"Friendly Bullet To The Heart"
PART IV
By Jonathan Urban
March 7, 2000
(Disclaimer: All Characters Are Property of UA/MGM)
Milan
Hotel Navarro
April 7, 1996
10:00 GMT
"Bond has arrived in Milan sir," the concierge informed Pincer, who smiled and sighed. "At last...make preparations to welcome Mr. Bond to this lovely city--but make sure you leave him alive for me."
Milan Airport
10:30 GMT
Bond walked through the airport and to a taxi. He got in and told the driver his destination--Hotel Navarro. The driver nodded then turned around, with a gun pointed directly at Bond. The silencer was inches from his forehead. "If this taxi is taken, I can always take the next one," Bond quipped.
"No it is quite alright Mr. Bond, Mr. Pincer is expecting you...sit back and enjoy the ride," the driver grinned, and turned around.
Bond felt the seat belt he fastened, become tighter and saw the doors lock automatically. Additionally another strap came out of the seat across his arms and chest--he was pinned "How long to the hotel?" Bond really didn't care, he was just making conversation, while he thought about how to get out of this. He felt for the palm pilot to make sure it was still in his pocket--good, it was.
Bond reached for it out of instinct but the strap kept him from getting it. The driver was smoking--Bond thought quickly, "Mind if I bum a cigarette?" The driver looked back briefly and shook his head.
"This is my last one pal, sorry," he said in a nonchalant tone.
"Mind if I get one from my suit pocket?"
"Sure, go ahead...you were x-rayed at the airport terminal, so be my guest," the driver pressed a button, which released just the top strap.
"Much obliged," Bond grabbed his palm pilot slowly and carefully. He lifted it to the back of the driver's neck and pressed the button. Electricity flew out of the device and jolted the driver to an instant death. Immediately the car swerved and landed in a ditch on the side of the road. Bond was bruised, the driver dead--Pincer would not get Bond without a fight, he smiled, "The conversation was electrifying, so long."
"Where is Bond and where is my driver?" Pincer shouted. "No worry, I will find him." Pincer looked at the abandoned car in the ditch. He laughed to himself, nothing could kill Bond. He was about to change that.
"Let's go, he is probably long gone. Besides I have a meeting to get to." Pincer followed by several bodyguards and a driver walked back to his limo, and drove off. Business first, pleasure killing Bond later, he thought.
Milan
Hotel Verone
19:45 GMT
Bond sat in his hotel room, dipping his finger slightly into his martini. His cellular phone rang. "Bond..."
"James, it's Moneypenny, we have new info on Pincer for you...you are on security frequency delta?"
"Yes Moneypenny...please go on."
"Pincer is scheduled to be at a chemical waste plant tonight....directions are as follows..." She rambled off several directions and an address. Bond jotted down the directions, and thanked Moneypenny.
"You owe me," She said slyly.
"Of course I do." Bond hit the end call button.
Bond got up, placed his Walther in it's holder, and put on his suit jacket. It was tonight, so long old chap, Bond thought. Bond walked out of his room and down the hall--alone, like always.
Outside Milan
Chemical Waste Treatment Plant
20:00 GMT
Bond pulled up to the waste plant and turned his lights off as he saw activity down the hill at the plant. He came to a stop and used his night goggles. He saw Pincer and his men, they were meeting with someone Bond knew--he was sure of it--if only his goggles could move in closer. That face...it was...Valentin Zukovsky. Bond had to grin to himself as he saw Valentin with that old cane of his and the limp--which Bond himself had given him.
Bond watched as the men entered the plant. He got out of his car and drew his gun. He cautiously made his way down the hill towards the plant. Eyes all around, taking in the surroundings, as he was taught many, many years ago. He was as alert as he had been in a long time. But even alert 00 agents get caught. Bond heard the distinct sound of a gun cocked, followed by the usual, "Drop your weapon." So much for that training, many, many years ago, Bond frowned.