Never and Forever
Prologue
Bond felt the wall graze his cheek as he fell awkwardly to the floor. He cursed himself for not reading the second punch. He was down too soon and could expect them to start kicking him if he didn't get back up immediately. Q's words were always there at the back of his mind: 'never let them see you bleed'.
Well, he was bleeding - but not heavily and they weren't going to see his pain - not yet anyway. He stood up quickly, brushing himself down as if he had just stumbled over an uneven paving stone. It was difficult to disguise the pain, even with a simple movement like this. His right arm was definitely broken below the elbow but the longer he could hide that the better.
Donavon watched him, nodding his head slowly. - appreciating the show of bravado. He liked a man who could take a beating.
'Five of us and one of you. What's the point Bond?'
Bond shrugged and shook his head. 'Probably just pride' he confessed. There was more truth in that than he cared to admit.
M and Robinson watched the action unfold on the small screen in front of them. M was sitting and frowning. Robinson stood stony faced, listening as M finally spoke. She didn't look round.
'It's difficult to watch but we have to wait, Charles. We are so close now. As soon as they realise they can't break Bond with their brutish beatings, they'll call their expert - tell him they have a prisoner and give his name - he'll recognise Bond's name immediately of course and the trap will be sprung.
'Who are you? Why give your name and then tell us nothing else? Donavon turned away from Bond and looked at the phone in the corner of the room. M and Robinson held their breath momentarily - but it was not to be. Donavon wanted one last attempt to be the hero.
'Hold him' he commanded, and the other four men assumed positions by Bond's side, pinning back his arms and holding his shoulders tightly. Beads of sweat formed on Bond's forehead and he groaned involuntarily as the pain from his arm intensified.
Donavon picked up a small blow torch from amongst the tools which Bond had been carrying in his guise as an electrician. He flicked a switch and the flame instantly sprang to life. He moved across to Bond and ripped his shirt open.
Robinson looked enquiringly at M, one eyebrow raised. She had her hands to her mouth now, elbows on the desk, eyes staring intently at the screen. She moved her hands down to her neck. She swallowed hard and then spoke quickly.
'I'm going to let him do it Charles. Bond hasn't signalled. He knows the score. This man doesn't have the time or the authority to waste any more time on the interrogation. They have the expert for that. Donavon - was that his name? - knows his place - and it is an authoritarian organisation. That much we know. This is his last chance to extract information. He wants the chance to win favour and we both know Bond can take it. It's unpleasant and it's cruel but it's the right decision.'
Robinson didn't argue. He just drew a long breath and waited as they watched the interrogation unfold on the silent screen
Bond was staring intently at Donavon. Donavon said something more to Bond and he shook his head. Donavon appeared to shout. Bond shook his head again. Donavon then took a step forward and prodded the torch full onto Bond's exposed stomach. M and Robinson watched as James Bond's knees buckled beneath him. They could see his mouth open and his teeth bared. They could see the scorched flesh as the instrument was withdrawn. They couldn't smell the burning flesh - a smell which now invaded Bond's nostrils as he fought to take control of his legs before his captors released him. He didn't intend to fall to the floor.
Donovan asked him again. Do you want to make a statement yet, Mr Bond?
Bond shook his head, trying to look in control. He was bathed in sweat now but he could sense success.
'Bastard' Donovan spat under his breath and reached for the phone.
Prologue
Bond felt the wall graze his cheek as he fell awkwardly to the floor. He cursed himself for not reading the second punch. He was down too soon and could expect them to start kicking him if he didn't get back up immediately. Q's words were always there at the back of his mind: 'never let them see you bleed'.
Well, he was bleeding - but not heavily and they weren't going to see his pain - not yet anyway. He stood up quickly, brushing himself down as if he had just stumbled over an uneven paving stone. It was difficult to disguise the pain, even with a simple movement like this. His right arm was definitely broken below the elbow but the longer he could hide that the better.
Donavon watched him, nodding his head slowly. - appreciating the show of bravado. He liked a man who could take a beating.
'Five of us and one of you. What's the point Bond?'
Bond shrugged and shook his head. 'Probably just pride' he confessed. There was more truth in that than he cared to admit.
M and Robinson watched the action unfold on the small screen in front of them. M was sitting and frowning. Robinson stood stony faced, listening as M finally spoke. She didn't look round.
'It's difficult to watch but we have to wait, Charles. We are so close now. As soon as they realise they can't break Bond with their brutish beatings, they'll call their expert - tell him they have a prisoner and give his name - he'll recognise Bond's name immediately of course and the trap will be sprung.
'Who are you? Why give your name and then tell us nothing else? Donavon turned away from Bond and looked at the phone in the corner of the room. M and Robinson held their breath momentarily - but it was not to be. Donavon wanted one last attempt to be the hero.
'Hold him' he commanded, and the other four men assumed positions by Bond's side, pinning back his arms and holding his shoulders tightly. Beads of sweat formed on Bond's forehead and he groaned involuntarily as the pain from his arm intensified.
Donavon picked up a small blow torch from amongst the tools which Bond had been carrying in his guise as an electrician. He flicked a switch and the flame instantly sprang to life. He moved across to Bond and ripped his shirt open.
Robinson looked enquiringly at M, one eyebrow raised. She had her hands to her mouth now, elbows on the desk, eyes staring intently at the screen. She moved her hands down to her neck. She swallowed hard and then spoke quickly.
'I'm going to let him do it Charles. Bond hasn't signalled. He knows the score. This man doesn't have the time or the authority to waste any more time on the interrogation. They have the expert for that. Donavon - was that his name? - knows his place - and it is an authoritarian organisation. That much we know. This is his last chance to extract information. He wants the chance to win favour and we both know Bond can take it. It's unpleasant and it's cruel but it's the right decision.'
Robinson didn't argue. He just drew a long breath and waited as they watched the interrogation unfold on the silent screen
Bond was staring intently at Donavon. Donavon said something more to Bond and he shook his head. Donavon appeared to shout. Bond shook his head again. Donavon then took a step forward and prodded the torch full onto Bond's exposed stomach. M and Robinson watched as James Bond's knees buckled beneath him. They could see his mouth open and his teeth bared. They could see the scorched flesh as the instrument was withdrawn. They couldn't smell the burning flesh - a smell which now invaded Bond's nostrils as he fought to take control of his legs before his captors released him. He didn't intend to fall to the floor.
Donovan asked him again. Do you want to make a statement yet, Mr Bond?
Bond shook his head, trying to look in control. He was bathed in sweat now but he could sense success.
'Bastard' Donovan spat under his breath and reached for the phone.