The Distance Between Insanity & Genius - Let's Read More James Bond Books

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mllaneza: Apr 28, 2007; Veteran, Bermuda Triangle Expeditionary Force, 1993-1952

chitoryu12 posted:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PD5N_v4eY9o

I guess orchestras are finally out.

That woman did some real work getting the samples together, and then an excellent performance.

# ? Aug 5, 2021 03:33

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# ? May 29, 2024 10:54

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 16: Out of the Frying Pan...

quote:

Either Leiter had miscounted the number of men working for Doberman or he had managed to hire a few more, Bond decided. It was a sunny late afternoon of the next day, and Bond was squatting in a treehouselike observation post built into one of the higher, more thickly foliaged of the palm trees on the ridge overlooking the estate.

Bond had watched through two sentry shifts, and he had counted at least eight different sentries. Add to those eight men Doberman, Chen, and Doberman's personal bodyguards, and that made an opposition of at least twelve.

Bond's "nest" was almost thirty yards above the boulder-knotty ridgetop, about a quarter-mile to the east and north of where he had killed the sentries in his nighttime commando raid. He was outside the zone that - so far as he could tell - Doberman had assigned for patrolling. There was only countryside - the ridge, a more gentle hilltop, and then grounds of the estate. Behind, farther east about three hundred yards, was a small airstrip for shipping and receiving cocaine, deserted that Sunday afternoon.

They're probably off drunkenly shooting lizards in the jungle or something, since that's what the real historic figures did.

quote:

The treehouse nest was about a yard and a half square, and camouflaged with netting skillfully interwoven with huge palm leaves. He'd made a sort of igloo of greenery around him, with four observation slits hooded by camouflage at the four points of the compass. The floor was made of wrist-thick branches, which he'd brought from some distance away and lashed together with rope. It wouldn't be smart to let Chen hear the sounds of someone sawing and hammering nearby, when he probably knew - undoubtedly having done more than one recon - that there was no one around. He'd know the airstrip would be deserted today.

Bond watched through his field glasses as the two eastside sentries rendezvoused at the patio. He swept the glasses over the terrain, reassessing.

Bond was facing the house's east side; the main entrance was actually on the estate's south side; the "back" of the house faced the sea. The side and front, the eastern and southern faces, were more modern than the seaward face of the house. Here wooden gables had been installed over broad - but ornately barred - windows. Bright blue shutters and flowerbeds looked deceptively homey, cheerful. At the south side two weathered stone lions flanked the spacious porch of wood and stone. Flowerpots stood on the balustrades around the porch. The flowers in them had withered. Beyond the porch, he could see the deep blue of the Pacific, just a triangular section of it between the house and the bent trees lining the cliff. There were whitecaps on the sea, and now and then Bond's tree swayed, buffeted in a rising wind. The wind was a phenomenon that came about the same time every summer to the Mexican Riviera. It was called the mistral, and despite the summer sun and the blue sky, it blew hard, especially at night. Bond was hoping it might provide him with some cover that night. It wailed loudly on the cliff - its wailing might be loud enough to blanket some of the sounds of his attack.

An undertaker's wind, one might say.

quote:

Off the house's east-side patio were weed-grown flowerbeds and a lawn beginning to look shaggy, a few marble benches, almost randomly placed; a bone-dry fish pond of cracked stone; a half-acre more of overgrown lawn - and the stone wall. The wall was about twelve feet high, two feet thick, and constructed of irregular local stones and mortar. Strands of barbed wire ran along its top, newly emplaced, judging by the silvery gleam of the metal. Still, that stone wall wasn't much of a problem. The real problem was the electric fence recently erected just outside it. A powerful current ran through the ten-foot-high chain-link fence. It was crested with spiraled barbed wire, and there was a dead dog leaning half against the links where the fence turned a corner to encircle the property. The dog was some harmless domestic who'd wandered up and poked his snout against the fence to look through - and been instantly electrocuted.

Christ, we're killing poor little dogs now?

quote:

The stone and electric barriers ran together all the way around the property, stopping only at the cliff edges and breaking for a gate thirty yards from the south entrance. There was a sentry on the gate twenty-four hours, in a stone gatehouse. The gate section of the chain-link fence could be electronically rolled away. Bond had seen only one car go in, a bodyguard returning from the village with supplies. There were two rented Jeeps parked in the driveway.

There was a balcony on the house's south side, and another on the east side, facing the lawn. A sentry stood in each, scanning the grounds now and then with binoculars, armed with AK-47's.

There was a lot of open ground to move over. There were searchlights mounted on the roof, remote-controlled, and four "anticrime" lights, the day-light-bright blue-white sort, atop high chromium poles at the eastern and southern corners. According to the estate's blueprints, it was equipped with emergency power batteries and a generator. So it would give Bond only a few seconds of darkness if he cut the house's power source. He might be able to shoot out the lamps - though that would tip his hand fairly early. But he recognized the manufacturing style of the searchlights - they were bulletproofed, and at this range the bulletproofing would work.

"All that open ground..." he muttered.

"My only option will be to run straight across it yelling that I'm James Bond."

quote:

Not much cover there. He'd have to hope the decoy plan would continue to work. Knocking out those was would take time, though. That would give the enemy time to sight in on him, but a wise use of his mortars might give him the time he needed.

Briefly he considered attacking from above. Leiter was a reliable pilot and he could parachute onto the roof. If they spotted him from those balconies, though, he would be an easy target as he came down. And there was the mistral to consider. A wind like that would make parachuting unreliable.

Reluctantly he shelved the air-attack contingency.

Darn.

quote:

He'd have to go infantry. He lowered the field glasses and thoughtfully lit a cigarette. All around him the air was rich with the scent of palm sap. The swelling breeze sang through the slits in his camouflaged nest and whipped the cigarette smoke into oblivion. The tree creaked in the wind and rustled where its large leaves touched the branches of other trees.

He got to his knees, cigarette in his lips, and checked the ground-drop wire running from the east side of the nest to the base of a smaller tree far below, slanting down in a straight line, taut, at a forty-five degree angle. A little steep, maybe. The thumb-thick cable whined in the gusts of the mistral. It seemed secure - he'd worried a little that the wind might be loosening it. That cable was Bond's emergency exit. It was securely looped around the tree trunk, just above the thick branch that supported his observation nest. On the rough floor beside the opening over the wire was a palm-sized metal wheel with a grooved rim - a groove that fit snugly onto the cable - rather like a pulley wheel. An axle ran through the center of the wheel's flat face, with handles on either side, for a quick ride down.

Leiter had sneered at the wheel and cable. "A child's toy," he said. "You'll break your neck, my friend. Or it will stick halfway. And you will be moving too fast when you get to the bottom, no? I mean if you get to the bottom."

"It can be braked a little by squeezing the handles inward," Bond explained. "Certain commandos have used them successfully-"

"And others," Leiter had interrupted, "have probably broken their bones on it."

quote:

Bond looked dubiously down the length of the cable. He had never used one in a fight situation. And it did look like an unusually long way down. He discarded the idea of testing it now. Too big a chance, Leiter was right, and he needed his limbs intact tonight.

While Bond was distracted, pondering his escape cable, the mistral had picked up, blowing harder, making the tree sway yet more. And its persistent gusts were working at Bond's camouflage, plucking bits of the palm leaves away. His carefully constructed hooding over the observation slits had blocked off the sun, preventing reflection off his field glasses - a flash of those glasses could expose his position. But the mistral stripped part of the hooding away.

Bond scrupulously ground out his cigarette on his boot heel, making sure it was completely out, then lifted the field glasses to peer through the observation slit.

[* * * * * *]

Chen, carrying an M16 in his right hand, stalked moodily across the lawn to the two sentries squatting under a palm tree near the fence, playing a game of blackjack. He came quietly up behind them, and when he was nearly at arm's reach, barked, "You son-of-a-bitches had enough card playing yet?"

The two men jumped and whirled, reflexively jerking their guns toward him. They relaxed - but not completely - when they saw it was Chen. "Santa Maria!" said Esteban Fernandez, a beefcake Nicaraguan with a bald head and a thick black beard. "You shouldn't startle me like that. I might have-"

Beefcake? Really?

quote:

"You wouldn't be startled if you had been doing your goddamned job!"

Chen broke off his dressing-down, his attention drawn to the trees on the ridgetop overlooking the estate. He'd seen a flash of light atop one of those trees - hadn't he? He watched, but it didn't repeat itself. He leaned his gun against the tree, reached for the binoculars hanging around his neck, and then changed his mind. He let his hands drop to his side. If he looked directly at that tree with his binoculars, Bond would notice it and would probably retreat. It would be better if he didn't let Bond know he'd been spotted. Then he could encircle through the woods, come around behind that tree nest - if that's what it was. It might just be a piece of a kid's aluminum kite caught in the tree, or a half-dozen other things. But he had to check it out.

Chen welcomed the challenge to action. He was getting stir-crazy in the house. "Fernandez," he said softly, picking up his rifle, "you come with me. Garcia, you stay here. Keep close watch."

Less than two minutes later, they had gone into the house by the open patio doors. Chen led Fernandez to the side door that led onto the cliff-side stairway. They passed out through that door and into a small copse of trees. The house, Chen assumed, was blocking them from Bond's view.

There was a padlock door that opened through the stone wall, and another heavily locked door in the electric fence. They unlocked the door in the wall, passed through, locked it behind them. Then Chen paused to call the gatehouse with his walkie-talkie. "Turn off the juice," he ordered. There was a click, and then the fence stopped its faint humming. He spat at a link where it touched the ground - there was no answering spark. He unlocked the gate, and they passed through. He double-locked the gate behind them, then called for the electricity to be restored. The fence resumed its ominous humming. Chen led the way into the woods.

They moved through cacti, palm trees, a scattering of acacias, the terrain gradually rising. Climbing a stair-cut slope, like an Aztec pyramid, they moved up the ridge on which Chen thought he had seen the tree with the telltale flash in it.

Goddammit Bond.

quote:

That tree was the highest, with a bunch of huge leaves at the top - it would be ideal, he thought. Maybe he's up there - or that crippled CIA buddy of his.

If Leiter was in the post, then Bond might be on the ground nearby, scouting on foot. He might be anywhere.

Chen felt a chill, and peered more sharply at the undergrowth, his finger hovering near the trigger of his M16. He checked to see that the gun was ready. The magazine was full. Thirty rounds. He had another clipped to his belt.

"What are we looking for?" Fernandez asked. He was breathing hard and sweating, blinking stupidly at the trees around him.

Chen pointed up the hill. "You see that thicket of trees? The tallest one there. Bond's got a technique for building a sort of treehouse observation post - works real good, when you put it together right."

"You think he's up there?" Fernandez's tone was doubtful.

"Should we open fire on it and ruin his plans?"

"No, this book isn't long enough yet."

quote:

Chen shrugged. He raised the binoculars and focused on the treetop. He couldn't see anyone, but the foliage, after thinning a bit on the way to the top, suddenly got thicker about three-fourths the way to the top. There was a ball of greenery there.

He lowered the binoculars and nodded. "Yeah, it's just possible." The target tree was about a hundred and fifty yards away, and farther up the ridge. There was a great untidy spill of boulders swelling from the brush between them. That and the trees between would make good cover.

"You got your walkie-talkie?" Chen asked softly.

Fernandez patted the instrument on his lift hip.

"Good. Then... you see that dead tree there? You work your way up to that tree. Take a position just underneath it. Try to move so you won't be seen from the treetop. Keep low, and stay close to the bigger boulders. Move quietly. When you get to your position, take a bead on the target tree, but don't fire till I tell you to - unless you see he's firing at me. I'll call you on the walkie and tell you when to open up on that nest. You got it?"

Fernandez nodded and lumbered off into the brush.

Chen started up the ridge, circling around behind the target tree. They would catch that treetop in a crossfire, and if Bond was in it, maybe, just maybe, they had a chance to take him out now, the easy way.

Hopefully Bond doesn't completely destroy this ambush like every other one.

quote:

Bond lowered his field glasses, frowning. Why had Chen gone into the house that way, so suddenly, after looking in his direction? Coincidence? But he's taken that sentry with him, and the man hadn't come back to his post. What was up?

He shivered, and reached out a hand to steady himself on the tree trunk beside him - the tree was swaying again in the wind. He blinked, and realized that the wind had torn away a piece of his camouflaged "roof" - the sunlight was slanting through, hitting him in the face.

He was struck by a sudden worry. Maybe the rest of the camouflage had been damaged. Maybe he was exposed.

He moved on hands and knees through the cramped spaces around the tree trunk, inspecting the netting. About a fourth of the large leaves had been torn away. He decided to abandon the nest rather than try to repair. He was getting cramps in his legs, anyway.

He slung his Ingram submachine gun over his shoulder and moved toward the hole in the floor - through which he could lower himself. He had chosen the submachine gun because it was easier to carry in the cramped spaces of the nest and the tree leaves and because he'd planned no sniping. He had it along in case he ran into a patrol on the ground. It was good for that kind of skirmish.

But it wasn't much use to him when Fernandez opened up on the nest.

So far this book has just been Bond repeatedly failing and being shot at.

quote:

The tree trunk close behind him spat splinters, two bullet holes appearing, the yellow wood beneath the bark showing like flesh in the wound of some exotic animal.

"Goddamn!" Bond blurted, flattening. He heard, then, the twin cracks and rolling booms of gunshots.

The air around him whistled with a hail of slugs. Wood splinters leaped like firework sparks. A bullet smashed into his canteen and stopped on a metal plate in his belt. Water spurted from the canteen, like a premonition of his blood.

Ooooo, spooky. I wonder if it's foreshadowing?

Nah.

quote:

Chen jerked the walkie-talkie from his belt when he heard the shots. "Fernandez? Fernandez! You read me? Dammit, Fernandez, do you-"

"Yeah, I hear ya."

"What the hell are you doing? I told you not to fire until I-"

"Yeah, but I saw him through the leaves. The wind blew some of the grande leaves at the top of the palm tree and I saw a rifle barrel, so I-"

"You're too far to be sure of hitting him alone! I wanted you to fire only to drive him out to me when I was in position, dammit! If there's only one of us shooting, he can duck behind the trunk, you... Oh, forget it. Try to keep him pinned down and I'll try to get in firing position."

Swerving, Chen clambered onto a boulder, hoping to get a bead on the treetop from there. He had planned to move much closer, now there was too much in the way. Trees, and more trees.

He leaped to another boulder, climbed higher, and found a shooting angle. He raised his rifle to his shoulder and aimed.

I think this book is trying to set the record for highest number of action scenes.

quote:

The fusillade let up just long enough for Bond to scramble to the other side of the trunk. He started breathing again.

He hadn't been hit himself, but he'd heard the ominous snapping sound when a bullet had struck the Ingram on his back. He unslung the submachine gun and swore. Its breech was cracked. It would blow up in his face if he tried to fire it now. He tossed it aside. At least he still had Maldonado's .357 Magnum in his belt. He couldn't go down the trunk - they would have a clear shot at him that way. The ground-drop cable was the only way out. He fitted the wheel onto the cable, then kicked the netting and leaves aside, making a wider opening. He took the handles on either side of the wheel in his hands... and hesitated.

This is crazy, he thought. I'm too high up for this.

But just then the tree began spitting splinters again, bullets whining past his head.

He took a deep breath and lowered himself from the nest so he was hanging beneath the cable. For one instant he was a perfect target. And then he released the brake on the wheel - and the world rushed up at him.

At first he thought he'd fallen from the cable, was free-falling to the ground. But that was an illusion of his speed along the steeply down-slanting line. The wind whistled around him, leaves stung his face, trees seemed to throw their tops at him as if flinging spears. His wrists ached, and then the mistral tugged at him, trying to pull the wheel from the cable. A bullet grazed his chest, but he scarcely noticed it. He was consumed with the whipping speed of that mad plunge downward, hearing only the movement of the wheel on the cable. And then a wall of greenery smashed into him, knocking the breath out of him. He fell, cartwheeling through a green whirlpool. And then blackness.

Huh. That really is how the goon zipline worked.

quote:

"You see that?" Fernandez blurted as Chen ran up to him. "He flew out of that tree like he had wings!"

Chen groaned. "That was a ground-drop cable. Come on, I think maybe I winged him when he came down - or maybe the wind knocked him off." They ran like two hunters eager to see their downed buck, weaving in and out of the boulders and trees. "I think he's down in that thicket somewhere."

The cable had passed over the lip of a short drop-off and was fixed to the base of a tree on a shelf of rock below. They found the wheel lying on the edge of the drop-off. No sign of Bond. Chen had assumed Bond was badly hurt, at least. Now he began to wonder. Maybe he'd come down on his feet and had already retreated. Or maybe he was sighting in on them from cover at that very moment...

There was a thicket of cacti and stunted palm trees just below the tree the cable was cinched to. Probably he was down there.

Palms sweating, the gun sticky in his hands, Chen led Fernandez to a trail that cut across the hillside and doubled back down, below the bottom end of the cable. When they'd crept down the trail, and came to the dense thicket, Chen whispered, "You circle around, we'll get him between us."

Fernandez nodded and disappeared into the thick growth.

"Do you guys think he might be waiting for us? There's no way he could have knocked himself out during his escape and is just lying there!"

quote:

When Bond woke, some instinct told him: Don't move. Lie quiet and listen first.

He opened his eyes, and he listened.

He heard a bird squawking somewhere above him. He heard the wind sighing. He heard...

Cacti crackling under a man's boots.

He blinked, and his eyes came into focus. He was lying between two rocks on a bed of cacti and fallen palm tree leaves. The rocks nearly came together just in front of him, leaving an opening between them just big enough for a mam to slip through sideways. He was lying in shadow under a tree he couldn't see without moving. His head throbbed. He wondered if he'd broken any bones.[/quote

Bond did, in fact, just knock himself out and has been lying there the whole time.

[quote]He heard the cacti crackling again. Slowly he inched his arm around behind him, feeling for the .357.

It was gone.

It must have fallen off when he hit the trees. The wind had jerked him off the cable, and he'd fallen into trees before reaching the cable's end. He moved his hand like a spider searching for prey, making no quick motions, to his belt. The knife was still there, at least. He drew the long double-bladed weapon from its sheath.

The light came mostly through the opening between the rocks. Something blotted that light for a moment - a man standing in the thicket on the other side of the rock gate. A big man wearing a khaki T-shirt and fatigues and biceps comparable to a side of ham. The man stood with his back half-turned to Bond.

This is the second time Hatfield has used ham to compare the size of body parts.

quote:

Bond gripped the knife, tried to gather his energy together in case he had to spring. The man was carrying an assault rifle - maybe an AK-47. He'd probably plug Bond before the knife could be brought into useful action.

So Bond pretended he was a sleeping snake. A sleeping snake is as still as a rock. But if you wake it...

It gets bothered and leaves?

quote:

The big man moved on, without looking in Bond's direction. But probably Chen would be nearby. And if Chen came past, he'd find Bond for sure.

Moving as noiselessly as possible, Bond got to his hands and knees. He had to stifle a groan. Maybe nothing was broken, but he was bruised and lacerated in half a dozen places, and there were scratches from cacti thorns beginning to welt on the left side of his face and neck. His head throbbed; there was a knot over his left temple.

Still, he was intact. He could fight.

He took deep breaths and stretched a little, trying to get oxygen into his bruised limbs.

He moved in a crouch out through the rock opening, and paused, looking around. He saw nothing but the stunted palm trees and another group of cacti to the left. He moved toward the cacti, since it was the best cover.

Bond wriggled with a faint crackling into the prickly plants, keeping his head below their upper stems. Then he went stone-still. He had heard Chen speaking. From maybe thirty feet away.

Despite the aches, Bond grinned. He sidled out of the cacti, moved to put a boulder between himself and the position downslope from which Chen's voice had come. Chen assumed he was still in the thicket. But he was on the outer edge of it, and moving into the trees.

Stop grinning you maniac!

quote:

Bond hunched down behind a tangle of fallen trees when he heard foot steps walking past.

Bond didn't dare jump the man now. The Nicaraguan might let out a yell and alert Chen. So Bond followed him down the hill toward the house. Apparently, he was going for reinforcements. He'd tell the others they'd seen Bond, and that would endanger Lotta. No, that wouldn't do at all.

Fernandez stopped just outside the chain-link electric fence, now within walkie-talkie range. He unhooked the walkie-talkie from his belt...

Bond lunged at him from behind, jabbing downward with the knife.

Yes, wait until he might press the button on his radio before attacking him.

quote:

But Fernandez's reflexes were quicker than his mind. He'd heard the sound as Bond burst from the brush, and he turned to meet him. He dropped the walkie-talkie and brought the rifle up like a quarterstaff to block Bond's knife, catching Bond's forearm on the barrel.

Bond grabbed the rifle stock with his left hand and twisted it at an angle he'd learned in disarming training. He was using the force of his arm to turn Fernandez's fingers backward. Fernandez let go with his right hand, but with his left jerked the rifle free and leaped back. He swung the rifle so close some of his hair caught on the breech and was yanked out by the roots. Fernandez was thrown off balance for an instant by the momentum of his swing.

Bond ran hard at Fernandez and slammed the big man in his heavy gut with his right shoulder, like a football player in a hard block.

Fernandez said "Uff" and staggered backward, flailing for balance. He fell against the chain-link fence, dropping the rifle.

Uff

quote:

The powerful current running through the fence seized the Nicaraguan and snapped him to rigid attention. He stood at a cruel parody of military attention, arms straight down at his sides, chest outthrust, chin lifted, as he was electrocuted. His eyes, as he smoked, his flesh sizzling, his fingers vibrating like tuning forks, seemed to be focusing on the ultimate superior officer. Death.

"The ultimate superior officer: death" is so cheesy I have to love it.

quote:

Bond picked up the walkie-talkie and experimentally thumbed its transmitter; in his best imitation of Chen's oriental voice he said; "Chen here. Shut off the power in the fence, I'm coming through."

His what voice

quote:

The humming went out of the fence. Fernandez's body slumped, and he tumbled to the earth. His face was drawn back in a grinning rictus. There was a cross-hatch pattern where the chain link had burned into his back.

Bond looked toward the house. He was on a side that had two windows and a door but no balcony. He could see two sentries with their backs to him on the far side of the acreage. No one had seen him.

He moved forward, took Fernandez by the ankles, and dragged him into the brush. He concealed the AK-47 under some leaves. The walkie-talkie he clipped to his belt.

He dragged Fernandez's body a short distance to the edge of the cliff. Sea churned into breakers far below. He stuffed a number of fist-sized stones in Fernandez's shirt and down his trousers, then kicked him over the edge. The body flapped its arms in the wind as it fell. It struck headfirst on a large fang-shaped outcropping, making a vivid splash of red on the black stone. Then the waves rushed in again and washed the blood away, tumbling the body into the sea's secret depths.

How much pollution has Bond contributed to the ocean on this mission?

quote:

Bond retrieved the AK-17, checked it out, then slipped into the woods. He circled widely, moving back up the hill, hoping to ambush Chen from above.

[sic]

quote:

But Chen had already realized that Bond was no longer in the thicket. He suspected Bond had followed Fernandez. He guessed the outcome. If he went that way too, Bond would probably ambush him. He grunted and began to jog to the southeast, circling to come out on the private road that led to the house's front entrance.

He hurried up the road to the front gate. The man in the gatehouse looked out at him in surprise. He was a stubby man with big eyes and, it was said, some technical expertise with electronic gear. "What the hell are you doing here, Chen?" the man asked, his mouth drooping, as he came out of the gatehouse.

"Never mind. Just turn off the power on the fence and let me through."

"I already turned it off. You didn't tell me to turn it back on."

"When?"

"Oh... ten, twenty minutes ago. Maybe a little more."

"Ah... drat. Yeah... oh, yeah, I forgot... uh... you seen Fernandez?"

"Nope."

"Then open the goddamn gate, I'm tired of standing here."

He's....he's not going to say anything about that?

quote:

"Sure, sure..." The gate whirred aside. He passed through the stone wall's gate through which Fernandez was supposed to have come. No sign of him. He ordered the man in the gatehouse to let him through, then went to search the ground outside the fence. There - signs of a scuffle. A spot of blood. So that was it for Fernandez. They probably wouldn't even find his body.

He went back into the estate's grounds, and thought: Better order all walkie-talkie messages to be ignored from here on out. He's got to see me in front of him before he shuts off that fence.

Why are you not doing anything?!

quote:

Doberman was waiting on the back patio.

"You should not be out in the open, sir," Chen said. He debated telling Doberman about Bond. "Sir, a sniper might..."

Grudgingly Doberman stepped back into the shelter of the house. Chen followed him inside.

"Well? Report!" Doberman barked.

"Thought I saw an observation nest. We checked it out, fired a few shots at it. Just a kid's treehouse. No one there."

"Where is Fernandez?"

Chen hesitated. "Uh... didn't he come back here? I guess he did what he was talking about - said he wanted to go into town for a little R and R. I told him to forget it, but when my back was turned, he slipped out. Probably be gone for hours, or all night, if I know that guy."

"He will have a good time, I hope," Doberman said, turning away. "Because he will pay for that good time when he returns."

"Sir..." Chen winced. "Did you think about those extra men?"

"Yes. I have made arrangements. We may have two more tomorrow. But when so many know I'm here, it's a great danger. I have decided to leave the estate. We will leave Mexico tomorrow night. As soon as the new men arrive."

Chen knew he ought to urge Doberman to leave today.

But that would mean no confrontation with Bond. No finishing the fight.

God, we have a villain even worse at his job than Bond.

quote:

Chen said nothing, but thought: Tomorrow will be too late...

# ? Aug 12, 2021 03:19

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 17: ...And Into the Fire

quote:

"We have got to time it as perfectly as humanly possible," Bond said, tightening a nut on the stand that held the machine gun to the prow of the Chris-Craft. He and Leiter were working over the speedboat in a "garage" on a private jetty south of Puerto Vallarta. "We should hit them both at the same time - only the decoy ought to start firing about thirty seconds earlier. Make it a minute. That'll give them time to move their firepower from the front of the house to the seaward side."[/quote

We're on what, attempt #4 of Bond and Leiter failing to get anything done and being shot at? An episode of Archer would have fewer fuckups.

[quote]"I understand, James," Leiter said solemnly.

Bond tossed the wrench aside. "What do you look so drat sad about, Felix?"

"Sad?" Leiter grinned. "Not at all!" But his eyes belied his grin.

"You figure I'm going to get blown away on this mission. Look, even if I had fifty men on my side, fifty good men, it could still happen. One bad-luck ricochet, and... well, if the bullet's got your name on it..." He shrugged. "Hell, I could get it almost as easily crossing the street, the way the drat taxis drive over here!"

I like how Bond implies he doesn't have any good men working with him here.

quote:

"But the odds, James!"

"There are ways a good tactician can tilt the odds a little."

If only we had one.

quote:

Bond finished attaching the machine gun and stepped back to admire his work. The gun was raked up at the steepest possible angle, as it would have to hit the house's upper windows from far below. "You sure the remote control-mechanism for this thing is going to work?" Bond asked dubiously. Leiter had jury-rigged it.

"I think so. I've rigged it so that when I shift the remote-control box into high gear, the signal will not only cause the boat's gears to shift, it will also signal the compression spring-"

"I know, but..." He shrugged. "The way I understand it, you've attached a battery-operated spring compressor that - after it releases - forces this little metal flange to press the trigger. Right?"

"Yes, essentially."

"It seems to me that the spray from the prow would interface with the electrical connections - I mean, the compression box is right here on the drat hood of the boat-"

"Yes, yes," Leiter replied somewhat abstractly, "I've insulated it against that. I've tested it without rounds in the weapon. It compresses the trigger. It may not work for long, James. All that shaking... But it will work long enough to focus attention on the boat."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=06t_KP7y8Ao

As Mythbusters demonstrated with their Breaking Bad finale rig, it is actually quite easy to rig up a remote controlled machine gun as long as you don't care about aiming.

quote:

"What is it, Felix? You look like you're not all here."

"I am thinking that perhaps the better way would be for me to assault the house directly. Personally. I could hit them from another side, draw their fire..."

Bond laughed. "Sorry for laughing, but you don't really want to do that. I've got to respect you for offering, though. Few men would. But, look, firelight and assault just aren't your specialty. You're an intelligence specialist, that's where your skills are. I don't want to lose you to some stray bullet. Anyway, there'll be plenty to do. You'll be close enough to keep in radio contact with me till I go over the fence. After that I'll leave the radio behind."

On the other hand, Felix now has a badass cyborg arm.

quote:

"You will try to use their walkie-talkie to deceive them?"

"No. I know Chen, he'll have figured against that. No, I've got to take that fence out the hard way." Bond glanced at his watch. "It's going to be sunset soon, old buddy. Time to get to it... You got that backup boat in place?"

"It is there, as of about an hour ago, James. It's just an outboard skiff, I'm afraid."

"That'll serve the purpose just fine, Felix."

"In the immortal words of Willie Nelson," Leiter chuckled in his Texas drawl. "Turn out the lights. The party's over!"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QoQZ0qmf-mk

quote:

Some called him Castillo and some called him Whitey. He didn't much care what they called him. He was a man who kept to himself, who had always felt apart. Maybe he felt different because he was a Mexican albino. Maybe because he didn't seem to feel a lot of emotions most people felt. He'd never felt love for someone - not since he was a little boy and his dad locked him in that rat-infested shed all night. That night something had snapped in his soul.

Yes, another weird character!

quote:

There was just one thing that could melt Castillo the Whitey a little inside. Sex. Not romance - but sex. He could go at it for hours. And he could think about it for hours when there wasn't someone to go at it with.

So it was ironic that Klaus Doberman had chosen Whitey to guard Lotta. Doberman had the impression that Whitey was a sort of eunuch. Maybe because Castillo seemed, most of the time, to be chipped out of ice. Never showed expression. But everyone's got some kind of feeling. Castillo's was lust, and he was having a tough time controlling it.

Castillo stood outside the door to Lotta's room, face blank as an erased blackboard; the direction of his thinking was hinted only by the tightness of his fingers on the breech of his M16.

Take your hand out of there! You'll get pinched!

quote:

She'd tell Doberman, he was thinking. Doberman would kill me ugly.

He was thinking about the kind of death Doberman would arrange for him if he had his way with Lotta, when the banging came on the door behind him.

"poo poo!" he burst out, startled. He turned halfway around. "Yeah, lady, what do you want?"

"I want to talk with you, please!" Lotta shouted through the door.

Castillo hesitated.

"About what? What do you need? You've got a bathroom in there, you had your dinner-"

"Please, I've got to have a word with you. I've been wondering what you look like - I want to see."

...right.

quote:

That was too much for Castillo. "Okay, but keep your mouth shut about this..." He looked up and down the hall, then leaned his rifle against the doorjamb. He fumbled in his pocket with clammy, nervous fingers, found the old-fashioned key, and unlocked the door. He pocketed the key, opened the door, picked up the rifle, and stepped through with it. Staring at Lotta, he closed the door behind him.

He licked his lips.

She was wearing a man's bathrobe, tied at the waist. It showed her long golden legs below the thighs, and the tanned swell of her cleavage at the lapels. She'd brushed her hair, and washed. Even the bruises on her cheek looked good. It might be nice to give her a few more while he-

"Hey!" Castillo snapped as she tried to press past him to the unlocked door.

"I want to talk to Doberman," she said, smiling at him, running her fingers softly along his jawline. She tried to sidle past, and he felt the warmth of her breasts against his right shoulder. He dropped the rifle to the rug and clapped his fingers to her upper arms.

"What do you mean, Doberman? I thought you said you wanted to talk to me? It's me or nothing. Because I ain't going to let you talk to Doberman till he asks to see you. He wouldn't like that."

This is the worst escape attempt.

quote:

She squirmed away from him, and he let her, because he liked watching her move. He stared at her heavy, dessert-sweet lips, and wanted to taste them. He wanted to taste every part of her, bad. So bad it hurt.

"You're hurting me," Castillo said breathlessly. "You hurt me just with the way you look. So it's my turn to hurt you now. But I think you're going to like it."

She was backing away from him, but he didn't mind that either. He liked watching her legs move, the jounce of her breasts as she half-turned to reach behind her.

"You know what I'd like, senor?" she said huskily.

"Now - you tell me what it is you'd like, babe. I just might give it to you."

"I'd like you to press your face into my breasts. I'd like you to... to kiss them."

Is she just making this all up on the spot?

quote:

She opened the bathrobe. She had a slip on under the bathrobe, and that was all. Her big round breasts were bare and begging him for attention. They seemed to grow, to fill up the whole room for him, just then. He moved toward her, bent over her, reaching for them...

And then he thought. What is she reaching behind her for?

Too late. Fireworks burst in his head, and an explosive pain. He had time to think. The bitch hit me with the goddamn lamp. Then he blacked out.

Incredible.

quote:

After Bond had installed and primed the plastic explosives in the prow of the boat, Leiter went to swing the doors of the boat garage wide, opening the way to the pewter-coloured waters of the little estuary.

Bond went forward to the machine gun, still brooding about the explosives. He wondered if he could install additional armor atop them - but that might interfere with the collision-triggered detonation. Still, it could throw things off if gunfire from the estate triggered the explosives prematurely. Probably he had arranged the armoring to protect it from that, though. Yeah, they'd be shooting downward.

Yeah.

quote:

Bond covered the machine gun with a tarp and lashed the tarp down tightly so the wind wouldn't pry it up and "drop their pants" in front of all the weekend boaters. It was a crude Soviet-made weapon, a piece of "surplus" confiscated from terrorists two years before: a 7.62mm caliber USSR RPD, gas-operated, with a hundred round metallic link belt in a metal drum. They'd removed the stock and bolted the ammo drum to the deck, plus added an unusually high muzzle stand for the raked shooting angle. It was a nearly obsolete weapon, mostly useful as a decoy-prop. And maybe it would confuse Doberman about who was attacking him, it would be a good thing if he thought, looking at the Soviet weapon, that the KGB was the attacker.

The RPD is far from crude, and in fact was a sort of precursor to modern thinking on squad machine guns. While not seeing issue until 1948, it was actually accepted as early as 1944 for the new Soviet 7.62x39mm intermediate cartridge to accompany the SKS semi-automatic carbine and what would eventually become the AK-47 assault rifle. This rather radical design took advantage of the lighter cartridge to give a standard combat loadout of 300 rounds, with the officials figuring that a quick-change barrel was unnecessary because the gun would practically withstand all of that without overheating.

The RPD was mostly replaced starting in the 1960s with the RPK, an automatic rifle form of the AK that was logistically easier to deal with, but it was the first instance of a mass produced, lightweight, belt-fed squad automatic weapon in an intermediate cartridge. It continues to see service in third world conflicts to this day and predates the FN Minimi (famous in the US as the M249 SAW) and similar modern designs.

quote:

Leiter returned to the boat, stepping over the water from the wooden walkway around the edges of the garage, and a minute later they were cutting across the wave to follow the coastline north.

Bond's head ached, his scratches stung, and the bullet graze across his left pectoral, where Chen's bullet had licked him on the way down the cable drop, burned like a branding iron.

But there was a grim smile on Bond's lips. He'd let them put him off long enough. Now rage gave him a singing inner strength that made all his aches into a ghostly, dimly felt echo. He shifted into a battle consciousness. He was no longer a personality, no longer an ordinary human being with the usual misgivings and uncontrolled mental associations. Now he was a killing machine. He was a tactical computer. He was an automatic weapon. And the only human feeling in him - aside from loyalty to Queen and Country - was the rage of vengeance-taker. That rage was the fuel for the killing machine's engine.

Bond's armored Chris-Craft speedboat shot toward Doberman's fortress like a throbbing erection.

It really is just like having a noose thrown around your neck as you run.

quote:

The sun was shimmering at the horizon. Bond hurried to help Leiter unload the boat so they could get it back out to sea, to use that sunset's glare to their advantage. They'd treated the windows so they were opaque - no one would be able to see that the boat had no pilot. But it would be better if the glare hid the boat's details and made it just that much harder to hit.

Bond had moved his attack time up - from three A.M. to eight P.M. - partly to take advantage of the momentum of his inner rage. The attack at the observation nest had infuriated him. Years before, he'd learned that rage can be two things. It can be the raw energy that pulls him through, or it can be his death if he allows it to overwhelm his tactical judgement. Rage was something Bond had learned how to use. Like a weapon.

Man, I think Craig's Bond took more from this guy than Fleming.

quote:

He moved the battlefield shortwave, the eagle-eye missles, and a couple of backup rifles to Leiter's remote-control post ashore, atop the ridge overlooking the estate. "You don't think they will send sentries outside the fence, James?" Leiter asked when they'd gotten the gear stored safely behind the blind of camouflaging and twigs.

"No, I cut their forces back too much. They'll need survivors to stay in close to the house... Okay, I'm heading out."

Solemnly they shook hands.

"Good luck and may the wind be at your back," Leiter murmured as Bond moved off down the hill.

Bond would need that luck.

Chances are he'll screw up again anyway.

quote:

Chen had thought better of his decision to keep quiet about the coming battle. To do the job right, he'd decided, he had to give his commander the facts. It tasted bad in his mouth, but he said it. "Sir, I think we ought to move out tonight. As soon as possible." He couldn't tell Doberman at this point, about the treehouse encounter with Bond. But he could tell him what it foreshadowed: "I think someone's going to hit us tonight."

"What makes you certain of that, Mr. Chen?" Doberman asked.

Doberman was sitting at dinner on the balcony overlooking the sea, dressed in a formal white jacket. He chewed lustily at a steak so rare it nearly screamed, blood running from the corners of his mouth, all the time watching Chen.

That made Chen nervous.

"Uh... hard to explain. Just call it the trained instinct of long experience, sir. I just know."

....Chen, you've had like half of your guards mysteriously go missing and literally saw Bond ziplining out of a tree. There is no reason for you to not just tell Doberman to get prepared!

quote:

"Indeed?" Doberman spat a bone over the railing. It tumbled trailing blood droplets, to the sea far, far below. "I wonder if you are keeping something from me, Mr. Chen?"

Chen stiffened. He knew what that meant. When Doberman started to wonder about you, you were probably as good as dead. With Doberman even a suspicion of treachery was enough to condemn you.

So better make sure to be as suspicious as possible!

quote:

"I think that tonight," Chen went on doggedly, "it's going to come down on us. I can't explain."

Doberman barked for wine, then turned back to Chen. "Very well. We will leave in one hour, if we can get the yacht loaded quickly."

"I'd advise now, sir - and I advise once again against appearing on this balcony. You are a target here."

"A target? No one could get close enough to-"

The wine bottle the steward had just set on the table exploded. The steward exploded, too. Bullet holes ripped him open at the middle, splashing his white jacket with red.

Bond, you just killed a civilian!

quote:

Chen stared down at the man's twitching body in momentary shock. Shock - but not regret.

Chen's shock melted away a second later and he dived to the flagstone floor of the balcony as another spray from below raked across the balcony.

Doberman was down on his hands and knees. He was completely unhurt - physically. But his pride had been dealt a nasty blow. Chen noted that with some satisfaction. It was good to see Doberman on his hands and knees, waddling through the open doors into the cover of the living room.

Doberman stood, dusting his knees.

Chen joined him. "It seems you were right, Mr. Chen," Doberman said. His voice like a wire pulled taut till it was about to snap. His hands trembled with a fury barely in check. "It's Bond, isn't it?"

No poo poo!

quote:

Chen moved to a window and peered from a lower corner. He saw the speedboat below, coming back around to strafe the balcony again. There was a machine gun mounted on the hood - but no one operating it. Must have it rigged so he can press the trigger from the pilot's cabin. Some kind of remote. Funny, Bond attacking that way - from the sea. So vulnerable down there. And that had been a lucky hit, that strafe. He couldn't hope to shoot at all accurately - not on those waves, and with no way to aim the muzzle of the machine gun precisely. Funny. Must have seen Doberman out there, and it was too much of a temptation. Nearly got him, too. But why was Bond sticking around? What could he hope to accomplish from down there now, except knock out a few windows? Sooner or later some boat would pass and see the action and radio the police. Crazy way to work. But maybe that was it - the unexpected. But how could Bond hope to-

Doberman's shuddering roar interrupted his pondering. "I asked you, is that Bond?"

How long was Chen going through this internal monologue? Real time reading speed?

quote:

Chen nodded. "I think so. That's the boat that-"

"Then get the girl. Quickly! Bring her here!"

Gunmen were running into the room, babbling questions, unslinging rifles.

Chen watched them dubiously. But then again, maybe it wasn't Bond down there. Maybe-

"Chen," Doberman bellowed. "Get the girl! I'll oversee our defense!"

"If you say so, sir. But I don't think..."

His words were drowned out by gunfire. Three sentries and the two bodyguards had taken up firing positions in the window and were laying a heavy fire pattern on the boat below. They'd cut it to pieces in minutes, Chen figured.

Doberman gestured spasmodically, a pistol in each hand.

"Go!"

Chen shrugged. "Yes, sir."

This is the first time I've seen Bond and the villain equally matched in incompetence.

quote:

He moved down the hall, took the stairs three at a time, zigzagging three flights below to the second floor.

Strange - the guard was gone from her door. And it was open.

He found Castillo out cold on the floor of her room.

Chen slapped the man's cheek, waking him.

"Whuh? Where the hell...?" He sat up and looked at Chen. He blinked, and then his eyes focused.

"Chen?"

"Yeah, brilliant observation, rear end in a top hat, it's Chen!" He grabbed the man by the shirt collar and dragged him to his feet. Then he saw the gash on the side of Castillo's head, matting his hair with blood. "What happened?"

"The bitch. The bitch! Started to come outside, said she had to talk to Doberman. I told her to forget it. She came at me with..." He pointed.

Chen looked. There was a broken table lamp behind the door. He looked back at Castillo, and despite the gunshots rocketing from above, grinned. "She busted your head open? Hell, man, she must have stood on her tiptoes! And it wasn't even from behind!" He nodded to himself. The woman had courage. Admirable.

You're happy about this?

quote:

"Yeah, but poo poo, she..." He winced. "She pulled open her bathrobe. Them big boobies-"

Chen laughed. "She hypnotized you, Castillo! You dumb rear end."

What drugs was Hatfield on when he did this chapter?

quote:

"Look, don't tell Doberman what happened, okay? I'll find her-"

"No, uh... forget it. I'll find her. You go outside and report to Garcia. Got to beef up that back sentry watch."

"That gunfire I hear?"

"No, that's the little drummer boy playing a march. Get going, and watch your dumb rear end - we're under attack. Keep your eyes open. I've got a feeling he'll hit us from the back, no matter what it looks like now."

Castillo got to his feet. "Where's my gun?"

"Naturally, dumb rear end, she took it. Get another from the basement, and move!"

Castillo moved, groaning, holding his lumped head.

We've gotten past the really obvious plagiarism to what now sounds like Hatfield rushing to a finish during a coke binge.

quote:

Chen went up the hall to the stairway and paused beside the door of one of the unused bedrooms. He heard a noise from in there. Sure, Lotta was probably holed up in there - she'd been in the hall, heard him coming, was waiting for him to go.

He hesitated, then shrugged. It wouldn't help their defense to bring her out. Bond wouldn't let a hostage stop him now.

Why is he thinking in the third person?

quote:

The hell with her. Let her go.

Smiling just a little, he went upstairs. "She's not there," he began, stepping into the living room. "Castillo..." He broke off, looking around. "What's going on? Garcia! What're you doing here?"

Garcia and the other sentries, all but the gatehouse keeper, were at the windows, firing at the boat outside. Doberman was at the telephone. He threw the phone onto the floor and kicked it against a wall. "Someone cut the lines!" he bellowed.

"Naturally," Chen said dryly. "Sir..." That time he really had to force it out. "Why are the sentries up here? We need to guard our rear!"

"What? They came because they heard shooting, you fool!"

"But that's..." A light dawned on him. "That's what Bond wants!"

"What?" Doberman stalked toward him, waving pistols. "What are you talking about?"

"Hold your fire!" Chen shouted at the sentries. He had to repeat it three times. The men stepped away from the windows, blinking through a haze of blue gunsmoke.

Chen pushed Garcia aside with a curse, snatched a pair of binoculars off a table, and looked through the window.

Incredibly, the boat was still there. It looked barely scratched and it was still running. The machine gun had been knocked off, but the boat kept zipping back and forth across the little inlet, working its way in toward the dock...

"Armored!" Chen burst out. "I can see camouflaged armoring! And look - there's no one driving that thing! It's remote controlled, a goddamn decoy! You idiots! What's it doing now? It's heading toward the yacht!"

The speedboat hit the Buenaventura broadside, and the big load of plastic explosives in its prow exploded thunderously, consuming the smaller boat in a ball of black-shot red flame; they could see the shock wave make a sort of inverted bubble in the water around the exploding boat. And then the smoke hid the wreckage and part of the sinking yacht. "He's blown up the yacht!" Garcia shouted. "He-"

A voice crackled from Garcia's walkie-talkie. "Anyone there? This is Castillo - somebody just blew up the gatehouse! Looked like a mortar shell! He... The electric fence is knocked down, somebody's coming through... poo poo!"

And then silence.

Finally, Bond accomplishes something! And I need to cut this massive chapter in two!

# ? Sep 2, 2021 17:51

Midjack: Dec 24, 2007

quote:

Bond's armored Chris-Craft speedboat shot toward Doberman's fortress like a throbbing erection.

# ? Sep 2, 2021 18:55

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

quote:

Felix Leiter lowered the binoculars, grinning. That was one yacht Doberman would not be using for an escape. Already its deck was completely awash, and it was heeling over to port. By now James should have penetrated the fence. Time to back him up.

He quickly checked the eagle-eye missle launcher one last time. He activated the TV cameras. The little TV screen on the control unit showed only dark sky, a black-and-white image - mostly black. Luckily there were powerful outside lights at the estate. Lights designed for the estate's defence - which would help him destroy it.

He stood well back from the launching tubes and activated number one with the thumb switch. The missile's tail whooshed out white smoke and flame, and then it was gone, rocketing almost straight up. Leiter bent over the screen, twiddling knobs to signal the missile's computerized navigator - the image on the screen changed. There was a confused blur of coastline, the lights of the house, the horizon, then dark grey face of rock rushing at him. He jerked the joystick back - too late. The missile plowed into the cliff below the house, exploding brilliantly but uselessly.

Leiter cursed himself, wishing he'd done more research on operating these missiles. He fired number two - and lost that one as well, ran it into a treetop.

You all suck so bad.

quote:

But now he was beginning to get the feel of it. His third missile shot straight for the house. The image whirled, and the little screen showed the roof and the spotlights slicing across the back lawns. He veered downward, then forced the missile into a wide circle over the treetops till he could get his bearings. It was not unlike a video game. Once you got the feel for it...

But the image on the screen moved so quickly! What if he brought the missile down too close to Bond? He'd never have time to be sure who was in the target area...

He took a deep breath, twiddled the knobs, and pressed the joystick forward. The rear lights of the house leaped toward the camera in the snout of the missile. The target grew.

[* * * * * *]

Bond heard the explosions of the first two missiles and grimaced. The eagle-eyes, it seemed, were harder to operate than they'd supposed. He was crouched in the rubble of the stone wall, inside the electric-fence perimeter. He'd blown the wall - but then the albino sentry had pinned him down here before he could get through the still-smoking gap.[/quote

Even in their most successful run yet, Bond and Leiter are screwing up everything!

[quote]There was about twenty yards of lawn between Bond and the corner of the house where Castillo crouched, sheltered by a stone buttress, firing M16 bursts at Bond's position. The rear and side grounds were lighted in swaths of light from the swiveling searchlights on the roof, and from the one remaining anticrime lamp. Bond had shot three lamps out, to give partial cover to his assault area. He'd left the remaining lamps intact to guide Leiter - but now it seemed that Leiter wasn't going to be much help.

Bond carried a semiautomatic assault rifle, a new Beretta, a knife, and six grenades. He yanked two grenades free, holding their pressure clamps tightly, one in each hand. He waited till Castillo's latest gun burst ended, then jumped up and lobbed both grenades over the wall, one shortly after the other. He was too far and tossing at a difficult angle - he probably couldn't blow the sentry away with those grenades. But the son-of-a-bitch would keep his head down, maybe just long enough...

The grenades exploded close together near the corner of the house; the buttress protected Castillo from the flak, but Bond was up and running, clearing the crust of the wall, zigzagging across the lawn under cover of the smoke from the grenade blasts. Pieces of sod were still pattering to the ground around him as he ran. He peered through thr blue-grey smoke, glimpsed the sentry getting up, raising his M16 muzzle...

Bond threw himself down and to the right, rolling. Bullets screamed into the turf where he'd been a second before, ripping it brutally. He kept rolling, coming into a wide patch of shadow. Then he sprang to his feet, and keeping low, rifle spitting flame in his hands, sprinted for the shelter of the stone porch railings. Castillo ducked back to avoid Bond's burst. Bond made the porch, then jumped over the railing into the flowerbed, working smoothly with the motion to shoulder-roll, somersault, and snap up into firing position - as the door to the porch was flung open from inside and three men rushed out. At the same moment, Castillo rushed Bond from the side of the house, shouting, "He's there, to your left, the bastard's on the other side of the porch!"

quote:

The three men - Garcia, and two other bodyguards - turned as one to begin firing at him. He was already opening up on them, but he knew it was too late.

The dirt kicked up powder around Bond as they fired at him, at first inaccurately in the darkness.

Bond knew he had only two or three seconds to live.

The air split with a violent shriek - and the porch erupted in flame and smoke, pieces of hot debris flying outward to trail vapor. Leiter scored a bull's eye.

The shock wave from the eagle-eye missile's blast kicked Bond in the gut and tumbled him backward. He found himself lying on his back, staring up at the stars, his head ringing, gasping for air. He forced himself to take a breath, and swearing, got to his knees, fumbling for his rifle. He scooped it up from the dirt in front of him, checked to see that the barrel was clear, put in a fresh clip, and got shakily to his feet. He started forward, moving through a spreading cloud of smoke and dust. Small tongues of flame - finding no foothold on the stone walls - licked futilely at the ragged gap four yards high and three wide where the front door and the porch had been. He counted three dead - or pieces of men that amounted to three dead - in the rubble. He'd killed two others that day, so that left six or seven fighting men against him. Unless the albino sentry...

So....you had Leiter firing missiles at the house as you were trying to get in?

quote:

A ghoulish figure, a thing out of nightmares, loomed in the smoke cloud to Bond's left - the albino guard, the right half of his face torn away by flying debris, his teeth and the bone of his jaw showing within the wound, muscles exposed and hanging, one eye socket a puddle of red. Yammering maniacally, he charged Bond with an M16. Bond dodged, and fired from the hip, zippering the disfigured sentry with six slugs at close range. The man was lifted off his feet by the impact of the bullets and thrown back over the snaggletooth remains of the railing. Bond turned away, flattened himself against the wall beside the missile-impact hole, and lobbed a grenade into the house. The wall at his back shivered with the explosion, and fragments of stone fell from the edge of the break overhead.

Bond ducked down and spun on his heel to spray the anteroom - just a scorched and rubbled cave now - with a double burst from his semiautomatic.

There was no return fire.

He unsnapped a flashlight from his belt and shone it into the smoke-filled room. Not even a corpse. But there would be at least half a dozen more men to deal with somewhere in the house.

The air shuddered, a long booom shivering through the walls of the house. Leiter had used the fourth missile, mostly as a diversion - probably on the balcony.

It's by sheer luck now that Leiter isn't bombing Bond directly.

quote:

Bond stepped through the broken-down door into the ground-floor living room. To the right, a cracked picture window showed only darkness - the view off the cliff s edge. A few stairs. Ahead, a wide staircase, twisting upward. Bond ran across the open space to the stairs, ducked back against the wall of the stairwell, half a flight up, looking for the enemy. No one yet. The overhead lights glowed as if nothing had happened, though they were slightly muted by smoke from the detonations; smoke that stung his eyes, made him cough.

He began to move up the stairs, and with his left hand started to return the flashlight to his belt - when the lights went out. Probably a complication of that last missile strike - it must have caused a fire or broke a water pipe, shorted out the system. If it was a short, even the backup would be useless.

Bond smiled coldly. He was used to working in darkness.

*Bane Voice*

quote:

He kept the flashlight in his left hand, but turned it off. In his right he carried the Beretta. The rifle was slung over his shoulder. The pistol would serve him better at this close range. Too bad he hadn't time enough to get another submachine gun.

Knees bent, almost squatting, Bond moved up the stairs. He was above the thickest smoke now, and could breathe almost freely.

The darkness was deep on the stairwell, but broken by patches of grey above at the landing where light - moonlight, starlight, and a flicker that suggested fire, possibly from flames on the tar roof - came in through at the end of the corridor.

Bond kept to the pits of darkness, moving cat-soft, breathing deeply but so slowly it would be hard to hear.

But the men coming down the hall toward the stairway weren't so careful to move quietly. In fact, they were arguing.

The taller, angular one was saying, "I think we ought to stick with Chen. He knows what he's doing, man, and-"

"No, no," said the shorter, stockier man in a heavy Spanish accent. "That Chen is crazy to go to the back stairs."

Bond, when he'd first heard their voices, had swung over the stair railing. He was perched atop the switchback of the railing below the landing, balancing on the balls of his feet, hidden behind the balustrade, holding on to it with his left hand, the automatic pistol at the ready in his right. He was counting on the two men looking first down the stairway itself, and not beyond the railing.

He had guessed right. The men paused at the landing, just at the top of the stairs, the short one, nearer the outside rail, flashing his light down the stairs. He carried an AK-47; the other carried a shotgun.

Bond was poised on the railing of the flight beneath them. If they'd looked down at their boots, they'd probably have noticed him looking through the rail posts. He could almost have bitten their ankles.

He shot the first one through the crotch, because he couldn't hit the heart or head - the railing was in the way. The man shrieked and dropped his rifle. It banged down the stairs. He clutched at the close-range wound where his groin had been, and doubled over - that made it easy to finish him. Bond put a bullet through the side of the man's head; it split open like the proverbial ripe melon, jerking on his neck as he fell away.

Somehow the violence is actually ramping up from Bond impaling people to trees and taking heads off.

quote:

The taller man, confused - the floor seemed to be shooting at them - swung around and let loose with the shotgun. The double-barreled combat shotgun roared, but it was too high, taking a chunk of the railing well over Bond's head. Bond fired twice between the railing posts. This man was farther from him and he could sight in on him clearly. Two bullets crunched through the tall man's skull and he fell over backward with a single short yelp. The flashlight looped from his nerveless fingers, and flaring light wildly, bumped down the stairs to the next landing. It came to a stop leaning against the bottom step, pointed upward, shining its light over the stairs and up onto the sprawled head-downward corpse of his partner.

Bond swung himself over the railing, alighting neatly on the steps. He picked up the shotgun and with his own flashlight briefly looked it over. Double-barreled twelve-gauge with a bandolier containing four more shells fixed to the stock with duck tape. Looked to be in good shape. He holstered his Beretta, reloaded the shotgun, and cocked it.

You duct taped shells to it?

quote:

Carrying the shotgun, he crept up the landing. A large grandfather clock faced him across the corridor, ticking sullenly. He heard footsteps approaching from his right. Someone coming down the stairs.

Bond crossed the corridor with a single stride and turned to flatten against the wall beside the clock. The big clock stood between him and whoever was coming down the stairs. Bond held the shotgun upright, feeling its cold metal barrel against his cheek. He held his breath.

A middle-sized Colombian man with long stringy black hair walked past without seeing him. The man's attention was fixed on the stairs - the flashlight propped up at the bottom shone up toward him, end he assumed, probably, that someone was lying there holding it. The glare from the big flashlight made it hard to be sure no one was behind it. He shouted, "Who's there?" as he pointed his M16 at the light. Bond, behind him, dropped the shotgun down into firing position. The motion made a slight noise and the man whirled to face him, M16 spurting flame and slugs.

I love how Hatfield is so desperate to end this that he can't even get descriptions out anymore. "Middle-sized."

quote:

He'd fired spasmodically, without aiming, and the bullets crashed into the glass face of the clock, sending shards flying, bits of springs and wood jumping out.

But with the shotgun at a range of two yards, Bond couldn't miss. The shotgun bucked violently in his hands, disgorging hellfire - he fired from the hip, the stock against the meat of his thigh. The big gun's kick jabbed him painfully. But that was nothing compared to what the shotgun did to his enemy.

The double barrels tore the man in half, so that blood splashed on the ceiling and the walls. The man's insides shredded, sprang out from a hole big as a basketball as his body was rag-dolled backward over the stair railing, heels-over-head, tumbling to hit the stairs a flight below.

On the ceiling?

quote:

Bond nodded to himself with a professional's satisfaction. Effective weapon - but only at very close range. He reloaded it - just two rounds left - and moved off down the hall to the stairs at the end.

But he hesitated at the bottom of the stairs. What had that Spanish-speaking guard said? Something about Chen on the back stairs. Where were these back stairs? And what was Chen doing there?

Probably he'd gone downstairs, and would be working back up, behind Bond. Hit him from behind while he was distracted by the cannon fodder.

Why is everyone thinking in third person?!

quote:

Bond went to the vertical grey rectangle behind the stairs - the window of the corridor. He looked out, but he could see no one moving on the lawns.

He decided against going further upstairs this way. He moved off down the hall to the other end, opening doors, firing a burst through, fishing for a reaction. Nothing. He had laid his hand on a doorknob - when the door behind him opened. He spun. Another guard, armed with submachine gun, stood silhouetted against the grey light filtering up from a narrow stairway. The back stairway?

Both Bond and the guard were startled - neither had expected the other. But, unlike the bodyguard, Bond didn't allow his surprise to slow his reactions. He snapped the shotgun up and fired a split second before the other man would have squeezed his own trigger.

The range was even closer here. The double blast caught the man full force in the teeth. His head split into two halves, separated at the two jaws, the upper half exploding backward, the lower clacking a few times before, almost headless, the corpse sagged and tumbled down the stairs.

I unfortunately have to confirm this is less horrifying than the real effect would be.

quote:

Bond tossed the exhausted shotgun aside and caught up with the guard's weapon. There was a fresh clip in tb submachine gun. He looked down the stairs.

Where was that dim light coming from?

He moved down the stairs, submachine gun hard and cold in his hands. They were stone stairs, and very old. This was the oldest part of the house, judging by the cracked stone walls and the narrowness of the stairwell. He stepped over the shattered body of the dead bodyguard and continued down, taking the steps slowly and carefully, flattened against the back wall of the dank, twisting stairwell.

He came around another bend - and saw a man standing against the light of a doorway five steps below. The doorway looked out onto an anteroom, this one bare of furniture, with only a single electric lightbulb overhead. Bond felt a breeze on his cheek, faintly damp and salty. So the anteroom opened onto the outdoors, probably at the stairway that led down the cliffside.

The man in the doorway had his back turned to Bond. He was a tall, wiry Mexican man in fatigues and a headband. The man was looking out past the anteroom.

Voices floated up the stairs. Someone talking outside. Bond guessed whoever it was had to be at least eight yards distant. Maybe more. So if he shot the bodyguard now, they'd hear him, and they'd pin him down there - he'd have to retreat up the stairs.

He heard Chen's voice then. "...says he heard gunshots up the stairs... Your other man hasn't come back..."

"Then we move quickly..." Doberman's voice.

"You get in the Scorpion and fly the hell away from here, and I'll take care of-"

"No! Bond is a worm and I'll step on him myself!"

No! He's into that!

quote:

"Take the helicopter, you can-"

"No! I have run enough!"

"Sir, he's..."

Bond moved quietly down the stairs. He slung the submachine gun over one shoulder, took a garrotte out of one of the pouches on his belt, and wound its ends around his two hands, then stretched it taught between them. He moved up behind the bodyguard and with a swift, fluid, circular motion looped the wire around the man's neck and jerked it tight, at the same time dragging him backward into the shadows, so his struggles wouldn't attract the attention of the men outside. Pulling the man off balance served to tighten the garrotte, the victim's body weight itself strangling him. The guard had time only for a startled squeak before the wire shut off his windpipe just above the larnyx. He struggled like a trapped panther in Bond's grasp - twice Bond nearly lost control of the man, the thrashings almost throwing him off balance. But he stood braced against the wall, pectorals, biceps, and forearms working together like the three parts of a gallows.

Four muscle-aching minutes later, the man stopped thrashing. He went limp in Bond's arm, eyes bulging, staring at the ceiling, tongue half-sawed-through between clenched teeth.

This is the reason you normally skip realism in these books.

quote:

Bond lowered him noiselessly to the floor, abandoned the garrote, and unslung his appropriated machine gun.

He moved forward toward the doorway to the anteroom - and froze.

It was too quiet outside now.

Chen was there. Bond was sure of it. He could feel it. The son-of-a-bitch had probably convinced Doberman that it was time to retreat. The murderer would be down those steps carved into the cliffside, escaping to the hydrocopter.

And Chen would be under cover outside the door, waiting. Chen realized that the bodyguards had disappeared - and that meant I had found the back stairs. Chen knew where I was.

Bond thought: If I retreat up the stairs and try to circle around behind Chen, Doberman will get away. I've got to get past Chen now, or the assignment's blown.

It's been blown!

quote:

He squatted down, moved through the shadows to the open doorway, peered around the doorframe.

The anteroom was dark. No one around. Chen would be just outside that half-open door. Bond could see a watered-down milky light throwing a pale shaft through the other doorway onto the stone floor. He slipped through the door from the stairway, moved toward the outside door. He flattened against the wall beside the outside door, jerked a grenade from his belt, and tossed it through

A flash of light. Shrapnel whining off the stone of the outer wall.

Bond launched himself through the door, the submachine gun chattering in his hands, slicing into the woods, shadows, any place a man could hide. Then he flung himself down to the right, rolling behind a boulder that marked the stairway leading down the cliffside.

Breathing hard, gun hot in his hands, muzzle smoking, Bond scanned the woods. No return fire. Chen must be there - but playing it cagey. or... Bond looked down the stairway. Down there? Covering Doberman's retreat? That must be it. He turned to head down the stairs.

A boot crunched behind him. He turned just in time to see Chen, grinning, stepping from the doorway of the house, an M16 in his hands spitting flame.

Why is everyone grinning in this book?

quote:

Something smashed into Bond's left shoulder, its brother dug hungrily into his left thigh, spinning him around. He fell, cursing with the pain in his wounds as he struck the stone stairway. He rolled down five steps, came to rest at a wide place where the stairs switched back - where a zig became a zag.

He would have liked to lie there staring up at the stairs, the blue-white moon, resting, falling into the pit of darkness opening up in his mind...

But he cursed himself and forced his right arm to prop him up, his right leg to work. Summoning the rage that would ride roughshod over the pain, he got to his feet. His left thigh was bullet-slashed and bloody - but the slug had missed the bone.

He thought: Chen must've run around to the hole I blasted on the far side, gone into the house and come out of it behind me.

Bond fired a burst up the steep cliffside. Bullets sprang off stone - he glimpsed Chen running to hide behind a boulder.

Bond knew he was a sitting duck.

He looked for cover. Chen fired, strafing the stone at Bond's feet; in a moment he would draw a bead on him and cut him down.

But Chen's firing ceased, cut off by another burst. A burst from the house, behind.

Bond forced himself to move up the steps, peering through the darkness. Leiter? No... He saw her then at a window on the second floor, a rifle in her hands. Lotta. She'd fired through the window glass, forcing Chen to cover himself.

Well, I can't say she's one of the useless movie girls from this era.

quote:

Which gave Bond time to move up two flights, circle the boulder Chen was behind - Bond moving crabwise across the outcropping of rock just below the boulder, the cliff dropping away sheer beneath him. But Chen had disappeared. Vanished into thin air. Bond cursed to himself and put a fresh clip in the submachine gun.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eyes, Bond spied Doberman at the controls of the one-man Scorpion hydrocopter as the rotary aircraft slowly started to rise from the water. Doberman turned and looked back at Bond, then smiled triumphantly.

I think this is the RotorWay Scorpion, a line of kit helicopters produced from 1966 to 1984.

quote:

Despite his blood loss, Bond ran down the cliffside.

The hydrocopter was rising swiftly now.

Bond reached the jetty, teeth grating with fury. And then he saw the aircraft's mooring line was dragging along the jetty, almost at the edge. The end was slipping past him. Bond had to act fast.

He dived at the rope, grasped it... and then held on for dear life as the hydrocopter dragged Bond along the water for at least twenty yards. And then, as the small aircraft gained altitude, Bond was airborne.

Finally, an action scene truly worthy of the 80s!

quote:

The hydrocopter tilted, Doberman fighting to keep his balance.

Bond hung onto the mooring line as the wind whipped his face. His hands ached. Water filled his eyes, but he could see that the aircraft had changed direction. It was still rising, but now was heading across the water, straight toward the Sierra Madres.

Hand over hand, Bond slowly, painfully, pulled himself up the long mooring line. The hydrocopter was twenty-five feet above him... then twenty... fifteen...

The aircraft tilted again, but Doberman kept it steady toward the looming mountains.

Bond's hands became raw and blistered from the coarse, heavy rope. But he kept on pulling himself higher and higher.

Ten feet... five... four.

He was almost there. Any second now he would be able to scramble up into the cockpit with Doberman.

Three feet... two...

Bond hung on to one of the hollow, flotation cylinders. Because its weight wasn't balanced, the hydrocopter pitched again. This gave him just enough time to pull himself up, scrambling to his feet.

Doberman drew his pistol and pointed it at Bond's head.

But Bond lunged across the small cockpit, grabbing his wrist, preventing him from firing. Bond dug his fingers into Doberman's face, trying to jab out the one remaining eye. Blocking a blow to his larnyx, Bond dodged and struck Doberman's gun arm, his wrist, the blow so powerful that Doberman's fingers opened reflexively, the pistol a blur as it fell out of sight toward the water.

The Scorpion tilted again. The next thing Bond knew, as his heart pounded wildly, he'd stumbled backward. He grabbed one of the pontoons, suspended horribly, hanging above a rushing blur of water. Bond felt a lurch as the aircraft descended closer to the Sierra Madres, pitching, dipping, Doberman obviously trying to impact him against one of the mountains. Wind tugged at him. With both hands on the pontoon now, Bond pulled himself higher. Straining, sweating, he grabbed the side of the door, however. Doberman pounded on his hands, smashing his fingers.

Bond released one hand and slugged Doberman's neck back. For a protracted instant their eyes made contact. They seemed to be giving no thought to the rapidly approaching mountains. Their only concern was to destroy each other.

Hatfield and Bush.

quote:

Bond didn't waste any more time struggling with his enemy. He heaved himself up onto the flotation cylinder, dodging Doberman's swinging fists.

Desperately, Bond grabbed a handful of Doberman's mane of hair as it left a white tail that the wind blew horizontal behind him. Then, with one powerful effort, Bond swung Doberman out of the cockpit... and let go of his firm grasp; Doberman pitched over, soaring down toward the water like a runaway kite, screaming all the way to his death.

Oh. Well, that was abrupt.

quote:

The hydrocopter was out of control, veering back and forth. Bond heaved himself into the small cockpit, squirming into the seat as he grabbed the controls. The waters reeled, the looming mountains ever closer and tilting, as Bond eased back on the throttle, slowing the Scorpion. He looked down. Doberman was clinging desperately to the frayed rope, which oscillated in the wind like a broken propeller.

Bond nosed the hydrocopter down a bit, increasing speed. Ahead, the Sierra Madres awakened like a sleeping giant.

Then Doberman began to climb. He grabbed a dry-rotted rung, which splintered in two. He skittered down ten feet, coming to rest at the final knot of the fragile rope, swinging precariously in space.

Frantically guiding the Scorpion, Bond stared down at the lower mountains that rushed by, a larger one seemingly inches away.

Doberman rolled his eye to the left just as his body slammed into the side of the mountain, exploding into bloody pulp.

Holy poo poo!

quote:

The hydrocopter barely cleared the mountaintop in time, and Bond veered hard to the left. The chopper rolled on its side as Bond guided it back toward the jetty, where Leiter and Lotta waited with the outboard skiff.

# ? Sep 2, 2021 23:26

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 18: Sudden Death

quote:

A week later, James Bond stood on the balcony of his hillside casita at the La Brisas Hotel in Acapulco, almost hypnotized by the picturesque view of the perpetual paradise's bay. Waterskiers scimmed over the waves past multi-coloured sailboats and parasailers flew high above the Pacific Ocean and the rugged mountains behind racing speedboats.

Somewhere near at hand below Bond, a Mariachi group sang of love found, lost, and found again. He thought amorously of Lotta, who lay sound asleep in the satin sheets of their bedroom, renewing her strength from a round of night-time activities at Magic - Acapulco's most famous discoteque.

Bond reached into his pocket, withdrew a cigarette and lit it. He inhaled deeply, savoring the smoke in his lungs, as he remembered the call from M. a few minutes earlier. His superior had sounded exceptionally cheerful and told him to take a couple of week's leave. "No, 007, make that a month. You really have deserved it this time. Very good show indeed."

Finally, a happy ending!

quote:

Fuji Chen decided to use his nunchaku. It was an honorable weapon, ancient as air: two hard wooden sticks connected by wire.

Chen liked wire.

Oh.

quote:

He was a master with the nunchaku, and to the Caucasian world the strangeness of the weapon lent it an aura of fear. Noonchuck, the whites called it.

.....they called it what

quote:

Chen quietly picked the casita's door lock and entered. He held his nunchaku loosely, a stick in each hand, letting the rough wire curve as it wanted.

Chen began closing in on the figure on the balcony. He wanted to quicken his pace, but when you were silent, speed was your enemy. You had to be steady, you had to be slow. Otherwise there was the risk of fabric brushing fabric.

Chen was six feet behind James Bond.

Five.

Four.

Three feet behind Bond now.

As Chen moved the wire around Bond's throat he was already aware that the spy had gotten his hand up. His right hand was keeping the wire from the throat. Bastard, Chen thought, but then he banished everything from his mind but business. He pulled his wire through the flesh, and Bond's hand bones broke easily.

Wait, what?!

quote:

Chen put his body into perfect balance and began the kill...

So, for an instant, as the wire cut deeper into his throat, Bond was feeble and clouded and ripe for dying.

But Bond's brain began to clear. Do something, now! He flicked his wrist, and the sleeve knife leaped free from its spring into the grip of his wounded and bloody hand.

Now, with all the power in his body, Bond hunched forward, pulling the Chinaman unwillingly with him, and when he was in balance off the floor, Bond put all his strength into a shoulder throw, sailing Chen helplessly over him and down hard on the balcony floor.

Chen, of course, saw the blade, saw something, at any rate, and his muscular arms went quickly to protect his stomach.

But too late. Too late. The knife was home. It entered below his navel with such speed and force that Chen could only grunt and drop his arms in weak surprise.

Then the blade began its journey upward, severing flesh and gristle until Chen became acquainted with death.

Well, that was a really quick final moment. It's not really that much, though.

quote:

Bond pulled his blade free. Then he clutched his arms across his body and stumbled toward the bedroom. Numbness was creeping up his body. He felt very cold.

"Lotta," Bond could only whisper her name through a throat full of blood. Breathing became difficult. He sighed to the depths of his lungs.

"LOTTA!!!" Bond cried as he stood in the doorway of the bedroom, gasping for breath. His hands moved up towards his cold face. He felt his knees begin to buckle.

.....wait.

quote:

Lotta literally jumped out of the bed and ran toward him.

Bond reached his arms for her as he went into his fall.

Lotta caught him before he hit the floor, cradled him, hugged him with everything she had till they were both bathed in wine-red blood.

Chapter 19: A Far, Far Better Rest

quote:

Commander James Bond loved the Navy and the fourteen months he spent as a young, seagoing sailor were among the happiest of his life. Therefore, it came as a surprise to no one that his last will and testament stated that he was to be buried at sea.

Two days after Bond's murder in Mexico, former Navy admiral M. had decreed, 007's wishes would be respected and his body would be consigned to the Atlantic, a few kilometers off the coast of his beloved England.

WHAT

quote:

The H.M. submarine Reliant's company assembled, in full dress at 0800 hours. The torpedo officer took his place at the projectile's guidance console and programmed in the course M. had selected.

The people who had known James Bond best, stood together in a small group: Major Boothroyd, Miss Moneypenny, Felix Leiter and Lotta Head. They all watched M., who looked tired and drawn. He stood before the crew of the Reliant, staring at the deck, not speaking. Bond's sealed coffin stood in the middle of the chamber.

M. took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and faced them.

"We have assembled here," he said, "in accordance with Royal Navy traditions, to pay final respects to one of our own. To honor our dead..." He paused a long time. "...and to grieve for a beloved comrade who gave his life in defence of Queen and Country.

"He did not think his sacrifice a vain or empty one, and I can pronounce unequivocally that Commander Bond's last mission was performed with outstanding bravery end distinction."

The madman loving did it.

quote:

Beside M., Miss Moneypenny and Lotta Head tried to keep from breaking down, but failed. They stared straight ahead, with tears spilling down their cheeks.

"Of my friend," M. said, "I can only say that of all the men I have commanded he was-" he looked from face to face around the company of old friends, new ones, strangers; he saw Miss Moneypenny crying "-the most like a son."

M.'s voice faltered. He paused a moment, then continued softly. "One of Commander Bond's favorite authors once wrote `It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known.'" M. could not quite imagine Bond's adventurous spirit finally at rest. "With love, we commit his body to the depths of the sea, looking for the resurrection of the body when the sea shall give up her dead."

This man lied about being the next Bond writer, quickly threw together a book when questioned, and ended it by killing James Bond.

quote:

M. moved from the line. "Honors: hut."

The ship's company saluted. The bo'sun began to play the bagpipes. It filled the chamber with a plaintive wail, a dirge that was too appropriate.

The torpedo officer armed the guidance control with the course M. had so carefully worked out.

The pallbearers lifted Bond's black coffin into the launching chamber. It hummed closed, and the arming lock snapped into place.

M. nodded an order to the torpedo officer. He fired the missile.

With a great roar of igniting propellant, the chamber reverberated. The bagpipes stopped. Silence, eerie and complete, settled over the room.

M. waited; then said, "Return: hut."

The company returned to attention.

The dark torpedo carrying the body of Commander James Bond streaked away against the blackness of the Atlantic, until the coffin shrank and vanished.

This really is how it ends. James Hatfield killed James Bond.

What do you even say about this book? So much of it was blatantly copied from other sources, but so much can't be identified as such. Could Hatfield have actually gotten some kind of career as a pulp author if he was willing to try? Maybe, maybe not. It's a pretty terrible book, but not exactly worse than Gardner's latest. No matter what it is, it remains a bizarre and rarely explored chapter in Bond history.

Gardner is who we'll return to, with Nobody Lives For Ever published in 1986. It seems to be regarded as one of his better entries. I can definitely say it has one of the oddest plots....and strangest resolutions to a recurring villain.

chitoryu12 fucked around with this message at 01:56 on Sep 6, 2021

# ? Sep 6, 2021 01:53

Midjack: Dec 24, 2007

Hachi machi!

# ? Sep 6, 2021 02:09

Ripley: Jan 21, 2007

What a book / collage of plagiarized scenes. Everything and everyone was as stupid as possible throughout, so I guess it makes sense that in the end Bond cut his own throat.

Ripley fucked around with this message at 07:37 on Sep 6, 2021

# ? Sep 6, 2021 07:31

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6SwqdNQ9vEk

Wait, no, that's not right...

Chapter 1: The Road South

quote:

James Bond signalled late, braked more violently than a Bentley driving instructor would have liked, and slewed the big car off the E5 motorway and on to the last exit road just north of Brussels. It was merely a precaution. If he was going to reach Strasbourg before midnight it would have made more sense to carry on, follow the ring road around Brussels, then keep going south on the Belgian N4. Yet even on holiday, Bond knew that it was only prudent to remain alert. The small detour across country would quickly establish whether anyone was on his tail, and he would pick up the E40 in about an hour or so.

Lately there had been a directive to all officers of the Secret Service, advising �constant vigilance, even when off duty, and particularly when on leave and out of the country�.

So Bond continues to be a violent driver!

quote:

He had taken the morning ferry to Ostend, and there had been over an hour�s delay. About half-way into the crossing the ship had stopped, a boat had been lowered, and had moved out, searching the water in a wide circle. After some forty minutes the boat had returned and a helicopter appeared overhead as they set sail again. A little later the news spread throughout the ship. Two men overboard, and lost, it seemed.

�Couple of young passengers skylarking,� said the barman. �Skylarked once too often. Probably cut to shreds by the screws.�

Jesus, Gardner, did Hatfield give you inspiration?

quote:

Once through Customs, Bond had pulled into a side street, opened the secret compartment in the dashboard of the Bentley Mulsanne Turbo, checked that his 9 mm ASP automatic and the spare ammunition clips were intact, and taken out the small Concealable Operations Baton, which lay heavy in its soft leather holster. He had closed the compartment, loosened his belt and threaded the holster into place so that the baton hung at his right hip. It was an effective piece of hardware: a black rod, no more than fifteen centimetres long. Used by a trained man, it could be lethal.

As seen in this contemporary brochure by ASP, Bond is carrying the COBRA Concealable Operations Baton. The same sellers of Bond's custom pistol also entered the market in 1976 with a set of telescoping batons, which collapse into a small neoprene-covered cylinder before being easily whipped out with a snap to a full 16-inch length. Such a weapon is ideal for Bond if he needs a less-than-lethal means of disabling attackers, so short when folded that it can be slipped into a jacket pocket. Starting in the 90s, police officers would start carrying such batons regularly in place of their old nightsticks.

quote:

Shifting in the driving seat now, Bond felt the hard metal dig comfortably into his hip. He slowed the car to a crawl of 40k.p.h., scanning the mirrors as he took corners and bends, automatically slowing again once on the far side. Within half an hour he was certain that he was not being followed.

Even with the directive in mind, he reflected that he was being more careful than usual. A sixth sense of danger or possibly M�s remark a couple of days ago?

�You couldn�t have chosen a more awkward time to be away, 007,� his chief had grumbled, though Bond had taken little notice. M was noted for a grudging attitude when it came to matters of leave.

�It�s only my entitlement, sir. You agreed I could take my month now. If you remember, I had to postpone it earlier in the year.�

"Just because you died doesn't mean you get extra leave, 007!"

quote:

M grunted. �Moneypenny�s going to be away as well. Off gallivanting all over Europe. You�re not ... ?�

�Accompanying Miss Moneypenny? No, sir.�

"Actually consummating a relationship would break from formula."

quote:

�Off to Jamaica or one of your usual Caribbean haunts, I suppose,� M said with a frown.

�No, sir. Rome first. Then a few days on the Riviera dei Fiori before driving across to Austria � to pick up my housekeeper, May. I just hope she�ll be fit enough to be brought back to London by then.�

Oh hey, May's back!

quote:

�Yes ... yes.� M was not appeased. �Well, leave your full itinerary with the Chief-of-Staff. Never know when we�re going to need you.�

�Already done, sir.�

�Take care, 007. Take special care. The Continent�s a hotbed of villainy these days, and you can never be too careful.� There was a sharp, steely look in his eyes that made Bond wonder whether something was being hidden from him.

I mean, your last two assignments had you intentionally sent into danger without knowing to see what happened.

quote:

As Bond left M�s office, the old man had the grace to say he hoped there would be good news about May.

At the moment, May, Bond�s devoted old Scottish housekeeper, appeared to be the only worry on an otherwise cloudless horizon. During the winter she had suffered two severe attacks of bronchitis and seemed to be deteriorating. She had been with Bond longer than either cared to remember. In fact, apart from the Service, she was the one constant in his not uneventful life.

After the second bronchial attack, Bond had insisted on a thorough check-up by a Service-retained doctor with a Harley Street practice, and though May had resisted, insisting she was �tough as an auld game bird, and no yet fit for the pot�, Bond had taken her himself to the consulting rooms. There had followed an agonising week, with May being passed from specialist to specialist, complaining all the way. But the results of the tests were undeniable. The left lung was badly damaged, and there was a distinct possibility that the disease might spread. Unless the lung was removed immediately and the patient underwent at least three months of enforced rest and care, May was unlikely to see her next birthday.

The operation was carried out by the most skilful surgeon Bond�s money could buy, and once she was well enough, May was packed off to a world-renowned clinic specialising in her complaint, the Klinik Mozart, in the mountains south of Salzburg. Bond telephoned the clinic regularly and was told that she was making astonishing progress.

If only we had seen more of her and how important and beloved she was.

quote:

He had even spoken to her personally the evening before, and he now smiled to himself at the tone of her voice, and the somewhat deprecating way she had spoken of the clinic. She was, no doubt, reorganising their staff and calling down the wrath of her Glen Orchy ancestors on everyone from maids to chefs.

�They dinna know how to cook a decent wee bite here, Mr James, that�s the truth of it; and the maids canna make a bed for twopence. I�d no employ any the one of them � and you paying all this money for me to be here. Yon�s a downright waste, Mr James. A crinimal waste.� May had never been able to get her tongue round the word �criminal�.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AC__o1UxDl8

quote:

�I�m sure they�re looking after you very well, May.� She was too independent to be a really good patient.

Trust May, he thought. She liked things done her way or not at all. It would be purgatory for her in the Klinik Mozart.

May will kill SPECTRE on her own if given the chance.

quote:

He checked the fuel, deciding it would be wise to have the tank filled before the long drive that lay ahead on the E40. Having established that there was nobody on his tail, he concentrated on looking for a garage. It was after seven in the evening, and there was little traffic about. He drove through two small villages and saw the signs indicating proximity to the motorway. Then, on a straight, empty, stretch of road, he spotted the garish signs of a small filling station.

It appeared to be deserted and the two pumps unattended, though the door to the tiny office had been left open. A notice in red warned that the pumps were not self-service, so he pulled the Mulsanne up to the Super pump and switched off the engine. As he climbed out, stretching his muscles, he became aware of the commotion behind the little glass and brick building. Growling, angry, voices could be heard, and a thump, as though someone had collided with a car. Bond locked the car using the central locking device and strode quickly to the corner of the building.

Behind the office was a garage area. A white Alfa Romeo Sprint stood in front of the open doors. Two men were holding down a young woman on the bonnet. The driver�s door was open and a handbag lay ripped open on the ground, its contents scattered.

Our dramatic action scene is being interrupted by the compulsive need to describe the car. The Alfa Romeo Sprint is a sporting hatchback variant of the Alfasud family car, with a more aggressive (if very 70s-80s) angular appearance and flat-four engine that could get it over 100 MPH flat out. They're agile little cars with a low center of gravity suitable for the kind of crazy driving Bond enjoys.

quote:

Come on,� one of the men said in rough French, �where is it? You must have some! Give.� Like his companion, the thug was dressed in faded jeans, shirt and sneakers. Both were short, broad shouldered, with tanned muscular arms � rough customers by any standards. Their victim protested, and the man who had spoken raised his hand to hit her across the face.

The French! They've finally invaded!

quote:

�Stop that!� Bond�s voice cracked like a whip as he moved forward.

The men looked up, startled. Then one of them smiled. �Two for the price of one,� he said softly, grabbing the woman by the shoulder and throwing her away from the car.

The man facing Bond held a large wrench, and clearly thought Bond was easy prey. His hair was untidy, tight and curly, and the surly young face already showed the scars of an experienced street fighter. He leaped forward in a half crouch, holding the wrench low. He moved like a large monkey, Bond thought, as he reached for the baton on his right hip.

The baton, made by the same firm that developed the ASP 9 mm pistol, looked harmless enough � fifteen centimetres of non-slip, rubber-coated metal. But, as he drew it from its holster, Bond flicked down hard with his right wrist. From the rubber-covered handle sprang a further, telescoped twenty-five centimetres of toughened steel, which locked into place.

Gardner does seem to get the length wrong. 15 centimeters would be just under 10 inches, which is too short for the model he's carrying based on its folded size and the brochure I found. It should be 16 inches, or 40 centimeters.

quote:

The sudden appearance of the weapon took the young thug off guard. His right arm was raised, clutching the wrench, and for a second he hesitated. Bond stepped quickly to his left and swung the baton. There was an unpleasant cracking noise, followed by a yelp, as the baton connected with the attacker�s forearm. He dropped the wrench and doubled up, holding his broken arm and cursing violently in French.

Again Bond moved, delivering a lighter tap this time, to the back of the neck. The mugger went on to his knees and pitched forward. With a roar, Bond hurled himself at the second thug. But the man had no stomach for a fight. He turned and started to run; not fast enough, though, for the tip of the baton came down hard on his left shoulder, certainly breaking bones.

He gave a louder cry than his partner, then raised his hands and began to plead. Bond was in no mood to be kind to a couple of young tearaways who had attacked a virtually helpless woman. He lunged forward, and buried the baton�s tip into the man�s groin, eliciting a further screech of pain which was cut off by a smart blow to the left of the neck, neatly judged to knock him unconscious but do little further damage.

Bond should have carried one of these sooner!

quote:

Bond kicked the wrench out of the way, and turned to assist the young woman, but she was already gathering her things together by the car.

�You all right?� He walked towards her, taking in the Italianate looks � the long tangle of red hair, the tall, lithe body, oval face and large brown eyes.

�Yes. Thank you, yes.� There was no trace of accent. As he came closer, he noted the Gucci loafers, very long legs encased in tight Calvin Klein jeans, and a silk Hermes shirt. �It�s lucky you came along when you did. Do you think we should call the police?� She gave her head a little shake, stuck out her bottom lip and blew the hair out of her eyes.

Does she also have a strange blurry lens effect whenever you look at her?

quote:

�I just wanted petrol.� Bond looked at the Alfa Romeo. �What happened?�

�I suppose you might say that I caught them with their fingers in the till, and they didn�t take kindly to that. The attendant�s out cold in the office.�

The muggers, posing as attendants, had apologised when she drove in, saying the pumps out front were not working. Could she take the car to the pump around the back? �I fell for it, and they dragged me out of the car.�

Bond asked how she knew about the attendant?

�One of them asked the other if he�d be okay. He said the man would be out for an hour or so.� There was no sign of tension in her voice, and as she smoothed the jungle of hair, her hands were steady. �If you want to be on your way, I can telephone the police. There�s really no need for you to hang about, you know.�

�Nor you,� he said with a smile. �Those two will also be asleep for some time. The name�s Bond, by the way. James Bond.�

"I'm one of the most famous men in Britain. I was literally just in the papers over seeming to quit the Secret Service?"

quote:

�Sukie.� She held out a hand, the palm dry and the grip firm. �Sukie Tempesta.�

Of course it is.

quote:

In the end, they both waited for the police, costing Bond over an hour and a half�s delay. The pump attendant had been badly beaten and required urgent medical attention. Sukie did what she could for him while Bond telephoned the police. As they waited they talked and Bond tried to find out more about her, for the whole affair had begun to intrigue him. Somehow, he had the impression that she was holding out on him. But, however cleverly he phrased his questions, Sukie managed to sidestep with answers that told him nothing.

There was little to be gleaned from observation. She was very self-possessed, and could have been anything, from a lawyer to a society hostess. Judging by her appearance and the jewellery she wore, she was well off. Whatever her background, Bond decided that Sukie was certainly an attractive young woman, with a low-pitched voice, precise economic movements and a reserved manner that was possibly a little diffident.

One thing he did discover quickly was that she spoke at least three languages, which pointed to both intelligence and a good education. As for the rest, he could not even discover her nationality, though the plates on the Sprint were, like her name, Italian.

Before the police arrived in a flurry of sirens, Bond had returned to his car and stowed away the baton � an illegal weapon in any country. He submitted to an interrogation, and was asked to sign a statement. Only then was he allowed to fill up the car and leave, with the proviso that he gave his whereabouts for the next few weeks, and his address and telephone number in London.

Not federally banned in the United States! But yes, collapsible batons are completely illegal to carry in the UK, as are any potential weapons except small pocket knives unless they're being carried as work tools or he has government approval to be armed in the line of duty.

quote:

Sukie Tempesta was still being questioned when he drove away, feeling strangely uneasy. He recalled the look in M�s eyes; and began to wonder about the business on the ferry.

Just after midnight, he was on the E25 between Metz and Strasbourg. He had again filled the tank, and drunk some passable coffee at the French frontier. Now the road was almost deserted, so he spotted the tail lights of the car ahead a good four kilometres before overtaking it. He had set the cruise control at 110k.p.h. after crossing the frontier, and so sailed past the big white BMW, which appeared to be pottering along in the fifties.

Out of habit, his eyes flicked to the car�s plates and the number registered in his mind as did the international badge D, which identified the car as German. A minute or so later, Bond became alert. The BMW had picked up speed, moving into the centre lane, yet remaining close to him. The distance varied between about five hundred to less than a hundred metres. He touched the brakes, switched back from cruise control and accelerated. One hundred and thirty. One hundred and forty! The BMW was still there.

French and Germans!

quote:

Then, with about fifteen kilometres to go before the outskirts of Strasbourg, he became aware of another set of headlights directly behind him in the fast lane, and coming up at speed.

He moved into the middle lane, eyes flicking between the road ahead and the mirror. The BMW had fallen back a little, and in seconds the oncoming lights grew, and the Bentley was rocked slightly as a little black car went past like a jet. It must have been touching 160k.p.h. and in his headlights Bond could get only a glimpse of the plates, which were splattered with mud. He thought they must be Swiss, as he was almost certain that he had caught sight of a Ticino Canton shield to the right of the rear plate. There was not enough time for him even to identify the make of the car.

The BMW remained in place for only a few more moments, slowing and losing ground. Then Bond saw the flash in his mirror: a brutal crimson ball erupting in the middle lane behind him. He felt the Bentley shudder under the shock waves and watched in the mirror as lumps of flaming metal danced across the highway.

Bond increased pressure on the accelerator. Nothing would make him stop and become involved at this time of night, particularly on a lonely stretch of road. Suddenly he realised that he felt oddly shaken at the unexplained violence which appeared to have surrounded him all day.

This is now the weirdest day of Bond's life.

quote:

At one-eleven in the morning, the Bentley nosed its way into Strasbourg�s Place Saint-Pierre-le-Jeune and came to a standstill outside the Hotel Sofitel. The night staff were deferential. Oui, M. Bond ... Non, M. Bond. But certainly they had his reservation. The car was unloaded, his baggage whipped away, and he took the Bentley himself to the hotel�s private parking.

The suite proved to be almost too large for the overnight stay, and there was a basket of fruit, with the compliments of the manager. Bond did not know whether to be impressed or on his guard. He had not stayed at the Sofitel for at least three years.

Opening the minibar, he mixed himself a martini. He was pleased the bar stocked Gordon�s and a decent vodka, though he had to make do with a simple Lillet vermouth instead of his preferred Kina. Taking the drink over to the bed, Bond selected one of his two briefcases � the one that contained the sophisticated scrambling equipment. This he attached to the telephone and dialled Transworld Exports (the Service Headquarters� cover) in London.

This is accurate. Kina Lillet, the quinine-infused aromatized wine Bond had famously used to create the Vesper all the way back in 1953, was being reformulated. In 1986, when this book was released, it was discontinued in favor of the modern Lillet Blanc, which is sweet and lacks the quinine bitterness necessary for the drink. Stocks of the old stuff would start getting harder and harder to find over the coming years until it's now a very rare and valuable bottle, possibly undrinkable when found.

quote:

The Duty Officer listened patiently while Bond recounted the two incidents in some detail. The line was quickly closed, and Bond, tired after the long drive, took a brief shower, rang down for a call at eight in the morning, and stretched out naked under the bedclothes.

Only then did he start to face up to the fact that he was more than a little concerned. He thought again of that strange look in M�s eyes; then about the Ostend ferry and the two men overboard; the girl � Sukie � in distress at the filling station, and the appalling explosion on the road. There had been too many incidents to be mere coincidence, and a tiny suspicion of menace started to creep into his mind.

# ? Sep 7, 2021 17:08

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

# ? Sep 7, 2021 22:39

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 2: The Poison Dwarf

I swear, I'm not making this up.

quote:

Bond sweated through his morning workout � the twenty slow pushups with their exquisite lingering strain; then the leg lifts, performed on the stomach; and lastly the twenty fast toe-touches.

Before going to the shower, he called room service and gave his precise order for breakfast: two thick slices of wholewheat bread, with the finest butter and, if possible, Tiptree Little Scarlet jam or Cooper�s Oxford marmalade. Alas, Monsieur, there was no Cooper, but they had Tiptree. It was unlikely they could supply De Bry coffee, so after detailed questioning he settled for their special blend. While waiting for the tray to arrive, he took a very hot shower, followed by another with the water freezing cold.

Bond's staying at the Hotel Sofitel smack in the center of Strasbourg. While Bond's European stays often have him at ancient palaces of luxury, this hotel actually opened only in 1964 as the city's first 5-star hotel thanks to Banque Paribas, the largest bank in Europe. In 1980 the brand was purchased by Accor and remains under them to this day with over 100 Sofitel named properties.

quote:

A man of habit, Bond did not normally like change, but he had recently altered his soap, shampoo and cologne to Dunhill Blend 30, as he liked their specially masculine tang � and now, after a vigorous towelling, he rubbed the cologne into his body. Then he slipped into his silk travelling Happi-coat to await breakfast, which came accompanied by the local morning papers.

I'd never even heard of Dunhill Blend 30 until now. Looks like it was launched in 1978 and has a very masculine leathery, forest-heavy scent before being rapidly discontinued. The reviews suggest I would love it, but it's long out of production and even 5mL mini samples are over $60 on the vintage market.

quote:

The BMW, or the debris that was left, seemed to be spread across all the front pages, while the headlines proclaimed the bombing to be everything from an atrocious act of urban terrorism to the latest assassination in a criminal gang war that had been sweeping France over the last few weeks. There was little detail, except for the information given by the police, that there had been only one victim, the driver, and that the car had been registered in the name of Conrad Tempel, a German businessman from Freiburg. Herr Tempel was missing from his home, so they presumed he was among the fragments of the motor car.

While reading the story, Bond drank his two large cups of black coffee without sugar, and decided that he would skirt Freiburg later that day, after driving into Germany. He planned to cross the frontier again at Basle. Once in Switzerland, he would make his way down to Lake Maggiore in the Ticino Canton and spend a night in one of the small tourist villages on the Swiss side of the lake. Then he would make the final long run into Italy and the lengthy sweat down the autostradas to Rome. He would spend a few days with the Service�s Resident and his wife, Steve and Tabitha Quinn.

Today's drive would be less taxing. He did not need to leave until noon, so he had a little time to relax and look around. But first there was the most important job of the day, the telephone call to the Klinik Mozart, to enquire after May.

"Please help us, Mr. Bond! She's taken over the kitchen and keeps trying to smoke salmon! We've already lost three nurses!"

quote:

He dialled 19, the French �out� code, followed by the 61 which would take him into the Austrian system, then the number. Doktor Kirchtum came on the line almost immediately.

�Good morning, Mr Bond. You are in Belgium now, yes?�

Bond told him politely that he was in France, would be in Switzerland tomorrow, and in Italy the following day.

�You are burning a lot of the rubber, as they say.� Kirchtum was a small man, but his voice was loud and resonant. At the clinic he could be heard in a room long before he arrived. The nurses called him das Nebelhorn, the Foghorn.

�She still does well. She orders us around, which is a good sign of recovery.� Kirchtum gave a guffaw of laughter. �I think the chef is about to cash in his index, as I believe you English say.�

�Hand in his cards,� Bond said, smiling to himself. The Herr Doktor, he was sure, made very studied errors in colloquial English. He asked if there was any chance of speaking to the patient, and was told that she was undergoing some treatment at the moment and would not be able to talk on the telephone until later in the day. Bond said he would try to telephone again during his drive through Switzerland, thanked the Herr Doktor, and was about to hang up when Kirchtum stopped him.

�There is someone here who would like a word with you, Mr Bond. Hold on. I�ll put her through.�

To Bond�s surprise, he heard the voice of M�s P.A., Miss Moneypenny, speaking to him with that hint of affection she always reserved for him.

Moneypenny, what the hell are you doing inserting yourself into the plot like this?

quote:

�James! How lovely to talk to you.�

�Well, Moneypenny. What on earth are you doing at the Mozart?�

�I�m on holiday, like you, and spending a few days in Salzburg. I just thought I�d come up and see May. She�s doing very well, James.� Moneypenny�s voice sounded light and excited.

�Nice of you to think of her. Be careful what you get up to in Salzburg, though, Moneypenny � all those musical people looking at Mozart�s house and going to concerts ...�

�Nowadays all they want is to go and see the locations used in The Sound of Music,� she replied, laughing.

�Well, take care all the same, Penny. I�m told those tourists are after only one thing from a girl like you.�

�Would that you were a tourist, then, James.�

The hills are alive with the sound of Bond getting clowned on.

quote:

Miss Moneypenny still held a special place in her heart for Bond. After a little more conversation Bond again thanked her for the thoughtful action of visiting May.

His luggage was ready for collection, the windows were open and the sun streamed in. He would take a look around the hotel, check the car, have some more coffee and get on the road. As he went down to the foyer he realised how much he needed a holiday. It had been a hard, tough year, and for the first time Bond wondered if he had made the right decision. Perhaps the short trip to his beloved Royale-les-Eaux would have been a better idea.

A familiar face slid into the periphery of his vision as he crossed the foyer. Bond hesitated, turned and gazed absently into the hotel shop window, the better to examine the reflection of a man sitting near the main reception desk. He gave no sign of having seen Bond, as he sat casually glancing through yesterday�s Herald Tribune. He was short, barely four feet two inches. Neatly and expensively dressed, he had the look of complete confidence characteristic of so many small men. Bond always mistrusted people of short stature, knowing their tendency to over-compensate with ruthless pushiness, as though it were necessary to prove themselves.

Oh my God, it's the bagel guy!

quote:

He turned away, having made his identification. The face was known well enough to him, with thin, ferret-like features and the same bright, darting eyes as the animal. What, he wondered to himself, was Paul Cordova � or the Rat as he was known in the underworld � doing in Strasbourg? Bond knew there had been a suggestion some years ago that the K.G.B., posing as a United States Government agency, had used him to do a particularly nasty piece of work in New York.

Paul, the Rat, Cordova was an enforcer � a polite term for a killer � for one of the New York Families, and his photograph and record were on the files of the world�s major police and intelligence departments. It was part of Bond�s job to know faces like this, even though Cordova moved in criminal rather than intelligence circles. But Bond did not think of him as the Rat. To him, the man was the Poison Dwarf. Was his presence in Strasbourg another �coincidence�? Bond wondered.

If a Gardner book starts this odd, you know it'll only get odder.

quote:

He went down to the parking area, checked the Bentley carefully, and told the man on duty that he would be picking it up within half an hour. He refused to let any of the hotel staff move the car. Indeed, there had been a certain amount of surliness on his arrival because he would not leave the keys at the desk. On his way out, Bond could not fail to notice the low, black, wicked-looking Series 3 Porsche 911 Turbo. The rear plates were mud-spattered, but the Ticino Canton disc showed clearly. Whoever had raced past him on the motorway just before the destruction of the BMW was now at the hotel. Bond�s antennae told him that it was time to get out of Strasbourg. The menacing small cloud had grown a shade larger.

The 80s was a good age for the 911. First the Gemballa in The Killing Zone, now an unmodified model in the next official book.

quote:

Cordova was not in the hotel foyer when he returned. On reaching his room, Bond put through another call to Transworld Exports in London, again using the scrambler. Even on leave it was his duty to report on the movements of anyone like the Poison Dwarf, particularly so far away from his own patch.

Twenty minutes later, Bond was at the wheel of the Bentley, heading for the German border. He crossed without incident, skirted Freiburg, and by afternoon again crossed frontiers, at Basle. After a few hours� driving he boarded the car train for the journey through the St Gotthard Pass, and by early evening the Bentley was purring through the streets of Locarno and on to the lakeside road. Bond passed through Ascona, that paradise for artists, both professional and amateur, and on to the small and pleasing village of Brissago.

In spite of the sunlight and breathtaking views of clean Swiss villages, and towering mountains, a sense of impending doom remained with Bond as he travelled south. At first he put it down to the odd events of the previous day and the vaguely disconcerting experience of seeing a New York Mafia hood in Strasbourg. Yet, as he neared Lake Maggiore, he wondered if this mood could be due to a slightly dented pride. He felt distinctly annoyed that Sukie Tempesta had appeared so self-assured, calm and unimpressed by his charm. She could, he thought, at least have shown some sort of gratitude. Yet she had hardly smiled at him.

How

DARE

quote:

But when the red-brown roofs of the lakeside villages came in sight, Bond began to laugh. Suddenly his gloom lifted and he recognised his own pettiness. He slid a compact disc into the stereo player and a moment later the combination of the view and the great Art Tatum rattling out The Shout banished the darkness, putting him into a happier mood.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3mxrSZYn_N8

This may be a Bond of the 80s, but he ain't updating his taste!

quote:

Though his favourite part of the country lay around Geneva, Bond also loved this corner of Switzerland that rubbed shoulders with Italy. As a young man he had lazed around the shores of Lake Maggiore, eaten some of the best meals of his life in Locarno, and once, on a hot moonlit night, with the waters off Brissago alive with lamp-lit fishing boats, in the very ordinary little hotel by the pier, had made unforgettable love to an Italian countess.

As one does.

quote:

It was to this hotel, the Mirto du Lac, that he now drove. It was a simple family place, below the church with its arcade of cypresses, and near the pier where the lake steamers put in every hour. The padrone greeted him like an old friend, and Bond was soon ensconced in his room, with the little balcony looking down to the forecourt and landing stage.

The Hotel Mirto is a hotel that was in Brissago, Switzerland, on the banks of Lake Maggiore. It appears to have changed its name (and possibly ownership) to Residenz Mirto, but I can't tell if it's still open.

quote:

Before unpacking Bond dialled the Klinik Mozart. The Herr Direktor was not available and one of the junior doctors told him politely that he could not speak to May because she was resting. There had been a visitor and she was a little tired. For some reason the words did not ring true. There was a slight hesitation in the doctor�s voice which put Bond on the alert. He asked if May was all right, and the doctor assured him that she was perfectly well, just a little tired.

�This visitor,� he went on, �I believe a Miss Moneypenny...�

�This is correct.� The doctor was the one who sounded most correct.

�I don�t suppose you happen to know where she�s staying in Salzburg?�

He did not. �I understand she is coming back to see the patient tomorrow,� he added.

There's now a conspiracy involving Moneypenny and May? They finally get to do something!

quote:

Bond thanked him and said he would call again. By the time he had showered and changed, it was starting to get dark. Across the lake the sunlight gradually left Mount Tamaro, and lights went on along the lakeside. Insects began to flock around the glass globes, and one or two couples took seats at the tables outside.

As Bond left his room to go down to the bar in the corner of the restaurant, a black Series 3 Porsche 911 crept quietly into the forecourt and parked with its nose thrust towards the lake. Its occupant climbed out, locked the car and walked with neat little steps back the way he had driven, up towards the church.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9CS4THydM0g

quote:

It was some ten minutes later that the people at the tables and in the hotel bar heard the repeated piercing screams. The steady murmur of conversation faded as it became obvious the screams were not part of some lighthearted game. These were shrieks of terror. Several people in the bar started towards the door. Some men outside were already on their feet, others were looking around to see where the noise was coming from. Bond was among those who hurried outside. The first thing he saw was the Porsche. Then a woman, her face white and her hair flying, her mouth stretched wide in a continuous scream, came running down the steps from the churchyard. Her hands kept going to her face, then wringing the air, then clutching her head. She was shouting, �Assassinio! Assassinio!� � Murder � as she pointed back to the churchyard.

Five or six men got up the steps ahead of Bond and clustered round a small bundle lying across the cobbled path, shocked into silence at the sight that confronted them.

Bond moved quietly to the perimeter of the group. Paul, the Rat, Cordova lay on his back, knees drawn up, one arm flung outwards, his head at an angle, almost severed by a single deep slash across the throat. Blood had already spread over the cobbles.

Wait, we just met this guy! He didn't even get to be poisonous and he's already dead!

quote:

Bond pushed through the gathering crowd and returned to the lakeside. He had never believed in coincidences. He knew that the drownings, the affair at the filling station, the explosion on the motorway, and Cordova�s appearance, here and in France, were linked, and that he was the common denominator. His holiday was shattered. He would have to telephone London, report, and await orders.

Another surprise awaited him as he entered the hotel. Standing by the reception desk, looking as elegant as ever in a short blue-tinged leather outfit, probably by Merenlender, stood Sukie Tempesta.

# ? Sep 12, 2021 03:18

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

https://twitter.com/getfandom/status/1438887470951632898?s=21

# ? Sep 18, 2021 01:29

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

Welp.

# ? Sep 21, 2021 18:15

Cassius Belli: May 22, 2010; horny is prohibited

chitoryu12 posted:

Welp.

Congratulations!

# ? Sep 21, 2021 20:03

Runcible Cat: May 28, 2007; Ignoring this post

chitoryu12 posted:

Welp.

So how's it smell?

# ? Sep 21, 2021 20:25

Midjack: Dec 24, 2007

Nice find!

# ? Sep 22, 2021 02:04

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

Runcible Cat posted:

So how's it smell?

I only got a brief sniff with the cap off and haven't applied it yet, but incredibly strong. Almost like I'm rubbing some kind of European herbal liquor on myself.

# ? Sep 22, 2021 03:16

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

https://twitter.com/007/status/1441017087737094146

# ? Sep 23, 2021 15:27

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

I�ve put on the Dunhill to go out tonight.

This scent is �masculine� in the sense that it knocks you on your rear end. It smells incredibly strongly of pine, patchouli, and moss, like you�ve stumbled upon a hippie moonshine still in a wet forest. The liquid inside is even dyed green. I can smell myself with just a few tiny dabs.

# ? Sep 24, 2021 22:40

Pershing: Feb 21, 2010; John "Black Jack" Pershing
Hard Fucking Core

chitoryu12 posted:

I�ve put on the Dunhill to go out tonight.

This scent is �masculine� in the sense that it knocks you on your rear end. It smells incredibly strongly of pine, patchouli, and moss, like you�ve stumbled upon a hippie moonshine still in a wet forest. The liquid inside is even dyed green. I can smell myself with just a few tiny dabs.

So they killed it for a reason then! Or maybe it's due to the age of the bottle? Do perfumes go 'off' over time?

# ? Oct 5, 2021 18:12

Dr. Sneer Gory: Sep 7, 2005

Imagining James Bond smelling like a head shop now.

# ? Oct 5, 2021 19:12

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

Finally back home for a bit to keep working tonight!

Decided to get a Mount Gay Eclipse and soda, as in the Casino Royale film. The pair actually works together even better than scotch and soda for a refreshing cold drink.

# ? Oct 7, 2021 19:38

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 3: Sukie

quote:

�James Bond!� The delight seemed genuine enough, but with beautiful women you could never be sure.

�In the flesh,� he said as he moved closer. For the first time he really saw her eyes: large, brown with violet flecks, oval, and set off by naturally long, curling lashes. They were eyes, he thought, that could be the undoing or the making of a man. His own flicked down to the full, firm curve of her breasts under the well-fitting leather. She stuck out her lower lip, to blow hair from her forehead, as she had done the day before.

You know what, let's just assume she has nice tits and not mention them on any woman again.

quote:

�I didn�t expect to see you again.� Her wide mouth tilted in a warm smile. �I�m so glad. I didn�t get a chance to thank you properly yesterday.� She bobbed a mock curtsey. �Mr Bond, I might even owe you my life. Thank you very much. I mean very much.�

He moved to one side of the reception desk so that he could watch her and at the same time keep an eye on the main doors. Instinctively, he felt danger close at hand. Danger by being close to Sukie Tempesta, perhaps.

If I were Bond, I'd start worrying how my week would go as soon as I met a woman with a name like that.

quote:

Outside the commotion was still going on. There were police among the crowd and the sound of sirens floated down from the main street and the church above. Bond knew he needed his back against a wall all the time now. She asked him what was going on, and when he told her she shrugged.

�It�s commonplace where I spend most of my time. In Rome, murder is a fact of life nowadays, but somehow you don�t expect it here in Switzerland.�

�It�s commonplace anywhere.� Bond tried his most charming smile. �But what are you doing here, Miss Tempesta � or is it Mrs, or even Signora?�

She wrinkled her nose prettily and raised her eyebrows. �Principessa, actually � if we have to be formal.�

Bond lifted an eyebrow. �Principessa Tempesta.� He dropped his head in a formal bow.

No, no rhyming!

quote:

�Sukie,� she said with a wide smile, the large eyes innocent, yet with a tiny tinge of mockery. �You must call me Sukie, Mr Bond. Please.�

�James.�

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tjOLP8dQ78w

quote:

�James.� And at that moment the padrone came bustling up to complete her booking. As soon as he saw the title on the registration form everything changed to a hand-wringing, bowing comedy, causing Bond to smile wryly.

�You haven�t yet told me what you�re doing here,� he continued, over the hotel keeper�s effusions.

�Could I do that over dinner? At least I owe you that.�

Her hand touched his forearm and he felt the natural exchange of static. Warning bells rang in his head. No chances, he thought, don�t take chances with anybody, particularly anyone you find attractive.

A warning Bond will never, ever follow.

quote:

�Dinner would be very pleasant,� he replied before once more asking what she was doing here on Lake Maggiore.

�My little motor car has broken down. There�s something very wrong, according to the garage here � which probably means all they�ll do is change the plugs. But they say it�s going to take days.�

�And you�re heading for?�

�Rome, naturally.� She blew at her hair again.

Naturally.

quote:

�What a happy coincidence.� Bond gave another bow. �If I can be of service ...�

She hesitated briefly. �Oh, I�m sure you can. Shall we meet for dinner down here in half an hour?�

�I�ll be waiting, Principessa.�

He thought he saw her nose wrinkle and her tongue poke out like a naughty schoolgirl as she turned to follow the padrone to her room.

In the privacy of his own room, Bond telephoned London again, to tell them about Cordova. He had the scrambler on, and as an afterthought asked them to run a check on both the Interpol computer and their own, on the Principessa Sukie Tempesta. He also asked the Duty Officer if they had any information about the BMW�s owner, Herr Tempel of Freiburg. Nothing yet, he was told, but some material had been sent to M that afternoon.

�You�ll hear soon enough if it�s important. Have a nice holiday.�

Very droll, thought Bond as he packed away the scrambler, a CC500 which can be used on any telephone in the world and allows only the legitimate receiving party to hear the caller en clair. Each CC500 has to be individually programmed so that eavesdroppers can hear only indecipherable sounds, even if they tap in with a compatible system. It was now standard Service practice for all officers out of the country, on duty or leave, to carry a CC500, and the access codes were altered daily.

Phone scramblers were old tech even by the time this book was written; they were commonly used by the British in WW2 and Winston Churchill had one in his office. The above is a Racal MA-4225 voice scrambler, introduced in 1983, which could be used on analog phone lines or VHF and UHF radio. Here's the manual if you want a deep dive into how it works, including a circuit diagram, but basically it divides your speech into digitized chunks that are scrambled by a code that changes every half second, which is unscrambled by the receiver at the end. While Bond's CC500 is a fictional device, it's completely within the realm of reality at the time.

quote:

There were ten minutes to spare before he was due to meet Sukie, though Bond doubted she would be on time. He washed quickly, rubbing cologne hard into face and hair, and then put on a blue cotton jacket over his shirt. He went quickly downstairs and out to the car. There was still a great deal of police activity in the churchyard, and he could see that a crime team had set up lights where Cordova�s body had been discovered.

Inside the car he waited for the courtesy lights to go out before he pressed the switch on the main panel, revealing the hidden compartment below. He checked the 9 mm ASP and buckled its compact holster in place underneath his jacket, then secured the baton holster to his belt. Whatever was going on around him was dangerous. At least two lives had already been lost � probably more � and he did not intend to end up as the next cadaver.

Another goon pointed out to me that Bond is technically wearing his ASP baton wrong. You carry it in a cross-draw grip, as you require a strong flick to extend it and having to pull it across your body lets you naturally draw and extend it in one motion. Carrying it on his right hip when he's right-handed will make for an awkward, slower motion.

quote:

To his surprise, Sukie was already at the bar when he got back into the hotel.

�Like a dutiful woman, I didn�t order anything while I waited.�

�I prefer dutiful women.�

You have never preferred that.

quote:

Bond slid on to the bar stool next to her, turning it slightly so that he had a clear view of anyone coming through the big glass doors at the front. �What will you drink?�

�Oh no, tonight�s on me. In honour of your saving my honour, James.�

Again her hand lightly brushed his arm, and he felt the same electricity. Bond capitulated.

�I know we�re in Ticino, where they think grappa is good liquor. Still, I�ll stick to the comic drinks. A Campari soda, if I may.�

A quick attempt to connect Bond back to Fleming with his "musical comedy" dig on the Americano and the like in "From A View to a Kill."

I should have more grappa to see if my initial impression of it is correct. It's an Italian brandy made from pomace, the solid leftovers of grape juice pressing for wine. A local restaurant had it as an after-dinner drink. Notes of hay and gasoline.

quote:

She ordered the same, then the padrone bustled over with the menu. It was very alla famiglia, very semplice, he explained. It would make a change, Bond said, and Sukie asked him to order for them both. He said he would be difficult and change the menu around a little, starting with the Melone con kirsch, though he asked them to serve his without the kirsch. Bond disliked any food soused in alcohol.

That's a first.

Kirsch is a Germanic cherry brandy. Unlike many cheap fruit brandies, it's not sweet and typically high in alcohol with a strong flavor. Kirsch-soaked desserts, from sour cherries to chocolate cake, are common in the region.

quote:

�For the entr�e there�s really only one dish, pasta excepted, in these parts, you�ll agree?�

�The coscia di agnello?�

She smiled as he nodded. In the north these spiced chops were known as �lamm-Gigot�. Here, among the Ticinese, they were less delicate in taste, but made delicious by the use of much garlic. Like Bond, Sukie refused any vegetables, but accepted the plain green salad which he also ordered, together with a bottle of Frecciarossa Bianco, the best white wine they appeared to supply. Bond had taken one look at the champagnes and pronounced them undrinkable, but �probably reasonable for making a dressing�, at which Sukie laughed. Her laugh was, Bond thought, the least attractive thing about her, a little harsh, maybe not entirely genuine.

Their dish is a fairly standard-sounding one: a leg of lamb rubbed with olive oil seasoned with aromatics and baked in the oven, sprinkled with additional white wine. As I mentioned at the beginning of Gardner's tenure, when Bond's first wine is a young and cold red, the "red with red meat, white with fish and poultry" rules were starting to become less strict in the 80s.

quote:

When they were seated Bond wasted no time in offering to help her on her journey.

�I�m leaving for Rome in the morning. I�d be very pleased to give you a lift. That is, if the Principe won�t be offended at a commoner bringing you home.�

She gave a little pout. �He�s in no position to be offended. Principe Pasquale Tempesta died last year.�

�I�m sorry, I...�

She gave a dismissive wave of the right hand. �Oh, don�t be sorry. He was eighty-three. We were married for two years. It was convenient, that�s all.� She did not smile, or try to make light of it.

�A marriage of convenience?�

�No, it was just convenient. I like good things. He had money; he was old; he needed someone to keep him warm at night. In the Bible, didn�t King David take a young girl � Abishag � to keep him warm?�

�I believe so. My upbringing was rather Calvinistic, but I do seem to recall the Lower Fourth sniggering over that story.�

She means "keep him warm" literally. The Bible is very specific that Abishag did not have sex with David, only lying next to him as a source of body heat. The story led to esoteric Early Modern physicians encouraging old men to sleep alongside young virgins to maintain their youth, as if they needed excuses.

quote:

�Well, that�s what I was, Pasquale Tempesta�s Abishag, and he enjoyed it. Now I enjoy what he left me.�

�For an Italian you speak excellent English.�

�I should. I am English. Sukie�s short for Susan.� There was the smile again, and then the laugh, a little more mellow this time.

�You speak excellent Italian then.�

�And French, and German. I told you that yesterday, when you were trying to ask subtle questions, to find out about me.�

She reached forward, putting out a hand to cover his as it lay on the table beside his glass.

�Don�t worry, James, I�m not a witch. But I can spot nosey questions. Comes from the nuns, then living with Pasquale�s people.�

�Nuns?� �I�m a good convent-educated girl, James. You know about girls who�ve been educated in convents?�

�A fair amount.�

Saying "Oh Lord" like I want to might be blasphemous here.

quote:

She gave another little pout. �I was pretty well brainwashed. Daddy was a broker �all very ordinary: home counties; mock Tudor house; two cars; one scandal. Daddy was caught out with some funny cheques and got five years in an open prison. Collapse of stout family. I�d just finished at the convent, and was all set to go to Oxford. That was out, so I answered an ad in The Times for a nanny, with a mound of privileges, to an Italian family of good birth: Pasquale�s son, as it happened. It�s an old title, like all the surviving Italian nobility, but with one difference. They still have property and money.�

The Tempestas had taken the new English nanny into the family as one of their own. The old man, the Principe, had become a second father to her. She became very fond of him, so when he proposed a marriage � which he described as comodo as opposed to comodita � Sukie saw a certain wisdom in taking up the offer. Yet even in that she showed shrewdness, careful to ensure that the marriage would in no way deprive Pasquale�s two sons of their rightful inheritance.

�It did, to some extent, but they�re both wealthy and successful in their own right, and they didn�t object. You know old Italian families, James. Papa�s happiness, Papa�s rights, respect for Papa ...�

This is a really weird Ghost tie-in.

quote:

Bond asked how the two sons had achieved success, and she hesitated for a fraction too long before going on airily.

�Oh, business. They own companies and that kind of thing � and, yes, James, I�ll take you up on your offer of a ride to Rome. Thank you.�

They were half-way through the lamb when the padrone came hurrying forward, excused himself to Sukie, and bent to whisper that there was an urgent telephone call for Bond. He pointed towards the bar, where the telephone was off the hook.

�Bond,� he said quietly into the receiver.

�James, you somewhere private?� He recognised the voice immediately. It was Bill Tanner, M�s Chief-of-Staff.

�No. I�m having dinner.�

Where he normally does all his secretive planning, so...

quote:

�This is urgent. Very urgent. Could you ... ?�

�Of course.� He put down the receiver and went back to the table to make his apologies to Sukie. �It won�t take long.� He told her about May being ill in the clinic. �They want me to ring them back.�

In his room he set up the CC500 and called London. Bill Tanner came on the line straight away.

�Don�t say anything, James, just listen. The instructions are from M. Do you accept that?�

�Of course.� He had no alternative if Bill Tanner said he was speaking for the Chief of the Secret Service.

�You�re to stay where you are and take great care.� There was anxiety in Tanner�s voice.

�I�m due in Rome tomorrow, I ...�

He just said not to say anything!

quote:

are in the gravest danger. Genuine danger. We can�t get anyone to you quickly, so you�ll have to watch your own back. But stay put. Understand?� �I understand.� When Bill Tanner spoke of Rome coming to him, he meant Steve Quinn, the Service Resident in Rome. The same Steve Quinn Bond had planned to stay with for a couple of days. He asked why Rome was coming to him.

�To put you fully in the picture. Brief you. Try to get you out.� He heard Tanner take a quick breath at the other end of the line. �I can�t stress the danger strongly enough, old friend. The Chief suspected problems before you left, but we only got the hard intelligence in the last hour. M has flown to Geneva and Quinn is on his way there to be briefed. Then he will come straight to you. He�ll be with you before lunch. In the meantime, trust nobody. For God�s sake, just stay close.�

�I�m with the Tempesta girl now. Promised her a ride to Rome. What�s the form on her?� Bond was crisp.

�We haven�t got it all, but her connections seem clean enough. Certainly not involved with the Honoured Society. Treat her with care, though. Don�t let her get behind you.�

�I was thinking of the opposite, as a matter of fact.� Bond�s mouth moved into a hard smile, tinged with a hint of cruelty.

The original Bond would have gotten pegged, coward.

quote:

Tanner told him to keep her at the hotel. �Stall her about Rome, but don�t alert her. You really don�t know who are your friends and who your enemies. Rome will give you the full strength tomorrow.�

�We won�t be able to leave until late morning, I�m afraid,� he told Sukie, once back at the table. �That was a business chum who�s been to see my old housekeeper. He�s passing through here tomorrow morning, and I really can�t miss the chance of seeing him.�

She said it did not matter. �I was hoping for a lie-in tomorrow anyway.� Could he detect an invitation in her voice?

You're certainly looking for one.

quote:

They talked on and had coffee and a fine in the neat dining room, with its red and white checked tablecloths and gleaming cutlery, the two stolid north Italian waitresses attending the diners as though serving writs instead of food.

Sukie suggested they should sit at one of the tables outside the Mirto, but Bond made the excuse that it could be uncomfortable.

�Mosquitoes and midges tend to congregate around the lights. You�ll end up with that lovely skin blotched. It�s safer indoors.�

She asked what kind of business he was in, and he gave her the usual convincing if vague patter, which she appeared to accept. They talked of towns and cities they both enjoyed, and of food and drink.

�Perhaps I can take you to dinner in Rome,� Bond suggested. �Without wanting to seem ungrateful, I think we can get something a little more interesting at Papa Giovanni�s or the Augustea.�

�I�d love it. It�s a change to talk to someone who knows Europe well. Pasquale�s family are very Roman, I�m afraid. They don�t really see much further than the Appian Way.�

Bond found it a pleasant evening, although he had to make some effort to appear relaxed after hearing the news from London. Now he had to get through the night.

I'm sure he'll handle it very intelligently.

quote:

They went up together, with Bond offering to escort Sukie to her room. They reached the door, and he had no doubts as to what should happen. She came into his arms easily enough, but when he kissed her she did not respond, but kept her lips closed tight, her body rigid. So, he thought, one of those. But he tried again, if only because he wanted to keep her in sight. This time she pulled away, gently putting her fingers to his mouth.

�I�m sorry, James. But no.� There was the ghost of a smile as she said, �I�m a good convent girl, remember. But that�s not the only reason. If you�re serious, be patient. Now, goodnight, and thank you for the lovely evening.�

�I should thank you, Principessa,� he said with a touch of formality.

He watched as she closed her door, then went slowly to his own room, swallowed a couple of Dexedrine tablets and prepared to sit up all night.

# ? Oct 10, 2021 17:05

Midjack: Dec 24, 2007

I was tweakin' by myself one night, that's when I wrote this tune/And I did not have no need for that bed in my hotel room.

# ? Oct 10, 2021 19:38

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

Sometimes you see posts you didn�t expect in a fandom.

# ? Oct 15, 2021 03:58

Cassius Belli: May 22, 2010; horny is prohibited

Our beloved author gets a hat-tip in the upcoming Operation Mincemeat movie. I wonder if he'll be much of a character?

# ? Oct 22, 2021 19:06

Psion: Dec 13, 2002; eVeN I KnOw wHaT CoRnEr gAs iS

quote:

A few minutes later, the bridge speaker's metallic voice broke the silence in the General's cabin. "Grid square 54-90 area clear. No enemy vessels in vicinity."

This, too, is lifted from somewhere. Hunt for Red October specifically -- honestly, did anyone expect otherwise?

HFRO posted:

�So, we are to proceed to grid square 54-90 and rendezvous with our attack submarine V. K. Konovalov � that�s Captain Tupolev�s new command. You know Viktor Tupolev? No? Viktor will guard us from imperialist intruders, and we will conduct a four-day acquisition and tracking drill, with him hunting us � if he can.� Ramius chuckled. �The boys in the attack submarine directorate still have not figured how to track our new drive system. Well, neither will the Americans. We are to confine our operations to grid square 54-90 and the immediately surrounding squares. That ought to make Viktor�s task a bit easier.�

and of course, why take one thing when you can take two:

quote:

The General smiled thoughtfully, thinking how anxious he was to soon be on a paradise of warm beaches, palm trees, white sand beaches and dusky girls. The frozen tundra of the Motherland seemed light-years away.

HFRO posted:

Moreover, for Russians the island of Cuba was as exotic as Tahiti, a promised land of white sand beaches and dusky girls. Ramius knew differently. He had read articles in Red Star and other state journals about the joys of duty in Cuba. He had also been there.

in conclusion, Gogol is Sean Connery. Or rather, was.

Psion fucked around with this message at 05:35 on Nov 1, 2021

# ? Nov 1, 2021 05:24

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

There could probably be a whole project made out of checking The Killing Zone against the entirety of literature.

# ? Nov 1, 2021 18:52

Psion: Dec 13, 2002; eVeN I KnOw wHaT CoRnEr gAs iS

I agree, but I also don't volunteer :v:

# ? Nov 1, 2021 21:33

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

Something to finish this chapter with!

# ? Nov 10, 2021 00:03

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

Chapter 4: The Head Hunt

quote:

Steve Quinn was a big man, tall, broad, bearded and with an expansive personality, not the usual sort to get a responsible undercover position in the Service. They preferred what they called �invisible men� � grey people who could vanish into a crowd. �He�s a big, bearded bastard,� Steve�s wife, the petite blonde Tabitha, was often heard to remark.

Don't tell me John Gardner was the originator of the Grey Man movement.

quote:

Bond watched from behind his half-closed shutters as Quinn got out of a hired car and walked towards the hotel entrance. A few seconds later, the telephone rang and Mr Quarterman was announced. Bond told them to send him up.

Quinn was inside with the door locked almost before the knock had died in the air. He did not speak immediately, but went straight to the window and glanced down at the forecourt and the lake steamer which had just docked. The sheer beauty of the lake usually took the tourists� breath away when they disembarked, but this morning the loud yah-yahing of an English woman�s voice could be heard, even in Bond�s room, saying, �I wonder what there is to see here, darling.�

Bond scowled, and Quinn gave a tiny smile, almost hidden by his beard. He looked at the remains of Bond�s breakfast and mouthed noiselessly, asking if the place was clean.

�Spent the night going over it. Nothing in the telephone, or anywhere else.�

Quinn nodded. �Okay.�

This guy's already cooler than most of Gardner's partner ideas.

quote:

Bond asked why they could not have flown Geneva up to him.

�Because Geneva�s got problems of his own,� said Quinn, his finger stabbing out towards Bond. �But not a patch on your problems, my friend.�

�Talk, then. The Chief met you for a briefing?�

�Right. I�ve done what I can. Geneva doesn�t like it, but two of my people should be here by now to watch your back. M wants you in London � in one piece if possible.�

�So, there is someone on my tail.� Bond sounded unconcerned, but pictures of the shattered car on the motorway and Cordova�s body lying in the churchyard flashed through his mind.

Quinn lowered himself into a chair. He spoke in a near whisper.

�No,� he said, �you haven�t got someone on your tail. It seems to us that you�ve got just about every willing terrorist organisation, criminal gang and unfriendly foreign intelligence service right up your rectum. There�s a contract out for you. A unique contract. Somebody has made an offer � to coin a phrase � none of them can refuse.�

Bond gave a hard, half-smile. �Okay, break it to me gently. What am I worth?�

�Oh, they don�t want all of you. Just your head.�

Okay. Now we actually have a plot worth looking at.

quote:

Steve Quinn filled in the rest of the story. M had received a hint about two weeks before Bond went on leave. �The Firm that controls South London tried to spring Bernie Brazier from the Island,� he began. In other words, the most powerful underworld organisation in south London had tried to get one Bernie Brazier out of the high security prison at Parkhurst, on the Isle of Wight. Brazier was doing life for the cold-blooded killing of a notorious London underworld figure. Scotland Yard knew he had carried out at least twelve other murders, although they could not prove it. In short, Bernie Brazier was Britain�s top mechanic, a polite name for hired killer.

HMP Isle of Wight � Parkhurst Barracks is the official title of this prison, part of a combination of two prisons in the Newport/Parkhurst area on the island off the southern coast of England. At the time of this book, Parkhurst was one of the most notorious prisons in all of the United Kingdom. Peter Sutcliffe (the Yorkshire Ripper), Ian Brady of the Moors Murders, the Kray Twins, and IRA fatal hunger striker Michael Gaughan were all imprisoned there. Its reputation was equivalent to Alcatraz in the US.

quote:

�The escape was bungled. A real dog�s breakfast. Then after it was all over, friend Brazier wanted to do a deal,� Quinn continued, �and, as you know, the Met don�t take kindly to deals. So he asked to see somebody from the sisters.�

He spoke of their sister organisation, M.I. 5. This had been refused, but the details were passed to M, who sent their toughest interrogator to Parkhurst Prison. Brazier claimed he was being sprung to do a job that threatened the country�s security. In return for giving them the goods, he wanted a new identity and a place in the sun, with money to singe if not actually to burn.

Bond remained oddly detached as Quinn described the nightmarish scene. He knew the devil incarnate in M would promise the world for hard intelligence, and that in the end he would give his source the minimum. So it had been. Two more interrogators had gone to Parkhurst and had a long talk with Brazier. Then M had taken the trip himself to make the deal.

�And Bernie told all?� he finally asked.

�Part of it. The rest was to come once he was nicely tucked away in some tropical paradise with enough birds and booze to give him a coronary within a year.� Quinn�s face went very hard. �The day after M�s visit they found Bernie in his cell � hanged with piano wire.�

Saves on those costs, at least.

quote:

From outside came the sound of children playing near the jetty, the toot of one of the lake boats, and far away the drone of a light aeroplane. Bond asked what they had got from the late Bernie Brazier.

�That you were the target for this unique contract. A kind of competition.�

�Competition?�

�There are rules, it appears, and the winner is the group that brings your head to the organisers � on a silver charger, no less. Any bona fide criminal, terrorist, or intelligence agency can enter. They have to be accepted by the organisers. The starting date was four days ago, and there�s a time limit of three months. The winner gets ten million Swiss.�

Bond is not only being hunted, there's a competition with strict rules about how he's to be killed!

quote:

�Who in heaven�s name ... ?� Bond started.

�M discovered the answer to that less than twenty-four hours ago, with the help of the Metropolitan Police. About a week back, they pulled in half of the South London mob, and let M�s heavy squad have a go. It paid off, or M�s paying off, I don�t quite know which. I do know that four major London gangland chiefs are pleading for round the clock protection, and I guess they need it. The fifth laughed at M and walked out of the slammer. I gather they found him last night. He was not in good health.�

When Quinn went into the details of the man�s demise, even Bond felt queasy. �Jesus ...�

� ... Saves.� Quinn showed not a shred of humour. �One can but hope He�s saved that poor bastard. Forensic say he took an unconscionable time a-dying.�

And Bond is inadvertently leaving a trail of horrific death behind him!

quote:

�And who�s organised this grisly competition?�

�It�s even got a name, by the way.� Quinn sounded offhand. �It�s called the Head Hunt. No consolation prizes, just the big one. M reckons that around thirty professional killers went through the starting gate.�

�Who�s behind it?�

Third time's the charm.

quote:

�Your old friends the Special Executive for Counterintelligence, Terrorism, Revenge and Extortion � SPECTRE; in particular, the successor to the Blofeld dynasty, whom you�ve had one nasty brush with already, M tells me ...�

�Tamil Rahani. The so-called Colonel Tamil Rahani.�

The man, the myth, the parachute.

quote:

�Who will be the late Tamil Rahani in a matter of three to four months. Hence the time limit.�

Bond was silent for a minute. He was fully aware of how dangerous Tamil Rahani could be. They had never really discovered how he had managed to take over as Chief Executive of SPECTRE, which seemed always to have kept its leadership within the Blofeld family. But certainly the inventive, brilliant strategist, Tamil Rahani, had become SPECTRE�s leader. Bond could see the man now � dark-skinned, muscular, radiating dynamism. He was a ruthless, internationally powerful leader.

He recalled the last time he had seen Rahani, drifting by parachute over Geneva. His great forte as a commander was that he always led from the front. He had tried to have Bond killed about a month after that last meeting. Since then there had been few sightings, but 007 could well believe this bizarre competition was the brainchild of the sinister Tamil Rahani.

�Are you implying the man�s on his way out? Dying?�

�There was a sudden escape by parachute... � Quinn did not look him in the eyes.

Yes, what could possibly kill a man by successfully escaping by parachute?

quote:

'Yes.'

�I�m told that he jarred his spine on landing. This set off a cancer affecting the spinal cord. Apparently six specialists have seen him. There is no hope. Within four months, Tamil Rahani�s going to be the late Tamil Rahani.�

Oh, he landed mildly hard and it hit the Cancer Button. Okay.

quote:

�Who�s involved, apart from SPECTRE?�

Quinn slid a hand down his dark beard, �M�s working on it. A lot of your old enemies, of course. For starters, whatever they call the former Department V of the K.G.B. these days � what used to be SMERSH...�

�Department Eight of Directorate S: K.G.B.,� Bond snapped.

Quinn went on as though he had not heard: �...Then practically every known terrorist organisation, from the old Red Brigade to the Puerto Rican F.A.L.N. � the Armed Forces for National Liberation. With ten million Swiss francs as the star prize you�ve attracted a lot of attention.�

�You mentioned the underworld.�

�Of course � British, French, German, at least three Mafia Families and, I fear, the Union Corse. Since the demise of your ally, Marc-Ange Draco, they�ve been less than helpful...�

�All right!� Bond stopped him sharply.

Gabriele Ferzetti, who played Draco in the film adaptation of On Her Majesty's Secret Service, actually lived all the way to 2015!

quote:

Steve Quinn lifted his large body from the chair. There was none of the visible effort that might be expected from a man of his size, just a fast movement, a second between his being seated and standing, with one large hand on Bond�s shoulder. �Yes. Yes, I know, this is going to be a bitch.� He hesitated. �There�s one more thing you ought to know about Head Hunt...�

Bond shook off the hand. Quinn had been tactless in reminding him of the special relationship he had once nurtured between the Service and the Union Corse, an organisation that could be even more deadly than the Mafia. Bond�s contacts with the Union Corse had led to his marriage, followed quickly by the death of his bride, Marc-Ange Draco�s daughter.

�What other thing?� he snapped. �You�ve made it plain I can�t trust anybody. Can I even trust you?�

With a sense of disgust, Bond recognised the truth of the last remark. He could trust nobody, not even Steve Quinn, the Service�s man in Rome.

Don't repeat yourself.

quote:

�It�s to do with SPECTRE�s rules for Head Hunt.� Quinn�s face was expressionless. �The contenders are restricted to putting one man in the field � one only. The latest information is that already four have died violently, within the past twenty-four hours � one of them only a few hundred metres from where we�re sitting.�

�Tempel, Cordova and a couple of thugs on the Ostend ferry.�

�Right. The ferry passengers were representatives from two London gangs � South London and the West End. Tempel had links with the Red Army Faction. He was an underworld-trained hood and a bar-room politician trying for the rich pickings in the politics of terrorism. Paul Cordova you know about.�

This whole time, Bond has been followed by a bunch of assassins dropping dead around him.

quote:

All four, Bond thought, had been very close indeed when they were murdered. What were the odds on that being a coincidence? Aloud, he asked Quinn what M�s orders were.

�You�re to get back to London as quickly as you can. We haven�t the manpower available to look after you loose on the Continent. My own people will see you to the nearest airport and then take care of the car...�

�No.� Bond spat the word. �I�ll get the car back. Nobody else is going to take care of it for me � right?�

Quinn shrugged. Your funeral...�You�re vulnerable in that car.�

Bond was already moving about the room finishing his packing, yet all the time his senses were centred on Quinn. Trust nobody: right, he would not even trust this man.

Because all of Bond's past adventures had plenty of trustworthy people!

quote:

�Your boys?� he said. �Give me a rundown.�

�They�re out there. Look for yourself.� Quinn nodded in the direction of the window. He crossed to the long shutters and peered through the louvred slats. Bond placed himself just behind the big man.

�There,� said Quinn, �the one standing by the rocks, in the blue shirt. The other�s in the silver Renault parked at the end of the row of cars.�

It was a Renault 25 V6i, not Bond�s favourite kind of car. If he played his cards properly he could outrun that pair with ease.

The Renault 25, with the V6 Injection Automatic engine, is a pretty standard 4-door sedan. Bond's Bentley has significantly more power and a higher top speed that it can hit faster.

quote:

�I want information on one other person,� he said as he stepped back into the centre of the room, �an English girl with an Italian title...�

�Tempesta?� There was a sneer on Quinn�s lips.

Bond nodded.

�M doesn�t think she�s part of the game, though she could be bait. He says you should take care. His words were �Exercise caution.� She�s around, I gather.�

�Very much so. I�ve promised to give her a lift to Rome.�

�Dump her!�

Huh. Maybe Quinn isn't a bad guy if he's giving sensible advice.

quote:

�We�ll see. Okay, Quinn, if that�s all you have for me, I�ll sort out my route home. It could be scenic.�

Quinn nodded and stuck out his hand, which Bond ignored. �Good luck. You�re going to need it.�

�I don�t altogether believe in luck. Ultimately I believe in only one thing � myself...�

Great history of that working out.

quote:

Quinn frowned, nodded and left Bond to make his final preparations. Speed was essential, but his main concern at this moment was what he should do about Sukie Tempesta. She was there, an unknown quantity, yet he felt she could be used somehow. As a hostage, perhaps? The Principessa Tempesta would make an adequate hostage, a shield even, if he felt sufficiently ruthless. As though by telepathy, the telephone rang and Sukie�s mellow voice came on the line.

�I was wondering what time you wanted to leave, James?�

�Whenever it suits you. I�m almost ready.�

Is it just me, or is Bond being unusually dickish in this book? Fleming's Bond (and all of the later authors) never even considered using an innocent woman as a hostage or shield! And Bond has spent much of his time learning about the Head Hunt growling and snapping at Quinn even when not suspecting him. He almost feels like he's verging on the Hatfield Bond who keeps smiling like a psychopath when he gets to decapitate people.

quote:

She laughed, and the harshness seemed to have gone. �I�ve nearly finished packing. I�ll be fifteen minutes at the most. Do you want to eat here before we leave?�

Bond said he�d prefer to stop somewhere on the way, if she did not mind. �Look, Sukie, I�ve got a small problem. It might involve a slight detour. May I come and talk to you before we go?�

�In my room?�

�It would be better.�

�It could also cause a small scandal for a well brought up convent girl.�

�I can promise you there�ll be no scandal. Shall we say ten minutes time?�

You just contemplated taking her hostage!

quote:

�If you insist.� She was not being unpleasant, just a little more formal than before. �It is rather important. I�ll be with you in ten minutes.�

Hardly had he put down the telephone and snapped the locks on his case, when it rang again.

�Mr Bond?� He recognised the booming voice of Doktor Kirchtum, Direktor of the Klinik Mozart. He seemed to have lost some of his ebullience.

�Herr Direktor?� Bond heard the note of anxiety in his own tone.

�I�m sorry, Mr Bond. It is not good news...�

�May!�

�Your patient, Mr Bond. She is vanished. The police are here with me now. I�m sorry not to have made contact sooner. But she is vanished with the friend who visited yesterday, the Moneypenny lady. There has been a telephone call and the police wish to speak to you. She has been, how do you say it? Napped...�

�Kidnapped? May kidnapped, and Moneypenny?�

A thousand thoughts went through his head, but only one made sense. Someone had done his homework very well. May�s kidnapping could just possibly have been associated with Moneypenny�s, who was always a prime target. What was more probable, however, was that one of the Head Hunt contenders wanted Bond under close observation, and how better than to lead him in a search for May and Moneypenny?

chitoryu12 fucked around with this message at 18:21 on Jan 5, 2023

# ? Nov 13, 2021 15:13

Runcible Cat: May 28, 2007; Ignoring this post

chitoryu12 posted:

Is it just me, or is Bond being unusually dickish in this book? Fleming's Bond (and all of the later authors) never even considered using an innocent woman as a hostage or shield!

Plus what good would it do? "Hey money-hungry hitman drop your weapons or I'll shoot this random hot woman I'm travelling with!"

"So loving what?"

# ? Nov 13, 2021 21:27

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

https://twitter.com/kimtsherwood/status/1456183107166609409?s=21

# ? Dec 10, 2021 19:55

Dirt Road Junglist: Oct 8, 2010; We will be cruel
And through our cruelty
They will know who we are

Huh, do we know anything about her? She doesn't have a Wikipedia page, and my cursory searches were pretty empty. (From the US, I dunno if this is bigger news elsewhere.)

# ? Dec 11, 2021 00:38

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

And my job gets longer!

# ? Dec 16, 2021 15:56

Selachian: Oct 9, 2012

chitoryu12 posted:

And my job gets longer!

Ugh. I've never read any of Horowitz's other stuff, but his take on Sherlock Holmes, The House of Silk, was boring and didn't feel particularly Holmesian. So I can't say I have high hopes for this one.

# ? Dec 17, 2021 00:45

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

His most prominent Bond novel, Trigger Mortis, got most of its attention for being a direct sequel to Goldfinger that included an unproduced outline Fleming wrote for a TV show as part of the book.

# ? Dec 17, 2021 02:45

Midjack: Dec 24, 2007

chitoryu12 posted:

His most prominent Bond novel, Trigger Mortis, got most of its attention for being a direct sequel to Goldfinger that included an unproduced outline Fleming wrote for a TV show as part of the book.

chitoryu12 posted:

His most prominent Bond novel, Trigger Mortis

chitoryu12 posted:

Trigger Mortis

# ? Dec 17, 2021 02:47

chitoryu12: Apr 24, 2014

Look, this guy loving wrote Alex Rider.

# ? Dec 17, 2021 04:31

Adbot: ADBOT LOVES YOU

# ? May 29, 2024 10:54

Dirt Road Junglist: Oct 8, 2010; We will be cruel
And through our cruelty
They will know who we are

Trigger

Mortis

# ? Dec 17, 2021 18:55

The Something Awful Forums > The Finer Arts > The Book Barn > The Distance Between Insanity & Genius - Let's Read More James Bond Books

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