Chapter 3 – Getting Down To Business
The next morning Bond and his Russian comrade, Yuri Zorrovski, sat at a private breakfast table, in the Taleon's lavish dining hall. Surrounded by a gourmet Russian feast, they continued the conversation they had started the night before regarding the mission.
"I must say Yuri, I'm at a loss as to why your government came to mine for help," Bond wondered.
"We Russians are not stupid people James, we know that it's the Brits like you that are the best at catching scum like Armonov. We trained him. Two decades ago, he was a top KGB agent, but in two decades, terrorism has become a very lucrative venture. He's mad. His entire operation's purpose is to form an alliance with the Middle East, to show the terrorist that mother Russia is their friend."
"And as a show of good faith, he's offering up those warheads. So, what's his motive?" Bond questioned, taking a bite of his Russian omelet.
"Money, power. This man is greedy, like a terrorist version of Stalin," Zorrovski declared, eating some grenki.
"And you say that your government can't find the Iron Knights weapons bazaar?"
"We've tried. Men have died trying to discover this place. We know it's in the Ural Mountains, but we can't find it. Armonov makes us look bad. It's no secret that Russia has nuclear and chemical weapons, but when terrorists try to exploit this, it makes us look shady and the rest of the world starts asking questions."
"So where do we start?" Bond uttered impatiently.
"I have an inside man, very connected in the international terrorist community. He might be able to get us into the Iron Knights headquarters."
"Let's meet him," Bond announced, finishing his meal."
"Quite right Mr. Bond, quite right," Zorrovski agreed, as the two men left the breakfast table.
Moments later a familiar midnight blue Lotus Esprit entered the hotel's front parking lot. Bond and Zorrovski were waiting by the entrance as Q approached, handing Bond the keys.
"Good morning Mr. Bond," Q affirmed with a smile.
"All the way from England Q, now that's service with a smile," Bond teased, not expecting Q to appear.
Without warning and from out of nowhere, a red convertible Bugatti pulled up with a beautiful blonde at the wheel. Q proceeded to enter the car and without so much as a farewell, the car sped off, disappearing somewhere down the road.
"Lucky man," Zorrovski said, laughing.
"Yes, Q does get around," Bond quipped as they hurriedly entered the Lotus and began to drive away.
The Lotus hummed quietly as it careened through the streets of St. Petersburg, finally veering off into an empty lot. Bond and Zorrovski quickly got out of the car and ambled across the street, entering one of the numerous aggressive pubs in the city's business district. Zorrovski led the way, taking Bond to meet a fellow contact man that had apparently cemented himself in the Russian underworld.
The bar was atrocious. Obese, bald, middle-aged Russian men were boisterously drinking the hardest of hard liquors as wave after wave of smoke clouded the room, like a foggy swamp. Bond followed Zorrovski to a tiny back room of the place, where a short, bearded man in a wrinkled, vintage suit was waiting at a table in the center of the room. Bond stood in the far corner of the room while Zorrovski closed the door. Pulling up a chair, Zorrovski sat across from the man behind the table.
"What the hell are you doing here?" the man spoke heatedly to the two agents.
"Been a long time comrade," Zorrovski uttered excitedly. "This is my man from British Intelligence, James Bond. We're tracking a terrorist. The infamous ex-KGB Orrin Armonov."
"Ah, Yuri, it is good to see you. Stop me if you've heard this one… Two spies walk into a bar," the man spoke, then laughed to himself. "Oh never mind, Mr. Bond, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Gregori Diminev Arkarovich, owner of the place. If you haven't figured it out yet, I use my establishment for, shall we say, other purposes. The bar is a front for infiltrating terrorist and turncoats to my country. Now what do you wanna know?"
"Where are the Iron Knights headquarters?" Bond asked sternly. "We know they're in St. Petersburg, but where?"
"So you want Armonov? What's he done this time, smuggled anthrax across foreign borders?" Arkarovich assumed with a laugh.
"No. He's stolen warheads from our country comrade. The Iron Knights plan to sell them," Zorrovski informed.
"Wow, what a plan," Arkarovich remarked sarcastically. "You boys are in luck. I just had dealings with the Iron Knights. A rather large man came in to see me about some money. He's Armonov's personal muscle. I'll give you the location of the place, but that's as far as I go. They have guns and their place is heavily guarded. I hate guns, yet I capture terrorists for living."
"How ironic," Bond commented.
"Alright, the headquarters are in a warehouse at the west end of the city. I'll give you the address," Arkarovich promised, jotting it down on a yellow slip of paper. "I hope you boys have a plan."
"I'm sure we'll think of something," Bond assured, taking the address, shaking Arkarovich's hand and walking out the door ahead of Zorrovski.
That night two figures, clad completely in black stealth garb, crept swiftly, silently through the cover of pitched darkness. Moving through a long back alley, they approached a heavily guarded warehouse, as one of them lit a small strike-anywhere match to check the time. It was precisely midnight. The faint illumination from the match revealed the recognizable faces of James Bond and Yuri Zorrovski. They were going to break into the warehouse to see what information, if any, they could find.
Equipping their night vision goggles, they moved cautiously to the back door of the place. Bond quickly snuck up behind a surprisingly well dressed and very large guard that was gripping an unmistakable AEK-971 assault rifle. With a quick chop to the back of the neck, the guard was instantly neutralized. Stealing the rifle, Bond threw it over his shoulder, strapping it to his back.
"There's always the back door," Bond whispered the retort.
As they stepped inside, they entered a brightly lit, overly cramped hallway. Instantly, the agents heard loud chatter, a speech, that was radiating from another room of the place. They moved next to a partially cracked door and peered inside.
Bond recognized Orrin Armonov from the picture. He was almost uglier in person. Situated behind a podium in the center of the massively capacious main room of the facility, furiously waving his hands, the man was spouting in English about their plans.
Bond noticed the many members of the Iron Knights, men and women, seated audience-like in a circle around the podium. They were all clad in black coveralls, sporting the familiar sword design on the collar. Bond suddenly realized that the man that had tried to fetch him from the airport was one of the Iron Knights. They were onto him. Somehow they knew that he was in Russia. Was the mission compromised? Bond couldn't be sure. For now he simply listened to the speech, watching Zorrovski, wandering if they might be onto him as well.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, the neutralized guard from the back door appeared behind the two men. Grabbing Zorrovski, the goon shoved him into the partially cracked door, forcing it to slam shut. Bond reached for his Walther, but was abruptly thrown hard into a wall. Zorrovski elbowed the man in the face, and as the man momentarily leaned over, finished by kicking him in the buttocks, forcing him to topple to the floor. Bond steadily gripped his gun, pointing it towards the man.
"Get off the floor," Bond ordered the guard, as Zorrovski collected himself.
Unexpectedly, the hallway door flew open. Standing in the doorway was the man himself, Orrin Armonov. The only member of the Iron Knights to not be clad in coveralls, he was dressed in a finely-crafted gray, three-piece suit. A stout and physically imposing man, he looked as if he would be a worthy adversary in hand to hand combat.
Aiming his weapon in the direction of Armonov, Bond noticed the man's pronounced scar on his forehead, a feature that only made the foe more menacing. Armonov smiled at te two agents with great confidence. The two agents gasped, almost in unison, as they saw what looked like a small army approaching from the other room.
"You're trespassing, fools," Armonov notified Bond and Zorrovski with great anger in his voice, before turning to his guard. "Auric, how did these imbeciles get in?"
Before the goon could answer, Bond exchanged the Walther in his hand for the assault rifle. Pulling it from his back, he aimed it towards his foes as Zorrovski briskly darted for the back door.
"We were just leaving," Bond pronounced with a smile, backing up toward the door.
As Zorrovski hastily exited the building, Bond followed with just enough time to slam the door behind him. The agents raced back through the alley from which they came. As they came out the other side, they swiftly crossed the street, running into an abandoned lot where the Lotus was parked. Entering the car, they urgently zoomed out of the lot. All at once, three motorcycles rushed out of the adjacent alley in hot pursuit.
As the car sped down the road with the motorbikes trailing closely behind, Zorrovski peeked out the passenger window, aiming the assault rifle that Bond had stolen. As he fired, the three Iron Knights on the motorcycles began returning fire with small machine pistols. The car swerved left onto another street as the gunfire continued. Suddenly, two small, silver tubes protruded from out of the car's number plates. As a motorcycle raced up to the rear of the evading vehicle, the ground was sprayed with some thick, slippery, black liquid; oil slick. The pursuing bike slid out of control, crashing into a nearby fire hydrant, sending its rider soaring through the air.
The car continued to race down the street, as the remaining bikes firmly pursued. A cache of explosive charges shot out of the Lotus' bumper, littering the street. As the motorbikes approached at varying speeds, the charges detonated, but each bike swiftly maneuvered out of harms way. The Lotus turned sharply into a wide alley and sped up. As the bikes trailed far behind, Zorrovski continued firing the assault rifle. The men on the motorcycles caught up to the escaping car, shooting their armaments. Suddenly a bullet ricocheted, blowing out the Lotus' left rear tire. Bond pressed a button on the car's control panel and instantly the tire had re-inflated.
Coming to the end of the alley, the car pulled out, making a hard right. Unexpectedly, one of the motorcycles appeared further up ahead. Apparently the bike had left the alley and circled around, cutting Bond and Zorrovski off. As the car sped up in an attempt to play chicken, a bulky silver missile box protruded from out of the top of the car. As the car and the bike accelerated closer towards one another, the Lotus slammed on its brakes, coming to a stop. Several small projectiles shot out of the missile box, firing toward the approaching motorbike. The missiles contacted the bike with great fury, causing the motorcycle to explode with scorching fury, sending its flaming rider flying into a nearby storefront window.
The car accelerated fully as the remaining motorcycle had caught up to it. Turning left onto an avenue, the car swerved to and fro as Zorrovski continued the gun battle with the man on the motorcycle. As Zorrovski fired, a bullet caught the rider in the chest, knocking him off the bike. The Lotus slowed down considerably, as Zorrovski made sure that their quarry was vanquished. Knowing that it was all over, the car resumed normal speed.
As the Lotus continued casually down the cold St. Petersburg avenue en route to the hotel, Bond looked in the rear view mirror at the damage caused by the chase. He knew that now it would be nearly impossible to get close to Armonov. He was trying to forget, at least until he could find M, that the Iron Knights knew of his coming to the city, before he had even arrived. He had deduced that the man that had tried to pick him up was indeed one of the Iron Knights. And now, Armonov had seen the faces of the men that were trying to stop him. The mission was slowly becoming compromised. For now at least, Bond needed time to think.