Consciousness came back to Bond in waves, interspersed with nausea. He only just resisted vomiting as he became aware of the pain in his head but was unable to resist groaning and moving his head from side to side.
“Ah, you are with us. Wake up, Mr Bond. I have been expecting you”.
That voice. Familiar and yet unfamiliar. He opened his eyes and saw Gala tied to a chair like him, still unconscious, and a figure seated in front of them behind a bright light. The face was hidden behind surgical bandages, with dark glasses covering the eyes. He blinked at the light and stared back at the face.
That voice spoke again. “Naturally you will not recognise me. I have had the temerity to cause my features to be altered since last we met for shall we say obvious reasons. I am aware that various organisations such as yours have been wasting their time in going around the world attempting to find me. Operation “Bedlam” your Service calls this, I have been told”.
Bond stared. The man had a white cat on his knee, which purred contentedly as he stroked it. It couldn’t be …?
“I see you understand. Yes, Mr Bond, I am who you think I am”.
“You can’t be. You don’t sound a thing like him”.
“Of course not. Someone’s voice patterns and resonance can be stored in a small oral signature tape, and a miniature transistorized version is installed in my neck. Naturally, this is a temporary voice pattern I am currently using – it is not yet time for my final voice to be heard”.
“And you will look completely different when those bandages come off”, said Bond.
“Obviously”, said the man. “I will not look anything like I did when we met in Japan just last year. Not that this will matter to you, for you will never have the opportunity to meet me again, though that might happen to another fellow”.
His eyes acclimatised to the light, Bond could see that they were in a room somewhere at Aérospatiale. The blinds were drawn. Gala began to groan as she came back to consciousness. Bond could see Dr Dreyfuss standing against a wall to her right, an apparatus like a modified rifle on a table beside him.
“But now our conversation must draw to an end. You are aware, of course, that tomorrow’s flight of Concorde will be well publicised, with dignitaries and press on board. Dr Dreyfuss has set up this laser rifle and put it on a timer, carefully aimed to beam directly into the cockpit of the Concorde just as it prepares to leave the ground and take off. That will allow him to be safely alibied in his laboratory with his staff at the time of the crash. The same timer will subsequently set off a few bars of TNT, enough to destroy this room and both of its occupants. There will be enough remains to identify the pair of you – watches and other jewellery, for example – which will, I am afraid, cause your organisations great embarrassment”.
Bond said, “Is that what all of this is for? To cause embarrassment?”
“Of course not, Mr Bond. The end of the Concorde program in such catastrophic conditions with such unfavourable publicity will cause a drastic fall in the value of both the franc and the pound. Careful management of certain money arrangements will cause a sharp increase in their value at the currency’s expense. And there are several important people who would be very interested to see the plans and blueprints which we have obtained, interested enough to pay a high finder’s fee. But I have said enough. Now, Dreyfuss, is the timer ready?”
“All ready, Number One”.
“Then activate it. Goodbye Mr Bond”.
To Be Continued
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 31,059Chief of Staff
Left in the darkness, Bond’s hands struggled behind him. Just a little more …
“What are you doing, James?” said Gala. “We can’t untie those knots”.
“Who said anything about untying them?” Bond replied as a finger from one hand met the watch on the other and pressed a hidden switch. There was a buzzing sound as the bezel began to rotate, slicing through the ropes. In a few seconds, Bond was untying Gala’s knots.
“Where did you get that from?” Gala wondered as she got to her feet.
“A friend of mine called Major Boothroyd. He doesn’t talk much about that one, likes me to keep it up my sleeve”.
Edward Dreyfuss marched briskly along the corridor to his room. To look at him, no-one would have thought that he had not slept at all the night before. He was not a man who believed in showing his weaknesses to the world. He arrived at his laboratory and opened the door.
James Bond stood in the centre of the room, Gala Vivian to his side. Behind them were four uniformed gendarmes. No sign of his team. Startled, Dreyfuss heard the door slam behind him and he turned to see two more gendarmes blocking his path to it.
“Surprised, doctor?” said Bond. As Dreyfuss struggled for words he noticed that the woman was holding his laser rifle, freed from the mount he had so carefully arranged it on. “Your fingerprints are all over this”, said Bond, “something which you will find very hard to explain considering your speciality is fuel”.
“And we have the explosives you set up to kill us and destroy the evidence”, said Gala,” and your fingerprints are on them, too. So let’s begin your charge sheet with attempted murder – but on a grand scale”.
Dreyfuss managed to splutter out, “You can’t do this. You’re framing me!”
“You can tell that to the judge”, said Gala. “Of course you can have your sentence tempered a little if you co-operate with us”.
Dreyfuss leapt at the bait. “What do you want to know?”
“You could begin with telling us about the man you were with last night. Where is he now, for example?” said Bond harshly.
“I don’t know- no, really, I don’t know. The last I saw of him he was being taken away in a car driven by an ugly woman. That’s all I know”.
A sergeant murmured a few words in Bond’s ear. Bond checked his watch.
“Yes, of course, you can take him away. But just one moment, s’il vous plait …”
Bond walked over to the window and pulled the blind. The noise of hard-working engines which had been building up came to a roar, and they all looked out as the great white bird took to the sky.
“All right”, said Bond. “Call me if you change your mind”.
James Bond threw the unwanted food into the sea then began to work his way back down the mast. The yacht continued to head through the South China Sea, glorious sunshine beating down. They hadn’t spotted another ship yet, but this was one of the world’s busiest sea lanes and it was only a matter of time.
Bond reached the deck and felt a spot of moisture on his shoulder. Shouldn’t be rain here, he thought, then he realised. Nick Nack up above was urinating on him. He could hear his mad chuckle as Bond dived inside to Mary Goodnight in the galley, arranging some food for the two of them. She looked at him, startled by the way he came through the hatch.
“James!”
He pulled off his shirt, and the smell of urine hit her nostrils.
“Ugh! Did that little bastard … did he …?”
“He most certainly did. I’ll be with you in a moment, Goodnight, I need to wash and change now”.
They had been at sea three days, heading for Hong Kong, and had come hurriedly on board what had been Scaramanga’s yacht with only the clothes they stood up in – which in Mary’s case, was practically nothing. Fortunately, Andrea’s clothes fit her tolerably well and she was wearing a tight white blouse and matching shorts which complemented her neat figure most admirably.
Bond couldn’t say the same. Francisco Scaramanga had been exceptionally tall and all of his trousers needed turning up at the bottom to fit Bond’s legs. The rest of his clothes were wearable if a fraction tight, and Bond pulled on a clean shirt after a quick wash then went back to the galley to find Mary searching through the cupboards.
“I can’t find any garlic anywhere”, she said.
“Don’t bother doing anything fancy for me”, said Bond, “perhaps a steak?”
“None of them either.”
“I suppose Scaramanga didn't care for garlic, or steaks”, Bond shook his head, “well, perhaps some scrambled eggs then”.
They sat eating in glum silence.
“How long till we get there?” she asked.
“Still another day. You know that, you asked me when we woke up this morning, remember?”
She gave a teasing smile. “That’s not the part I remember about waking up this morning, James”.
“Would you like to go over that again…?” he smiled.
In answer she rose, took his hand, and headed for the bed.
M had been his customary irascible self when Bond had called him, still faintly annoyed at Bond’s hanging up on him earlier.
“So where are you now, 007?” he demanded.
“Heading back for Hong Kong, sir”, said Bond, “and I'd say we should be with you in just a few days, weather permitting”.
“Good. Then we can discuss this fouled-up operation and –“
“I did manage to retrieve the Solex, sir” Bond said quickly.
“What? You’ve got the Solex?”
Major Boothroyd’s voice came faintly in the background.
“Solex Agitator, sir, it’s the –“
“Yes, sir, I’ve got it. Miss Goodnight and myself will be back with you to hand it over as soon as possible” said Bond, knowing he had played his ace.
Thankfully M sounded mollified. “Well done, 007. We’ll see you soon”, he said before hanging up.
The harbour at Hong Kong is notoriously crowded, perhaps more so than any other on Earth. Bond carefully took the yacht through hundreds of small boats, heading for the co-ordinates he had been given, and finally reached an open berth guarded by local police boats. His colleague Hip stood waiting, with more police beside him, and he took Mary’s hand to guide her up beside him.
“I am very glad to see you both”, Hip said, “but we can talk later. In the meantime I have instructions. I am to make sure that you have … it. Do you?”
Bond patted a bulging pocket. “Yes, it’s here. I take it we’re to go to M right away?”
“Of course. But first, these fine officers are here to relieve you of a small passenger you have had with you”.
“Certainly”, said Bond, “he’s up …..”
His voice trailed off. The cage at the top of the mast was empty.
As with its harbour, inner Hong Kong is world famous for having a huge number of human beings crammed into a finite, and not particularly large, area. Nick Nack grimly made his slow way through a sea of legs, only twice being smacked in the head by a suitcase. He had to stop every now and then to check the street signs before arriving at the correct station of the Kowloon-Canton Railway and heading for the lockers.
He fished in his pocket for the key, then opened one of the lockers silently grateful that his late master had selected one of the lower choices. Inside he found a case which he quickly removed then headed for a public toilet and locked himself into a cubicle.
The case contained a change of clothes for Scaramanga which he instantly discarded for some beggar to find, some keys, fat bundles of various currencies, and two passports. One for Scaramanga, one for him.
There was also a false bottom to the case which he opened to reveal the true treasure inside. It seemed that his late master had been slightly misnamed by the world, he silently mused. He should have been called The Man With The Golden Guns.
Hip took the two of them in a police boat to the half sunken wreck of the Queen Elizabeth. Bond looked at the great hulk with a moment of sadness, remembering a fateful voyage he had undertaken on board her years earlier, then climbed aboard. A naval officer led the party to M’s makeshift office below.
M was sitting impatiently behind a desk while Major Boothroyd eagerly leapt towards the open door, bouncing like a puppy.
“It’s here?” he demanded. “You’ve got it?”
Bond held the small gadget out towards him and it was eagerly grasped. The Major turned towards M.
“If it’s all right with you, sir, I’d like to take this with me and –“
“Yes, yes, Q, on you go”, growled M. Bond, Hip, and Goodnight stood at attention in front of him as Boothroyd scampered away happily.
“You should be glad you managed, God knows how, to bring that gadget back safely”, said M, “after the mess you’ve made of the rest of this operation. That little fellow, Nock Neck or whatever –“
“Nick Nack, sir”, said Mary Goodnight.
“Whatever he’s called, he got away from you, didn’t he?”
“Well, yes, sir”, said Bond, “but Scaramanga is dead”.
“So you've told me. He was, however, never the focus of this mission, 007. I want you three to concentrate on finding his assistant – the one you managed to lose. No doubt he has some information which would be helpful to us”.
Nick Nack lay back comfortably in a safe house which had been set up a year or two ago, just in case Scaramanga should ever be in need of it. One advantage, he thought, to having been that gentleman’s right hand was that he knew all of his secrets, or most of them anyway.
For instance, he had known how to get in touch with Lazar and order more ammunition for the replacement gun. An amoral man of no great curiosity, Lazar was only too pleased to take the order. It would be delivered in the usual way, at the Bottoms Up club, very soon now.
Equipment arranged, the next target was to acquire a client. Nick Nack had no intention of skulking in a safe house. Having become used to the world of international and highly paid assassination he wanted to stay in it.
Hip’s office was above one of the police stations. Hong Kong was a British province and his employer’s orders carried weight, even in the crammed real estate market there. Still, it wasn’t a large area and Bond had opted to stand allowing Mary Goodnight to take the only chair other than Hip’s.
“How hard can it be to track down a small man like that?” asked Mary.
“Almost impossible, Mary”, said Hip, “we genuinely do not know how many millions of people are living in the area. It’s not much more than a thousand square kilometres but there are uncountable numbers living here who are not properly registered with either the British or Chinese governments. There are rooms where perhaps fourteen people are sleeping illegally, there are entire underground accommodation areas, and this is not even mentioning the houseboats in the harbour. If someone who knew what he or she was doing wanted to disappear here then there’s very little that the authorities can do to prevent it, or find them afterwards”.
Bond said, “So is there anything we can do?”
“I do have an idea. It’s worked for me before. No, I won’t tell you right now. I have to go do a job”.
“Taking your nieces to karate school again?” Bond said with a smile.
“Not this time. Go have a wander, I’ll meet you back here in about three hours”.
Nick Nack had often been with his late master when his jobs were being arranged, and he knew where to find the middlemen, the go-betweens. A few phone calls, and the prospective clients had no clue that Scaramanga had been killed and they were speaking to his heir. At least there was no haggling – they all knew exactly the price and were prepared to pay it. The cut-outs worked both ways; Nick Nack did not know with whom he was dealing, only that they were prepared to pay one million dollars and tell him who he was to kill.
It took only one afternoon for the arrangements to be made, and for both parties to be satisfied.
A meal was first on their agenda. Genuine Chinese food, not the Westernised variety found in Europe or America. After that, both wanted to do some clothes shopping, being tired of wearing the clothes from the yacht.
After a few tries, Bond found a good tailor that he approved of and felt he could use whenever he was in Hong Kong. He purchased some casual shirts in Sea Island cotton, a dark blue tropical worsted suit, a black knitted tie, black moccasin shoes and dark blue socks. The rest could wait.
He met Mary and helped carry her heavy bags back to Hip’s office. They found Hip already waiting.
“We were hoping to arrange a hotel from here”, said Bond.
“I’m afraid not, James”, said Hip, “you’re off on the next flight”.
This is turning into an excellent continuation story.
The Man with the Golden Guns...
Brilliant idea.
Looking forward to Chapter 3.
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 31,059Chief of Staff
This is a great story and I particularly loved…
After a few tries, Bond found a good tailor that he approved of and felt he could use whenever he was in Hong Kong. He purchased some casual shirts in Sea Island cotton, a dark blue tropical worsted suit, a black knitted tie, black moccasin shoes and dark blue socks.
The plane travelled smoothly over the Pacific, engines having settled to a quiet hum. Bond gratefully accepted the offer of a drink from the smiling stewardess, while Mary settled for a coffee.
Hip had managed to quickly arrange passports for the two of them. He’d had to rely on guesswork for a few details – Mary had huffed at finding her date of birth out by about three years in the wrong direction, while Bond had quietly looked at his then put it away without comment – but had managed to get them both on the next flight to Buenos Aires by Aerolíneas Argentinas. They had stuffed their new purchases in two used suitcases Hip acquired from the police, though Bond had been obliged to leave his gun behind, knowing he would be body searched.
“I left you earlier to go talk to a friend of mine”, said Hip. “The reputation of the Tongs is not exaggerated but they are practical people and know when occasional dealings with the authorities can be in their interests. They already knew that Scaramanga had been killed, but they were able to tell me that someone has been looking for work in his name – someone with an intimate knowledge of his contacts and his ways”.
“In other words, Nick Nack”, said Bond.
“It has to be. They were able to tell me, since it does not affect them, that this faux-Scaramanga was successful in gaining a contract, even at the asking price of a million dollars”.
“So who was it?” asked Mary.
“The target is Juan Peron, President of Argentina. That is why you are being sent there with all speed. Nobody has spotted Nick Nack taking a flight, but there are other ways. He could have gone by boat to Macau, for example, then taken a flight from there”.
Mary and Bond stared at each other.
“Peron?” said Bond. “Who wants to assassinate him?”
“His wife”.
Buenos Aires is a beautiful city, with architecture that could make the visitor feel they are in a European city such as Madrid if they did not know better. The people were of many different ethnicities, something which Bond had not expected, and it was larger than he had thought, too.
Their cheerful taxi driver had only a few words of English, but took them to their hotel without too many unnecessary diversions and happily accepted Bond’s tip, handing him a card with his number to call. The hotel was more than adequate, and since London had made their bookings they found that they had two adjoining rooms. Bond felt the hand of Moneypenny.
“How about a shower and a change, then I’ll meet you in the bar in about half an hour?” Bond asked.
“I don’t know about you, James, but right now I could do with a few hours lie down”, she replied.
“Fair enough. See you at breakfast”.
At a different hotel not far away, Nick Nack had ordered food sent to his room. He knew his appearance was sufficiently distinctive that he would be remembered, and he didn’t want to take any more chances on that than were necessary. It had been bad enough at the airport. All of his life he could feel the eyes staring at him, some trying to be subtle, others not even bothering. The children asking their parents about the strange little man. He had grown a thick skin, but sometimes it was too much.
Money helped. He had been the close servant of a very rich man, and had enjoyed the private flights, the first-class hotels. Now he was on his own and he wanted to keep that up by doing what Scaramanga had done – a million dollars for a guaranteed kill. This time was his chance to show that he could make it on his own.
A knock on the door, then a maid entered with a tray. He sensed her shock at not seeing what she expected, but didn’t even give a chuckle. He nodded to her to put the tray down, and she left as quickly as seemed decent.
It was best to have a sense of humour about his size. Not take things too seriously. After all, hadn’t he picked his own name for the passport? “Pierre LeGrand”. He started to laugh, then got up to eat his meal.
Bond ordered a vodka martini in the bar, then sat down to wait. It didn’t take long before an attractive young woman wandered over, as elaborately casually as she could manage. Bond guessed she hadn’t been in the Service long.
“Excuse me”, she said, “is this seat taken?”
Bond drew in breath to make the required reply but didn’t get the chance.
“Yes, it most certainly is” came an angry voice as its owner speedily took possession of it, eyes blazing.
“Mary”, said Bond, mildly surprised, “I thought you were going to have a sleep”.
“And so this is what you immediately decided to do while I was sleeping?”
The other woman looked on in confusion. This wasn’t what she had been told to expect in her training. Bond looked around to make sure they weren’t being observed. The bar was nearly empty, and the bartender was busily cleaning glasses at the other end.
“Look, Mary, you’ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick. Just listen, please”.
He nodded at the young woman to start again. Her voice on the shaky side, she repeated “Excuse me, is this seat taken?”
“I’m not expecting anyone. Would you like to join me?”
“If I wouldn’t be intruding”.
“Perhaps you might like to stay for a little while?”
Understanding had dawned on Mary Goodnight. This was a recognition code, one that would be inconspicuous in any bar.
“I’m so sorry”, she said, “I didn’t realise, I mean, I thought –“
“It’s all right now. Look, perhaps the three of us should continue this conversation upstairs?” said Bond.
As they left the bar and headed for the lift, the barman sighed. Some guys have all the luck, he thought.
Comments
Chapter Five
Consciousness came back to Bond in waves, interspersed with nausea. He only just resisted vomiting as he became aware of the pain in his head but was unable to resist groaning and moving his head from side to side.
“Ah, you are with us. Wake up, Mr Bond. I have been expecting you”.
That voice. Familiar and yet unfamiliar. He opened his eyes and saw Gala tied to a chair like him, still unconscious, and a figure seated in front of them behind a bright light. The face was hidden behind surgical bandages, with dark glasses covering the eyes. He blinked at the light and stared back at the face.
That voice spoke again. “Naturally you will not recognise me. I have had the temerity to cause my features to be altered since last we met for shall we say obvious reasons. I am aware that various organisations such as yours have been wasting their time in going around the world attempting to find me. Operation “Bedlam” your Service calls this, I have been told”.
Bond stared. The man had a white cat on his knee, which purred contentedly as he stroked it. It couldn’t be …?
“I see you understand. Yes, Mr Bond, I am who you think I am”.
“You can’t be. You don’t sound a thing like him”.
“Of course not. Someone’s voice patterns and resonance can be stored in a small oral signature tape, and a miniature transistorized version is installed in my neck. Naturally, this is a temporary voice pattern I am currently using – it is not yet time for my final voice to be heard”.
“And you will look completely different when those bandages come off”, said Bond.
“Obviously”, said the man. “I will not look anything like I did when we met in Japan just last year. Not that this will matter to you, for you will never have the opportunity to meet me again, though that might happen to another fellow”.
His eyes acclimatised to the light, Bond could see that they were in a room somewhere at Aérospatiale. The blinds were drawn. Gala began to groan as she came back to consciousness. Bond could see Dr Dreyfuss standing against a wall to her right, an apparatus like a modified rifle on a table beside him.
“But now our conversation must draw to an end. You are aware, of course, that tomorrow’s flight of Concorde will be well publicised, with dignitaries and press on board. Dr Dreyfuss has set up this laser rifle and put it on a timer, carefully aimed to beam directly into the cockpit of the Concorde just as it prepares to leave the ground and take off. That will allow him to be safely alibied in his laboratory with his staff at the time of the crash. The same timer will subsequently set off a few bars of TNT, enough to destroy this room and both of its occupants. There will be enough remains to identify the pair of you – watches and other jewellery, for example – which will, I am afraid, cause your organisations great embarrassment”.
Bond said, “Is that what all of this is for? To cause embarrassment?”
“Of course not, Mr Bond. The end of the Concorde program in such catastrophic conditions with such unfavourable publicity will cause a drastic fall in the value of both the franc and the pound. Careful management of certain money arrangements will cause a sharp increase in their value at the currency’s expense. And there are several important people who would be very interested to see the plans and blueprints which we have obtained, interested enough to pay a high finder’s fee. But I have said enough. Now, Dreyfuss, is the timer ready?”
“All ready, Number One”.
“Then activate it. Goodbye Mr Bond”.
To Be Continued
👏🏻 this is building up superbly 😁
One more part to go ....
I love the Easter Eggs, I hope I’ve got them all!
Only one more part? ☹️
Afraid so.
Chapter Six
Left in the darkness, Bond’s hands struggled behind him. Just a little more …
“What are you doing, James?” said Gala. “We can’t untie those knots”.
“Who said anything about untying them?” Bond replied as a finger from one hand met the watch on the other and pressed a hidden switch. There was a buzzing sound as the bezel began to rotate, slicing through the ropes. In a few seconds, Bond was untying Gala’s knots.
“Where did you get that from?” Gala wondered as she got to her feet.
“A friend of mine called Major Boothroyd. He doesn’t talk much about that one, likes me to keep it up my sleeve”.
Edward Dreyfuss marched briskly along the corridor to his room. To look at him, no-one would have thought that he had not slept at all the night before. He was not a man who believed in showing his weaknesses to the world. He arrived at his laboratory and opened the door.
James Bond stood in the centre of the room, Gala Vivian to his side. Behind them were four uniformed gendarmes. No sign of his team. Startled, Dreyfuss heard the door slam behind him and he turned to see two more gendarmes blocking his path to it.
“Surprised, doctor?” said Bond. As Dreyfuss struggled for words he noticed that the woman was holding his laser rifle, freed from the mount he had so carefully arranged it on. “Your fingerprints are all over this”, said Bond, “something which you will find very hard to explain considering your speciality is fuel”.
“And we have the explosives you set up to kill us and destroy the evidence”, said Gala,” and your fingerprints are on them, too. So let’s begin your charge sheet with attempted murder – but on a grand scale”.
Dreyfuss managed to splutter out, “You can’t do this. You’re framing me!”
“You can tell that to the judge”, said Gala. “Of course you can have your sentence tempered a little if you co-operate with us”.
Dreyfuss leapt at the bait. “What do you want to know?”
“You could begin with telling us about the man you were with last night. Where is he now, for example?” said Bond harshly.
“I don’t know- no, really, I don’t know. The last I saw of him he was being taken away in a car driven by an ugly woman. That’s all I know”.
A sergeant murmured a few words in Bond’s ear. Bond checked his watch.
“Yes, of course, you can take him away. But just one moment, s’il vous plait …”
Bond walked over to the window and pulled the blind. The noise of hard-working engines which had been building up came to a roar, and they all looked out as the great white bird took to the sky.
THE END
Chief of Staff Barbel.
I salute your great writing skills.
This was an excellent James Bond story.
I wish someone could make a black and white TV show with Patrick McGoohan as James Bond, with Barbel's stories.
We need to create a time machine.
The End…but is it…? 👀
Loved that 😁
@Sonero you are much too kind, but I love your idea and artwork.
@Sir Miles happy to hear that, and you know fine where that man and woman are heading for: Switzerland....
Excellent work, Barbel, I like the way you weave the story into the established timeline and filling in the gaps 👏
Thank you, CHB. I'll need to take a break before another one comes to mind, but in the meantime here's the first draft of the end of Chapter 5.
… Now, Dreyfuss, is the timer ready?”
“All ready, Number One. But ….”
The voice lost some patience. “But what?”
Dreyfuss mumbled, “But aren’t you going to stay and watch them? They’ll get away!”
“No, we'll leave them alone and not actually witness them dying, and we'll just assume it all went to plan”.
“I have a gun in my room”, said Dreyfuss. “Give me five seconds and I’ll come back, and blow their brains out”.
A sigh. “No, Dreyfuss, you just don’t get it”.
“But –“
“No more buts! Activate the timer. Goodbye Mr Bond”.
Thos is great! You have real talent, Barbel.
Thanks, N24, much appreciated.
CARNAVALES!
1974
Chapter One
“Look, you have to eat. Just take this”.
Silence.
“Take something”.
Folded arms and more silence.
“All right”, said Bond. “Call me if you change your mind”.
James Bond threw the unwanted food into the sea then began to work his way back down the mast. The yacht continued to head through the South China Sea, glorious sunshine beating down. They hadn’t spotted another ship yet, but this was one of the world’s busiest sea lanes and it was only a matter of time.
Bond reached the deck and felt a spot of moisture on his shoulder. Shouldn’t be rain here, he thought, then he realised. Nick Nack up above was urinating on him. He could hear his mad chuckle as Bond dived inside to Mary Goodnight in the galley, arranging some food for the two of them. She looked at him, startled by the way he came through the hatch.
“James!”
He pulled off his shirt, and the smell of urine hit her nostrils.
“Ugh! Did that little bastard … did he …?”
“He most certainly did. I’ll be with you in a moment, Goodnight, I need to wash and change now”.
They had been at sea three days, heading for Hong Kong, and had come hurriedly on board what had been Scaramanga’s yacht with only the clothes they stood up in – which in Mary’s case, was practically nothing. Fortunately, Andrea’s clothes fit her tolerably well and she was wearing a tight white blouse and matching shorts which complemented her neat figure most admirably.
Bond couldn’t say the same. Francisco Scaramanga had been exceptionally tall and all of his trousers needed turning up at the bottom to fit Bond’s legs. The rest of his clothes were wearable if a fraction tight, and Bond pulled on a clean shirt after a quick wash then went back to the galley to find Mary searching through the cupboards.
“I can’t find any garlic anywhere”, she said.
“Don’t bother doing anything fancy for me”, said Bond, “perhaps a steak?”
“None of them either.”
“I suppose Scaramanga didn't care for garlic, or steaks”, Bond shook his head, “well, perhaps some scrambled eggs then”.
They sat eating in glum silence.
“How long till we get there?” she asked.
“Still another day. You know that, you asked me when we woke up this morning, remember?”
She gave a teasing smile. “That’s not the part I remember about waking up this morning, James”.
“Would you like to go over that again…?” he smiled.
In answer she rose, took his hand, and headed for the bed.
M had been his customary irascible self when Bond had called him, still faintly annoyed at Bond’s hanging up on him earlier.
“So where are you now, 007?” he demanded.
“Heading back for Hong Kong, sir”, said Bond, “and I'd say we should be with you in just a few days, weather permitting”.
“Good. Then we can discuss this fouled-up operation and –“
“I did manage to retrieve the Solex, sir” Bond said quickly.
“What? You’ve got the Solex?”
Major Boothroyd’s voice came faintly in the background.
“Solex Agitator, sir, it’s the –“
“Yes, sir, I’ve got it. Miss Goodnight and myself will be back with you to hand it over as soon as possible” said Bond, knowing he had played his ace.
Thankfully M sounded mollified. “Well done, 007. We’ll see you soon”, he said before hanging up.
The harbour at Hong Kong is notoriously crowded, perhaps more so than any other on Earth. Bond carefully took the yacht through hundreds of small boats, heading for the co-ordinates he had been given, and finally reached an open berth guarded by local police boats. His colleague Hip stood waiting, with more police beside him, and he took Mary’s hand to guide her up beside him.
“I am very glad to see you both”, Hip said, “but we can talk later. In the meantime I have instructions. I am to make sure that you have … it. Do you?”
Bond patted a bulging pocket. “Yes, it’s here. I take it we’re to go to M right away?”
“Of course. But first, these fine officers are here to relieve you of a small passenger you have had with you”.
“Certainly”, said Bond, “he’s up …..”
His voice trailed off. The cage at the top of the mast was empty.
To Be Continued
Looking forward to Chapter Two.
Nice continuation story to TMWTGG.
Keep it up Barbel.
Thank you, @Sonero! More tomorrow.
PS Glad you liked "Planet Of the Vampires"
Please tell me you wrote this whole piece JUST for this line…
“I suppose Scaramanga didn't care for garlic, or steaks”, Bond shook his head…
🤣
Fabulous, more gap stories (if that’s the right words to use) 😁👏
Love the Dracula Easter Egg 😂
Gap stories - yes, I like that description.
Glad you liked the Easter Egg! 😁
Now, would I do a thing like that? 😇
Chapter Two
As with its harbour, inner Hong Kong is world famous for having a huge number of human beings crammed into a finite, and not particularly large, area. Nick Nack grimly made his slow way through a sea of legs, only twice being smacked in the head by a suitcase. He had to stop every now and then to check the street signs before arriving at the correct station of the Kowloon-Canton Railway and heading for the lockers.
He fished in his pocket for the key, then opened one of the lockers silently grateful that his late master had selected one of the lower choices. Inside he found a case which he quickly removed then headed for a public toilet and locked himself into a cubicle.
The case contained a change of clothes for Scaramanga which he instantly discarded for some beggar to find, some keys, fat bundles of various currencies, and two passports. One for Scaramanga, one for him.
There was also a false bottom to the case which he opened to reveal the true treasure inside. It seemed that his late master had been slightly misnamed by the world, he silently mused. He should have been called The Man With The Golden Guns.
Hip took the two of them in a police boat to the half sunken wreck of the Queen Elizabeth. Bond looked at the great hulk with a moment of sadness, remembering a fateful voyage he had undertaken on board her years earlier, then climbed aboard. A naval officer led the party to M’s makeshift office below.
M was sitting impatiently behind a desk while Major Boothroyd eagerly leapt towards the open door, bouncing like a puppy.
“It’s here?” he demanded. “You’ve got it?”
Bond held the small gadget out towards him and it was eagerly grasped. The Major turned towards M.
“If it’s all right with you, sir, I’d like to take this with me and –“
“Yes, yes, Q, on you go”, growled M. Bond, Hip, and Goodnight stood at attention in front of him as Boothroyd scampered away happily.
“You should be glad you managed, God knows how, to bring that gadget back safely”, said M, “after the mess you’ve made of the rest of this operation. That little fellow, Nock Neck or whatever –“
“Nick Nack, sir”, said Mary Goodnight.
“Whatever he’s called, he got away from you, didn’t he?”
“Well, yes, sir”, said Bond, “but Scaramanga is dead”.
“So you've told me. He was, however, never the focus of this mission, 007. I want you three to concentrate on finding his assistant – the one you managed to lose. No doubt he has some information which would be helpful to us”.
Nick Nack lay back comfortably in a safe house which had been set up a year or two ago, just in case Scaramanga should ever be in need of it. One advantage, he thought, to having been that gentleman’s right hand was that he knew all of his secrets, or most of them anyway.
For instance, he had known how to get in touch with Lazar and order more ammunition for the replacement gun. An amoral man of no great curiosity, Lazar was only too pleased to take the order. It would be delivered in the usual way, at the Bottoms Up club, very soon now.
Equipment arranged, the next target was to acquire a client. Nick Nack had no intention of skulking in a safe house. Having become used to the world of international and highly paid assassination he wanted to stay in it.
Hip’s office was above one of the police stations. Hong Kong was a British province and his employer’s orders carried weight, even in the crammed real estate market there. Still, it wasn’t a large area and Bond had opted to stand allowing Mary Goodnight to take the only chair other than Hip’s.
“How hard can it be to track down a small man like that?” asked Mary.
“Almost impossible, Mary”, said Hip, “we genuinely do not know how many millions of people are living in the area. It’s not much more than a thousand square kilometres but there are uncountable numbers living here who are not properly registered with either the British or Chinese governments. There are rooms where perhaps fourteen people are sleeping illegally, there are entire underground accommodation areas, and this is not even mentioning the houseboats in the harbour. If someone who knew what he or she was doing wanted to disappear here then there’s very little that the authorities can do to prevent it, or find them afterwards”.
Bond said, “So is there anything we can do?”
“I do have an idea. It’s worked for me before. No, I won’t tell you right now. I have to go do a job”.
“Taking your nieces to karate school again?” Bond said with a smile.
“Not this time. Go have a wander, I’ll meet you back here in about three hours”.
Nick Nack had often been with his late master when his jobs were being arranged, and he knew where to find the middlemen, the go-betweens. A few phone calls, and the prospective clients had no clue that Scaramanga had been killed and they were speaking to his heir. At least there was no haggling – they all knew exactly the price and were prepared to pay it. The cut-outs worked both ways; Nick Nack did not know with whom he was dealing, only that they were prepared to pay one million dollars and tell him who he was to kill.
It took only one afternoon for the arrangements to be made, and for both parties to be satisfied.
A meal was first on their agenda. Genuine Chinese food, not the Westernised variety found in Europe or America. After that, both wanted to do some clothes shopping, being tired of wearing the clothes from the yacht.
After a few tries, Bond found a good tailor that he approved of and felt he could use whenever he was in Hong Kong. He purchased some casual shirts in Sea Island cotton, a dark blue tropical worsted suit, a black knitted tie, black moccasin shoes and dark blue socks. The rest could wait.
He met Mary and helped carry her heavy bags back to Hip’s office. They found Hip already waiting.
“We were hoping to arrange a hotel from here”, said Bond.
“I’m afraid not, James”, said Hip, “you’re off on the next flight”.
“Next flight?” said Bond, nonplussed. “Where to?”
Hip looked at the pair of them.
“Argentina”.
To Be Continued
This is turning into an excellent continuation story.
The Man with the Golden Guns...
Brilliant idea.
Looking forward to Chapter 3.
This is a great story and I particularly loved…
After a few tries, Bond found a good tailor that he approved of and felt he could use whenever he was in Hong Kong. He purchased some casual shirts in Sea Island cotton, a dark blue tropical worsted suit, a black knitted tie, black moccasin shoes and dark blue socks.
👏🏻
Thank you. Sir Miles, I'm enjoying writing it too.
That's a really nice illustration, @Sonero . I'm very grateful that you're doing these.
@Barbel You are most welcome.
Thank you for writing such excellent stories.
Excellent, just loving this 👏
Much appreciated, gents, the next part will be here soon.
Chapter Three
The plane travelled smoothly over the Pacific, engines having settled to a quiet hum. Bond gratefully accepted the offer of a drink from the smiling stewardess, while Mary settled for a coffee.
Hip had managed to quickly arrange passports for the two of them. He’d had to rely on guesswork for a few details – Mary had huffed at finding her date of birth out by about three years in the wrong direction, while Bond had quietly looked at his then put it away without comment – but had managed to get them both on the next flight to Buenos Aires by Aerolíneas Argentinas. They had stuffed their new purchases in two used suitcases Hip acquired from the police, though Bond had been obliged to leave his gun behind, knowing he would be body searched.
“I left you earlier to go talk to a friend of mine”, said Hip. “The reputation of the Tongs is not exaggerated but they are practical people and know when occasional dealings with the authorities can be in their interests. They already knew that Scaramanga had been killed, but they were able to tell me that someone has been looking for work in his name – someone with an intimate knowledge of his contacts and his ways”.
“In other words, Nick Nack”, said Bond.
“It has to be. They were able to tell me, since it does not affect them, that this faux-Scaramanga was successful in gaining a contract, even at the asking price of a million dollars”.
“So who was it?” asked Mary.
“The target is Juan Peron, President of Argentina. That is why you are being sent there with all speed. Nobody has spotted Nick Nack taking a flight, but there are other ways. He could have gone by boat to Macau, for example, then taken a flight from there”.
Mary and Bond stared at each other.
“Peron?” said Bond. “Who wants to assassinate him?”
“His wife”.
Buenos Aires is a beautiful city, with architecture that could make the visitor feel they are in a European city such as Madrid if they did not know better. The people were of many different ethnicities, something which Bond had not expected, and it was larger than he had thought, too.
Their cheerful taxi driver had only a few words of English, but took them to their hotel without too many unnecessary diversions and happily accepted Bond’s tip, handing him a card with his number to call. The hotel was more than adequate, and since London had made their bookings they found that they had two adjoining rooms. Bond felt the hand of Moneypenny.
“How about a shower and a change, then I’ll meet you in the bar in about half an hour?” Bond asked.
“I don’t know about you, James, but right now I could do with a few hours lie down”, she replied.
“Fair enough. See you at breakfast”.
At a different hotel not far away, Nick Nack had ordered food sent to his room. He knew his appearance was sufficiently distinctive that he would be remembered, and he didn’t want to take any more chances on that than were necessary. It had been bad enough at the airport. All of his life he could feel the eyes staring at him, some trying to be subtle, others not even bothering. The children asking their parents about the strange little man. He had grown a thick skin, but sometimes it was too much.
Money helped. He had been the close servant of a very rich man, and had enjoyed the private flights, the first-class hotels. Now he was on his own and he wanted to keep that up by doing what Scaramanga had done – a million dollars for a guaranteed kill. This time was his chance to show that he could make it on his own.
A knock on the door, then a maid entered with a tray. He sensed her shock at not seeing what she expected, but didn’t even give a chuckle. He nodded to her to put the tray down, and she left as quickly as seemed decent.
It was best to have a sense of humour about his size. Not take things too seriously. After all, hadn’t he picked his own name for the passport? “Pierre LeGrand”. He started to laugh, then got up to eat his meal.
Bond ordered a vodka martini in the bar, then sat down to wait. It didn’t take long before an attractive young woman wandered over, as elaborately casually as she could manage. Bond guessed she hadn’t been in the Service long.
“Excuse me”, she said, “is this seat taken?”
Bond drew in breath to make the required reply but didn’t get the chance.
“Yes, it most certainly is” came an angry voice as its owner speedily took possession of it, eyes blazing.
“Mary”, said Bond, mildly surprised, “I thought you were going to have a sleep”.
“And so this is what you immediately decided to do while I was sleeping?”
The other woman looked on in confusion. This wasn’t what she had been told to expect in her training. Bond looked around to make sure they weren’t being observed. The bar was nearly empty, and the bartender was busily cleaning glasses at the other end.
“Look, Mary, you’ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick. Just listen, please”.
He nodded at the young woman to start again. Her voice on the shaky side, she repeated “Excuse me, is this seat taken?”
“I’m not expecting anyone. Would you like to join me?”
“If I wouldn’t be intruding”.
“Perhaps you might like to stay for a little while?”
Understanding had dawned on Mary Goodnight. This was a recognition code, one that would be inconspicuous in any bar.
“I’m so sorry”, she said, “I didn’t realise, I mean, I thought –“
“It’s all right now. Look, perhaps the three of us should continue this conversation upstairs?” said Bond.
As they left the bar and headed for the lift, the barman sighed. Some guys have all the luck, he thought.
To Be Continued
Pierre LeGrand 😂
A very interesting tale…😄