4. Pursuit at Port Au Prince

Bond had walked over the bodies of the now unconscious-CIA men, who remarkably weren't stirring after a beating by a savvy British agent. He walked into the lobby and handed the receptionist (Slate's) room key. "Any messages for 325?"

The receptionist looked in her rolodex, finding nothing. Then she looked up at Bond. "The only message was about the briefcase that was delivered earlier. Do you want us to continue holding it?"

"No, I'll take it now."

The receptionist went into the backroom and returned with a small silver attaché case. She handed it to Bond and he took it and walked away into the dilapidated atmosphere of the city. He only made it about sixty feet from the hotel entrance when a car came out of nowhere and stopped right in front of Bond. It was a Ford Ka, a new electric model, because of the sound the engine had made. It was different than regular gasoline-powered engines. The electricity made the car a lot quieter and incognito. It looked like one of the fanciest cars in all of Haiti. Many of the cars that Bond had seen during his seventeen minute visit was old '90s and '80s jalopies and two-tone pickup trucks. Most of them were probably stolen.

The car's window was down and Bond could see inside. A woman with brown hair tied back, an orange blouse and brown skirt. She spoke with a Spanish accent. "Get in."

"What?"

"Get in."

Bond looked around, seeing no other opposition. Not wanting to keep a lady waiting, he accepted and got into the car, which then turned away and floated into the city traffic.

The woman spoke again. "You're late."

"I got pulled into a meeting."

"Who with?"

"A friend of Mr. Greene's."

There was a pause, the woman was clearly aggravated with the name. "I don't think I know him."

A traffic light was up ahead, and the Ford slowed down as it approached the intersection. "Is that a friend of yours?"

Bond turned around, expecting the CIA or Felix Leiter. However, it was a Haitian on a dirt bike two car lengths back, peering intently into the Ford.

Bond looked at the mystery woman. "I don't have any friends."

The woman then floored the gas, the electric car zipped forward and the man on the dirt bike struggled to follow. Cars in the intersection honked and swerved to miss the little electric car, causing a pileup with other cars in the intersection. The Ford drove down the street and disappeared into a back alley. When Bond looked back, the Haitian was gone.

Bond was interested with the briefcase on his lap. He thought it might've been another clue. He was curious that he had already lifted the woman's driver's license from her purse and slid it into his khaki jeans pocket. The briefcase could've been anything, even a bomb, for all he knew. The only way to find out was to open it. As he did the car came to a stop. The woman leaned over to Bond and found a folder with papers in it, taking it out of the briefcase. When Bond looked back inside, he found a photograph of a woman, the same woman who was offering Bond a ride. Also in the briefcase was a gun, and that made Bond's nerves go numb. He wasn't expecting this.

"What the hell is this?" the woman asked, annoyance and frustration in her voice. Bond looked and saw her rifling through the folder, which was nothing but blank white papers.

"Ma'am," Bond said, "I think somebody wants to kill you."

Like Siena, Bond never saw the actions of the next events. She drew a gun from under her blouse and tried to shoot Bond in the head, but he grabbed the gun and, consequently, it went off, the passenger-side window exploded outwards. The woman got scared, dropped the gun in Bond's lap, and started to drive away. Bond dove out the passenger door when the car was rolling down the alley, landing in a heap of foul-smelling trash bags.

".38 Special." Bond, smelling the cordite, noted.

A rumbling noise came from behind him, and Bond looked up to see the Haitian on the dirt bike, frowning in disbelief. "What's wrong wit you?" he said in a thick Caribbean accent. "You were supposed to shoot her!"

"Well I missed." Bond started to walk away, but the Haitian got off the bike, pulled a gun, and pointed it at Bond.

The Brit slammed his right hand into the sternum of the Haitian, grabbed the gun, brought it to the ground, and kicked it away from him. He grabbed the Haitian by the collared shirt and shoved him up against a wall. "Where's the girl going?"

"The girl is 'Camille'." The Haitian fessed up. "She's going to the docks. Meet with her man there."

"Is it Greene?"

"I don't know. Some big people coming into Haiti today—might have something to do with her."

"'Big people'?"

"South Americans… a general, I heard…Greene doesn't tell me everything!"

Bond left the Haitian dazed and confused as he took the dirt bike and started it up. He left the alley and went onto the street, weaving in and out of cars on the way to the docks. While doing this, he called M.
"Yes, Double-O Seven?"

"I'm on my way to meet Dominic Greene. He's in Haiti today receiving warm welcomes from a South American general."
"Bond, we've just been informed by the CIA that—"

"Don't go sucking shit for them, M. You're better than that."

"The CIA has a capture-or-kill order out on you. Your friend, Leiter, is in Port-au-Prince wondering why the hell you aren't in manacles on a plane to Washington."

"Those men who I killed in Siena were traitors—they were members of Quantum."

"We don't know that, Bond."

"I'm about to prove it to you."
He hung up and continued the drive to the docks, looking for the Ford in every intersection.

When he reached the docks, he saw the Ford parked nearby, and he saw the woman, Camille, walk past two Hawaiian-shirt wearing Haitians with guns, a temper flaring in her voice. She approached a man in a bowl cut, talking French into a cell phone. When he saw Camille he dropped the phone and tried to stop her, but the fiery woman brushed him aside. Bond watched both of them disappear into a building as he got off the motorbike and approached one of the guards. Bond dug his Universal Exports business card out of his pocket and handed it to the guard, who looked at Bond with suspicion.

"Give that to the girl and tell her to call me." Bond instructed.
The guard grunted and walked away, slinging the Uzi submachine gun over his shoulder.

What the guard didn't know was that the business card was actually a telephone bug. By calling the number on the card it would clone any cellular phone frequency and give all of its information to MI6, who would transmit the same intelligence to Bond right away. Bond hoped that the phone that Camille or Dominic Greene was using would be cloned by the card, so that Bond could access it on his own phone. As Bond walked back to the dirt bike, a black van screeched around the corner of the docks and stopped behind some market stalls selling fish and spicy foods. The back doors opened and six men in tactical gear, Kevlar armor, and helmets with balaclavas, got out and fanned out in multiple directions. It wasn't the Haitian police. Bond looked and saw one of them turn, and he saw the American flag on the armband, and then below it, the CIA insignia. "CIA Special Activities Division." Bond noted. He would have to move fast. With the CIA's presence in Haiti, Bond had run out of time. This wasn't a country that Bond could easily blend into, he was sticking out like a sore thumb, and the CIA would probably have put tracks on his passports and credit cards. If all of this was going to stop, he would have to find Felix. It was either killed or be killed, and Bond ducked behind an abandoned market stall and hid from the men's view. Bond cursed at them for their presence. The gear, the automatic weapons, would certainly tip of Greene and his South American friend. The meeting would be canceled, and Bond would hate to let that happen.

Then his phone chirped. The business card ploy had worked. Within seconds the target cell phone's data appeared on Bond's Smartphone. The target user ID was "Elvis". Bond made a mental note to run it by MI6, if he could get out of the country alive. As far as he knew, he was the most wanted man in the world. This was complicating things, and making it worse for him. First he lost Vesper and the money, and then he was hunted by his American friends. All this had to tie into Quantum and Greene Planet somehow. All Bond needed to do was to find out what connection Greene had with this general. And he got his answer. A boat, a Sunseeker Hawk 34, was coasting up to the docks with three men on board, wearing florid cotton shirts. One of the men was big and hefty with a fat handlebar moustache. Three more men similarly dressed were surrounding him—probably a security detail. As the boat arrived at the docks, the Haitian guards immediately greeted the hefty man, who then took him into the building to see Greene. Moments later Greene and the man, along with another guard, sauntered down the dockyards, talking. Bond couldn't hear them, but it assumed it had to be business. Then Camille appeared, lounging next to a stack of crates. Bond heard the general laugh, and then watched him go over to Camille and hug her, but she wasn't giving into his affections. This clicked in Bond's head. Obviously she and the general were into some kind of feud. Bond was still contemplating this as the general and Camille climbed into the Sunseeker Hawk and drift away towards a bigger boat, the general's yacht.

Bond looked back to where the black van was, seeing three men around it, and the other three searching the perimeter. Bond was too far away to be noticed, so he calmly walked towards his motorbike and started it up. He backed up and revved the engine. Seeing a ramp, Bond took off towards it at full speed. The motorbike jumped into the air, landed onto a jetty, then fell onto another boat. Bond jumped off the bike and climbed into the boat, starting the engine. He then maneuvered it around the dockside traffic to where the general's yacht was. Bond could see the other boat more than fifty feet away. Bond then looked behind him, seeing the CIA men still standing at the pier, not noticing the British agent's stunts.

The general's boat slowed down as it approached the yacht. Bond accelerated and in minutes the boat was next to the port side of the general's. Bond switched off the motor and climbed onto the port side ladder. Climbing up, Bond got onto the boat and scurried around to the steps that led to the bridge. Climbing up the steps, he found the general and Camille stepping off onto the yacht. Bond cursed, drawing his Glock, and keeping himself low to the floor.

Bond jumped over the boat and clambered onto the yacht. Seeing a deckhand with an M16 rifle, Bond grabbed the wall-mounted life preserver and threw it at him like a discus. It stunned the deckhand long enough for Bond to toss him overboard into the water. He then re-gripped his Glock and went looking for Camille.

General Luis Medrano was happy with his catch. The young girl from the late Colonel Ernesto Montes was finally his. Greene told him to have fun with her before dumping her off over the side. It was Greene's gift to him, in honor of their new relationship. In four days the country of Bolivia would be in his hands, a long-awaited moment in his life. All thanks to Greene and Quantum, and Camille.

Medrano told one of his deckhands to bring him a beer, not caring about Camille's wants and needs. They went into his quarters, a well-furnished room with a queen-size bed with a full bathroom. He told Camille to lay down on the bed to rest while he went into the bathroom. It was time to make himself ready, to rape her and kill her. Six years after he murdered the girl's family, it was time to complete the job and send her, the remaining member of the Montes family, into the bottom of the Caribbean.

Bond walked along the halls of the ship looking for the general's quarters. He found a room with the door half-closed, a "Do not Disturb" sign written in Spanish and English was hanging on the doorknob. This was the one. Bond slipped the gun in his left hand and, using his right, twisted the knob. As the door popped open, he burst in, the Glock ready. Bond only finding Camille on the bed, her eyes looked up at him in horror. "You?"

"Come on." Bond said, "Let's go."
"No!"

Bond didn't have time to play around. He grabbed Camille and knocked her out, before throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her off. He ran into a deckhand with an M16, and Bond shot him. He didn't care about the noise. He ran through the ship with his captive, shooting more guards and yelling before finding the general's personal motor launch. He plopped Camille in the boat, unhooked the launch from the yacht itself and started the engine.

The boat shot forward and was soon out of rifle range. But as Bond turned to look back, he saw three more launches coming at him, the occupants firing machine guns. Bond opened the throttle and the small launch shot forward, weaving through the maritime traffic. Shots bounced off the boat's hull and skipped into the blue water, Bond swung the boat around to avoid another volley of automatic gunfire.

Just then, a crack came at the back of his head. His knees buckled and he went down, turning to see the woman he'd dragged off trying to claw at Bond's face. He countered it by grabbing her wrist and pulling her off of him. In the process, she tried to gouge out Bond's right eye with her thumb. She was screaming and twisting like a cornered bobcat. "You pendejo! Take me back!"

"Maybe I'll do that later."

She grabbed Bond by his hair and tried to bash his brains out on the floor. "You're not one of Greene's!"

Bond pulled the fiery woman off of him, took control of the boat, and steered it towards the clearest part of the harbor. He looked back at the woman who had calmed down, and now was hunkered on the floor as enemy bullets whistled and zinged all around.

Looking back once more, he drew the borrowed Glock and tried to get a bead on the closest boat's occupants. He squeezed the trigger twice, both shots going wide, but a third shot hit the boat's petrol tanks, and the launch erupted in a mediocre fireball. It was then the second launch rocketed forward and cut alongside, the gunners swinging their automatic rifles to bear on Bond.

He fired two rounds, and the nearest gunner backpedaled and fell into the water. The launch then decelerated, then maneuvered behind Bond and throttled forward.
The Brit threw his own throttle downwards, the engines died, and the boat came to a standstill. The opposing launch rammed into the back of Bond's boat, sending the occupants flying back, their own boat stuck above Bond's.

Bond found the anchor line and grabbed it, tossing it upwards onto the other boat. He then turned back towards the controls and pulled the throttle upwards. The launch shot forward, and the enemy launch, snagged on the other boat's anchor line, was propelled upwards, nose-first, like a toy. The boat then capsized, the occupants were either now dead or dying.

Bond then looked down at the woman, who surprisingly, wasn't hit by any of the stray fire. She looked up at Bond like a battered dog. She said, softly, "Now you'll take me back."

Bond shook his head in noncompliance. "I've got other plans for you." He then turned the boat to starboard and sped away.

A few minutes past, and Bond saw a jetty with some people on the catwalk. He steered the boat alongside the jetty and killed the engines, throwing a Haitian dockhand the line. As the man secured the boat to the jetty, Bond picked up the girl in a fireman's carry and stepped out onto the catwalk.

He then walked past the man towards the mainland, where another dockhand was sitting alongside a big fishing boat in a plastic lawn chair, drinking a canned Bud Lite, and listening to American hip-hop music on a battered ghetto blaster radio. At the sight of Bond, he got out of the chair. In a Caribbean accent, he offered, "Ice cold beer and big fish, sir! Where we go?"

Bond plopped the girl on the deck of the fishing boat, the Haitian catching her before she smacked into the fiberglass bottom. He replied, "No thanks. I've got my catch, and she's seasick." He then walked away off the end of the jetty without looking back.

It was now that Bond had entered a small shipyard, with several used and dilapidated ships sat forgotten by time. Some Haitians were fussing with some power tools to restore one of them, a big fishing boat titled: "Maggie May—Key West". As Bond got closer, a red two-door SUV pulled up to the men. Much to the delight of his friends, he brought along a six-pack of beer. As the Haitians laughed, regaled with American rap music, and cracking open cold longneck bottles, Bond slid into the driver's seat of the Ford Bronco, placed the vehicle in drive, and set off. He was gone before the hardworking Haitians noticed.

Bond then reached into his pocket and retrieved his Smartphone. He punched in M's extension. It was best he explained himself.

Villiers, M's secretary, picked up the phone on the first ring. "Yes?"

A voice on the other end replied, "It's Bond. I need her now."

Villiers sighed, and then punched a button that transferred the call to M's office. He stated, "It's 007."

M had looked up from her computer to grab the phone off the desk. She replied, "Yes, 007?"

"I want you to run a name check: 'Dominic Greene.'"

M sighed angrily. "I just got off the phone with the Americans, Bond. They're requesting that you come in. Or else they'll hold us accountable for what happens afterwards."
"Just do it."

Tanner, standing across the room, began a search query on the Surface computer. In seconds, it scanned hundreds of possible names through Interpol, MI6, CIA, DGSE, and SVR databases. Tanner asked, "They're a lot of Dominic Greene's, 007. Do you have a Social Security or passport number?"
"No."

M then interrupted. "What happened to Slate, Bond?"

"I'm not dwelling on the past, ma'am. I don't think you should either."

M rolled her eyes and glared up at Tanner as the search query came up positive with the largest hit. He stated, "Top match is Dominic Greene, CEO of Greene Planet. Apparently, Greene's been doing a lot of philanthropic work, buying up large tracts of land for use as ecological preserves."

"Send me his picture and file."

"Done."

M said, "Bond, come back to London so we can sort out this mess."

"I'll have to call you back." Then the connection went dead.

M sighed angrily again and barked at Tanner, "Get me the Americans."

Bond drove along the outer rim of Port-au-Prince as his cell phone beeped. Looking at the screen, Tanner had kept his promise. He had sent the picture of Dominic Greene, a small man with brown hair, a faint moustache, and piercing black eyes. According to the file, Greene was about 32-years-old, and approximately 5'8" tall. Then the Smartphone rang again. It wasn't MI6 calling, but the cloned cell phone used by Elvis. Bond listened in to the call:

Elvis: "Boss, the plane is ready and fueled to take you to Innsbruck. There we will go to Bregenz."
Dominic Greene: "Good, I'll be ready in thirty minutes. Are the Americans on board?"
Elvis: "Yes, sir. They are working for the American government."
Dominic Greene: "Bon. Merci beaucoup."
James Bond switched off the cell phone and did a U-turn, heading towards Toussaint L'Overture International Airport. He had a new destination in mind, and it wasn't back to London.
But Bregentz, Austria.