Archangelsk
By Iolana Khenemet
Inspired by the movie Goldeneye
Jan. 2004

Warnings: swear words
Betas: Captain Mac
Disclaimer: James Bond is the creation of Ian Fleming. The characters in the story are the property of Ian Fleming and United Artists, MGM, Eon. No copyright infringement intended. No profit is gained by this work.

- In my hostile impulsiveness
I craved for freedom to seek.
Blinded by that hope
I fled to Chechnya to live –

("The Confession of Cossack Frolov")

When the Soviet soldiers had left to pursue 007, Alec Trevelyan was still lying in the same position where he had fallen, "shot" to be more exact. A quick look at his watch told him he had about four minutes left, more than enough time to disable the explosives. Now it was time for him to rise from the dead.

Alec grimaced from the pain in his right arm. One of the drums Bond had sent tumbling down had hit him and was now effectively pinning his arm to the ground. Alec pushed himself onto his side with his left arm to get a look at the container and to free himself. A skull sign stared back at him, a deadly reminder of the content. He gulped. Sweat broke out on his brow as he heaved the freight off.

Sharp pain emanated from his lower arm. Damn, had he broken anything? Once free, he flexed his right hand and moved the wrist. It hurt but not overly so. With luck, it was just sprained. In one smooth movement, he rose.

And Alec laughed. Damn it, he was finally free, free to do as he pleased, no longer one of the Queen's lapdogs! Trevelyan revelled in what he was now.

A dead man.

A free man.

His own master.

Except for Ourumov, everyone assumed him dead.

Shots outside told him that they were still pursuing Bond. He would survive. His friend -no, former friend- had a habit to. Besides, Ourumov had agreed on 007's survival. One witness was needed to testify 006's death for MI-6.

Thinking of his former brother-in-arms in terms of Bond and 007 was easier than using his first name. The familiar "James" brought with it memories of comradeship, shared cigars, shared dangers and women. Their fierce friendship had been forged with blood and fire. They had been willing to die for each other. James had saved his life more often than he could count, and he had returned the favour equally. Alec cursed. His friendship with James was nothing worth thinking about anymore. Since he could not trust James with his deepest secrets, it was all smoke and mirrors anyway, wasn't it?

Alec used his foot to move one of the corpses so he could retrieve the dead soldier's machine gun. He found another clip in the man's belt and reloaded the weapon.

Trevelyan checked the time. He had approximately 3:25 minutes left. It was better if he disabled the detonator now with plenty of time, than later in a hectic rush with sweaty hands. Weapon ready, just in case someone re-entered, he went over to where the bomb was planted.

Clank.

He spun around. The noise came from a Soviet soldier trapped by two of the containers. Metal had torn; chemicals seeped out onto the human form beneath. The man stretched out a trembling arm, trying to pull himself free. As he noticed Alec, the arm rose and reached for him. "Help me."

One shot released the man from his sufferings as Alec granted him a coup de grace. No Soviet except Ourumov was to know of his defection. He looked around but detected no further movement. So he went on.

Trevelyan turned around the rack, his hand already outstretched for the timer, and froze. The digits showed 00:20. He stared as it turned to 00:19, only to be relieved by 00:18.

He blinked.

Impossible.

00:17

Impossible!

Fuck you, James!

Alec spun around. He threw himself on the same conveyer belt Bond had used. Outside, he sprinted for his life. However, he had to stay close to the buildings to keep from sight. Barely forty yards away, the explosion caught up with him.

Debris flew past him, nicked him, and he jumped for cover. Not fast enough, though. The flames hungrily bit into his face and right upper torso. He screamed when agonising pain seared through him. The smoke seemed to consume his lungs. He coughed and struggled to breath. Another part of the nerve gas facility exploded near him, sending new flames into his direction. He was caught in Armageddon; the fire claimed more and more of him. Then water splashed down on him, he didn't know from where and didn't care.

Whimpering, he lay there and writhed on the concrete, pressing his hand against his face to stop the pain, wanting to scream but unable to. A detached part of him noticed a plane soaring up. Bond had escaped. "Damn the bastard!"...Three minutes short...It wasn't fair…not fair…Mercifully, unconsciousness swept him away.

-fin ?-