Ian Fleming's James Bond 007 in:
Tales of Her Majesty's Secret Service #3
Death To Spies-part III
By Ross Sidor
This seemed to be the only sensation that James Bond was capable of feeling when he forced his eyes open and learned that every muscle in his body seemed to ache. He found himself sprawled out across a stone paneled floor. He stood up, stretching the cramps out of his body. He reached behind his head and rubbed the back of his neck where something hard and powerful had struck him. Bond looked around, taking in his surroundings. He was in a small room, a cell actually, like a medieval dungeon, he mused. The windowless walls were made of the same stone surface as the floor. The single piece of furniture in the room, a narrow cot with a pillow and blanket, lay in the far corner, across from the large steel door. There was a slight small open space in the door with three thick wrought iron bars going through it horizontally.
Bond took in a deep breath, hoping to clear his head, and found the air to be quite damp, cool, and stale. His head still hurt from the drugs that he had been given earlier. He looked at the Rolex on his wrist, having to take a moment to focus his mind to clearly see what the time. It was two-fifteen, though Bond had no way of telling if it were morning or afternoon. He assumed that it was probably two in the morning, otherwise there would have most likely been someone monitoring him to see when he woke up, in which case he would probably already have been visited by his captors. Bond sat down on the edge of the stiff, uncomfortable cot and noticed the bucket of water on the floor beside it. He dipped his hand into the water to find that it was still cool and as such, probably still relatively fresh. He cupped his hands together and filled them with water and took a drink, managing to clear up of his soar throat. Then, he splashed some water on his face, waking him up.
He reached a hand into his trouser pockets. The hell, he thought, they had even take his cigarettes from him. He did not even have to check to see that they had relieved him of his PPK.
Bond dried his hands on his trousers and lay back on the cot, his mind still reeling with the events of the past few hours, or had it been days, it was hard to tell, that brought him here. All he remembered was being tied down in the back of the van when one of the KGB thugs injected him with some sort of sedative and he blacked out. Though he was not very worried over with what happened during his period of unconsciousness, Bond was, however, highly concerned with as to whether or not he had been brought under interrogation. Sure, he had been able to hold out under interrogation while pumped with chemicals before, even torture, but that was when he had time to prepare himself, time to forced his brain to hide his torturer’s answers deep in the back of his mind. It was a skill that most spies had to acquire sometime in the course of their career but Bond did not know how well he would do after being given the drugs while already in a bit of a daze after the D.B.III had crashed, and taken into interrogation.
Bond lay back on the cot, resting his head down on the crusty and hard pillow. He shut his eyes and for the first time in a long while experienced a natural sleep.
Bond snapped out of his relaxing sleep sometime later, to the sound of a loud screeching noise which turned out to be the door to his cell slowly opening. Bond bolted up in the cot as his visitor stepped inside. He was a large and ugly man holding a gun and Bond immediately placed as being one of the KGB people he had encountered in Bristol, Dimitris was his name? The man stared at Bond menacingly. He would make a fine extra in a gladiator movie, Bond mused to himself.
The man murmured something in Russian. Bond took it to mean "Come with me" or something to that affect. Bond stood up, under the careful eye of the man's gun, and followed him out of the cell into a plain, modern looking hallway.
He took Bond around the corner and up a set of stairs until they reached the above floor where they went down another corridor, closed doors set in the walls on either side. Bond tried to memorize the route they were taking and hoped to get a feel for the basic geography of the place.
Finally, the big Russian came to a stop outside of a door and pushed it open, motioning for Bond to go on inside. Bond looked at him once and stepped inside the room. It was a rather large and comfortable room with a long dining table in the center of the carpeted floor. On the far wall there was a window, revealing the bright blue sky and the outside world twenty feet below. Bond tried to look at the scenery outside, hoping to get some feel for where they were. All he saw was a plain road leading from the building, it went on through the forests which surrounded the area.
"You are in East Germany, Double-O Seven." a feminine voice told him, seeming to sense his thoughts. The voice spoke the words in English but with a heavy Russian accent.
Bond turned around, seeing the woman who had previously accompanied the two thugs in England. Yvette, Bond believed she had called herself, Yvette Romanoff. She walked inside the room with Dimitris and the other KGB man, Pavel, behind her. "Please have a seat," Yvette invited Bond pleasantly, without any signs of malice or aggression towards him. "We were just about to have our breakfast and I thought that perhaps you might care to join us. You must be hungry and this will give you the opportunity to ask questions. I'm sure that you have many questions on your mind, Mister Bond. As do we, the drugs were not completely successful in getting the needed information out of you."
So, he wad indeed given a drug induced questioning, Bond thought at that moment, and it sounded like he was somewhat successful in withholding whatever information they were looking for, though Bond could not recall a damned bit of it offhand. "Yes, I do have some things on my mind that I'd care to have clarified." Bond replied. He looked around the table and pulled out a chair on the side and sat down. Yvette and her two accomplices sat down around him. "Let's start with how you know my number."
"There are not many agents in your service with the Double-O ranking," one of the two men, Pavel, explained. "It was therefore a fairly simple matter to locate your dossier in our archives, that was after we learned that you were an English spy. We first suspected you of being a freelancer, sent to retrieve the microfilm."
Bond nodded his head thoughtfully, it made sense, he was certain that the KGB, and probably Russia’s other intelligence agencies, had a file and maybe even a photograph of him. He slid a hand down to his pocket and immediately recalled his earlier frustration. "Can I have back my cigarettes returned to me?" Bond asked next.
Yvette turned to Dimitris, who had already had his gun holstered, and reached into his pocket, coming up with Bond's gunmetal case and Dunhill lighter. He slid it across the hard table top over to Bond and, along with an ashtray. Bond took one of his Morlands and lit it. He set it between his lips and took a deep and refreshing drag. "Perhaps you'd be so kind as to tell me what exactly this place is,” he said.
"Of course," Yvette replied. "We're all friends here. This is a KGB safe house in East Germany."
"Safe for whom?" Bond asked, rubbing the puncture marks on his arm where the needle had pierced his skin earlier.
The inquiry went ignored.
"And what am I doing here exactly?" inquired Bond.
"We brought you to our East German base since it was safer than crossing into Russia where the enemy would easily be able to identify us. We arrived last night," Yvette replied. “Just after we discovered the microfilm.”
Bond surprised to hear that, arched an eyebrow, "The microfilm?"
Yvette nodded and Pavel answered this one, "I went out to search your car for the microfilm when we found that it was not with you. I would have missed that little compartment in you car had the crash not smashed the hidden panel open."
Yvette acknowledged Bond's startled expression, "You've no need to worry, it will not fall into SMERSH's hands, I can ensure that. In fact, the reason for my department's interest in the microfilm is to specifically see to it that SMERSH will not acquire it. You may find this hard to believe but must of us would very much care for an era of peace with the West, it's SMERSH who thinks otherwise."
"Then how do you explain them launching this operation to steal the microfilm, killing an English and American agent in the process? Surely they don't have the power to carry out such a mission without some sort of permission from a higher authority."
"Major Boris Putin" the girl started. "General G.'s replacement as head of SMERSH, proposed his plan to his superiors in Moscow. They naturally refused to allow Putin to proceed with his operation, they knew that it would disrupt the peace that has been forming between our countries. Major Putin then decided to go on with the mission in secret and he dispatched Yuri Korolov to retrieve the microfilm."
"Why would this Putin possibly need a listing of American agents so badly that he'd disobey superior officers, and probably even risk his career at that?" Bond said, not able to make sense of the situation. He knew that SMERSH was always very much interested in acquiring new data on those they considered as being with the “enemy” but he had no idea that they’d take such a risk like this to get the microfilm
Yvette frowned at Bond's last comment, seeming genuinely puzzled. "A listing of American agents, is that what you’ve just said?" the girl asked, now she seemed to be the one who was more than a bit lost in this entire situation.
Bond nodded his head once at her question and took a puff at his cigarette.
"What exactly has your government been telling you, Mister Bond?"
Bond furrowed his brow, "Why, what have you been told?"
"I've been told the truth,” she sharply replied. "That microfilm contains no listing of American spies, as you put it. No, just one man from the Americans' Central Intelligence Agency."
Bond was a bit startled to hear that but he also did not believe one word of what the Romanoff girl was telling him, though he did not express disbelief. Instead he said, "What's so special about this one man that would make my government lie to me before undertaking this assignment?" Bond asked.
"You think that I'm the one who is not telling you the truth, don’t you?" It was a statement, not a question from Yvette who said it with what appeared to be disappointment in her eyes. “But I had not expected you to understand.”
Bond looked at her plainly, "No, I don't believe a damn word of it. The Russians have gone through great lengths to capture, murder, and manipulate, and whatever else you can think of, to me in the past. I'll start trusting you when I'm given a reason to do so."
Yvette had been prepared for Bond’s reaction and replied as she had practiced. "No, it was not the Russians who did those things to you, it was SMERSH. There is a difference. We only-"
Bond cut her off, "All right, then, fair, enough. Let's move onto what the KGB, your service, personally did to me. Other than the time when they tried to brainwash me, 'reprogram' me to assassinate my Chief, of course."
"An operation launched by a Colonel Boris, not something that my particular department played a part in."
"Fine, then, just assuming that you're telling me the truth here, what is so special about this one CIA man, hhhmm?"
"His name is Jonathan Horner," Yvette answered, ignoring Bond's skepticism. "And he's stationed in Russia and, by accident, came across evidence linking Major Putin to a Colonel General Nikolai Drago Sergovich. Are you familiar with the name?"
Bond nodded his head, "Yes, a high ranking Soviet officer-"
Yvette sharply interrupted him, "Very high ranking, I’d say. He has nearly one third of the Soviet army under his command."
Bond continued, ignoring the interruption. "A high ranking Soviet officer who is most insistent on taking military action against the West, moving his forces into Europe, as well as developing the Soviet's nuclear armament." Bond puffed at his cigarette. "A bit of a fanatic, I should say."
"That is as accurate description as any, I suppose." Yvette replied. "It seems that when it was decided to replace General Grubozaboyschikov, the Heads of State originally wanted to completely disband SMERSH."
"Why didn't they then?"
"Because Major Putin came forward with a proposal that if he were to take over the organization there would be many changes made, or as he stated, 'righting the wrongs that were made under General Grubozaboyschikov’s, command.' They were unsure of Putin at first. Until Colonel General Sergovich openly stated how he has full support for Putin and that he is the wisest candidate for the position."
"And so SMERSH is still intact and under the power of another madman." Bond said. "But I can’t understand what difference it should make to Sergovich as to whether or not SMERSH is active or not? I never knew that he was involved in the world of espionage as well as military tactics."
"Because without SMERSH Sergovich would have no other way of obtaining that microfilm. The KGB, or any of Russia's other intelligence services, would not be permitted to steal the microfilm but SMERSH would be. But Sergovich had not anticipated the rejection of Putin's plan."
Bond stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray and refrained his earlier question. "So, what does Sergovich want with this CIA man, Horner?”
"Three months ago, Horner came across information linking General Sergovich, and other highly placed Soviet officials, to a…” Yvette paused looking for the right term in her head. “… a conspiracy, I suppose it can be referred to as. Apparently they don't share Leonid Brezhnev's views towards the peace between our countries. Horner alerted his superiors who told him that they would need more 'concrete proof' before approaching Brezhnev with his findings. That microfilm also contains Horner's complete work, all of the information and facts he had gathered."
Bond raised a hand, "Slow it down for a minute. What's all this about a conspiracy."
"Colonel General Sergovich, along with his followers, is suspected having developed an assassination plan against highly placed Soviet Officials, somehow placing the blame on the Americans and their allies. There are few details and they are not very specific. My people learned of Sergovich’s little plot only days ago, shortly after Horner."
Nice to know that the American secret service was ahead of that of the Russian’s, Bond thought with wry humor. "No wonder General Sergovich wants the microfilm so badly," Bond thought aloud. “Nobody is aware of what Sergovich and his friends are up to?”
Yvette shook her head, “Ever since this debate over SMERSH’s future began, my service has been working on this case. My superior had become suspicious of Sergovich’s motives,” she told Bond. She could clearly remember her faithful meeting that morning with General Kuristein. “Pavel and Dimitris and myself were the main agents put onto the investigation.”
“There was another man with us,” Pavel said silently, solemnly. “His body was discovered in Moscow shortly after taking on the investigation.”
Bond nodded, taking it all in. So, he decided, war had broken out between the Russian secret service and the Russian murder apparat SMERSH. And, bloody hell, here he was getting himself involved in the middle of it all. One thing he was certain of, M would be quite anxious to hear Bond’s complete rundown of what took place here. That was assuming of course that he would be able to get out of this mess soon. He did not give a damn about Yvette Romanoff’s, the KGB’s, problems with SMERSH. His mission was to retrieve the microfilm and that is exactly what he is going to do.
They were interrupted by someone else entering the room, a petite girl in her late twenties, carrying a tray of food. She set a plate of food on the table before each of the dinners along with tall glasses of orange juice. She left. Bond inspected his plate. It contained scrambled eggs with bits of sliced bacon and potatoes in it, covered with oregano and other spices and seasonings. On the side were two pieces of crisp toast and marmalade. Bond had to admit that it smelt delicious and the notion of finally eating something was tempting. He moved the eggs around with his fork and took a bite. It was good and he ate some more.
"And the Americans and my people know about all of this?" Bond wondered aloud after a few minutes of silence, giving him time to take this all in.
Yvette sipped at her juice and nodded, "That is correct. The CIA man that Korolov killed that night in the park was bringing it over so that they would be able to present it to the Soviet Union. The move would certainly change the USSR's opinion towards the Westernized world and their motives."
"Not to mention the chaos that would erupt if Sergovich mobilized his forces against the rest of Europe." Bond added. He felt very irritated that M had elected to leave out this bit of information during the briefing. But M had said that very few people knew of the microfilm's existence and probably even fewer were aware of the information it truly contained. Bond had to stop himself from thinking like that, it meant that he was starting to buy into Romanoff's story. He sipped at his fresh orange juice, hiding his inner contemplating.
"This food has been excellent," Bond said, breaking the brief, awkward silence.
Yvette nodded, making a comment about the cook. The servant girl soon returned, collecting their dishes and distributing mugs and a pot of freshly brewed coffee and left. Bond lit another cigarette and sat back in his chair. "With their man, Korolov, else for that matter, are down, what's Sergovich's and Putin's next move?"
Yvette actually smiled at Bond's question, "Colonel General Sergovich, or anyone aware of what happened to Yuri Korolov,” she told him. "Before leaving Bristol, we first cleaned up the bookstore, removing the bodies of Korolov and the other two men. Sergovich is most likely little more than annoyed with why Korolov hasn't reported in but for what they know, he is still very much alive and well. We've actually have an advantage over them at the moment."
Bond admitted to himself that he was truly impressed with the professionalism that the girl and her people were demonstrating. "I'm assuming that you already have a plan ready."
Yvette nodded, "Yes, we do. Sergovich is sitting at his base right now, waiting for Korolov and the microfilm. As a result, it would be not be too difficult to send one of us to pay him a visit."
"That's all well and good but wouldn't Sergovich be able to identify Korolov?"
Pavel shook his head. "Sergovich, nor anyone close to him, has ever seen Korolov in the flesh. Putin was the man who arranged to send Korolov off on this mission to begin with. It is unlikely that Sergovich has even seen a photograph of Korolov or spoken with him over the telephone."
Bond considered this for a moment, then said, "You want to send one of your people to Sergovich? I suppose it might work out, you'd need a duplicate of the microfilm, with false information on Horner and his work, of course."
"That is what I was intended on doing, but not with one of my operatives. No, I was hoping that you'd perhaps carryout the mission." Yvette said with dead seriousness.
"Me?” was all Bond could manage to say through his surprise.
“Only if you agree to do it,” Yvette told him, keeping her all business tone of voice. “I am certainly not going to force anyone into such a dangerous situation as that.”
“Wouldn’t one of your people be better suited for a job such as this?” Bond jerked his head towards Pavel and Dimitris. “I mean, at least someone who is Russian?”
"Their nationality does not matter." Yvette said firmly. "Yuri Korolov was born Sean Richmond, half British and half Scottish."
That explained how he was able to "fake" such a realistic English accent in the London motel. Bond said, "But the dossier my people have on him say that he is Russian born."
"Yes, many intelligence agencies around the world have some information on a 'Yuri Korolov' which is highly fabricated. When Richmond was recruited by the Soviets, he immediately adopted an alias." Yvette explained. "In that case, you are probably much better suited for this task than say, Pavel here, or Dimitris. Besides, Sergovich is well aware that we have been keeping close tabs on him, I am sure that he would have little difficulty in identifying any of us."
Bond did not like it. No, he did not like it at all, waltzing off into the middle of Russia under the cover of a SMERSH assassin. It was a bloody fool’s errand.
"It is the only way to stop General Sergovich's operation. Even if the microfilm is turned over to Russia by the Americans and English, Sergovich will find a way to clear his name, it will serve only as a delay to him. He is not trying to make a profit, he sincerely believes that what he is doing is for the glory of Russia, and he is therefore, very highly motivated."
Bond thought for a moment and lit another cigarette. "If I should decide to go through with this, if," Bond said putting emphasis on the word "if". "I first want to see a very detailed and specific outline of the operation and how you plan on going about with this."
Yvette nodded her agreement. "I would have it no other way." she glanced up at the clock on the wall. "We will hold a complete debriefing in three hours from now. That will also give you some time to make your decision."
"All right, that's fine, but would be too much to ask for a more, er, civilized quarters."
"Absolutely, we had no choice but to detain you in the cell below until we were sure of who you were and your motives. Pavel," she said turning her head. "Would you take Bond to his new room upstairs?"
Pavel nodded politely, "Of course, if you would just follow me, Mister Bond."
Bond finished his cigarette and put it out next to the others. "Maybe I can even get a change of clothes,” he suggested. Bond's suite, the one he had been wearing since he embarked on this little escapade, was tattered and torn with a bloody tear across the shoulder from a gunshot and another rip from the slash of a knife.
"You will find a fresh change of clothes in your closet. They should fit you," Yvette told him.
Bond followed Pavel out of the room. They took the stairs up to the third floor and Pavel showed Bond to the first door on the right and left him alone. The quarters consisted of a spacious sitting room, with a couch and two recliners resting on the carpeted floor around the antique coffee table. On either side of the couch stood a small wooden stand, each supporting a lamp. On the far wall there was the liquor cabinet, next to the bar covered window. They obviously still did not completely trust Bond but they had not to worry about him trying to escape. He would not even think of making an attempt to get away unless he had the microfilm.
The sitting room led into a smaller room on the right with a king size bed and dresser and closet where Bond found the clothes. Far off to the side was the lavatory. Bond immediately stripped and stepped into the shower, first letting the freezing cold water beat against his body than switching to hot water. Bond got out of the shower stall and underneath the cabinet in the sink, found shaving supplies, a toothbrush, and other various personal items. Bond quickly shaved and combed his hair and got dressed and found some aspirin but as tempting as it was as a relief of his aches, he did not take any, still not too trusting of his KGB hosts.
Bond walked into the sitting room feeling completely refreshed. He went over to the liquor cabinet, not too impressed with the offered selection, and removed a bottle of Russian vodka and poured himself a glass. He drank it down and refilled his glass, quickly devouring that as well. Bond set himself down in the cushioned recliner and shut his eyes, pondering what the hell he had gone and gotten himself involved in this time. Working, basically under the KGB's orders, to actually save Russia! The last thing that went through his mind before falling asleep was that he had never thought that he would live to see this day, peace or not between the Union of Soviet Socialist Republic and the powers of the West.
Bond woke up later in the afternoon, relieved to see that he had finally been ridden of the pains in his muscles. He looked at the clock mounted on the wall. It was already half past one o'clock. Bond got up and walked around the room, coming to stop at the bookshelf and looking over the titles available. Mostly works by Russian, some German, authors and scholars who Bond was unfamiliar with.
Finally, there came a knock at the door, "I'm coming," Bond hollered.
He started for the door but before he could open it for his visitor, Dimitris helped himself inside. He once more gave Bond the hateful glare. "Madame Romanoff is ready for you." he seemed to spit out. "In the briefing room as before."
"Thank you," Bond said with a mock smile. "But I think I can manage to find my way this time. Becoming quite familiar with the grounds."
"You will come with me," the brutish man more or less ordered. He spun on his heels and embarked down the corridor. Bond shut the door and followed close behind him.
When Bond arrived at the briefing room, Yvette and Pavel were already seated around the table. Bond sat down where he had before and so did Dimitris.
"Have you come to a conclusion?" Yvette Romanoff asked of him. “If you have yet to make up your mind, please remember that we are running short on time right now as it is.”
"Yes," Bond said flatly and instantly cursed himself for doing so. "I'll do it."
"Good," was all Yvette had to say. She knew that Bond would have made that choice.
"I do, however, have one question." Bond said. "What makes you think that Korolov was going to head to General Sergovich's base? I should think that he'd go off to SMERSH headquarters, to Major Putin, with the microfilm."
Yvette shook her head, "Nyet," she responded. "That would be the first place that we would look for him and he knows it."
Bond sighed, “Then where is Sergovich hiding?”
Yvette explained. "He is safely situated at his villa, on Wrangel Island. It is off in the Arctic Ocean. Whenever he is asked about it by Soviet officials, he says that he enjoys the scenery and that it is a nice place for him to relax."
"And you have the exact location of his place?" Bond asked.
Yvette nodded her head, "We do, and there it where you'll be headed within a couple of days."
Pavel took over, "We first have to do something about your physical appearance a bit," he said looking Bond over. "I am sure that Sergovich has some idea as to what he should expect from Korolov. No need to worry about that, though, we have people who can fix you up with contact lenses for your eyes, take care of your hair color and other rather minor things like that."
"All right, then," said Bond, still not sure how fond he was of the idea. "I suppose that we’d better get on with it then."
|Tales of Her Majesty’s Secret Service #2||Part one ancient Night Chapter 1 The Road to Death|
|Part III scene 1||Документы|
1. /deathangel/Death Angel - Act III-90.doc
|Praise Of Death Deceased in mind decree of Death||Документы|
1. /Secret codes for tel/SECRETS/AlcatelSecrets.txt
1. /Nokia 8810 Service Ma/01FRONT.PDF
|Database As Service. Part1 (Создание шаблона бд)|
На прошедшем Oracle Day я рассказывал презентацию про подготовку инфраструктуры для облачных вычислений. Была затронута тема предоставления...