Disclaimer: Don't own anything but the computer I'm typing this on. Wait… I don't even own that. It's my roommate's. :-P
A very special thanks to Grazia D. for her help in this chapter. I think I managed to pull it off!
Bond bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself alert as he limped to the door. Every muscle ached, and his head throbbed – but freedom beckoned. Looking back one last time at Irish, he slid the key into the lock of the first door. When the door creaked open, James winced at the noise, but Irish didn't move. Out cold, he thought. Bond smiled in satisfaction, wishing for a moment he could have dealt Irish a few more blows. But, reminding himself of his priorities, Bond ignored the large man strapped to the gurney as he stepped into the space between the doors.
He made sure to lock the first door securely before placing the key into the second. That was when he noticed he was shaking, and had broken out in a sweat. He paused a moment, rethinking his plan. Clearly he was weaker than he supposed – adrenaline was likely the only thing keeping him on his feet. For a second, he began to wonder if he should attempt to grab Standing or escape and come back for his target.
A cold calm swept over Bond, and – resolving to capture the man now – he reached up to turn the key. Holding the gun ready, he cracked the heavy door to assess the situation outside what had been his cell. There was a long windowless hallway, illuminated merely by a few bare bulbs that hung 7 or 8 feet apart. Bond couldn't see any cameras, but that didn't mean they didn't exist. About 40 feet away, another door waited. No guards, James thought to himself. Either Standing is cocky, or he just assumed that Irish would be enough protection. Then again, he could have guards on the other side of that door.
Bond cautiously opened the door. A guard stood at attention just to his left, the sound of the door causing him to look over. Surprise registered on the man's face in the second before Bond hit him, and he slid – unconscious – down the wall. James groaned and fought the impulse to cradle his right hand. Irish had broken two of his fingers, and they throbbed now from punching the guard. Dammit, he thought, inspecting his still shaking hands – This is not going to be easy…
Switching the gun back into his right hand, James scanned the compound. Including the one he had just escaped, there were only three buildings, and they were small. Standing couldn't house many guards in this place, he concluded. There was a helo pad sitting in the center of the compound – currently occupied by a UH-72A Lakota Light Utility Helicopter. Bond smiled. I've been wanting to fly one of those.
He crept cautiously toward the building on his right. It was smaller, and therefore more likely to contain a few offices – not the guard's sleeping quarters. The guard at the entrance was facing away from the spy, and Bond dropped to the ground, crawling in the dirt as he approached. Every movement caused agony to spread through his left shoulder and bruised calves, but James forced the pain behind a growing wall of adrenaline, and continued.
When he was within fifteen feet of the guard, he jumped up and ran the distance, shoving the barrel of his gun into the soft flesh under the man's ribs. Bond nodded toward the man's heavy assault rifle.
"Drop it," he whispered. "And don't even think about sounding the alarm." The guard dropped his weapon and raised his hands in the air. Bond gripped the man's left shoulder as he moved to stand behind him. "Now, take me to Standing." The man turned slowly around, and Bond followed behind – not wanting to admit that he was leaning slightly on his captive. He just hoped the guard wouldn't notice.
They entered the building and turned left down a short corridor. The door at the end was nondescript, and Bond noticed the security camera in the upper right-hand corner. Standing knew he was coming.
"Open it," he hissed. The guard complied, and as the door swung inward, Bond hit him roughly on the back of the head with his gun. The man collapsed, and James found himself catching the edge of the door to remain upright. He used his left hand, which caused agony to spread through his recently dislocated shoulder.
Miles Standing sat calmly at his desk. "Ah, Mr. Bond. I've been waiting for you to arrive." He checked his watch, his demeanor showing no signs of panic. Bond let his mind sift through possible reasons for this as the target spoke again. "It took you rather longer than I anticipated, but I can see you are somewhat the worse for wear, and will take that into account when I make my report."
James didn't take the bait. "Up," he barked. Standing complied, raising his hands for good measure.
"Really, sir; just how do you intend to get out of this compound? There are ten guards waiting for my signal." Bond held the gun steady, his aim never wavering from the man's head.
"Outside," he commanded, and Standing shrugged.
"If you insist." As the target walked past him, Bond gripped his shoulder hard, and dug the gun into his ribs.
"And don't try anything." They reached the doors, only to be greeted by ten heavy assault rifles. Bond kept his position behind Standing. "Tell them to drop the guns and face the wall of the building. Standing did, and the men complied. Bond began to lead Standing in a backwards walk to the helicopter, always keeping the guards in sight.
As soon as they had boarded, the guards picked up their rifles and ran toward the helo pad. Bond pulled the grenade from his pocket, ripped out the pin, and tossed it out the door. For a moment, Standing looked scared. "Where did you get that?"
"From our mutual friend," Bond replied, sarcastically. "He was very well armed."
Standing frowned. "Hmm… A simple gun was all he was instructed to carry. I shall have to speak to him about that."
James ignored him, and the helicopter lifted off from the ground. They had been in the air for seven seconds when an explosion rattled the ground below. Standing tried to assess the status of his guard detail, but they were flying out of range. Looking back at his former captive – but unwilling to yet think of himself as a prisoner – he smiled. "You must feel terribly clever, Mr. Bond. But how, may I ask, do you plan to stop me from 'interfering' during the trip? You don't really think I'll sit here quietly, do you?" As he spoke, Standing reached down with his right hand to the pistol waiting beneath his seat.
"As a matter of fact, I do." In one fluid motion, Bond pulled out the syringe and stabbed it into Standing's shoulder, emptying its contents into the man's veins. Miles' eyes widened in shock for a moment before he slumped limply in his seat. James reached over to check his pulse. It was thready, but Standing was alive. In retrospect, Bond realized he was lucky it turned out to be a sedative after all. M would not have been happy with me if I escaped only to bring her a corpse...
James allowed himself a small smile as he flew the short distance to his safe house.
What I could use right now is a nice, hot bath.
He's out! But it's not over, folks… Drop me a line and let me know what you think!