Inspired by Adele

So, I’ve been watching this video a lot in the last 24 hours:

I’ve got to say that it has me very excited for the new Bond movie. I’m an Adele fan to begin with, and I love the classic Bond songs enough to have a compilation CD in my CD case and loaded into iTunes. For me, as a tribute to the legacy of Bond themes, Adele really knocked this one out of the park. I’m completely sold on it and I haven’t been able to get my brain out of Bond mode for some time.

So instead of fighting it, I figured I’d roll with it. I’ve never really thought of doing fan-fiction. I have nothing against it, and have enjoyed my fair share of other people’s great fan-fiction efforts; but what follow is my first personal attempt at direct fan-fiction. My short piece set in the Bond world. When I wrote this, I was totally thinking of Daniel Craig era Bond. Let me know what you think.

“The girl is a secondary priority. Neutralizing General Mubuto and recovering the security key are your primary responsibility. Bring her back if you can, but not at the expense of the primary mission.”

The words were harsh and clipped, and accompanied by M’s trademark icy glare. They brooked no argument, and betrayed no emotion beyond the job to be done.

He wondered if she remembered the days before her promotion, back at a time when the cold war waged and she was the first secretary to the last civil servant to carry her current single-letter moniker. Back when she had been Moneypenny, and one of his predecessors had been a man named Bond.

He’d traced Mubuto to Bahrain, and intercepted a phone call that indicated the exiled African general would be at this Prestige Imports Car dealership later in the afternoon to pick up a special order Aston Martin Zagato; undoubtedly with his entire entourage in tow. An entourage that had been rather accurately compared to a small private army.

But he would not arrive for a few hours yet. It was before noon, and the general had a rather predictable habit of sleeping until tea-time, and staying out until daybreak.

A young man in impeccable western dress was approaching from the direction of the sales office. “Can I help you sir?” he asked in lightly accented South African English.

“Yes, I’m looking for something presentable, with a subtle naughty streak.”

“I’m sure we can find you something that will suit you perfectly. May I ask your name sir?”

“Bond. James Bond.”

The salesman quickly appraised the impeccable cut of his potential customer’s suit, and the rather remarkable watch he was already checking. “Right this way sir, I have a new Bentley Continental Third Generation that is a perfect saint in the city and a perfect sinner on an open road.”

“She does sound like my kind of lady.”

They crossed a few rows of cars and the salesman held up an electronic keyfob at a curvaceous and extremely expensive grey coupe. As he pressed the unlock button Bond surreptitiously pressed an unassuming button on the side of his watch.

“Why don’t you give her a quick spin while I explain the features of this magnificent car.”

“Certainly.” Bond climbed into the supple leather seat and felt it automatically adjust to his height and weight. “That’s remarkable,” he said, “How does it know exactly how far back to lean the seat?”

“The comfort control computer is amazing. Everything in this car is automated. There isn’t even a key, just a button to fire the engine. Everything is controlled from the keyfob.”

“Everything? That’s wonderful.”

Bond fired the engine and drove down the long row of cars to the main entryway, past the service building set off to the side of the dealership. Quite a few large and well-appointed cars were waiting in front of the building.

After a quick ride through some city roads Bond had enough of a feel for the car, and enough of playing car shopper. They returned to the lot, and Bond quickly dismissed driving any other vehicles. “Let me think about it.” He said with a look that was both pleasant and left no room to negotiate any further.

As Bond walked back to his rented Mercedes he saw the first of four large Rolls Royce Phantoms pull into the dealership. Each was flying the flag of a certain recently deposed Central African Government.

Mubuto was early. He must be unusually excited about his new sportscar.

Bond walked right past his Mercedes and over to the service building. He honed in on a large armored BMW 740i with the motor running and a technician standing off to the side. Bond walked up, climbed swiftly into the car and closed the door as he rolled into motion.

The car was very heavy, and accelerated slowly, even with the peddle revving the aftermarket V12 to the limit. Bond drove directly at the glass wall of the sales headquarters that Mubuto had walked into just moments before.

Bond checked his Walther PPK and the restraint harness. His foot never came off the gas.

As he began to approach the sales office without slowing, the half-dozen men Mubuto had left outside began to wave him away. When they realized he wasn’t turning, several of them pulled machine pistols out of their coats and opened fire.

The advantage to an armored BMW is that once it gets up to speed, it has more in common with a tank than a family sedan. Four of Mubuto’s men had the good sense to jump out of the way. Two of them were still firing at the fractured windshield when the wheels of the BMW hit the barrier curb and the nose lifted into the air.

The massive armored car exploded through the inch-thick glass, a billion fragments like crystal flames erupting from the point of contact. The airbag detonated, but Bond had already braced his arms at his side, protecting himself from the force of the expanding cloth that was meant to pillow him in an impact.

As the car came down he grabbed the wheel and yanked to the side, slamming the breaks to the floor and sliding the car sideways, colliding with an almost one-of-a-kind red supercar.

Bond emerged from the car PPK first, three rounds putting down the first three of Mubuto’s guards who managed to stand up in the wreckage of the sales building. As the third heavy slumped over, Bond grabbed his Uzi and sprayed the two guards who were looking to bring the fight from the outside in. One went down with a lucky shot to the chest, the second one pulled back behind the Phantom with several of his companions.

Bond looked down at his watch and held down the button opposite the one he’d held down earlier. The watch beeped and the hour hand began counting backwards from twelve. When it got to six Bond sprayed more Uzi fire out of the window and then stepped back behind the wrecked BMW.

After a couple of moments several of the guards stood up to get a better view into the showroom. The hour-hand on Bond’s watch ticked past one and back to twelve, and an explosion ripped apart the rented Mercedes. Twenty kilos of C4 pointed down at the full gas tank created a two stage explosion that knocked several vehicles into the air and created a hurricane of glass and metal shrapnel that disposed of any guards that might have survived the initial blast.

A bullet deflected off of the armored window of the BMW no more than a foot from Bond’s head, he ducked and jumped to a new position protected from the gunfire coming down the hallway leading to the back of the dealership. At least two different guns, different calibers, and at least one of them wasn’t worried about conserving ammunition.

Bond saw a flash of gold from one of the open doorways. Mubuto’s gold-plated Dessert Eagle; a .50 caliber hand-cannon that held 18 rounds and weighed as much as cinder-block. He was down at least five rounds already. The report on the other weapon was small caliber, probably 9mm, and the shooter wasn’t wasting shots.

The fire outside was beginning to blow smoke into the building. After a moment the automatic sprinklers came on. In the moment of surprise Bond took the initiative and bolted down the hall. He kicked the door with his full force and the door edge slammed into someone on the other side. As it swung back he kicked it again and fired into the open space.

Mubuto went down hard, the huge golden gun spilling out of his hand. Bond instinctively jumped to the right out of the doorway, just a fraction of a second before the thirty-three round magazine of a Glock 18 emptied itself in fully automatic mode.

Bond stepped back to the doorway, crouching low with his shoulder against the doorframe. The huge man on the other side, Mubuto’s personal bodyguard, looked up as he tried to pull a fresh clip from a pocket inside his long cream-colored coat, his arm was restrained by the handcuff that connected him to the leggy brunette with upswept hair who was also handcuffed to a large metal briefcase.

Bond placed a single shot through giant’s surprised right eye, creating a gruesome mess on the back wall of the small sales office. The woman screamed.

Bond stood up and went over to Mubuto’s body, the hole in his neck had already proved fatal. Bond searched the General’s pockets and pulled out a gold plated iPhone.

“Tacky. All that stolen money and not an ounce of taste.”

“Everything is secured with an eye-scanner.” The woman’s accent was west London, and her fear was palpable. “Are you hear to rescue me? I’ve been his prisoner since the government fell.”

“You’ve been with him since you left your Chelsea apartment to rendezvous with him in Monaco. He kept you and the papers that would embarrass Her Majesty’s government with him at all times. You were his hostage, and an insurance policy against Her Majesty’s Secret Service doing anything rash.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m something rash.”

She frowned and gestured at the body of the General “You can’t access anything without his eye. He was big on security.” She was almost clinical about a man who had died right in front of her.

Bond pulled his own phone out of his pocket and positioned it in front of Mubuto’s right eye as he held open the eyelids. “Don’t worry; I have an app for that.”

Bond turned his attention to the handcuff holding her to the giant. He pulled up the right leg of his trousers and slid a knife from the sheath on the inside of his calf. Her eyes grew wide as he stepped towards her. Bond took the giant’s hand and deftly severed the tendon at the base of the thumb. He squeezed the bones of the hand into a circle and slid the handcuff over the slick skin.

Bond pulled her up and led her to the back of the building. Sirens were blaring in the distance and several cars were still burning when they stepped out in to the bright sunlight. Bond calmly led her several rows of cars over and walked up to a curvy grey coupe. He pressed the right side button on his watch and the car’s alarm system deactivated. Bond put her in the passenger seat, not all that delicately, and then went around and climbed behind the wheel.

“You’re not very good at being gentle with your assignments. You wouldn’t want to damage me when you went to all that effort to get me away from him.”

Bond fired the engine and pulled slowly out of the lot and onto the road. Several police officers rolled by with lights on and sirens blaring. “You are the secondary priority. Recovery if possible, but not at the risk of the primary mission.” Bond patted the briefcase in her lap.

“Recovery if POSSIBLE!?” she huffed. “Do you know who my mother is?” An icy glare tinged the corners of her eyes.

“Yes. Those were your mother’s orders.”

[Word Count: 2050]

4 thoughts on “Inspired by Adele


    That ending was pure awesome.

    Thanks! I wrote the first three paragraphs and the last five lines of dialog, and then wrote everything in the middle to get from point at to point b.

  2. I hear Pierce Brosnan, not Daniel Craig. I like this. You should write more fan fiction.

    Well, Brosnan was a great Bond (Goldeneye is one of my top five Bond movies) so as long as it sound “like Bond” I’m happy with it.

  3. Very nice. Although: Aston Martin. And, having just seen a Top Gear relating to Bentleys last night, I’m not sure any Bentley can really be a sinner on the open road. At least, Jeremy Clarkson doesn’t think so.

    What’s truly tragic about that misspelling, is that I had the website open in the background. As for the Bentley, I was trying to pick a car that a salesman would push on a seemingly rich buyer. I needed something that wasn’t run of the mill. Bentley was me just trying to stick with the brit car theme. I concede to the eminent knowledge of Jeremy Clarkson on the matter.

    Have you read any of the books? I was surprised to enjoy them enormously.

    I have many of the Flemming novels, and I’m a huge fan. I read several of John Gardner’s books back in the 90s. I suspect I’d enjoy the newer ones as well, they come highly recommended.

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