Bond Movies 06 - The World Is Not Enough (4 page)

Bond fell with a spectacular thudding bounce onto the roof of the Millennium Dome, landing hard on his left shoulder. He slid uncontrollably down the slope of the dome as scraps of the burning balloon rained down all around. A gutter eventually broke his fall.

Sitting up, he winced in scaring pain and held onto his injured shoulder. He gazed at the massive smoke cloud in the sky, cursing the foolish girl and his own failure to stop her from destroying herself.

Bond also swore silently at the mystery man behind the blatant attempt to attack MI6 on its home turf. This time, he had gone too far.

The memorial service was held at Sir Robert King’s massive country estate near the shores of Loch Lomond, the largest freshwater lake in Britain. Located eighteen miles north of Glasgow and the River Clyde and straddling the geological fault that separates the Highlands from the Lowlands, the lake’s beauty has attracted celebrated writers down the centuries.

On this sad occasion mourners from all over the world were drawn to Loch Lomond. They were the mighty and the powerful, the rich and famous ... all dressed in black.

A nineteenth-century chapel in the grounds of the estate was the site of the service. The funeral was a grand, solemn affair, complete with bagpipe lament, sincere tributes by friends and associates, and even a message from the Queen.

James Bond, his left arm in a sling, was slightly late arriving. He had driven his Aston Martin DB5 to Scotland at breakneck speed, was waved through the heavily guarded checkpoint at the front of the estate, and arrived just as the mourners were filing out of the chapel. He slipped into the throng and moved a few steps behind Miss Moneypenny, who was with Bill Tanner and Charles Robinson, M’s Chief of Staff and top analyst, respectively.

When the breathtakingly beautiful young woman appeared in the doorway of the chapel, all eyes were drawn to her. She  

was tall and shapely, had shoulder-length brown hair, piercing brown eyes, and a pouty, soft mouth. Bond was immediately mesmerised by her. although he had seen photographs, he had never viewed the girl in person. She walked through the crowd, head high, like a young Jacqueline Kennedy, dispensing solace and consolation to those around her. She was clearly the centre of attention.

Robinson, a young black man who had joined MI6 only two years ago, whispered to Moneypenny, ‘I couldn’t help but notice that young woman during the service.’

Bond moved next to him. ‘King’s daughter. Elektra.’

Robinson’s expression said it all. She was indeed beautiful.

Elektra King was in her late twenties, but she had the manner of a woman who was ten years older. Behind the brown eyes was a sense that she had been to hell and back and lived to tell about it. There was a profound sadness there, and Bond knew that this was not just because she had lost her father.

He couldn't keep his eyes off her as she went from person to person, kissing a cheek, accepting a hug . . . and when she embraced M, Bond felt a sense of responsibility and pain.

M put her arm around Elektra and began walking with her, just the two of them. As M had been close to Sir Robert, it seemed only natural that she was protective and something of a maternal figure to the girl, who had lost her own mother years ago to cancer.

Bond watched them move toward the shore of the lake. Inexplicably, the feeling of guilt gave way to one of apprehension, and he didn’t know why.

That afternoon, the entourage from MI6 drove to Castle Thane, SIS’s remote operations centre in Scotland. Originally built in 1220 by Alexander II as a defence against the Vikings, the castle subsequently became a stronghold of the Mackenzies of Kintail (later the Earls of Seaforth) who installed the

MacRaes as hereditary keepers. It had been destroyed in 1719 whilst acting as a garrison for Spanish troops fighting for the Jacobite cause on behalf of the 5th Earl of Seaforth, and restoration work wasn't performed until two hundred years later. Shortly after the old M’s retirement SIS purchased a wing that was now off limits to tourists, complete with a private, heavily guarded entrance. The current M felt a certain kinship with Scotland and had spearheaded the deal with the government. As she had settled in to her job as head of MI6 over the last few years, M exerted more and more authority over the way things were done at headquarters. One of the recent changes she had made was establishing the ability to be mobile. She had grown weary of London and had on many occasions looked for excuses to be elsewhere. Now, with the remote operations centre in Scotland, she was free to come and go as she pleased, dragging her staff with her.

M had called the briefing for the afternoon of the funeral, knowing full well that if SIS were going to act on Sir Robert’s assassination, they had to do it quickly. Every available Double-0 agent was present, including Bond, as well as Tanner, Robinson, Moneypenny, and other important members of staff. They sat in a vast stone room that was dominated by a huge, sparkling chandelier, as well as electronic equipment that looked decidedly out of place in the historic building. Every agent in the room, save for Bond, had a briefing packet on the desk in front of them.

Tanner’s voice echoed in the chamber. ‘Our analysts have worked round the clock to determine exactly what happened in London. There was very little for MI5 to work with after the explosion. Their forensics team found traces of the bag of money, and performed tests to determine that the cash had been dipped in urea, dried and packed tight. In effect, a highly compacted fertiliser bomb.’ Tanner registered a nod at Bond. ‘Having handled the money, the water on Double-0 Seven’s hands - when he touched the ice in M’s office — started a chemical reaction. That’s what tipped him off to the bomb’s composition.’

Bond reflected on the bizarre moment when he had felt the sizzling sensation and saw the whisky boiling in the tumbler. If only he had noticed it a minute or two earlier . . .

Tanner continued, ‘How the explosive was set off was a matter of speculation until we found a transmitter in the woman’s boat. What we think happened was that the metal anti-counterfeiting strip on one of the notes had been replaced with magnesium, which acted as the detonator.’

He picked up King’s lapel pin, which was now blackened, fused and melted to expose electronics beneath. ‘King wore a lapel pin like this. He called it the “Eye of the Glens”, and it’s apparently some kind of heirloom. He had had it forever. A good luck charm of some sort. Obviously, it’s not the original. Kings real Eye of the Glens had been switched for this copy. We were very lucky that MI5 were able to find this piece of evidence amidst the . . . mess. It contained a radio receiver/ transmitter that triggered the blast. In other words, the girl set off the bomb that killed him with the counterpart to the transmitter that we found in the boat she left behind on the Thames. All she had to do was turn it on and point the antenna at the SIS building. The signal activated the receiver in King’s lapel pin. The pin then transmitted an electronic signal to the magnesium strip in the money’

A photograph of Giulietta the cigar girl appeared on the screen.

‘She was identified as Giulietta da Vinci, an Italian national who was on Interpol’s list of known terrorists operating in the Mediterranean. We have no further information on the woman. We don’t know who she was working for.’

Robinson stood beside Tanner and said, ‘We know it was someone close to King who switched his pin. Our only lead committed suicide in that balloon. Given the size of King’s organisation, it could be anyone. Anywhere.’ He turned to M and nodded, indicating that he and Tanner were finished.

M stood and took a moment to look at her people. Everyone in the room felt the coming harsh words even before she spoke.

‘This will not stand,’ she said firmly. She allowed this to sink in, then continued. ‘We will not be terrorised ... by cowards who would murder an innocent man . . . and use us as a tool.’

Her eyes scanned the room. ‘You each have an assignment. We will find the people who committed this atrocity. We will hunt them, we will track them, we will follow them — to the far corners of the earth if need be — and we will bring them to justice’

She waited a beat, held her head high, then turned on her heels and left the room.

The other agents opened their briefing packets. Bond looked around him, realising that he was the odd man out. As Tanner walked past, Bond stopped him.

‘Bill . . .?’

Tanner motioned to the sling. ‘Sorry, James. M says you’re off the active duty list until you’re cleared by medical.’

Bond made an expression that questioned the wisdom of the decision. Tanner held up his hands as if to say that there was nothing he could do about it, then followed M out of the room.

Bond sat there a moment, watching his peers reading the material intently. Well! he thought. He would just have to get medical to clear him. And he knew just how to do it.

Bond refused to tease Doctor Molly Warmflash about her name, but the attractive young SIS medical officer certainly lived up to it. Ever since the firm hired her three months ago, she had become the butt of coundess jokes among the male population at headquarters. The problem was that she encouraged them. She was a flirt and enjoyed it. She had specifically chatted up Bond on several occasions, making it clear that she would like to examine him in much more detail than was appropriate in a professional environment. Bond wondered how long a girl like her would last in the organisation, but so far she had also proven herself to be quite capable when it came to medical matters.

Doctor Warmflash was blonde, petite and curvy. Her stethoscope didn’t merely hang around her neck - it jutted straight out and then dangled like a medal she might have won for an athletic event. Her blue eyes were full of life, confident and bewitching.

Bond concentrated on all of these attributes as he sat on the examination table with his shirt off while she poked and prodded his left shoulder. He tried his best not to flinch, but it hurt like hell.

‘Dislocated collar bones take time, James,’ she said. ‘It’s no better than the last time I looked at it. If any more tendons slip . . ’

She knew he was resisting showing the pain. To prove a point, she thrust a finger into a particularly sensitive area.

‘Ow,’ Bond said, giving in to the discomfort.

Doctor Warmflash shook her head. ‘I'm afraid you’re going to be out of action for weeks.’

‘Molly,’ he said, ‘I need a clean bill of health. You have to clear me for duty.’

This time she placed her fingers gently on the scarred and bruised bone. ‘James, it wouldn’t really be . .

Bond laid a hand on her waist. ‘Ethical?’

She gave him a look.

‘Can’t we just skirt the issue?’ he asked with a smile.

She glanced down at his hand, then returned the smile. Her eyes gave away the temptation. ‘You’d have to promise to call me,’ she said after thinking about it — for a couple of seconds. She jabbed him in the shoulder again, causing him to wince. ‘This time’

Bond said. ‘Whatever the doctor orders . .

She moved closer to him. He could smell her perfume. ‘ - And I suppose if you stayed in constant contact -’

Taking that as an invitation, Bond pulled at the zipper on her skirt. He expertly flicked the clasp and the garment fell to the floor. She was wearing white silk panties, a garter belt and white stockings. The creamy flesh of her exposed thighs was begging to be caressed. He reached up and began to unbutton her blouse from the bottom. She helped him, working down from the top.

‘ -If you showed sufficient . . . stamina -’ she said, breathlessly.

The blouse was off, revealing magnificent breasts in a white, lace Wonderbra that seemed to be a size too small. Now the passion was insurmountable.

‘ -And cut out all kinds of-’ she said, but by then he had pulled her toward him. Their mouths met for twenty seconds.

When their lips parted, he whispered, ‘ - Strenuous activity?’

She pushed him back on the examination table and climbed on top. She kissed him again . . . and again . . . and again . . .

‘I might be -’ she gasped as his right hand stroked her backbone, finding the clasp to the bra and unsnapping it, ‘ -open to that -’

They kissed again.

‘Good,’ Bond said, feeling her hand at his trousers. ‘I’d want you to stay on top of things.'

An hour later, Bond left the doctor’s office, pausing long enough to remove the sling and casually drape it on a suit of armour that stood silently guarding a corridor.

‘The things we do for England,’ he said to it. ‘Carry on.’

The distant sound of bagpipes caught Bond’s attention. He had a good idea where it was coming from.

He quietly moved along the ancient corridors and down a flight of stone stairs. He came upon a man in full Scottish regalia, blaring away, rather badly.

‘Get on with it’ a familiar voice commanded.

The man in the kilt dropped the pipe from his mouth and simultaneously fired bullets from one pipe and a jet of flame from another. The target was a realistic dummy twenty feet away, which quickly became a molten, bullet-ridden mess.

‘I suppose we all have to pay the piper sometime, right, Q?’ Bond quipped.

‘Pipe down, Double-0 Seven,’ Major Boothroyd said, more annoyed than usual.

‘Was it something I said?’

‘No.’Boothroyd folded his arms. ‘Something you destroyed.’ It was then that Bond noticed the mangled Q Boat sitting in the middle of the laboratory.

‘My fishing boat,’ Boothroyd said. ‘For my retirement. Away from you.'

‘Had I known, I would have returned it in. . . what do you say . . . ‘pristine condition’?’

Boothroyd shuddered. ‘Grow up, Double-0 Seven.’

Q Branch never slept. There were always technicians working round the clock. Major Boothroyd, who was looking forward to the day he would finally retire, loathed leaving London for the remote Castle Thane. Nevertheless, when M called, naturally he came. He was tired and irritated.

‘Come over here. Let’s get this over with. It’s past my bedtime,’ he said. ‘I want you to meet the young man I'm grooming to follow me.’