Chapter 3: First Kills
Two weeks ago, James Bond was contacted by M. Although he had been an MI6 agent for a while, he had the ambition to attain a position in the 00 section, a highly sought after title amongst spies. It was almost always M who handpicked them. Soon enough, it was Bond's turn. She knew Bond had the talent and strength and determination to be given a licence to kill.
M gave him two simple tasks. They were to kill two people for crimes to the service. When someone betrays the service, be it treason, murder, blackmail, extortion, they must be dealt with immediately. When a 00 is sent, it is clear what is going to happen. Either arrest or assassinate. Nine times out of ten it is the latter. And it is a certainty that brute force will be exercised. When these two kills are completed, 00 status is attained.
The first kill was a man named Michaels. Bond was given a picture and was sent to kill the man at any cost, for involvement with a traitor in the Service. Bond had to get the information about the traitor and kill him as well. Something about selling security secrets. Bond's only concern at the moment was getting the job done, knowing the promotion was only a hair's breadth away. He had no fears and no limits to what he could do. Always business. When he was in the Navy, Bond always pushed himself to the limit, and he damned well exceeded it. He could accomplish feats such as holding his breath underwater for at least two and a half minutes, climbing mountains in the Himalayas, Utah, and Switzerland. He had also proven to be experienced at skiing and snowboarding in the Alps. Amongst other things, Bond had well conditioned driving, flying, and boating skills.
Bond checked his watch. Twelve o' clock, high noon. The time was almost his calling. Pistols at high noon. But, today was one of the days Bond hadn't expected to use his gun. Of course, he kept the Beretta 92F, his favourite gun by far, in hid shoulder holster, concealed behind a black blazer for at anytime at any moment's notice, he would have to pull the cold steel out and make a hasty kill. Today, Bond felt more like brawling.
He shrugged off his current line of thought as he noticed his target entering the back door of some building, of which nature Bond couldn't comprehend. Slowly, he made his way over to the building, and entered the first door he came across. It was a public bathroom. And, luckily, in a cubicle, there was Michaels, urinating. Suddenly, he stopped, zipped up, and came out, looking around, sensing another entity sharing the bathroom.
"Hello?" He called out, then, passing it off as his nerves getting in a tangle, proceeded to wash his hands.
Now's my chance, Bond thought to himself. Having thought that, he made his move.
I need to get out of here, I'm feeling uneasy, Michaels dwelled. Dryden will want to see me next week for my payment and…
The sudden appearance in the mirror of a seemingly harmless, but well built, and handsome man standing behind him wearing black corduroy pants, white collar shirt and a black blazer then shifted Michaels' thoughts. But nobody else came in! Where did this guy…
The man in the blazer grabbed his hair and slammed his head onto the sink table. The man had a tight grip over his face and eyes, forcing him to make a desperate attempt to blindly counter the attack…
Bond had this guy. Michaels couldn't see anything and was flailing around like a marionette. Just have to change my grip and break his neck… this'll be quite a…
Before he could finish that thought, a fist connected hard into Bond's nose, making him react and lose his hold on Michaels' neck. Bond fell backward into the wall, yet still managing to keep on his feet. Michaels charged, not unlike the way angry bulls do, ramming his head into Bond's gut. Bond grabbed his torso, just below the shoulder, keeping his opponent at bay, and slammed his body back and forth into the wall, and over into the cubicle.
Somehow, Michaels got one arm free and slammed it into Bond's knee. Bond doubled over, allowing Michaels to punch him in the face. Now Bond realized this was no picnic. He got angry, and with a roar he tackled Michaels and whacked his head into the wall repeatedly. Michaels was dazed, near unconsciousness. Then, with a last, brutal shove, Bond ran Michaels' head into the opposite wall, bashing his skull in, painting a small spot of the wall red.
Then Bond let the limp body down, creating a pool of blood on the floor. He went over to the running tap and splashed some water on his face. Then, he took the dead man's cell phone and walked casually out of the building and back into the streets.
Over a course of several days, Bond had gotten into a text message conversation with the one and only contact on the phone. Dryden. When he told M of this, she was more than pleased. She knew it was an insider, but Dryden? A well respected section chief with lots of experience had gone crooked. That was something new. Bond decided that he would be the next target. M didn't argue. She too thought that Dryden was a disgrace to Her Majesty's government and ordered him to be terminated.
Through carefulness and convincing text messaging, Bond fooled Dryden into thinking he was his contact, the now-dead Michaels. Bond received strict instructions from Dryden to meet with him in the Bahamas, where he was hiding. So, off Bond went. He arrived in the Bahamas, in a small, but populated village where anybody and nobody could go to hide. Bond was dressed like the typical vacationer. Beige-Grey cargo pants, a grey t-shirt, and a breathable bamboo woven Hawaiian shirt. Nobody around would suspect him, he fit right in. This was just in case Dryden had any lackeys running around trying to spot an assassin.
Nobody was around at Dryden's seedy hideout. It looked normal. A white bungalow with a pool out back and a nice forest behind it all. Bond broke in carefully, not breaking anything, or moving things around. And he just sat in a shady spot and waited for Dryden to show.
Half an hour had already passed and Bond heard a car pull into the driveway. Patiently, he waited until Dryden entered the office. Dryden was a man in his early forties, and looked somewhat weathered, but with a stone cold expression. However, when Dryden turned around to see Bond sitting in the chair, Bond detected a hint of dread coming across Dryden's face.
"M really doesn't mind you earning a little cash on the side, Dryden, but she'd prefer it if it wasn't selling secrets."
Dryden stood still, amazed it took MI6 so long, but realizing they didn't send their coveted 00 assassins. He never agreed with reactivating the 00's, he saw them as a relic of the Cold War, and a waste of money and agents. But why send Bond? He was just a reconnaissance and intelligence agent who always killed when ordered or in self defence, a simple mission specialist, as it were. Or so he thought.
"If you think your theatrics are going to scare me, you've got the wrong guy, Bond," Dryden gloated.
"Well you made quite the dramatic entrance, I thought I'd show you up," Bond replied.
"Why are you here? If M was quite certain I was bent, she would've sent a 00. Why you? Your file shows no kills. And to become a 00, it takes…"
"Two. And I've already got one notch on my belt… you remember Mr. Michaels?"
"Ah, yes, poor boy…"
After cutting himself off, Dryden pulled his gun from the drawer of his desk. He raised the barrel and pointed it at Bond. A smirk appeared, his eyes glistened as he was certain that victory was his and he'd get at least that one day more, as everyday for him was a gift. He squeezed the trigger slowly, his smile widening, baring teeth, yes, he was going to kill this man for meddling with his affairs…
"It's quite a pity… we barely got to know one another."
Then an extraordinary sound was heard. It wasn't a gunshot, it was the click of a gun without bullets. Not even the magazine was inside the butt. The smile quickly disappeared as Dryden looked over to Bond. Not only did the same victorious smirk appear on Bond's face, but he was also holding the up the ammo clip as if he was worshipping a rare artifact.
Bond spoke once again. "It's quite a pity… I know where you keep your gun. Suppose that's something…"
"True…" Dryden said lowly. "How did he die?"
"Your contact? Not well… but I'll tell you that he's dying proof that pissing can be bad for your health. I'll leave the rest to your imagination."
"He made you feel it, didn't he?" Dryden said with a mocking frown. "Well, you needn't worry. The second is…"
Then Bond drew his silenced Beretta, and fired. At the exact split second, Dryden whipped the gun at Bond's head, dazing him. Dryden made a run for it.