George Lazenby -"The Spy Who Loved Me"

As with DAF, this is a revised and re-edited version of The Spy Who Loved Me as seen on the MI6 fan fiction thread. TSWLM features –inverted commas- George Lazenby in the film more or less known more by Roger Moore.
Also with DAF, it features an altered plot but more or less running to the one of the film.

The Spy Who Loved ME adaptation: Ultimate Edition

Contents

Quote :

Prologue –The Med
Chapter One- The Men from The Navy
Chapter Two- Station ML
Chapter Three- The Bear
Chapter Four- Details
Chapter Five- Land of the Pharaohs
Chapter Six- The Bad German
Chapter Seven- Wherever There is an Ocean, There inevitably is a Cause
Chapter Eight- Turnabout Intruder
Chapter Nine- Changing All the Time
Chapter Ten- The Deep Blue
Chapter Eleven- The Blood Red Sun
Chapter Twelve- Instruments of Armageddon
Chapter Thirteen- Anya
Chapter Fourteen- Escape from Atlantis
Chapter Fifteen- A Strike Like Thunder
Chapter Sixteen- Problem Eliminator
Chapter Seventeen- Chimes of Midnight
Chapter Eighteen- A Matter of Evil…
Chapter Nineteen- 007 and Counting

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GEORGE LAZENBY ‘RETURNS’ AS AGENT JAMES BOND IN

IAN FLEMING’S THE SPY WHO LOVED ME

Prologue
“The Med”

HMS Olympus, one of the Royal Navy’s famed Leander class frigates, steamed eastwards out of Malta against the setting Mediterranean sun. Olympus’ helicopter sat on the stern Launchpad having completed its patrol up and around Crete.
“Osprey reported strange readings on scope, 12FEB73 at around 1700hrs.”
The first officer of the frigate sat in the command chair looking over the document attached to a clipboard handed to him by a yeoman. Everyone wore the Royal Navy’s ‘summer’ uniform; white short sleeve shirts and shorts. It was still hot and unbearably close. Some were yearning for the cooler climes of the Adriatic already. “Readings of a submerged structure of size. Be on alert for unexplained phenomena.”
The first officer handed the board back.
“Thanks, Yeo. Helm, starboard twenty.”
“Helm acknowledges, starboard twenty aye.”
As the Olympus turned the first officer stretched his legs. He looked forward to the much-anticipated leave in Gibraltar. It would be good to see his wife after six months of patrolling. Sarah was coping well with their year old son but wanted her husband home, even if it was for a week. The little blighter already showed signs of being a sailor in the making.
“Sir, contact on scope. Due northeast,” a rating turned from the eerie green glow of the radar screen. Beside him another rating continued to study the slowly sweeping dial that occasionally passed over the contact provoking a short sharp beeping noise.
“Elaborate, mister,” the first officer joined the rating at the station.
“It’s big. Bigger than a supertanker but it has to be a ship, its moving west…speed twenty.”
“Distance?”
“Fifty miles, closing.”
“Okay,” the first officer glanced over his shoulder. “Have the helm move to intercept. Providing co-ordinates in a minute.” he sighted the yeoman. “Get the captain.”
Five minutes later the Olympus was on an intercept course and the captain stood by his command chair. He was that commodity becoming a rarity in the modern navy –a veteran of World War II in which he served in destroyers on many a frigid Arctic Convoy as well as the Atlantic and later, in support of the Normandy landings. He was eyeing retirement once he eventually took the frigate back to Portsmouth in three months. The modern navy was shrinking at a rate of knots that would make Nelson fall off his column.
“Has the contact cleared up?” he asked.
“No, sir,” the rating answered. “The contact appears…fuzzy, sir. Phasing in and out, as if it’s not entirely solid.”
“Fuzzy?” the captain shook his head. “I’m not sure that’s RN terminology, ensign.”
The first officer tapped his foot against the deck unconsciously. It did not make sense this contact. Clearly, something was there…but was not.
“Perhaps we should inform the Admiralty,” the first officer suggested.
“Good idea, number one. Get on it would you, send our position etc.”
Minutes passed in which the Admiralty acknowledged by teletype the message.
“Fifteen miles to contact, sir,” called a rating.
The captain stood reaching for his binoculars and moving to the front of the bridge. Two lookouts did the same –all glasses adapted for the gloom of coming night- and moved their glasses left to right. Then he saw it, the captain that is, a large ship on the horizon bows on to the Olympus. The vessel seemed as immense as the frigates name sake in Greece.
“My God, what is that!” breathed one of the lookouts.
The captain did not flinch. “A tanker by the looks of it but I’ve never seen one that size. Number one…we need to let the Admiralty know this too. Inform them that the vessel is a super…supremely large tanker…”
The first officer once more vanished to the communications shack. A minute later the radar rating shouted.
“Torpedo, torpedo…incoming.”
“Hard a starboard,” ordered the captain calmly. “Sound action stations.”
Like all frigates the Olympus could turn on a dime if needed and corkscrewed to her right so tightly her wake formed a semi-circle. Her guns tracked to the target automatically as her gun crews reacted to the alert. Three tracks, silvery fingers in the evening water, spread towards the frigate. Despite the frantic manoeuvre the frigate was struck amidships –some feet behind her bridge area- just below the waterline. She appeared to lift out of the water as her back broke violently. The two shattered halves, held together by the battered severed keel started to settle in the water.
Even as internal explosions added to the slaughter, the first officer in the communications room at the aft of the bridge sent a message out.
‘HMS Olympus torpedoed –coordinates at_______- torpedoed by suspect tanker vessel. Sinking rapidly.”
Men took to the boats in vain for not long after the message was transmitted, the Olympus’ bow rolled over and sank whilst the stern exploded violently –her bunkers and magazines lit by flame.
HMS Olympus was lost.

He walked through the cemetery in Northwest London clutching the small group of roses in hand. The spring morning was crisp, the cemetery seemingly isolated from the busy street at the far end. He finally reached a headstone pausing before it. It was a simple headstone with a simple inscription engraved upon it.
TERESA BOND 1943-1969
‘We Have All the Time in the World’.
James Bond laid the flowers at the stone and went on one knee to dust away some moss that had gathered. For a moment he remembered his wife –not that he would ever forget her- as she was when he first met her. Then he stood and began to walk off. He passed through the gate and climbed into his Aston Martin DBS. As he was about to start the car someone knocked on the driver’s window. Bond glanced up seeing the Vicar who took services at the church. A squat man fulfilling the stereotype of English vicars. Bond wound down the window noting the man’s red face as if he had ran for his life after Bond.
“Yes, father?” Bond asked politely.
“A phone message,” the vicar said out of breath. He must have run having seen Bond get into the DBS, “Universal Exports HQ…they say they need you there immediately.”
Bond smiled to himself. Moneypenny knew where he went on this day every month- and must have made the call without telling M where Bond would be.
“Thank you, father. I’ll get going, have a good day.”
Bond started the engine and drove off with a slight squeal of tyres.
It looked like he was needed once more.





Chapter One
“The Men from the Navy”

“007, sir.”
Bond stepped past Moneypenny nodding to M who stood behind his desk smoking his pipe, as was the norm. By the window he noticed two men in navy uniform. Judging by the braids on their wrists they were higher-ups.
“Morning, sir.” Bond smiled briefly at Moneypenny as she left closing the door behind her.
“Bond,” M said curtly and gestured for everyone to sit. “This is Rear-Admiral Fawcett –Flag Officer Portsmouth and Captain Henderson from Naval Intelligence.”
Bond nodded to both men in acknowledgement. He now remembered Fawcett from newspaper reports some years ago. It had been during Bond’s younger days…the Yangtze Incident where HMS Amethyst had been attacked by communist forces in China. Fawcett had been part of a rescue force and had been given the Military Cross for ‘services above and beyond the call of duty’.
Henderson Bond did not recognise at all though he seemed to fill the type of subservient officer that had filled the Royal Navy since the days of Nelson and before.
“007,” there was no time for politeness this morning. Like Bond, M was a former navy man himself –more so in many ways than Bond. The navy was as ingrained in M’s DNA as perhaps women and fast cars were to Bond. For M, the navy was his life and any aspersions that it suffered was felt by the former Admiral. “As you may have heard the Olympus was lost in the Mediterranean two days ago. We’ve listed it as striking an old mine left over from the war. You’ll know or suspect there’s nothing as straightforward behind its loss. Admiral.”
Fawcett cleared his throat. “Commander Bond, the Olympus was sunk by deliberate enemy action. Her first officer snapped off a message as she went down. She was torpedoed.”
“Do we know who this enemy was, sir?”
“No,” Henderson answered. Fawcett did not seem to mind the younger man interrupting. Henderson opened a folder he carried on his lap and handed a sheet to Bond. Bond glanced over it. A map of the Mediterranean marked by several crosses in red ink.
“The crosses you see are where mysterious contacts have been detected. The Olympus’ resting place is marked also.”
“The contact…”
“Is mysterious down to the fact that no one has seen it…until Olympus,” Henderson paused, “she’s a tanker shaped object.”
“A tanker?” Bond’s criticism seeped into his voice. “A tanker sunk a frigate?”
“A tanker-like object,” Henderson emphasised coldly. “And she’s claimed another victim. This morning at zero four hundred our time.”
“Oh?” Bond glanced at M who gave him a look that suggested to Bond he might want to alter his tone.
Henderson pressed on. “The Soviet patrol ship Antonovych –out of their Black Sea base- was about fifty or so miles east of where Olympus sunk when she sent out a general distress signal. She reported coming under shellfire by a ‘boxy large ship’. When one of our ships arrived she was gone.”
Bond did not say anything as he thought about what Henderson had just said. Whoever had sunk the Olympus had sunk a Soviet ship, clearly indiscriminate against those it attacked. “Sir?”
Bond had simply addressed M who took his pipe out and exhaled slowly.
“The assumption is that the vessel is based somewhere in the Med, obviously. The fact remains it’s avoiding detection by the Americans, Russians and of course us. You need to head out there.”
“Yes, sir.” Bond glanced at Fawcett again. “I’ll start at Malta.”
“That would be a safe place to start. I wish we could be of much help, Commander. I don’t like having men go into danger without knowing what was ahead of them.”
“Risk is part of my business, admiral.” Bond stood, saying to M. “I will be leaving now, sir. Arrange a flight…”
“No need, I presumed you’d be going to Malta. Moneypenny has your ticket, you leave in an hour. Good luck, 007.”
“Thank you, sir. Admiral, captain.”
Bond went into the outer office. Moneypenny stopped typing, the air conditioner was on full…maybe M’s pipe smoke was seeping through. She looked up.
“All done?”
“You could say that,” Bond leant against the desk hands by her typewriter. “So, Penny…fancy a trip to the Med? All that wine, good food…”
“Not today, James,” she smiled reaching for an envelope. “Passport and flight arrangements.”
Bond took it feigning hurt. “I thought we had something.”
“We did,” she smiled sweetly and went back to her typing. Bond took out his passport tucking it away then read his arrangements before screwing the paper up and throwing it away. He went to the coat-stand taking his hat and coat. With a smile at Moneypenny he slipped outside.

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Hey Hilly, apologies for not commenting on this earlier... Nice start so far and nice to see Bond back in action. One question, is the lotus in this???

El joker wrote:

Hey Hilly, apologies for not commenting on this earlier... Nice start so far and nice to see Bond back in action. One question, is the lotus in this???

No problem at all. I don't think the Lotus features, no. It tended to veer away from the TSWLM we know I fear. Plenty of navy action from what I recall.

Well done, Hilly (as expected). I liked the bits about Moneypenny keeping a tab on Bond visiting Tracy's grave, as he visits it the same day each month. Keeps in check with the types of rituals that Fleming often wrote about for the character. Also liked where you compared M's naval career/dedication to the navy to Bond's dedication to women and fast cars. Really nice.

Looking forward to more.

Thanks Brown, though I could never aspire to match Fleming or even the others there is some attempt to Flemingnise the films/plots. PIcturing Lazenby isn't needed or required but there you go.

These are from MI6 but I'm rehashing each chapter, trying to correct errors and whatnot. Right now it's stalled but we'll see.

My thanks once again.

'Everyone needs a hobby', eh Hilly? ;)

Blunt Instrument wrote:

'Everyone needs a hobby', eh Hilly? ;)

That's truer than you know Blunters.

Hi Hilly, sorry I haven't been as active a I'd wished but to let you know I have been keeping up with the Dalton story, which I am liking a lot :D. Question is though will this story get updated any soon

El joker wrote:

Hi Hilly, sorry I haven't been as active a I'd wished but to let you know I have been keeping up with the Dalton story, which I am liking a lot :D. Question is though will this story get updated any soon

thank you. I hope to get it updated soon. It's a matter of feeling it as I'm re-writing each chapter. Hopefully it'll get done by Monday.

Well, maybe it's down to the topic being bumped but we're back. TWO chapters no less. I've lightly tweaked the first and much more on the second. Lazenby's TSWLM needs some more work. Compared to DAF it's lightweight. Moonraker, personally, had a bit more going and then Octopussy.

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Chapter Two
“Station ML”

It was a little after eight in the morning when Bond stepped off the BA Boeing 727 in Malta. The sun was already quite warm, laying itself upon the worn buildings like a blanket. Such a hairy landing, right in over the Mediterranean, that Bond had wondered how the RAF pilots managed it during the siege of 1942. More so when pilots had to taxi out of the way to let the one in right behind them.
Malta. Bond surveyed it as he crossed the open runway to the terminal building in Luqa. During the war it had claimed unwanted fame by becoming the most bombed place on Earth at that point. Hitler wanted it, importantly so did Mussolini and so the island was virtually besieged by the Axis powers. A determined resistance saw off the repeated attacks and before long Malta was the base for attacking Rommel’s retreating armies. King George VI awarded the island the George Cross for its resistance.
That was a long time ago now.
“Commander Bond?”
Bond was wearing his naval uniform. It had been a few years since he had last worn one –the collar chafed a little at his neck. M had felt in Bond’s written instructions that Bond would use the uniform as cover ‘not for blending in with the local scenery, 007’. Strictly speaking as a RNVR officer Bond was still on the Navy List.
A tall broad shouldered man with bronze skin and a slight Spanish accent stood in the shade of the terminal building. He wore a white suit that was spotless. Already Bond had dust on his trousers.
“Yes, that’s me. Tell me though, is it true it snows during the spring here?”
“Only on Wednesdays, even then.”
Bond walked closer extending a hand. “Good to meet you, Haladez.”
“Our codewords are laughable. Welcome to Malta, Mr Bond.”
A handshake, firm and brief. Victor Haladez was one of the few men based at Station ML on Malta. Some maintained that ML was only Haladez. Knowing the SIS, it might just be Haladez alone. “Thank you, Mr Haladez.”
“Victor.”
“James.”
There was something immediately likeable about Haladez. It put him in mind of Marc Ange Draco or Kerim Bey. Haladez led Bond through the terminal to a waiting car –a somewhat battered looking Mercedes. Muttering something about salt corrosion Haladez asked Bond to get in and soon they were off. Bond put his bag behind him on the backseat. His eyes took in the island as they drove. Other than a brief visit during Royal Navy training he had not been properly to Malta.
“What brings you to the Jewel of the Mediterranean, James?” Haladez asked shouting above the engine that roared noisily.
“I think you know.”
“The Olympus,” Haladez confirmed. “I wonder how Station ML can help you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re the great James Bond. Everyone has heard of you…at least in our dark world of espionage, yes? You are quite something.”
“Quite something? I doubt that. I’m not as perfect as people make out,” Bond thought of the events of two years ago. His hunt for Blofeld that took him to Las Vegas and a climatic fight to the death. Sir James Molony –a psychiatrist of sorts to Bond- wrote in a report to M that Bond had suffered extreme mental trauma. In fact Bond suffered some form of amnesia that lasted a month. To this day the events of that time were known only to Tiffany Case.
“I’m not some kind of hero,” he concluded to the Station ML man.
“Then we will do what we can to help you,” Haladez drove into Valetta almost an hour later and then turned into a drive somewhere in the suburbs and switched off the engine. Bond found he had a slight ringing in his ears from the car’s engine. Children played football down an alley by the drive, music blared from an office building across the street. He was led inside where his bag was left in a small office and then he was into a broader room. It offered a snatch of the Med’ from bay windows. Down one side of the room were desks. Cigarette smoke lingered in the air.
Haladez gestured to three men.
“James, these men are Pierre, Solano and Taylor. Gentlemen, Commander Bond from London.”
The one introduced as Taylor stood and went to shake hands with Bond. He reminded Bond of the late actor Jack Hawkins –star of Ben Hur, Zulu, Cruel Sea and so on- receding hairline and even a gravel voice.
“A fellow Englishman at last!” he chuckled and shook Bond’s hand firmly. “Peter Taylor, I’m head of Station ML, such as it is. You’ll find we’re a fairly tight bunch.”
“Thanks,” Bond flexed his hand after he let go.
The others came forward. Jean-Luc Pierre was a French-Maltese who had been in the Free French Army during the war and Ricardo Solano a Maltese formerly in Special Forces.
“Some bourbon, commander?” asked Pierre.
“Please.”
They moved to a common room to the other side of the building. A portrait of a sunset was on one wall with a print of the merchant ship Ohio entering Valetta in 1942. The Ohio had long since passed into Maltese legend –heavily damaged and almost underwater she had continued to Valetta to deliver those all-important supplies. Bond explained his mission to them.
“Ships that large would get noticed but we don’t have anything as big as a Leander this year,” Taylor said afterwards. “Olympus was the last one.”
“Surely you have sonar or radar?”
“Yes, but from what we know…and that’s sweet FA…is that this ship-killer is masking its presence somehow.”
“You’re joking,” Bond reclined in his seat. A cigarette in one hand, bourbon the other. “A ship that can cloak!?”
“Don’t mock,” Pierre said softly. “Technology advances all the same, Commander. Why not cloak a ship or use stealth plating?”
“Olympus’ message said that it was a tanker.”
“Nothing like that has been scene in the Med’ for months. At least not this end. We’ve looked about but it seems it might be that stealthy.”
The thought worried Bond. His days in the navy saw nothing like what the RN was now. A ship that could stealthily approach another and sink it…
Taylor noticed Bond’s expression and interrupted his thoughts by starting with a cough. “Let me tell you something, James. In 1941 I was a junior officer on the Prince of Wales and we were sent to sea to find that Bismarck ship. We were brand new, still had builders on board. We were trying to find a needle in the biggest haystack on Earth. Asdic was in its infancy, radar not much good beyond a few miles. When we found the Bismarck we got our arses handed to us on a plate! We left that battle with smoke and everything.” Taylor paused to draw on his cigarette, his eyes had glazed over. As if relieving those events. “I got off in June…as you know she got sunk by the Japs near Singapore…my point is…”
“I think I see it,” Bond said softly. He downed his bourbon allowing the fire to blaze in his throat. “I need to freshen up and then get searching for clues.”
“Your room’s down the corridor, number four. There’s a shower, bath etc upstairs.”
Bond thanked them, finished his cigarette and left. Taylor stood and turned to address his colleagues. “Best bloody thing to happen on this island in months!”
“Come,” began Haladez, “we must start searching for clues ourselves.”
“Fastest I’ve seen you move in months,” observed Solano with a chuckle.
“When one has Bond here, one must act better,” Haladez said in Spanish. “Shift your arse, Solano!”

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Chapter Three
“The Bear”

The Grand Harbour at Valetta was suitably named and one of the finest harbours in the world. During the height of the siege when the Luftwaffe attacked almost hourly, British submarines would lie submerged on the harbour floor with their snorkels poking above the surface. Only places like Portland in England or Portsmouth rivalled it for its excellent anchorage. It was here that Bond went, this time dressed in a smartly cut casual white suit with red tie and cream shirt. He strolled down the quayside attracting the glances of swarthy, dark haired women who were fanning themselves with newspapers on the side. Bond found the harbour master in his office overlooking the quay where at this point a Royal Navy patrol boat sat.
“Morning. I’d like to inspect your records for ships in your waters,” the harbour master gave Bond the short shrift until Bond reached for his official ID. The photo showed Bond in his navy uniform with cap firmly on head. “If that’s alright with you.”
“Certainly, Commander,” the harbour master made his apologies showing Bond to a blocky computer. Bond looked at it and cleared his throat. “Would you mind…?”
“Oh, of course,” the harbour master sat at the terminal doing the keyboard work for Bond. “What do you seek?”
“The route of the Olympus…”
“Ah, the British ship…”
“Indeed.”
The harbour master entered the name and on a screen above came an electronic map of the Med. Out from Malta was a blue dot marked HMS OLYMPUS. “Nearby ships?” Bond asked.
Three red dots appeared north of the doomed British frigate. USS JOHN BARRY, ANTONOVYCH and HMS CARDIFF BAY.
Cardiff Bay was a patrol boat, likely the one down outside. John Barry was an American frigate, named for a revolutionary if Bond remembered and the Antonovych…that would be the Russian frigate sunk as well as the Olympus. The Antonovych was only fifteen miles east of Olympus.
“When was this recorded?”
“About half an hour before the Olympus’ distress signal was received.”
“Did you ever receive the Russian ship?”
“No. I understand she was heading out of Adriatic on route for Gibraltar at the time.”
Gib? Bond thought. Likely nothing.
Bond made notes and thanked the harbour master, leaving the office back into the blistering heat he adjusted his tie. Standing on the quayside he looked at the patrol boat. He closed his eyes for a moment seeing only red then he headed off. The Med might be an ‘indoor lake’ but it was still too much for one man to cover. From Gibraltar right across to the east…

As he walked along the harbour he was conscious of someone following him. More of an instinct then certainty. He quickened his pace moving in and around tourists then reaching a parked Volkswagen Beetle he ducked in front of it sliding down the left side before pausing at the rear. The harbour was busier here with the tourists and locals mingling. Bond searched the crowd where he just been for someone who…did not look at all in place. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand.
“I believe you would be looking for me, Mr Bond. Or should I say, commander?”
Slowly he turned to see a woman just a few inches shorter than him. She wore smart but casual clothing –light and airy for the climate- her skin pale. Clearly, someone who did not live here, much like himself.
“That depends on who you would be.”
“I am…,” she sounded Russian but the accent was light. “Let’s say we work in the same field.”
“Interesting,” Bond murmured. “You catch me at a disadvantage, miss. You seem to know who I am but not I you.”
“Very well,” she stepped closer. “I am Major Anya Amasova of the KGB. I am here to find out what happened to the Antonovych.”
Bond’s inner alarm went off. Usually being this close to a KGB officer meant either he was being interrogated or he was going to kill that agent. As beautiful as Major Amasova was, Bond still was on alert.
“You seem a loss for words…what is that saying, ‘cat got your tongue’?”
“That might be appropriate,” Bond took her by the arm and began to march down the harbour. She briefly protested but he let go and began speaking, trying to take the offensive. “What are you really doing here? Is this some kind of trick to kill me?”
“Do not flatter yourself, Bond. I am really here to find out what happened to our men.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“Because you’re my enemy,” they exchanged looks. Bond suddenly found it hard to be an enemy with a woman as beautiful as this. “That is how it has been for thirty years.”
“Why have you sought me out?”
“I…,” she paused and then stopped. He stopped and walked back to her. She seemed hesitant and embarrassed. “I need your help. When I heard you were trying to find what had sunk the Olympus I believed that…two heads be better than one.”
Bond laughed. “You, my dear, are crazy. For one thing, since when do the KGB ask SIS for help? And two, the Russians and British do not work together. I think the last time we tried it ended with the Berlin Airlift. Who put you up to this?”
“No one, but I have discussed with my superior in Moscow. General Gogol…”
“Who?”
“You have not heard of Gogol?”
Bond frowned, he had been out of the loop after the Piz Gloria incident and then in Vegas…but that had been two years ago. “I guess not.”
“He has heard of you, yes,” Amasova smiled. “So, what do you say, Commander Bond?”
“It’s sudden and also I’d have to run it by M in London. You can’t just come up to someone and expect help,” Bond reached into his jacket producing his cigarette case. The sunlight reflected off its shiny surface into her eyes making her squint. Bond smiled and proferred the case. “Cigarette?”
“Nyet.”
“You’re missing out,” Bond lit one and put the case away. Blowing smoke into the warm air he frowned at her. “How do I know that the Olympus wasn't sunk by your ship?”
“Why would we engage you so provocatively after all this time?”
“Change of policy.”
“Commander, I heard you were smarter than this,” the KGB major said huskily. “Do you think we are happy with coming to you like this?”
“I bet Kim Philby had it easier,” Bond quipped. He took his cigarette from his mouth exhaling more smoke. “How many went down on your ship?”
“Five hundred and forty.”
“Worst loss of life for both our services since the war,” Bond remarked. “I’m betting that if this all goes wrong, Gogol would claim he knew nothing.”
“Indeed.”
Bond smiled holding a hand out. “Détente, Major?”
“Détente, Commander.”

--

Chapter Four
“Details”

“Really, Bond you cannot bring a Soviet into this building!”
Bond held a hand up to stop Taylor from further splutter. Anya stood behind him by the door of Station ML. “Hold your horses, Taylor. She’s on our side.”
Taylor’s doubt was clearly evident as Bond walked to the office. Haladez stood with an ever-ready smile. He turned the smile on Anya even as he addressed Bond. “James, I have a breakthrough…of sorts.”
“Oh, well don’t hold back…”
“An Egyptian fishing vessel out of Cairo sighted a supertanker about five days ago heading east. Nothing odd in that what with the Straits of Gibraltar but this seemed bigger than most. His description roughly matches that of the one that sunk the Olympus.”
Bond felt a surge of excitement. “Did he notice which direction?”
“Merely east,” Haladez’s smile began to fade. “I believe the route was one that intercepted the Olympus.”
“Someone knew where the Olympus and Antonovych was,” Anya said from the doorway to the office. “They were deliberately set up.”
“Gentlemen,” Bond cleared his throat. “Major Anya Amasova of the KGB. She’s helping us with enquiries.”
None of the others seemed outwardly perturbed by the presence of a Russian agent in a MI6 station. Perhaps her beauty had won them over. If that was the case then the SIS needed to work on its vetting procedures.
“A trap?” Pierre frowned rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “It certainly explains a great many things.”
“Naturally this leads us onto who sunk them,” Bond went to sit down gesturing for Anya to do the same. “Sorry, who would want to sink them…”
“Not us,” Anya said firmly.
“Naturally,” Taylor remarked airily. He went to one side and poured some water into a glass. “Commander Bond has said as much. It’s someone with a score to settle perhaps…an individual more than likely.”
“Sinking a frigate is dangerous territory,” Bond said. “For an individual in particular. Victor, do you have a detailed map of the Med’ coastline?”
“We have many but some focus on a specific area such as Greece and so on.”
“Please bring them. Oh, and some coffee.”

Bond lit a fresh cigarette –his fourth that night- and leant back in the wooden backed chair. Through the open window a ships horn blared throatily from beyond Valetta’s frontier. Before him was the umpteenth map of the Mediterranean. This one dealing with the entrance at Gibraltar to Sicily. On another chair Anya was studying a map closely. Taylor and Haladez were on the phone wearily talking. It was early morning.
Bond sat forward again drawing a finger along the African coastline. Reaching for a magnifying glass he studied Egypt’s coastline. The tanker was sighted near there. It was distinctly old fashioned to do so but Station ML was merely a small station without the facilities of somewhere like Station V (Vienna) for example. A magnifying glass just added to the old fashioned nature of the matter.
A map fell across his one and he looked up. Anya did not wait for him to say something instead tapping the one she just laid down.
“Egypt.”
“I can see that,” Bond exhaled cigarette smoke. “What about it?”
“The coastline is ideal for hiding a ship. There’s many inlets and the like…if not there then somewhere else on the North African coastline. Tobruk, Tripoli and so on.”
“I guess it’s somewhere to start,” Bond stretched his arms. “We should arrange a flight in the morning…or later today. Get some sleep Anya, you might need it.”
“I will return to the Soviet station.”
“Oh no you won’t,” Bond stood. “I would rather you stay nearby.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“No,” Bond said without a smile to his face. “And neither should you trust me. We’re still on opposing sides even if we are working together.”
Anya smiled at him. “Then perhaps we will come to trust each other, yes?”
“I hope so,” Bond replied and led her to his room. He returned to the office. Haladez and Taylor had finished their respective conversations. Both were bleary eyed from the night’s activities.
“Egypt, James?” Haladez asked.
“You have exceptional hearing,” Bond sat down again. His eyelids felt heavy. He stubbed out his cigarette and rubbed at the eyes. “Yes, we’ll leave for Cairo this afternoon. Can you arrange something at Station C?”
“I’ll try,” Haladez gave a snort of derision. “Station C does not have the fondest thoughts of this station. They tend to look down their noses at us.”
“Swines,” Taylor growled pouring more water. “After all we did during the war.”
Haladez chuckled and went back to the phone. When he came back to Bond the agent had fallen asleep at his desk.
“Godspeed, Commander,” Haladez murmured turning out the lamp.

Chapter Five
“Land of the Pharaohs”

Bond and Anya made their ‘base camp’ at the Hotel Sheridan in Cairo towards the edge of the city. The next day –having rested after their flight- they left the hotel to wander the streets. Bond had ditched his navy uniform in favour of a casual suit having decided it might not pay ‘to advertise’.
“A ship this big would not dock here in Cairo I don’t think,” Bond said to Anya as they passed a vender selling snake skins. He arched a brow as they did and continued. “If it is indeed that big then I would imagine it has enough fuel to last months if not years.”
“Like a Nimitz class American aircraft carrier,” she remarked.
“Oh, you know much about them do you?”
“Enough,” Anya replied her eyes twinkling with hidden humour. “We should check merchantmen based here. Then we can find out where the Liparus is.”
“Of course, comrade.”
“You can stop that.”
“What?” Bond tried smiling it off but her eyes did no longer twinkle. Anya stopped him by another stall –this one selling shoes it would seem. Her brown eyes stared hard at him.
“This comrade business. We might be comrades-in-arms so to speak but we are not the same side.”
“Anya we’ve been over this…”
“No…you’re a British agent and I am a Russian one…the two can never be the same.”
She turned and walked off. Bond frowned and set off after her. “Some people need a sense of humour. Détente indeed.”

They went in and out of four offices belonging to merchant companies. Three had ships only as big as a small tanker and one had a supertanker but that was currently in Alaska. The heat was getting unbearable as they left the third office.
“Two more,” Anya said pointing down the street. “Reichman and Angelio’s.”
“Right, okay,” Bond mopped at his brow. His hand came away with a layer of sweat. “I need a drink, you want one?”
“I could do with one,” she admitted. Anya led them across the dusty street to a café. Inside it was brilliantly air-conditioned. They sat by the entrance with glasses of water.
“So, what do you know about me Commander Bond?”
Bond weighed the question and pressed with his presumption of what she wanted. “If memory serves your codename is ‘Red Star’ if not Triple X. You have been recommended the Order of the Soviet Union twice by someone within the service but have turned it down. You stopped 004 two years ago from completing a mission in Berlin.”
“Ah, yes. The Icarus job,” Anya chuckled. She sipped the ice-cold water they had gotten from the counter. “He left with his dignity intact.”
“Almost.”
“You knew more about me then you let on when we first met, Commander.”
“I have an on-off memory. I guess you know more about me.”
“Perhaps. Joined the SIS from the Royal Navy during which you received the CMVG and mention in dispatches. You’ve defeated various opponents such as Doctor No, Red Grant, Auric Goldfinger and even Ernst Stavro Blofeld who had killed your wife…”
“Stop right there.”
“Did I touch a sensitive nerve?”
“Just some things I prefer not to talk about,” Bond refused to meet her gaze. Sometimes in his dreams Tracy came back to him bidding him into this world that he had not made with her. sometimes it was the silhouette of that bitch Irma Bunt as he shot her in Blofeld’s Nevada hideout.
Anya leant forward about to say something but her gaze switched to the street. Bond discreetly followed her gaze. “What’s wrong?”
“That man across the street, thickset…blonde.”
Bond searched the street and saw him. Medium height, strongly built and blonde wearing a cream suit pretending to read a newspaper. Leaning against a lamppost.
“What about him?”
“He’s been following us since we left the hotel. I am sure of it.”
Bond patted his jacket feeling the hardness of his Colt and holster. “I often am paranoid, but then I find I live longer that way.”
Anya leant forward her voice became husky. “I think we should grab him.”
“I don’t know how they do it in Russia –it ends up in Siberia I imagine- but I think we should wait. He might be nobody.”
“Bond!”
Bond sat back and reached for his water. A slight smile sprang to his face. “Call me James, Anya.”
Anya Amasova growled and slumped in her chair. Bond glanced outside. Blondie was still reading his paper; he looked up just then peering above the pages and his eyes met Bond’s. Something clicked in Bond. He turned to Anya.
“Your plan might just work after all. Let’s go, we’ll head towards the Nile.”
They left the café and headed south towards the river. Neither needed to turn to see Blondie as Bond continued to dub him. The two agents walked close together looking up and around in front of them maintaining some pretence of being tourists. Bond grabbed her left arm forcing it through the crook of his right arm. Anya glared up at him.
“Damn it, if we pretend we’re a couple, we can dupe him.”
“Fine,” she hissed and her expression changed to one of contentment so quickly Bond almost stopped walking. However, he grinned. “That’s more like it, darling.”
Anya muttered something in Russian but continued walking. Eventually they reached the riverside and headed along it. A sailing vessel was moving upriver alone but for the Nile itself. For a moment Bond was reminded of his childhood…
…the couple broke apart as they reached the end of a short alley going to hide behind wooden crates. Bond kept his Colt holstered and looked across to where Anya hid. He could not see her but that would hopefully mean she was still there.
Blondie emerged from the alley into the deserted riverside quay. He looked about and said something in German to himself. Just as Bond thought about attacking Anya did just that. The Soviet knocked a crate aside as she dived at Blondie. They rolled into the cluster of crates that Bond hid behind. Bond jumped over them tripping on Anya and going flat onto the ground. Cursing himself Bond got to his feet. Anya was trying to do the same but Blondie grabbed her by the collar then punched her sending Anya flying over the crates. Bond stepped behind Blondie reached for his collar and spun him around. Blondie stared at Bond.
“I’m sorry, but where I come from we treat women with respect.”
Bond hauled back and punched Blondie.
Leaving Blondie on the floor he went to help Anya up. She thanked him. “Is he still alive?”
“Yes,” Bond turned and together they helped Blondie to a sitting position. He woke after a minute and swore at Bond. “Though next time wait.”
“Your western pretensions over chivalry are irksome.”
“Right back at you.”
“Your name and who you work for,” said Bond as he went to Blonde and slapped his face.
“Go to hell.”
Anya slapped Blondie across the face hard. Bond winced. “Answer the question or I will kill you!”
“Bitch,” swore Blondie. Anya raised a hand but Bond grabbed at it.
“Easy, Anya,” Bond drew his Colt and pressed it against Blondie’s forehead. “Now, who is it that you work for? I shan’t ask nicely next time. Not that there will be a next time.”

Chapter Six
“The Bad German”


“I won’t hesitate to shoot.”
“I’m prepared to die.”
Bond shook his head having heard that same old nonsense. Someone was always willing to die for the cause and Bond had heard causes that were not even worth getting bruised for let alone dying.
“Fair enough,” Bond stood and took two steps back. Anya moved away watching Bond carefully. He fired twice but his shots impacted either side of the man. The man cried out in horror.
“The next one is aimed at your head this time. Now talk.”
Blondie looked up at Anya who gave him a cold hard look. He then brushed against his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. Bond rushed forward sensing something. It was too late for there came the hard crunch of something being broken in Blondie’s mouth then white foam appeared through his mouth and he keeled over like a ragdoll. Bond cursed flicking his gun to safe and holstering it. Anya kicked at the body. Bond grabbed at her.
“Anya!”
“He took the coward’s way out!” she shouted.
“No need to kick a man whilst he’s down and that goes double when he’s dead,” Bond released her and squatted by Blondie. Patting the fallen man he found a wallet and went through it at the same time wondering what a waste of time the past ten minutes had been.
“His ID shows him as Frederich Hoffman,” Bond read aloud. “German. There’s various other ID’s but this one looks like a company.”
Bond handed it to Anya who nodded. “Yes, the Reichman Merchant and Research Company.”
“We were heading that way.”
“Unlikely Hoffman was ordered to stop us going in there.”
“Still, someone knows we’re here looking for the ship that sunk our ships. Perhaps it’s this Reichman fellow, if indeed he is named Reichman.”
“At the moment the name does not…what you say, ring a bell?”
Bond went to Blondie. “Help me, would you.”
Between them they hauled the body down to the riverbank. Here Bond found tied the ankles together whilst Anya bound the hands, then they weighted the body with rocks before pushing it into the ancient Nile.
Job done.

**

Anya brought glasses of water in from the kitchen in their living room that sat between the two rooms in the Hotel Sheridan. Bond had felt two rooms were better than two beds in one room. Bond thanked her and glanced once again at the sheet of paper he held.
“Station ML reports that HMS Glorious is entering the Med this week from Hong Kong.”
“One of your Centaur class carriers,” Anya commented sitting in a chair adjacent to him by the balcony.
Bond shook his head. “You do have your sources I’ll say that.”
“Sending in a carrier, this would suggest that someone in your navy is growing impatient.”
“Maybe. It’ll come in via Suez so it’ll come this way first. When in doubt, send a gunboat.” Bond tore the sheet into many pieces and went to dump them in a bin. Returning he sipped at the water then said. “Earlier when you kicked Hoffman…it was more than a cowards way out was it not?”
Anya’s face darkened a little. Her auburn hair seemed to grow darker also as if she was changing form. “My father was in the Soviet Army. He first fought at Stalingrad and was then on the front all the way to Germany. He fought as savagely as anyone did. He was at Auschwitz when we liberated it and then sent to Berlin to fight in Zhukov’s offensive. He grew a strong distaste for Germans…man, woman or child. He saw and did things that haunted him until he died a few years ago. I would think there are many of our people who hate Germans even if the war has been over for almost thirty years.”
Bond nodded. The war was still fresh in the minds of everyone when Bond was in the Navy and he knew people who had good reason to hate the Germans. Survivors of torpedoed ships or who had lost commands. Men taken prisoner by the Germans, some interrogated by the Gestapo after escaping. Men who had done so much for the cause of freedom and could never forget what they had seen.
But that was all a long time ago. Bond was in the here and now. He glanced at Anya.
“We should look at Reichman tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Well, I need to get in touch with Station C and…”
“…I will go and contact my station.”
“As you will.”

Greetings Sir Hilly, long time lurker/user, as you probably know... I just come back re read this... Brilliant follow up to your DAF story. I was wondering though, if you will continue this one...

Take care

Hello Joker, good to see you back in the fold. I fear at the moment all my fan fiction work has been shelved for a time. I don't know when it will return but hopefully, some point soon. Sorry.

I've been focused elsewhere sadly but you never know.