Pierce Brosnan 'returns' in "ANOTHER LIFE TO GO"

Well, not quite but to ease your minds in this age of you know who and you know what, a fresh Bond story.

I lost a family member lately and this story was my way of just putting the matter to use however pointless.

so...

PIERCE BROSNAN returns in...

ANOTHER LIFE TO GO

Contents

Prologue- (HMS Bedford, 1997)
Chapter One- Etna's Fury (Present Day)
Chapter Two- In from the Pasture
Chapter Three- Far East
Chapter Four- Dragon's Lair
Chapter Five- In the Open
Chapter Six- Our Man in China
Chapter Seven- Strike One
Chapter Eight- Ghosts
Chapter Nine- Colonial Sunset
Chapter Ten- No One Runs

Sorry to hear that, Hilly.

Look forward to reading it.

Having been treated to some of the M scene off the boards, I can say it's very appealing.

Thank you chaps, indeed thank you extra CJB.

I've the first two parts done but I'll get it sorted soon.

DISCLAIMER, or whatever

A) ships names are fictional. The late Douglas Reeman (a WWII vet who wrote naval stories, at war) advised me to use fictional names for ships and in an odd way it's kind of fun. Matching names to certain classes. But it also lends them a certain ownership. Whereas if I wrote about, say, the real-life HMS Queen Elizabeth...it's like treading on toes (so TND in this respect with Chester/Devonshire/Bedford was accurate, that class of ship is named for Dukes)

B) The important one. In my mind, to sort out a place in 'canon', this 'film' comes after Spectre/NTTD and is dare I say a Brosnan equivalent to NSNA (betwixt FYEO and OP) but...well...better or not

Gents, ladies and others, here we go. Make yourself a tea, get yourself a whisky, squeeze the knee of the lady next to you [/Goon Show]...

--

UnEON productions and Chez Hilly present, with no pressure...

PROLOGUE

HMS Bedford, South China Sea
Spring 1997

“Bloody cheek, making us send a Bosun’s Chair over when a damn helicopter would do! As if it wasn’t bad enough we were close to shooting at each other until kingdom come!”
Admiral Sir Maxwell Kelly DSO Royal Navy finished his little tirade with a typically bitter expression on his face. The bald admiral was renowned in the fleet for his short temper, no nonsense attitude to the job in hand and being one ‘of the old school’. Staying in the Navy after his National Service, he steadily rose through the ranks and served with distinction in the Falklands. With his ship burning from two Exocet strikes, Kelly managed to shoot down the attacking Argentine Hawks and steer his ship out of danger. For getting his ship to Ascension with a skeleton crew and for his actions in the war, he earned his Distinguished Service Order.
Running parallel to his Type 23 flagship was a Type 052-Luhu-class missile destroyer, the Lingsao. Presently a cable was running between the two ships with a figure strapped onto a small metal seat like a puppet whose strings had become taut. A Bosun’s Chair in this day and age was somewhat old fashioned.
Commander James Bond RNR was wearing a battledress complete with his three-rings and a neatly printed name tag that simply said ‘BOND’. Secret agent or not, Bond had been given a proper tongue lashing once he and Chinese agent Wai Lin had been brought aboard around midnight. With Bedford’s guns still smoking from her old fashioned pummelling of Elliott Carver’s stealth boat, Bond was summoned to Kelly’s day cabin. Removing expletives, Kelly’s rant involved Bond taking liberties by ‘consorting with an agent of the People’s [expletive] External Liberation [expletives] Force’ on a piece of wreckage.
“Thank [expletive] it was the middle of the ruddy night!” Kelly had finished by sending Bond to a bunk somewhere amidships. Kelly was a good sort really, no one commanded a Task Force unless they knew their stuff. His level head as the British fleet sailed head on towards the Chinese Fleet had likely avoided a shooting war. The megalomaniac plans of Carver had been thwarted.
Kelly invited Bond to breakfast earlier. Bond had almost forgotten his naval etiquette. Over breakfast Kelly had shown the old fashioned telegram sent to the ship via Hong Kong. Bond read it and grew embarrassed.
ONCE AGAIN WE OWE YOU A GREAT DEBT COMMANDER STOP I FOR ONE THANK YOU FOR YOUR COURAGEOUS ACTIONS IN STOPPING WHAT COULD HAVE BECOME THE THIRD WORLD WAR STOP MY SINCERE CONGRATULATIONS AND WELL WISHES STOP ELIZABETH R
He was exhausted from last night’s action and indeed, the previous two days. It seemed a lifetime ago that the Navy had lost the first ship since the Falklands in the shape of HMS Devonshire and all for the sake of TV ratings.
“You and that agent were rather friendly,” Kelly said drawing Bond back to the moment. Wai Lin was almost at the Lingsao now. It was not a question, rather than a statement.
“We worked well together, sir.”
“Of course,” Kelly’s lips curled into a snarl. Beneath his peaked cap his grey eyes focused on the destroyer. “At the moment the Chinese Navy are good but not good enough. Still a blue water navy but that won’t last. And those who reckon Hong Kong will stay the same after the handover have another thing coming.”
“Makes me miss the Cold War,” said Bond.
“Hmm. Perhaps.”
They were stood on the upper deck over the helicopter hangar. Beneath them the Sea Lynx stood waiting in case it was needed. Ahead of them towards the front of the superstructure, the war room was as tense. Just as it had been last night. Under the watchful eye of the executive officer, they kept their eyes on the Chinese Fleet which was a few miles to the north. Bedford’s orders were to take the fleet to Australia for refuelling and start heading back home to Gibraltar until further orders. The Royal Navy was a fraction of what it was even twenty years ago, never mind fifty during the war. Once there were dozens of bases in Britain and overseas, now there was one nor two and with Hong Kong being handed over soon, one less.
A few minutes later there was a flashing of light from the destroyer. A rating nearby called out: “Admiral, Lingsao signalling. They have received Colonel Lin.”
“Acknowledge Rawlings,” Kelly half-turned his head and bawled: “Retrieve the Bosun’s Chair and inform Number One to make for Darwin as soon as is possible.”
Kelly stalked off, Bond meekly followed. In the old days, battles were fought and days spent on the bridge. Everyday. War movies like The Cruel Sea or Yangtze Incident (the last time the Royal Navy irked the Red Chinese) showed the officer on the bridge when it all was happening. For a couple of decades, battles were fought from within the war room. A darkened room with no natural light. This was how the likes of HMS Coventry fought the Falklands in 1982.
Bond allowed his eyes to adjust as he followed Kelly into it. A rating saluted the pair. Kelly took his cap off handing it to the rating.
“Cup of tea, sah?” the rating said.
Kelly eyed him then nodded. “One for myself and one for Commander Bond.”
Bond opened his mouth. “I prefer coffee…” he saw Kelly’s face and froze. “Tea it is.”
Bond stood behind Kelly who sat at a console. Next to him was the exec, two seats over was the Pee-Wo –Principle Weapons Officer- was hunched over studying his readouts. Kelly sighed. “Looks like the Chinese are heading home. Shame we can’t go to Hong Kong but orders are orders. Won’t be the same after the handover, bloody people.”
Bond did not mention that when the British took the territory a century ago, the deal had been for a century. Over ten years ago, the Prime Minister had signed an agreement that she did not think would stand thirty years never mind until 2047.
“It would be interesting to see where we are in thirty years, sir.”
“Maybe Commander, maybe. I might not well be here for it,” Kelly looked up as the rating returned with cups of tea. “Thank you Rawlings. Number One…”
“Turning on heading for Darwin, sir,” the first officer said shortly. “Remainder of fleet is following.”
“Good.”
Watching them in action, Bond wondered just what the future held. Not for the Navy but for Hong Kong, for Britain and China.
As he sipped the wretched tea, he reasoned it was not for him to wonder why.

PIERCE BROSNAN as IAN FLEMING’S JAMES BOND in

“ANOTHER LIFE TO GO”

Co-starring

CIARAN HINDS

CATHERINE ZETA JONES

JUDI DENCH as M
JOHN CLEESE as Q
JOE DON BAKER as Wade
SAMANTHA BOND as Moneypenny
MICHAEL KITCHEN as Tanner

With MICHAEL PALIN as “R” and MICHELLE WOO as “Wai Lin”

Good stuff.

Nice nod to Fleming's "tea is mud" maxim.

Thanks CJB. Fleming really couldn't stand it but a cuppa seems to be our way to resolving most problems.

-

CHAPTER ONE
“Etna’s Fury”

The present

Her Majesty’s Type 45 destroyer Dangerous had those lines and angles to her that was typical of the world’s navies today. Designed to be as invisible to radar as possible, for speed and for deadliness, she alone cost a billion pounds. She was the seventh ship of the class.
Her commander was simply glad that she had even made the long journey from Portsmouth to Victoria Harbour at Hong Kong. The other six ships of the class were in various stages of refit. That near ten billion quid money well spent, he mused. Nestled as she was at anchor between Hong Kong and Kowloon the destroyer was catching the eyes of most. Including, the commander would not dare to bet against, the prying eyes of the Chinese.
“Bastards,” he murmured.
“Sir?”
“Nothing number one,” he said dryly. His first officer was sipping tea standing by the CO’s chair. Best to be on the bridge right now, than hidden away, don’t give the swine the opportunity. “Time check, number one.”
“Er, 1412 sir.”
“Going to be cutting it fine.”
Number One was glancing out of the windows towards Kowloon. “Officially we’re flying the flag, sir.”
“And getting someone out before the Chinese squeeze him.”
Yes, the Dangerous was here to fly the flag –a quaint expression really. Something the RN probably last did in the interwar period last century. Give ships built for the First War but too late to serve in it –e.g HMS Hood- to do something. Potter about the Empire, to some hotspots, and take on the locals for a tour.
As used to happen, she was being used really to cover a Secret operation. ‘Extract’ someone the message went from the Admiralty- there would be a ‘man in Hong Kong’ and they would be giving the word.
Under no circumstances do anything that WILL START A WAR, the message ended.
Some chaps are no fun, the captain thought.

**

“FREE HONG KONG! ELECTIONS NOW! FREE HONG KONG!”
The crowd surged and pulsed like a single living breathing organism. Their faces masked, owing to the pandemic more than anything nowadays, they chanted, they shouted, they fought back. Nothing had changed in a year but for certain laws that the Chinese were now bringing into play.
A woman with long black hair and blue eyes stood in the vacant doorway of a 1980s office block that still bore the name of the British architect in the wall by the doors. Since all these flash tower blocks, skyscrapers and so on appeared, this building had been left behind. The woman had Anglo-Chinese features. A local would know she was not fully Chinese or Hong Konger and certainly the secret officials and agents of the Chinese would.
She had a name but also a number. 019.
Oh-Nineteen fidgeted like a bug caught in the corner of a spider’s web. She checked her watch for the thousandth time casting her eyes across the plaza. It was heaving with protesters and police. One such policeman was strolling past and gave her a curious look but kept on walking. There was only so much time before she had to go and get to the ship. Everything had been worked to the inch.
“Identity papers,” a voice snapped. She did well to hide her surprise. It was the damn cop that had walked past. 019 presented them, trying to look casual.
“Trader, what are you doing here!?” he said harshly reading her occupation as if it was an accusation.
“Waiting for a friend and getting out of the way of the protests.”
“They will be dealt with, you move on.”
“Right,” she started to walk off and stopped pretending to do a lace up. Glancing back she saw the cop had vanished. Hell with it, 019 thought, any minute now…Straightening she saw a protester work his way out of the side as if he had had enough. Young, he wore a black backpack and wore white clothes. He saw her, tried not to react but quickened his pace.
Easy kid, act natural, she thought.
There was a bang, the protesters kept surging and shouting. The police kept filming and bashing people with batons or whatever came to hand. The screams of the crowd hid 019’s own shout as she saw the kid crumple with half his head now missing. As blood and gore ran freely, as some nearby protesters screamed now with fear, 019 took off like a jackrabbit. She quickly ditched her coat, put her hair into a ponytail and discarded her fake identity papers. She did not stop moving until she reached the harbourside.

**

“Sir, coded text from our contact!” a young voice called out.
The captain had now gone into the battle room which had no natural light. The captain snapped out: “Read it, mid.”
“Sir, message reads: Am en route, ETA inside fifteen minutes.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all sir. Wait, sir…suffix code amended onto message. Code is ETNA.”
The captain frowned then swore to himself. That meant the mission was scrubbed. “Number One, ready for departure and for boarding our man. Mid, I want a signal drafted to the Admiralty…”

**

Dead on 1500hrs local, 019 boarded the Dangerous. The little motorboat she had used started to sink immediately, having started scuttling procedures just before she leapt into a waterline hatch. Her boarding went unnoticed from the mainland owing to passing junks. It would not be rocket science for the Chinese to link the large-clear-as-day destroyer to this extraction. However, everything had been worked to a tee. Dangerous’ departure at 1500hrs was pre-arranged and noted by the Victoria Harbour authorities. It was arranged as such as well to allow for the ship to leave without holding up the inter-island ferries.
It helped that the carrier group was ‘beating up’ out in the South China Sea with two American groups. Dangerous would rendezvous briefly to refuel and then press onto Darwin, Australia. Eventually she would return home. Long before she even turned her bows westward, 019 had left the destroyer.

I lost the creative thread when I was without a laptop for so long but I have a couple of chapters written prior. They'll suffice until I can get going with it.

--

CHAPTER TWO
“In from the Pasture”

SIS Headquarters Vauxhall, London

Chief of Staff Bill Tanner rubbed his unshaven face and stretched his arms as he stood facing the bay window in his office. Like most of the river-facing windows, this one was reinforced up to rocket attack and was effectively shaded as to be one way (i.e, out). It had seemed positively cheeky to rebuild on the same site as the previous building, considering what had happened here in the recent two decades, but the Civil Service struck when no one was looking and okayed it. Tanner swore he could still smell the paint from when it was built. His phone buzzed, going to his desk he pressed the speaker button: “Tanner.”
“She wants you, Bill.”
“Thanks ‘Penny,” Tanner turned to grab a manila folder with a red strip marked OHMSS across it. He left his office letting the door to shut and automatically latch. This current SIS building was a fraction shorter than the old Vauxhall Cross and less obvious. Less so in the sense that whereas the 90s SIS HQ was a so-called ‘Neo-Egyptian’ or whatever the bonze that designed it described it as, this one resembled more the likes of what was in the City of London downriver. A mix of 1930s stonework and cream colour and late 90s Canary Wharf flash in places. It gave the building the curious sense, in spite of its riverside location, of sort of merging with the surroundings.
Arriving at the sixteenth floor, two below the very top, Tanner strolled down the grey carpeted hallway. It was hard to tell what the interior designer had in mind when this new HQ opened. Much like the previous HQ, this one was swiftly derided by staff. Tanner thought his barracks when in the Royal Engineers had been bad. This was worse.
“Hello Penny,” he said in his usual dry tone. M’s long-serving secretary was sat side on to him. Long gone were the days of an anteroom as such. You walked down the corridor, past the doors of other offices and then suddenly there you were, M’s office with Penny sat outside. It was all rather postmodern, Tanner supposed.
Moneypenny was a radiant display this morning. A black sleeveless dress, hugging in the right places and her greying brunette hair was cascading over her shoulders. As it had been short for years, Tanner could not adjust to the old style.
“Hello, Bill, go straight in, please.”
“Certainly,” as he went to the door and grasped the handle he half-faced her. “Dressed to kill today.”
“I thought we’d do something different today. Besides, I have a lunch date…”
Tanner’s grey eyebrows lifted. “Lunch date? Hmm.”
In he went, closing the thick door behind him and freezing to the spot. M’s office naturally was larger than anyone else’s (stories persisted that Q had a much bigger office for all the useless gadgets that failed the grade). The view of the river seemed better up here. M was sat at her desk, white haired head down and scribbling away. Though she long had a PC, M often eschewed technology for certain things and that included letters, reports, etc. Without looking up she growled:
“I see it’s casual Monday today, Chief of Staff.”
Mouth open a fraction, Tanner adjusted his tie and smoothed his suit. “Apologies, M.”
“Do take a seat, Bill,” M glanced up putting her pen down as Tanner sat before her. “Well?”
Tanner was used to M’s brusqueness. He would not have it any other way. He handed over the folder. “M, since the ETNA flash from HMS Dangerous, there has been four assassinations of pro-democracy people in Hong Kong.”
M tore the OHMSS sash open and went through the file silently. A few minutes passed and she swore. It was language one sometimes heard from her if the situation warranted it. She pushed the file aside. “Five killed and all FIVE were either British or American intelligence people. As someone would say, it’s a carve up and a mighty big one!”
Tanner shifted on his seat. “M, 019 is in London now. I recommend she goes low until we figure out what’s going on.”
“Of course,” it disgusted both of them that even the possibility of Chinese retaliation on British soil was feared. “We need to take action.”
Tanner was silent. M got up, going to the window she put her hands in her pockets. “Tanner, bring him in.”
Tanner stiffened then also stood. “Immediately, M.”
“As soon as bloody possible.”
Tanner did not linger. Within five minutes he was in his office, on the phone and reaching out to the green beyond London.

The All England Club, Wimbledon, London

One got permission to play on the hallowed turf of Wimbledon only by chance. A former champion (or current), a member of the club (the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club, to give its full unwieldy name –AELTC for short) or if you know someone or some such. If Britain was a nation of green fingers, Wimbledon was one of the highest guardians of this honour. Only outside the Royal Chelsea Flower Show was horticulture treated akin to armed warfare. Work would start repairing the damage of two weeks tennis the moment the last spectator drifted out on Men’s Finals Day and continued up until the moment they came back next year. Wimbledon was an operation top to bottom ran like the planning for OVERLORD in 1944.
The ball zinged across the net with such frequency that to the few onlookers, it did not seem to have the chance to even be slow. Back, forth, back, forth from any angle, from the backline to the net side, it soared. This particular rally had already gone on for five minutes and the onlookers, other club members, were quietly tense in that very understated British way of the older generation.
Sweat cascading down his face like Niagara Falls in miniature, Clive Allenby –the Earl of Dunkirk, 4th Baron Allenby- gamely kept up his end. As the rally kept on he gradually retreated to his rear line and reducing his efforts to instant retorts. Eventually he was worn down and his latest effort went into the net somewhat limply. Going to the vacant middle rear umpire’s seat, Allenby picked up an AELTC towel (much sought after from players down) and wiped his face and neck. Wrapping it over his shoulders, he went to the net where his opponent waited.
“Good game old man, bloody hell you ran me ragged.”
“You should spend less time in the Lords, Clive.”
“Well, I always knew you wouldn’t,” Allenby chortled. He walked with his friend to the side where usually there would be an umpire leaning down to shake hands. “I invite you to a friendly match and you treat it like the bloody final.”
James Bond smiled thinly. “I needed the work out.”
“No, shall we say, friends you could check out? No, you know, ladies?”
“Clive, it’s not like you to be bashful,” Bond sipped from his bottle of orange juice. The other AELTC members were drifting away now. Bond caught his reflection in a nearby pane of glass that had been used as a test-bed to social distancing. The hair was greyer, he still had a slight belly –as it were…
“Penny for your thoughts, James?”
“Nothing as such,” Bond sat down. Head down he took a moment. As he did he heard a chirping. Muttering to himself, he reached into his gym bag and picked out his phone. Frowning he swiped with a thumb, again…again…
ENTER CODE. BIOMETRICS FAILED.
“Bloody thing,” he cursed and entered a PIN. A text message sprung up.
RETURN VX URGENT. COS
“I do hate text speak, even from Tanner,” said Bond to himself. He stood shoving his things into the bag. “Sorry Clive, no drinks. Got to dash.”
“Queen and Country?”
“Something like that.”
Bond made his way to where he had left the car under No.1 Court in what was essentially a loading bay. In spite of the orange lighting, the Aston Martin Vanquish gleamed. Bond dumped his bag in the typically small boot and climbed in. In short order he was racing onto Church Road heading past the golf course and heading north. The Vanquish’s engine was roaring gloriously, even when Bond paused, it sounded urgent. This was not the same Vanquish as his first for the Graves mission, Q Branch alone had kittens at the idea of Bond keeping it for his own use.
It did not take long to reach Vauxhall and the entrance to SIS’ car park. An innocuous alleyway close to the train station led down underground and a quarter mile into SIS HQ. In a good fifteen minutes after leaving Wimbledon, Bond was before M with Tanner standing by the desk.
“I see you had no time to shower, 007,” M said nose wrinkling.
“My apologies, I was told it was urgent,” Bond’s eyes flicked to Tanner who gave an apologetic twitch of the lips and an awkward fidget.
“No matter,” M leant back in her chair. She had given Bond a glass of fine whiskey and had one for herself. Clasping the glass with one hand she regarded Bond with that cool expression he first encountered prior to his Goldeneye mission.
“What do you know of Operation KINDLE?”
Bond pursed his lips then said: “Operation to retrieve pro-democracy agents from Hong Kong before they were liquidated by the Chinese. They were double agents effectively.”
“All five had been killed, by the Chinese. As we speak, the PM is fronting off the Royal Navy who has accused MI6 of wasting precious resources, i.e a destroyer, for an extraction,” M sounded dry. “They were betrayed by someone, that or Chinese Intelligence figured the game out. If that’s the case, we’ve become lax, 007. And I don’t like it.”
Bond’s lips curled. He didn’t either.
M sat up, her grey eyes regarded Bond coldly. “We’ve grown complacent, I think. Russia, China, even India and others all thinking our time has gone. That may be as it may, I was no fan of Empire but I’ll be damned if Britain will be pissed upon from a great height, as it were. The PM is of a like mind. As we can’t rely on the USA as such, we must try something.”
Bond had a sinking feeling in his gut. “Yes, M?”
“We’re not going to instigate WWIII but we want to tickle the Chinese. Find out what happened, help ferment the Free Hong Kong movement and remind the Chinese we’re not out of it yet.”
It sounded slightly fanciful to Bond but he said nothing. His respect for M was enough, his love of country (if not overly flagwaving) and the fact, well, On Her Majesty’s Secret Service.
“019 was meant to bring out the lead agent. You’ll head out there with her.”
“Is that wise, M?”
M sighed. “I wondered that myself but she’s keen to get back. You know I don’t approve of revenge missions…,” she trailed off. Bond cleared his throat picturing the sickbay of HMS Edinburgh in Hong Kong no less.
“Of course.”
The door opened, perhaps prompted by M somehow, Bond hadn’t seen her hand move. He glanced back to see a woman with faintly Oriental features and a slender figure. His eyebrow lifted, seeing him do this, the woman made a face. He smiled at M. “019?”
“Indeed. 019, this is 007.”
Bond stood holding a hand out. “James.”
“Jennifer.”
“We could have matching bath robes.”
M sighed. “007…”
Tanner came to the rescue. “James, 019, you leave from RAF Northolt in an hour.”
Bond glanced at him. “Northolt?”
“Air travel is a little tricky right now as you might appreciate. There’s a RAF flight out to Singapore. You two will be under a cover of Royal Navy officers getting a lift, so to speak…Tanner has the files. You’ll get into Hong Kong under the guise of journalists.”
“Should you need backup,” Tanner said, “the Ark Royal group is on guard.”
Bond shook his head. He was not quite sure if he liked knowing that the aircraft carrier and her seven escorts being ready to help out.
Tanner handed over a couple of folders. “Good luck, James.”
“Thanks but I have skill,” Bond smiled and headed to the door handing the spare file to 019. “Let’s go.”
019 looked to M who managed a smile of her own. “You’ll be fine.”
As the door closed, M muttered: “I hope.”

---

CHAPTER THREE
“Far East”

There were sometimes drawbacks to going under the old guise, Bond thought. Though he was still Royal Navy Reserve, it was not something that was close to the surface nowadays. Every year he attended reunions or functions, every year he got his RN pension and so on and so forth. He was immensely proud of his service, as anyone was that served for Queen and Country, but it was his other life now. That is until he boarded a RAF Boeing 747 (in true RAF fashion, branded a Boeing 747-MkVIII) painted in the now familiar grey. Aside from him and 019, there were a good sixty RAF personnel from officers down to aircraftmen (or is that aircraftpersons now?). This jet even had attendants which made the journey pleasant enough to Singapore.
The drawback was essentially that being guised as a three-ringer meant the attendants kept treating Bond with the utmost respect, to the point he felt like someone above his station. Though a man accustomed to high tastes and living, Bond was awkward when being treated this way. A three-ringer earned immense respect of course, commanded ships and so on but Bond was…well, he was 007. Maybe in an alternate reality he commanded a destroyer but right now he was a man on a mission.
“You seem uncomfortable,” 019 said as the 747 flew over Northern Africa. They had said little after taking off. A combination of dozing and character maybe.
“How so?”
“The way they fawn over you. You ARE a commander?”
“In another life,” Bond said looking out the window.
“I was in the RAF actually.”
Bond looked at her surprised. “Oh?”
019 grinned. It made her face quite pleasant as opposed to the cold deadpan that he had accompanied from London. “I was a pilot, flying Typhoons but apparently I demonstrated acute intelligence. Next thing…SIS.”
The road to being a SIS operative, even a Single-Oh, was of course not as straightforward as she made it sound.
“If you don’t mind me saying, you appear to have mixed heritage.”
“Got it in one. My mother was from Hong Kong. My father was British, based at HMS Tamar, the naval base. We left when the handover happened.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For fucking it up,” Bond remarked frankly.
“It was a deal, from 1897 when the British took it. None of us thought that China would do what they’ve done so fast.”
Hours later they landed at Singapore, another former outpost of Empire –if at that a symbol of Britain’s worst moment when in 1942 the garrison surrendered. The worst point of the war for Churchill. The air was humid, Bond pinched at the collar of his naval uniform and led 019 across the tarmac from the RAF 747 to what passed as an air terminal. He presented his credentials to the young woman at the desk. She rapped on her keyboard like a musician.
“Ah, yes, Commander Bond and left-tenant Chinn.”
“That’s right.”
The lady reached for a phone and spoke quickly. Bond frowned, he glanced at Chinn who was tense. Gesturing for her to keep calm, Bond looked to the air force woman. “Is there a problem?”
“Oh no, Commander Bond!” she gushed. “I have orders…”
She was interrupted by a door swinging open. The squeaky sound of wheels that had been unoiled in a while sounded. Bond leant against the desk gazing in wonder at the man in a wheelchair coming into view. The man was a few years older than Bond, his features wizened with age, his hair thin and balding. He wore a shockingly loud shirt and had what an American would call a shit-eating grin.
“Jimbo!”
“Wade, what the Hell?”
No one else in the world could get away with calling Bond Jimbo but Jack Wade was the one who could. Over twenty-five years now since Bond first met, what he thought at the time, a bumbling CIA agent in St. Petersburg. Next to Felix Leiter, Wade was perhaps the one person Bond trusted implicitly. Bond went to shake Wade’s hand, the handshake was as firm as cement.
“Good to see you, Jack.”
“And you, Jim. This would be Jennifer?”
019 hesitantly came forward holding a hand out. “Jennifer, yes.”
“Pleasure,” Wade winked at Bond who rolled his eyes. “Let’s go out back, Jimbo.”
They went into what seemed to be some sort of conference room. The air conditioning was a relief. Bond could not hesitate as Wade wheeled himself up to the head of the table. “Jack…”
“It’s temporary, Jimbo. Old age, arthritis and various other bastard things,” Wade sounded dismissive so Bond did not dwell. “Look, we have your paperwork and other credentials to get you two into Hong Kong. I’m advised by my higher-ups to let you know, once in HK you’re on your own.”
“Just what does your government have to do with a British operation?” Bond said a little sharply.
“Jimbo, this is 2020, you don’t just do what you want you know…”
“Damn it, Jack…”
“I’m not arguing with you Jimbo,” Wade grinned but the eyes seemed to hold some sort of sadness. “It’s the facts of life, you should know that by now.”
Remembering M’s words in the office, Bond glumly accepted it. Why did he think it would be different? If I had my way, you’d still be in North Korea. He shook his head, why now? “Okay, Jack.”
“You’re bug out options are limited if it goes wrong. Mainland China is out of the way as you know. Westerners are being watched closely, the Chinese are closing in Jimbo and not in a nice way…”
“We have the Navy if it comes to it.”
Wade laughed. “You can’t be serious.”
“Look, it’s an option. I’m not talking fighting but that’s our option to get out,” Bond suddenly was not in the mood. “Can we have the documents?”
“Sure,” Wade said quietly.
An hour later, dressed in smart casual wear, Bond and Jennifer were taken in a nondescript SUV to Singapore’ Changi Airport. Nothing was said, Bond was lost in his own thoughts and Jennifer seemed afraid to ask anything. At the airport Wade accompanied them to the Air China desk. If it was possible to feel a chill from people, Bond felt it from the staff here. The flight announced, they started to head over. Bond paused with Wade.
“Is it me, or are we maybe getting too old for this?”
Wade chuckled. “I think so.”
Bond smiled. He glanced over to where 019 was waiting then to Wade.
“Thanks for your help, Jack.”
“Anytime, James, you know that.”
“Hopefully we’ll see each other again.”
Wade grinned. “You can count on it.”
They shook hands and Bond followed Jennifer onto the plane. Half an hour later the Boeing 777 took to the air and made the relatively short hop to Hong Kong.

I still have a couple of chapters done ages ago so see if it breathes life into a stuck story.

The reader is reminded to suspend belief. Well, suspend something.

--

CHAPTER FOUR
“Dragon’s Lair”

Hong Kong’s airport was said to be the worst airport for pilots to land at. The one that put the fear of God into them. Several minutes of unrelenting terror punctuated by airbrakes and a stop at a terminal. As the 777 banked sharply, Bond glanced down from his seat at Hong Kong. He remembered past adventures such as when he came here to track down Scaramanga but latterly, escaping the frigate and M to start his quest for revenge.
Zao…
Seemed another life ago, he thought. Next to him 019 was gripping the armrests of her seat despite doing this flight in a few times. RAF or not Hong Kong’s approach put the living daylights into her.
They got through all right but Bond felt the eyes upon him. When one was in the business as long as he had been, you got wise to such things. It reminded him of Soviet Russia back in the day. His senses were tingling as they walked out of the terminal building into overcast skies. The streets were rammed with traffic.
“What pandemic?” he mused to 019 who risked a smile. She did not know what to make of this Double-Oh. They took a taxi with their bags to a hotel a stone’s throw from the former Hong Kong Royal Yacht Club (now, Bond saw with faint weariness, the People’s Republic Yacht Club of Hong Kong). A bellboy came to get their bags and did a fair go of carrying both Bond’s and 019’s into the hotel. Bond murmured to 019 before the door: “Follow me.”
Bond strolled across the lobby where everyone and anyone was scattered about. His smart casual suit drew the eye, mostly from women. Bond had his left hand tucked into a left jacket pocket. The last time he had walked across this lobby he was wearing some rather soggy pyjama bottoms. He was a man of class, he could make anything work. Trailing, 019 was quietly amazed. She stood next to Bond at the desk. Phones were ringing, keys jangling, orders barked in English and Cantonese.
“Good afternoon, sir,” a concierge said with no hint of warmth. “You have a reservation?”
“Indeed. The name’s…,” Bond hesitated, then smiled. “In the name of Stock, James Stock. This is my assistant, Gala Brand.”
019 did her best to look natural. She could see why being a 00 required everything and all of it. They had to pretend to be someone they weren’t often. 019 for a second was about to proclaim that she was Jennifer.
“Ah, yes. Separate rooms,” the concierge emphasised the last couple of words. “Business or pleasure?”
“My trip? How kind of you,” Bond said dryly. “Both. You chaps have a rather interesting climate right now.”
“Indeed,” the concierge barked Cantonese and two bellboys appeared as if from nowhere. “Rooms 1309 and 1310!”
Bond glanced about as the pair followed the bellboys to the gold embroidered lifts. The eyes were on him again. Smiling at 019 as the lift doors closed Bond murmured:
“Everything will be fine.”

**

Bond took a cold shower then shaved. Once done, he placed the Gillette down on the basin edge and stroked his face gently. The hair was greyer, the lines around his eyes and across his forehead were never going now and he had a slight belly.
Mr and Mrs Bond of Royal Tunbridge Wells…
Bond touched the mirror smearing his fingerprints upon it.
I intend to be around forever.
There was a timid knock on the suite’s door. Bond grabbed a towel wrapping it around his neck. Going to the door he opened it. 019 were wearing a pink dress that ended at her thighs.
“Dressing down, Gala?”
“I, uh,” she took in Bond’s state of dress. “You said about…”
“Yes, well, come in before someone hears,” Bond stepped aside watching her. Closing the door he said quietly. “I’ve swept for bugs. We’ll have to assume they’ve got other bugs here that I couldn’t find.”
After getting dressed into a fine grey suit, Bond joined her. Either side of a glass coffee table they sat nursing drinks.
“I want to do a recon of the area and see where are,” Bond sipped at his drink. Siamese vodka. “The Reds will have us watched I’m sure. Once we know where we stand, we go into action.”
“Not sure if Reds is the right word, sir.”
Bond gave her a sharp look. “This PC nonsense wears me thin, Jennifer. They’re Red, end of discussion.”
“You’re a relic of the Cold War,” Jennifer snapped. She felt emboldened. “We have to watch ourselves…”
“We’re…,” he was about say ‘secret agents’ and lowered his voice though it carried menace. “We’re not bloody missionaries on Christian work, 019. China is acting like it can do what it wants even in Britain…”
“Like Britain did when it had an Empire?”
On one hand, she had a point but Bond’s ire was up. “Whose side are you on?”
There was silence. Jennifer looked at her drink then at Bond. “I’m sorry, Commander.”
“I think we might see why you’re only a Single-Oh.”
Bond regretted saying it, her eyes darkened, she seemed to deflate but you did not get anywhere in this job by pussyfooting. When Bond started out after his RNVR days, he had the same treatment. Sir Miles had chewed Bond out enough that he was surprised there had been skin left by the time Sir Miles was replaced.
This isn’t a country club, 007!
Bond stood going to the bay windows. Room 1309 offered a fantastic view of Victoria Harbour and Kowloon beyond it. Low rain cloud covered much of Kowloon. The harbour was dotted with all sorts of craft, mostly junks. Bond spied a destroyer on the horizon. Looked Chinese.
His phone buzzed. Going to it, Bond deftly collected it in his right hand.
“Mr Stock speaking.”
“Mr Stock,” a voice said, “your uncles are here.”
Bond frowned, staring at Kowloon intently. “Uncles?”
“One moment…Yes, your Uncle Boothroyd…”
Bond grunted. “Send them up please.”
Bond slammed the receiver down aiming eyes heavenwards. Then he looked to 019.
“Now pay attention, 019. You might learn something. “

I always pictured Michael Palin if in a Bond film playing his Q/R like a cross between a Python character (that kind of voice he used in certain sketches like the marriage counsellor, where Idle's counsellor seduces Palin's wife right in front of him) and a Ripping Yarn character. Anyway, here we go.

CHAPTER FIVE
“In the Open”

Bond was on edge when he opened the door to 1309. First he saw a tall grey haired man in tweed carrying a large duffel bag. Rolling his eyes Bond groaned then he saw the other tall man with short black-grey hair and a wide-eyed innocent expression, also carrying a duffel bag.
“00…,” began the grey haired man.
“AHEM!” Bond thundered.
He all but pushed the grey-haired man in and allowed the other to follow. Slamming the door shut, Bond went to his TV and selected some nondescript radio channel. As bland music filled the room, Bond walked over to where the men stood behind 019 on the sofa.
“Q, this is the most stupid thing I’ve seen you do in a while.”
“Really, Bond, you dismay me,” Q said dryly. “What do you want me to do when M sends me virtually steerage on BA!”
“Bloody hell,” muttered Bond. 019 were smiling, taken aback by the arrival of the two older men. “Drinks?”
“Tea please,” Q said archly flicking grey eyes to the other.
“Ooh…I’ll have a coke please!”
“Bond, this is, er, R. My assistant. He’s a little, shall we say, keen but he suffices.”
R did not seem to notice the inflection in Q’s voice. As he sat next to 019 he looked quite bright. “I’ve never been on assignment! The furthest I’ve been is Eastbourne!”
Bond stared at him then at Q who groaned. “He’s…”
“Here’s your drinks,” Bond said sitting down. “So, Q, what’s up?”
“Really, 007, must you speak like that? What is going on with you, would suffice. We’re here to help you up. Strictly speaking we’re over from Station BE.”
Beijing, Bond thought. Then he smiled thinly, SIS was so prolific that stations in the likes of Bulgaria, Belgium, Belarus and so on competed with others. Station B had been taken by Bratislava in the good old days and stayed that way now. Bond wondered if BE was right, wasn’t BE Belarus…?
“Are you paying attention, 007?” Q asked archly.
“Of course, Q,” Bond said like a schoolchild caught daydreaming.
R laughed earning a mild rebuke from Q. Q stood pinching at his trouser knees. “Shall we, R?”
Bond and 019 followed the two boffins to the dining table. They brought with them their briefcases. R opened his and began to speak almost like most people’s stereotype of a know it all. “As you can see, this looks like your run of the mill briefcase, like you could get at…oh I don’t know, Harrods. Now, you see it has pencils, pens, a nice little pouch for something…”
“R, spare us all the boring details,” Q snapped and looked at Bond aiming his eyes heavenwards. Bond shook his head putting a finger against his nose tip sighing.
“All right,” R tugged against the grey fabric lining the top of the briefcase. The stationary pouches disappeared as R removed the entire panel revealing an assortment of gadgets. “Cartridges for the sniper’s rifle that is in parts either side of the briefcase’s handle, similar to the one on your Lektor mission.”
“Old ways are the best ways,” Bond said.
“Quite,” R smiled delighted at once. “Underneath the bottom panel of the case you have palm radios, tracking devices, etc. All equipment that you are familiar with.”
As Bond had a look, Jennifer went to pick up the other briefcase. Tugging at the handle she looked to Q: “I suppose if I switch these locks, it emits knockout gas?”
Q all but snatched the case glaring. “Hardly, that’s my regular briefcase!”
Bond eyed him with that petulant expression. “Are you okay, Q? You’re grouchy today.”
R rocked on his heels looking smug and bright at the same time. “He didn’t sleep well last night. I did tell him those masseurs…”
“That’s quite enough. And now for something different,” Q reached into his jacket pocket dangling keys that bore the Aston Martin logo. It also had a familiar keyfob with the Union flag on it. “Your car.”
Bond took the fob and ran a thumb over the fob. “Still the old way? Wolf whistle for knockout gas and national anthem for…”
“Other way round, Bond.” Q picked up his briefcase. “Good luck. We’ll be at the safe house until we fly back to Singapore.”
“Thanks Q, R.”
As they left, Jennifer folded her arms. “I heard Q Branch was full of gadgets and boffins, I didn’t think it actually was like that though.”
“I don’t always care for gadgets but they come in handy. Let’s go for a drive,” Bond said rattling the keys. “This will be fun. I’ve always wanted to drive an Aston in a dictatorship.”
They returned to the lobby. Walking up to the same desk that he had drenched to the skin in his surgical gown, Bond looked about wondering if Chang was still here. He was annoyed at not knowing. If Chang was in Hong Kong twenty years on, almost, he was probably running the bloody island. Bond asked where the car park was. Informed it was under the hotel, Bond led Jennifer outside and walked in from the roadside. There were all sorts of flash cars here, from your typical Land Rover’s (far too vulgar for Bond’s tastes, more suited it seemed to overpaid footballers and drug dealers), to McClaren’s and Bugatti’s (again, a bit much for his taste) and then in a berth with his room number above it…
“That’s it?” Jennifer sounded sceptical.
Bond could not help but feel a tug of emotion oddly. It was an Aston alright but a 1987 V8 Vantage painted brownish-black. The last one he had, he had blown it to kingdom come then escaped on a cello case.
“Know any classical tunes?”
“Sorry.”
“No matter,” Bond unlocked the doors and they climbed in. He glanced about. My god, he thought, skis, rocket propulsion, missiles, laser… “Optional extras,” he murmured aloud. The engine roared into life, Bond revved it for a moment irritating Jennifer –boys with toys!- then he floored the accelerator.
There were one or two modern bits and pieces such as a SatNav display on the dash between Bond and Jennifer. Bond drove into the heart of Hong Kong noting the various police patrols.
“Look sharp,” he said to 019, “we’re on candid camera.”
Tight-lipped, 019 said nothing.

--

in the next instalment, we encounter *a* villain of the piece

CHAPTER SIX
“Our Man in China”

Beijing, People’s Republic of China

The smog lay heavy over the ancient capital of China like a suffocating shroud. The Chinese themselves did not seem to mind, it was only the Westerners and those from smog-free (relatively free at that) cities who minded.
Located in the Chaoyang District, the British Embassy (or Embassy of the United Kingdom, Beijing) was quite quaint in appearance. Largely painted pink, it was at once typical pre-modern Chinese build (i.e, none of this glass-fronted nonsense) and somehow quite British in feel. Naturally it was behind railings and enough security to resist for a few hours. Presently, even at four in the evening, the embassy was hosting a soiree. Many Western ambassadors, their wives/girlfriends/husbands/others were being entertained by the head honcho here, the British Ambassador.
His Excellency Sir Cedric George Hereward was holding forth close to the bar in the dining room which had just been cleared of the table, chairs etc and now was filled with the guests and staff. Hereward was a striking man really. Broad shoulders, some would say heavyset but it was the build of a rugby player. His thinning black hair was neatly combed to the right and his eyes were as black as space and some said, as cold. His wife was standing beside him, dressed in a fantastic purple cocktail dress that revealed her curves and hid some of them from sight. Sir Cedric did not appreciate others taking, even without touching, what was his by right. Only the most ardent of observers such as a behavioural expert, would note that husband and wife were quite distant in their way. Pamela laughed at his jokes, though they weren’t mostly funny and kept herself away from him by a few inches.
No one of course noticed. Hereward saw the American ambassador thread his way towards him. “Oh, Christ, what now?”
Pamela raised an eyebrow. “Not happy, darling?”
“The man bores me,” Hereward said just as the silver-haired American reached him. “Jim.”
“Ced, this is a great show you’re throwing!” James ‘call me Jim’ McDonald had become American ambassador in 2017, around the time Sir Cedric got his knighthood. Crass as the day was along, McDonald knew about as much about world affairs, diplomacy and common sense as his leader. He eyed Hereward with a glint to his dark eyes. “I heard that you guys have a battle group in the Pacific. Trying to rile the Chinks?”
“Do keep your voice down,” Hereward said coolly. He did not look at McDonald, his gaze taking in the other guests. “Yes we have a carrier group out there, however, it’s merely exercises. No different to your…guys sailing a ship the size of the Empire State Building up and down the Taiwan Straits back in the day.”
He could see that the point was lost on the American and sighed. “What does it matter to the United States, what Britain does?”
“We’re just curious.”
“Perhaps you focus on your own affairs,” Hereward did not smile outwardly. He reached to take a fresh drink from a passing waiter enjoying McDonald’s apparent consternation. He rocked the drink lightly in his hand. “Make America Great Again.”
What expression McDonald had was erased. Hereward took this as his moment to leave him and indeed, Pamela. It was his habit, he did not suffer fools gladly and certainly not that of his American counterpart. Circling the floor like a Great White Shark, Hereward caught snatches of conversation, than left the room. Placing his untouched drink on a mantelpiece in the corridor he went to his office at the rear of the embassy. On the walls were the obligatory pictures of the Queen, Prime Minister and local snapshots of Beijing. Hereward had no photos on his desk or elsewhere of his family. His two children were their own people now that they were adults and did well at university. They had not particularly cared for him and he saw no point in chasing them. Hereward stood at his desk mixing a cognac together from his ‘mini-bar’ (a small fridge under his safe). As he sat down a hidden door in the right wall opened, temporarily hiding the Queen’s smile from Hereward.
“On time, General.”
“Giving me access to your car park and this access route was helpful,” the Chinese man said wearing an uniform emblazoned with medal ribbons. The pinched face was bronzed and the thinning hair grey. He stood before the desk after he closed the door.
“Drink?” Hereward did not budge.
“I shall pass,” the other said.
“Well, please sit, General Chang or else I might get a stiff neck.”
“You British and your expressions.”
Liang Chang sat with a ramrod posture. “Our plans are advancing nicely. We shall be in position for the final phase within a few days.”
Hereward stared into his drink. “That’s good to hear. Who knew killing secret agents would work into things so well?”
“In war, casualties are to be accepted.”
“Indeed,” Hereward swallowed some of his drink and looked at Chang. “I would say you’ve had exceeding good luck since the Carver business.”
Chang did not smile. “I am lucky that attitudes in this city have changed since then. China is now in the ascendancy and firmly at that. I was fortunate then to have quiet supporters in government who agreed with my views. You on the other hand, are a remarkable man.”
“I am?”
“You would be seen as a traitor if people knew…”
“They won’t and I won’t be a traitor when this plan is realised. There is profit to be had.”
“Indeed,” Chang stood. “I should inform you that one of your latest agents have arrived in Hong Kong. James Bond. What the SIS call Double O Seven.”
Hereward kept his eyes down. “I know.”
“Of course you do. We shall take care of him soon.”
“He’s the best.”
“He was,” Chang left.
Hereward finished his drink and left for the dining room. Steering clear of McDonald, he thought about what lay ahead.
The loss of another British agent was immaterial.

---

up to date

Flash of something got this going against my expectations.

---

CHAPTER SEVEN
“Strike One”

In two days, Bond had come to the conclusion that Hong Kong was gone. The one he had known in the past at any rate. In eighteen years since his last visit, everything had changed. Not that he needed two days to come to this conclusion. He drove them down to Connaught Place close to the edge of Victoria Harbour. How could a place change so much in nearly twenty years? He mused quietly. Both agents had noted along the way the protesters gathered here and there. Something that Bond was learning, was the feeling of the place. Perhaps it was everything that he had known about Hong Kong over the years but he was feeling under siege. Everywhere was the apparatus of the Chinese state including flags galore. The car would have been registered by now if it had not already.
Stepping from the car, Bond and Jennifer headed towards the harbourside. The skies were grey, there was drizzle in the air. All the same Bond felt warm. Soon gazing across the waters towards Kowloon, Bond was feeling uncharacteristically morose. Perhaps sensing this or not knowing Bond too well, 019 ventured to speak.
“What is it? What are we looking for?”
“Nothing,” Bond said eyes focused on the horizon. Kowloon was gradually vanishing under low cloud. As the Macau ferry navigated the channel, a PRC patrol boat chugged past it. “This place isn’t the same as what I knew.”
“Join the club,” she snorted. “It’s not the Hong Kong any of us knew!”
He half-turned then took her by the arm. “Let’s get something to eat and we can work out our plan. Keep your wits about you.”
“I firmly intend to,” she said as they went to head back to Connaught Place. “Four people have already been killed…”
“And we wouldn’t want to add to that.”
Bond was soon turning into traffic, cutting across the lanes, the Aston’s engine roared throatily. Heading down Central Harcourt Road, they passed a small gaggle of police in riot gear by a police van on a break. Bond reached for the dash and pressed a button. 019 said nothing as the car’s dashboard automatically scrolled through radio channels until it found what it was looking for. A burst of Cantonese made her look sharply at Bond: “Police band?”
“I assume so, is it?”
He knew she spoke both Cantonese and Mandarin of course. She listened a moment. “It sounds like their channel. They’re getting ready to deploy more forces.”
“Like a siege more than a police operation,” Bond murmured. He zig-zagged in and out of traffic. Leaving the road to join Gloucester Road at the Hong Kong Performing Arts Centre, Bond noted the crowd here. Before the building was at least a hundred young people waving placards and shouting. He assumed that they were students. Bond stopped at a pedestrian crossing drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Police on move to the main protests, again,” Jennifer said.
“It’s not going to end anytime soon and it won’t end well,” he told her.
“Then why are we here? If we keep losing people and for what?”
“If you want to be a Double-O one day you have to learn the realities of the world we live in. It’s always been our job in the face of overwhelming odds. It’s also not ours to reason why,” he concluded. She snorted:
“You should have been a teacher.”
“I sort of am,” he said looking at her with a smile. Just then something caught his eye. The group of students appeared as if it were parting in the middle like the Red Sea. A car honked behind the Aston, the light was green –
-a figure clad in black opened up with an automatic weapon spraying a fusillade of bullets at the car. Jennifer shrieked as the passenger window thudded to the impact and flashes danced across the grey-brown bonnet. Bond grim faced slotted the car in reverse and floored the accelerator. In a whirl of squealing tyres and smoke, the Vantage slammed into the BMW behind it that had been honking furiously until then. The front of the BMW crumpled up like tissue paper. The honking abruptly ceased, the driver started to stagger out more stunned than hurt. In this time, the shooter had ran into the road still firing. Bond changed gears, moving ahead he aimed for the shooter. The protesting students were incredibly carrying on as if nothing was happening besides their own protestations.
Bond ignored 019’s sounds, especially when the Vantage clipped the shooter and sent them spinning away to the curb. Already there was a wailing of sirens down the road heading their way. Bond spun the wheel, executing a tight ninety degree turn that brought his side of the car around to where the shooter lay face down. Barely waiting for the car to completely stop, Bond leapt out and within two steps was at the body. The weapon was nowhere to be seen, perhaps spun into traffic away from the Vantage. Bond checked for a pulse, it was weak. Turning the body over, he peeled off the balaclava and was momentarily shocked to see it was a young woman.
Looking over to the students, he saw that they had closed ranks. Could some of these students be agents of the PRC? Agents of the People’s Liberation Army to be specific? Was this girl belonging to that insipid band of communists?
As he straightened, Bond raised his arms cautiously. Three police cars had got on top of the scene and more were coming. Jennifer, shaken, was climbing from the Aston and watched as one uniformed policeman advanced on Bond his handgun drawn and held in both hands.
“Do not move!” he shouted.
“I have identification,” Bond called moving to reach into his breast pocket of his suit.
“I said, don’t move!” the cop was now in front of Bond and with one hand, patted Bond down. He cursed as he plucked Bond’s PPK from his holster. “You’re coming to the station.”
“I hope you chaps have food, I’m famished,” Bond remarked.
Lowering his hands he followed them to a waiting van.

**

Like virtually everything in modern day Hong Kong, the police headquarters at Wan Chai was large, glassy and hideously modern. As well as being headquarters it had its own set of cells despite Wan Chain’s Police Division station next door.
Bond had his back to the wall of his cell arms folded. In his shirtsleeves and indeed, without his shoes, he felt mildly bemused at everything in the past few hours. Next door 019 languished, seemingly at peace. He had not said much to her, too engrossed in his own thoughts. Someone had not been happy at Bond lurking around. Lurking was the key word, considering he had barely had a chance to do some serious work.
“Commander?”
Bond glanced up to see a man of average height and build standing before the cell, the bars casting straight shadows on his pale face. He wore a fashionable suit and carried an attaché case.
“I’ll have black coffee please, easy on the sugar.”
The other tried to smile, it was awkward and amusing. “I, uh, I’m the Consular-General here. Chadwick Hawkes.”
“There’s a name to thank the parents for,” Bond remained sitting. “I’m honoured to have the top diplomatic dog in Hong Kong come and see me.”
“Well, you’re an interesting case, shall we, uh, say,” Hawkes made a gesture to someone Bond could not see and soon the cell gate rolled back. Hawkes stepped in and it closed behind him. Hawkes used the end of Bond’s cot to lay his briefcase and open it. He spoke as he worked through his machinations.
“When a Double-Oh gets caught next to a dead body in Hong Kong, one has to leap into action, as it were,” Hawkes had a photograph in hand. With the other he closed his case and put it on the floor. Bond swung his legs round so that the diplomat could sit on the end. “It’s going to sound fanciful to you but I’m part of the firm. Codeword: STARLING.”
Bond did not react, not outwardly. “There’s a name I’ve not heard since before the Handover. Sorry to break you back into action.”
“Don’t think anything of it dear boy,” Hawkes chuckled shaking his head. “Strictly speaking I retired from the game but as you very well know, one is never truly out of it is one? Besides, I’m an old friend of M____ and she gave me a call.”
Bond knew M’s first name but to hear it used by someone and so casually, was both surprising and funny. In seriousness it was something that his boss had called Hawkes personally. “This is the woman who tried to kill you.”
That was casual as well, Bond thought as he took the photo. It appeared to be taken with a long-lens across what appeared to be a square. The young woman was holding up a placard that simply read: FREE ELECTIONS.
“Doesn’t exactly look like a killer, you’ll agree.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Bond handed the photo back. “PLA?”
Hawkes glanced at the cell front then at Bond. “The word is that she is. Part of their new Hong Kong Counterstrike Group. Virtually all of their team is made up of either Hong Kong born and bred young men and women or English speaking young men and women. In spite of their youth and bad name, they’re not to be trifled with.”
“I know PLA intelligence is good yet it seems I’m already on the back foot.”
“I only found out you were here when word came that you had been arrested. It’s possible the PLA somehow found out you were here the moment you landed.”
“I didn’t exactly come in the normal way,” Bond said with growing exasperation. “Officially I’m Royal Navy here.”
“Yes, well,” Hawkes sighed. “That would’ve worked pre-97 when we still had the base here –HMS Tamar- but now it’s a bit dicey.”
Bond mulled things in his head. The PLA would have found out he was here from some other source. Unless there was another way. Someone at the airport in Singapore or here.
“You and the girl are to be released. There’s nothing they can charge you with.”
“Thanks,” Bond buttoned up his shirtsleeves.
“You’re not compromised otherwise, not with the authorities. As far as they’re concerned, you are more or less a British civil servant on attachment to the Foreign & Commonwealth Office.”
Hawkes stood, walking to the gate he rattled the bars with one hand then returned to get his case. As the cell gate rolled back, a policeman wandered up, one hand resting on his gun holster. “Shall we, commander?”
Jennifer walked out of her cell as Bond did. He gave her the once over. “Are you okay?”
“As I ever will be.”
Bond gave a cheery smile to the front desk officers as they left the building. They wandered down the steps towards the curb where a Bentley waited.
“If you come with me, er, lady and gent,” Hawkes said opening the rear door. “We have your car at the mission, Bond.”
“Right, thanks for that.”
“Devil of a thing to get away from the crime scene,” Hawkes remarked as Bond and Jennifer climbed in. He joined them closing the door. “I trust you know why.”
“Tricks of the trade,” smiled Bond.
As with the police headquarters, the British Consulate for Hong Kong and Macau was in a shiny, reasonably new, building in the area of town known as Admiralty. Taking its name from the former Tamar base and the older docklands built for the base, it had nothing to do with the navy nowadays. Even the Chinese navy was elsewhere. Bond and Jennifer followed Hawkes upstairs to his office.
“I shan’t lie, Bond. My superior in Beijing, Hearward, seems quite lukewarm to the idea of you chaps being here.”
“It’s not my concern what the ambassador thinks,” Bond said icily. Like his boss and her predecessors, he had an instinctive disliking of most civil servants. There had been few exceptions such as the now retired Lord Gray of Sandwich (Freddie to his friends). He had seen a picture of Hearward on their way in, in the lobby. A bland expression, dark hair combed in regiment and eyes like coalpits. He had a faint knowledge of the British Ambassador to China. “My job here is to find out what happened to our people and stop it from happening again.”
“It damn near happened to you two,” Hawkes pointed out just as frostily. He reclined behind his desk squeezing a stress ball in his right hand. “I imagine though you have others you can turn to.”
Bond knew he meant other SIS people here. If there was American CIA or NSA here, he was going to leave them alone. This was a British operation.
When Bond did not say anything, Hawkes leant forward putting the stress ball down. It looked like it had seen a fair amount of action lately. “Look, I’m keeping this to myself as it were. Beijing doesn’t have to know about this nor London, not more than London knows already. I must stress to you that the Chinese are tightening the screw here. They’re hiring some top lawyers, mostly our own people –QC’s and other high flyers from London- to prosecute the protesters. It’s not as clear cut as the Cold War days. If anything’s like those days, it’s close-lips otherwise…well…”
“In other words, we’re on our own,” Jennifer said clearly.
“Exactly my dear,” Hawkes said sounding relieved. He looked to Bond. “Understood, commander?”
“Perfectly,” Bond stood holding a hand out. “Thank you for your help, Mr Hawkes.”
“Good luck, commander.”
“I don’t need luck, I have skill,” Bond said with a smile and shake of his head.
Not until they were in the Vantage heading back to the hotel did either of the two agents say anything. “So, what now?”
Bond shrugged. “We’ve only just got here and already the opposition know more than we do and I don’t like that. We probably were made in Singapore giving them chance to know our exact movements. Almost certainly at the hotel but they knew before we got there.”
“Someone at the hotel helped out?”
Bond snorted, turning across a junction his eyes roving as he did so. No group of people was beyond scrutiny after the Performing Arts Centre. “The concierge at the hotel used to be Chinse intelligence. Or at least, a previous concierge. Considering that the hotel is a favourite with Westerners, than yes, it’s a positive hotbed of Chinese activity.”
At the hotel, they returned to their respective rooms to change for their evening. Bond honestly now was hungry, there had been no food at the jail and he was needing a brief pause to figure out his next course of action. He had the TV on as he shaved in the bathroom with his electric razor. He had no stubble prior, image was everything. The bathroom door was open and he could see the TV reflected in the pane on the mini-bar’s fridge.
“…enemies of the state will soon be tried for subversion, the police chief said today at the daily press conference.” Bond stepped out of the bathroom, now slowly moving the razor over his chin. The news appeared to be local, English speaking and apparently ran by the state judging by the language. The female anchor continued. “When asked about the apparent shooting at the Performing Arts Centre, the police chief said simply: ‘This was the act of a suicidal student who sort to die by police shooting’.”
No mention of the fact that it was Bond’s car that had done the damage. Praise be for State-ran television. Bond returned his razor and finished getting ready. There was a vivid sunset over Kowloon and the harbour. Bond adjusted his cufflinks and left the room pocketing his key and mobile. Waiting by the lift was Jennifer in a figure hugging black cocktail dress, her hair looked fresh and full of life.
“You are a treat for the eyes,” Bond remarked joining her.
“Thank you. Good to see you scrub up well,” she said with a smile.
Bond chuckled reaching to call the lift. “We do occasionally know where the soap is in our section.”
The hotel’s restaurant was adjacent to the lobby, with a casino on the end of that. The idea really was to entice the guests into the restaurant and then their money into the casino. Bond and Jennifer were sat close to a bay window.
“The food here is usually quite good,” Bond said as they consulted the menu. “Feel free to order what you like, it’s on the company’s tab.”
Bemused Jennifer remarked, “Are you always this fast and loose with the taxpayer’s money?”
Bond shrugged. “This isn’t exactly the taxpayer’s money. Besides, I pay my taxes.” The waiter returned, took the order and left. Another waiter arrived with a trolley. Bond glanced at it, there was a bottle resting in a field of ice within a shiny silver bucket and next to it was a red rose. Eyebrows lifting Bond looked up.
“I haven’t requested a drink yet.”
The waiter bowed courteously. “This is a gift from a guest, sir.”
Curious, Bond reached to lift the bottle up. “Dom Perignon,” he mused to himself. "Respectable vintage,” leaving it he picked up the red rose. Instinctively he trailed his gaze across the restaurant, over the chattering guests, lovers, businessmen, sightseers perhaps and finished at the entrance. A Chinese woman was stood there with a hand on hip, the other clasping a small purse. The dress was dark green, her black hair was piled high like a church spire but the face was familiar. A little older now, the hair indeed flecked with grey like his but unlike him, there was no growing belly here. Bond rose from the table as she came through the restaurant to him.
“James,” she said when she reached him.
“It’s a small world,” Bond said dipping his head. He gestured to the drinks. “Thank you, Wai Linn.”
Her eyes twinkled. “You’re more than welcome.”
“Won’t you join us?”

Far from perfect. Muddling story to get to grips with.

---

CHAPTER EIGHT
“Ghosts”

Wai Lin looked to Jennifer who seemed mildly put out by this development then to Bond. “I would love to, but three’s a crowd.”
“It usually is but who am I to say when the People’s Liberation Army is concerned?”
Jennifer’s breath caught. Wai Lin’s fixed smile grew. “And a decadent Western spy.”
Wai Lin sat at the vacant third chair. She regarded Bond with a slight smile. “You’ve changed in some ways.”
“Some ways?” Bond reached for the bottle, as he twisted the cork he heard her elaboration.
“The hair, the shall we say, figure…?”
“Hmm, and there was me thinking time was a great healer,” Bond poured for the three of them. Putting the bottle down he reached for his glass. “You of course look to have aged well, like this,” he said hefting his glass.
“You always knew the right things to say.”
“So, what’s the reason for your un-social call?” Bond had no humour to his voice. As much as deep down he was initially warmed to see Wai Lin, he knew similarly that it had been twenty-three years since he had last seen her and a lot changed in twenty-three years. “Want to see the target that was missed earlier?”
Wai Lin’s smile became a curious expression. Both had become oblivious to Jennifer, in their cone of effective solitude. The British-Far Easterner felt like she was a spectator to a very public if somehow private war.
“I don’t follow.”
“Come now, that wasn’t a student protester that shot at us earlier,” Bond took a swallow of his drink and then drained the glass. Shocking treatment for this particular drink but needed. “The girl is suspected PLA, from your new Hong Kong Counterstrike Group…”
“We had no part in it,” Wai Lin’s tone was cold now.
“Several of our people, and Americans too, have been killed,” Bond made sure to keep his voice low. Latent indignation was threatening to bubble up. “I won’t insult your intelligence and presume you don’t know this. I’m here to stop it.”
Wai Lin flicked her eyes to Jennifer who remained impassive, then to Bond and finally to her glass which she picked up at last. “I can’t help you.”
“I’m not after help. But you know about it.”
“Perhaps I do. The Hong Kong Counterstrike Group are secretive, ran directly from Beijing. General Chang’s pet project.”
“Chang?” Bond snorted. “Our old friend who tried to start a war with a deranged media baron?”
“Times change. China now is vastly different to then. We fear no one, have no reason to fear…”
“We have a fleet steaming about with the Australians and Americans on exercise…”
“No one,” she coldly repeated. “James, when will you realise that everything has changed? Even in 1997 Britain was a shadow of its old, imperialist, capitalist self. The last time we truly, if ever, feared the British was over a hundred years ago. We don’t even consider Britain now. Look at what we are doing and have done in the South China Sea, on our borders…We are the superpower now. No one else matters.”
Bond poured himself another glass. “We’re not out of it altogether just yet.”
“James, you can’t take revenge here-“
“Who said anything about taking revenge?” Bond said coolly. “I have a job to do. If there’s any revenge to be done, it’ll be done by someone else. Who killed our people?”
Wai Lin looked away. “I cannot tell you.”
“But you know.”
“We have an idea.”
“An idea?” snapped Bond, heads turned at nearby tables. He leant towards Wai Lin face stern. “Stop messing me about, Wai Lin. I’m not in the mood for games. The to’ing and fro’ing worked twenty odd years ago but I haven’t got the time. Five people have been killed. You know the score better than I do. If that was five Chinese agents killed, you would want to know who and get even.”
“James,” Wai Lin glanced at him, her voice above a whisper. “This isn’t your turf anymore…”
“I’m not here to take it back though God knows it’d be better in our hands than yours!” Bond had not been as laced with anger as he was now for a while. The whole thing was preposterous. “Tell me.”
“There is nothing to tell, not to an agent of Britain,” Wai Lin pushed her chair back standing. Glancing down she added: “All I can say James, is that you need to watch your step in Hong Kong. Furthermore, perhaps best not to look too far afield.”
As she walked off Bond frowned then cursed. He beckoned over the waiter who seemed mildly anxious to return to the table.
“Two Martinis, shaken not stirred.”
“Sir.”
The waiter hurried off. Jennifer did not say anything noting Bond’s thunderous expression, his head rest on clenched fists, elbows resting on the edge of the table. When the drinks came, Bond appeared to relax. He handed a glass over to Jennifer and picked his up studying it.
“I used to get good Martinis back in the day here,” Bond sipped at it and smiled at her. “Looks like I still do.”
“James…”
“I’m sorry you had to see that. I let foolish sentiment get the better of me.”
“Just what could we have gotten from…that lady?”
“That lady,” Bond took a gulp of his drink and nodded, “was someone I once worked with on a mission. Seeing her made me think that perhaps she would help me again. Clearly the wind has shifted since we worked together.”
Jennifer hedged closer. “James, she’s right. China is different. Fundamentally it’s the same at its core but outwardly it’s changed. I would say it’s dangerous to even consider help from the PLA security services. This Counterstrike Group operates outside the law.”
He regarded her a moment. “Then we’re at square one.”
“Not quite. We can find where that ‘student’ lived and search it. From small acorns grow great trees.”
He chuckled. Bond sighed. “You sound like an agent in the making.”
“You forget I am an agent. I had to watch as my mission was literally blown away in front of me. I might not be a Double Oh but I know my job.”
“And I know mine,” Bond knocked his Martini back hating to do that with a decent drink and stood. “I’m turning in for the night.”
“Me too, I suddenly feel tired.”
Stepping off on their floor, the two agents walked quietly down the corridor. She stood to one side as Bond opened his room. Just as she was about to take a step forward, Bond closed the door on her with a muted goodnight.
Sighing, Jennifer fumbled for her room key. Had to be one of those nights.

CHAPTER NINE
“Colonial Sunset”

After a brief call to Chadwick Hawkes, Bond drove himself and Jennifer into SoHo out to the west. A part of town that still had the older parts evident –the narrow streets and avenues full of people, rich with the scents of food and spices. Parts of town that seemed to be ignorant of the climatic change going on elsewhere. As they parked up near a phone booth Bond pocketed his mobile.
“Hawkes says the name of the student-cum-assassin was on paper Susan Lee Yang.”
Her real name was unknown, Bond surmised. However, she lived in a cramped flat two floors above a fishmongers. Bond led the way into the avenue, side-stepping around stalls and people sitting on steps or mingling with the market traders here. The fishmonger was busy, a crowd inside watching the locals prep food and curious tourists outside. Bond glanced about then went down a tight alleyway between buildings. Jennifer wrinkled her nose as they passed dumpsters.
“My stomach’s turning.”
“When it leaps let me know,” remarked Bond. Fifty metres into the alleyway Bond found a doorway half hidden behind a discarded fridge unit. “Health & Safety Executive would have a field day with this place.”
Taking out his phone he aimed the butt of it at the door lock and pressed the power button. There was a brief flash of blue followed by the click of the door unlocking. Cautiously Bond pushed the door with the tip of his right foot. Running a hand down over the edge of the door as it opened he frowned.
“Intricate lock for a rundown building.”
Jennifer took a quick look at the mechanism having a moment before wondered why Bond had felt the need to use his tech on an old door. “She did work for the PLA, James.”
“Hmm, come on let’s go.”
They hurried upstairs taking care not to sound like a flight of elephants. They need not have bothered for the place was deathly quiet. The second floor only had Sue Lee Yang’s flat. Bond reached the door ahead of Jennifer phone in hand. He used the phone to open the door but paused. He held an arm out as Jennifer instinctively moved forward. Shaking his head he put a finger to his lips.
“Wait.”
Bond dropped to one knee pocketing his phone as he did so. He held a hand out tentatively. He was rewarded with a red light on his palm. Shaking his head he glanced up at Jennifer. “How many students do you know with this level of security?”
She said nothing. Bond slithered to the floor and dragged himself into the apartment. Standing he checked the place. Going to the fireplace adjacent, he made quick work of finding a secret panel. After some fiddling he called out:
“All right, come on in.”
Jennifer did so hesitatingly. She closed the door.
“We don’t have much time,” Bond said. “I’m willing to bet she has a system set up so she knows her security is turned off.”
The two SIS agents searched the flat only to find nothing. Bond was quietly angry. But then if she was a Chinese secret agent, she would not have left clues. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Someone’s pulling strings somewhere. Beijing or here?”
“Beijing surely,” Jennifer replied.
“Someone is after our agents. Someone knows where our agents will be…,” Bond trailed off. He sensed something, that old feeling he knew well. The fact something was not right. Jennifer began to say something but he hushed her with a look.
There came a faintly metallic sound. A tinkling, brief, accompanying what sounded like something landing at the top of the stairs. Without waiting, Bond grabbed Jenifer and flung her down, landing atop her.
As he did, the room shook violently as an explosion tore apart the landing. Bond felt debris shower upon him. He slowly got to his feet noticing that the door was hanging by one hinge. Jennifer climbed to her feet a little shaken.
“Are you okay?” Bond asked, his voice sounding muffled to his ears which rang. Jennifer held a hand up nodding. As if by magic, Bond’s PPK was in both hands just as a figure appeared in the doorway. Without pause Bond fired once, the shot impacting between the assailant’s eyes. The would-be attacker fell like a prize oak. Bond took a step forward, the figure was clad entirely in black. Only his head wasn’t covered. He was Chinese.
A second attacker lunged through the doorway yelling something that Bond did not understand. Bond this time fired twice dropping the attacker. Holstering his PPK, Bond reached the doorway and hesitated. Then with both hands he grabbed the broken door and flung it back through the doorframe. It swung round like a windmill and hit something. Bond leapt onto the landing lashing out with his right foot at a third attacker who had been stunned by the door’s appearance and impact into him. The attacker staggered back, Bond grabbed at him with both hands and shoved him into the wall. The attacker punched Bond in the stomach, Bond grunted then let go. The attacker stumbled into Bond, shouting and then wrestling Bond into the room. The two men crashed into a dining table splintering it into matchwood. They rolled about, grunting and punching. Jennifer had her PPK drawn and was trying to find an angle to shoot. Hitting the kitchen counter, Bond forced the other man up with him. Bond slapped the Chinese’s hands away then jabbed at his throat. The Chinaman gasped for air. Bond reached for a toaster and slammed it over the others head. As the attacker fell, Bond smoothed his hair.
“I don’t much for his table manners,” he headed for the door. “Come on!”
019 did not question Bond, following obediently. They crept down the stairs pausing by the open door. Bond checked then led down the alleyway. Sounds of the city sounded from afar and nearby. Reaching the end of the alleyway, Bond held a hand to hold Jennifer back. Glancing a little out of the alley, Bond could see four men in Hong Kong Police uniforms surrounding the Vantage. Two were laying into the car with batons. The reinforced glass was not even bending under the onslaught. Bond grunted:
“This looks familiar,” he remarked. He produced his mobile, opening it up lengthwise. Jennifer raised an eyebrow. Bond was oblivious to her as he activated the screen and controls. The screen showed a crystal clear forward view from the Aston. Bond lightly touched a button. The Vantage’s engine ignition made the ‘police’ pause before continuing their efforts to break in. Then the headlights and rear lights pulsed into life. Bond licked his lips running his right thumb over the larger of the controls. The Vantage shot backwards scattering two of the faux policemen. As the car came to a stop by the mouth of the alley, its passenger door bounced open. Bond grabbed Jennifer by the arm and propelled her into the car. He put his phone away and leapt over the bonnet, his backside sliding along it. In spite of himself he grinned as he got into the car and slammed his door shut.
“This isn’t fun!” Jennifer yelled at him.
“You have to live a little,” Bond told her. 019 flinched as bullets thwacked into the windscreen. The ‘screen held with no obvious signs of damage. Bond put the car into gear and accelerated forwards. He hit one of the men a glancing blow, spinning him like a tenpin. The other three had the foresight to scatter. Bond flicked the radio on with one hand as he spun the wheel. Music played.
“Find the police channel or any channel that sounds like someone is looking for us.”
Jennifer nodded, she made quick turns of the dial and soon a harsh voice was speaking in rapid Cantonese. She listened a moment.
“Someone’s requesting backup.”
“Our friends.”
“It’s a police channel but it doesn’t make sense.”
“What doesn’t?”
She looked at Bond. “Well, they’re saying nonsense. One voice just said ‘alert Red Eagle to the move’…”
“Codewords…probably the head honcho of the Hong Kong Counterstrike Group,” Bond remarked flooring the accelerator. He weaved in and out of traffic. “We need to get out of Hong Kong. I think we’ve made ourselves known enough.”
“By land the only way is into China.”
“We need to get to Beijing but not via the land link,” Bond said.
Up ahead blue lights were flashing urgently in front of the HSBC Building. Bond slowed a fraction. Three police cars were lined across the road, traffic was building either side of the impromptu blockade. Bond flicked a switch on the edge of his steering wheel. Jennifer looked on astonished as a LED display appeared on the window –a crosshair with numbers scrolling past it. The crosshairs settled over the central police car. Bond pressed a button.
Fire leapt from the Vantage, twin trails of reddish-yellow soared into the central police car. It leapt into the air on a wave of fire as Bond’s rockets impacted. Jennifer cried out involuntarily, hands reaching for the edge of her seat as the Vantage sailed into the fire. Something bounced off the roof but they were through. Bullets pinged off the rear of the speeding Aston.
“There’s more roadblocks being set up,” she gasped regaining composure as best as she could. The radio was an angry vortex of rage now. “We’re too obvious in this car!”
“It’ll have to do,” Bond snapped back. Jennifer Chinn recoiled as if stunned by an electric shock. “Where are they?”
“All over,” she said trying to focus back on the radio. “All of Hong Kong Island is being shut down.”
“Shit,” whispered Bond savagely changing gear with a violence that made 019 flinch. He removed the LED display and pushed the car harder. Entering the Admiralty district the Aston’s headlights swept over a pro-democracy protest on the steps of a municipal building watched warily by a handful of police. Bursting from behind the building lurched a vehicle that could best be described as an armoured half-track. Jennifer half-cried out as the half-track bounced across their path. Bond had only a hundred metres to stop, the speed they were going…
Bond shoved the gear into reverse, pressing his foot upon the pedal. The Aston’s wheels slid for purchase in a blur of steam and burning rubber. As Bond glanced back, a hand on the headrest of Jennifer’s seat, he saw another half-track appear. There was no sign now of the protesters. The rear of the Aston surged towards the newcomer. Bond looked forward, both hands on the wheel, he wrenched the wheel about whilst again changing gear.
“This is getting tiresome,” he grunted. The Aston bounced onto the steps of the municipal building and stayed there. Cursing under his breath, Bond shifted back and forth. Of all the times to break down-
“JAMES!” 019 yelled.
Bond looked up, both half-tracks had stopped ahead and left to right of the Vantage. Their turrets above the cab focused on the car. Bond floored the accelerator, the car wiggled from side to side like an impatient toddler. The noise was horrendous. Not as horrific as what followed. The turrets erupted with a venomous fury. The Aston rocked then knocked backwards further up the steps. The shells hitting the car started to cause cosmetic damage. Bond knew well enough that even a Q Branch car could only last so long before it suffered.
“James!”
“Not now!” Bond selected missiles once again. Except the LED display did not appear –what did were words accompanied by a voice strangely like Moneypenny’s:
SYSTEM MALFUNCTION. SYSTEM MALFUNCTION.
Bond swore, he fired regardless. Rockets streaked down the steps hitting a glancing blow on the right side half-track. The half-track moved backwards either from the blast or the pilot. Bond switched to neutral then back to drive.
“Come on you bitch!”
It was not like Bond but these were not normal times anymore.
The Vantage shot forward, racing off the steps it surged between the Chinese vehicles, both reversed their turrets moving.
Bond though was not done, not by a long shot. Hiding his rockets, he selected another option. The half-tracks began to fire rapidly, their tracer flickering into the path of the Vantage and striking it. Amidst flashes of light, Bond swerved towards the half-tracks. Jennifer’s eyes were wide. Both half-tracks were all but in the centre of the road trying to hit the rapidly Aston. In seconds the V8 started to encircle the half-tracks, Bond expertly controlled the turn as if a F1 driver on the Nurgburgring. The forward wheels opposing the rear, flicking, correcting…
Through gritted teeth as he controlled the wheel Bond snapped:
“Press the central button!”
019 looked at him then slapped her palm on a button bearing the Aston Martin logo. A red line shot out of the forward left wheel hitting one of the half-tracks, it then hit the other and the first again…
…Bond ignored the shells hitting his car as he completed at least four circuits. After the forth, or fifth, he flung the wheel to the right. The Vantage skidded towards the front of a subway station. Bond stopped looking over to the half-tracks. It was possible the frantic actions had made the drivers dizzy, either way, the two half-tracks somewhat lazily lurched into gear. However, that was all they did. One half-track simply disintegrated, its wheels going in separate directions whilst the hull went in half. The other half-track tried a foot but simply collapsed on itself. Bond did not wait any longer. The Aston accelerated back onto the road.
“Good work,” she said at last.
“Hmm,” Bond was checking mirrors. “We’re not out of it yet.”
“Thinking perhaps we should’ve interrogated those assassins or one of them…”
“Too late now.”
“You didn’t have to kill them.”
“I did,” Bond said simply. Slowing down, he stopped at a red light with no evident sign of pursuit. He looked at her. “If you want to be a Double-Oh you have to learn certain things. One is that you rely on instinct or trust your instincts. A Double-Oh doesn’t have a licence to kill for nothing. We’ve been called murderers, assassins, killers…well, yes, I’ve killed a few men –and some women- but I’m a Double-Oh and I’m doing a job.”
The light changed and Bond gently accelerated heading east. His gaze was ahead but his voice was still directed at her. “My instinct was to shoot those men. They weren’t going to give us the benefit of the doubt.”
She said nothing at first. “How do we get out of here then?”
“I don’t know,” Bond conceded.
Someone had once told him that half of fate is luck or was it the other way round? Either way, luck chanced upon the Aston with its slight dents.
A rapid Morse-like beeping sounded on the radio. Bond frowned and reached to press a button by the radio.
“Oh-Oh-Seven, come in please this is Starling. Come in 007.”
Bond could not help but smile as he recognised Chadwick Hawkes’ voice. Taking a chance he pulled into a layby.
“Go ahead Starling.”
“Understand you’re in tight fix. Reds are panicky. Cat amongst the pigeons. Over.”
“Over.”
“Proceed Shau Kei Wan Typhoon Shelter immediate. Out.”
Bond glanced briefly at 019 who spoke: “Keep going, I’ll direct.”
For the next half hour, somehow, they managed to avoid any further trouble. Bond was considering this a miracle. An agent did not believe in miracles, even one as seasoned as Bond. His memory went back to previous missions. Perhaps his last miracle was getting off that damn iceberg.
Shau Kei Wan Typhoon Shelter was effectively an anchorage bracketed by breakwaters. It was lightly occupied by a dozen junks and four moderately sized freighters. It was almost midnight as Bond pulled up in the shadow of a warehouse bedecked with Cantonese script and an English legend –RAPID DISTRIBUTION HK.
He rapped his fingers on the steering wheel after switching the lights off.
“Stay here,” he said and climbed out of the car. Closing the door he walked to the end of the warehouse facing the waterfront. In the distance sirens wailed. Were they coming here? Bond put a hand on his thigh ready to draw his PPL if it came to it.
“Bond.”
Bond felt his heart skip as he started. What the Hell happened to me? He thought as he turned to the shadows before the warehouse. Chadwick Hawkes appeared in the half-light. Wearing a black mac over a tux, Bond could not help but think he was overdoing this somewhat. All the same, he was glad to see the diplomat.
“Bond, good to see you.”
“And you,” Bond felt an implicit trust in Hawkes. Perhaps Hawkes being ‘part of the firm’ mattered that much. He also reminded Bond a little of a long dead man called Saunders. “We’re pressed for time though, so you’ll have to be quick.”
“Of course,” Hawkes stepped closer so he could lower his voice. “I don’t know what the blazes happened a few hours ago but all Hell broke loose. Everything from police to state security sprang into action. Best I could make out, was that there were orders to eliminate two Western spies.”
“From who?” Bond asked voice edged with ice.
“The top.”
“Beijing,” Bond said glancing back at the car then to Hawkes. “We were compromised. Someone knew where we’d be if not what we were up to.”
“Don’t look at me old boy. Even if the bastards twisted my arm I wouldn’t have known where you were.”
“Who do you report to? In the diplomatic circle?”
Hawkes shrugged. “As consular-general I report chiefly to the ambassador in Beijing. Sometimes I report to the FCO back home.”
“I’m going to assume that no one back home would have compromised us, yet. Who’s our ambassador?”
“Snide little bastard called Sir Cedric Hereward. Career shit who aims to be PM one day. Except, if you ask me, he’s a little too cosy to the Reds.”
Wai Lin’s words from the other night came to Bond: best not to look too far afield.
General Chang’s pet project, the Hong Kong Counterstrike Group.
“I need to get to Beijing.”
Hawkes smiled. “I imagined you would,” he pointed towards the water, “the freighter Risico is leaving soon for Beijing. It’ll take a couple of days to get to the port though.”
Bond nodded. “Thanks, you’ve been a great help.”
He turned to the car. Hawkes called gently: “You two best hurry.”
“I’m taking the car…”
Hawkes hurried after Bond and stopped him. “Are you mad? We don’t have time!”
“It’s coming.”
Hawkes sighed then groaned. “I don’t miss Double Oh’s one bit. All right.”
Half an hour later, with Bond’s Aston and the two agents aboard, the freighter set sail. Jennifer wanted to ask Bond why he was insistent on taking the Vantage but knew she would get nowhere.
Standing on the shore Hawkes shook his head as the freighter steamed beyond the shelter. As he turned he saw a Hong Kong police car blaze past the warehouses towards the road beyond. Quickly, he walked to where he had left his car. He had a message to get to M one way or the other.

CHAPTER TEN
“No One Runs”

Beijing Centre of Arts

Since the 2008 Olympics, the Chinese capital city had seemingly blossomed into hundreds of shiny and awkwardly shaped buildings. The famous Birds Nest stadium the most iconic. The Centre of Arts was hidden nearby, a modest ten storeys high and erected in a flash (four months).
Ambassador Sir Cedric Hereward was not a massive art lover. In fact he was probably not an art lover. Especially Chinese art which seemed in the very slightest, abstract and dismal but then he was no expert. Certainly, no Brian Sewell. All the same, the dark haired ambassador had to do certain things like attending the opening of an exhibition. It was evening, the smog thankfully hidden by the night sky (such as night can be in a city so bright). He had arrived with his wife, Lady Amelia. The love had never been here, it was a marriage of convenience. The convenience being that she had money. It was well known within the embassy that both had their own arrangements in their personal lives. The trick was making sure that the Foreign and Commonwealth Office never found out.
Sir Cedric was gazing stonily at a painting by a British-Chinese artist entitled “Demolition of the Will” when he heard a voice at his side.
“It’s quite the piece, don’t you agree?”
“Load of hogwash,” was all the ambassador said raising his complimentary glass of red wine to his lips. “Seems your so-called Counterstrike Group cocked up.”
General Chang fought to keep his expression neutral.
“We acted on your so-called intelligence.”
“And Bond got away.”
“He’s Bond,” Chang snarled huskily glancing at Hereward. “You should’ve realised that he would be hard to eliminate.”
“No, you should’ve realised!” hissed Hereward meeting the Chinaman’s scowl. “I gave you the information and you blew it, as the Americans would say. Three of your men dead by Bond alone. Now you’ve lost him.”
“You’ve lost him,” countered Chang. “Surely you know where he is now.”
“Clearly not in Hong Kong,” Hereward said airily refocusing on the hideous work of art. “The consular-general has not been forthcoming.”
“How so?”
“He refuses to answer the embassy’s communications. Instead, he’s directed his messages to London.”
When Chang merely stared Hereward cursed and said almost loudly: “To M, the head of the 00 department!”
“That would suggest to me that he is one of them.”
“Perhaps.”
Chang drained his glass of white wine and cleared his throat. “Hong Kong is one objective, however, we are focusing on Taiwan. We can’t do that if your man is running around free.”
“He is not my man as you put it. However, I’ll let you know when I have information.”
Chang handed his glass to a passing waiter. “I hope so, for your sake.”
Hereward was unperturbed. He had dealt with worse men than Chang before. When the night blessedly wound down, he accompanied his wife to their Rolls Royce and returned to the embassy. He ignored is wife’s droning commentary on the night. Once at the embassy he went to his office, loosening his bowtie. He made himself a Martini and sat at his desk. Gazing at the portrait of the Queen he dwelt on Bond. Of course Bond would be hard to kill. Bond had been around forever.
Hereward put his glass by his keyboard and started to type. He had to find out where Bond was. In the 21st Century no one could vanish into the ether.
No one.

**

The steamer Risico steadily ploughed northeast. Appearance wise she resembled a modern version of the venerable Liberty ships that did so much for the war effort a lifetime ago. Painted black, she looked in reasonable shape, cared for at least but with an air that did not invite more than one glance.
In her fore hold below decks, James Bond and Jennifer Chinn sat on wooden crates stamped with BRIT EXPORTS. 019 had her back against the port side whilst Bond was a few feet away. The deck pitched gently in moderate swells. Chinn was pale, hugging her knees drawn close. She stared at Bond as he somewhat nonchalantly ate an apple.
“How can you eat?”
“First rule of survival,” he said swallowing. “Plus, I was in the Navy.”
“Ugh,” she groaned as the deck felt like it dropped. A small trough that was harmless to the freighter. Her stomach rotated.
“Just what did you do in the RAF?” he asked putting his core by his thigh. “Surely you hurtled at hundreds of knots and all that showy stuff?”
“I was accustomed to slower aircraft,” she muttered closing her eyes.
“I seem to recall during my training, years ago, that I devoured a chocolate bar on a RIB during a force five storm…”
“All right, stop!” she opened her eyes seeing Bond’s grin. “So, Double O Seven, what’s next?”
They had spoken little in the day since they had left Hong Kong. Bond had spent some time with the ship’s captain going over the route. He had been unsurprised to learn that the skipper knew Chadwick Hawkes from the ‘old firm’.
“I used to do surveillance from a fishing trawler. Proper cloak and dagger stuff,” the captain said with a chuckle as he smoked a pipe. “That stopped in ’97. Word was that the PRC would ransack some of our offices to find agents so I got out.”
Bond reached to beside his crate plucking a bottle of water up. Sipping at it he wiped his lips. “When we reach our port, we’ll head to Beijing. We need to find out who is behind the agents being killed and our being rumbled.”
019 directed a finger to her right. “Whilst bringing THAT.”
Bond knew damn well what she was referring to but he all the same looked to where the Aston Martin Vantage was almost lost in the shadows of the hold flanked by more crates.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because we’ll be on our own as it is.”
“Sure it isn’t some foolish sentiment?”
His eyes flashed, he stood trying not to groan as he felt his legs protest from unfolding after so long seated. “Modern day Beijing is just that, modern, current. It’ll be one more flash car amongst so many flash cars. We’ll use it as long as we can.”
They stared at the other for a moment then the captain appeared whistling as he plotted an uneven course around and through the crates.
“We’ll be arriving at Tianjin by sunrise tomorrow morning. Seems only right you chaps join my officers and I for dinner.”
“I’ll pass,” 019 said face still as white as driven snow. She looked shocked as Bond took her by the arm and smiled at the captain. “We’ll be delighted.”
The captain grinned. “First rate, well, shall we? I have a bottle of Bollinger that I suspect you’ll enjoy. Some Russian chap gave it to me last month.”
As they started after the captain, 019 glared up at Bond.
“I’m…”
“Like I said, first rule of survival,” Bond’s polite smile remained but the tone was icy. “Behave.”
019 did not reply.