The big, lumbering, 1970's vintage Boeing 747 landed with a jolt at
Liverpool International. The jolt woke up Jules who was sitting in the
forward compartment in a cramped window seat next to Bond and another MI-5
operative. His hands were handcuffed to the seat in front of him, as were
his legs. His clothes were damp and soggy, they still stank of rotting,
forest vegetation. The sudden events of last night had worn him out
completely. Still he new he would probably crack under interrogation early
on and if that happened the boss would not hesitate to remove him. He knew
he must escape before they could interrogate him, but how?.
Bond had taken him back to Lima from which they had flown to Miami and were now touching down in Britain. They had crossed the entire Atlantic in twelve hours and the jet lag was enormous. Bond and the other agent waited until all the tourists filed out,(British airways had always been on cordial terms with MI-5), then they unchained his feet and placed Jules in between them. They escorted him down a series of back corridors that were empty. He was sweaty and his thoughts kept running together, but he had to concentrate. So far he had seen no one else besides the flight steward since they had departed the plane. So losing himself in the crowd would be next to impossible. He would just have to wait a little bit longer.
The three men stepped out a delivery entrance guarded by a policeman who had been told to let them pass, and into the parking lot. This was the chance Jules had been waiting for. Jules stumbled and pretended to trip and then swung out his left foot, sweeping the MI-5 operative off his feet while the operative was blinking, adjusting his eyes to the bright mid- morning sunlight. His put both of his hands together and slammed them down, right below the operative's skull, hitting his nerves system and knocking him out cold. He grabbed the 45.caliber Beratta service pistol the man had half drawn from his shoulder holster.
Bond felt Jules stumble and brush against his leg. The next millisecond and the rookie, Agent Towler, was face down on the hot pavement, blood seeping from a broken nose. Damn, the man was fast. Jules withdrew the Beratta, and then Bond grabbed the gun and began putting pressure on Jules' fingers. It was either let go or lose a finger, Jules let go. Bond picked up the pistol as the police driver ran over with his gun out. "You're a little late pal, don't you think?" asked Bond.
"Better late then never Mr. Bond," he said, putting away his gun. "I'm officer Kengal, sir. I've got orders to take over the prisoner," from here he said. "Your due in for a debriefing tomorrow," he continued, helping Bond to secure Jules in the back of the government car.
"That's the best news I've heard today Kengal. Thank you. An entire day off, I suppose they think I hate vacations. Tell Twoler he did okay for his mission but he needs to be careful, when he wakes up." Bond took a cab to a parking garage where he had left his Lotus Esprint. He had a long drive to London, which was exactly what he wanted. A long drive to collect his thoughts and review the mission. It had gone well except the last incident had bothered him. He had done that trick a thousand times before himself. He should have recognized it at once, but he reasoned, the man was after all a professional. Still, Bond liked knowing he was one of the best, if not the best, in his profession. When something like that happened he forced himself to work harder, because mistakes in his profession cost lives.
Jules was dragged out of the car before he could gather his surroundings, they threw him into a white room, a mirror bordered one side. The only other feature was a chair and desk in the center of the room. The door opened again and a young man stepped forward. He wore civilian clothes and glasses, his accent was that of Northern England.
"Mr. Jules, we would like your cooperation. Now, I am just going to ask you some questions. Let us start off with some basics, where were you born?," he asked, his voice sounded calm and trusting. I won't speak, thought Jules.
No answer.
"When were you born?"
No answer.
"What was your objective in Peru?"
No answer.
"What did you use to kill the British ambassador?"
No answer.
"Why did you kill the British ambassador? If you don't help me, then I'm afraid I can't help you Jules. I want to help you Jules, I'm on your side."
No answer.
"Well, Jules, I've tried to help you." He nodded and another man stepped in, dressed in a lab coat. He opened what looked like a cigar car and pulled out a long need. It's point gleamed in the light. It was the last thing Jules remembered.
Jules woke up and looked around. Children were playing ball nearby and he was sitting in a park under a oak tree in his hometown of Salvador. There next to him laid his Anna. The woman he had loved passionately for fifteen years, before cancer had withered away her body. They took a walk through the park, following the paths he had known since his childhood.
"Jules," she asked, "Where have you been?"
Jules was about to answer but then he hesitated. Wasn't there a reason why he had not wanted to answer? But he couldn't think well, and besides that sweet, liquid voice would never lie to him. It was after all his Anna. But when he hesitated her skin suddenly turned pale and her hair began to fall out, just like it had during her last few days before cancer claimed her.
"In Peru," he answered. Suddenly she was fine again, but Jules did not notice. All that mattered to him was that his Anna was safe again.
"What did you do there?"
"I killed the British ambassador."
"Why?"
"He was trying to get rights for a British lumber company to chop a part of the forest."
"That wasn't nice of him." She was totally on his side. "What was special about that part of the forest."
"Those plants could be used to make a poison that causes heart attacks. A untraceable, hundred--percent lethal poison that could be released either in a chemical form, or like how we killed the ambassador, a dart coated with the stuff."
"Really! Wow, that's pretty interesting. So what would you have used
the poison for?" "The boss wanted to release it over several major
cities unless the leaders of the seven most powerful countries in the
world, U.S., U.K., France, Japan, India, Pakistan and Russia,
released control of the countries and disbanded their military. Chaos
would ensue but the boss would seize control of their nuclear
arsenals, and hold the entire world at gunpoint. The entire world
owned by one man. Can you imagine such power! The world will bend down
to one man. Hahahaaaaa.
"So who is the boss?"
"The Irish King."
Bond had taken him back to Lima from which they had flown to Miami and were now touching down in Britain. They had crossed the entire Atlantic in twelve hours and the jet lag was enormous. Bond and the other agent waited until all the tourists filed out,(British airways had always been on cordial terms with MI-5), then they unchained his feet and placed Jules in between them. They escorted him down a series of back corridors that were empty. He was sweaty and his thoughts kept running together, but he had to concentrate. So far he had seen no one else besides the flight steward since they had departed the plane. So losing himself in the crowd would be next to impossible. He would just have to wait a little bit longer.
The three men stepped out a delivery entrance guarded by a policeman who had been told to let them pass, and into the parking lot. This was the chance Jules had been waiting for. Jules stumbled and pretended to trip and then swung out his left foot, sweeping the MI-5 operative off his feet while the operative was blinking, adjusting his eyes to the bright mid- morning sunlight. His put both of his hands together and slammed them down, right below the operative's skull, hitting his nerves system and knocking him out cold. He grabbed the 45.caliber Beratta service pistol the man had half drawn from his shoulder holster.
Bond felt Jules stumble and brush against his leg. The next millisecond and the rookie, Agent Towler, was face down on the hot pavement, blood seeping from a broken nose. Damn, the man was fast. Jules withdrew the Beratta, and then Bond grabbed the gun and began putting pressure on Jules' fingers. It was either let go or lose a finger, Jules let go. Bond picked up the pistol as the police driver ran over with his gun out. "You're a little late pal, don't you think?" asked Bond.
"Better late then never Mr. Bond," he said, putting away his gun. "I'm officer Kengal, sir. I've got orders to take over the prisoner," from here he said. "Your due in for a debriefing tomorrow," he continued, helping Bond to secure Jules in the back of the government car.
"That's the best news I've heard today Kengal. Thank you. An entire day off, I suppose they think I hate vacations. Tell Twoler he did okay for his mission but he needs to be careful, when he wakes up." Bond took a cab to a parking garage where he had left his Lotus Esprint. He had a long drive to London, which was exactly what he wanted. A long drive to collect his thoughts and review the mission. It had gone well except the last incident had bothered him. He had done that trick a thousand times before himself. He should have recognized it at once, but he reasoned, the man was after all a professional. Still, Bond liked knowing he was one of the best, if not the best, in his profession. When something like that happened he forced himself to work harder, because mistakes in his profession cost lives.
Jules was dragged out of the car before he could gather his surroundings, they threw him into a white room, a mirror bordered one side. The only other feature was a chair and desk in the center of the room. The door opened again and a young man stepped forward. He wore civilian clothes and glasses, his accent was that of Northern England.
"Mr. Jules, we would like your cooperation. Now, I am just going to ask you some questions. Let us start off with some basics, where were you born?," he asked, his voice sounded calm and trusting. I won't speak, thought Jules.
No answer.
"When were you born?"
No answer.
"What was your objective in Peru?"
No answer.
"What did you use to kill the British ambassador?"
No answer.
"Why did you kill the British ambassador? If you don't help me, then I'm afraid I can't help you Jules. I want to help you Jules, I'm on your side."
No answer.
"Well, Jules, I've tried to help you." He nodded and another man stepped in, dressed in a lab coat. He opened what looked like a cigar car and pulled out a long need. It's point gleamed in the light. It was the last thing Jules remembered.
Jules woke up and looked around. Children were playing ball nearby and he was sitting in a park under a oak tree in his hometown of Salvador. There next to him laid his Anna. The woman he had loved passionately for fifteen years, before cancer had withered away her body. They took a walk through the park, following the paths he had known since his childhood.
"Jules," she asked, "Where have you been?"
Jules was about to answer but then he hesitated. Wasn't there a reason why he had not wanted to answer? But he couldn't think well, and besides that sweet, liquid voice would never lie to him. It was after all his Anna. But when he hesitated her skin suddenly turned pale and her hair began to fall out, just like it had during her last few days before cancer claimed her.
"In Peru," he answered. Suddenly she was fine again, but Jules did not notice. All that mattered to him was that his Anna was safe again.
"What did you do there?"
"I killed the British ambassador."
"Why?"
"He was trying to get rights for a British lumber company to chop a part of the forest."
"That wasn't nice of him." She was totally on his side. "What was special about that part of the forest."
"Those plants could be used to make a poison that causes heart attacks. A untraceable, hundred--percent lethal poison that could be released either in a chemical form, or like how we killed the ambassador, a dart coated with the stuff."
"Really! Wow, that's pretty interesting. So what would you have used
the poison for?" "The boss wanted to release it over several major
cities unless the leaders of the seven most powerful countries in the
world, U.S., U.K., France, Japan, India, Pakistan and Russia,
released control of the countries and disbanded their military. Chaos
would ensue but the boss would seize control of their nuclear
arsenals, and hold the entire world at gunpoint. The entire world
owned by one man. Can you imagine such power! The world will bend down
to one man. Hahahaaaaa.
"So who is the boss?"
"The Irish King."