Timothy Dalton in "The Mirage of Fate"

I kind of wanted to make it an Esprit but figured it'd be a bit dated for 1996-97 so opted for an Elan which would like vaguely like this:



still...the classic, Emma Peel Elan looks like this:



if the former we'll assume it's Major Bothroyd's personal car :)

as for King...time for some head-scratching.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Sins of the Father”

Night was settling across London when Eduardo Silva arrived on the top floor of the NatWest building in the City. The view from what had been London’s tallest building until Canary Wharf, was impressive. Still, he hated being here. By now all of the police forces (the Met and City of London) would be after him on top of MI5 and MI6. There was hiding in plain sight and there was this. The bar atop the tower was empty save for a dark haired man at a window-table. He rose and held a hand out.
“Silva.”
“King.”
That done they sat down, King ordered drinks for the pair of them before speaking again. “I see he survived the kidnap attempt.”
“Bond.”
King sighed smoothing his tie down. He appeared distinguished though grey flecked at his sides and lines weathered his brow. “James Bond has a nasty habit of getting in the way of most plans and in this, he will be stopped. I imagine your intelligence has dried up.”
For a moment Silva considered that he was being insulted then he responded. “I still have some access to information, yes. What about you? What can you offer now?”
“Money to keep your little enterprise going. You’re doing well so far.”
At this Silva bore his teeth in a scowl that appeared animalistic. “Look, I work for myself. Yes you pay me, but that is so I can bring down SIS and him, M! I’m sorry for Elektra…”
“Firstly, you’re not sorry and secondly, do not speak of her to me. This has had nothing to do with her,” King’s voice had not risen yet colour had, to his cheeks. He waited for the drinks to be settled on the table and a sip taken from his glass before continuing. “This has been about M as well. We’ve done well so far. James Bond allowing.”
Silva settled back in his chair reaching for his glass. He swirled the liquid around watching the cubes bounce off each other. “When I was dismissed, I was angry at him for letting me but then angrier for trying to kill me. I knew it would happen but the betrayal felt raw. I was a loyal servant for that organisation for most of my life. I don’t forgive easy Mr King but then I don’t understand why you’d take me on-board as you did.”
King had gotten in touch with Silva from the blue not long after his dismissal from MI6. Lying low in a Shanghai safe-house, Silva suddenly heard from King. It seemed King had a network all of his own. Owning a large oil company with interests all throughout Europe, Asia and the Middle East he likely had his own form of intelligence network.
“SIS started taking out some of my allies in the Middle East,” King saw Silva’s look. “They were not always the most honest of men, Silva. One man’s terrorist is, well you know how the saying goes. What didn’t help was that one chap who held territory around one of my pipelines had killed three British subjects he took hostage. SIS went in and took him out. Quite horribly I understand.”
“So…it’s revenge for…”
“Money,” King laughed a sound that was hollow. “He cost me and he cost me big.”
So it was that simple. And yet Silva, in spite of all he did in the past two years and beyond, felt sadness. He now remembered one night in bed with Elektra as she curled against him.
“You have no idea how single-minded my father is. Why my mother left him and why we don’t speak. Oil flows in his blood and it flows in mine. The difference is, I am human. He is not.”
At the time he had laughed off her passionate speech. Now he regarded King anew.
“Bond took M.”
“We’ll find him and then you can kill him.”
“Which one?”
“Either. Or both.”

**

M puffed on his pipe arms folded looking all the while the archetypal sitcom father of old. After a moment he snapped irritably.
“Stop pacing 007, the carpet is thin enough.”
Bond stopped fists clenched in the small living room of an otherwise fine house just off the corner of Wimbledon Common. It was dark and the room was lit by a single lamp.
“Waiting will do us no good, sir.”
“He hasn’t found us.”
“Yet,” Bond said pointlessly. He sat down in a rather well stuffed armchair that immediately dug into his back and calves. Arriving in Wimbledon Bond drove them up into the Village and then to the historic windmill halfway up the common’s side and left it there before leading on foot. What a strange sight they must’ve looked as they walked. Bond in his smart if ruffled suit, Tanner in his and looking strained then M distinguished yet clearly rattled by something. Bond glanced up as Martine Shaw and Tanner entered the living room. Tanner perched on a chair adjacent to M whilst Shaw stayed standing hands in the pockets of her leather jacket.
“I took the liberty of finding where Robert King was, sir,” Shaw said to Bond which only served to make him feel ancient. “He’s been in and out of his London office on Piccadilly all day. It’s possible he met Silva.”
“Details,” M said glaring at Bond. “King is irrelevant.”
“Sir, he’s paying Silva and giving him the means to come after you. I should say he’s quite relevant.”
Tanner pinched the knees of his suit and leant forward, M looked at him as if he had just appeared from thin air. “Sir, James had an idea and I think we should go with it.”
“ ‘Go with’?” M said dryly.
Bond hesitated then stood pacing to the window. “Sir I’ll take you out of London to a safe place and we wait for Silva. It’s not ideal, it’s flawed but it’s a way of ending this. We can’t let him dictate events anymore.”
There was silence save for a car outside passing by, headlights lit the room bright for one moment, M puffed on his pipe then took it from his mouth. “Where?”
“North.”
Tanner spoke hesitantly. “It’s something, sir. I don’t like it one hundred per cent though it is an idea. We can get Silva…”
“Just me, Bill,” Bond said.
“But James!”
“The fewer involved the better,” Bond said crisply. Pointing to Shaw he added. “And not you.”
“I can help from HQ. Systems are safeguarded…”
“You leave breadcrumbs as to where we are.”
Shaw looked confused. “Why? I know you want to see Silva on your own terms but letting him know…”
“Just do it,” Bond went back to his chair fixing M with a steady look. “Final word, sir?”
“I’m not altogether happy as being used for bait, 007, though I’ll place myself in your trusty hands. Now?”
“Now, sir.”
The two got up, Bond said they would head to Southfields Tube which was a little beneath M but he acquiesced. There was a brief if awkward final few words with Tanner and Shaw then they were gone.
“We get back to SIS immediately,” Tanner told Shaw. “Can you plot a route for Silva?”
“It’ll be easy, sir.”
Tanner aimed a brief look heavenwards. “Terrific.”

**

After almost twenty minutes on the District Line- long enough for Bond and M- they alighted at Sloane Square and walked away towards the King’s Road. Down past some boutiques Bond turned off the road down a darkly lit street to a garage with ‘NO ENTRY’ painted in white across the door. Bond stooped to unlock the door then stepped back as it flew up. He pulled a switch just inside and lit up the interior with a yellowy shade. M stepped inside frowning.
“Some of this…is odd.”
Bond stepped past a bobsled propped against the wall which had a yellow and black chequerboard nose. “Nothing too odd, sir. Accumulated this over the years, must get rid of some of it,” Bond knocked a box off a shelf which spilt tarot cards onto the floor. He stepped past these and grabbed at grey canvas which covered something in the middle of the garage. He tugged and whipped off the cover revealing a sleek black-grey Aston Martin 1987 V8 Vantage. “Get in, sir. Time’s against us.”
A little while on they were motoring out of the capital via the North Circular. M was checking the insides of the car out. “This looks like a company vehicle, 007.”
“I took on the spare after the Koskov business. Shame to waste it.”
“Yes, considering the other one was blown to bits in the Alps and God knows about the one you left in Nice. I imagine the DGSE lot have sliced it to ribbons since then.”
“Good luck to them,” Bond smiled in the darkness. He reached to press a button marked JET. M saw this. “Want to get there quickly?”
“My stomach cannot handle the thrust,” M lit his pipe. Bond shrugged joining a motorway. It was a little odd being so close to M in all manners. Bond felt almost like a minder more than an agent. A concerned son with a forgetful father more than a man with a licence to kill. His face tightened as he thought about Silva and King. It was a peculiar alliance and plot yet nothing was straightforward and Bond had been involved in some odd schemes before. Fighting atop the Golden Gate Bridge came to mind.
The hours past and it would indeed be hours before they reached their destination. M slept and Bond made do with winding the window down to feel the cold on his unshaven face. A few hours in, midway between Preston and Lancaster adjacent to the Forest of Bowland they stopped a petrol station with a small café. The sight of the expensive car drew some looks from the occupants inside who did not seem to mind the look of Bond and M as they walked in and ordered food.
An hour later they resumed their journey.
A couple of hours on, just after Carlisle they entered Scotland.

Another nice chapter that sets up (what I presume is) the final act of the story.

Really loved the scene with Bond's storage unit full of old tokens from earlier missions. Reminded me of the Q Branch scene from DAD, but less silly, of course.

King's motivations are simple but believable. Who ya got playing him in your mind?

I don't know, Charles Dance perhaps. As King is a bigger part of the story I imagine a well known name. David Calder is one of these chaps who either does TV or very small roles like in Phantom Menace and TWINE.

As for the garage, it might've been OTT for the actual Skyfall, but I found myself wishing for the glimpse of the OHMSS bobsled behind the DB5. Nothing like DAD though only 007 would have his old bits and bobs stored away in the lair for 'Dead Agents'.

We're getting near the end. Trick is to do it with some originality.

Lor' I just saw the first page and I had Topol's Colombo 'returning'. I must've had an idea I promptly forgot for Colombo to return.

Charles Dance…Good choice!

CHAPTER NINE

“Welcome to Scotland”

Fog was dense in Glencoe and so Bond slowed. M woke feeling irritable, more so when he saw they were still driving.
“My God, where are we?”
“Scotland,” was all Bond said.
The fog lifted a fraction to reveal the rugged, harsh yet beautiful landscape of the Highlands. It felt as if, in spite of the road, they were the only people here. Glen Coe itself was on their right with Loch Leven a dark blue extending in either direction. Before the small town of Ballachulish Bond stopped, turned round and drove a mile before stopping at the edge of a dirt road. He stepped out and M followed holding back as Bond stopped with hands in pockets staring down the road. M followed his gaze seeing how the road ran down a hillside or incline across green-brown fields to a large almost gothic house set against a small lake and rolling hilltops.
“Home, sir.”
M saw there was a stone wall running across the edge of the road with an empty gate that they stood near. On one of the pillars was a deer antlers rampant and the legend beneath.
“Skyfall,” M read aloud.
“Skyfall,” echoed Bond going back to the car. They drove down the incline stopping on the gravel forecourt. M studied Bond for a moment.
“Family home. I should’ve known, should’ve remembered.”
“I haven’t been back here in decades,” Bond murmured his thoughts on the house before him. Childhood memories came back to him, most unwanted and unneeded. He turned round to M. “Sir, we should get inside…”
He was cut short by the appearance of a heavyset man with a thick grey beard and scraggly hair that protruded from under a flat cap. The man held a shotgun levelled at M’s head.
“Ay’, what would ye both be doing here? This is private land.”
“Kincaide you old fossil, I thought you died years ago,” Bond remarked surprised.
The man swung his shotgun to Bond and lowered it. “My God, Master James. You’ve returned.”
“Would you mind?” M said dryly. Kincaide put the shotgun against his right shoulder looking over M.
“This is Kincaide, sir,” Bond said awkwardly. “He was, is…the groundskeeper at Skyfall. My father…”
“Ye’s no need to bore the man,” Kincaide held out his left hand. “Mr…”
Bond interjected hastily. “Admiral Hargreaves.”
“Admiral? Aye, Master James was in the Navy but then he left for better things, so I’m told.”
M studied Kincaide as the Scotsman wheeled about to lead them into the house. M knew that Bond’s parents had died in that freak accident mountain climbing and yet there was something faintly paternal about Kincaide. He imagined the groundskeeper looked after Bond more than his parents, the parents being away for so long on trips. It was true the service recruited orphans for obvious reasons. Some had family but these tended to be the so-called Single-O’s or other staff rather than the Double-Oh’s.
The house felt empty. An obvious statement, however M thought that such a grand house would have some kind of feeling. That he would feel the ghosts of Bond’s past. The house just felt lifeless. It was dark, smelt faintly of damp and mould and was cold. A glimpse of a living room across the lobby showed furniture covered in dusty sheets.
“It’s fallen by the wayside but I’ve fought to keep it going, Master James,” said Kincaide putting his shotgun down on a table in the kitchen. “I stay in the west wing upstairs.”
Bond walked around the kitchen tracing a finger across the sides. He paused looking at Kincaide in the gloom. “Guns?”
Kincaide did not question. “What we had I sold. Except ye father’s rifle,” Kincaide lumbered off. In the silence M sat down on a chair by the door feeling odd.
“James, when this is over I will retire. Whoever takes over I want you to show the same kind of respect you’ve shown me and Sir Miles. I want you to continue as you have done but remember that times change.”
Bond regarded his boss. The use of the name was rare enough and he nodded. “You have my word, that I’ll do my best.”
Kincaide reappeared with an old rifle that was polished and looked to be a few decades old. He showed the butt to M who noted the initials on the butt inscribed ornately.
“AB,” said M.
“Andrew Bond, aye,” Kincaide handed it to Bond. “That’s all we have. Expecting visitors?”
“There’s people after us, yes. A man who worked for the…company and another. Both want us dead and they’ll likely bring help,” Bond cocked the weapon checking the chamber. “Whatever you have, bring to the kitchen. I’ll get the car sorted. Sir…”
“Leave me to it,” M said firmly standing. “Kincaide, I’ll need a torch.”
“I’ll fix ye up,” as Kincaide led M out Bond heard the Scotman’s voice echo, “ye forgive Mr James for being a jumped up little shit!”
Bond chuckled, then with a stern look walked out to the Aston. In the morning mist he paused to survey the horizon. The sky was black over the mountains.
A storm was coming.

**

“The loch is not the best approach and neither is the road. Bond will be waiting. He’ll have time for a trap.”
Robert King nodded at Silva as the Spaniard’s words faded into nothingness in the back of the black Land Rover as it sped up the road from the Borders. They had left Lockerbie behind after stopping at a services. The diner owner was quite helpful in pointing out which way the black Aston Martin had gone.
“Of course he will be. I suspect this is Bond’s plan ever since he took M from the hearing,” King stroked his chin feeling slight stubble rasp against his fingernails. “You can get your men into position?”
“The others are flying up from Glasgow having come in from France. They’re the last of my men,” Silva said warningly. Getting word out to them had been tricky. In the confusion after the enquiry attack, they had to find somewhere to hide long enough to get word out. His men would have flown in by private jet under the guise of oil workers bound for one of the North Sea platforms. They would have the jump on Silva, King and King’s small band of men.
Men, thought Silva dismissively, they were mercenaries. A mixture of South Africans and Americans looking for glory for a high buck. Silva had met some before and was not impressed. They travelled in three Land Rover’s in convoy.
“Bond’s file says he came from Scotland, the Highlands. I wouldn’t know where…”
“You said that already,” King said a little heatedly. His cool façade was being tested by this Spaniard. “We’ll get him. We’ll get them both.”
Silva nodded in turn. “Fine.”

**

For the day the three men worked tirelessly. Skyfall was searched thoroughly for anything that would be of use to them. Bond spent an hour with the Aston setting up her various tricks whilst inside M familiarised himself with the layout of the house in the dark. It reminded him of his early days a boy seaman. Learning to know his way around a battleship blindfolded. Know your ship, know your way in case of attack.
After this was done M started setting up booby traps. The aim was hopefully to kill but disabling would do. Hold the attackers long enough to be killed.
Kincaide took his shotgun out to the back squaring his shots against a set of empty bottles propped on a board. Bond watched him shook his head and headed up the field to the small building at the top nestled in the foothills of a mountain. It was the church that one of his ancestors had built. Family lore had Charles II hiding here for a brief time in his exile. Likely myth, Bond thought as he turned around to look at the landscape. As darkness came it was enshrouded in a light mist that clung to the hills and over the lake like cotton wool. Bond flexed his hands and blew into them. As he stepped forward he paused and cocked his head.
There was a sound on the distant wind that was carrying. At first he could not place it then he realised it was a motor. A car. Or more than one. He hurried down the field into Skyfall just as headlights appeared at the top of the dirt road from the direction of the loch. He made M jump such was the suddenness of his appearance.
“They’re here.”
M picked up Bond’s PPK from the dining table in the kitchen and wordlessly vanished into the darkened interior. Somewhere unseen, Kincaide’s voice floated out to Bond.
“I’m ready for ye bastards, Master James.”
Bond grabbed his father’s rifle briefly running his hand over the initials on the butt then hurried off.
It was time.

Another solid chapter. Looking forward to the big showdown with Silva and King.

Likely need to edit the end of that chapter. I might've opened a plot hole. See what comes to mind with the next one.

I wasn't happy with the ending of the last chapter. I also realised that it wouldn't make sense for Silva's men to arrive in the copter first (this presumes at the moment Silva knows where Bond is. And thus being able to contact his men). So the chapter above is edited, only the last paragraph or so. The difference should be obvious.

--

Here we go. Took a little while to put together, disjointed efforts, much Bond music and probably the longest penultimate chapter ever. Even Sam Neill's DAD and Shatterhand weren't so..lucky.

--

CHAPTER TEN

“Glencoe Royale”

Silva thought King had great patience with the old Scottish man who had come out of the so-called visitors centre on the A82. The man had an accent that Silva could not understand and was also a little deaf.
“Ye after what, now?” he said again.
King bent at the waist being taller than the man. Evening mist swirled around them like something out of a Sherlock Holmes story. The nearby mountains and hills seemed to take on a different quality, a mythic one. Silva was reminded of mountains in Asturias back home.
“The home of the Bond family. The Bond clan.”
“Only Bond round here was Andrew Bond and he died some years ago.”
Silva was getting impatient. The journey up had taken the better part of a day with the picking up of clues along the way. Silva was wary of such clues and had a growing gut feeling something was awry.
“Where is this home?” King asked carefully.
“Up the road yonder beyond the turn. Can’t miss it. Skyfall they called the place, God knows why they did, Godawful name.”
King straightened and nodded. “You’ve been kind, thank you.” To Silva he said. “Let’s go then. We’re almost there.”
“I hope so, any further north we’d be in the Hebrides,” said Silva. He hesitated letting the others go on and followed the old man into the tourist centre. The man was dialling on a telephone in a small office. Silva removed his PPK from its hiding place in his jeans and fired three times. As the old man crumpled, Silva stooped to pick up the receiver and held it from his ear.
“Glencoe Police here…go ahead speaker…are ye there…is that you messing about Arnold?”
Silva hung up and dialled a number he hoped was right. After a pause he got a well-spoken voice.
“Glasgow Heliport speaking.”
“Hello,” Silva levelled out his accent in a hope it would work. “I am checking on a helicopter ident Foxtrot Gulf Sierra Oh-Oh-One.”
“Ah, yes, we have a helicopter here. Are you related to the party that came over from the rig?”
“Yes. My name’s McNally, please advise them to redirect to Glencoe in the Highlands, the place is called Ballachulish. We have arranged a landing site at a manor house on the road to it.”
The man read the notes back and added, “Is that all, Mr McNally?”
“Them to hurry, the work is urgent.”
Silva hung up and hurried outside clambering into King’s Land Rover. As they set off he explained to Silva that he arranged for the others to fly in. From Glasgow it wouldn’t take long.
“I suggest we send in our other men first,” King was driving and half glanced at Silva who managed a smile.
“To test the waters?”
“You could say that. I’m willing to bet that Bond and M will not be so easy to surprise. I wouldn’t wonder if they have planned this all along.”
Silva was not so sure but did not say so out loud. Whereas Silva had planned to be captured and to involve King in London, he suspected Bond and M had never planned all along for this. It did not make sense for a long-standing plan but one made up on the cuff after the enquiry. As he watched the remote landscape he saluted Bond’s ingenuity.
After a few minutes they reached the dirt road pausing a moment. The building –Skyfall- lay enshrouded in mist and the growing evening gloom. Just visible was the jet black Aston Martin. Beyond that a lake.
King leant out of his window having wound it down and shouted. “You two, go!”
Without objection the other Land Rovers containing six men in total raced past and down the dirt road. King turned the engine off then reached between the seats to pick up his Browning handgun.
“I reckon this is where things will get interesting.”

**

Bond crouched so that only his eyes upwards were visible. He kept playing with the chamber on his father’s rifle then patting in his back –tucked into his trousers- his PPK. The two black Land Rovers trundled down the slope towards the house. He felt a prickling of fear in his chest, trying to dismiss it he recalled many missions where he felt the same thing. war veterans used to say ‘if a man said he wasn’t scared, he was lying’. Bond wouldn’t say he was scared, not feeling fear would make him somewhat inhuman.
The first Rover reached the gravel apron and that was when it started. The headlights on the Aston Martin V8 Vantage rolled down, from them shot two yellow missiles that whooshed towards and into the first Land Rover. The cold evening air was shattered by the thunderous crump of the explosion. As the wreckage settled on the apron –flaming bits of metal landing all around- the other Land Rover tore past the Aston with machine gun fire blazing from the passenger window and the rear left window. Bond ducked as the window above shattered; he heard other windows downstairs shatter and warm casings landing on the floor. Bond resumed his crouch as on the Aston a laser shot out from the rear left wheel slicing into the speeding Land Rover. It half-worked for when the Land Rover came to a stop the rear suspension thumped into the ground. Three men tumbled dressed in black from the Rover running towards the house. Bond straightened and fired. He winged one yet that man kept running. M and Kincaide stayed silent in their hiding spots. All part of the plan.
Silva’s men effected entry individually. One smashed his way through the front door then went face first into the swinging butt of Bond’s rifle. The thug went down then fired at Bond as Bond stood over him. The shot missed but Bond didn’t firing bluntly down at the attacker. Bond ejected his spent cartridges and reloaded noticing his hands were shaking.
“Damn stupid, damn fool!” he cursed himself. He then saw there was a dent in the rifle and smiled grimly. “Sorry father.”
Cradling the rifle he took off at a sprint across the gravel towards the Aston. From inside the house he heard the thud of shotgun blasts. From up ahead he saw a set of headlights.
“Silva,” he said diving into his car. As he did so the house was lit up by bright light. He peered upwards to see a Sikorsky Helicopter come to a hovering position overhead. The occupants of the helicopter opened fire on the house raking the top floor then the Aston. Bond dove out of the car running for the house chased by a fusillade of bullets. Into the house he found Kincaide over the body of one of Silva’s men.
“He outstayed his welcome,” Kincaide said breathing hard. “The Admiral is still here, somewhere.”
“And one more bastard,” Bond growled as outside the shooting stopped. He dreaded to think what the state of his car was now. He took Kincaide by the arm. “Find M and get him to the church. Use the priesthole.”
“But what about these bastards, James?”
Bond smiled and took Kincaide’s shotgun handing him the rifle. “I’ll manage.”
Kincaide checked the rifle briefly. “Be glad ye father’s not here to see this.”
“Go!”

**

M had been hiding in the vast dining room at the rear of the property. He had come to think of this room in the past few hours as his personal project. In here were little tricks of the trade that the Secret Service had employed from the days of Archangel in the 1920s up till now. He felt fearful, yes, but he had fought in a world war and some minor ‘skirmishes’ as they’d call them now. One did not become head of SIS by fear alone. He did not have the reputation of Sir Miles Messervy but he was respected and feared in equal measure.
He wiped a sweaty palm on a curtain that he hid behind and rechecked his Desert Eagle that Bond had given him. He had decided he would take the honourable way out if it came to it rather than let Silva or King have the last laugh.
As the sounds of battle reached him he tensed. From the hallway came a couple of shotgun blasts followed by a third and Kincaide’s accented send-off. Then M sensed rather than saw the intruder. The attacker crept into the dining room holding a MP5K machine-pistol. M could just make him out through the crack in the curtain and carefully went to one knee gun in both hands. As the attacker reached a certain point M pulled on the cord of the curtain. All the curtains abruptly tore off the rail covering the three French windows. From the one nearest the attacker nails and screws were exploded from where they had been harnessed in a small box. They hit the man with enough force to hinder him. As he reacted M shoved the curtain away and fired two precise shots. The attacker went down with a fatal pair of headshots. M quickly stood heading out of the dining room, dodging the trap on the door he had set up here and into a common room of sorts. A bookshelf was lined with old copies of books that had faded and crumbled. M heard footfall outside.
“Come out M!” Silva’s voice rang out. “We won’t hurt you!”
“Lying bastard,” M whispered and paused. He started to double back when he turned he started. “Some warning, Kincaide.”
Kincaide whispered back. “Sorry, sir. Master James wants me to get you to the church so let’s go.”
Just then a door into the corridor between common room and dining room opened. Two men in black who presumably had come down from the ‘copter appeared. M shouldered Kincaide aside bringing his Desert Eagle up. He shot both intruders in the head then a further two shots for good measure into their necks as they fell. Kincaide gave a look of admiration at the head of SIS who remarked: “Let’s go, as you say.”
“This way, sir.”

**

Bond went upstairs whilst Silva’s newcomers and the man himself swept the house inside and out. The helicopter remained hovering with just the pilot and co-pilot aboard. Bond couldn’t see Silva or King outside which remained well lit by the helicopter. He was proved wrong when Silva showed up and made a cutting gesture. The helicopter swung around its huge body causing the house to vibrate as it aimed upwards. It stopped a little way away and smartly did an one eighty. Silva had vanished again, for reason as the helicopter fired two rockets that angled sharply downwards striking Bond’s V8 Vantage squarely amidships. The car crumpled then exploded in all directions. Bond hit the floor covering his head as the window of the bedroom shattered with the force of small flaming bits of metal. Quite incongruously a piece landed near him bearing the famous Aston Martin enamel bade. Bond scowled pressing his hands into the floor and standing. He put down his shotgun and began to rip the curtain down from the window. Wrapping it in his hands like a flag-raiser would he then began to string it out along the curtain rail ribbon. The helicopter started to cautiously approach the house again nose still slightly down.
It was likely that one of the occupants had seen a flicker of the curtain coming down. The helicopter’s lights were still aimed at the house and the burning carcass of the car was providing illumination of its own. They definitely saw Bond climb onto the broken window frame kicking aside glass. The windows were wide enough for Bonds next action. He swung the curtain above his head, then with a shout he slung the thing with all his strength towards the helicopter. Almost like a flying squirrel the curtains sailed at the helicopter landing high enough on the cockpit for the draft of the blades to suck it up into them. In seconds the helicopter reared up like a bucking horse, the blades came to a shuddering stop tearing the curtain to pieces. The helicopter stalled sliding down towards the house as if on an invisible slope. Bond grabbed his shotgun and ran out of the bedroom just as the helicopter slammed into Skyfall. The Sikorsky exploded sending a fireball racing across the top floor of the house chasing Bond across the landing over which he flung himself. There were further explosions as external tanks exploded. The rear façade of Skyfall collapsed on itself taking with it the wreckage of the Sikorsky.
Bond picked himself up on the hallway floor stunned but fine. He started to reach for his shotgun when a foot went down on his hand. He grimaced yet did not otherwise react. He looked upward to see, face reflected in the flickering fire from behind Bond, Robert King with a rifle angled downwards at him.
“Bond, like a rat in a sewer.”
“King, like a shit in the toilet,” Bond carefully came to a half squat one knee on the floor hand still trapped. “All this petty revenge for your two-bit oil operation. Not worth it.”
“Worth it,” King said crisply pushing his foot down. Bond felt something in his hand go. Maybe nothing.
“Elektra?” Bond said quietly.
The foot crashed down with one violent move and stayed there. Bond’s hand throbbed like the blazes. “Don’t mention her!”
Footsteps approached King, three men came up to him wielding various weaponry. One spoke in a South African accent. “Meester King, no sign of anyone else.”
“Maybe they died when the chopper came down,” King looked down at Bond, “or maybe not. Check the grounds. They can’t have gone far.”
“Yees sir!” the white man did a salute and led his comrades off.
“Nice company you keep,” Bond said. The fire behind them was starting to move on from the rear of the house. Sweat trickled down his back and off his brow. “I don’t approve of such house guests.”
“Where’s M?”
“Who?”
The foot twisted and Bond grimaced again biting on his lip. Something definitely went in his hand that time. “M, Bond, M!”
“Go to Hell!” Bond with his left hand swung up into King’s groin hitting him hard. It was enough for King to release Bond’s right hand and for Bond to get to his feet. His right hand flared up like it was on fire but Bond could not concern himself with such minutiae. He crashed his head into King’s making the oil baron cry out like a kicked dog. Bond wrenched the man’s rifle out of his hands swinging it into his face. King went down rolling onto his back, blood flowed from a crease on his forehead.
“Is it worth it, Bond?” he gasped.
“Always,” Bond brought the rifle down again and dropped it. He picked up his shotgun in his left hand and ran to the front of the house. There was at least six more men he assumed plus Silva. There had to be no more. He went back inside the house watching the old interiors burn. There were oil cans in the kitchen used for the oven and other appliances. They would finish old Skyfall off. As he turned to leave his eyes settled on the huge portrait of Sir Thomas Bond 1st Baronet in Stuart regalia with the family motto beneath –Orbis Non Sufficit.
“The world is not enough,” Bond said. Sketching a salute to his predecessor he headed into the night.

**

M took a breath as they reached the church. It had been a rather wild walk down the priest-hole, a legacy of the old days. Emerging in the chill night air M saw Skyfall burning as did Kincaide who let out a low moan.
“Oh, no. Not the house.”
“I’m sure it’s minor,” M said even though the conflagration looked to cover the entire back of the house. Kincaide shook his head appearing quite devastated at the old house’s demise. They went inside the small church. Kincaide went to light candles but M stopped him.
“Silva will see it.”
“We need warmth, sir.”
“May as well go back to the house,” M chuckled and immediately regretted it. He did sit on a pew and stare at the small altar. He noticed to his left a plaque then another, all to various Bonds over the past few centuries. He often ridiculed Bond on various things yet here was a family who stretched back over time. He was seeing a side of Bond that perhaps he would never see again.
Gunfire shattered his peace. The stained glass windows on his left splintered under the onslaught of machine-gun fire. M dove to the floor as did Kincaide. There were shouts outside.
“Looks like they sniffed us out,” Kincaide shouted.
“Lucky guess,” M said referring to the hunters. He crawled to the nearest window and stood pressing against the cold stonework. In the darkness backlit by the burning house he sighted three maybe four men. Kincaide took position a couple of windows down. M nodded curtly.
“Alright, let’s give them the lot.”
As one the two old men opened fire, raking the attackers as if at a shooting gallery. When they paused to reload they could not see any more and tensed for the next attack. It was not long in common. M was spun around by a man wearing a black cap (he assumed a ski mask pulled up) and typical mercenary attire. The man must’ve got in from a back entrance during the gunfire.
“You’re M, then,” the voice snarled with some accent M couldn’t immediately place.
“He’s an Admiral, you wee shit,” Kincaide said as he battered the attacker over the head with the old rifle. The grip on M slackened as the man crumpled at his feet. Kincaide tossed the rifle away. “Seems it’s had its day. Are ye okay?”
“Better days,” M said and started to walk away. The attacker on the ground abruptly stirred grabbing at something on the floor he shoved it up into M’s abdomen. M cried out sagging to his left against a pew. He managed to turn around firing the last of his bullets into the attacker before dropping the gun. Kincaide got to him just as the head of SIS fell onto the chequered floor. Kincaide lifted M’s coat aside to see a purple piece of glass sticking out of the stomach.
“I’ll move…”
“No, don’t…it’s too late,” M croaked his eyes watering with pain. “I’ve…done…my best.”
Outside more gunfire sounded.

**

Bond sprinted onto the darkened field feeling the dense glass under his shoes. It was bitingly cold, his breath trailed in puffy clouds. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness with the glare of the fire at Skyfall. He veered down the left side of the frozen lake running hard.
To strive, to seek…
Suddenly the wind was taken from his sails as someone crashed into him from the side. They went flying onto the lake causing cracks to shoot into the centre. Bond struggled against his assailant smelling sweat and some foul odour that was cheap aftershave. Bond rolled out from under his attacker just as a crack appeared between his spread knees. He stumbled to his feet jumping a flying kick at his opponent. The heavier man went down hard then vanished altogether through a fresh fissure. Bond stood there breathing hard and turned to walk off the lake. He found his shotgun by chance and tested his right hand.
“No, definitely not,” he hissed feeling the pain shoot up his arm. He stopped as a voice called out: “Johan?”
It was American, the voice so definitely not Silva. Bond began to lift the shotgun. A shadow moved into view, tall and dark. Dark…dark…Bond’s vision swam.
“Johan?”
“He’s gone fishing!” Bond called and fired twice. The shotgun bucked against his chest as he did so, his damaged right hand losing its grip. The American went down like a sack. Bond walked up to him, in the faint light of Skyfall he prodded the body then did a quick search. No ID, no wallet, no nothing. He did find a Glock which he pocketed with a nod of thanks then slowly began to walk up to the church. Far behind him now Skyfall lit up brighter like a Roman candle as the fire reached the oil drums. Bond stopped to turn and watch his ancestral home. A memory came unbidden of him as a child hiding in the priest-hole after his parents died in the climbing accident. He had taken some of his John Buchan books with a torch determined never to come out. Kincaide came down to get him.
“Do you think your father would want you hiding down here? No, he’d want ye up and doing something. Not hiding.”
“Not hiding,” Bond said aloud. He started to run to the church feeling a rising fear at what he might find. As he reached the church he saw Silva limp into the building then shouts. A shot. Bond resumed his run skidding through the church door and drawing the Glock. Without pause he fired twice. His shots tore into Silva swirling him around like a wooden-top and down. Bond walked slowly up to him gun trained on him all the while. Silva’s bloodshot eyes stared up at him, his cracked lips moved.
“Seems we both win, Bond. What happened…to King?”
Bond had not looked up, did not see Kincaide eject the empty chamber from M’s Desert Eagle. His shots had gone wide of the mark anyway.
“Cashing his last cheque, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Good…good,” Silva choked as blood poured out over his lips.
“She’s waiting for you,” Bond said lowering his gun and stepping past Silva. That was when he saw M lying propped against the end of one of the pews. His face was ashen. Bond knelt by his master putting a hand on his arm.
“Sir…sir, it’s 007.”
M slowly opened his eyes, they did not focus. “Seems I’ve shot my lost bolt, James. I think…I acquitted myself well…”
“You did admirably, sir,” Bond said quietly his throat tightening. He was inwardly angry that he had not been here to protect his boss. Angry that his plan had in the end not worked. Not totally. Silva was right, they had both won. “Nobody could have done it like you.”
“Stop with this…foolish…claptrap,” M wheezed closing his eyes. “Remember…what I said…about…the next…chief…”
“I will, sir.”
M’s eyes abruptly flew open, widening a fraction. “Just remember…”
At that, Admiral Maxwell Hargreaves –known as M in the Secret Intelligence Service- passed. His Times obituary would read he died following a short illness at his Surrey home. Bond reached to close his eyes and stood. Kincaide saw the look of anguish on Bond’s face.
“He handled himself well, James lad. One of the bastards got him when he wasn’t looking.”
Bond looked around noticing the fallen bodies of Silva’s men. The spent cartridges and the blood. Then back to M.
He patted Kincaide on the arm as a way of saying thanks for everything and left the little church.
Someone always died in this business.

---

Lots of great moments in this chapter. Love the subtle changes from the original film and the AM badge landing near Bond after it explodes.

Looking forward to seeing how you wrap everything up.

thanks. It got violent but then it's Bond so why not? Hate the idea of blowing up the Aston (when it goes in Living Daylights I tend to groan still). Trouble with adapting Skyfall for Dalton is that it followed the film more or less.

As I say I think Skyfall as a Dalton film would've been something else.

I'm a little unclear on how Bond killed King...

I watched "Penny Dreadful" mostly for Dalton.
The show itself leaves much to be desired, but Tim's performance in it was quite enjoyable.

Regrettably I've not been able to see Penny Dreadful but Dalton can usually be relied upon to do a job, even hamming it up a little as in Dr Who.

FINALE

 

“Brave New World”

 

It was rare that music could be heard in Blades. At least music like this. They called it film music or some such, easy listening, music that melded with the listener as opposed to telling him what to think in a scene. James Bond found himself liking it yet he moved to the gaming room of Blades all the same. He played baccarat with all the passion of a dead man for he found there was no interest in it at the moment. Losing the money to the old major who had come down from the country for the weekend was nothing. Bond could afford it. He wrote a cheque and signed it off then asked for his coat. He stood in the hallway remembering past exploits here and smiled to himself as he lit a cigarette. An older man with fine grey hair came with Bond’s coat and spoke as he helped Bond on with it.

“Sorry to hear about Admiral Hargreaves, sir. A good man, like the, uh, other admiral sir, Sir Miles.”

“Indeed, Sykes,” Bond said and slipped the man some money. One didn’t have to, yet many felt compelled with Sykes who had been with the club for decades. It was said a secret was easier kept with Sykes than a priest. In this age, one could believe it. “His illness was…short.”

M’s funeral had been helped at a nondescript country church near the New Forest village of Brockenhurst. The congregation had not numbered more than fifty and was mostly old comrades of M’s from the ‘old days’. Bond wore his full uniform complete with ceremonial sword –M’s will had instructed his funeral to be done quietly but with naval tradition and thus his coffin was borne to and from the church draped in a White Ensign. Bond served as a pallbearer as well as reading a eulogy –M’s instructions again.

Bond thanked Sykes again and slipped out into the cold night air on Pall Mall. Wandering with no particular destination he headed up onto the Mall itself.

The only relative of M’s at the funeral was a niece from Canada whom he had not seen since she was a girl. It seemed all of M’s family had either fallen out of touch or simply died. The niece remarked upon her uncle’s career and life then had asked Bond what he did.

“Demolition,” Bond said and left it at that. As the congregation dispersed Bond stood by the gravesite as nearby the gravedigger got ready to fill it in. The feeling of letting M down in his final hours would not ever leave Bond, he suspected, like the deaths of everyone in Bond’s life it would be covered over sometimes to bubble up in a moment of rare introspection. Tracy, Paula, Jill Masterson and Tiff too, Aki, Saunders, Ferrera…

Bond stopped at the Palace in the near abyss of Green Park’s darkness.

Bond had been at SIS that morning.

“You can go in now, James,” Moneypenny had said crisply. Full on business mode today, Bond thought. He went in and paused just inside the office nodding at Tanner who stood with a folder in hand off to one side. Then he advanced on the desk.

“M.”

Miranda Macpherson removed her glasses staring at Bond as she pushed back in her chair. “You’ve been given a clean bill of health from the doctors, shrinks and all the rest.”

It was a statement not a question. Bond flexed his right hand. It had been a week so it was well enough.

“This is a new era, a new chapter, all that rubbish and I am determined that it goes ahead seamlessly. The previous M and his predecessor before that did a good job but these are different times.”

Bond felt his jaw tighten.

Macpherson’s expression softened. “But I am appreciative of all you have done in the past month. I imagine M’s death has been affecting, the manner of it.”

“Ma’am,” Bond said.

“Quite. The Silva business has stopped the leaks but SIS are going to have a complete top to bottom root out in case of anyone else…we should anyway. Changing of the guard Bond. Unfortunately for us MI5 are being tasked with doing some investigating.”

“I’ll help them as best as I can, ma’am.”

A slight smile tugged at her lips. “I’m sure you will. King’s oil empire has been taken over by his ex-wife funnily enough and it seems it’s in safer hands. I’ve assigned 004 to keep an eye on the transition. I can’t imagine some of King’s old allies will be happy. Do you think you can get on with the job now, Bond?”

He did not care for the insinuation that he couldn’t. Skyfall and the funeral had been days ago.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good. Tanner.”

Tanner handed the file in his hands to Bond. “Operation DROP END.”

Bond ground the cigarette out under his shoe breathing deeply before stepping off the curb to flag a taxi. As it came up to him Bond gave the Palace a curt nod then climbed in.

“Where to guv’?”

Bond gave it a brief thought then smiled.

“Connaught.”

Setting off Bond settled into the seat looking out the window. He had promised that niece a night on the town after all.

On the way up the Mall towards Admiralty Arch they passed a small collection of Guardsmen marching down.

The end of one day and soon to be the start of a new one.

 

END

 

JAMES BOND will return

 

‘CAST’

 

JAMES BOND- Timothy Dalton

M- Robert Brown

Q- Desmond Llewellyn

MONEYPENNY- Caroline Bliss

EDUARDO SILVA- Antonio Banderas

ELEKTRA KING- Carole Bouqet

ROBERT KING- Charles Dance

KINCAIDE- Anthony Hopkins

MACPHERSON- Helen Mirren

TANNER- Michael Kitchen

WEDGEWOOD- Jeremy Northam

Interesting idea, Skyfall as a Dalton Bond. Would love that!

A stirring final chapter. Loved the description of M's funeral. I do wish we had seen M's funeral in the real film, though I understand Craig's Bond not being the sentimental type. (The crying was enough.) Dalton's Bond would have done it for Hargreaves as he was a Navy man. Always wanted to see Dalton's Bond dressed in full Naval regalia.

Another satisfying story, Hilly. I wanted at least one interaction between M and Silva prior to their final confrontation, and I expected you to do more with Elektra's character. But all in all I'm extremely pleased with how it played out.

I remember there being a chapter earlier on that ended with a British sub near Algeria. Was this meant for a storyline that you wound up abandoning? And speaking of abandoned ideas, how did you originally intend to use Columbo? I imagine he would have played a role similar to Zukovsky's in TWINE.

How about a director/title song performer for this one?

Yes, I'm afraid the story went skew-whiff. It suffered from being one like the previous story of following the actual film a little too closely. That and like some other stories, though having a clear plan, getting carried away by the moment.
I think the British sub near Algeria was just a reference to Bond having back-up what with HMS Illustrious on her way (I assumed some such was in the film what with the helicopters that come to Bond's aid being Royal Navy AND Bond being out in the sticks, though Hong Kong hasn't been a RN base since 1997).

I think Colombo was going to be vaguely like Zhukovsky. Like how I used Draco in my Lazenby Moonraker, he was likely going to be in the Cote d'Azur early on by helping Bond find Silva (I guess like Zhukovsky did for Elektra's hideaway in TWINE) and was actually going to be the one that comes to rescue Bond (and thereby, capture Silva) vaguely like Zhukovsky (before he's killed) but more like FYEO where his men come ashore to get Bond just after Cassandra Harris is killed.

It's a tad annoying, to me anyway, having these ideas and just getting carried away but then my writing (and I think writing in general should) carry wherever the flow goes. Like the Lazenby DAF, the idea was always to do a revenge story but sort of involve the DAF/YOLT books and it went all over.

There didn't seem room for one final Bond/Silva bit though it was at the back of my mind. Had this overriding urge for Bond to beat the tar out of him before M dies. Yet it just flowed that Bond would hare across the moor and get there just too late.

As for M's funeral, it struck me that a proper naval funeral would be for M's body to be cast into the Solent. Happens a lot at the moment, people wanting an old style burial at sea. They actually have a designated area so the bodies don't get washed up towards the island or the mainland by the currents.

thanks for sticking with it and feel free to burst forth beyond the fan fic thread.

Hilly KCMG wrote:

I think Colombo was going to be vaguely like Zhukovsky. Like how I used Draco in my Lazenby Moonraker, he was likely going to be in the Cote d'Azur early on by helping Bond find Silva (I guess like Zhukovsky did for Elektra's hideaway in TWINE) and was actually going to be the one that comes to rescue Bond (and thereby, capture Silva) vaguely like Zhukovsky (before he's killed) but more like FYEO where his men come ashore to get Bond just after Cassandra Harris is killed.9

Sounds like it would have been a fun idea. Maybe one day if you choose to "remaster" this story, you'll consider revisiting it.

In case you didn't see my comment above--Any thoughts on a director/title song performer for this fictional film?

Hilly KCMG wrote:

thanks for sticking with it and feel free to burst forth beyond the fan fic thread.

I've found my days of perusing forums just to find topics that might tickle my fancy are mostly over. Work, family life, etc. However, for as long as I've visited these forums I've always made a point to keep an eye on the Fan Fic section to see if you've set off on another thrilling parallel universe Bond adventure, and I haven't been disappointed yet.

Sorry I forgot about the director thing. I was going to yesterday but didn't see a point but I'd imagine being 1996ish it'd be Michael Kamen composing with some John Barry instrumental. No idea on who'd sing.
Man, part of me is tempted to have someone like Blondie or someone but for Dalton's Bond I'd imagine a 'darker' kind of singer or song (one reason why LTK's song jars is that to me it doesn't sit with the film in general).
I'll have to figure it out. Directing could be anyone. I find myself thinking Wolfgang Petersen but someone who could do a Skyfall-type film with Dalton. I don't think Martin Campbell. Who knows.

I think my fanfic days might ebb from here on in. When I had the bug a few months back I had the Lazenby TMWTGG in progress and was rewriting Sam Neill's DAD and the final WWII Bond (Where Angels Fear) but we'll see.