1 Snatch and Grab

The small schooner bobbed up and down in the Venice canals like a top. The small boat's sails were pulled in, letting the wind play with it—in which direction it would go. A blonde man in a striped polo shirt with khaki jeans was the only passenger, he was talking on a Smartphone, and he wasn't having a pleasant conversation. He wiped away the salty tears from his eyes as he spoke.

"If I knew that she was going to betray me, then why did you send her?" he tried not to yell into the phone.
"Bond, did you ask yourself why you weren't killed on that barge." The other end said in a rather matter-of-fact voice.

James Bond, the man on the boat, contemplated that for a while. There was a pause, and then the other voice began to speak. "She made a deal—to spare your life in exchange for the money. I'm sure that they would've let her live. But she must've known that she was going to her death."

"Why did she betray me?" Bond was playing with the contents in Vesper's purse: her perfume, keys, her driver's license, and some shells she had picked on the beach. All of them were memories—precious in their own way.

"She had a boyfriend—a French-Algerian—they were very much in love." Bond's boss, M explained. "She was kidnapped by the organization behind Le Chieffe, and they blackmailed her, threatened to kill her unless she cooperated. Thanks to you, we've no idea about who is behind this. The trail's gone cold. I want you on the first flight to London for a debrief."

"Will do." Bond turned off the secure link for MI6. He went back to the purse. Her Apple Smartphone was underneath the collection of shells, turned on, and it had a box covering the screen that read "MESSAGE (1)".
Curious, Bond unlocked the phone and hit the "View" button.

FOR JAMES,

MR. WHITE # 18033498542

XO, V.

Bond put down the phone. He looked at the message and then up into the crystal-clear Venetian sky. Why would she leave her phone here? She must've known I'd check it. She lead me to the meeting with Gettler. Now she's leading me to Mr. White.

Bond then went back to the MI6-encrypted phone, wanting to tell the information to M. But he didn't. He picked it up, and, with the flick of a wrist, tossed it into the aqua-blue canal. He watched the phone sink to the bottom. Bond then looked up at the sky. For once in his three-week career of serving Her Majesty, Bond, James James Bond, Agent Double-O Seven, wasn't an agent anymore.

His next mission would be a personal one.

The tuxedo-black Bentley came to a crunching halt in front of the mansion overlooking Lake Como. It was a beautiful lakeside mansion, built in the 1600s and refurbished more than 400 years later. It was Lorenzo de Medici's summer home, it now had a new owner—Mr. White.

Mr. White, dressed in a sharp, grey Armani suit, got out of the car and tipped the driver, who then did a U-turn and peeled away. His hands went into his pockets, searching for his house keys. Instead, he found his phone, which was vibrating and ringing at the same time.

He answered it. Before he got a chance to speak, a British voice on the other end said, "Mr. White?"
"Yes," Mr. White said, a bit uneasy, "Who's this?"

A fwip was heard and Mr. White's right knee felt sharp pain. It was like someone had held a knife to his knee and had driven it into place with a sledge hammer. Mr. White buckled and collapsed into the gravel driveway in sections, like an aluminum folding chair. Squealing in pain, he inched himself up towards the stairs, his other hand going into the breast pocket of his jacket for the 9mm automatic he wore below his left armpit. He dug it out, then began his slow trek up the stairs. He heard someone calmly walking beside him, and as Mr. White turned, the 9mm aimed into the air, he saw his assailant, a blonde man in a black Armani suit, holding a UMP-9 sub-machine gun capped by a silencer.

The blonde man kicked the gun out of Mr. White's hand and took two steps up, so that he was looking down into the face of his victim. Mr. White's face was twisted and open with a mix of horror and disbelief.

"The name's Bond." The blonde man greeted. "James Bond."

The Bentley came circling back down the driveway. As it came to a stop in front of the two men, the engine quickly shut off. Looking from outside, Bond could see the driver talking into a radio, his lips moving a mile-a-minute. Suddenly the sound of a silenced rifle pierced the air with a fwip, and Bond went into a protective crouch, aiming the UMP against his shoulder, seeing a sniper on the roof, and gunning him down. The man fell spread-eagled onto the hood of the luxury car. The Bentley reversed, and then stopped. The driver got out, a man in his early-twenties, wearing the stereotypical chauffeur uniform. His mouth was open in horror, and then he spun around and took off running, all the time praying in Italian.

"Care to reconsider, Mr. Bond?" Mr. White asked smartly.

More voices, some in Italian, shouting ones, then footsteps crunching on the gravel. Bond turned to see two men in suits running towards him. One of them turned to stop and opened fire on Bond with a small-caliber machine gun. Bond slid behind the marble stone railings and drew his Walther as the tat-tat-tat of machine gun fire chipped off pieces of the stone cover. Bond turned around, shooting the guard in the groin. Dropping his gun, the guard's hands went towards his shattered testicles, his head bent down towards the ground. Bond then, without aiming, shot the wounded man through the top of his head. The dead guard then face-planted into the gravel driveway.

The second guard, drawing a gun from his coat, was also getting ready to fire. Bond saw him too, and dispatched him with the business end of the Walther P99. Bond turned towards his hostage, who was still withering on the ground in pain, blood spurting from his kneecap, dripping down his pant leg.
"You think you can get out of here alive, Mr. Bond?" Mr. White laughed.

Bond picked holstered the Walther and stood up, turning towards Mr. White. He bent over to pick up the gun on the ground, and then Bond took the UMP-9 and slung it over his shoulder. And then he took a few steps back, leaving his hostage behind. Bond walked away from Mr. White, as if leaving him for dead. Bond then returned a minute later in an Aston Martin DBS, the same car he had wrecked in Montenegro. Bond had picked up a new, clean version of the car from a local agent in Venice. Bond then drove to the lakeside highway and used a sniper rifle to shoot Mr. White in the leg, and then Bond jumped into the Aston Martin and drove down to Mr. White's estate.

Bond got out of the car, walking like he had done after Mr. White had been shot. "Get up, we're going for a little ride." Bond said, grabbing Mr. White by his shattered leg and dragging him over to the Aston Martin. He then threw his victim into the trunk and opened the driver's-side door, sliding into the seat behind the wheel. He did a U-turn and drove away, not before seeing two black cars accelerating like rockets towards him.
This wasn't going to be an easy snatch-and-grab.

Bond headed for the tunnel, and as he entered it and coasted behind traffic, he heard the rapping of automatic machine gun fire against his vehicle. Looking in the rearview mirror, he saw two Alfa Romero sedans with V6 engines roaring up behind him. The passenger had leaned out of the window and fired on Bond with an H&K machine pistol. The bullets continued to hammer into the bodywork and crease the glass windows of the DBS until the car swerved into a water truck. Bond corrected, trying to drive away from the truck, but the semi traded paint again with the British sports car, this time the front bumper of the truck was stuck inside the Aston Martin's door. Bond couldn't move. The only thing he could do was ballsy, but he gave it a try. He turned the wheel sharply in the same direction as the truck, the DBS span around 360-degrees and the door ripped off, almost taking Bond with it. Bond then dove around the truck as traffic in the opposite lane screeched towards him, horns blaring.

"Hang on, Mr. White!" Bond yelled over the traffic as he pushed the DBS's accelerator pedal to the floor, the speedometer climbed to 60. But the Alfa Romeros weren't giving up. They swerved around the truck and were continuing to pepper the Englishman's getaway car with gunfire. Two minutes later, Bond's car rocketed out of the tunnel and into an unfortunate traffic jam. Bond saw an opening from behind a fruit truck, and the Aston Martin juped into the other lane, then back into the left as another truck came roaring up towards him. An Alfa Romero tried to copy Bond's maneuvers, but the truck slammed into the Italian sedan, presumably killing the occupants on impact.

Bond smirked and saw two Italian Carabineri officers, the Italian police, advancing towards his car. Bond whipped the Aston Martin into a left turn and went down another mountainside tunnel. The remaining Alfa Romero did the same, the passenger firing a M240-B light machine gun into the back window of Bond's car. The window shattered after several punishing volleys.

Bond cursed and put the pedal to the metal. He came up on a sloping street, then the cutoff to a quarry entrance. A Carabineri SUV had cut them off, and Bond had no choice but to veer left into the quarry. A second vehicle had joined the chase. As Bond continued to drive down the white-stoned mountain roads, the Alfa Romero shifted its fire to the rear. The police SUV began to shudder and swerve until it eventually fell off the mountain. Bond whipped the Aston Martin into a hairpin turn and saw the SUV tumbling down the mountain. Bond missed it by a fraction of an inch.

The Alfa Romero gained speed and rammed Bond from behind. As both vehicles fought each other for control, Bond was reaching over the passenger seat, trying to grab the UMP submachine gun on the floor. Both cars juped left and right to avoid a bulldozer, and as both vehicles regrouped, Bond could see the passenger's face break into a wide smile as his machine gun came up, ready to pulverize the British agent.

But Bond was quick on the draw, and fired the UMP into the Alfa Romero's driver. The vehicle slammed into the Aston Martin and then broke off to crash into another bulldozer, the Italian vehicle exploded and combusted as Bond continued to drive.

"How are you doing back there, Mr. White?" Bond joked.
From inside the trunk, Bond could hear Mr. White say a four-letter expletive followed by "you".
Bond kept himself composed and kept driving.