CHAPTER 1
OUTSKIRTS OF HELSINKI, FINLAND
The waiting is the hardest part.
James Bond was not a fan of the musician Tom Petty, but after spending a week with Felix Leiter on an operation in Mexico where the two men passed dozens of hours together carrying out an operation against the infamous Tijuana cartel by listening to the contents of the American CIA man's music collection, this particular lyric had stuck with him.
It was true about his chosen profession. There was so much waiting. So much idleness. So many prolonged periods of nothing punctuated by those brief, intense stretches where your own life and the lives of many others could be at stake.
The last three days, Bond had found himself waiting again. Waiting and watching. Waiting and watching and preparing. Crouched in the woods, observing this large home on a point jutting out into the Gulf of Finland northeast of Helsinki. The analysts in London had traced the ownership of the property back through a maze of shell companies had led to a notorious Russian mafioso with ties to the current Moscow regime. Tomorrow, intelligence contacts inside Russia had tipped MI6 that the house was scheduled to be the meeting place for an assassin responsible for the murder of a double agent in London two years prior and his FSB handler. It was Bond's mission to kill them both.
He was ready. All the details were covered. He had traced the route from the airport, snuck onto the property, identified the security equipment, learned the layout, observed the guards, and made his plan. If Bond had a 'fast-forward' button, he would gladly press it and just get on with it already.
Bond's mobile phone vibrated gently in his breast pocket. He tapped his earpiece. The familiar voice of Bill Tanner, M's chief of staff, came over the line.
"Urgent, Bond. Abort."
"Bloody hell, Bill. I've been here for three days. The job will be done tomorrow."
"This comes straight from M. We have reason to believe you are blown. Abort."
"What are you talking about?"
"Not the time. Get out of there. Abort. Now."
Tanner placed extra emphasis on the last word.
Bond spat out an expletive in response.
"OO2 is en route to Helsinki as we speak. He'll pick up the job. Proceed to the address I'm sending you," Tanner continued. "Station H will meet you there and give you next steps."
Bond stewed in silence.
"The longer you wait, the more danger you're in. We'll tell you everything we know once you're safe."
"This better be goddamned something big, Bill."
"Just go."
Bond touched his earpiece and began to work his way though the dense spruce forests back to where he had left his Volvo XC60. The sun poked through the clouds and the thick canopy created by the trees to create the illusion that you could see individual rays streaming through to the ground.
As Bond reached the small rise that his vehicle lay behind, he stopped and crouched as he heard the distinctive crunching of footsteps on the forest floor over the ridge. He unholstered his Beretta 92FS and inched forward slowly so he could just peek over the top of the rise.
Crouching next to the driver's side door with his back to Bond was a burly man dressed in all black. His gloved hands were working quickly at the door lock. Bond moved forward steadily but silently; his steps muffled by the thick layer of needles on the forest floor and the hours of training that made his careful gait a matter of instinct.
As Bond approached, the thug finally managed to pry the door open. Bond took the moment and leapt forward.
"Not so fast," he said, landing a solid blow to the side of the man's head with the Beretta as the thug wheeled around in surprise. It seemingly had little effect, other than making the thug angry. He lunged at Bond, swinging wildly. Bond sidestepped the blow effortlessly and countered with a knee to the man's ribs, sending him reeling into the side of the Volvo.
Bond squared his weapon and pulled the trigger. The weapon responded with a dull metallic clunk. Jammed. The thug used the opportunity to get his bearings and he charged at Bond, tackling him to the forest floor and sending the Beretta flying.
The momentum of the tackle carried the thug through Bond and rolling several feet past. The man reached for his weapon as he scrambled to his feet, but Bond was on him in a flash. The two men stood face to face struggling over the pistol for several seconds, when Bond turned the tide by delivering a sharp headbutt to the thug's face, staggering him and loosening his grip on the weapon.
A single shot rang out in the otherwise quiet forest and the thug staggered backwards, clutching at the wound in his chest. Bond stood impassively, weapon ready, and watched as the life force drained out of the man. The thug's legs slowly collapsed until the weight of the upper body tipped the man forward, crashing face first into the ground.
Bond let the man lay motionless for a few seconds then cautiously moved forward, weapon drawn and fixed on the target. He planted his right boot into the man's side and felt the inertia of the thug's deadweight. Bond tucked the pistol in his waistband and carefully rolled the man over onto his back.
He stared at the thug's face, trying to place it. Yes, it seemed familiar. His mind mentally combed for several seconds through the volumes of files of heavies and bagmen back at headquarters. Then it came to him – Andre Santoni. An enforcer for the Corsica's infamous Petit Bar Gang. What the devil was Santoni doing in Finland, trying to kill me no less, Bond thought to himself. Was this what Tanner was trying to warn him about? The Corsicans had no known ties to the Russians and no known interests in Finland.
No time to worry about that. Bond collected his Beretta and clambered into the Volvo. He punched up the address in the text message for Tanner and got back on the road.
Darkness was beginning to fall, and the twisting gravel roads through the forest felt narrow and imposing as the light faded. He was just a few minutes away from reaching the highway to take him back to Helsinki when a pair of headlights appeared in the rear-view mirror, closing quickly.
Bond gripped the wheel ever so much tighter and gently pressed the accelerator down, but the headlights kept getting closer. Soon, Bond could see it was a black Range Rover. It was a sleek black beast with heavily tinted windows and it the closer it got, the more menacing its presence seemed.
The road narrowed even further, and Bond kept his foot on the throttle through a tight corner. The Volvo skittered slightly for a second but stayed on track. He glanced back to see the Range Rover struggling to keep pace through the turn and Bond used the opportunity to accelerate more, pushing the Volvo to its limits. The Range Rover was relentless, though, and after regaining its bearings continued to close the gap.
As the next tight turn approached, the Range Rover was right on Bond's rear bumper. His pulse quickened, and Bond bailed off the main road on to an even narrower path leading into the woods. The two vehicles raced over the rough gravel path, miraculously avoiding the dense forest that lined both sides. The vehicles burst into a clearing, and Bond made a daring move, wrenching his wheel to throw the Volvo sideways in the path of the oncoming pursuer. The Range Rover, with nowhere to go, skidded and screeched trying to avoid the Volvo, turning violently and eventually rolling over multiple times.
Thick black smoke poured out of the engine and without warning, the entire Range Rover was consumed in a massive fireball.
Bond let out a deep breath and regained his composure. He glanced at the smoldering remains of the Range Rover for a moment and then sped off into the evening.