IAN FLEMING'S JAMES BOND 007
in
HALLOWED BY THY NAME
by Douglas Paterson
The Priest was on edge and he was sweating freely. He was convinced, now, that he was being followed. He had been walking for blocks - and the same face kept reappearing. Somehow, they had found him, and discovered his secrets. Now his only hope was to make it back to his Church as quickly as possible, where he would be safe from harm. Safe in God's Sanctuary.
He thought to himself, now that the net was closing in, that he should have known better. The Political affairs of man, such as the Cold War that currently raged across the globe, was of no concern to a man of the cloth. Politics and God do not go hand in hand. And yet, somehow, when he had been approached, he had felt it was God's bidding. That God himself was guiding him, and that this was his chosen path. Destiny.
He glanced behind him - catching the briefest glimpse of the dark man in a trilby hat that he had noticed several times now. As ever, almost immediately the Priest saw him, the man vanished in to the bustling New York City crowds. The Priest, without stopping, pulled a handkercheif from his sleeve, an wiped the stale persperation from his brow.
He arrived at his Church within another half an hour, and as the heavy doors closed behind him he felt safe. The Church was empty, save for one man sitting in the dark. As the door closed, the man stood and made his way over to the Priest. He held out his hand, and the Priest shook it.
"Father," the man said, "you know you are being followed?" The man seemed emotionless, distant. The Priest saw so much in his eyes. Anger, pain, loss. So much for one man to live with. He was certain that the man was a spy, although he was not one-hundred percet positive. All he knew for certain is that it was through this man that God chose to communicate with him. This the Priest knew, with his heart.
"The opposition have found out about you, Father. Unfortunate really, you did a good job - but your work is done."
"But, my son. I must do Gods will." The Priest walked to the huge door, running his hands over the intricate carving of The Christ which covered it. He did not see the Spy pulling a gun out of his coat.
Suddenly, and without warning bullet split the Spy's skull. The Priest flung himself to the ground, throwing his arms around himself. He lay there, hugging himself, comforting himself - but there was little comfort to be had. He was terrified, the sweat pouring off of his face. He felt the dampness in his arm pits, and then tasted the bile that had risen into his mouth through his throat. Right there, on the floor of the church, he vomited. Now he heard footsteps. They were very quiet, but very real. Then he looked up, and he feared he had seen the devil.
It was the man in the Trilby. But now he pulled the hat off, revealing black hair - with on unruly comma falling above his right eye. He had cold grey-blue eyes. Evil eyes, with no hint on human compassion or warmth. He was slowly unscrewing a silencer from a small hand gun. He barely glanced at the Priest. This truly was an agent of the devil - an agent of death.
**
James Bond could not bring himself to look at the Priest, huddled on the floor of this small New York church. Bond took no pleasure in ending a man's life, but knew that it was often necessary. But this, killing a man of God in his own church - it seemed sick. He flicked his eyes to the priest, checking to see that the man had made no movements. He had little to fear. The man was paralysed with fear.
It had been two days since he had warned a female MI6 Agent stationed in New York about her Russian Honeypot lover. They had questioned the man - and found that the Church here was a haven for Russian spies. The KGB were everywhere these days.
"Did you know what you were doing?" He asked the Priest. His orders were to kill - but that could be avoided. Perhaps the man had not known what he was doing.
"I knew," gasped the Priest, "I knew and I would do it again. It was God will - he knows, he knows that the Russian Utopia would spread!" Bond shook his head, and looked down at the Walther PPK in his hand, and sighed.
"Tell me everything" he said. Even if the priest complied, it would make no difference. Either way, he would never leave this church alive.