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#1 Greene Planet

Greene Planet

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Posted 04 January 2009 - 10:12 PM

Discuss this story in this thread.



Ian Fleming's
007
In


EYES ONLY







Jack Richards was awakened by Military gunfire in the distance in Beaumont Sur at the Vingeanne hotel. Jack sat up, and shoved off his blackest, revealing an athlete’s body. He slowly stood up and dug into his silk blue robe, and found a gunmetal cigarette lighter. Richards leaned against the wall and lit a Chesterfield.

James Ryan, head of his section at MI6, London, had sent him on a sabbatical for three months in Beaumont, Zurich. He had much enjoyed his time there how ever he only had about two weeks left until he would have been called back in. Richards’s section was Special Operations; so far, most of the file folders had been labeled ‘eyes only’ and when he usually came into Ryan’s office he preferred being called “ Richards” or “ Lieutenant Richards” instead of “ Jack” it made him feel uncomfortable. On the other hand, he did earn an average of 50,000 pounds.

He finished his cigarette and dropped it into an ashtray. He picked up the telephone and said: ‘Hello, I’d like to order some Bourbon’, he said.

‘Merci Monsieur Richards.’

He set the telephone on the hook and lit another cigarette. He stared at the ceiling, with boredom. The nervous waiter came in with a cart, with the chilled Bourbon, and a single tall champagne goblet. Jack didn’t like drinking just small amounts of liquids. He blew smoke out of his mouth as he gave the waiter a handsome tip to make him more comfortable.

‘Tu ferais quelque chose pour moi,’ Richards asked.

‘Wi, Monsieur Richards.’

‘Do you speak English?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you find out what that noise was earlier?’

‘Merci.’

The waiter left the room, and Jack went over to the telephone again and dialed to number for MI6, and spoke to his assistant, Miss Lisa Scarlett, telling her what tell Ryan in his report.

The next morning, Jack bought a first class train ticket to London. As the ticket collector gestured toward an empty, and comfortable looking room, Jack climbed up the steps onto the train. He walked into the room and started checking for bugs, it was clean and he sat down.

A man with a single gloved hand walked into the room, and shut the door behind him, he held up a .25 Beretta with a silencer on the tip of the gun. “ Hello Mr. Richards, I’ve been waiting for this moment in history, can you just see the headlines of ‘ The Times’,

‘MI6 agent kills self on train”. He chuckled, ‘just kidding, it’s me, Mustoe, Ryan sent me on account of your report.’

‘Aren’t you a CIA man’, Jack questioned.

‘Yes, but Ryan said that you needed a man and I simply volunteered, and we’re old friends.’

“But of course.”

‘So were going back to Zurich?’

‘Yes.’

Mustoe holstered the weapon as he sat down in the couch opposite him. He held toward Jack a deck of cards, “ poker?”

‘Sure, I bet you’re quite the card shark, of poker anyways. Let’s see, Hold’em poker? Or Blackjack.’

‘Hold’em poker,’ he nodded in agreement.

Mustoe was the dealer; the buy-in was twenty American dollars. They threw the chips labeled: 25.

Jack had a Queen and King of spades. He placed his bet at 50, Mustoe called his bet. He placed down three cards: A ten, Ace of spades, and an eight of hearts. Jack sat back in the couch and lit another Chesterfield; he offered Mustoe a cigarette, but he refused.

So far they both had bet 500, Mustoe placed down a single six of diamonds, Jack swore under his breath.

‘Bet.’

‘Five-Hundred dollars.’

‘Call.’

The dealer placed down a single last card: a Jack of spades. His heart thumped in surprise. However, he kept a straight face.

Jack and Colton set down their cards, ‘well it seems that I owe you a Thousand dollars.” He laughed.

‘Not necessary, let’s just say it was for fun.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Not a problem.’

They now passed Le Havre in France, it had been four hours since the train started, it would be about three hours now until they would get to Zurich.

‘Alright, I’ve going to sleep, my friend.’

‘OK, I’ll be a bit, I’m going to read my self to sleep.’

The CIA man pulled a bed out of the wall, and climbed onto it, ‘Goodnight, Mr. Richards.’

Jack said the same in return, and began to continue reading the adventures of Sherlock Holms.

Three hours later, Jack and Mustoe climbed off the train and walked up the stairs to see a sign that read ‘ZURICH’.

It was one of those days in the summer, were you’d never want it to end.

Jack Richards and the CIA man glanced at the giant sign as they walked up the steps, ‘Ah, a night in Zurich.’ Jack smiled, just as a classic Rolls-Royce drove up at the curve, the right back window was rolled down to reveal a man saying ‘Mr. Richards,’ Just as Jack and Mustoe walked over. ‘Compliments of Dr Jacques O’Brien. He would be honored if you’d play against him on the Tennis court.’

‘All right,’ Jack looked back up at Mustoe. He nodded and they climbed into the Rolls and sped of to the Tennisclub Bachtobel.

Jack and the mysterious man climbed out and walked over to the changing room, ‘my name is Jonathan Caperson.’

‘Nice to meet you Mr. Caperson.’

Caperson looked in his mid-thirties; he had a loc of hair shaped like a comma on his fore head. He was wearing similar clothes of

Frank Sinatra; his eyes were dark blue along with his hair being jet black. He had a Marlboro cigarette in his oddly shaped mouth. He offered Hinton one and he accepted with great regret, he had hated American tobacco. He preferred his Chesterfields.

After Jack changed into Tennis shorts, and found a descent looking racquet, he walked out onto the court and found Caperson standing beside a man who was almost seven feet tall, bald headed, and a strangely shiny, and robotic like left hand. He had a thin black goatee. He lifted his right hand form his side and offered to shake hands, Jack did the same, ‘hello Mr. Richards, my name is Dr Jacques O’Brien. So are we ready to play,’ he said with a hint of French and German accent.

‘Yes, what’s the wager?’

‘Let’s say a thousand pounds a match. Sound fair.’

‘Yes.’

A ball boy handed Richards six tennis balls, he lifted his racquet and hit the ball just an inch over the net and bounced once in-bounds. O’Brien hit it back and bounced too fast for Jack to hit the ball. Richards served again and O’Brien swung too fast, missing the ball and giving Jack fifteen points.

They continued playing for an hour came down to the last Deuce of the game, Jacques served fast but Jack was quicker a hit the ball in the opposite direction of O’Brien. He ran his hand over his baldhead and said, ‘Dammit. Well Mr. Richards it seems that you’ve beaten me.”

Dr Jacques O’Brien paid him six thousand pounds and they shook hand, ‘Bad luck.’ Jack said sarcastically.

The changing room was completely empty, it was a minute to one o’clock.

A man dressed in black suit with an Omega watch, he reached into his left jack pocket and began to pull out a silver, silenced Walther PPK and just when the man was about to aim at Richards, the Kung-Fu expert lashed out his hand and snapped his neck.

‘Welcome to the Tennisclub Bachtobel.’ He said and he left the room.

The CIA man, agent Mustoe waited for Jack out in front of the club in his new Wald international Mercedes Benz, Mustoe looked Jack way as he climbed into the car, ‘sorry I couldn’t be there, and your friend Dr Jacques would have recognized me from a previous mission.’

‘No problem, oh by the way a man in a black suit tried to kill me in the changing room just a minute ago, I think a made a new friend,’ Jack laughed.

Agent Mustoe drove onto an empty road and the two could have swore they were driving on a road made of skulls, Jack sat back and lit a victory cigarette, but Mustoe flicked in it of his hand and out onto the road beside him. ‘Non smoking car.’

‘My bad.’

Back at the club, O’Brien sat in his office with a particularly mad face. Caperson came in and his eyes widened. My boss is pouting over a tennis game, he thought. “ Caperson! Follow Mr. Richards, and make sure he and his American friend run into some harm.

‘Yes, sir.’

At a minute ‘till two, Agent Mustoe heard something behind the car and he looked into the rear view mirror and said, ‘Jack, looks like you’ve made a couple of other friends.’

Jack looked into the side mirror and saw a black Sudan in bad shape and at its side, two BMW motorcycles. The riders each had a Thompson submachine gun, and began to fire warning shots. Jack pulled out the Walther PPK he had been nearly killed with and fired back at the Sudan and hit the left head light. The left motorcyclist sped up to Jack window and just he was about to point the rapid-fire machine gun at him, Jack swung out his fist and sucker punched the motorcyclist off the bike and fly into the windshield of the black Sudan. The other motorcyclist rode up behind the Mercedes and forced himself off the bike onto the trunk of the car. He began to climb up the rear of the car and fired several shots through the roof, Jack quickly retaliated and the motorcyclist slid off the car and Agent Mustoe immediately slammed the brakes. Mustoe slowly opened the door and fell onto the gravel. Jack quickly opened his door and ran over to Mustoe’s side. With sarcasm Mustoe said, ‘Dammit! My new car.’

‘I think that’d be the worst of our problems. Oh my god, your chest is bleeding badly! I’ll call the hospital.’

‘No. No. No, Leave me, I wish to die, for my family has suffered greatly from my mistakes. Save your self, it has been a great experience workin’ with you.’

Mustoe’s pulse now began to fade, along with his face turning pale. His pulse disappeared, and Jack slowly lifted his right arm to close the now dead CIA man’s eyes. A single tear rolled down Jack’s cheek. Jack Richards slowly stood up and walked down the street towards a pay phone. He dialed the number for MI6, listened to ringing for a few seconds. Finally the voice of his secretary, Miss Scarlett answered. ‘Jack…’

‘Yes, get Ryan on the phone…’

‘Yes Jack, what happened?’

‘ The Americans’ dead…’

‘What happened?’

‘Apparently I made some friends at a tennis club. Its called ‘Tennisclub Bachtobel’ and it lead to being shot at. He was shot in the chest. I think was bleeding internally, making him die faster. The man who sent them goes by the name of Jacques O’Brien. Can you look him up…Thanks bye.’

Jack set the phone on the receiver and continued to walk down the road toward the Airport.

London, England

Ryan, head of Richards’ section, reflected on him how he’d made almost all of his previous assignments a complete success. He held in his hand Mustoe’s death certificate that he would soon send Richards’ report and Mustoe’s dossier and his death certificate to Langley. He lit a Turkish cigarette, and threw the papers onto his desk. He lent forward and pressed a button on the intercom that read: LS. Which stood for Lisa Scarlett, Richards’ and Ryan’s secretary.

The intercom came on in Miss Scarlett’s small office filled with paper work and file cabinets. ‘Miss Scarlett? Send Jack a car. I believe he will be arriving in about’, Ryan looked at his watch, ‘ err… twenty minutes. And see if any Limousines are available, I will be going along.’ Miss Scarlett nodded and said: ‘yes sir.’

Richards climbed off the plane and stepped into the airport in London. A Royal Marine officer came up to him and said: ‘Mr. Richards a limousine has been sent for you, compliments of Ryan.’

‘Alright.’

‘Follow me sir.’

The Marine officer led Jack down a corridor full of tourist and airport security. They walked outside and a limousine appeared. The officer opened the back door and Ryan appeared sitting on the leather interior. ‘Get in Jack.’

Richards climbed in and the Marine closed the door behind him. Ryan handed Jack a folder that entitled: TOO MANY KILLS.

Jack looked down at the folder and then looked back at Ryan, ‘too many kills?’ He said with a puzzled look on his face. ‘Yes Lieutenant. It is the operation being run by that friend of yours, O’Brien. The organization is known as “Scorpio”. It is a strange name but it is the month in which O’Brien was born. The headquarters is based in South America. Just along the Amazon River.’

The rest of the ride was silent, just until they arrived at their destination: Regent’s Park. ‘Into my office.’

They walked in and took the lift up to floor twelve. They looked at each other for a moment. Then the two stepped into Ryan’s office, ‘ sit down Agent 12.’ He said, and it had an immediate affect. ‘What? Really, well thank-you sir.’ He said as he sat down and lit another Chesterfield, which had been his first cigarette of the afternoon.

‘Agent 23 I’m sorry but you’ll be going on another plane, but overseas. Flight overseas I should say.’ He said lighting another Turkish cigarette. ‘Take the lift down to the basement, you’ll find the gadget master there.’

Richards nodded and walked out the door and onto the lift. He pressed the button that read: BASEMENT. After a few moments, he stepped out and found at least fifty men in lab coats, in what looked to be a miniature warehouse. An older looking man walked over and held up a plastic covered card and said: ‘Welcome agent 12 follow me please,’ he said and led Jack over to a Silver 1967 Aston Martin DB6 Vantage. ‘It has the standard thing; missiles, machine gun, self destruct, and last but not least ejector seats.’

‘I’ll bet when one is driving this they’ll feel like James Bond,’ he laughed. However the man kept a straight face. ‘Please refer to me as “G” or “Gadget Master”.

‘Yes sir.’

G walked over to a wooden table and a fountain pen, belt, and an Omega watch was laid on top of it. ‘Now pay attention Agent 12, this is a Fountain pen, he you open the open it you’ll find a twenty meter zip wire,’ he pick up the Belt with the other hand, ‘ now attach the clip on the pen onto the belt buckle. Press the centre of the buckle and the motor in the buckle will pull you up prissily twenty meters. Now that Omega watch is a communication device. Touch the centre of the screen and you’ll be in contact with Ryan.’

‘Quite impressive G. I won’t let you down,’ Richards said as he climbed into the Aston Martin and drove threw a garage and out into Regent’s Park.

‘That’s what they all say.’ G said as he closed the garage door.

Jack Richards listened to the roar of the V8 engine. He sped up to sixty and he quickly looked at the mph monitor. He suddenly heard a intercom sound, ‘ Jack…’ it was Miss Scarlett, ‘Good luck.’

The flight attendant recognized Jack as he flashed his first-class ticket. He set his bags on the seat next to him and took out a copy of his favorite newspaper The Times. It even had an article on The Rolling Stones had gotten using marihuana. He shrugged his shoulders and asked the flight attendant for a glass of Dom Perignon ’53. He drank it down slowly and he set the glass in front of him on the small tabletop. He remembered that when he was a child he’d read a book called From Russia, With Love and he thought of the chapter named ‘BEA Takes You There…’

The next day…

Jack Richards woke up in Brazil in the hotel Rio de Janeiro. He sat up, walked over to his bathroom and took an ice-cold shower. He’d felt the ice sickles dropping down on his skin in the very dry heated weather. Suddenly, he heard machine gun fire, probably an AK-47. The man screamed something in Russian at the hotel manager. He heard violent footsteps running almost goose-stepping sounds. The troupe of men broke down his door and looked at him and held up a picture and then looked back at him, ‘get up Mr. Richards!’ The apparent leader said. Richards did as he was told and they handcuffed him. He was dragged down the wooden stairs and threw him into the trunk of a camo-colored Jeep. The soldiers piled in and they drove off, into the jungles of South America.

New York City, NY

EMILE DECKAR was a carefull business man.

He sat in the backseat of his limousine and sat next to bodyguard. His name was John Levii, an ex-FBI agent, armed with a Walther PPS. And he knew how to use it.

Deckar personally knew Levii, he often had dinner with his family. Levii’s wife had supported Deckar’s point of view on the Health care situation. He had started a multi-million dollar companey, code-named “Ice Phoenix”, the title came from his hotels in East Germany and Morrow, England.

Ice Phoenix was a health care company, one of the only companys to make a montly payment of ten dollars, in all of New York.

The driver pulled up into the parking lot for personal only. They parked the spot that read:

CEO: COMMANDER DECKAR (RET.)

Deckar climbed out of the car and fumbled in his pocket to tip the driver. He handed him a fifty dollar bill and continued.

The two walked across the street, suddenly, Deckar felt a jolt to his chest, as if he had been punched extremly hard in his chest. The pain quickly became extruciating. The business man dropped to the ground. Levii turned his position to face a dying man on the pavement. His eyes opened wide, he also fell to the ground. Blood was flooding the pavement. A middle aged woman walked by and stopped in her tracks, she screamed. It was a high pitched sound, almost like a dog whistle.

Four days later, a man that looked like a former marine bought a train ticket to Vermont, but before he boarded, a went to a T-Shirt shop. And bought a new-york yankie shirt. That had always been a hobby of his. The man paid in pounds-stirling. He filled out a shipping slip, however, to seen like a bad-:(, he didn’t leave a name…

Brazil

Jack acted quickly and leaped off the Jeep, he kept the gun and fired six times before the vehicle went off course and flew into the Amazon. The secret agent smiled and began to walk back to his hotel, he needed to get out of the country, and fast. He needed assistants. Too bad the CIA bastard had died, however, there was another American agent, Eric Van Damm. Jack paused for a moment, what the hell was that?

A warehouse came into view, there were at least six guard towers, each of them had four or five Snipers, armed with L96 Sniper Rifles. There was no way that he could get though with a few bullets of an ASP and his fists. He needed air support, perhaps SAS.


#2 Greene Planet

Greene Planet

    Sub-Lieutenant

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Posted 04 January 2009 - 11:41 PM

Here's the cover shot, featuring the SIN CITY poster: