Timothy Dalton -"A Whisper of Hate"

the final chapter of my holiday output

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CHAPTER TEN

“The Halfway House”

Berlin.
A time of transition gripped this wondrous city. These were the days before the collapse of the wall, when an air of expectation hung over everything. For the first time in forty-five years –generations, literally- the city would be united. The last time it was one whole city was when jackboots of a different sort walked its shattered boulevards and platzs.
Still, beyond either side of the wall in the opulent west and destitute east halves intrigue and the like was going on.
Including that of James Bond in what was humorously known in SIS circles as the Halfway House situated just off Wilhelmstrasse not too far from the wall’s heart at the Brandenburg Gate. It was an innocent looking block of flats entirely ran by SIS though under a similar way to the old Regent’s Park’s HQ, with a ‘front’ of a genuine person or company. In this case Universal Exports GmBH. It was used mainly for agents as a kind of safe house though Bond had not intended on coming here. He sat in the top apartment ignoring the shouts from the street reading a German language edition of Playboy.
“Catching up on your reading, 007?”
Bond dropped the magazine as he leapt to his feet nodding at M who stepped into the apartment with a slight scowl. He was alone though Bond suspected M’s bodyguard detail were close to hand.
“Damage limitation is what I think our American cousins say,” M said as he sat prompting Bond to do the same. “The CIA is sceptical about your claims. Starting with Trevelyan’s apparent resurrection.”
“I didn’t lie sir,” said Bond with a sharp edge. He lit a cigarette from his case and waved the smoke away.
“I know you’re not lying, Bond but the CIA is something else,” M looked around the room. “Your train has vanished. It was last seen at points outside of Dresden. I think it’s safe to assume that this Janus operation lies in that region.”
“I gather we don’t know anything?”
M snorted. “Not really, 007. Janus was that much of a closely guarded secret by the Politburo, hence why Ouromov was called back to Moscow after you blew up his facility. That facility had nothing to do with Janus but was seen as a black mark upon his record.”
“Sir, if this Janus is as devastating as Trevelyan makes it out to be we need to move fast. We need to know where the control is…”
“Of course we do!” snapped M irritably. “But we’re on our own, Bond. Correction: you’re on your own.”
From the street came the sound of shouting followed by sirens. Bond stabbed his cigarette into an ashtray without looking. “The East is deteriorating, sir. Hungary and Czechoslovakia have closed their borders.”
“Berlin will follow, but you have to get this done before that happens. This kind of operation during the collapse of the East will be disastrous. It’s up to you where you begin but time is of the essence. Good luck, Bond.”
Bond left before M and was soon speeding north through West Berlin in his Aston Martin. His journey was a short one for he stopped off at the Lehrter Stadtbanhof S-bahn station parking his car in a secure slot. Putting on a long black coat, leather gloves, Bond added a backpack to this ensemble and set off for the nearby crossing at Invalidenstrasse. Strictly speaking this crossing was for West Berliners only, foreigners and so forth had to use the famous Checkpoint Charlie to the south. From the nearby station came the sound of shunting cars adding to the foghorn on the River Spree to the east of Bond. Bond had no time for this as he stepped up to the checkpoint here. The queue was short and soon Bond was being searched by a dour faced East Berliner.
“Destination?”
Bond replied. “Dresden.”
“Nothing there.”
A shadow appeared behind the guard, a hand deposited some papers on the guard’s hands. The guard took the papers looking up at Valentin Zhukovsky. “His papers?”
“His papers,” nodded Zhukovsky smiling. The guard handed Bond his bag back. “Auf Wiedersehen.”
Bond and Valentin walked away from the wall. Zhukovsky handed Bond an envelope that felt thick and heavy. “All the other papers and money you’ll need. I did some digging and Trevelyan’s train was at Dresden but no sign of him or Natalya.”
“Ouromov?”
“Back in Moscow for now. 44th Shock Regiment are gearing up for a move into East Berlin soon.”
Valentin walked Bond over to an old Volkswagen Beetle whose bonnet was crumpled and pea-green paint flecked. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t get you a decent car.”
“This’ll do, perfect cover.”
“I gather your M doesn’t know I am helping you?”
“No, he’d have kittens if he did,” Bond grinned and held a hand out. “Thanks.”
“Thank me when Janus is in ruins and Trevelyan’s head is on a spike, now go!”

**

That evening, as anticipated, Berlin headed towards chaos as border guards were told to prepare to allow Easterners out to the other side (and God forbid, any Westerners going East). At the same time General Ouromov returned to the field to command the 44th Shock Regiment. His official orders were to move into East Berlin with a view to attacking the West. Unofficially he prepared for his vengeance upon the British agent who even now was speeding east into the path of the shock regiment.

Can't wait to sink my teeth into this later tonight!

Same with coco1997, give us some time Hilly, will try to finish reading 'em soonest.

And Hilly, I don't mind repeating, but your avatar is Bond's face that keep cropping up whenever I read Fleming.

Excellent work, Hilly. You weren't kidding when you said you were taking it in a completely different direction than the original film. Keep it up!

groucho070 wrote:

Same with coco1997, give us some time Hilly, will try to finish reading 'em soonest.

And Hilly, I don't mind repeating, but your avatar is Bond's face that keep cropping up whenever I read Fleming.

repeat away Groucho. I'm a Peck fan anyway but of late I tend to think of him as 50s Bond. One reason why I started rewriting/editing my WWII series of Bonds. Picture him moreso than I did Mason.

Take your time reading. I'm stalled on it right now.

coco1997 wrote:

Excellent work, Hilly. You weren't kidding when you said you were taking it in a completely different direction than the original film. Keep it up!

Indeed, such a direction I'm stumped :) You see..this is how my mind works when writing. Points A, B and C are already in mind but beyond that we go to points M, O...Z.

God knows now we're in Dresden. I'm debating to include Onatopp. I really don't imagine Dalton getting a squeeze.

Chapter four: "Seemed his life had a habit of repeating certain habits. " Nice nod to TLD. Over here, the defence folks refer to it as Charlie.
"To hell with Wade" = Fleming's Bond.

Chapter five: "...Said you flew better than Aeroflot."

Chapter six: the black pepper thingy, I still do it with Vodka. (Beatle/earmuff = cute).

More later, which means you keep on writing Hilly :D

I don't presume to know what you're planning, Hilly, but given the influence of SKYFALL on this story, might we see the story end with Hargreaves' M being replaced...by a certain 'Evil Queen of Numbers', perhaps?

groucho070 wrote:

Chapter four: "Seemed his life had a habit of repeating certain habits. " Nice nod to TLD. Over here, the defence folks refer to it as Charlie.
"To hell with Wade" = Fleming's Bond.

Chapter five: "...Said you flew better than Aeroflot."

Chapter six: the black pepper thingy, I still do it with Vodka. (Beatle/earmuff = cute).

More later, which means you keep on writing Hilly :D

glad you liked those tidbits. I feel bad about the black pepper thing, I took it from the Moonraker novel when Bond's at Blades. I figured Dalton being the closest (I think) to Fleming's depiction of Bond he might do it. Followed by a crisp: "Death...to spies...minister."

coco1997 wrote:

I don't presume to know what you're planning, Hilly, but given the influence of SKYFALL on this story, might we see the story end with Hargreaves' M being replaced...by a certain 'Evil Queen of Numbers', perhaps?

Funny how Skyfall has twigged this story, ha. (Oh, imagine if Skyfall had been a Dalton film). For M being replaced? Who knows. In my mind this film would be out in 1991 (set in late 1989 because of it being a few months from LTK) so maybe Dench. In my Sam Neill series M was 'played' by Maggie Smith (Dame).

I think this M was Hargreaves even if it never was confirmed. Beside the actor issue, SIS tended to recruit from the navy a lot.

Hilly wrote:

I think this M was Hargreaves even if it never was confirmed. Beside the actor issue, SIS tended to recruit from the navy a lot.

True enough. I can't help but imagine the cinematic Bond when I read great fan fiction like this, and subsequently, how the film would 'slot in' to the cinematic timeline. So a SKYFALL-esque story for Dalton seems like the perfect way to transition out of the late '80s and usher in the Dench Era. ;)

Well, chaps and anyone dropping by, a new chapter. Just forgive me. God knows what I was thinking towards the end or indeed if I were thinking.

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Amongst the Ghosts”

As he walked the streets of Dresden, Bond could not help but feel the heavy hand of history upon his shoulders. Indeed, the feeling of the souls of hundreds of thousands whispering to him. The bombing of Dresden was forty-five years ago and yet, yet the damage remained albeit mentally.
Bond headed into the town’s old centre close to the riverside to find out what he could about the train. There had to be somewhere in the vicinity housing Trevelyan’s base. If Zhukovsky could not find it then it was that much worrying.
Dresden was as much on the frontline of the current situation as Berlin was with an increasing number of refugees heading west now. Not that there was much evidence amongst the ruins of 1945 and the postwar communist buildings that littered the place. He had never been here, there had never been a reason to and besides, Bond did not do European tours for the hell of it. Being a man of his profession, Bond took a tram down to the river getting off at Neustadter Markt before walking through the Innere Neustadt all now a victim of post-war communist architecture but through the efforts of the Allied bombing fleets. This sat across the Elbe from the Altstadt, the historical portion largely untouched by war. reaching the river he stopped on the north end of the Augustusbrucke, one of the old bridges in Dresden. Leaning over the side gazing at the Palaisgarten stretching west up the riverside Bond was only faintly aware of someone at his side.
“Life is boredom with momentary flickers of excitement, such as now.”
Bond did not look to his left where the voice came from. “This must be your lucky day. I hear the opera house is open.”
“Never closes, such is life.”
Bond half-looked to his left at a man wearing a black trilby pulled down low over greying hair. A strong build under a raincoat hinted at a man with a military past.
“Bond.”
“Chivers, Julian Chivers. Section Chief, Dresden. Or 463 to my friends.”
Bond permitted himself a smile. “Sorry to rouse you from your sleep but I need your help.”
“My dear fellow, when one of the famed 00’s comes a-knocking, one does one’s best. This is a little too conspicuous though, come with me.”
In nearby Neustadt Markt was a small coffee house styled in baroque in fitting with the old heart of this area. Chivers and Bond sat by the window which seemed just as obvious to Bond as standing on the bridge.
463 was one of these people that Bond or other agents sometimes roused from their cover. Though he was technically a section chief, Chivers was more of a sleeper agent minus the agent part in some ways. Bond had admiration for these men and women who worked SIS in far-flung outposts. Bond lit a cigarette puffing with narrowed eyes.
“You know why I’m here?”
“Yes, I got your rocket from West Berlin,” Chivers said lighting a cigarette of his own. “Your train is currently at the sidings getting ready for heading east.”
“Who does it belong to?”
“General Ouromov.”
“Really?” Bond found that interesting if only to the fact that Ouromov seemed much more the guest on it than the owner. “Where will it go?”
“Volgograd I heard or whatever Stalingrad is now,” Chivers referred to the fact that the famous war city had been changed to Volgograd by Khruschev in the 60s. “Nothing there but that bloody great statue that you could probably see from space.”
“What about possible satellite sights?”
Chivers pushed his coffee to one side reaching into his coat he laid a serviette down. Opening the serviette was a hand-drawn map of southern East Germany down to the Czechoslovakia border. On the map was one place marked out. Bond read the very neat handwriting out loud: “Engels-Stadt.”
He looked inquiringly at Chivers.
“One of those places that was quite insignificant until it got renamed in some ghastly way by the reds,” Chivers took a drag on his cigarette blowing the smoke at the window. “It’s still a small town but with this whopping great stadium, an air force base and lake. You see, they built a lake…or rather used some of the bomb craters from WWII to make a lake…”
Bond pictured the lake and nodded. “How big?”
“The lake? Size of a football pitch I’d imagine.”
“So…where’s the dish? Why Engels-Stadt?”
“Because the fighters are part of a defensive guard squadron. This squadron has wings all over the place and wherever they are in the Union is somewhere they have to protect. By this I mean, an installation because of how sensitive whatever the installation is for…if you see what I mean.”
“I think so,” Bond picked up his coffee sipping the fine blend. He made a note to come back here after the USSR collapsed. “The dish must be under the lake.”
“That’s our thoughts.”
“Where’s the base then?”
“That we don’t know but it has to be nearby. What’s all this in aid of?”
“Let’s just say there’s a last-ditch plan in action,” Bond thought of the girl Olegova. “And someone needs help.”
“Britain’s last line of defence, hey?” Chivers winked. “Well, that’s all I have, Bond.”
Bond slid off his chair leaving some money for the waitress. “I’m at the Lenin Grand-Hotel if you need me. I might be in touch.”
“Good, I need something to do.”
Bond smiled and headed out gathering his coat around him. As he walked to the nearest tram station he was aware of someone following. When he did the usual trick to see if he was, he saw no one obvious or even unobvious. Bond carried on walking feeling for his PPK within the folds of his coat. The tram took him north to the hideous 1960s Lenin Grand Hotel with its twenty floors and faintly gothic features. He was staying on the sixth floor overlooking a somewhat murky courtyard in which a dead cat lay in one corner. Bond took his coat off and suit jacket before sitting by the window. He needed to figure out how to get to Engels-Stadt and fast.
There was a knock at the door, Bond stood putting his holster on a chair before calling for whoever it was to open the door. The door swung open to reveal a shapely female, about an inch shy of six feet. She wore a long overcoat, had long black hair and a skirt that ended at her thighs. Bond cleared his throat.
“I didn’t ask for room service.”
“Mr Chivers sent me, he forgot some information,” she spoke in a Georgian accent with an Americanised twist. Bond remained standing by the holster.
“Really? I wouldn’t have thought he went by that name in Dresden, East Germany. Who are you?”
“Xenia Onatopp.”
“Of course you are.”
Bond took a step forward as she closed the door. “What did Chivers have to say?”
“Only…only this,” Onatopp said huskily. She suddenly lunged forward at Bond managing to catapult him towards the bed. He landed on it with a grunt, the head of the bed thudding off the wall with a dull twang. She was all over him trying to get her legs either side of his. Bond struggled then realised she was actually trying to squeeze him with her thighs. How bloody hysterical, he thought.
“I’m…not…one for kinky…stuff,” Bond gasped.
Her response was some maniacal shriek throwing her head back as she did. Bond felt her thighs squeeze his chest with superhuman strength. Bond began to black out. He then resorted to the only action he knew and it was not one he cared for when a woman was concerned.
Bond punched her with his right fist with all the strength he had left. The result was Onatopp falling backwards, releasing him and letting him breathe. Bond quickly got to his feet managing to get his PPK out and trained on her as she gathered herself.
“Alec really needs to improve his methods.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Hmm, no doubt,” Bond went to her hauling her up with one hand and pressing the PPK into her ribs with the other. “I could shoot you and nobody in this building will come. As you can tell by the décor it’s not that kind of hotel.”
“Go ahead, Commander.”
“I like a lady who does her research. You’re coming with me.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll knock you out. Either way I don’t care.”
Reluctantly Onatopp started walking with Bond behind her. He stopped to put on his coat then followed her down.

---

Onatopp!

Looks like you bit the bullet, Hilly. ;)

coco1997 wrote:

Onatopp!

Looks like you bit the bullet, Hilly. ;)

Aye. Call it a wild if useless experiment in picturing this scenario Dalton style :)

sort of pictured Dalton being like he is in LTK when Q first shows up.

I'd like to start putting a visual cast list together for this story.

Any casting changes you'd make from the original film? (Brown as M goes without saying.)

coco1997 wrote:

I'd like to start putting a visual cast list together for this story.

Any casting changes you'd make from the original film? (Brown as M goes without saying.)

somebody else for Natayla but I wouldn't know who.

So far we have the suspects as they are in GE (Ouromov/Trevelyan) though maybe Alec could be changed. I picture him more of a shit here. Caroline Bliss (TLD/LTK) is Moneypenny and Kitchen Tanner largely as I liked him as Tanner.

Zhukovsky, is open to change. If he hadn't done TLD I'd say John Rhys-Davis.

Our boy Chivers is a kind of Jeremy Northam (Enigma) chap. Onatopp...not Janssen.

one last one for the day.

I like to do research for these things, tends to help if the odd street name. Without going to Dresden it'll be a mite tricky.

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CHAPTER TWELVE

”Der Englander Kommt”

It took some doing to get Xenia Onatopp downstairs and out to the Beetle. Bond was able to drive with the gun on her though he suspected she would find a way soon to overpower him.
“I’m impressed by your car,” she said derisively.
“I’m sure your thighs could work wonders on its bodywork.”
Bond drove down into Dresden roaring around the odd tram here or there until he reached where Chivers was based in the suburb of Cossebaude, west of the city centre following the Elbe in that direction. The apartment block stretched on Pieschen-Sud for much of the road and looked typically German. Or rather, the style accustomed in Saxony. Bond parked the Beetle outside one set of flats painted dark mustard yellow. Looking up in the gathering gloom of night he saw all the lights in the flats were on.
“Am I going to find him alive?”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Onatopp said sulkily. Bond drew his gun from his jacket turning to look at her.
“You knew enough of course to set me up,” Bond sighed. “Still, Alec was always one for drama and I’m one for doing things the hard way.”
At that, Bond smacked the PPK across the back of her neck rendering her unconscious. Her head thumped onto the dashboard with a plastic sound.
“You’re no lady,” Bond muttered stepping out. He put his gun away for now, effecting an entrance into the building by using a plastic card from his wallet. Nothing fancy, which was all the more depressing to know. If Bond could do this, God knows the average criminal in Dresden (never mind the local KGB). He jogged up the four flights to a floor artfully decorated but Bond drew his gun once more. He put his silencer on, aiming the muzzle down whilst proceeding down the hall. Reaching Flat 4B he pressed a hand against the door. It did not budge, Bond tried the handle and found it was locked suggesting there had not been a forced entrance.
Or, someone was clever by half.
With his left hand he took his key chain from the inside pocket using a skeleton key to jimmy the lock. The door opened, the sweet smell of aftershave hit his nostrils. He looked about then froze. On the sofa facing a TV switched off was Julian Chivers. Bond went to him swapping the gun to his left hand. Chivers’ face was covered in trailing blood, both wet and drying. His hands were bound in front of him, his head bowed.
“He’s alive,” Bond murmured after taking his pulse. He dropped to one knee. “Chivers!”
After some going Chivers came to. He could not open his eyes fully as blood had congealed over the edges of the eyelids. “Bond.”
The voice was weak.
“What the hell happened?”
“Some woman, crazy bitch, said you sent her. Tried to find where you were…I guess I told them…sorry old man.”
Bond nodded. “She’s downstairs in my car. I’m going to Engel-Stadt.”
“Come…with you…,” Chivers said with some effort. He tried to stand but he barely moved in reality.
“I’ll get you help then let your number two know. What’s the code?”
Chivers told him adding, “It’s only good for that phone-call. If something happens, he’ll go deep for a day or so and…come…back…”
“I know the drill,” Bond got up going to the phone. Dialling for an ambulance he made the call in thick, Baltic accented German. Throw the KGB and local polizei off for a short while. Then he dialled a number getting a German voice.
“Dresden cathedral has been struck by lightning,” Bond said.
The voice switched to English, quite alert now. “Give me the details.”
“471, this is 007. Your no.1’s been ruffled by an enemy agent, not directly linked to Redland but linked. He’s at his flat, local medics are on the way…you should be alright but initiate whatever procedure you have.”
There was the sound of a fountain pen scratching away followed by 471’s voice. “Alright, thanks 007.”
Bond hung up. He went back to Chivers. “471 notified. I’m off.”
“Good…luck,” Chivers then fainted. Bond put a hand to the man’s wrist then stood. “Luck.”
Downstairs he found Onatopp was still with her head on the dashboard. He made some quick looks over and found she had not moved at all. Taking the opportunity he tied her hands together even if his feeling was to kill her. One of our own, Bond thought. Just like Saunders, just like Sharkey, Kerim Bey, Campbell and others before it was one of his own down because of the mission.
Because of him.
Bond started the VW before savageling pulling on the clutch and driving off. He drove south down through Lockwitz where just after the city limits a road sign declared various destinations with the last being Engel-Stadt. Joining an autobahn –A17- that would eventually pass into Czechoslovakia Bond gunned the engine to full.
In his mind drums began a steady, frantic beat.
The call to battle.

---

the building on Pieschen-Sud that I pictured as Chivers' home (well, one floor of it)
http://www.property-dresden.com/ID13663

Ch. 9 : “Spare me the airport thriller dialogue,"

Like it that you bring back old gadgets. Done with Ch. 10. Moving on.

I didn't want to go OTT with gadgets but liked the idea that this Bond would perhaps keep hold of certain ones like the key-chain.

Good work, Hilly. Eagerly anticipating the next bit.

Ch. 11 - “You’re no lady,” Bond muttered stepping out - Can clearly picture Dalton.

Ch. 12 His reaction to Chiver's injury (fatal?), very Fleming Bond. The man values good camaraderie with his colleagues. Bravo Hilly.

thanks chaps, particularly Groucho for the remarks on the last chapter. I borrowed a little from the OHMSS novel when Bond takes refuge in a flat in Zurich and tells the bloke about Campbell.
As to whether Chivers is fatally wounded, we might never know. I was a little hesitant in finding him dead like say Ferago (sp.) in FYEO.

I'll see about getting the thing moving tomorrow. Other writings have sort of bubbled to the fore.

Can we expect some more any time soon, Hilly?

coco1997 wrote:

Can we expect some more any time soon, Hilly?

Hopefully. I've come back to work after a fortnight off so time is sparse until the weekend. Trouble is I'm stalled and I've nowhere to go with it. I've done myself in by putting Onatopp in but there's ideas forming.

It's...muddled. Sorry.

Fair enough. Better to wait for some ideas to gestate than to force yourself to keep writing without a set direction. But why am I telling you this?

In the meantime, I've come up with with a few casting ideas for the Bond ladies:

Sherilyn Fenn as Xenia Onatopp


Paulina Porizkova as Natalya Olegova

I say, I say. I suspect those are the closest approximation to who I picture for the respective roles.

Your advice is welcome all the same :) I only wish Bong were here, he tended to be spewing some story out alongside one of mine on old MI6. Usually Roger Moore/Brosnan features.

I'm tapping the odd line on the story but I need to join dot N to P via O somehow. It's the middle that's hard.

Hilly wrote:

I say, I say. I suspect those are the closest approximation to who I picture for the respective roles.

Glad you approve. Had a hard time coming up with a solid suggestion for Xenia; there isn't much in the way of Georgian actress databases out there. ;) Ideally I would have liked to use another Russian, but Famke imitated a Georgian accent, anyway, so I wouldn't have seen it being much of a problem.

Quote :

Your advice is welcome all the same :) I only wish Bong were here, he tended to be spewing some story out alongside one of mine on old MI6. Usually Roger Moore/Brosnan features.

I miss those glory days of the old MI6, as well. You're carrying the torch admirably by yourself, though.