island on a jet ski ala' LALD and Japan was totally YOLT. It was just between us, but it picked up her spirits at the time and was a bit of fun.

In my universe, she's going to make a fine Double-O. Of course, she does have to get in her second kill.

We'll see what happens next.

Truly though, I did love your bit. Good pace, nuance and entertaining. All the best.

[deadrob]

Where have the Fanfic novels beed moved to on CBN?

I remember there used to be a section with covers etc.,

Again would anyone be interested in putting together either a bibliography of the some best Fan Fic novels or discuss them in a scholarly context for my Bond and Popular culture book?

[clinkeroo]

deadrob...

Reminds me of Ded Bob, who is hideously funny.

http://www.youtube.c...feature=related

There are a couple of threads in the fan fiction section about the demise, and potential rebirth, of the formal FF section.

As for the second prospect of scholarly discussion, you may be able to dig up the old Fan Fiction Readers' Club discussions...ah, dem were da days.

[chrisno1]

Okay, so I know it isn't Christmas any longer, but for those who believe the spirit of Christmas should abound all year, this is my take on James Bond's Christmas.

The article is an extract from THE BLINK OF AN EYE, a collection of five short stories which can be read on the following link:

http://debrief.comma...showtopic=57444

I NEED TO ISSUE A SMALL SPOILER ALERT!




JAMES BOND'S CHRISTMAS

The ice cubes rattled against the edge of the thick tumbler. Swirls of water wrinkled the smooth amber glow of the whisky.

James Bond lifted the glass and tipped the contents down his throat in one swift gulp. A soft undercurrent of figs tickled his throat as the Oban single malt made its descent down his gullet. He raised a satisfied smile and winked at Alice, the coquettish barmaid he had been trying to entice into a kiss under the mistletoe. She was a blonde tease who revelled in the attention her short, tight skirts brought from the punters in Lotts. Today she was dressed as one of Santa’s reindeer: a red mini-dress with fluffy white cuffs and collars, black stockings and a pair of illuminated antlers on her head. She was enjoying herself. She had every right to on 24th December.

Christmas, thought Bond, what a dreary time of year. Stolen embraces under a kissing bough and a few drinks were fine, but the false merriment, the infernal party music and the polite gestures for kith and kin wore Bond down. Even Penelope remarked on his foul mood, bless her.

Bond had left the office early. Along with some other service staff, he’d shared a few bottles of claret at Gordon’s in Villiers Street. Bond and the hard core drinkers left the stragglers behind and walked the fifteen minutes to Cappuccetto’s. There, perched on the edge of Soho, Bond ate the lightest bowl of linguine alle vongole followed by the tenderest saltimbocca, with the veal cooked in the richest Sicilian Marsala. He didn’t remember what the others ate, but they all drank a splendid Salentina and sang Dean Martin tunes. He was exhausted with it all by ten and made his excuses, heading back to Chelsea and his favoured riverside haunt.

Glad not to keep up the jovial pretence, Bond snuck himself into the corner of the bar and caught Alice’s eye. He asked which reindeer she was. He would have preferred Cupid, but she chose Vixen. Thunder and bloody lightning, he thought, Donner und Blitzen.

Ninety minutes and five whiskies later, Bond had taken about as much of the party atmosphere as he could. The only thing that stopped him going to the Clermont was the memory of a hawkish good-time-girl who had latched onto his arm with indecent haste on his previous visit. He had spoken to the Casino Director, asking when they’d begun to allow prostitutes on the premises. Was no where held sacred at this time of year, he wondered.

“Definitely no chance of a kiss, then, Alice?”

“No chance, lover boy. Merry Christmas.”

Bond blew her a half hearted effort and she caught it on her lips and turned away with a swish of her tempting backside. Bond pulled on his overcoat and headed into the night.

It was quiet on Chelsea Embankment. Even the cars seemed to have stopped for Christmas. Bond paused for a moment to admire the strings of brilliant white that illuminated Albert Bridge, possibly, he thought, the most beautiful bridge over the Thames.

He expected there would be multicoloured lights and glittery decorations all over the big restaurant tomorrow lunchtime. Tariq Nijjar, Bond’s office stable mate 009, had pulled the early Christmas Day shift, but he’d offered to swing by at one o’clock and take Bond with him to Harlington.

“The Pheasant’s a huge barn of a restaurant, James,” he’d enthused, “They serve wedges of deep fried camembert before the biggest turkey dinner you’ve ever seen.”

Sensing Bond’s reluctance, Tariq sought to and succeeded in reassuring him.

“Don’t worry; my family will love to meet you. We’re hardly the most devout of Sikhs. Dad eats at the Pheasant all the time, so we won’t get kicked out. There’ll be coffee and brandy and cigars and, if you’re lucky, my cousin-sister might even give you a kiss.”

“Will she bring me good luck?”

Tariq laughed.

“She takes after me. She’s more likely to suck the tongue out of your head.”

“Does it have to be my tongue?”

Bond was already concocting images of a beautiful, slim Indian princess with long brown hair and hazelnut eyes. He turned up Beaufort Street and into the King’s Road. A small group of cheerful drunken boys and girls staggered towards him. Harmless, he considered, but Bond disliked obvious drunks and crossed the street.

When he made it back to his flat, he noticed the woman who lived in the basement studio was still awake. An ethereal meditative music floated up to him. She probably had her weird friends over for the season again. Thank god for Tariq, who provided him with an excellent excuse not to be dragged to one of her peculiar soirees, as had happened a few years before.

That was another reason Bond liked to get away at Christmas, if he wasn’t on the duty rota. He wanted to avoid the neighbours. He used to visit his aging aunt in Pett Bottom, but since she had passed away, he had taken to spending the festive season with a girlfriend, new or old. When those alternatives ran out he escaped to Scotland where he decamped to the Balmoral Hotel in Edinburgh and preyed harmlessly on the bored wives and daughters of rich Americans out to discover their ancestral roots. Sometimes it wasn’t that harmless. Bond smiled at a licentious memory.

Last year he had managed to get all the way to Australia, which was about as far from the neighbours as he could get. Bond chuckled to himself as he recalled Dougie Donovan’s big smile and the wild pub crawls and wilder women in Cairns. Perhaps there was an escape net, thought Bond. Dougie had been one of the most dedicated Double ‘0’ operatives, but given an opportunity to start anew, he’d seized it with both arms and all of his heart. Bond felt happy for the rough Irishman. It had been a great few days on the Barrier Reef, drinking and joking and diving into the clear turquoise sea that was as warm as a woman’s embrace. He could almost sniff the salty clean air now. M had interrupted it all with that messy job in Singapore. There had been a good two weeks recuperating on Sentosa, but it didn’t make up for a lost holiday.

There was a message on his answer phone. It was from Gabriella, the famous model, who Bond had met that summer. She wished him a happy Christmas and asked for him not to worry; everything was fine and she was spending a few days with friends in Shropshire. Bond was pleased for the girl. Bond had helped Gabriella during a difficult intrusion into her private life. Sensibly she still kept her counsel about the past. When the time was right for her, he mused, she might write about it.

Bond stripped and showered. Yes, some secrets were best left unsaid. He thought of Stafford Myerson and Anita Brookfield, two souls caught up in a world of espionage they didn’t really want to understand. Myerson had caused something of a newspaper scandal. Bond wondered how Anita’s family might feel if they learnt of her her unfulfilled love affair. Shocked and perhaps a little saddened, mulled Bond; sometimes it was best never to shatter people’s illusions. The reality could hurt.

Karlyn Foucart had been wounded by real life. Bond sighed as he remembered the effervescent, exciting girl who had bewitched him in Egypt. She had befallen a tragic fate. Bond’s drunken insides heaved at the memory of that terrible morning. The stench of violence and death that swarmed over the lakeside villa would haunt him forever.

Bond studied his tired fallow features in the basin mirror. Was this a ghost of time’s past or a glimpse of his future? His reflection told a long journey. A thousand miles starts with one step, he mused. This year, Bond felt he had travelled a greater distance and at far greater cost, to him and others. His life, the life of a secret agent, a Double ‘0’ with a license to kill, always looking over your shoulder, coiled for action, never blinking for fear, was no real existence. Bond lived in society, but never considered himself part of it. He was propped up on its skirts, scaling the fringes until the next step knocked him back into the depths of the human soul. It was the toughest route a man could take.

Bond turned off the bathroom light, crossed the floor to his bed and settled under the sheets, his hand resting reassuringly under the pillow, curled around the butt of his Walther P99. Only one step, he told himself as he drifted into a contented slumber.

While he slept, James Bond, agent 007, wondered what journey awaited him the next time he took the lift to the top floor of Millennium House and walked towards M’s oak panelled office door.

FINI

Edited by chrisno1, 26 May 2010 - 10:16 PM.

[Bryce (003)]

Feeling a bit nostalgic, I just re-read all the bits in this.

My God (aka: Ian Fleming), there's some fantastic stuff in here.

The holiday season is creeping closer. Hope there's more to come from those that have gone before and some new ones.

Based on my own tales, I trust everyone is ready for how Gala Brand earns her Double-O status in my universe.

One hint: Melbourne - Winter.

Again, fantastic stuff proving that Bond fans are hard core, talented and creative.

Keep the British end up lads and ladies.

[terminus]

Oh - are we doing this again? Might start writing this now so it's ready by Christmas.

[Bryce (003)]

Well, when duty calls Terminus, CBn FF writers and members answer.

and yes, I've already began writing.

"One does what one must." - Gala Brand

[terminus]

Will need to think of something fun, this year. Not writing something like last year - no sir.

[Harry Fawkes]

CHRISTMAS 2010

IAN FLEMING’S
JAMES BOND
WILL RETURN
IN

AN ACTION PACKED SHORT STORY THAT’LL HAVE YOU BY THE NECK

HARRY FAWKES’ BOND WILL RETURN WITH A BLAST
IN THE FANFIC SHORT STORY OF THE YEAR

CHARM THE DEVIL

BE HERE IF YOU DARE

Can't stay long. Just thought I'd shoot in and out. Miss you guys loads. See ya all here soon. Roger.

[terminus]

HarryFawles - if that's as good as your entry last year, I will be a very very very happy person.

[Joyce Carrington]

Hmmm...

[Harry Fawkes]

Well come on all you Fan Fic Bond writers out there. Get yer thinking caps on and lets make this a great Christmas with a couple of hot Bond stories to sit back and enjoy over a nice Brandy and soda, or whatever it is to your liking. Let's think different this time and try and come up with something that stands more than ever. Something we haven't tried yet. Bond's world is so vast that there are thousands of things we can come up with. Write as Fleming. Write as yourself. But write a damn good short story that'll blow us away.

So the challenge is on.

I challenge all you beautiful writers out there (you know who you are) to fill this particular thread with the best of what you've got inside that mind and heart of yours where Mr. James Bond's world is concerned.

Make this year bloody different. Write a Bond short that'll blow us away! I dare you!

Harry Fawkes

[Joyce Carrington]

Today, during an uneventful bicycle ride through Amsterdam, my brain told me what would be an interesting story to write this year.

I guess I'll try to oblige.

[Harry Fawkes]

Today, during an uneventful bicycle ride through Amsterdam, my brain told me what would be an interesting story to write this year.

I guess I'll try to oblige.

Joyce, the above is what I call fantastic news!

Your stories are a wonderful treat believe me, and to have a short story by you for Christmas indeed tops it all, and that's a fact.

I will unfortunately be on Security Duties on the night of Christmas Eve but you have just made my day because now I can look forward to reading a bloody good yarn by a bloody good writer such as yourself.

Harry Fawkes

[Joyce Carrington]

I'll try to view that as enthusiastic encouragement and not as pressure to deliver something awesome. Thanks, Harry.

I, too, hope to be reading a lot of stories from all of the writers around these parts. I don't like Christmas so much, but I love this thread.

[terminus]

Likewise Joyce, I enjoy your work too

And I've got my idea I'm going to try and run with - hopefully I can get it to work as well on the page as I can in my head.

[Bryce (003)]

003, 004 and 009 will be in Italy. A high stake casino Christmas charity event. Joyce will be squaring off against a Countess over a game of bridge.

But there will be a sinister trap awaiting them in their hotel suite.

Girls, guns, goons, mayhem and some scotch.

"NOT QUITE A HOLIDAY" is in the works.

[terminus]

And here's a taster -

AT CHRISTMAS 2010

A SHORT STORY WILL BRING YOU A NEW HERO

MEET ALEC NORTH

IN HIS FIRST ADVENTURE AS A DOUBLE-OH

"NEVER THE BRIDE"

[Joyce Carrington]

All sounds good! That's 3 stories already in the making.

Who else? Step right up and join the fun.

[Bryce (003)]

Indeed! Terminus, I trust you got my PM and I look forward to meeting Mr. North.

The Double-O's can always use another good agent.

Harry, as usual, I look forward to whatever mischief you are up to.

Joyce...Well, what more needs to be said?

I've got the bare bones outline done for my own. Aside from Joyce, John and Matt's story, there will be a sideline that reveals Gala Brand attaining her status. So Joyce, there'll be another girl in the section to clean guns with. Get ready to meet 005.