Cold Steel
Chapter 1
Somewhere in Japan.......
The bullet train glided through the mountainous country side, with the speed of lightning and the grace of a gazelle. From the inside, passengers could barely glimpse one view of the hills before another replaced it, turning the outside world into blur. Only the faint rumbling of the engine and rushing crosswind could be heard.
A man sat in the fourth car from the rear, resting his chin on his right hand, his blue-grey eyes fixed on the Chogoku Mountains in the distance, but not admiring the scenery. His left hand held a large, sleek, contemporary briefcase, and he wore a simple, tailor-made, blue suit. He had a rare, peaceful moment to himself, thinking of times past, both the pleasurable and painful. He endeavoured not to dwell on the painful moments, only acknowledging that they had occurred.
The door at the far end of his car slid open softly, allowing the passage of two casually dressed men, apparently tourists. One appeared Chinese, young, slender and medium height, with his long, jet black hair tied in a well-groomed, yet unfashionable, ponytail. He had an air of authority, and a piercing glare which seemed to take in everything as he gazed about the car. The slight movement in his lips as his eyes darted around the cabin indicated that he was perhaps counting passengers. The second new arrival was short, squat and Caucasian, the kind of human sloth whose every movement appears laboured. He was certainly older than the Chinese man, perhaps in his early forties, but lacked the menacing presence. He lumbered rather than walked, his arms held out wide to accommodate his figure and the grey briefcase he carried as he made his way through the car.
The two men halted at the original man's booth and sat calmly in the green, cushioned seat opposite him, the Chinese man on the right.
Good afternoon, Christopher, smiled the Chinese man, his deceptively cryptic greeting directed towards the original man.
And you must be Robin, replied Christopher without a smile, his hard, cruel mouth fixed in a somewhat permanent sombre expression.
Do you have the money? asked Robin, sizing Christopher up as the squat man remained taciturn, more interested in the scenery than the conversation.
Our friends from the Triad become more efficient each time we meet. No small talk?
smiled Robin.
Of course not. Do you have the coke?
The agreed sample. Eight kilos. If the merchandise is up to your expectation, my employer will deliver the remainder within the coming week.
Excellent .
Briefcases were exchanged, and both parties checked their payments. The switch was extremely fluent, well practised, and most importantly, fast. Robin rose to leave, but the squat man held him back by the shoulder and spoke for the first time, whispering into his ear. Robin studied Christopher carefully, then whispered back. The reply was a confident nod. Robin seated himself again and slipped his hand underneath his t-shirt and producing a Colt .45 Defender with a certain ease.
It appears we have a problem, said Robin, his confident smile gone. My associate has informed me that you are in fact a British Secret Service agent. Bunt, or something?
Bond. James Bond.
Stay seated, James, or I will kill you, threatened Robin, his eyes darting around the car to ensure that nobody had seen his weapon. Any sudden movement may just end your career.
For the first time, Bond settled back in his chair and smiled. His eyes not directed towards the drug dealers, but out the window once again. Something had caught his eye. Suddenly, the train entered a tunnel, and they were engulfed in darkness.
He groped for Robin's gun, and seized it in the darkness, pointing it away from his body as Robin's index finger squeezed the trigger twice. Chaos erupted around the car as the passengers took cover, some screaming, others trembling in the blackness. The train emerged from the tunnel as they continued to wrestle with both hands over the gun. Joining the fray, the squat man took careful aim and landed a heavy left jab on Bond's chin. The blow sent Bond sprawling onto the aisle floor, but he regained his composure and crawled desperately up the aisle as Robin fired another shot into the floor, the bullet ricocheting harmlessly.
Robin moved elegantly into the aisle, and fired a fourth shot, missing from point blank as Bond moved into the next booth, empty, and, using the cushioned seat as cover, drew his Walther PPK from a shoulder holster. He raised his head and fired twice at his assailants over the seat, but succeeded only in shattering a window as they had already hidden themselves. A powerful, hairy hand reached over Bond's seat and took hold of him by the lapel, trying successfully to pull him up over the seat. Bond landed on the other side, losing his grip on the Walther, at the feet of the short man. He wasted no time in straddling Bond's chest and choking him with both hands around the throat.
Bond contracted his neck muscles and reflexively attempted in vain to remove the strong grip from around his neck as the squat man continued to squeeze mercilessly. As Bond battled for air, Robin moved closer, glanced down at him, holstered his gun so that both of his hands would be free. Fading from consciousness, the British agent watched helplessly as Robin took both briefcases and fled towards the rear of the tram, choosing to value his own safety rather than that of his friend.
Realising that he had been abandoned, the squat man turned his head. Bond seized this brief opportunity to slap his opponent's ears with cupped hands as firmly as he could. The man rolled back into the aisle, groaning and holding his ears, giving Bond the chance to stand. He decided to follow Robin, but recovered his gun before taking after him, leaving the squat man in writhing in agony. He hurried through two carriages, with onlookers shrieking at the sight of the armed man. As he entered the last carriage, he was forced to hesitate and dive into a seat, onto the lap of a middle-aged businessman, as Robin fired another shot from the other end. Bond had enough time to see that the manhole in the roof was open, and that, perhaps using the aid of the nearest seat, passed the briefcases up and was preparing to climb up himself. Bond's suspicions were correct. When he looked again, the Chinese man had disappeared.
At speed Bond dashed through the car and pulled himself up through the manhole, feeling the impact of the winds immediately. The train had apparently slowed down to travel up a hill, and had given Robin the chance to crawl, with both briefcases in one hand and his Colt in the other, along the roof of the train.
The high speed winds made progress difficult, but Bond was determined to at least succeed in part of his mission. He struggled along the carriages, trying to keep pace with the agile Robin. Fortunately, he had a free hand, enabling him to crawl much faster and traverse the half-metre gaps between carriages with relative ease. Standing would have been suicidal, with the hurricane-like winds caused by the train's speed rushing over the roof.
Using every muscle in his rapidly tiring body, Bond finally caught up with Robin's heels. A simple shot from inches away was all that Bond required. However, Robin was alert to the situation, and with a glance over his shoulder drove a heel into Bond's gun. The Walther flew from his hand and connected firmly with his head, disorienting him, and sending him sliding off the roof. Panicked, Bond gripped the small grooves in the roof of the train, the wind blowing his hair into his face as he held on, dangling from the side of the train with muscles screaming.
Robin crawled over to where Bond was hanging and muttered in Chinese, before aiming his weapon at Bond's head. He would not miss again. Bond closed his eyes in anticipation.
When he opened them, everything around him had turned black. He was in a tunnel, passing through another mountain. Robin, however, was not. His usual vigilance had failed him, blinded by anger and the opportunity to kill, and the tunnel entrance struck him at a lethal speed.
Bond pulled himself up, his left arm aching, and dropped into the nearest manhole. The high winds stopped abruptly as he returned to safety in the company of astonished passengers. He lay for a few minutes breathing heavily, trying to regain his composure, before the world faded out.
