"You Can't Win Them All" By Brian Cornelius (Part 1)

 

Monday, August 23, 1992.

7:04 AM.  An abandoned warehouse in New York City.

    It was a drab, gray morning.  Despite the recent heat waves, the

temperature seemed to have dropped, and the weather was a surprise for the

summer.

    A tall man stood outside of a warehouse wearing a brown trench coat.  His

black hair was slicked back.  His black eyes pierced the foggy environment as

he lit a cigarette and blew out a small cloud of smoke.

    The warehouse that he stood in front of was deserted.  Planks covered

what once were windows, and the doors seemed to be boarded shut, reinforced

by a huge metal lock.  The black-haired man continued to smoke his cigarette

and watched as a black Lincoln Towncar drove up to the warehouse.  The

driver’s door opened up and a short, unattractive man with a big nose and

small, beady eyes stepped out of the car.  He was dressed in a blue suit with

a red tie.  He ran his right hand over his balding head as he approached the

black-haired man.

    “You have her?” the black-haired man asked.

    “Yeah,” the shorter man replied.

    “Bring her here.”

    The shorter man turned towards the car.  “Bring her here, boys.”

    The rear passenger’s door on the right side of the car opened up, and a

tall, husky black-haired man in a black suit with sunglasses exited the car,

holding a Colt .45 automatic pistol in his hand.  He violently pulled a young

girl from the car, as another blue-suited man exited from the other rear

passenger door.

    The girl was about sixteen years old.  She had long, black hair that

rested around her shoulders.  Her skin was rather pale, her nose was slightly

long, but she held a very attractive appearance.  She stood about five feet

and five inches tall, and wore black jeans and a white button-down shirt over

a black t-shirt.

    The two men led her to the black-haired man.  “Boss wants her dead. 

Now,” he said to the shorter man.

    “You got it, Mr. Addison”

    The man called Mr. Addison walked away, and behind one side of the

building, then drove off in a black Toyota Camry, just as the short man

produced a key from his pocket.  He took the key and unlocked the door, and

opened it.

    The short man then approached the girl, who was at eye-level with him. 

The girl was held by both of the blue-suited guards.  “I’m sorry, Elizabeth,”

he apologized.  “But it looks like your father, the British Prime Minister,

won’t pay your ransom.  To show that there are no hard feelings, we’ll make

it a quick and painless death for you.”

    “Screw you,” the girl named Elizabeth retorted.  Despite being the

daughter of a British man, she spoke with an American accent.  She had grown

up in the United States with her mother, who was American.

    “Take her inside, and make it quick.”

    The two men dragged Elizabeth into the warehouse, kicking the boarded

door open.  The shorter man waited outside the entrance and waited for the

other two.

    The inside of the warehouse was dark.  The two men removed their

sunglasses, then one of them pulled an ASP 9mm automatic pistol from the

inside of his jacket.  He pointed it at Elizabeth’s head, and prepared to

pull the trigger.  As she waited for the on-coming bullet, Elizabeth was

shivering.  She then thought she saw something odd.  It appeared like there

was a small red dot on the gunner’s forehead.  She had a puzzled look on her

face, and the gunner noticed this.

    “What the hell are you looking at, you stupid bi-” and stopped suddenly

as a small thud replaced his voice.  The man’s body slumped to the ground,

and the other man reached for the inside of his jacket as another thud was

heard, and his body, too, slumped to the ground.

    Elizabeth wanted to scream, but could not find her voice.  She couldn’t

move, even when she saw a dark figure slowly emerge from the shadows and

approach her.  The man wore a black turtleneck sweater and matching pants,

combat boots, and a belt which held a combat knife and holstered Walther P99

pistol.  The man was holding a long, silenced sniper rifle.

    His face was handsome.  He had black hair, and blue-gray eyes that looked

into hers.  The man was taller than her, about six feet, maybe even taller. 

What stood out, however, was a scar that ran down his right cheek.

    “Elizabeth?” the man asked.

    She couldn’t speak, but she responded by nodding her head.

    “Good.  Be a good girl and stay here.”  The man started towards the

entrance of the warehouse to eliminate the short man who stood outside, and

leaned his rifle against a wall by the entrance.  He unholstered his P99 and

prepared to walk out the door when Elizabeth whispered to him “Who are you?”

    The man turned around.  “I’m with the British Secret Service,” he said

before pausing.  “My name is Bond.  James Bon-” and was interrupted as he was

tackled.

    James Bond fell to the ground with the short man.  The two rolled around

on the ground, both fighting for control over the gun.  Two shots exploded

through the air, deafening both men as they fought for the gun.  The shorter

man then surprised Bond as he bit Bond’s hand hard.  Bond fought the pain as

much as possible to keep from dropping the gun, but he couldn’t.  Blood

started to appear on Bond’s wrist.  Bond grabbed his wrist and looked up to

find the short man holding Bond’s own P99 to his head.  Bond had to get out

of this somehow.  But no ideas would come up.  He then just grit his teeth to

brace the death that would follow and closed his eyes just before he heard

another deafening gunshot.

    Bond was surprised to be able open his eyes and find himself very much

alive.  He saw the dead body of the man right in front of him.  He looked

behind himself to see Elizabeth, trembling, holding the guard’s ASP.

    “It’s good to see that you overcame your shock,” Bond said as he stood up

and holstered his P99.  He examined his bloody wrist.

    “Are you okay?” Elizabeth asked.

    “Yes, I’m fine,” Bond said, smiling.  He tore his left sleeve off and

bounded it around his wrist.  He then leant over to Elizabeth and gave her a

peck on her cheek.  “Thank you,” he said.

    Bond ran to the entrance, grabbed his sniper rifle, then the two walked

out the back door.  Right outside was a silver Aston Martin DB5.  Bond opened

the passenger door on the left side of the car for Elizabeth and she entered

the car.  He closed the door, then went back over to the right side, opened

the door, threw the sniper rifle into the back seat, then seated himself.  He

started the ignition and just before driving off, Bond muttered, “I guess a

rabies vaccine is in order.”

 

 

BRIAN CORNELIUS PRESENTS

IAN FLEMING’S JAMES BOND 007

IN

“YOU CAN’T WIN THEM ALL”

 

 

    Saturday, October 26, 2000.

    1:06 PM.  MI6 Headquarters.

    M sat at her desk, leaning back in her chair.  She stared at the door, as

if she was expecting someone to enter.  Her eyes seemed to be piercing

through the door and looking into the lobby.

    Getting impatient, M leaned forward and pressed a button on the intercom

on her desk.  “Moneypenny,” she said, “Where the bloody hell is Double-Oh

Seven?”

    “I’m not sure, M.  Oh, wait, he just came in.”

    “Good.  Send him in straight away,” M ordered.

    A few seconds later, James Bond walked through the doors and went

immediately to the chair sitting in front of M’s desk.  “What’s so urgent,

M?” he asked.

    M did not respond right away.  She leaned back, and rubbed her eyes with

her right hand.  “We have an operation for you Double-Oh Seven.  It’s

actually not that difficult, but it is very important.”  She tapped on a

manila folder that lay on her desk.  “You basically have to protect someone. 

And not completely by yourself; a member of the United States government will

be there to aid you.”

    Bond picked the folder up from the desk and opened it.  He read over a

page in the folder, then closed it and looked right at M.

    “Why did you choose me for this assignment?” he questioned.

    “Because, if I’m not mistaken, you were the operative who saved the poor

girl nearly seven years ago.  Her father, the former Prime Minister, got an

anonymous call.  The caller threatened that they will finally have her, and

are no longer interested in her father’s money.  And they’re quite angry at

you, if I’m not mistaken.  In fact, they have a contract out on your life.”

    Bond looked puzzled.  “What?  For how long?”

    “I believe, the contract has been put out a month after you rescued

Elizabeth.  Now as for your contact.  He is a young, twenty-five-year-old

member of a covert government agency.  His name is Ethan Chase.  There is a

photograph of him in the folder.  He will pick you up in a blue 1995 Nissan

Pathfinder at an airport in New York City.”

    “Is that where Elizabeth is?”

    “Yes, in the Plaza Hotel.  For now, she has some bodyguards, but her

father would rather her be protected by the man who saved her life.  The

mission for you and Mr. Chase will be simply to accompany Elizabeth and to

show her a good time.  And I don’t want to find out that you and Elizabeth

did anything that I wouldn’t approve of.  That is why we are partnering you

up.”

    Bond frowned.  “I am mature enough to stay away with a woman who is that

much younger than I am, ma’am.”  He then studied the photograph that he found

in the folder.  It showed a young man.  He had brown hair, a somewhat

handsome face, and seemed to be as tall as him.

    Bond placed the folder back onto M’s desk, stood up, and straightened his

tie.  “Anything else?” he asked as he walked to the door.”

    “Remember, James,” M nearly pleaded.  Bond turned around.  M had never

called him by his first name.  “There is a contract on your life, and this

terrorist or organization has every top terrorist or anarchist after your

hide.  What I’m trying to say is: be careful and get your bloody ass back

here alive,” she said with a smile on her face.

 

TO BE CONTINUED

 

Please send any comments or feedback to BCLfgrd@aol.com - I would like to

hear what you think!!!