Chapter 8 – The Weapons Bazaar
The next afternoon, Bond was hot on the trail of Armonov. He had made yet another brief appearance in Moscow to see if his superiors at British Intelligence had effectively traced the helicopter that he had tagged with one of Q's tracking devices. M was fully aware of the situation and the exact location of the weapons bazaar.
The Lotus sped down a snowy stretch of road. Feather-like snowflakes fell softly as Bond drove higher and higher into the wilderness of the majestic Ural Mountains. The Ural range seemed endless. He lost count of how many snow-blanketed pastures he had seen. The once green fir trees were covered in layer upon layer of snow with brown branches and scant greenery poking out from various openings in the wonderland of forestry. He glanced upward out of the window to his right and noticed that storm clouds were gathering in the distance, heavy gray clouds full of thick snow.
Bond pushed on the accelerator. As Bond put a cigarette to his mouth, lighting it, his lips twisted into a cold, malicious grimace. Over the course of this mission, he had struggled to not make things personal. He typically kept a professional attitude, but Bond wanted Armonov just as bad as any other villain he had come across in his long career. Dr. No, Blofeld, Goldfinger, Stromberg, Drax, Largo… somehow, Armonov was comparable to them.
And what of the girl, Roza Somovich? He had promised to protect her from Armonov, but knew deep down that it was a sexual ploy. Would he in fact meet her again, or was that just another meaningless affair? He also wondered about Zorrovski. Bond had grown fond of him, but he, through no fault of his own, had defected; a victim of torture and brainwashing and heaven only knew what else. Bond was instructed to kill him as he was of no use to the Russians any longer. Bond scowled at the thought. He hated the throwaway aspect of the job, disposing of defective agents as if they were garbage. It seemed however, that what was good for the service was good for the country.
Bond sighed and pushed aside the thoughts. He focused on Armonov, trying to think of nothing but the mission. He despised the man. There was something about international terrorists who cared little for the fate of the world, favoring personal gain, that didn't set well with him. He pictured the final moment he was to have with Armonov. He was slightly giddy with the notion. Would a gun, a knife, perhaps a fall from a cliff or the spinning metal wings of a chopper be Armonov's downfall? Would he feel pleasure or nothing at all? Killing was a part of living, and in Bond's dangerous line of work, killing also meant surviving.
Bond replayed his mission objectives in his head. He knew that walking into a terrorist arms bazaar and rescuing an assembly of powerful nuclear missiles wouldn't be a walk in the park. The bazaar was so well hidden and probably heavily guarded that Bond was about to be the first outsider to step foot on the grounds.
Pressing harder on the accelerator in an attempt to break from his dark thoughts, Bond tried to relax, knowing that soon the mission would be over, one way or another.
Hours passed as the Lotus maneuvered steadily along a winding country road that was surrounded by an endless field of snow, somewhere deep in the Ural Mountains. Bond resolutely followed the coordinates and blinking red dot from the GPS on his dashboard. This showed Armonov's location. According to the GPS system, custom built in the Lotus, Bond was close to Armonov's whereabouts, and hence, the weapons bazaar. As Bond looked to his right, the car stalled suddenly. His gaze scaled up a steep mountain face and he squinted at what he saw. Taking a spyglass from the glove compartment, he adjusted the focus of its lens until he viewed the rock face to the right with perfect clarity. As his gaze continued upward, he noticed a ledge at the top of the rock face. On the ledge, he observed a tall and lengthy perimeter fence, and just beyond that was a row of six gigantic oil tanks. A small army of brawny men in the trademark black coveralls, with the sword design on the collar, patrolled the area with various automatic weapons.
His heart pounded slightly with a sense of victory. That was it, he had found the bazaar. It was time to move. Idling the car off the road and under a thick layers of trees for safekeeping, Bond exited the vehicle. Opening the trunk, he removed a lightweight backpack and strapped it to his back. Clad in full black stealth garb, he removed a long corded rope from the trunk with a gloved hand and wrapped it around his arm. The metal buckles and anchors for the rock climbing rope were already strapped to his stealth bodysuit.
Bond seized his Walther from its shoulder holster and screwed on the silencer, pulling back the slide and cocking it. He locked his car and began his trek for the rock face.
Sometime later, after hiking through the treacherous snow-filled landscape, Bond arrived at the base of the mountainous rock face. Glancing upward, he saw that the rock went as far up as the eye could see. He quickly laced the climbing rope through the buckles, hammered several anchors into the rock, and started to climb.
After sometime, he had reached the top. Pulling himself up onto the ledge of the rock face, Bond stayed as quiet as possible. The gate stood approximately forty meters away from the edge. He tried to look as far past the fence as possible. Behind everything was a mountainous hill. He hypothesized that the arms bazaar was beyond it, and so would be Armonov. Bond moved stealthily. As he arrived at the gate, he quickly shot the goon that was pacing along the inner part of the fence. A headshot took the man down quickly and without a sound. As Bond slid the gate to the left, opening it, he moved closer to the man he had just killed. Holstering his pistol, he exchanged it for the assault rifle that lay next to his dead quarry and moved behind one of the large oil tanks.
He peeked out, noticing two more armed goons talking just beyond the set of oil tanks. He moved out beyond the tanks in plain sight, giving a whistle, and then returning behind them for cover. As the two guards noticed Bond's disruption, they immediately chased him behind the oil tanks. Once they got there, Bond suddenly unloaded the entire clip of ammunition into the two henchmen. As they dropped into the snow, he exchanged the empty gun for one of theirs. Hurriedly, he moved past the oil tanks, diving behind a tree. He knew this wasn't the best situation for stealth, as he was severely out manned and there were few places to hide. He crouched low, trying desperately to not be seen, as he removed a small briefcase from his pack. Opening the case, he armed the C-4 that was inside and removed a small radio-detonator from a pouch on his belt.
Once again, he darted back towards the oil tanks. As he passed the crowd of henchmen that were on the other side of the field, he purposely fired the automatic rifle he had towards them, actually hitting one goon in the leg. As he maneuvered past the oil tanks, he quickly tossed the briefcase near them. He then ran back through the gate, getting out of range of the tanks. He watched the henchmen approach, including the sniper from atop the tower that was just beyond the hill, each of them firing towards Bond. As the crowd got within range of the oil tanks, Bond pressed the detonator. Instantly the briefcase exploded, setting off the tanks in a tremendous flare-up. As the inferno from the tanks instantly engulfed the approaching henchmen, Bond watched as the fire suddenly settled, continuing to burn. The oil tanks were now demolished. He began moving cautiosly through the gated outpost that he had just neutralized, trying to reach the top of the hill There was no time to lose, as Bond had to stop the sale of those warheads.
Later, Bond stood at the top of the snowy hill, hidden partially behind a large pine tree. On the other side of the hill, below it in the distance, was a snowy field. Bond looked through his spyglass, instantly noticing countless henchmen on either side of the desolate field below him. In the middle stood a colossal black chopper. As he continued to look, his eye caught Armonov and the Iron Knights at the left of the aircraft and a horde of about twenty-five Middle Eastern chaps to the right, divided neatly into two crowds. On either side of Armonov, two more familiar faces, Boris Pochenko, Zorrovski's killer was on his right, and Roza Somovich stood to his left. Bond smiled, thinking back to that night with her at the hotel. He thought to himself that if he could, maybe he would try to help her, to get her away from Armonov for good. But he wouldn't sacrifice the mission.
As he continued to watch, a representative from the Middle Eastern crowd of terrorists met with Armonov, joining at the center of the field. Armonov opened a briefcase and removed a document. Bond zoomed in with the spyglass, reading the document's header. It was a false deed to the warheads. Armonov was planning on double-crossing his fellow terrorists. As he handed the deed to the Middle Eastern chap, Armonov received a briefcase full of money. Armonov accepted it casually, handing it to Pochenko for inspection. Everyone seemed satisfied and just at that moment, a second chopper appeared from out of nowhere, hovering as it delivered the warheads behind the stationary chopper. The Iron Knights henchmen began to release the cluster of warheads from the corresponding towing cables. Once the warheads were securely grounded, the hovering chopper flew away. After several of the Middle Eastern terrorists had connected numerous towing cables from the remaining chopper to the cluster of missiles, Armonov blatantly pulled out a revolver and shot the apparent leader of the rival terrorists. Without warning several armed Middle Eastern men began firing their guns toward the Iron Knights. Pochenko and Roza instantly began shooting their own weapons at their opponents. Several henchmen from either side began brutally firing round after round from their automatics, toward their rivals, careful to not upset the cluster of nuclear weapons that were near them. Each party used the chopper that divided them for cover, but it was soon apparent that the Iron Knights had gained the upper hand.
As one might expect from such an intense but brief firefight, bodies began to pile up on both sides, but when all was said and done, the Iron Knights had prevailed. The only ones left standing were Armonov, Roza, Pochenko and several Iron Knights. They began to commandeer their rival terrorists helicopter. Once they were all inside, Bond began vigorously sprinting down the hill. He couldn't let them get away.
As he reached the chopper, he hurriedly disconnected the towing cables from the feet of the helicopter. As the chopper began its lift off, Bond gripped the feet of the chopper. As it quickly ascended through the trees, Bond removed the straps from his back, situating his backpack in front of him. Careful to not lose his grip on the pack, he opened it, pulling out a small sticky-bomb. As he tried to adhere it to the jet, the door to the chopper opened.
"It's Bond," one of the henchmen called out. "And where are the warheads?" the goon stuttered idiotically. No one had realized the lack of weight from the absence of the warheads.
A goon immediately lunged out of the aircraft, latching onto the chopper feet and kicking Bond in the face. Letting out a grunt, Bond suddenly fell backward, hanging from the chopper with only his right hand. The helicopter continued to move higher and higher. The goon removed the bomb from the side of the chopper, hurling it into the trees below. Bond suddenly grabbed him with his left hand, pulling himself upward. As they stared face to face, the goon spit in Bond's face, head butting him. Bond collapsed back again, pulling his foe with him. As the goon was pulled forward, he lost grip of the chopper feet and desperately grabbed for Bond. As Bond purposely dropped, hanging onto the chopper feet by both hands, the goon fell also, hanging by nothing but Bond's boots. Bond immediately pulled a small knife from his pocket, cutting at his bootlaces. As they loosened, he relinquished his boots, causing the henchman to plummet through the cold Russian air.
Bond hurriedly pulled himself up to the ajar door of the helicopter. As he looked in, he saw three henchmen, one was a pilot, Roza, Pochenko and Armonov. He tried to climb in, but was instantly kicked in the head by another goon. As he was kicked, Bond grabbed the goons foot, and dragged him out of the chopper, throwing him from the aircraft. He hurriedly climbed in, delivering an instant right hook the final goon.
"James," Roza uttered excitedly, wrapping her arms around Bond.
"Later darling," Bond countered, tossing the final henchman out the door.
The pilot immediately ascended the plane, pushing Bond further toward the ajar door. Bond battled the wind resistance to shut the door, but finally the gaping entrance was closed. Pochenko came at Bond from the back of the chopper, wrapping a thick wire around his neck, trying to choke him. Bond pulled the knife that he had used to cut his boots off and thrusts it behind him, stabbing Pochenko in the neck. Pochenko let out a loud cry of pain, as his grip was released. Bond swiftly turned, punching Pochenko hard in the face.
"That's for Yuri," Bond stated coldly.
The trench-coated man fell backward as Bond turned his attention toward Armonov, pulling his gun.
"You've lost Armonov. The Iron Knights are finished," Bond declared aiming the Walther at Armonov.
"Wrong Mr. Bond. You have beaten me yes, taken the warheads from me, but I am still the most powerful terrorist on the planet. You can destroy the man, but the name Orrin Armonov will live on forever. The Iron Knights are an idea. Stalin died long ago, but his contributions to my country still live on to this day."
"You're mad," Bond uttered, pressing harder on the trigger.
"Yes, well you haven't won yet," Armonov claimed, pulling a switchblade knife and putting it to Roza's neck, shielding himself from harm. "Drop the gun," he ordered.
"Let her go," Bond countered.
"You won't kill me Mr. Bond. Drop it."
Bond continued to aim the gun in the direction of Armonov and Roza, then suddenly pointed it to the front of the chopper and pulled the trigger. The pilot fell forward in his seat and the chopper suddenly stalled. Without warning, Armonov slid the blade across her neck, cutting Roza's throat. Bond shot Armonov in the face, quickly moving to Roza. Seeing that she was instantly dead, he moved to the front of the plane. As he gained control of the aircraft, he turned it around. Radioing to M, he informed her of the situation.
"Bond to MI6, come in."
"M here, go ahead Bond," a voice sounded from over the controls.
"M, Armonov is dead. The warheads are sitting in a field near the bazaar. The Russians can reclaim them. The Iron Knights have dissolved."
"Smashing Bond. What's your present location?"
"I'm in a heli, flying over the Ural Mountains."
"Right, return the chopper to Foreign Intelligence Headquarters in Moscow. The Russians really want the body of Armonov," M informed.
"Understood," Bond said with a sense of cheer in his voice.
"I'll see you back here at MI6 in the morning. Good job 007. M out."
"Thank you ma'am," Bond uttered smiling. As he turned off the controls, he continued flying, as the helicopter flew through the snow-covered mountains en-route to Moscow.