BACK FROM RETIREMENT:
THE NEW JAMES BOND Trilogy
By A.C FIGG
To get started:
THIS SERIES IS SET IN THE EARLY 21ST CENTURY.
IT BRINGS MRO (MEDICAL RESEARCH ORGANIZATION), A DERIVATIVE OF SPECTRE AND SMERSH INTO THE 21ST CENTURY.
JAMES BOND, SINCE A PREVIOUS MISSION OF SOME DANGER, HAS BEEN HIDING OUT IN SRI LANKA.
The Hills Near Nuwara Eylia
SRI LANKA
The slow trickle of rain on the veranda roof reminded Bond of his blood. The blood which had been shed when he had been kidnapped and tortured on a previous mission.
He was now in peace, in the highlands of Sri Lanka, listening to the birds and the tea pickers all day.
As soon as he had got back from Antarctica, he had sworn to M that he would never work for MI6 for as long as he lived.
He had got his wish.
As soon as he had left M, Q, Moneypenny and the Chief of Staff staring at him confused, filed some paperwork, put his house on the market and collected some remaining cash, he had flown Sri Lankan Airlines out to Colombo to be in peace. Bill Fairbanks, a fellow former Double-O was settled here. It was a nice place to be.
And Bond had met a girl. She was from Italy, her name was Cassandra Latezzi. Her father Giorgio owned the Latezzi Tea Corporation, apparently the biggest Tea corporation in Italy. Bond wasn't so convinced due to the fact that he had never heard of such a company.
He was now relaxing, sitting on a rocking chair facing the vista of a lightly rain-drenched jungle, and since he was on the top of a hill, in the far distance he could see the sea.
In the distance, he could hear a bird squeaking.
He loved that noise.
The truth was, James Bond was happier than he'd ever been, lying in the rocking chair, sipping a Bourbon.
One thing he dearly missed was his Aston Martin DB5. She had been his life. He also missed May, the Scottish Housekeeper. Other than those things he loved his new life.
Or did he?
Was it just that ever-impending sense of growing old, while his scars did him no favors?
Maybe it was.
He thought about this as he sipped his drink.
Then, in the distance, he saw a white car begin the almost mile-long ascent up to his house.
Bond checked inside his jacket to make sure he had his Walther PPK on him. He did.
The car was withstanding the driveway's twists and turns, and because he wasn't an agent anymore, MI6 could do nothing to help him if he got into a spot of trouble. Not because they couldn't, it was just they didn't want to.
Suddenly Bond got up as the car pulled in to the driveway.
It was MI6.
M got out first, and surveyed the landscape around him with deep resentment, before spotting OO7 and exclaiming.
Next, Moneypenny got out. She was dressed in her usual skirt.
Nothing had changed.
'What are you two doing here?' Bond asked.
'About that, I'd like to get straight to the point.' Said M.
'We need you back, James.' said Moneypenny.
'No you don't, I'm retired.' Bond said politely but firmly.
'No, we really do need you back.' said M.
'Why?' Bond asked, gesturing for M and Moneypenny to sit down on two rocking chairs behind them.
They sat down with ease.
'Someone dangerous has re-appeared, and it would seem that you are the only agent who knows about stopping him.' M said this, before taking out a Lucky Strike. 'You got a lighter?'
'Yes,' Bond said and passed him one. 'Who is this?'
'Ernst Stavro Blofeld.' said Moneypenny.
Bond dropped his bourbon, letting the tumbler encasing the remaining amber liquid fall to the ground, smashing.
'Do be careful, 007.' Said M.
'You have a lot of bloody cheek saying that name in front of me!' Bond exclaimed.
'I know it's hard.' said Moneypenny.
'Hard?' Bond shouted angrily. 'He killed the only woman I've ever loved!'
'It's OK.' said M.
'But, James, we'd really like your help.' Moneypenny added.
'I can't!' Bond said, now slightly calmer. 'I have a new life here.'
'OK,' said M. 'Let me make you change your mind. A week ago we had 003 tracking an assassin. I think he was Canadian. Anyway, we then traced all his calls and internet history, and it turns out he had been asked by a man named Giorgio Latezzi to kill you. That's how we found out where you lived. We just saved your life, Bond.'
'The tea plantation owner!' Bond exclaimed. 'I guess I do owe you that. So, what happened with Blofeld?'
'Well,' Moneypenny said, 'The other day I received a message from the Call Monitoring Station with the keywords 'NEW, PLAN, BLOFELD' which suggests that it has something to do with SPECTRE.'
Cape Town
SOUTH AFRICA
The BMW pulled up at the gate. The security guard was definitely feeling the heat. South Africa was having an unbelievable heatwave, and it was getting too hot to handle.
'Good morning, Miss Eizuhala.' he said with a hard Afrikaans accent.
The Namibian beauty in the back of the car was staring right into the security guard's soul, her long hair, bleached by hours in the sunlight of the African bush, her perfect skin, tanned, lightly freckled and her exquisite chest, looking like perfection.
She then proceeded to take out a pistol of high power and shoot the guard dead.
The car crashed through the security barrier, and continued along until it reached the white-brick building, one story, with two cars parked outside in the newly built parking lot.
She stepped out, her stiletto heels knocking sharply on the tarmac as she walked. The noise changed when she got inside, and walked down the corridor to a room of waiting people.
'Good, our final operative is here.' said a man, whom everybody knew as Mr O, and nothing else. He looked mixed race Japanese, with a hint of Caucasian and even African in him. He was elderly.
'OK,' Mr O said. 'Let me start. Now, a few of you will know that I am retiring from SPECTRE, and we are being shut down by me. Too many organizations know the name. It is too used. When I retire, which shall be shortly, we will change the name. I would like to name it MRO, after me. As well as standing for Mr O, It stands for a project in which one of our most trusted employees is embarking on, Ernst Stavro Blofeld and his Medical Research Organization. Good luck. Continuing, I would like to present to you our newest member, but first let me take a register. Mr Blofeld?'
'Here.'
'Mr Fla?'
'Here.'
'Colonel Klebb?'
'Here.'
'Ms Takaya?'
'Here.'
'And finally, our new operative, Miss Eizuhala-Moore?'
'Here.'
'Please stand up, Miss Moore.'
Jenica Eizuhala-Moore stood up, glancing at the faces staring at her.
Ernst Stavro Blofeld then spoke. 'She will be helping me with my project, and has already bought my missile blueprints. I intend to pay her back using the Medical Research Organization funds. What we shall do, is get my supply of free heroin given to me by my wealthy Arabian friend and use it to distribute to millionaires. Then I shall make them come to my 'clinic' in Australia to 'cure' them. They shall pay millions and thus fund the next stage of the plan.'
'I like your thinking. You are the head of MRO.' Mr O said.
'Thank you sir.' said Blofeld.