60 Seconds to Death
ZCtheAuthor
Posts: 21MI6 Agent
First off I'd just like to introduce myself, I'm new to this site and You can all call me By my username or Chef for short. I have many ideas for Bond plots but all my stories seem to turn into short stories so I took a stab at this idea and actually put a lot of effort into it and I think I finally have something. Please read and tell me what you all think that would mean a lot!
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The King moves behind his Black Knight in the left hand corner, out of fear and out of sapient moves, he had nowhere else to turn but to his knight in armor. The Bishop slid across the checkered field, where many lives were lost, and set up his post, a perfect line of sight. The Knight thought it would be heroic to move and block the White Bishop and save his king and country. Sadly, to the Black Knight’s surprise, the Bishop had him in his grip as the Rook made its move on the Black King finishing him for good. Lives were lost and not even a single Pawn could cross no man’s land to save their wounded allies. The pieces were placed back under the chess board and two men stood up from the table. They shake hands in a polite gesture and sit back down, the man on the right signals to a man behind him. A scrawny looking lackey wanders over with a silver briefcase in hand. He places it on the table and walks back to a window. The men, and their soldiers, sit inside a large hut style home; it seems to be put together with simple trees and branches. In a back room sits an armory containing practically every weapon a small army would need: RPGs, AK-47s, .45 Colts, as a side arm choice, and other weapons. The large hut was surrounded by numerous smaller huts, like a small military base. There was a vehicle repair shop, medical building, supply depot, and even a small store for soldiers to spend their military pay.
The man who lost the chess match, the one who signaled the man over, was Alphonse Montréal, a French business man who owns many weapon and jewelry factories. He has light brown that stops just past his ears and he wears nothing but the finest French clothing. His accent is very well hidden as he sounds almost American, which isn’t surprising since he makes most of his profit in the West. Alphonse sells mostly diamond jewelry, which he receives from his many diamond mines in Africa, and he sells copper bullets for simple gun stores. He works for Quantum, a terrorist organization, whom sent him over, to east Uganda, to speak with a man known as Abimbola; one on one, about a deal Quantum would like to make with him. Jamie Abimbola is one of several leaders of the LRA, The Lord's Resistance Army, and a man who would like to control both Sudan and Uganda. Jamie is a masculine man and has a very powerful demeanor, his hair is short and he’s wearing a white suit. Though because of his work and location he’ll wear anything he can get a hold of, though he has a taste for many styles of European clothing. Jamie runs his own section in the LRA and wants to show his true power by moving his forces into the southern parts of Africa. Quantum has had an eye on Abimbola’s movements for several months now and sees a perfect opportunity arising.
A man, on Abimbola’s side of the room walks over to the table and turns the case to face him; slowly he opens the latches, and raises the top half. Inside the man found several thousand dollars, in American bills, and a document that looked like a simple contract.
‘So do we have a deal Mr. Abimbola?’ asks Alphonse sitting on the edge of his chair.
‘Hold on a second,’ Jamie replied as he crosses his arms and thinks to himself, ‘Why do you want my old cobalt and copper mine and not the petroleum factories?’
‘Oh, we’ll gladly take your petroleum too, but it’s not really what my organization wants. You see, we have uses for cobalt and with the copper I can make bullets, which of course you already know that I will. I could maybe use it to make some copper jewelry as well, but our interest is in the Cobalt like I said earlier. Do you want me to restate the deal?’ Alphonse questions as he relaxes back into his chair.
‘No, no I understand the deal you supply me with men and weaponry which will greatly help me to invade southern Africa, and all you want is a cobalt mine.’
‘You see you’re getting a better deal then we are.’ Jamie thinks to himself again and feeling that he has nothing to lose he brings the contract in front of him. Alphonse reaches into the breast pocket of his suit and pulls out a silver pen with a Q on the side, he hands it to Abimbola who politely takes it. He signs his name and passes the pen back over to Alphonse who then places the pen back into his breast pocket. One of Alphonse’s men folds the contract and places it into his military jacket, then closes the briefcase, and walks outside. Alphonse shakes Abimbola’s hand and reaches for another briefcase and places it on the table. ‘It appears that your last name doesn’t lie.’ he smiles and walks outside with the rest of his men. Once outside they are lead through the base by several of Abimbola’s men and taken to a hangar where a private jet sits. The Raytheon Hawker 800 business airplane is a simple jet and should accommodate Alphonse and all of his men, accept one it would seem. As they reach a small set of stairs that lead up to the side door of the plane Alphonse stops and turns to face one of his men. ‘I thought I could trust you Brice, but I guess I thought wrong.’ He motions for two of Abimbola’s men who run over and grab the scrawny looking man. ‘Take him to Abimbola and tell him that this man has just chosen to stay and pay back the half a million he stole.’ Alphonse then turns away and boards his Raytheon Hawker 800, meanwhile one of his soldiers, Brice, is dragged away screaming for forgiveness. Alphonse sits down in his comfortable white leather couch that matches well with the rest of the interior. A waitress places a fine á I’eau on a metal coaster sitting on a glass coffee table in front of Alphonse. He reaches for it and sips it slowly as the Jet starts to take off. Addler, one of Alphonse’s main bodyguards, approaches him and sits on the couch alongside him.
'I hope you don’t mind me asking sir, but what does Quantum want with an old cobalt mine?’ He questions as he relaxes back into the leather couch.
‘All in good time my friend, all in good time. But we must move on, to bigger and better things.’ Alphonse tells him as he continues to slowly sip his drink.
‘Like what sir, Beauté and its profits?’
‘No, no I don’t really care how well my jewelry stores do, or my bullet factories for that matter. Soon I won’t even need those, hobbies. I’m more curious about my assassin, has he had the proper training, is he ready to move on? Has he taken care of my minor inconvenience yet?’
‘Oh, not yet sir but his last report said he has it all under control.’
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The sun sits straight above the golden sand at noon when the beaches are packed with gulls and tourists. Waves crash into large cement pillars that separate the stiller water from the true blue ocean. Surfers hang ten and feel proud to surf where The Duke first surfed, and people get their pictures take next to a statue of Gandhi just across the street from the beach. A man sits and sips tea quietly and alone at the Maitai Bar which is attached to the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. He doesn’t know that he is in the scope of an assassin that has been watching him for days. The assassin knows everything about this man and the man knows nothing of him. A Mr. Max Braxton, a member of MI6 a Double O as a matter of fact, and Max has been the pain in Alphonse’s side for quite a while now. M sent Max to monitor Alphonse’s movements sense he is a suspected member of Quantum, though M doesn’t really know for sure. Every day, at noon, Max sips a simple green tea at the bar and goes over his daily reports; he then takes a stroll down to a restaurant known as La Dukes and eats a simple lunch. Sadly today isn’t going to be that simple for Mr. Braxton, or at least his assassin won’t make it that simple. Max stands up and leaves some money on the table; he pushes his chair in, and then heads down the street. As Max approaches La Dukes his instincts tell him that he’s being followed and they’re right, his assassin has grown lazy in his stalking and gives away his stealth and element of surprise.
Max plays along as he walks inside and tells the man at the front desk that he’ll be having his usual seat. The man bows, in acceptance, and leads Max to a small table fit for two people to dine at. Max notices a rather strange man at the buffet starring at him every once in a while. The man has a scar on his neck and it's only seen when he turns his head so that his short black hair isn’t in the way. The man is wearing odd clothes even, a Hawaiian flowered shirt, and khaki cargo shorts, obviously a tourists Max thought to himself as he stood up to head towards the buffet table himself. As he walks by the strange man he notices a holster in the man’s shirt and he now knows that this man was going to try and kill him. Instead of grabbing a plate to eat with he takes a china plate and heads into the kitchen and waits around the corner for his follower to come in. The assassin pulls out his gun slowly and pushes open the same swinging doors Max passes through. The minute Max sees the gun he smashes the plate into the wielders hand. The gun drops to the floor and Max kicks it across the tiles, the chefs ran from the kitchen as the fight starts and panic the guests who run like crows being chased from a field of corn. Max takes the man’s arm and pulls him into the kitchen where they could fight, not only one on one but, in private, as well. The assassin slid across the floor and slammed into the concrete wall. The assassin shakes his head to regain consciousness and stands up.
He grabs a cutting knife from the rack to his left and approaches Max. Max slowly walks backwards until he bumps into a counter. Once there, still facing the assassin, he reaches around for something to use in self defense. His hand lands upon a frying pan and as the assassin gets closer he smacks him with it. Again the man was on the floor disarmed and this time he decides to use his brute strength. He picks himself up and as the frying pan is swung at him again he grabs Max’s arm in mid-swing. He twists his wrist to disarm the frying pan and then head butts the Double O, making him collapse onto the floor. As a last resort Max kicks the man in the groin, tosses him aside, and decides to make a run for it. As he reaches a deep fryer he is stopped by the assassin who starts to choke him. They wrestle around and the assassin could feel himself losing his grip so he pushes Max’s head into the deep fryer. He holds onto the collar of Max’s dress shirt and drowns him in the burning grease. Max’s face is so severely scarred and burned that it would be practically impossible to identify him. The assassin places his hands on his knees and tries to catch his breath after the long fight that just took place. His gaze would switch from the floor to the dead burned body next to the deep fryer. He walks over to his .45 Colt and places it back into his gun holster. The sounds of sirens roar down the street then seem to have stop right outside of La Dukes. So the assassin rummages through the pockets of the dead man on the floor and swipes his wallet; he heads for the door and looks back at the body. The assassin takes off his shoes and socks, which were quite a hassle to remove in a rush, and switches them with the sandals that the Double O was wearing and sprints away down the street.
The assassin, later that day, arrives at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel at about ten o’ clock in the afternoon, around ten hours after killing Max Braxton, and wanders over to one of the many check-in desks spread about the lobby.
‘Can I help you sir?’ asks the clerk examining the man. He could tell there was something odd about him for sure, but he couldn’t directly point it out. Maybe the man has been wandering the island of Oahu looking for a place to stay, or maybe he got himself a couple of drinks at one of the many local bars. The situation soon dissipates from the clerks head as he realizes that this man was willing to either pay for a room or already was paying for his room, so his background no longer affected him. ‘Can I help you sir?’ The clerk asks again as the man seems to have lost his focus.
'Oh, yes it seems that my key won’t let me into my hotel room.’ The assassin replies as he remembers what he was doing. He pulls out his wallet and hands his key over to the clerk.
‘Might I get your name sir?’
‘Ah, yes the name’s Max Braxton.’ The assassin tells him as he puts his wallet into his back pocket. He pulls out the other wallet and held it while the clerk did some research on Max Braxton’s room.
‘Room number 342, correct?’ the clerk asks as he hands the card back to the man without removing his eyes from the screen.
‘Uh yes, thank you.’
‘Sorry for the inconvenience sir, and please enjoy your stay.’ The clerk said looking up to give the man a friendly smile. The assassin started to head towards an elevator but stops about half way, he turns back around, and walks back over to the clerk.
‘I’m sorry but I just remembered that I found this wallet not to long ago. This poor old chap gonna miss his plane too, his tickets in there.’ The assassin explains as he hands over the leather wallet.
‘Thank you sir, we’ll make sure the owner receives it.’ The assassin again heads for the elevator and takes it to the third floor. The clerk examines the wallet and tosses it into a box behind him, and starts to help the next customer in line. The elevator quickly packs with noisy tourists and businessmen alike, both groups were in Hawaii for the same reason, pleasure. The assassin soon felt like the only one on the island with purpose. The elevator stops at the third floor with people coming on, to meet up with those on the fifth. Those on the fourth move into the elevator just to take a long ride up and then down to reach the lobby, a man with his luggage moves into the elevator on the eighth floor just to find out later on that he has forgotten his key in his room. One of the businessmen stays on the elevator all the way to the tenth floor to go into his bridal suite to meet with his, young, beautiful, and lustful, secretary with whom he’s been tapping with on the side, without his nagging wife knowing. Yes all are here for pleasure, except, the killer and his prey, which sadly passed away earlier in the day.
He approaches room 342 and glances down both ends of the hallway to find that no one is even around; he quickly slides in then out the hotel key card and darts into the room. The door slowly shuts behind him and locks, with the hard part done the man flicks on the light switch to find a nice, clean, and organized hotel room. The closet held two suits, on clothes hangars in tailor bags, a suitcase, which contained a swim suit and some casual clothing and dress shirts. The bathroom contains a traveling kit with the typical hygiene merchandise that the man had most likely bought from a local ABC Store. The magazine rack next, to the toilet, contains a Hawaii Today magazine with Linda Lingle on the front; most likely an article on her new campaign is the headliner. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary to the assassin until he reaches an adjoining door. With a closer examination of the door he notices that it is slightly ajar and light is shining through.
Uncertain to what might be on the opposite side the assassin drew his gun from the holster and kicks open the door. No one, nothing, the only reason light was shining through was because the television was still on and the curtain was pulled aside leading to a balcony. Once again the assassin was left with nothing; the room was bare of anything out of the ordinary. He wanders back into room 342 and opens up the suitcase he found in the closet and tosses the clothing all over the hotel room floor. He places his .45 Colt on the bed and he starts to search for any hidden compartments, which MI6s geniuses at Q branch often built in as an extra precaution. After about two minutes of searching he finally found a small zipper in the far right corner. As he unzips the bottom of the suitcase opens revealing several files. The files have pictures of Alphonse and several of his bodyguards, each one containing several bits of vital information.
‘I guess the higher ups at MI6 don’t tell their field agents to burn after reading anymore. No matter I’ll help my charred friend out.’ The man walks over to the second room and out onto the balcony. There he holds the papers out in front of him and pulls out a lighter from his pocket. With a simple flick the papers are gone, engulfed in a flame that hungers to eat them, and MI6 is left with nothing. The man pulls out his cell phone and dials the number for the local police; the phone rings about three times until the chief of police finally answers.
‘How can I help you sir?’ The voice asks over the phone.
‘Yes, hello, I’d like to report a murder; it’s related to one that happened earlier today at La Dukes. A clerk at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel was seen carrying the man’s wallet.’ He explains to the chief of police
‘I’d hate to sound as if I don’t believe you or that I'm accusing you or anything but how do…’
‘I’m a friend of his from the damn CIA, I tracked his killer here, hurry before he finds me too, He has men with him here and I think they've spotted me. Dop your country a great favor man and come help me out, there isn't much time!’ he interrupts
‘We’ll be right there sir!’ The click sound of the man hanging up meant the assassin had to escape before the police arrived. He takes a long stare down below the balcony and lucky for him there is a pool below. The man takes several steps back, charges at the balcony, with a leap of faith he flies from the window, and dives into the pool. People woo and awe at the splash of the dive and clap, not knowing that he dived from the third floor and not the pathetic high dive. When he reaches the surface he hears the sirens of police cars pull into the round about and then suddenly turn off. The mission was a complete success, or at least he thought so. He pulls himself out of the pool and strips down to a swimsuit he was wearing underneath the entire time. He tosses the clothes into the garbage and jogs down the beach towards the airport.
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A taxi pulls up to the docks where several private yachts, a cruise ship for tourists exploring the islands of Hawaii, and small fishing boats have ported. The man leaves the taxi and pays the driver without actually checking out how much he hands over. The assassin heads down the docks until he is stopped by two men in black suits whom pull him aside.
‘Name?’ asks the bigger of the two men
‘Gianni Stoats, I was hired by a Mr. Montréal.’ he starts to explain, ‘I would like to report on my mission.’ As he explains a man has been watching from the top of a yacht. He is wearing a form of German casual clothing and decides to intervene.
‘You have no need to interrogate that man; he’s the Italian we hired!’ Addler shouts down from the yacht, ‘Let him pass!’ The men move aside allowing Gianni to pass in between them and board the yacht. He walks aboard the ship and he is lead below deck to the bar room. Two men have just start to play pool on one of the several billiard tables, others sit on bar stools sipping down their favorite alcoholic drinks, and sitting in front of a large high definition television was Alphonse. The news is on and to no ones surprise, in the room; the news was chatting on about large raids, by the LRA, on several small villages in southern Africa.
Addler points in Alphonse’s direction and Gianni walks over to a leather chair examining each one of Alphonse’s men.
‘I read the news today.’ Alphonse says as Gianni sits down. Gianni had jogged a couple miles so he wouldn’t gain suspicion from the police and after getting a couple cramps, from the running, decided to call a taxi from his cell phone. It was no longer the same day that Gianni had killed Max Braxton and the newspaper had already shipped out its “hot of the presses”. The main article was actually about a brutal killing that took place in a local restaurant, La Dukes. ‘I knew you were the one Gianni, I knew I had hired the perfect man.’
‘It was nothing really.’ Gianni replies modestly
‘Ahh, see that’s what I like about you Italians, so modest and you always get the job done, Quantum would like me to fill you in on some more details if you’re interested in staying with our organization.’
‘Oh I’m pretty sure I’d like to stay with…what was it again Quantum?’ The two laugh a bit and continue to watch the news. Addler says something over his wireless microphone to the captain of the boat and it starts to chug along the Pacific Ocean.
Bond sits alone at a round table with what seems to be a white linen cloth covering it. He had examined it before he sat down and noticed that there were no stains or crumbs on the used table. They must have had some great manners to have left nothing behind Bond thought as he places his drink on the table. His concoction on the table looks very elegant in it's martini glass which means he’s having his usual. It isn’t an officially labeled drink but it’s what he had called a Vesper, or at least thats what he's been calling it since his mission in Montenegro at Casino Royale. A Vodka Martini with three measures of Gordon's, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shaken very well until it's ice-cold, then a large thin slice of lemon peel is added. Bond never enjoyed drinking to much before a large meal, which he would be having very soon. Bond sits in a large ballroom, which is part of Hotel Regina, the hotel in Calvi, Corsica where Bond had recently had a mission. Bond is actually there to meet with the old leader of Unione Corse, or his father-in-law, Marc-Ange Draco. Bond doesn’t particularly favor to get into contact with Tracy’s relatives. To Bond, Draco always seemed a little strange and especially now because he is no longer the leader of the Corsican Mafia.
‘Ah, hello James, I’m so glad you could make it here.’ says a man in excitement as he places his hand on Bond’s right shoulder. The man was balding a bit and has a small rim of hair around the top of his head. He has a thin mustache that makes him look like an Italian man. He is wearing an all white tuxedo and hasd a grin on his face that makes him look more happy then a clown. The man sits in a chair next to Bond and stares into Bonds drink, examining it.
‘I decided that it has been way to long since we last met, Draco. I know I’ve been distant but you can only imagine why?’
‘James, I hope you’re not offended by what I’m about to tell you but your words are full of holes. I know it’s not because of your missions or because of the girls you often meet on them. It’s simply the fact that you cannot take the pain of losing a loved one, you loved Tracy and I'm sure you’ve loved other women. You have come here to discover whether or not any of them were really for you. James, please listen to me though, you know deep down that you truely love Tracy more then you give her credit for. You went out of your way to help her, and myself, and to marry her. Please don't put to much guilt on yourself. You now know that you can't take it James and you must prove to those you've loved and those that you've lost that you'll carry them with you always.’ Bond looks down in shame as Draco had hit him spot on in the heart. It hurt Bond deeply but it’s true that he never really had a deep intention of ever marrying Vesper, just to travel around with her for a while like he had done with all of the girls before her. He had a feeling that after all the traveling he would have done with Vesper, he would have grown a romantic relationship with her. Bond’s mind soon switched over to Tracy, his diseased wife and Draco’s daughter. He truly did love Tracy, so much that he married her, and too long after his dreams ended with Blofeld. Just saying his name made Bond burn inside, he was so happy that he had finally taken care of Blofeld, the leader, of SPECTRE. He thought he had all the time in the world and with the pull of the trigger his hopes and dreams had ended. ‘Come James, let us eat I’ve planned a beautiful meal with the most expensive ingredients I could find.'
Draco leads Bond into the second room where a large buffet table sits filled with French cuisine. There was Coq au vin sautéed in the finest of red wines Draco could buy. Bond even found his favorite of soups, Bouillabaisse, in a large bowl on the table and next to it was Boudin blanc with the most beautiful smell, that sausage could possibly have, spewing from it. Bond grabs a plate and starts putting some Spätzle in the corner of his plate and on top of the egg noodles some of the Coq au vin. Bond was a fan of lamb so he saw no fear in scooping a large heaping of Baeckeoffe onto his plate. At the end of the buffet table Bond discovered the deserts; they had all of his favorite’s Chocolate Mousse, Crème Brûlée, Mille-feuilles, and Choux à la Crème. Bond found a good piece of mille-feuille and places it in the center of his plate. All of the beautiful food he placed on his plate only complements his desert choice. Bond returns to his seat with Draco and his wife and set his plate, on the table, in front of his drink. Before sitting down he removes the dinner jacket from his tuxedo and rests it on the back of his chair.
‘I knew you would enjoy my choice in food James.’ Draco says with a chuckle at the end. Bond and Draco share small talk and tell each other about their recent happenings. Bond would every now and then look around to see what other guests were up too. Apparently this was a reunion, and they always hosted it on the day of Draco’s mother’s birthday. All the male guests were wearing tuxedos, and the females had on very elegant and stunning dresses. Bond was actually supposed to have returned to London after his mission but he saw no point, seeing as he had finished it early. Bond's mission in Corsica, on the more French side, was to find an art thief, which he originally thought would be a waste of time. Later on in the mission he learned that the thief was using the art stealing as a fraud plan to cover his real plan for destroying an embassy. James explains the whole mission to Draco who, at the end, gives Bond a simple congrats and a bravo, bravo my friend. Bond acts as if it was nothing though it really wasn’t compared to the thousands of missions he had been on. Again, Bond scans the room, he found that the guests were mostly from Draco's mothers side, which meant they were French. Bond found them quite boring and acted like the “typical French” stereotype, conceited and obnoxious. Their laughter was like nails on a chalk board to Bond and in order to hush the sound of the guests he would sip small amounts from his drink.
‘I also came here for another reason Draco.’ James finally tells him with a straight face. Draco looks over at his wife and then back to Bond.
‘Alone?’
‘If you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Alright, Mariah please give us a moment alone.’ Draco says as he watches his wife disappear into what seems to be the ballroom, or more like an ocean of small groups chatting on about their wonderful lives. If only they knew, Bond would often think to himself. ‘Is this question, Quantum related?’
‘I wouldn’t think you would know who they are.’
‘We’ve done business with them several times over the years.’
‘And you decided to never bloody call me and tell me about them!’ Bond exclaims as he darts up from his chair. It is as if he is never heard, the crowd never motions to the loud yell and no one says a thing or stares at him.
‘How am I supposed to know that you are looking for them James? I thought you had files on every member of the organization. Besides if you never contact me then how am I supposed to know?’
‘Sorry.’ Bond replies as he shamefully sits back into his seat. ‘Wait wouldn’t Matthis have told you about our interest in him.’
‘Matthis? Oh yes, I never knew you two had met, the last time I remember working with Matthis was when he was stationed in Casino Royale and after that I never heard from him again.’
‘Oh, yes that would be my fault, sorry about that. Did you also know that he had well, you know?’
‘Yes I did know that, I attended his funeral and it was magnificant.’ He said pronouncing magnificent with an Italian accent. Bond smiles knowing that Matthis would’ve loved his own funeral and Bond felt ashamed that he didn’t attend. ‘He was a great field agent I will truly miss him. Now back to business, James what can I tell you about Quantum?’
‘
Hold on, how did you know I was even interested in Quantum, before we started this whole conversation?’
‘James do you really believe that I have no other friends in MI6 except you?’
‘True, now do you know the names of any members that are part of Quantum?’
‘Yes I know a few, your man Hanes worked for Quantum and I knew that Dominic Greene did as well. Enjoying your, Baeckeoff James?’
‘You know I love lamb don’t you? Especially skewered lamb, it’s my favorite.’
‘Yes my friend, I do, now I’m afraid I must leave you now James, it’s time for me to dance, but I hope we can catch up again sometime.’ Draco tells him as he stands up and his wife comes gracefully walking over. ‘But first I must ask you, what is that you’re drinking?’
‘A Vesper my dear friend, a Vesper.’
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Bond’s 2008 Lotus Exige S 240 Coupe flew down the curved streets, the roads are like a snake side winding through the dessert. It's a peaceful day as the sun glistenes off the ocean water and onto the sides of James’s car. There isn’t another car on the road and Bond feels like he is traveling down the autobahn. As he drives memories of Tracy and Vesper would come and go in his mind and one sentence would repeat itself in his head. The bitch is dead, over and over; it seems to be his only escape from the death of those he loved. As Bond reaches the actual streets where cars were closer together like bees in a hive and people would wait at least for two red lights before they were finally able to turn or drive through the intersection. Bond glances at his dashboard and a red light appears, it is the sign that tells Bond that he needs to report to headquarters now. Since it was red and not green it meant that they knew where he was and they wanted him to report at the Corsican outpost. Bond takes several side streets and stops in front of what appears to be a small market where you could buy fish or fresh fruits and vegetables. Bond pulls into the alleyway behind the market and two doors close hiding his car from any unseen hazards. Bond gets out of his car, locks it, and goes inside through the back entrance. He was now inside the market and it smells of rotten fish with a mixture of Italian garnishes and herbs. Bond detests the smell of fish, though he doesn’t mind it in soup, and having just eaten he hurries to a small hand operated elevator.
He pulls a lever and a whining noise comes from behind him as he is slowly lowered down below the market. The elevator hits the tile floor of the head quarters below and Bond makes a nodding thank you gesture to the man who has to run the blasted machine himself. His heels click and echo down the tile halls of the headquarters and before James could even reach M’s room, she is already leaving. If Bond hadn’t have looked up when he did they would’ve ran right into each other.
‘Oh, I was just about to send Tanner out to call you 007.’ M says as she enters back into her office with Bond right behind her. She sits at her desk and waits for Bond to stop looking around the room. ‘Take a seat 007.’ She orders in a stern voice and James gets a feeling the whole conversation was going to be her talking in her usual tone.
‘Must you say the number; I have a name you know?’ Bond saskes as he sits down, hoping he’d lighten up the mood, ‘And why does your office always look the same, don’t you think you could…explore a little bit?’
‘If I wanted tips on interior design Bond I would have asked my hair stylist.’
‘You get your hair done to ma’am, I would have never known.’
‘Enough of your little quarks 007 it’s time to get down to business, since I let you have a little leisure time with your family I thought would be ready for your next assignment.’ Bond glances down at his feet and then re-situates himself in the chair to make himself look as if what M had just said didn’t affect him. ‘Sorry Bond. Now what do you know about a Gianni Stoats?’
‘Nothing yet ma'am, you haven't told me. But I’ve never heard the name, why is he important?’ Bond askes as he makes himself look more interested on what M is explaining to him.
‘Gianni Stoats is an Italian assassin who was hired to take out 002 last week.’
‘Max Braxton, I’ve done a couple missions with him, he’s tough, hard to believe anyone could kill him.’
‘Yes, well as you know I sent Max to Hawaii to monitor a Mr. Montréal, the man wwhom we believe is a member of Quantum. This assassin took out Max before Max was able to get anything valuable.’
‘If he was trying to hide the fact he was a member of Quantum he didn’t do a very good job. How did we figure out that Gianni was behind this?’
‘First we examined Max’s wallet and found fingerprints on it, and the other fault our assassin had was leaving his gun behind. Now what do you know about Africa Bond?’
‘Only the basic statistics you can find on wikipedia or in an almanac, like for instance Africa is the world's second-largest and second most-populous continent, after Asia of course.’
‘Thank you for the history lesson Bond but there must be something else we don’t know that Quantum is so interested in it.’
‘Well Quantum does seem to enjoy helping out terrorist organizations, perhaps they’re trading with the LRA.’
‘LRA?’
‘The Lord's Resistance Army ma’am, it is a rebel sectarian guerrilla army operating mainly in northern Uganda and parts of Sudan. Also, according to the American’s, it is considered a large terrorist group.’
‘What resources could Quantum want from Uganda and Sudan?’
‘Now that I’m not really sure about, Uganda has coffee, tea, bananas, copper, and cobalt, and Sudan has much of the same with the exception of petroleum.’
‘Well it seems that Quantum has no need for petroleum, so they’re basically getting nothing from this deal.’
‘Or so it would seem, if they're making a deal. Oh by the way did we find anything from the gun?’
‘Not yet, I’ve sent it over to Q branch so they could study it for anything of value.’ Bond stands up after that statement, M does as well.
‘Finding and stopping this organization is a top priority to us Bond, try not kill every lead we get like you did with the Dominic Green case will you?’ Bond smiles at her and in the usual tone he says what M dreads to hear.
‘I’ll do my best.’
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With that Bond leaves M’s office and heads towards Q branch to see if they have found anything from the bullet. Q branch had a shortage of staff over the past few years, but they finally got their new technology up and running with a new man behind the wheel. Bond walks through the sliding doors and scans through the piles of failed tests and working scientists. Bond finds a smart wall with data compiled on it and walks over. A bullet is sitting in the center. Bond reaches to examine it until he hears discrete yelling from behind him.
‘Don’t touch that!’ the voice yelles as the man gets closer. It is the new “Q” of Q branch professor Erich Doyle. ‘Don’t touch the bullet.’ The man repeates as he gets closer to Bond. He is a bit shorter then Bond and has lost some hair over the years. To Bond the man seems like an American, a man willing to try anything and do what must be done. ‘You must be Bond, the names Erich Doyle, but you can just call me Q.’
‘Alright then…Q? What have you found out from the bullet?’ Bond questions as he examines the bullet from afar.
‘Well by digitally scanning the bullet we found that it is made from a certain copper that, we recently discovered, only comes from Africa. Now, there’s only one man that we know of whom manufactures copper bullets in Africa.’
‘Our Mr. Alphonse Montréal?’ Bond asks with a small amount of sarcasm to say that Q had just stated the obvious.
‘Correct 007, now M told me you would be coming down here to examine the gun so she told me to give you your new orders. Apparently they tracked Gianni to Paris, France and that’s where they’re going to send you.’
‘That’s quite conveniant isn't it.’
‘Yes, well they made contact with his girlfriend and she’s willing to help us out.’
‘Sounds like a pretty serious relationship.’ Bond replies and Q responds with a light chuckle.
‘
You make a good point 007, anyways I’m also supposed to give you this; it’s our newest thing for Double O’s.’ Q says as he hands Bond a Rolex watch.
‘It’s just a watch isn’t it?’ Bond replies as he removes his old watch and places on the new. He tosses his old watch into a garbage can and examines his new watch.
‘That pin on the side, when you push it, the pin pops out, and can be used to pick electronic and your typical household locks.’
‘Well this should come in mighty useful.’ Bond gives Q a handshake and exits via the doors he came in and heads back toward the room where he was debriefed by M. As he passes he takes a quick glance into M’s office where he sees her talking with a younger woman about, well something. Bond really doesn’t care about anything M did or said. He returns back to the elevator and takes the rough ride up back into the smell of fish.
As Bond drives down the roads of Corsica he would try to imagine the woman he would be meeting, the girl who was betraying her murderous boyfriend. He has no photo of her yet but he knew he’d get his credentials through the mail at the hotel he’d be staying at. Whenever he stops at a red light he’d examine the beautiful scenery that could be found in Corsica. There were small cafés were French citizens would sip coffee and eat bagels. The French were far from the English in many ways; the first difference Bond notices is that fact that most French dined in cafés alone. The English would also never drink tea or coffee outside; tea was a private indoor time and they often would sip it down with caviar, chips, fries to those in America, and friends. He thought about what he'd do with the girl once they met. Maybe they’d eat at a small garden café and then move onto a stroll in one of the many parks or a trip to the Eiffel Tower. There were several different scenarios but he knew there was one he hoped she wouldn’t bring up, Bond did not want to go to the Opera.