Chapter 4 – Where To Go From Here

In Moscow, at the headquarters of the Foreign Intelligence Service, British and Russian Intelligence had called a special meeting about the current status of the mission regarding Operation Forever. The meeting was underway and had gotten off to an unpleasant start. M stood along the far right wall of an office that was similar to MI6 headquarters. Addressing Bond, Zorrovski, and a host of British and Russian Secret Intelligence superiors, she tried to assess the situation.

"007, Mr. Zorrovski. We can't figure out how they knew of your going to St. Petersburg. There has to be a leak in Russian intelligence," M said gravely.

"A leak in our Intelligence?" the stout Director of Russian Intelligence fumed irritably. "Are you really going to suggest that we have a mole in our organization? You British take such pride in policing the world, yet you can't take responsibility when something goes wrong," he concluded with a laugh.

The portly British Prime Minister stood aghast at the argument that was brewing. He had heard enough. He wasn't about to let a quarrel get started, fearing it would be counter-productive to the meeting. "That's enough. Now regardless of who's to blame for this leak, something has happened. M, what do you suggest our agents do?" he posed, staring down Bond and Zorrovski with great respect.

"We have no choice but to continue with the mission. They have seen you 007, is this correct?"

Bond situated himself in the chair he was sitting in, at a corner of the room. "Yes ma'am, Mr. Zorrovski and I saw Armonov, just as surely as we see you," Bond assured, glancing to Zorrovski at the adjacent corner of the room. "If he sees us again, he'll know our faces."

"Alright," M said, addressing Russian Intelligence. "Do we take these men off assignment?"

"Relieve them of their duties? We haven't the time to brief new agents," the Director of Russian Intelligence posed. "These agents stay on."

"Alright," M continued. "What about disguises or aliases?"

"With great respect ma'am," Bond spoke to M. "We're onto him. He frequents the gambling hall at our hotel. We can get him without the use of any cover. We just need more time."

"I trust you Bond. I always have. Stay on him, but maybe it's best that you two part ways until you're ready for the final phase of the mission," M ordered, granting the agents their requests to continue the operation.

"You mean infiltrating the bazaar?" Zorrovski spoke up.

"Precisely," M informed.

"Is that it?" the Director of Russian Intelligence scowled. "You're going to let these men continue, even with their mission compromised?"

"These men are 00's. They're driven, and I'm sure if they say they can do it, they will," M countered.

"And if they don't stop these so-called Iron Knights, those warheads could start World War III. Yes, we're aware of the consequences Sir," the British Prime Minister assured.

"Take caution gentlemen," M warned the agents. If they are onto you, then you're mission just became more difficult."

"Understood," Bond and Zorrovski uttered in unison.

"You're dismissed. Return to St. Petersburg, and don't muck it up again." M informed as the two double agents walked out of the room.

That night at the Taleon Imperial Hotel, Bond returned to the casino, once again flaunting his finely pressed tuxedo. He noticed that the place was as busy as ever, yet crawling with unknown faces. His eyes desperately scanned the room for a familiar face. He suddenly saw the beautiful Russian brunette, whom he had encountered before. She was standing at the bar, drinking her usual, vodka. Bond rushed to her, but was careful not to seem too desperate. As he approached the bar, she immediately took notice.

"Back for more I see," she pronounced flirtatiously. "Don't you ever quit Mr. Bond?"

"Never. Quitting is simply something I'm not very good at. You're here every night to. Is it the gambling you love, or just the atmosphere?"

"It is the lifestyle Mr. Bond. A woman like me can't be held down."

"No, I'm sure you can't," Bond stated casually.

"What, you don't believe me?" she smirked.

"Oh, I believe you whole heartedly. It's just that I can see that you're a woman who likes to live dangerously."

"Why don't I prove it to you. I'll have the maître d' deliver champagne and caviar for two to my suite. It's Room 202."

"That would be lovely," Bond confirmed with a slight chuckle.

"Why are you laughing?" she demanded playfully.

"Well, it occurs to me my dear, that we haven't been properly introduced. You know my name, but I'm at a loss for yours."

"I am Roza Somovich. My family was involved in the hotel industry. At one point, my father owned most of the lodges in the greater part of northern Russia. This place is privately owned. If you haven't guessed it by now, I am very rich Mr. Bond."

"Very nice. So what's all this? Casino's and all the vodka you can drink… Playing with daddy's money?"

"Well, as I said, I'm a woman who can't be held down."

"You'll have to show me just exactly what you mean," Bond declared.

"Very well. Shall we say two hours?" Roza invited, sipping the last of her vodka.

"Sounds delightful. Two hours then in Suite 202," Bond accepted with a smile, before walking over one of the baccarat tables.

Later, after winning a rousing game of Punto Banco, Bond trudged off the hotel's elevator, having reached the second floor. As he sauntered down the stark hallway, he approached Suite 202, noticing that the door was opened only slightly.

"Roza, are you here?" Bond called out, entering the room. "Roza, darling?" As he moved about the room, he noticed a bottle of chilled vintage Dom Perignon on a night table next to a spread of beluga caviar and crackers. Instinctively pulling his Walther PPK, he peered into the dark and empty bathroom. He continued through the suite, and as he stepped out onto the suite's balcony, he saw her.

She was downstairs, entering a burgundy town car with a large black suitcase, leaving the hotel through a back lot. Without warning, Bond felt the barrel of a pistol press against his back. He could tell by the size of the barrel that it wasn't a large handgun, probably not even a semi-automatic.

"Drop the gun and turn around," the thug ordered, backing away from Bond, whilst still aiming his gun at him.

Bond quickly complied, gently tossing the Walther to the carpeted floor, then slowly turning around. As the thug bent down to pick up Bond's weapon, Bond simply booted him in the face. The thug's concentration was suddenly broken, causing him to drop his firearm. As Bond reached to recover his own gun, the goon rapidly returned to his feet and lunged for Bond. Bond quickly knelt down, catching and grabbed the goon, while gripping his left leg and right shoulder and feverishly hoisting him over the edge of the balcony. An intense scream was followed only by a loud thud. As he finally reclaimed his own gun, Bond placed it back inside his jacket. Straightening his tie and dusting himself off, he scooped some caviar onto a cracker and briefly indulged before leaving the hotel room once and for all.