CHAPTER 7/CONCLUSION

Starting small, James first finger-stabbed a button which activated his DB5's rear end smoke generators that would, to put it mildly, make things quite difficult for the SUVs closing on him.

"What the bloody hell…?"

That voiced frustration by Lyle St. George was clearly felt by all, as the driver, of his SUV slowed just enough to "feel" their way through the thick cloud created by James Bond's less-than-ordinary sports car, then immediately sped up in order to catch the careening, speeding Aston Martin DB5.

"Get a little closer," Lyle ordered while locking-and-loading his own silencer-fitted Ruger MP9 even as he and the two in the backseat leaned out of just lowered tinted windows in order to take aim and open fire…

Brrrrrrrrrrr-phfffffffffft! Brrr-phffft!

Though the semi-automatic gunfire was basically sputtered whispers, Bond wasn't surprised to hear the zings! of multiple bullet impacts tagging his bulletproof rear wind screen.

Even as the shower of bullets continued to pepper that cracked up rear wind screen, Bond activated the bulletproof/bomb-proof metal shield that swiftly arose from its hidden position above the car's boot in order to provide ready and complete protection from further 9mm Parabellums which, now, ricocheted away.

"Damn him," snarled St. George as he returned to his seated position on the lead SUV's passenger's side and ordered, "Cease fire! Cease fire!"

Having made that command not only in person to those armed Security personnel with him in his SUV, but, via wireless radio, those in the second as well, Lyle knew all too well what kind of hell would be raised should their dangerously ricocheting bullets end up killing innocent drivers and passengers in even one of the other vehicles heading along the self-same highway.

"Ram him!"

Already anticipating such, even though the still-raised bulletproof/bomb-proof slab of moveable metal blocked his vision via his chipped and cracked rear window, James Bond, still beaming like a maniac, pressed the necessary button to send a spray of slippery oil out from just-lowered rear light assemblies, in order to coat the roadway directly to the DB5's tail…

…which, once the lead SUV hit it, instantly lost all tire traction to be sent spinning out to be hit by the second SUV whose driver responded fast enough to avoid the instant oil slick in order to maintain fast pursuit of the escaping via high-speed silver sports car.

Slightly shaken, but otherwise unharmed, Lyle St. George angrily radioed the rapidly leaving second SUV to shout, "Catch that bugger and show 'im what happens to smart-arses!"

"Roger!"

Glaring over at the driver of his own sideways-positioned (as oncoming traffic squealed around them) SUV, St. George raged, "Well, what the bloody hell're you waiting for? Get after him!"

"Yes, sir!"

Once again, two identical SUVs were hurtling recklessly along after the rapidly traveling Aston Martin DB5, still under James Bond's adroit handling, careening around other vehicles heading in the same general direction: Heathrow Airport.

After a relatively short time, considering that 24 kilometers could most definitely be covered quite quickly at such sustained speeds, the DB5 whipped into one of the entrances leading into the sprawling open parking areas where Bond planned upon the final showdown with the closely following SUVs. Heading toward one of the less crowded lots, 007 used both brakes and spot-on steering to swing his silver sports car a full 180-degrees to come to a squealing stop to await the rapid approach of his erstwhile adversaries.

"Come on, come on," James hummed impatiently, until he saw the two SUVs, one beside the other, speeding toward him in preparation for either arresting the arrogant agent on behalf of the crown…or killing him. Not that Bond would permit either to take place without a proper fight.

"That's just about close enough, gentlemen," James Bond said with a slanted smile even as he pre-activated the final antipersonnel equipment incorporated into a car he'd won from Dimitrios in that quite important poker game at The Ocean Club in Nassau. "Now!"

Extending from dropping-down secretively hinged front turn indicators, twin Browning .30 caliber machine guns immediately blasted away at the SUVs just as they were within range.

"Look out!" shouted St. George as he and his men, save the two drivers, ducked in preparation for avoiding the incoming hail of bullets. Little did they know that it wasn't necessary as Bond's "aim," if you will, had nothing to do with the Security persons inside said SUVs.

Instead, the well-placed spray of .30 caliber bullets merely chewed through tires and front grills in order to render both vehicles essentially useless in the span of seconds.

"That should do the trick," Bond sighed with a self-gratified grin while deactivating the deployment-and-firing system for said built-in wing machineguns, which, he instinctively knew, allowed both to retract into their previous housings even as hinged front light indicators returned to their properly secured position. Then, with a shifting of gears, popping of the clutch, and stomping down of the accelerator…

…the DB5 sped swiftly around the de-tired SUVs as the men inside each now rose into seated positions while taking stock of their situation, all while James Bond shouted as he passed the one with Lyle St. George, "See you gentlemen back at headquarters! Try to be back before afternoon tea!"

Even though thousands of English pounds worth of damage had been done to two MI6 Security SUVs, not to mention the public discharging of firearms while attempting to stop the speeding sports car, Lyle St. George inevitably turned to those Security men accompanying him and said with an ingratiating grin, "That bloody bastard is going to be one hell of a 00."

Meanwhile, quite a bit more than a mere few minutes later, the misappropriated Aston Martin DB5 reentered the exterior parking area outside MI6 of 85 Vauxhall Cross. Having been alerted to 007's expected return by Lyle St. George via special secure cellphone, both Q and M were waiting for the uninspired arrival.

Even though M bore a grievous scowl with glaring, though hooded, eyes, James Bond nonchalantly climbed out via the driver's side, leisurely closing the door, and approached both as Q bore the mien of an aggravated grandfather quick to check over the sports car for potential damage, 007 simply strode toward them both.

"I did say I was going to take it for a test drive."

END