First published in February 2013 by GelderdFilm Ltd.
This adaptation is 100% unofficial and has been written for the James Bond fan community at www.commanderbond.net. The author doesn’t own any rights of names, characters, locations and other elements of this story.
This has been published as a work of fan fiction adapted from the official screenplay by Richard Maibaum and Michael G. Wilson for the motion picture “A View To A Kill” © Danjaq, LLC & United Artists Corporation 1985.
For further information please visit the official James Bond website at www.jamesbond.com.
This adaptation is the intellectual property of Chris Gelderd, whose personal details are listed on the CommanderBond.net website under the username “thecasinoroyale”
© GelderdFilm Ltd 2013
Neither the name ‘Zorin’ nor any other name or character
in this story is meant to portray a real company or actual person
A View to a Kill
Prologue: Snow Job
They were like brown ants swarming over the frozen wastelands of Northern Siberia. These soldiers were out, armed and in force, patrolling the white plains looking for any signs of international espionage from over-seas in a continent so cold it was almost over-looked. The sun bore down onto the shimmering white peaks and the lapping water, breaking through the wispy white clouds dotted in the sapphire blue sky. The soldiers crunched over the snow on their skis and auto-sleds, speaking to each other in their native tongue about the laborious day ahead and planning their routine operations. It was only two days ago that the border patrols had been put on full alert after reports that an intruder in the Siberian Technological & Environmental Research laboratory had evaded capture and stolen an important piece of equipment that higher powers were trying to keep a secret. The patrols were to spread over the Siberian plateau in an attempt to either capture or kill the intruder who had fled into the snow-capped province, believed to be a member of a foreign intelligence group. A standard service helicopter armed with a high-powered Gatling gun circled the area, reporting to the men below with what they could see. The blades whirred feverously, causing miniature snow-storms on the ground as the pilots carried out their search.
The Komityet Gosudarstvyennoi Biezopasnosti, otherwise known as the KGB, were preparing for another deadly game of chance with the Cold War heating up between Russia and Europe once again. The development of technology that would take them ahead in the race for supremacy was forefront of newly elected Soviet General Mikhail Gorbachev’s mandate, and something that the Siberian Processing Plant was leading the way in. New electronic weaponry and technology was now the one thing to take the Russian Communists one step closer to leading a revolution in the modern Capitalist world. The threat of war from both the USA and small European countries was a deterrent from anything major, but also a catalyst in encouraging the KGB to enforce the communist way and protect their county from outside threat. Today was a threat against their enforcement of that order.
Away from the main KGB activity, towards a group of small ravines formed into the snow, a figure dressed in nothing but white hopped gently down a slope on his custom silver skis. The furred hood hid his rosy face and his protective sunglasses hid his cool expression as he carried out his mission. James Bond held in his gloved hand a small tracker, provided in a field kit by Major Boothroyd, otherwise known as the Quartermaster of MI6. The tracker was able to trace the small electro-magnetic pulse of microchips, which was the sole purpose of why Agent 007 had been sent to Mother Russia. It was less than 1 month ago that 003 had been on assignment to infiltrate a Russian processing plant, suspected of harbouring microchips impervious to electromagnetic pulse. With the threat of nuclear war ever closer, it was an assignment known by few, but upon which rested global security. This invincible microchip would lead a world power to advantage and survival in a nuclear war. Since 003 never made it back, it was now down to 007 to complete the mission, given the title of Operation Blizzard. It had been a blow to Bond to lose a good friend in the field, and being out in the frozen wastelands of enemy territory didn’t make this a particularly enjoyable experience. The tracker picked up more signals and beeped more frequently, guiding Bond towards his goal. He manoeuvred the skis onto a clearing of snow which seemed unnaturally disturbed. It was the chill of the icy wind that got under Bond’s skin causing him to shiver slightly faced with the sight that literally lay before him in the snow. Falling to his knees and following the beeps of the tracker, his gloved hands dug around a solid mass under the frosty flakes until the outline of a frozen hood, a nose and sunken eye sockets became clear, belonging to 003. Bond was simply taken aback to find a much liked and admired colleague now lifeless and so alien, his skin a pale blue and red from the biting cold and his features all frozen and cracked. He carefully continued to dig away the snow until he found the item he was looking for.
Suddenly, Bond dropped down to the floor, covering the body with his own as the thunderous whirr of the Russian helicopter came from behind a mountain peak and flew overhead. The snow whipped up around the camouflaged agent as the machine flew past overhead without stopping. He peered up once it had passed and glimpsed the orange chopper circle back on itself and away from the ravine. Bonds’ heart stopped for a moment. A surprise surveillance operation from the KGB instantly put the urgency of finding the chip into higher stakes. Not sure if he had been spotted or not, Bond took no chance and patted down the lifeless body to find what he was looking for. Pulling open the crisp, frosted jacket covering his chest, Bond saw it, glinting in the sun like a beacon upon the dead agent. It was a small golden necklace in the shape of a heart. Bond took the piece of jewellery in his hand and snapped open the small heart case. Inside was a tiny picture of 003’s fair-haired wife and daughter, smiling at a previous memory now long forgotten. Hidden behind their picture was a small microchip no bigger than a thumbnail. It fell into Bond’s hand as he turned it out, and the satisfaction of tracing such an important and pivotal piece of technology never failed to fill him with triumph. But that triumph was short lived as the crunching footsteps of a lone KGB agent crested the ravine, spotting 007 storing the chip and trying to cover up the body once more.
The crack of the safety catch releasing on the Kalashnikov gave 007 enough time to grab his ski-poles and avoid the first spit of bullets, causing the ravine itself to collapse and send Bond down with the flow of snow 20 feet down to the slope below. Gun fire spat up the snow behind him as he gained his balance and propelled away from the firing Soviet. Not wanting to count his blessings too early was the wiser choice as the KGB helicopter roared from out of the ravines tailing Bond, reporting to the soldiers the location of the spy. It seemed he had been spotted after all by that first pass. Skiing down the plains to a large opening, showcasing the almost tranquil landscape before him, Bond had to take evasive action as a number of KGB soldiers on skis armed with Kalashnikovs took pursuit. Bond skied in the most effective way possible in his position, bobbing and weaving across plumes of snow as the bullets spat up dangerously close to him, dodging in-between huge ice stalagmites coming from the ground like small spears. The soldiers were keeping steady at the back only thrown off balance with their lack of ski poles, but with one fatal shot could end the chase in a second. A steep and icy incline was Bonds next destination, having to lean back to a near vertical position to balance him out as he flew down the slope to the new plain below. The hungry pursuers came over the lip at such a speed that the leader lost all balance and fell backwards, cracking his body on the hard surface and sliding in a mangled heap, shouting in frustration as his comrades continued the chase with their guns blazing.
One of the bullets ripped into Bonds left ski, clipping it with such force it came loose, nearly causing Bond to slide off course and into a ravine. Still maintaining as much momentum as possible with one able ski, he shook the defunct one off his foot and somehow could take the snow faster with just the one ski on. He jumped a small mound of snow and took a sharp right up onto a small plateau overlooking the waters below. Crouching down, Bond managed to watch the agents ski past unaware of his location. It was clear they had called out for backup as the auto-sled and a dozen more soldiers crested the hills and came to meet in the open. As their radios crackled with fevered Russian, the soldier’s drifted in different locations as the helicopter circled overhead keeping an eye in the sky. It was clear that Bond needed the auto-sled to gain good speed and get to his rendezvous alive. Wiping the flakes of snow from his brow under the hood, Bond unhooked his grapple hook and cable from his belt, stretching the cord out as far as it would go, doubting he would have time for any scaling ice-mountains in the next day or so. He let the grapple fall down a small crack in the icy floor, looking very deep before pulling it tight on the teeth. Taking the cord, and making sure the coast was clear, he skid down the plateau to a hidden cleft in the snow, waiting with the cord and clip for his prey. His breath was getting colder on every inhale. He could feel the biting cold eating away at his lungs, yet his body was fuelled by the thrill of the chase, which Bond lived for.
Moments later, the auto-sled came into view driving past at a steady pace. Once it was past Bond, he took up his ski and pushed down after the Russian, trailing the cord behind. Drowned out by the engine noise, Bond arrived directly behind the unsuspecting driver, carefully lined up the clip to the soldiers body harness and clipped it on in with force. The noise and movement alerted the soldier but it was too late for him to register anything. The grapple was pulled taught by the harness as it snapped its teeth deeper into the ice, pulling the soldier hard from the sled with a brutal force. The cord pulled him back over the ice, sliding over the face of the ravine, and left screaming in fear dangling and swaying over dangerously fatal drop to the frozen water below. Still in motion and thundering along, the auto-sled was a big machine, powered by a diesel engine and carrying a good weight behind the caterpillar tracks to traverse the environment with ease. Bond wasted no time in mounting the seat and shaking off his last ski. At last, a chance of making his way out of the area alive. If it wasn’t for the KGB helicopter on his trail, he would have been home and dry in moments. The chopper seemed to be waiting for him as it came flying from nowhere with the Gatling gun firing rounds at the sled. Bond tried to move the heavy machine across the snow to evade the heavy shelling from the Soviets, but it was to no avail. Seeing only one way out staying on the sled, Bond dived off into a small sink hole as the Gatling gun caught up and ripped the sled open, sending an explosion of thick black smoke and fire into the air and hurtling chunks of debris in all directions. His head covered from falling debris, Bond waited until all was quiet again, and only until he could hear the spitting fire from the sled. He slowly raised his head and checked for the helicopter, but it was nowhere to be seen or heard. Instead, only the thick plume of smoke rose to the blue sky, and already he could hear the excited voices and motion from the KGB heading to the smoke signal. There was no clear way out. Obviously fighting his way through was out of the question, and he had no transportation to hand. Looking around, he noticed the runner from the auto-sled was laying just feet from him. A perfect makeshift snowboard.
The runner was slightly charred and mangled on the upside but it was an invaluable piece of equipment in getting down a mountainside. He picked up the runner. Above the sink hole a number of agents gathered conversing once more and none of them were ready for Bond, launching from the side of the hole from the momentum of the runner upon the freshly iced snow and hitting two agents clear in the torso, flooring them instantly and keeping Bond on his feet. The runner picked up speed and Bond was clearly in control, twisting and turning down the snow as a handful of agents kept on his pursuit. Clearing a small mound of snow, Bond launched into a fast slide down another steep ice face. One agent fell under the sheer speed he couldn’t maintain on his skis, and another lost his balance. Taking the smooth snow down towards the water front where a maze of small icebergs and glaciers greeted him, there was only one way across to near safety, and that was across a small lake. With his speed gaining from the steep decline, Bond pushed out with his feet and hit the water, coasting across with no effort and reaching the other side without losing momentum. The KGB agents behind him panicked and followed but only made it halfway across before sinking under their own weight and clumsy balance from their skis. Across the lake, Bond hopped off the snowboard and kept running, seeking out the large ice mounds and stalagmites as any possible cover from the incoming whirr of the blades he could hear incoming. The helicopter was back across the water front, this time the co-pilot firing a handheld machine gun with dangerous aim. As the chopper swept over the water front to come back towards the pinned down agent, 007 had moments before it was upon him.
Discarding his sunglasses, he reached into his satchel and pulled out an emergency flare. There was no more of an emergency Bond was facing than this. Holding his head down, Bond waited for a clear shot. The chopper turned to its side for the gunman to fire again on its next pass, and that was all Bond needed. He span out from behind the ice pillar he was behind and pulled the flare fuse with only a split-second moment to take aim at the co-pilots window. With a small explosion, the pink flare whistled out from the container, circling like a crazy firework and impacted in the cockpit of the helicopter. The small cockpit was at once filled with thick pink smoke and sparks, overflowing out of the helicopter like a grotesque cloud of foam. Bond raised his hood and simply watched the show. The pilots were shouting in panic and fighting for control and banging on the window for a way out as the helicopter bucked and reared, spinning dangerously close to the ground below, even hitting the treads on a low snow peak. With no place left to go for a safe escape, the helicopter gained altitude, unbeknownst to the blind pilot it was heading straight towards a cliff face. The Soviet copter evaporated straight into the wall of rock and ice, exploding instantly in a great fireball, the broken skeleton falling to burn on the snow below. It was hell on earth upon a once peaceful ground. 007 pulled up his satchel and wiped his watery eyes, looking for a way out to evade the predictable reinforcements. He was searching the waters and various array of icebergs when one caught his eye. A small metallic whine could be heard followed by a loud bang. One of the smaller, pure white icebergs had raised a porthole cover with a bright Union Jack flag emblazed on it. So that was the one. Top marks to the Quartermaster for effective camouflage. Bond let out a sharp breath of relief and wasted no time in getting there. Hopping carefully over a couple of larger icebergs, he made his way towards the hatch and lowered himself down, the porthole cover whining as it whirred back down and locked in place.
It was like a luxury 5-star room at the Savoy inside the iceberg-boat, just deep enough for Bond to stand upright in. Dark cream coated the small walls; a nice claret red carpeted floor. A simple driving system of levers and buttons was erected on the front deck, flashing various colours. Soft spotlights lit the room, and 3 small monitors covered the front control deck feeding live video from external video cameras. Already a group of KGB agents had converged on the wreckage site, scanning around for some sign of the now invisible spy. A comfy leather sofa rested against the back wall with a small refrigerator and glass rack above. All for Bond’s satisfaction, complete with MI6 field agent Kimberley Jones, blond and beautiful, sitting at the driving seat. Bond removed his hood revealing a worn and weary face, but cut with a devilish smile matching with the steely ice-blue eyes. He collapsed on the sofa as she turned to him.
“I thought you’d never get back,” she grinned,
“There was a heck of a crowd on the piste,” Bond stated, indicating to the now KGB ridden monitors behind her.
“So I see,” Jones said, looking up at the soldiers. “Mission accomplished?”
Bond dug his hand into his satchel. “Best Beluga,” he said pulling out a silver tin. Jones smiled. “Vodka; rather shaken, and one microchip.” The bottle was safe in his left hand, the golden necklace dangled from his right. It was almost as if Bond had been planning this rendezvous for days.
“Good. I’ll make a signal to M,” she smiled, punching in a code on her control panel. Moving the lever away from her and shifting the gears, the boat rocked and started off through the water with a low growl of the motor. The motion was so smooth it was near un-noticeable. Bond pulled off his thick boots as the melting ice dampened the floor.
“Be a good girl would you and put her in automatic. And we could do with a couple of glasses.”
“They’re in the overhead rack,” Jones stood up and moved towards the sofa area. She reached up to pull them down, but Bond saw his chance and pushed the alternate gas lever by the sofa, sending the boat lurching forward and the girl falling onto the sofa with him by his side.
“Oh, Commander Bond!” she purred, not fighting the advance. Bond started to make his way to her zipper on her fleece, hiding her curvaceous breasts easily underneath a comfy white jumper.
“Call me James. It’s five days to Alaska,” He smiled, pulling the zipper down, letting out her dreamy sigh. The boat cleared the iceberg field and set course for an eventful cruise back to the shores of England.