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Chapter Text

The rain drummed against the window and showed no sign of stopping. Neither did the night train to Paris. James Bond sat alone, smoking and looking at the increasingly darkening view outside. His compartment was conspicuously empty and lonely. His gun was strapped to his shoulder, unused. He stubbed his cigarette and cursed his luck for being given the mission to tail the most boring international arms dealer in the world. The man was a bald Russian named Stechkov and Bond had been shadowing him for three days. During that time, Stechkov had completed no arms deals, ordered soup three times a day, gone to bed at exactly nine o'clock each night and generally not done anything of any note whatsoever. The gentle rocking of the train annoyed Bond enough to make him sit up and throw on a dinner jacket to hide his gun. He decided something was going to happen that night. What exactly that was, Bond had no idea as he closed his compartment door behind him. He began walking in the direction of the diner car. An hour before, Stechkov had felt bold and ordered vegetables with his soup. He was a gaunt man with a hooked nose. Bond had observed him closely and decided he looked like an eagle impersonating a human. Stechkov was always flanked by two burly guards who looked as thoroughly bored with Stechkov as Bond was. Bond was about to reach the gilded confines of the diner car when he heard muffled voices behind a closed compartment. The curtains were pulled down on each side of the door but a dim light crept out from a gap at the bottom.
“Hit me.” A sultry French voice said. Bond liked the sound of it.
“Five. You're bust, madame.” A different, nasally voice said. Bond didn't like this voice much at all.
Bond thought he had found his entertainment for the night. He looked at his watch. The dangerous man Stechkov would be tucked up in bed by now. Russian arm dealers appeared to be creatures of habit, after all. Bond knocked on the door. Quickfire French words being spat out like machine gun fire, impossible to hear. The compartment door opened halfway. A man's face appeared. He looked over Bond with the welcoming nature of a prison guard. He ruffled his bristling moustache and spoke with distaste. “Yes?”
“I was on my way to the diner cart when-”
“I hear dinner is still being served. Best you run along, before it is too late.” The man blocking the door said with contempt. He started to close the door.
Bond pulled out a leather wallet, stripped it of a few bank notes and held them out.
“I hear this is the only game in town.”
The moustached man's hand shot out like a trap. He counted the money in a second.
“You heard well. Come on in, but remember...the punishment for cheats is lethal."

Bond stepped into the compartment. The first thing that struck him was the warmth and the sweet smell of an expensive perfume that he couldn't place. It was far from his area of expertise. Bond looked to his right. A woman was sitting with her leg folded over the other, impatiently waiting for the game to resume. Bond traced the silk draped curvature of her legs up to her elegant knitwear shirt, then noticed her hazel eyes glaring at him with impetuous anger. He sat beside her. This was much closer to his kind of expertise.
“Our new player.” The Moustache said.
“I told you not to answer the door.” She said, not acknowledging Bond's arrival. “Now look at what you have done.”
“Charmed.” Bond said as he sat down.
Bond looked across the way. There were four of them in the compartment. The other man looked extremely nervous. He looked like a ticking time bomb. Bond decided not to look at him for too long for fear of setting him off. There was a little table in between them, with a rather large pile of money.
“The game is blackjack. Have you played it before, mister…?”
“Bond. Yes, I have. Once or twice.”
The woman acknowledged him for the first time. She swept back her onyx hair and sighed.
“I hope you know what you are doing, Englishman.” She said, “I'm about to lose the shirt off my back.”
Bond raised an eyebrow but kept his eyes on the money. “Timing is one of my strong suits.”
Moustache man dealt out two cards. He regarded Bond with contempt. Bond looked at the girl. She was worth looking at. She took out a monogrammed cigarette case and lit one.
“Your bet, mister Bond?” Moustache said. Bond glanced at the nervous man. He was using a handkerchief to wipe the copious amount of sweat on his forehead. Bond looked at the bug eyed man and wondered if his perspiration was from the game or the heat inside the train compartment. Bond took out a money clip from his inside pocket. His wrist brushed against his gun. He peeled off a few notes and put them on the little table. The girl looked interested. Moustache seemed intrigued. The nervous man looked about ready to keel over.
“This is a friendly game, Mister Bond. That is a rather unfriendly bet.”
“I didn't know I was amongst friends.” Bond said.
Moustache had a jewel encrusted ring on and played with it as he tried to smile. The only sound was the train moving through the night.
“This game is just to sate our appetites before Paris, when we can move on to more serious matters.” Moustache said.
Bond peeled off another note. “I don't have much of an appetite for French cuisine.”
“Only because you haven't read the menu.” The woman interrupted. Bond got the quick impression that she was in charge. “Let the Englishman play his bet.”
The nervous man checked his watch once, twice and three times for good measure.
“This game is dragging along.” He said in an accent Bond couldn't place. “I have a-”
“Yes, yes. A prior engagement. So you keep saying.” The woman said.
“But it really is most important.” The nervous man said with a wide eyed look.
“They certainly aren't going anywhere. Unless they jump.” She said. Bond liked her. She had an air of danger about her that Bond was intrigued by. He wasn't sure if the woman would shoot him or kiss him.
Bond leaned back and smiled. “You French are an argumentative bunch.”
Moustache leaned over and took the money. He left his jewel alone.
“C’est la vie.” He said, exhaling. Bond didn't like him. “Your bet, Corinne?”
A thin trail of smoke appeared. She pushed some money onto the table. Bond noticed a crack in her facade. She had obviously been on a losing streak.
“Come on. Let's get this over with.” She threw money on the table as if it was litter.
Blackjack was a game that Bond usually found boring, but this particular round held an obvious interest. The nervous man flipped his cards. He had eighteen, a good score but one that seemed to heighten his worry. He didn't have it in him to tell the dealer to stay. Corinne caught Bond's eye, not for the first time. She held his gaze and flipped her cards.
“Nineteen.” She said, “I'll hold.”
Bond had a cigarette of his own. He searched for a lighter. Corinne held her lighter out in annoyance and lit it for him. He flipped over one card. It was a ten. He took a long drag on the cigarette.
“Wish me luck.” He said to the woman.
“Never.” She answered. Bond flipped the card. A queen smiled back at him.
“Twenty.” Moustache said as Bond picked up his winnings.
“This might just be a good night after all.” He said, as Corinne side eyed him.

Bond won some money and lost some in turn. The game paused abruptly when the nervous man shot out of his seat like a coiled spring citing his prior engagement. Nobody seemed to mind that he left.
“The man is scared of his own reflection.” Corinne said as he left. The compartment was like a greenhouse and Bond knew his face had reddened with heat. He didn't want to expose his gun so left his jacket on.
“A break in the action.” Bond said. The moustache man looked at the time and grumbled.
“Just what we need.” Corinne stood up. She looked at Bond. “Follow me. I need a drink.” She beckoned him as one does a labrador and Bond stood up. Moustache was already falling asleep. The game was dying a death.
They exited the hot compartment. The cool air flowing through the corridor was a blessing for Bond. He looked back. The moustache was already falling asleep.
“I believe the bar is closed.” Bond said as he followed Corinne along the corridor.
She stopped, pushed her back to a door and looked Bond up and down. “They serve drinks all night here.”
She went in and shut the door behind her. Bond straightened his collar and went in after her.

She had already uncorked the wine when Bond sat down. Her compartment seemed barely lived in. Bond had been on the train since Lyon and hadn't laid eyes on her once, knowing he would remember if he had. The same small table separated them and the only light was from a tiny lamp. She sat by it and Bond looked across at her.
“Our friend spoiled a good game. I was about to double my winnings.” Bond said. She took the bottle and took a hearty swig from it. She shrugged. “When in France…” Bond said and did the same.
“Yes, you were doing well. By the way, Baldetti is no friend of mine. He has more money than he does sense.”
“The last time I saw someone that nervous, the game was Russian roulette.” Bond said.
She smiled. Bond liked to see her smile. “The famous English wit.” She said without much feeling.
“Do you like to gamble?” Bond asked her. She clutched the bottle. “Only when I win.”
Bond took the wine. “Not your finest night, then.”
She got up and moved across. She moved with an alluring elegance that Bond could watch all night.
“I never lose, not really.” Corinne said. She sat closer. He could feel the warmth from her as she moved in.
Bond sipped the wine. “When were you and the fat fellow planning to cheat me out of my money?”
Her eyebrows furrowed. She gave him the softest slap on the cheek. He let it go and laughed.
“I've been to a lot of casinos.” Bond said.
“So have I.” She said with the same heat as an igloo. “Get us some glasses. I thought you English had manners.”
Bond thought about it, then left for the diner cart. He closed the door quietly behind him and wondered what exactly he was doing. He walked through the carriages without seeing anyone. The train was swaying and humming. The diner cart was an extravagantly decorated area of the train which earlier in the day Bond couldn't wait to get away from. There was a bar in the corner which only served the kind of drinks that make wealthy simpletons feel elegant. As he reached the compartment, Bond looked through the window. It was the middle of the night and he knew he couldn't be seen. The diner cart wasn't empty. One table was illuminated in golden light from a porcelain lamp. Bond looked at them, trying not to make a noise. Stechkov's bald head was shining in the lamplight. He was talking fast, not in English. The muffled sound was impossible to understand. There was a suitcase on the other side. A man was sitting beside it. Baldetti, the nervous man, was hunched over the table. He was listening to Stechkov while sweating and nodding. He looked even worse than he had during the card game. Stechkov had gone red in the face with rage. Bond knew a negotiation when he saw one. The only question was what the stakes were. Stechkov clicked his fingers. Baldetti stood up and his hands trembled as he opened the suitcase to show Stechkov something, whatever the hell was actually inside. Bond thought he could see a vein throbbing on the Russians sizable forehead. He pointed a chubby finger at Baldetti and muttered something. He stood up and walked away with his guards in tow. Baldetti collapsed into his seat and breathed heavily for a while before unsteadily getting up to leave. After, Bond let himself into the diner cart, contemplating what he had seen as he sidled up to the closed bar and commandeered a pair of wine glasses. They clinked off each other as he walked back to Corinne's compartment. He knocked and she opened the door, wearing a lot less than she was when Bond left.
“You took your time.” She said quickly and led Bond inside.
“I was reading the menu to see what was on offer tonight.” Bond said while he had the chance.

The glasses were on the table and Corinne was sitting in his lap before Bond had much chance to do anything about it. Bond decided it was turning out to be a decent evening after all as he breathed in her perfumed scent and felt the warmth of her taut body on his. She poured a hearty serving of red wine into the newly acquired glasses and handed one to him. Bond looked up at her and smiled as they clinked glasses.
“You interest me, James Bond.” Corinne said.
Bond drank. “I don't recall ever telling you my first name.”
She didn't flinch. “I've seen you around. You boarded in Lyon. I was born there. It's my job to know these things. I saw you at the bar two nights ago, standing all alone. I assumed you were waiting for a woman.”
“You assumed wrong. What exactly is your job?”
“Assume whatever you want. Make it something good.”
She was dangerous. She leaned in and kissed Bond on the neck. She was dangerous and exciting.
“Tell me more about our friend Baldetti.”
“I can think of other things to talk about.” She said, smiling devilishly with glossy red lips. Her touch was better than any massage or lover Bond could remember and he almost lost his focus before he took another gulp of wine and spoke in her ear, as a diamond earring stared back at him.
“When were you and the frog planning to cheat me in the card game?” Bond asked casually.
Corinne climbed off of him. She sat beside him and smouldered.
“Oh you bore me, Englishman. You really bore me.”
Bond played his card for the second time that night. He dangled Corinne's gold necklace between his thumb and index finger and gave her the best smile he had.
“Tell me about Baldetti.” He took off his suit jacket finally. She looked at the gun and produced one of her own. “I like to bring protection when I travel.” Corinne said. Bond left that one hanging.
“Mister Baldetti is an anxious little goblin who spends important people's money for them. Then he humbly gambles away whatever money they throw at him for his troubles.”
“What kind of people?” Bond said. Her eyes were following the jewellery the way a cat watches a mouse.
“Nobody you would know. Bad people.” Corinne said, as close to truthful as Bond guessed she would go. “Now give me that back. You English must think-”
“Come over here. I'll put it back on.”
She moved back to where she had been. Her hair fell on his face and he felt her breath on his face.
“Thief.” She said.
“Cheat.” He said, embracing her.

They were an hour from Paris when morning came. The train seemed to pick up pace and the other passengers were chatting excitedly as James Bond sat alone at a table in the busy dining cart. He was operating on an hour's sleep, two black coffees and the intoxicating adrenaline that comes in the form of beautiful women. The scenery outside was dusted with snow. dull villages with little red brick houses went by in blurs. Paris was close, which meant something had to happen sooner rather than later.
With red eyes, Bond was watching Stechkov. He was angrily eating a double helping of breakfast, as were his bodyguards. Stechkov started working on a big cigar, something Bond hadn't seen him do yet. Bond guessed that the negotiating hadn't gone any further when he was preoccupied with Anglo French dealing of his own. He scanned the dining cart. Ignoring the extravagantly decorated tables which were being populated by similarly exaggerated socialites, Bond saw no sign of Baldetti. The train hadn't stopped anywhere since the unhappy meeting had taken place. Bond fished his lighter from his pocket. At that moment, Corinne slid into the seat beside him and snatched the lighter. She brought it up to a Gitanes cigarette. She was wearing a royal blue cashmere sweater which even to Bond's untrained eye was clearly worth more than anything he owned, weaponry aside. He looked her up and down.
“Feeling especially French this morning, I see.” Bond said. She had pocketed the lighter but Bond was too fixated on her to care.
“You could say that.” She said. The waiter passed by and instantly stopped what he was doing to take her order. She spoke in French quickly and with a heavy accent but Bond knew enough to realise she ordered him another coffee and a three egg omelette.
“You look like you were up all night.” Corinne said and he saw a lightning bolt pass through her eyes.
“Busy day ahead.” Bond said, sticking a cigarette into the corner of his mouth. She lit it for him with his own lighter and Bond never noticed, as he was busy watching the Stechkov party get up and depart without leaving a tip.
“Typical Russians.” Bond said. Stechkov started walking towards them. He walked like a beast, with lunging footsteps. He eyed Corinne as he got closer. The two guards were looking at Bond with interest.
Stechkov stopped and turned his considerable bulk towards Bond and Corinne. His busy eyebrows went up and down like the stock exchange as he licked his lips at the sight of a woman such as her. He didn't even bother to acknowledge Bond's presence. Bond looked at the man's vulgar expression and decided that when he eventually got the chance, he would beat Stechkov as much as good manners allowed him.
“What a beautiful flower.” Stechkov said in a heavily Russian sounding version of English.
“Some flowers are poisonous to touch.” Corinne said.
Stechkov made a bubbling sound which was the closest he could come to laughing.
“An intelligent one, but trouble.” Stechkov reached into his pocket. Bond instinctively reached for a knife on the table. The big russian flipped two casino tokens on to the table. Bond had heard of the place. It was a few hours away from the city, an hour if you had a fast car, which Bond happened to have.
“I will see you here. You will find me.” Stechkov said and walked away. Bond put the knife back on the table.
“I don't accept violence.” Corinne said while looking at the knife.
“Tell that to your gun.” Bond replied, nodding at the handle sticking out of her purse. She hid it away and laughed. Bond liked the sound of it.
“So come on, your plans in Paris?” Corinne asked.
“I think we just made them.” Bond said.
Bond had no idea what laid ahead but could finally feel the animalistic thrill that only a heavy job in the field could bring. He was about to ask Corinne the same question she posed to him when he saw a guard and a uniformed policeman rushing through the dining car. Cutlery was dropped, mouths went silent and all eyes were on the two men as they stormed through, shouting for everyone to clear out of their way.
“Merde.” Corinne said under her breath. “Something always happens on this train. Damn Parisians.”
“Wait here.” Bond said as he quickly stubbed out his cigarette and joined the men. He had used one of his MI5 provided covers and a quick bribe to have the man keep an eye on Stechkov. Bond followed them to a compartment which was being guarded. He stepped aside to let the policeman and Bond inside.
The Frenchman cursed. Bond stood stone faced over the body.

Baldetti wasn't nervous anymore. The look of fear and loathing he had constantly worn every time Bond saw him had been replaced by a funereal calmness, a nothingness that no one else could understand. He had been shot through the heart, a tiny bullet hole. It had been a professional job, Bond had no doubt. The Gendarme stood behind Bond, happy to let Bond take charge. He coughed loudly and said he was going to have to phone ahead to Paris. They were only ten minutes away from the Garde du Nord station, one of the busiest in Europe. Bond waited until the policeman left to begin his search. He checked every nook and cranny of the compartment for the suitcase. His suspicions were confirmed within minutes. It was gone. Whatever the contents were, Stechkov had clearly felt they were worth a public murder to obtain. Bond checked Baldetti’s pockets. He didn't seem to mind.
“Sorry, fellow.” Bond said as he checked the dead man's wallet. Nothing to see. In Baldetti's chest pocket, Bond did not find a handkerchief, money or any memento to tell him who the real man was. All he found was a casino token, the very same brand that Stechkov had impudently flipped in front of him not even a half hour beforehand.

The train stopped as Bond raced to his compartment. He stuffed everything into his work case, threw on his trench coat and hat and breathed slowly to control his pulse. The passengers were disembarking. Snow was falling onto the platform. It was a heaving grey black mass of people, all going in different directions. Bond had his hand clenched around his gun as he stalked through the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of Stechkov, who shouldn't have been hard to find in a crowd. Bond walked all the way to the end, with a lot of effort. There was no trace of Stechkov or his thugs. There certainly was no sign of Corinne. She was not the kind of woman to wait around for long. Bond stormed out of the Gare du Nord and walked the Parisian streets. They were coated in a thin layer of January snow. Bond cursed his luck and doubted his skill. He had been given the slip by an oversized arms dealer and had lost the fireworks display that was Corinne. He found the car exactly where M told him it would be. It was a black Jaguar E-Type, which was now gleaming with snowflakes. The magnificent sight of the car made Bond feel slightly better. He found the key, opened the door and threw his hat and damp trench coat into the back.
Then, as Bond gave up for the day, he heard the rumble of an engine growing louder and louder as the machine approaching roared in his direction. Bond quickly took his gun out and pressed his body against the car. He had expected this moment. James Bond could see his breath in front of him as he waited. The Ferrari appeared, a blur of red elegance. It screeched to a stop directly in front of Bond. The windows were down. Bond pointed his gun and waited for the shot. The driver appeared. She was wearing a leather jacket, black aviator sunglasses and a taunting smile. Corinne took her glasses off, her eyes gleaming. She looked at the gun and laughed. Bond hid it from view.
“Since you beat me at cards…” She said as she leaned out of the window. She flipped the casino token at him and watched it land on the roof of the Jaguar. “How about a race?”
She sat back in the car, put the sunglasses on and sped off. Bond allowed himself to watch her speed around the corner, the Ferrari dominating the cobbled Paris road, just as she had done to him.
Bond only said one thing to himself as he put the car in gear, felt the engine come to life and pulled away.
“I never lose, not really…”

End of Part One of The Killing Game

My Name is Daniel. This is my second short story. I am still working on my craft and enjoy all feedback and reviews. I am trying to build a readers list and to keep improving my story writing. My email is [email protected] and I am working on keeping active on substack. I am writing part two as I publish this and hope to have it ready within a week. Thanks for reading.

Chapter Text

The Killing Game, Part Two

The Ferrari made short work of the streets of Paris as the city still woke up. Corinne drove with hair trigger precision and a speed that made even James Bond feel ill at ease. His knuckles were white with tension around the Jaguars steering wheel. It didn't help that it was the dead of winter and a fresh dusting of snow had fallen overnight. The stakes of the race were unclear, but Bond knew where they were going. They were racing to the fabled Victoire Casino, only an hour from the city. He had miraculously stayed behind her since they blew past the Arc de Triomphe, but Corinne was ahead. She always seemed to be ahead. Apart from the race, Bond was in pursuit of Stechkov, the Russian arms dealer. He watched the tail lights of Corinne's sleek motor and thought of the placid look on the dead Baldetti's face. He had been killed for the unknown asset he was negotiating with Stechkov for overnight. He wondered if the Russian was already relaxing in a plush suite at the casino. Bond would have to play the game, except in this one there was no money at stake, only his life.

It didn't take long to leave Paris in the distance. They had flown past the Arc de Triomphe in no time at all, navigating one of the trickiest roundabouts in the world with something approaching ease. They had made it through the outskirts and into the countryside. Corinne looked in the mirror. The colours were white, grey and the shining black of Bonds Jaguar. She felt a strange beat in her chest. He was good. Better than she expected. She thought about him sitting beside her as Stechkov lured over her, the way he had been bristling with rage. She had never looked for anything resembling protection from a man before but Bond had an air of violence around him that terrified and thrilled her. She put her foot down. The car responded. Corinne picked up speed. So did Bond behind her, sticking to her. She had waited for this moment. In one dramatic move, she cut off the road, swerved to the right and went up a narrow country lane. She looked to her side. Bond was gone. She looked sideways. She could see the black blur that was Bond's car flying around a corner and disappearing. She drove up a grassy country lane that was so narrow the branches from the trees brushed against the passenger windows as she navigated it. She gripped the steering wheel tightly and slowed the car down. No one was following her. As Bond was finding out, Corinne always had a trick up her sleeve. She pulled into a field. The gate was open, awaiting her arrival. She guided the Ferrari up a gravel track that was lightly dusted with snow. Everything was set up exactly as she wanted. At the end of the path, an apparently deserted barn sat waiting for her. She stopped the Ferrari, cut the engine and got out. She walked with confidence into the barn, her sunglasses reflecting the wintery sunshine. She walked into the barn. It was a tranquil countryside scene, for a moment. The rolling hills were white and the snow muffled the sound of the real world not far away. Then, from inside the barn came the sound of a powerful engine coming to life, so powerful it shook the walls of the barn. The sound got louder as the source of the noise came outside. Corinne trundled outside, astride a modified motorcycle. She had swapped her designer clothes for a white snowsuit which hugged her figure tightly. The motorcycle was waiting to burst into life as she got to the very edge of the closest slope, laughed out loud and began descending downhill with a speed that could be heard for miles.

Bond had a lot of time to think as he drove up the strip towards the Victoire Casino. He thought how naive he must be to simply arrive in a place like this in chase of someone like Stechkov. Bond could only guess the connections the man had around somewhere like Victoire Casino. But Bond was more than glad to battle Stechkov, if needs be. He was only one man, after all. Or was he? He thought about Corinne. What part did she play in it all? What made her want to come here? Stechkov had flipped the token at her, not Bond. She had been playing a card game with the murdered Baldetti when Bond had fallen upon it, a game which Bond heavily suspected to be nothing more than a charade. He had a lot of time to think. Bond decided it was too much time.

The place seemed more remote than he remembered. The road had been swept clear of any snow and there was no ice. This was the kind of establishment where ironically nothing was left to chance. The hotel was hidden by tall trees which lined the whole road. The golf course which surrounded the hotel was blanketed by snow. Bond had been here once a few years prior and remembered playing a round on it's carpetlike surface. That had been the only highlight of his previous trip to Victoire Casino. As he left after the weekend's sojourn from which Bond considered himself lucky to be leaving with nothing, Bond decided that the French gambled strangely and with a mark of dishonesty. It was ungentlemanly to gamble in France, he remembered saying to himself. That frame of mind had lasted about three days until he found himself stepping off a yacht in Monte Carlo, itself another frazzled memory. He left the Jaguar with a valet and walked to the entrance. He looked up at the flags which were casually fluttering in the cold wind. The tricolore of France looked back at him. He looked at the Union Jack and decided to smoke. There was no sign of Corinne. Her shortcut must not have worked very well, Bond thought. He wasn't sure of what the exact stakes of their race were, but Bond could guess well enough. Corinne had probably never made a wager which didn't stand in her favour beforehand. He searched for his lighter and swore. A valet was pushing a motorcycle along, sweating and panting. Bond's eyes widened at the size of the wheels and the craftsmanship of the motor. He had never seen a machine like it. Someone approached him from behind.
He turned. Corinne stood before him wearing all white. She had stolen his lighter some time ago and she lit it and pouted with the smugness that only a well planned victory can bring.
“Waiting for someone?”
Bond smiled for a moment. He let her enjoy her victory while wondering how she achieved it. He noticed she had no luggage. “Planning a short trip?”
“An overnight stay.” She said as they started to walk up the damp carpet to the busy front doors. “At most.”
People were flooding in and out of the casino. They were obviously staving off the cold by losing their money inside. The only people losing were those who had nothing else to gamble with. They went through a set of double doors and into the grandiose reception. The walls were painted a darkest shade of navy, gold framed artwork scattered everywhere. It was so extravagant that it was almost tacky.
“My manners fail me. They have a strict dress code here.” Corinne said. She unzipped and stripped off the snowsuit, revealing custom made flares and a pinstriped blouse.
She certainly knew how to make an entrance. Bond eyed the paintings while most people in the vicinity eyed Corinne. She handed him the snowsuit. He draped it over his arm, knowing there was no point in saying anything. “I'll show you to your room.”
“No rooms at the inn, I was told.” Corinne said.
“There is for me.”

Bond had called ahead. Everything was in place. Corinne watched from a distance as Bond retrieved the room key within a minute. Time seemed to stop still for him. They walked along the plush carpets towards the elevator. Behind closed doors, the hum of the casino flooded through. Bond had been scanning the punters since the moment he walked in and had seen no sign of the Russian. He nodded towards the door and unsurprisingly Corinne seemed game enough. They stepped into the casino. It was shaped like a giant seashell, with every possible game known to both high class and degenerate gamblers. The whole gaming floor was below them. There was a stage at the back of the casino where a bored looking jazz trio tried their best to provide background noise. The saxophone player smoked, having realised no one was listening. Bond and Corinne stood on the higher outer ring which was surrounded by gold handrails. The casino was quite the sight. Bond put his suitcase and the snowsuit down leaned on the handrails. He checked his watch. It was barely five o’clock but the floor was thronged with people. It was usually the kind of arena that would give James Bond a competitive thrill but Stechkov was his target and anything else was secondary. He struggled to find him at first and hoped the whole thing wasn't a ruse to throw him off the scent. Then, he spotted the arms dealer. Whatever Stechkov had killed Baldetti for must have been worth celebrating. There was a mini bar with a few tables encircling it, one of which Stechkov was holding court at. His guards were nearby. Bond knew he would have to dispatch one, if not both of them.
Stechkov was surrounded by male gladhanders and women seeing dollar signs.
“There's our host.” Corinne said. “Why don't we go and say hello to let him know we’re here safely.”
“Not yet.” Bond said, picking up their belongings and turning away. “It's bad manners to enter a place like this sober. I had a bottle sent up to our room.”
They entered the elevator. There was a sudden peacefulness. The casino was extremely loud. Not loud enough to muffle any sudden noise, Bond thought. Corinne leaned casually against the predictably decorated elevator wall. Bond looked at the buttons. He had time. The elevator started to slow down.
“I suppose you know Baldetti is dead.” James Bond said without looking at her. He could see her face in the mirror. Her beauty remained undisturbed. She didn't bat an eyelid.
“Word gets around quickly in a contained space. It was a terrible thing.” Corinne said without a care. Bond wondered what she had seen before in life to make her so tough.
The doors opened. Nobody was waiting for them. Bond led the way. As they reached the door, Bond looked both ways along the long hallways. They were empty.
“Don't worry. Nobody is chasing us.” Corinne said as he held the door open. She glided across the room, as she always seemed to. Corinne sat on the bed. James Bond had his back to the door as he flicked the lights on. She was sitting on the edge of the bed and Bond watched as she swept one graceful leg over the other. While admiring her, the reflection in the window drew his attention. Corinne's silhouette clutched her pistol tightly to her back, waiting.

Bond drew first. He was quicker than her.
“Drop it.” Bond said. Her cheeks flushed for just an instant. She dropped the gun beside her.
“That's the second time you’ve pulled that move. Do it again and it’ll be your last.” Bond said. There was a dressing table with a stool against the wall, which Bond sat on. He kept the gun trained on her.
“How forward of you.” Corinne said. Her fingers were digging into the edge of the bed. Bond threw off his winter jacket.
“Who told you Baldetti was killed?”
“I told you. It's my job to know things. The rich have loose lips, especially when they’ve been drinking since the moment the train left Lyon.” She spoke with a steady certainty that Bond couldn't read. She was good.
“I'll bet you know who killed him, too. He invited you here, after all.”
“Stechkov invited both of us. Perhaps he thinks…”
Bond flipped the casino token at her. It was stained with blood. “Taken from our dead friend.”
He flipped another at her. “There's mine. Still got yours?”
She wouldn't look at the bloodied token in front of her. “Open your eyes. It's only blood.” Bond said. “Your employer has spilled enough of it.”
Now she bristled. “You think you know everything, don't you?”

Bond clicked his fingers. “My lighter.” She threw it at him with the pace of an olympic shotputter. He caught it and kept looking at her.
“Who do you work for?” Bond said.
“I should ask you the same question. I saw you with the Gendarmarie on the platform. That's why you couldn't find me after. People from my line of work don't tend to mix with Englishmen who can order around Parisians.”
“But you came back.” Bond said. He met her eyes. She looked away again.
“Sure.” She said. She asked for a pull of his cigarette and coughed. “English shit.”
“I've been called worse.” Bond said.
“I got in my car and drove, intending to keep going for a long time. Maybe forever. Then, I saw you walking in the snow and I turned back because I knew you were going to come here. So I challenged you to the race.”
“Why?”
“I didn't want you to arrive alone.”
“And yet you still cheated with your motorcycle routine.”
“I don’t lose. I told you this. I wasn’t going to start for you.”
“Why do all this?”
“I like you.” Corinne said. “You're dangerous. I like that.”
“Most people with guns are.” Bond said. He leaned back. “Who do you work for?”
“God, James Bond, you bore me. You bore me so much every time you open your mouth.”
Bond let the words hang.
“I work for myself. No one else. Certainly not Stechkov.”
Bond lit his cigarette and took a long drag. He let the gun hang loose from his hand. She didn't reach for hers. “How did you know Baldetti?”
“You saw. He was playing in our game. He was losing a lot of money to me. The fat man running the game was a card shark that I ran into a while back. We’ve made a lot of money on that train. I can't tell you the entire truth. Nothing about my life is truthful. It's all been one lie after another. You don't know where I've come from. I'm a professional cheat. I lie and I steal. That's my job. Whoever you are, whatever business you have with Stechkov, I don't know more than I need to. I'm just a humble professional criminal. Believe what you want, I can't stop you and I don't much care to change your mind. Whatever you want from the Russian, I can't help you. I'm here because you are walking into a trap.”

Bond got up. He turned his back to her and started unpacking his suitcase. She didn't shoot him.
“A trap.” Bond repeated.
She got up from the bed, leaving her gun behind. She stood closely behind him.
“Tell me who you are.” Corinne said. Bond told her his name and nothing else.
She went and sat back down on the bed. “Pig.”
Bond tutted. “Close, but never mind. If you want to leave, feel free. I don't chase card cheats.”
Corinne got back up again. She made him look at her. “You don't know how it works here.”
“I've been in worse scraps than this. And with more capable allies." He said, looking her up and down.
She slapped him across the face and stormed to the window.
“You'll get us both killed, you damned fool.”
Bond walked over and stood beside her. The window was huge and looked out onto the grounds. Dim bulbs started to appear. It was night time, when the Victoire Casino would start to take a life of its own.
“This business isn't like anything you know. You're best to stay clear.”
“If we leave this room separately, we will be dead by morning.”
Bond got the feeling she was telling the truth. He leant forward. The rest of the hotel and casino loomed all around him. He was only now starting to realise the size of the establishment around him.
“The train was Stechkov and his two men. They are nobodies. But this is their world. Out here, Stechkov can throw money at the problem, meaning us. Le Victoire is as corrupt as you’d suspect. It's us against a hundred. Baldetti told me a lot about the Russian. More than I suspect even you know. Before you arrived, he made a fatal mistake and told me he had a meeting with a very important man that concerned a great deal of money. I thought nothing of it. I thought Baldetti was a pawn for the Paris criminal fraternity. Nothing more. Stechkov will have made him talk before they killed him. Why do you think Stechkov spoke to me in the morning? He knows I have to be silenced, just like you.”

They stood for a long time at the window. Outside looked bitterly cold and the darkness made it seem as though they were cut off from the world, which in a way they were. Bond felt that Corinne was either a terrified con artist in way over her head, or the best liar he had ever met. He looked at her face. That was enough to stay involved with her for a bit longer. He had never been quite so entranced by a woman for as long as he could remember, feeling as if she had some kind of magnetic pull that dragged him in closer. He tried to resist by walking away. He went to his case and retrieved a powerful pistol from the secret compartment. In no time at all, James Bond ripped off his tired clothes, showered in cold water and started to put on a tailored three piece suit. Corinne understood. She went over to the little table. She opened one of the drawers.
“You plan ahead.” She said as she took the makeup out. “I have to.” Bond answered.
She was close to the mirror and carefully using a blusher when she looked back at him. Bond was putting on a leather shoulder holster, a gift from Moneypenny. For a second he wished he was in England, sitting on her desk and watching the world go by. He shook his head. He hated to admit it, but the alluring French criminal sitting before him was correct. Despite not trusting her as much as anyone else in the hellish casino, Corinne was as close to a friend as he had, even if she had pulled a gun on him twice within the space of twenty four hours.

Her eyes looked even better from afar. She looked at him in the mirror as he placed the gun into the holster.
“Have you killed before?”
“Yes.” Bond said.
Her eyes never left him. “How many times?”
Bond just stared. “Enough for the both of us.” He stood up, adjusted his tie and put a watch on. “I'm starving. Let's go to dinner.”
“Very well.” Corinne said, spraying perfume. “But don't expect me to pay.”

There was a restaurant just off of the casino floor. The kitchen was open plan, meaning wealthy people who had never worked before could see the chefs toiling away in front of the stoves and ovens. They sat at a table for two, a candle between them. The noise from the gaming floor seemed to float over, until the band started playing. The jazz trio had been replaced by Spanish guitarists. Bond ordered steak well done. Corinne asked for the opposite. Bond played with a table knife and looked around. Nobody was looking at them. They hadn't seen Stechkov as they walked through the casino to their table.
“Whatever they bring, it won't be cooked through. You French never seem t0-”
“What did you think of Lyon?” Corinne said, changing the subject quickly. Bond was on edge, as was she.
“Quaint.” Bond said. “I didn't have much time for sightseeing. You can give me a tour after all this is over with.”
The food arrived. As Bond guessed, his well done steak appeared half cooked. Bond felt a rumble in the pit of his stomach and didn't bother to complain.
“I prefer the mountains. I was born there. When you live in the shadow of the mountains, you feel as if you can hide there forever and no one will ever find you.”
Beside the open kitchen, a bulky figure appeared. He put his shovel sized hands on the rail and looked down into the restaurant.
“No one can disappear from the world, not truly.” Bond answered, pouring wine for them both.
“Not even you, James Bond?”
“There's always one person who can find you. And you can never escape yourself.”
Bond saw the man. He wore black horn rim glasses, which after seeing Bond he took off and slipped into his pocket. The man was broad shouldered and square jawed, every bit of the American hero stereotype that Bond knew he hated. Felix Leiter pointed downwards with one finger before turning away.
Bond excused himself. “Duty calls.”

Bond studied Leiter as he ambled towards him. He looked more athletic than the last time Bond saw him. The man moved like a Sherman tank, his thick torso leaning forwards, watching the poker game below.
Bond stood beside him. The British and American spies didn't look at each other. They spoke quickfire, leaving out introductions or codewords. They knew each other too well to waste time.
“Hell of a place to vacation, Bond. Even for you.” Leiter said. His eyes were tired. Bond wondered what mission he was working through.
“It has its charms.”
“The girl?”
“Local speciality.”
Leiter wasn't in the mood for jokes. He went through his pocket and stuck a stick of gum into his mouth.
“I'm trying to quit smoking.” He shrugged his big shoulders. “You need to get out of here, James. You're in a dangerous place.”
“That never troubled you before.”
“I mean it.” Leiter said, his eyes darting around, looking for anything. “Call me paranoid, but I think you’re blown. I saw your grand arrival. I’d recognise that Jag of yours anywhere. You’ve had more eyes on you today than the Mona Lisa. I've been here more times than you. This is the kind of place where people like us have prices on their heads and around here my friend, they cash death contracts just as much as they do poker chips.”
Nothing Leiter said was new information, but it worried Bond as much as anything else. He began to feel like a hunted animal heading straight towards a trap.
“I'll bite.” Bond said, looking at Leiter for the first time. “Meet me at the bar in fifteen minutes. Know where it is?”
“You kidding?”
Bond looked over his shoulder, down into the restaurant. At his table, the hulking figure of Stechkov was looming over Corinne. Leiter turned to look, then glanced sideways at Bond. That told him all he needed to know.
“I'm guessing the price on you just went up.” Leiter said before walking away.

Bond appeared in an instant. He ran his fingers through his hair and smiled at Corinne as he sat down. He didn't look at Stechkov.
“Mister Bond.” Stechkov said. He was wearing a dinner coat and underneath his waistjacket buttons were holding on for dear life.
“Sir.” Bond said. Corinne was holding a steak knife, tighter than usual.
“I was just asking the lady how you have both fared during your stay at the casino.”
“We haven't started yet. Ran into some trouble upon arrival.”
“Nothing dangerous, I presume?”
Bond sat up in his chair and lit a cigarette. “It's a casino. Not a prison.”
Stechkov moved away from Corinne and towards Bond. “I hear you are quite the gambler. Being accompanied by a woman such as this, you must be an extremely lucky man.”
Bond smiled broadly. He had to appear confident in the eyes of the Russians. “There's no such thing as luck, if you know what you're doing.”
Stechkov's bodyguards appeared at his side. One of them grumbled in Russian. Stechkov seemed perturbed. Bond wondered what the message had been.
“There will be an exclusive game in my private suite in an hour.” The arms dealer said confidently, brushing off his acolyte. “By invite only, meaning only those I approve of. Only the highest calibre of player will be involved. Perhaps you would like to explain your theories to them in person.”
Stechkov told Bond where the executive suites were and left, muttering to his guards in Russian. Bond could guess what the subject was.

They finished dinner. Corinne polished off the wine. “I did try to warn you.” She said.
“As did everyone else.”
They left their table and walked without speaking. It was busier than ever. Bond and Corinne stood at the top of the staircase leading down to the roulette tables. Corinne looked at the expensive carpets descending down towards the bear pit that was the gaming floor. Bond paused.
“There's still time for you to escape. This is all about to come to an end and there's a small window for you to leave.”
“Everything will end?” Corinne said, her eyes searching his face. Bond breathed heavily.
“Stechkov can't leave this place alive.” Bond said. “He's an extremely dangerous man.”
“That's why I won't leave. I told you, I-”
“You never lose. I know. Now you can prove it.”
Bond went down one step. She followed him. Corinne put her arm around his as they descended.
“The executive game that dear Stechkov is speaking of is as dishonest as me, you know that, don't you?” Corinne said.
“I gathered.” Bond said. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the roulette table. “That's why I need to win some ammunition to bring along with me.”

The table was cold when Bond joined the game. He had a meagre amount of money with him and spent most of it on chips. Bond knew he was under a heavy time constraint and did not have time to search for a game he liked. The poker and blackjack tables called to him but he needed money quickly. The only way to get the cash within the limit Stechkov had set was to go on a streak on the roulette table. He looked around and saw Felix Leiter floating around. He had put his glasses back on and his air of composure was reassurance for Bond, who had no time to even wonder why Leiter had appeared. Was he after Stechkov? It seemed likely. The Russians name popped up on so many intelligence files that the Americans were bound to get involved. Corinne stuck closely to Bond's side. As he made his first bet, she touched his hand and took the chips from him.
“Let me try. Maybe I'm lucky.” She said. She placed them onto the roulette grid for Bond, and within seconds they watched the little white ball rattling around the red and black blur.

Bond was stupefied. He hadn't had to make a bet in their time at the table. He simply stood back and watched as Corinne hit every single wager she made. A crowd started to form. Nothing draws the attention of gamblers like a beautiful woman on a hot streak. Within twenty minutes she had tripled her winnings. The stacks of casino chips began to resemble the skyline of a bustling city.
“You make it look easy.” Bond said over her shoulder.
“Sometimes it is.” Corinne said without looking. She was cool and collected. The crowd got bigger. It was rush hour. Everyone was trying to get their spot at a table, wanting to lose their money in comfort. Corinne picked up two stacks of chips and handed them to Bond.
“There's enough here for Stechkov's buy-in. Le Victoire has a set fee for games such as his. Go and cash these in.”
Bond hesitated. “You can't wait here. It's too dangerous. You have to play in the game.”
Leiter appeared at the end of the table. He caught Bond's eye. He took his glasses off again and scratched his right ear. Leiter was nothing if not a creature of habit. That meant there was danger present. Bond looked. A man was staring at the table, too intently to be natural. He was dressed too shabilly to be a part of the casino crowd. Leiter had spotted him a mile off. Bond looked left. Another man was sidling up to the table with easily identifiable intent. Bond sneered at the amateurish nature of the pair.
“The table is cooling off.” Bond said. She read his expression.
“Cash the chips. Go to the game. I'll keep going until I lose.”
“If you lose.” Bond said. Corinne looked back at him and kissed him. “Good luck. Wish the same for me. We'll need it.”

Bond barged through the crowd and joined the line for the cashier. Leiter moved through the crowd with ease. It brought him back to his football career in the heat of Texas football. He stood behind Bond.
“Looks like your luck is running thin, James. I suggest we cash out while the going is good.”
“I'm cashing in but I'm not leaving just yet. The operation is on. I have a game with Stechkov, in his private room. It's a game I intend to win.”
“Operation? What in the good lords do you mean, Bond? Who the hell is Stechkov?” Felix Leiter whispered angrily. The question hit Bond like a truck.
“Who are you working on?”
“Not him, whoever he is.” Leiter said and tutted. “Danger on the port side, James.”
The two hitmen had made their way across. On the stage, the flamenco guitarists had stopped. They had gently strummed for half an hour, but now they were awaiting someone's arrival. It was showtime at Victoire Casino. Bond walked up the cashier with three sets of eyes burning into his back.

Bond collected the thick stacks of money from the cashier as the lights went down. Leiter rolled his eyes.
“Now what?” He said to himself, while keeping an eye on the hitmen.
On stage, a drummer had appeared, beginning a crescendo of noise that covered the casino. Almost everyone turned to look. Except for four men. They all waited. A flamenco dancer burst into life on stage. She moved with elegance and energy and the cacophony of noise from the dancers heels and the drummers booming support now sucked all the noise from the room. The man closed in on Bond. Leiter watched the other one. The drummer on stage entered a fierce solo, putting all his personality into the music. Nobody heard a thing when James Bond struck his attacker. In the darkness, Bond hardly seemed to move. He had grabbed the man's knife and used it against him without blinking. He drove it into the assassins' back and felt the lifeforce drain out of him. He held the assassin upwards. Leiter had rendered the other man unconscious, but Bond hadn't seen him do it. Bond deposited the dead assassin into a chair by the wall. Leiter wiped his forehead. The room was intensely hot. He looked at the dead man.
“If this is your idea of gambling, Bond, remind me to never play blackjack with you.”
More men were descending the various staircases, none of them intending to gamble. Bond looked at the table. Corinne was gone. His heart dropped like a bomb. Leiter turned on his heels and looked, the music pulsing through their chests. He signalled. “Up there!”
Bond saw her. She was being dragged up the stairs by one of Stechkov's personal bodyguards. Bond handed Leiter the money. His eyes widened.
“Consider that your diplomatic fee. Can you buy me time?”
Leiter slipped on a pair of knuckle dusters and rolled up his sleeves. “Hell, Bond. You know me well enough by now. I’d do this shit for free.”

Bond thanked Leiter and moved through the crowd, with one target in mind. He blended into the throngs of people and began ascending the main staircase. Behind him, the nightly show was in full swing. People had given up gambling momentarily and danced in a frenzy. The henchman was halfway up the stairs. He pulled his gun and ordered Bond to stop. Bond responded by leaning quickly down and dragging the expensive carpet as hard as he could, sending the man toppling towards Bond. He landed in an ugly pile at Bond's feet. He looked up at Bond and tried to reach for his gun.
“I know. It's terrible having the rug pulled from under you.” Bond said, before knocking the man out in one blow. Bond retrieved his pistol as he raced up the stairs.

Nobody waited for Bond in the elevators. There were only four stops, and Bond was willing to shoot anyone who stood in his way. The penthouses and exclusive rooms were on the usually off limits fourth floor, and when the doors opened Bond was met with no resistance. In fact, the fourth floor was eerily silent. Bond held his gun up and walked out. Two dead men greeted him. They’d been shot at point blank range. Every door was flung open, and a cold breeze was blowing around the corridor. Bond advanced. There was an intricately made sign next to an open double door. Bond was in Stechkov's inner sanctum, but there was no sign of the Russian. The room was dark when he stepped through. The private suite was as plush as any Bond had ever stepped in. It had it's own whirlpool, which only had one dead henchman floating in it. Another two were face down on the staircase, their guns beside them. Bond raised his gun and proceeded with extreme caution. There was another set of winding stairs leading up to what Bond guessed to be the bed chambers. A man fell over at the top of the stairs, falling around with sea legs. It was one of the two bulk bodyguards, his shirt covered in blood.. He saw Bond, had a moment of clarity and raised his gun. He screamed out as he shot a wild bullet which destroyed the chandelier, extinguishing all the light in the executive suite. Bond shot accurately and watched the man fall to a stop. In the darkness, Bond listened to the falling glass from the shattered lights. There was no other noise. He started climbing the stairs.

The door was open. Bond entered slowly and waited to be shot in the back. He turned on the spot. There were three people in the room. Two of them were dead.

Stechkov's other bodyguard laid on his back, arms sprawled. Bond looked him over in an instant. The room was so dark that it was like a cave. The only light came from the moon outside. There was a glass door leading to a balcony. The curtains were blood red and flapped in the chastening winter breeze. Bond walked forwards three steps. Stechkov was at his desk, a suitcase in front of him.

Stechkov's head rested on his considerable chest. He was staring at the desk in front of him. The suitcase was empty, as was Stechkov's face. He wore his death mask with the same ghoulishness as he had when he was alive. Bond looked back and forth between the dead men. They’d both been shot straight through the heart, a tiny piercing bullet for them both.
“Just like Baldetti.” James Bond said. Corinne had her back turned to him. She was looking at the moon, which hovered over the dim lamps outside.
“No more than they deserve.” Corinne said. She turned to face him. She held a gun in her hand and a suitcase in the other.
“Stechkov tried to fool us with a dummy case. To think that would work on the great James Bond, British spy!” Corinne said. Bond held his gun up.
“Put it down.” Bond said.
“You don't even know what's inside, do you, 007?”
“Down.” Bond said.
“I'm about to become extremely rich. More than you could ever imagine. There will be a bidding war from here to Moscow.”

Bond trained his gun on Corinne. She didn't raise hers.
“Tell me who you are.” Bond said.
She bit her lip. The moonlight shrouded her perfectly. “I didn't lie to you. Not all of it.”
In the distance, there was a rumbling sound. Bond took his eyes off of Corinne and focused again.
Bond hoped beyond reason that Leiter was on his way. He knew he was held up in the casino, if he made it out at all.
“You're wondering about the American. I'm sure he’ll live. He's good. It took me a while to uncover him. Not as good as you, James, but still very good. Even for an American.”
He cursed himself for involving him.
The rumbling noise grew louder. Bond was sure it was the sound of propellers.
“Put the case down. I won't shoot you. We can find a way…”
“We can't have everything we want. I can't have you, you can't have me. It's the way of life. You’ll never change.”
“Put the case down!”
Bond's hands shook. He squeezed the trigger an inch. Bond never noticed the increasing sound of the chopper until it was too late. It appeared above the balcony, floating in place. The chopper was so close that it shook the whole room, the noise nearly deafening. The pilot directed the beaming light into Bond's eyes. As he raised his arms to his eyes while stunned, Corinne pulled her gun and shot Bond directly in the chest. He collapsed to the floor, looking up at the ceiling.

The room became a pool of darkness. Bond had no idea what he’d been shot with. He saw the room in black and white. Bond tried to get up but felt no power in his body. He was stuck in stasis. All he felt was a deep sense of freezing. The sound of the helicopter was muffled. He looked around. Corinne went to the door and stopped. She ran to him and knelt down. He watched her black hair fall in front of her face.
“I am sorry, James.” She said. “I tried to tell you this all along.” Corinne kissed him on the cheek. “I never lose. Not really.”
He barely felt it. Bond couldn't move. The room became black and faded as she walked away. The light disappeared, along with the sound. There was nothing.

Before Bond passed out, someone burst into the room. He too held his gun aloft. As Bond began to lose consciousness, Felix Leiter appeared at his side.
“On your feet, Bond. It's like the goddam Alamo down there. Time to get out of here. Where's the girl?”
Bond couldn't speak. His eyes closed. The pool of darkness consumed him.

End of Part Two Of The Killing Game

Chapter Text

“The way I see it, you should consider yourself lucky, James.” Felix Leiter said from the stool beside Bond.
They were seated by the stained glass window of a Parisian cafe. Bond had his back to the wall and was facing the door. Every time the bell chimed, Bond looked up in vain hope. None of them were who Bond felt a deep desire to see, despite all that had happened.

“I wouldn't consider being shot at point blank range lucky.” Bond said to Leiter who was ordering a second espresso. It had been the longest couple of days the American could remember. He watched Bond feeling the dark purple bruise on his ribcage and realised if he told anyone how they escaped Victoire Casino two nights before, no one would ever believe him. It would be too fantastical even for James Bond.
“You Brits don't believe in luck.” Leiter said as the waitress placed the espresso. “Like it or not, you were lucky. She could have shot you with a bullet, rather than whatever the hell this thing is.” Leiter held a tiny ball bearing between his thumb and index finger. “I guess I'll let you know what it was once I get it into a lab.”
Bond put his elbows on the shelf by the window and watched a sports car rumble slowly by.
“I'll ask her myself, once I catch her.” James Bond said.
Leiter's eyes narrowed as he downed the coffee in one gulp.
“Ambitious. Tell me, Bond. What name did she give you?”
“Off the record?” Bond said. “You should know this will stay with my firm.”
“As a buddy.” Leiter answered.
“Corinne.” Bond said. “She said her name was Corinne.”
Leiter took a cigar from his pocket and rolled it in his palm. “I thought you were quitting.” Bond said.
“Times like these call for some rule breaking. Besides, I haven't lit the darn thing yet. Got a match?”
Bond searched for his lighter and came up empty yet again. He remembered the ghostly silhouette of Corinne taking it from him before making her exit.
“She must have really liked you. First, she gave you a name that I haven't read in any of her files. meaning it must be real. Second, she didn't shoot you, which we also believe she has done to her previous lovers.”
“If you call that liking someone, I dread to think how you treat your enemies.” Bond answered sharply.
Leiter got up off of the stool, threw a healthy amount of money onto the counter and gestured to the door. They stepped out into the crackling French air. It hadn't snowed since they had left the casino in the rear view mirror. Bond put his hands up to his mouth and blew hot air.
“I've been trailing her for over a year. You probably know this already, but that woman is the single greatest thief this part of the world has seen since Washington crossed the Delaware.”
Bond couldn't show his surprise to Leiter. “Alright, bad example.” The American said.
They started walking. “That's also why I happened to be hanging around that hellhole of a casino when you arrived. It was a good hunting ground for Corinne. I could show you her file, but it wouldn't matter. To be perfectly honest, Bond, I've been chasing shadows. She's good. Better than good. I've seen criminals who were a step ahead of the game, but she might be playing from a different rulebook completely.”
“What about Stechkov?”
“What about him? He's sleeping the big sleep. Can't say much more for him. He’s probably been replaced already.”
“She stole the suitcase he had killed a man for. I’d call that rather significant.” Bond said.
Leiter shrugged. He put his hat on. “When you find her, tell me. I don't chase dead men.”

They were a twenty minute drive from the airport. Bond wasn't sure what waited for him when he arrived in England. He had been sent to oversee and apprehend an arms deal by Stechkov the Russian, but all he had overseen was the man's dead body after being killed by Corinne, an outsider he had let into the mission by his own accord. He knew M would be hovering over his desk, mulling over how to remonstrate 007. Leiter's car was parked in the shadow of a townhouse. It made Bond remember something, a bolt of lightning. He tucked it away. The journey to London would be an arduous one. He was running on fumes and painkillers. Whatever Corinne had shot him with, it was still in his blood. Leiter drove a silver Cadillac. There were two bullet holes in the door.
“The nice casino people gave us a little two gun salute as we left.” Leiter said as he unlocked the car. “You were rolling around in my backseat at the time.”
“First time for everything.” Bond said.
Leiter got in the car and started the engine. He drove Bond all the way to the runway, where an RAF plane was waiting for him. It didn't take Leiter long to tell him what he else knew about Corinne. He told him that Bond would have to decide for himself what was hearsay and what was the truth. Bond's truth could only be what he had seen first hand, starting with the train to Paris and ending with him laying on his back while she escaped by helicopter. He thought about the glances and touches between those events and felt his face flush. He had no luggage. Leiter got out of the car and shook Bonds hand. The propellers of the plane began to move. Bond started walking away when Leiter called him. He was leaning against the Rolls Royce. Leiter threw the cigar to Bond.
“You need it more than me, old friend.” Leiter said, watching Bond board the plane and disappear from view.

It was early evening by the time Bond reached London. He got out of the black cab and stood on the quiet street. He had returned without any luggage or company. Bond let himself in and walked up the stairs to his flat. His steps seemed to echo as he ascended. It had been a quiet journey back from Paris. The seat beside him on the plane had been empty and the lack of inane inflight conversation had given him plenty of time to think. He only conjured up glimpses of his last sight of Corinne. Mostly, Bond saw the recently shot guards that she had left in her wake. He let himself in. The flat was conspicuously clean. Everything was exactly the way it had been when he left. The housekeeper had been, or someone else. Bond had a few thoughts on who. There was no post and the phone did not ring upon his arrival, as he optimistically expected it to. It was Sunday night. M would want an explanation, but not until the next morning. Bond flicked on the lights and sat in a deep backed armchair. All was quiet. After the excitement of the last week, it was like sitting in a tomb.

It was well over a month before M made contact. The conscious decision had clearly been made to let Bond stew for a while, or maybe M for the first time ever truly did not know what to say when it came to 007. Bond walked into Moneypenny’s office every morning to be sent away like a truant schoolboy over and over again until he simply stopped going. Even Moneypenny seemed to hardly want to talk to him. She would just shrug her shoulders, look at him with cold eyes and say “Sorry James, nothing for you today.”
In Bond's own office, there was never anything in his “In” box and certainly never anything in the “Out” box. He sat drinking tea and looked out of the window, watching the rain fall down on Regents Park. There was simply nothing happening. The next day, Bond decided not to go to M’s office or any office at all for that matter, just to see if anyone would notice. The phone did not ring and no one arrived at his door for a checkup. Bond realised he had been frozen out over the Stechkov affair and decided to fill the time with his own pursuits. Until the ice thawed, Bond engaged in all the pursuits that used to take up his little spare time. For four weeks without pause he gambled, drank, golfed and chased women, all to little success. He went to the Blades club to partake in a poker game only to be told his usual spot had been taken up by a visitor who named Bond as his sponsor. When Bond looked around the corner, M was smoking a pipe and reading his cards. Bond had stormed out down the road into a bar, where the whiskey tasted sour and the women didn't taste much better. A few stifling hours later, Bond was on the street in front of his home watching a beautiful woman whose name escaped him getting into a black cab. She looked at him through the back window and gave him a salute which did not match her angelic looks. Never mind. Bond sighed and walked unsteadily up the stairs and let himself in. He was currently in the awkward stage between drunkenness and despair and he poured a gin and tonic to help himself along. He collapsed into his armchair and kicked off his leather shoes. Everything was dull, boring and grey. Only one thing was truly thrilling and only one thing made the blood rush through his veins, but was absolutely unobtainable. Standing up, Bond stumbled to his study. Pinned to the wall was a map of Europe. He swayed on the spot, polished off his gin and concentrated. He ignored Paris. Even in his alcohol fused daze, he knew what he was looking for. His glazed over eyes focused on Lyon and the French Alps. He smiled to himself, all alone. At dawn the next morning, M called him to the office, urgently.

Bond sat on Moneypenny's desk, nursing the black coffee she handed him as he entered. It had only gone seven in and Bond was still bleary eyed from the previous day's activity. It was hardly the state to be in for a meeting of such importance so Bond gulped down the coffee like he had never drunk it before.
“Busy night?” She said, looking him up and down. She was one of the only people who could sense a hangover on Bond. M’s distaste for excessive drinking rendered him unable to see the effects on Bond, while Felix Leiter was the other who shared her skill.
“Not busy enough.” Bond said. He adjusted his tie, realising he was nervous. “Nothing a hot shower couldn't fix.”
“Or a cold one.” Moneypenny said, fixing him with a glare. The intercom buzzed. “Send him in.” M said.

M was smoking a pipe by the window when Bond walked in. He gestured vaguely in the direction of his desk.
“Sit down, Bond.” M said curtly. Bond sat. He took out a cigarette pack. “No smoking.” M said. Bond remembered the feeling of being sent to the headmaster's office in school. This was worse. M stalked over and behind his large mahogany desk. There was only an ink blotter and a blank page on it. No photographs, no files and no maps. Bond was either being sent on a top secret mission or being sacked. He crossed his legs.
“Did you win?” Bond said, opening the exchange.
M furrowed his greying eyebrows. “What?”
“At Blades, sir. Last night.”
“Oh, that. Yes. The gentleman's club without any gentleman present. No, I didn't. I was only there to make sure you wouldn't be allowed to join in the repartee.”
“Come again?”
“Remember, I might be an old fossil to you but I still have some pull around here and there. They told me you lost a considerable amount of money in the club recently.”
“I won it back in the same time it took to lose it.”
“For crying out loud, Bond.” M said, sticking his pipe into the corner of his mouth and sitting bolt upright.
Bond waited for M to speak. It took a long time. The grandfather clock in the corner was ticking. Bond wondered if it was counting down on his career.

“I was put on ice for a month. What else was I supposed to do?” Bond said.
“You were supposed to use the time as a bit of self reflection, a time to consider your faults.” M said, his poise slipping. “We’ve been watching you. If there's much education to be found at the bottom of a shot glass, you must bloody well be a scholar by now, Bond.”
“Stechkov is dead. There's not much to reflect-”
M sat back in the chair and shook his head. “What did we send you to do?”
“To shadow Stechkov during his proposed dealing in France. To-”
“Oh yes, you shadowed him well enough. You then proceeded to bring in a foreign element, the girl, who promptly executed him under your nose.”
There was a heavy silence. There wasn't much to argue about, Bond thought.
“Well, you’ll be glad to know there's been an update in the case.” M said.
Bond dug fingers into his thighs. Now he was nervous. They’d either captured Corinne or the Russians had killed her when she tried to sell the stolen goods. One or the other. He tried to reject the brutal images from his mind. M turned the paper over. He looked at the file but didn't show Bond.
“We recently acquired a source. Buried deep in the architecture of the Spectre machine.”
Bond sat up. He lit a cigarette. M didn't care this time. “This source is only known to myself and the prime minister. No one else. This source told us that Spectre has set about recruiting the most notorious thieves in the criminal world to work for them. They’ve had enough failure from their own agents.”
Bond blew smoke through his nose. He’d scuppered enough Spectre operations to know the logic had some reason behind it.
“That's what your man Stechkov was doing. He was circling France and Belgium looking to bolster the Spectre ranks. Except something went wrong.”
“Very wrong indeed.” Bond said.
“We don't know what they plan to steal, or what they’ve stolen so far. I suspect they have recruited at least half our list of high priority criminals, if not more. It's a money maker for Spectre, Bond. A blasted good one, too. Whatever the thieves come up with is immediately moved on by dealers on the continent and further. The assets are liquified by Spectre. Money rolls in, everyone wins. Spectre has as many friends as we do, Bond. It's the modern world.”
Bond knew what was coming. He guessed wrong.

“You're not a fishing enthusiast, are you?” M said.
“Not quite.”
“Our man in Rome has got a rather interesting plan to catch a Spectre thief. Once caught, they’ll spill the network to us. Criminals aren't like us. They are willing to talk for the right price, without question."
Bond's mind was racing. “Italy? I've never heard of their office. Who came up with this little masterplan?”
“You’ll see. He was here yesterday morning. Myself and Head of S went through the patchwork of the plan and came up empty of foibles. It's so simple that it might just work. By the way Bond, you're in no position to pour scorn on anything.”
“What's my part in it?”
“Bait.” M said. “Nothing more.”
“I hardly think that suits me…”
M fixed Bond with an icy glare. “Not until you prove otherwise.”

“We believe Corinne to be Spectres number one.” M said. “She's their money maker. Have you read her dossier? It's rather impressive.”
“Then why kill Stechkov?”
“You should know how Spectre works. They tend to cut off loose ends quite quickly.”
Bond thought of Corinne. He thought of her graceful walk and blazing eyes. “She works for herself and no one else. She told me herself.”
M managed a polite smile. “Criminals are known to lie from time to time, Bond. Don't let your romantic dalliances sway your thoughts, 007.”
“There was nothing romantic about it. When am I expected in Italy?”
“Friday. We need the Italians to leak some information first. We’ve told them it's top secret, so someone with big ears and a small wallet will inevitably get the news to Spectre, setting the trap in place.”
Bond hated the plan. He so wanted to disagree with M but knew he was already on thin ice.
“A day and a half seems like short notice.. Who am I looking for?” Bond asked as M walked to the window. Rain was hammering down.
“Don't worry, you’ll recognise them.” M said.
Bond stood up. The game was on, but he wasn't sure it was one he wanted to be a part of. Still, it was better than nothing. He looked at his watch. Time was ticking.
“You’ll report to Rome and sit on the substitutes bench until needed. Nothing more.”
“I’d prefer to leave now.”
M looked across the room at Bond. “You’ve built up a lot of cache with this branch, Bond. You'll be allowed to travel there alone. However, once you report to Rome, if I find out you jeopardised this operation, I won't make amends for you. It’ll be your head on the chopping block.”
Bond adjusted his cuff links. “It's up to me to put things right. No one else.”
“I don't want to know what your plan is. I will only tell you this once more, Bond. I don't care what you do on your way to Italy, as long as you get there. But, if you muck this operation up, you won't have anything to come back to England for. I'll see to that myself.” M said, his voice distant and unemotional.

The two men stood facing each other. M turned away and looked out of the window. Bond felt the pause lasted for an hour.
M turned to face him. “Twenty four hours, Bond. That's all you have. If you don't report to the Rome station by midday Friday, don't bother coming back to this country, never mind this office.”

“Going out, James?” Moneypenny said as Bond closed the door behind him. Bond wanted to walk past without a word but he stopped by her desk, as he had done many times before.
“Yes, I am.” Bond said while avoiding eye contact for the first time he could remember. “And it might be some time before I come back.”
Moneypenny looked up at him. There was something final and maudlin in her expression. “Be careful, James.”
Bond finally looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “Careful, me? Never.”

Bond tore through the office like a man possessed. He went down the stairs two at a time and went out into the street. It was still raining as he walked quickly to his car. On the passenger seat was a modified suitcase which thanks to its hidden compartment contained everything he needed to spend time in the field. There would be no support this time. Bond retrieved his pistol from the glove compartment and loaded it. Raindrops ran down the mirrors and the windscreen as he looked back at the old building which housed MI6. He wondered if he would ever see it again. He holstered his gun and put his keys into the Jaguar engine. The car rumbled into life as he drove away, with no one following.

Somewhere between leaving M’s office and boarding the first available flight to Lyon, Bond decided he wanted no part in the entrapment scheme invented by the unknown agent in Italy. Anyone of serious calibre would be in Germany, Russia or another hemisphere altogether. Rome was for tourists and historians, Bond thought as he arrived at the airport gates. He put the Jaguars car phone back in place. He had to call in some favours before he boarded the plane. The lack of a clear plan made him uneasy, but Bond thought it would be better to go out playing by his own rules than anyone else's. That was how it had to be. Before he went up the steps onto the plane, he wondered if it would be his final time on English soil. He paused and boarded the plane, knowing he had now passed the point of no return. The plane taxied onto the runway and gained speed. As it took off, Bond took one last look at the country he left behind. As it grew smaller, he forced himself to look ahead.

It was turning afternoon as Bond walked out of arrivals. He stayed vigilant but was almost certain he was not being followed. The truth was, he didn't care if anyone followed him. He knew they wouldn't get far shadowing him because he had no idea where he was going either. Outside, Bond checked his watch for the third time in as many minutes. He kept walking, a Barbour jacket shielding him from the cold. It was the same kind of air as the night in Victoire Casino which felt like a lifetime ago. He reached the valet rank and realised there was no need to worry. A gleaming red Porsche 911 was sitting waiting for him. The valet handed Bond the keys and a note before walking away. Bond saw the handwriting and lost his sense of paranoia. “I couldn't muster up one of those British motors you talk so much about so I sent an Italian instead. You’re right near the border after all. F.L”

Bond studied the map as he sped towards the French Alps. He lit a cigarette and put his foot down. The Porsche was a powerful machine and ate up the miles with gusto. Bond guessed that Felix Leiter had modified it himself. Like most Americans, exceptional power wasn't enough. They wanted their sports cars to push the boundary of speed itself. For once Bond couldn't argue with them. He drove along the winding roads, the mountains on the far horizon. Leiter’s man had refueled the car before the drop off and Bond knew he had just enough to get to where he wanted. The only thing left hanging in the air was what would await him when he got there. All he was working on was a hunch, a tiny throwaway comment in a conversation mostly forgotten. He only slowed to double check a map he had bought at the airport. He was heading for a village that was right in the heart of the mountains, nestled between the ridges of ancient hills. The roads opened up. It was turning into a beautiful afternoon. The skies were pale blue and dotted with puffs of clouds. Not far from the empty road, the river flowed towards the Alps. Bond put his foot down, the engine screaming.

The road became worn down and cracked. The whole view out of the driver side window was a white vista, a range of mountains covered in snow. Bond slowed the car to a gentle cruise, and the village was visible in detail. Bond's gut feeling told him he was on the right track. That was one of the only things he could follow. Bond drove the Porsche, carefully avoiding the patches of ice in the road towards the village. The sun was shining, giving the illusion of heat. Bond noticed that the part of the village closest to the mountains was shrouded by the shadow of ski slopes around it. It gave him hope. He entered the village, seeing the ancient looking chalets and lodges with oak beams in the roofs. Bond stopped the car in the tiny town square. The ground was grey cobbled and the bakery was the busiest place he could see. Bond got out of the car and put on sunglasses. He walked around the village, looking every inch of a passing tourist. There were enough of them around to blend in with. A group of Italians passed by, their skis strapped to their backs. As he explored the village, Bond felt he had stepped back in time. All the shops were replete with hand written signs and dogs walked around lazily looking for pets from passing hands. Bond stood on a footbridge and put his hands onto the cold stonework. A stream of ice water ran underneath. He looked at the portion of the village that was darkened in shadow and thought of the sole reason he had come here when everything else told him not to. A passing comment in a conversation likely forgotten. It was in the Victoire Casino, just before everything went to hell. He remembered Corinne had looked away as she said it. “When you live in the shadow of the mountains, you feel as if you can hide there forever and no one will ever find you.”

The Alfa Romeo 33 Stradale was as fast as it was rare. There were only eighteen of them in the world, and one of them was flying around the corner in Val D’isere, ice water flying off of it as its driver guided it along the roads which spread out around the cliffs like veins. The driver looked in the mirror. There was nobody there and even if there was, they wouldn't be for long. The 33 Stradale was like a rocketship that had crashed to earth and been given wheels. It made its way along a familiar route. The driver had the window down enough to let the freshest air around whip through the car. The car had as much of a history as the person driving it, and none of it was honest. It had been won in a high stakes game in the most exclusive room in the most exclusive hotel in Amsterdam. The other players still didn't understand quite how they’d lost. That was the most satisfying way to win. The car was heading down the mountain. A little town was calling it home.

Bond walked into the tavern. It was dark and cavernous, yet welcoming. This was a place for locals, not tourists. Bond drew some withering looks as he walked in but after that no one seemed to care. The pace of life in the village was such that no one really seemed to care about anything at all. There was an open fireplace and the crackling kindling drew Bond’s attention. He sidled up to the bar and ordered in French. The barmaid spoke back to him in English. She had a short cigarette stuck behind her ear. Bond took his drink and sat beside the fireplace. He could thaw out from the cold while he counted time. That was all there was left to do. He gave himself an hour. Two hours tops, if the drinks kept flowing. He eyed the barmaid again. She looked tougher than any thug he’d come across. If he asked her about Corinne, he knew the answer he would get. Bond finished his drink and was about to have another when he saw an old man struggling up a rickety looking stairway off to the side. The tavern had a cove-like room in the attic from which hushed murmurs were emanating. Bond watched the old man. He had a thick wad of Francs in one back pocket and a fresh pack of cards in the other. Bond stood, went to the bar and looked over his shoulder at the cove. The game was on.

The sun was beginning to set as the Alfa Romeo slowed and stopped in the town square, where there was always a spot put aside. The village was lively with people coming down from the slopes. The driver stepped out. She whipped her hair back. She wore dark sunglasses and had thrown on a leather jacket which hugged her tightly. She walked along the familiar streets, seeming to glide along. She looked at a Porsche 911 which was parked opposite her. It was a beautiful car, but she was interested for another reason. They could never find her here, she had always told herself. A child ran up a narrow laneway, limbs flailing.
“Miss Corinne!” The child shouted, startling her. She greeted the dirty faced child with a warm smile. She stooped down to the little boy's level. “Alain, the village watchman. Tell me something.” Corinne said, pointing to the Porsche. “When did the fancy car arrive?”
The child looked down and shrugged his shoulders. “I didn't see it arrive. I was playing football.”
Corinne stuck her hand in her pocket and handed the child a crisp Franc.
“A man with black hair. Blue eyes. He was walking around the village for a while.”
“Did he look French?”
The little boy shrugged again. “I've never been on holiday. Only France.”
Corinne handed him more money. “He looked British.” Alain said quickly. She ruffled his hair.
“Where did he go?”
“Oh, to the belote game in the tavern. My dad has already lost three times. Can you believe that?”
She took off her sunglasses. Corinne's eyes were dancing in a way they hadn't before.
“I can believe it.” Corinne said. “More than anyone else.”

The cards and insults were being thrown quickfire and Bond was only getting a feel for the game. The game was belote, a French staple. It was a game he had learned to play through hours of repetition while undercover in the docks of Marseille. That felt like decades ago. There were three others playing with him on a round table. Bond wanted the seat that overlooked the whole tavern but his partner in the game was the wrinkled old Frenchman he’d seen going up the stairs. He had won them a few rounds and had quickly gotten over his displeasure of having to play with an Englishman when Bond started giving him his share of the winnings. Bond had a bottle of whiskey sent up. Even the barmaid seemed happy once she saw the flash of money. Bonds wallet was on its last legs when he heard footsteps coming upstairs.

Bond kept an eye on his cards. He lit a cigarette and started smoking. The old man was nodding off, either from card fatigue or the shots of Genepy he was getting through. On the opposite side of the table, a stout man got up and grumbled something Bond didn't understand. His empty chair was quickly taken. Corinne sat down, looking straight through him. Bond could feel his heart beating through his chest. He had never held a hand of cards tighter.
“I don't recall teaching you Belote, James.” Corinne said, lighting her own cigarette while Bond stubbed out his. He saw why she smoked immediately. She was using his lighter.
“You taught me enough.” Bond said, as the old man woke up and started dealing the cards again.
“On y va.” The old man said, refreshed.
“Here we go.” Bond agreed as he looked up finally at Corinne and tauntingly smiled.

Corinne's eyes burned into Bond as she held her cards. She tried to flick through them and fumbled, dropping one. It was highly uncharacteristic. Bond was pleased. He lit another cigarette and looked down at the bar. It was late afternoon and it was getting busier. Bond felt they were on neutral ground, which he would soon find out was wrong.
“Why did you come here?” Corinne said. The old man tutted and shook his head. He liked silence when he played cards.
Bond seemed indifferent. Corinne’s cage had obviously been rattled by his sudden appearance, calming his own nerves. The alcohol helped too. “Following my instincts.” Bond said.
“They didn't help you last time.” Corinne shot back.
“Nor did Stechkov’s.”
She liked the riposte. She blew a thin trail of smoke towards him.
“He was an old fool who got wrapped up in something he shouldn't have.”
The old Frenchman got up and said to pause the game while he went to the bathroom. He tottered off down the stairs and Bond realised they would be alone for a long time.
“I hope you are not planning to try something stupid.” Corinne said. “This place belongs to my family.”
Bond looked down. The barmaid was standing at the beer taps, looking right up at him with her muscular arms crossed.
“You met my cousin, I assume?” Corinne said.
“Always nice to see a friendly face behind the bar.”
“I knew you’d come here one day. As I said, you are clever. More than most. I didn't think it would be so soon, but I knew you’d be back.”
Bond refrained from comment. “Tell me how much you made from what you killed Stechkov and Baldetti for.”
Corinne put her elbows on the table and gave him the same look that had entrapped him on the night train to Paris not so long ago. “If you play nice, I'll show you.”

“What would you like to play?” Corinne asked without looking up.
“Nothing. We can wait for the old man. The last game I played with you didn't end well.”
“It could have ended much worse for you.” Corinne said.
“Why didn't it? You could have killed me along with the rest.”
“Because I like you. I wanted to see you again and I knew you would find me.”
Bond felt his face flush red, stood up and pocketed his meagre winnings. “Spectre must not pay as well as they used to.”
Corinne didn't move. She didn't betray any emotion.
Bond stood over her. “Don't give me the ignorance routine now.”
“Are you here to arrest me?” Corinne said. Her jacket fit her too well to conceal a weapon. Bond stopped himself from looking at her figure. “No.” Bond told her. “I only wanted to know who you work for, but I think I've got my answer already.”
“Myself.” She said, her eyes shooting upwards at him. “I told you that already. Don't act like a saint. I knew who you were the second you found Baldetti dead, but you never told me who you were either.”
“Comes with the territory.” Bond said. He held his hand out. “My lighter.”
She pulled it from her pocket and placed it in his palm. “That was a long way to travel for a cigarette lighter.”
Bond walked to the stairs. The old man was at the bottom. “I came here for something else, but you can't be the person they’re looking for. This business is out of your league. You might sit here in your little ski village and think you're a player, but to me Corinne, you're just a card cheat. Nothing more.” Bond walked down the stairs, quickly. They wobbled as he went down. At the bottom of the stairs, he handed the old man his winnings.
“What did Corinne do this time?” The old man said in perfect English.

Bond walked out into the cold. The streets were empty, everyone going indoors for the apres ski festivities. The world was strangely quiet, his footsteps crunching ice the only sound. Bond thought he heard distant car engines echoing in the distance but thought little of it. The roads were a playground for anyone with a fast car. He stood on the footbridge again. The stonework was freezing to touch as he watched the sun setting over the Alps, the whole village now covered in a dark orange haze. He waited for exactly two minutes. On cue, Corinne appeared by his side, this time walking in a hurry.
“It's a cold evening to sit around outside.” She said. They paused for a long time. “Tell me, James. Why are you here?”
Bond put on his sunglasses. “You can keep whatever you stole. Stechkov means even less now than he did when he was alive, which in my opinion wasn't much to begin with. But, he was an asset of the Spectre organisation. Heard of them?”
“Whispered in corners of my world. Nothing more.”
Bond turned to face Corinne. For the first time, he felt she had fallen behind. “You did a good job in the casino but you killed someone you shouldn't have. I thought they’d recruit you, but I think they’d rather kill you.”
“There's only one problem with that.” Corinne said, getting closer to Bond. He didn't try to stop her. “I didn't kill Stechkov.”

Three black cars rumbled around the curvature of the cliff face. Their bright headlights shone on the icicles on the cliff face. Together, they picked up speed and started to ascend the mountain.

The ice water rushed below their feet. Bond turned to look at her. He took off his sunglasses just as soon as he’d put them on.
“What?” he blurted.
Corinne loved to pull the wool over his eyes. As a child she had loved to eavesdrop around the dark corners in the village they were standing in. She loved to know things that no one else did. “He was already dead when I entered his suite. I only had to shoot his bodyguard. He wouldn't tell me what happened, then he pulled a gun on me.”
Bond remembered standing at the bottom of the velvet covered staircase as the thug stumbled through the doors, bleeding all over the expensive silk.
Bond studied her face. He searched Corinne's eyes. “What did you take? What was Stechkov carrying?”
“I still have it. I'll show you.”
“Why?” Bond said, spine tingling.
“Because I like you.” Corinne said.
Bond stood up tall. “Stop saying that. Show me what you took.”

The convoy of black cars entered the village slowly. They fanned out in different directions, covering the few escape routes. In and out, with all the loose ends tied up.

Bond made Corinne walk ahead of him.
“People will talk, you know. Everyone knows me here.”
“They don't know me. Keep walking.”
They were walking along an alleyway, the smell from the only restaurant wafting through a grate.
“Dinner after?” Corinne said. “Since we’re reunited?”
“Shut up.” Bond said, eyeing the windows.
“Rude. Don't be impetuous James, it doesn't suit you. My family has run this village for generations. You only found me because I allowed it.”
Bond listened to her talk and let her lead. He had his hand on his gun as he saw the chateau. It was an elegant log house on a hill, covered in snow. The large windows glowed yellow with lamplight and were probably older than the village itself. Corinne started walking up the steps, Bond in tow. The chateau looked over the village, standing as a guardian. Bond saw a black car coming to life and driving away from them.
She tried the door and swore under her breath. “Locked. Whoever said family make the best-”
“Don't open it!” Bond said, his heart in his mouth. Her hand was on the handle as he pushed Corinne to the side, the explosion going off in a white flash. It hardly made noise as it took off the door. His breath was halted as he realised he was prone on the ground covering Corinne. He got up and held her by the wrist. She couldn't get breath into her lungs to speak. Another black car screeched into view, driving downhill. Bond retrieved his gun.
“Into the house!” He said as they went through the destroyed doorway. The machine gun fire was tremendous. It sounded like no gun Bond had heard before. They took cover as glass and wood shattered around them.

Corinne was on the floor, Bond standing in the doorway. Even the finest guns have to be reloaded. There was a brief pause. Bond waited for the split second of silence and fired. He knew he had killed the driver when the car began rolling down the hill, hitting parked cars as it went.
“Time to go.” Bond said with a strange calmness.
“But the suitcase, it…” Corinne said and stopped. Bond looked around.
“Watch the door.” He told Corinne. He saw the rifle on the wall. He took it off and handed it to her. “Shoot anyone you don't recognise.”
The Dumont home was decorated in the same fashion as a royal palace. He walked up halfway up the stairs, looking for a trip wire as he went. He stopped suddenly. There was a familiar beeping coming from what he guessed was the master bedroom. “Homing beacon.” Bond said as he walked back down. “Stechkov’s last gift to you.”
Bond took cover in the doorway. The men from the crashed car were running towards the chateau.
“Either come with me and find out who sold you to Spectre or go alone. Your choice.” Bond said as the henchman with the light machine gun made it to the bottom step. He took aim as Corinne aimed the rifle around the corner. His finger was around the trigger as Corinne shot him with a powerful volley that propelled him backwards.
“I'm with you.” Corinne said. “It's our second date, after all.”

They went down the steps of the chateau. Down the hill, the crashed Spectre car was being set on by the locals, brandishing weapons of every kind. “I told you I have many friends around here.” Corinne said as they ran into the village. She led the way. “My car is in the square.” Bond said. “I'll drive.”
Corinne was gaining composure. “We’ll see about that.”
They ran along the darkened lane. The village was like a maze that only Corinne knew the solution to. The square was in sight when they suddenly stopped. The Spectre man leaped out in front of them, not holding a gun but a child. The terrified child stopped Bond in his tracks. The Spectre agent held the boy across the chest with one arm and now aimed the pistol. They took cover under the gutters, which dripped ice cold water on Bond's face.
“Give us the woman and the boy lives.” The Spectre agent said in raw English.
“Corinne!” Alain screamed before the man covered his mouth. Bond's blood ran hot with hatred.
Corinne looked at Bond. “Step out.” Bond said. Her eyes widened. “Tell the boy to close his eyes.”

Corinne left cover and held her hands up. The Spectre man's mouth curled in a sickening smile.
She spoke in French, voice shaking. “Big mistake.” The Spectre agent was in the process of saying as Bond appeared beside him. Bond shot the man without blinking. He slumped to the ground and released his grip on the child, who ran to Corinne's arms. Bond put another round in the man and walked to the square. His Porsche was waiting. He felt the air change. The Porsche exploded in a fireball, metal flying everywhere. Bond watched the explosion and all he could think of was how he would explain it to Leiter afterwards. He turned back and walked to Corinne who was comforting the boy. She was speaking hurriedly in French and Bond couldn't hear it over the sound of approaching footsteps.

Another hitman appeared, barrelling his shoulder into Bond and knocking the gun from his hand. He held a machete and swiped at Bond with it, Bond hearing the swishing sound passing his ear. Bond threw a punch to the man's kidneys and they began to struggle.
“Get your car.” Bond said through gritted teeth. The man wore a single glove and when he hit Bond it was coated with metal. Corinne whispered final instructions into Alain's ear as he wiped angry tears away. He ran, disappearing with intent. Corinne picked up Bond's gun but the two men were jostling with such vigour that she couldn't fire.
“Get. The. Car.” Bond said through struggling breaths. She took off as Bond planted an elbow to the man's jaw, a stunning blow which sent him reeling. The Spectre hitman dropped his machete. Bond sent him back again with a kick. The hitman made a sudden move for his knife, grabbed it and promptly slipped on ice. Bond watched the blood flow along the icy cobbles. “Chilling.” He said as he picked up his gun before running up the alley. Corinne pulled up in the Alfa Romeo. “The Stradale 33.” Bond said. “I won't even ask how you have one.”
“You know me.” Corinne said as the car throbbed. “I cheated to win.”

They sped through the village. Corinne knew the way better than anyone. She turned, car skidding in ice, and took a different route. She watched her home disappear in the wing mirror. Bond was breathing hard in the passenger seat. The road was straight ahead of them and she put her foot down. The fastest road car in the world responded. They didn't exchange words. Corinne was fast. Bond was rolling the window down. The entire French alps came into view. The altitude made Bond squirm. He checked the chamber in his pistol. One bullet left.
“Is that all of them?” Corinne said. Bond responded by leaning out of the window. The last car was behind them, snow billowing behind them. The felt the air whip his face as he slowed the world around him almost to a halt.
He fired. The wheel of the Spectre car blew, sending them careening sideways. The car went over the edge and plummeted downwards. Bond watched the car crashing, smoke and ice blurring into one.
“That's it for now.” Bond said as he got back in. Corinne didn't look at him. “But there's going to be hell to pay going forwards.”
“Then we pay with house money, like always. What next?”
Bond watched Corinne drive. He looked at the long road ahead.
“Rome.” James Bond said. “As fast as you can.”

Chapter Text

“In my world, people talk. In yours, they stay silent. That's the difference.” Corinne Dumont said as James Bond watched the rows of empty tables. They were an hour from Rome, with time to spare. They were sitting in the corner of a roadside cafe and Bond could feel the cold steel of a gun at his side. Considering the speed Corinne had driven at to get them this far, Bond knew they hadn't been followed. There wasn't a Spectre agent in the world who could drive like that. At a brief stop, Bond checked her car for homing devices and found nothing. She had nearly cut a ten hour drive in half, flouting every speed limit in Italy on her way. Now, she was nursing an espresso and waiting for his response.
“No. We can't make any phone calls. We’re in enough of a mess already.” Bond said. A fine mess and on borrowed time to boot, Bond wanted to say. In reflection, they had been fortunate to escape the Alps alive. He knew that if M found out what had transpired in the mountains, he would be court martialed and swiftly exiled from duty, which was the axis upon which his whole life pivoted. It was early morning. They had driven all night, only stopping for fuel.
Corinne downed her coffee. She was still wearing the leather jacket Bond had found her in. She gripped the table.
“Someone planned all this. The whole thing, beginning with Stechkov on the train and ending here. What exactly is this ingenious British plan in Rome?”
Bond made eye contact with the waitress who began pouring the blackest coffee he had seen in years.
“I can't tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't know what their plan is.” Bond said, accepting the coffee. “That's the truth.”
She leaned back against the cracked leather of the booth.
“You must have really pissed them off.”
“With your help.” Bond said. She conceded with her eyes closed.
“Whoever sold your name to Spectre will be in Rome. They wanted you dead to put themselves at the front of the line, I’d wager.” Bond told her.
“Even criminality is a free market these days.” Corinne sighed, nonplussed. She pulled out a short cigarette but did not light it. “How do you know you can trust this man in Rome? Assuming it is a man, of course.” she said.
“It will be.” Bond said. “It always is.”
Bond held out his lighter. She sighed. “Brute.”
Bond craned his neck and looked at the clock behind them. “I have to trust them. It so happens that I'll be branded as a fugitive on the run if I don't report to them by noon.”
“That would make two of us.” Corinne said as they stood up together. It was still bitterly cold outside and the grey expanse visible through the stained windows didn't fill Bond with much hope. He reached into her pocket and took the car keys. Her cheeks flushed pink. “You damn thief!”

Bond pulled the driver's seat back and sat in. He didn't start the engine. His eyes were fixated on the steering wheel as he spoke.
“There's still time for you to run, you know.” Bond said as Corinne shivered in the passenger seat.
“What do you mean?”
“I can tell them you were killed in the Alps. No one would have to know.”
“But you would.” Corinne said. She turned in her seat, inches away from him. “Like it or not, you need me.” Corinne said, feeling her breath on his skin. “That's why you came to find me in the first place.”
Bond couldn't deny the magnetism between them. Even while stuck in the midst of the unknown scheming all around him, the thrill of her company was something he had sorely missed. She was unlike any woman he had been with before and she knew it. Plus, as Bond weighed it up, she was hardly a shrinking flower herself. He had seen the evidence of that in Stechkov's luxury suite. Bond knew it would be a precarious situation in the Italian capital and having someone as capable as Corinne along with him would hardly do any harm, if he was able to keep her out of trouble.
“You need me.” Corinne repeated and kissed him hard on the cheek. He put the keys into the ignition and drove on the long road towards Rome.

The traffic was insurmountable and stuck at a standstill. The Alfa Romeo's engine was gently purring underneath the cacophony of sirens and horns. Bond looked at his watch. Corinne was drumming her fingers on the dashboard. “The office isn't far from here. I'm going to run for it.”
“Wait.” Corinne said, her hand shooting to his wrist. The traffic wasn't moving. She looked at him and Bond could swear he saw a look of fear for the first time.
“Are you sure this is the right thing to do?”
“No.” Bond said. “It's the only thing to do.”
He moved the car an inch forwards. The spring sun shone down and didn't help improve the Roman mood.
“I should come with you. I'll have a better chance of identifying whoever the villain is.”
“They come in all shapes and sizes. You should know that better than anyone.” Bond said. “Just stay out of trouble and meet me at the Pantheon in three hours. Switch seats with me.”
“What if trouble finds me?” Corinne said as Bond got out of the car. Bond put his forearm on the roof and leaned in. Corinne had manoeuvred herself with ease into the familiar driver's seat.
“Are you armed?” Bond said. The blockage ahead was cleared and the Italian engineering began moving forwards in one great heave.
“Always.” Corinne said. Bond took a last look at her before she had to drive onwards. As she changed gears, she looked out as Bond disappeared into the crowded streets.

Bond was steeped in history as he walked towards the piazza. Every step he took seemed to take him deeper into the past, but he had no time to appreciate history. He still had some time before the meeting. He hadn't lost everything when they destroyed Leiter's car in the Alps. He produced a roll of film from his jacket pocket and played the lost tourist. Bond stopped on a narrow, sloping hill. The ancient steps slalomed downwards flanked by old drains which the mornings rain trickled along. He unfurled the negatives. They had been planted in the Aston Martin during his meeting with M. The negatives showed the proposed meeting point and the Italy offices contact. The MI6 Italian office usually meant watching the Mafia from afar while tutting and saying it could never happen in England. Those were the old times. Bond felt a wave of fatigue crash over him and wondered if he was a relic of the old days, though barely having past thirty. Bond rolled up the film and caught a glimpse of himself in a trattoria window. The two day stubble and tousled hair didn't help his image much. For the first time since childhood, Bond felt unsure of his appearance. He couldn't show his face to the Italians in such a state. Tucked away down the slope was a barber, the elderly proprietor sitting in a deckchair smoking a pipe. Bond checked his watch three more times to be sure and within minutes the olive skinned barber was gesturing with his hands about something or other while preparing a hot towel. Bond casually thought the barbers chair must have been an ancient relic to go along with everything else in the old city when he caught a glimpse through the window. He was certain he saw the languid figure of Corinne. With a screeching sound, the barber promptly spun the chair back towards the mirror. Bond was second guessing himself, something that endangered a mission as much as anything else. There were probably thousands of beautiful women in Rome, but only one Corinne. Bond stared in the mirror in silence. The old man worked with well practised efficiency and within fifteen minutes Bond emerged a new man, or at least looking like one. He walked down the slope towards the piazza, Bond thoughts about Corinne were extinguished quickly after realising he was being followed, about halfway down.

Bond looked skywards. The looming adobes on either side were decorated with vines and laundry. He ambled along, although he was running out of time. The man shadowing him was good. He had to be, or else Bond would not have spotted him so late. He had only made a sartorial mistake, a deadly sin in Italy. The man was wearing a light satin jacket, but when Bond took out the film roll and pretended to study it again, he saw the man was sweating profusely. It was a cold day for spring. Bond walked on further, before suddenly turning and sprinting at full pelt down another street. The man had done well to get this close and in his head Bond commended him, but he had no time to trifle with trails. A group of tourists walked in a wide marching column in the opposite direction. They would block the trailing man and anyone else on the street. Bond ducked into a clothing store, spent half of his paycheck and set off for the piazza again, newly suited, but with the ever growing suspicion that the mission was doomed from the beginning following him like a dark cloud.

It was exactly noon. Bond sat by the fountain and listened to the trickling water. The white cobble piazza was broad, speckled with tourists and squawking birds and who knew what else. As Bond wondered who else had followed in his footsteps, a wiry figure appeared and sat behind him. Bond knew he was English upon first sight. He was younger, with the over confident air of superiority that Bond had seen all too much in his schooldays and in a past life at sea. His wild brown hair was swept back and he wore what Bond guessed was a tailored suit. He had his hands on his knees as he finally spoke.
“James Bond, in the flesh. Strange to have a famous double-oh agent around here. Or should I say infamous?” The man said with a well educated accent. He had a foppish voice that Bond guessed he tried to hide often. Bond noticed how the younger man skipped the formalities of coded introductions. He filed it away in his mind and decided to keep his hand near his gun.
“You can say whatever you like.” Bond said without looking. The man kept his eyes on their surroundings. It was quiet enough by Roman standards and easy to see anyone approaching.
“M told me you’d be on tenterhooks. That's alright by me. I would be too, if I’d had the action you’d seen.”
Bond wondered for the first time just how much the Italian office knew. How much was M willing to divulge to this man?
Bond stretched his back muscles. There was a crackling noise he ignored. Bond looked sideways at the young agent. “I’d bet that it's more action than you could even think of.”
“Oh, you’d like to bet, wouldn't you? I heard about your gambling escapades in London. Very kitsch.”
Bond lit a cigarette. The man tutted. “Terrible for your health.”
“So is this job.”
“Not the way I do it.”
“Sitting in a backwater watching fat mobsters from afar? No, I wouldn't say it gets very dangerous.”
The man got up and smiled. It was a preening, hateful smile. “We’ve got off on the wrong foot. The name is Talbot.” He stuck his hand out. Bond ignored him. “None of that. I've been tailed once already.”
Bond eyes scanned the square. He momentarily saw a glint from a far off window. He felt his heart pumping.
“Pish.” Talbot said. “What man worth his salt doesn't attract a tail or two?”
“Who was it in the Italian office that came up with this little scheme?”
Talbot seemed incredibly relaxed about the whole thing. He laughed softly. “Myself, of course. I singlehandedly operate the Italian office. There's no acolytes to do our bidding around here, Bond. That sort of thing went out the window when Caesar copped it.”
On the other side of the fountain, a child was flipping little coins into the water and watching them sink.
Bond watched.
“Come along, 007. I suppose you’ll be dying to know what the mission is.”
For a split second, Bond saw the flash of light from the window. “Get down!”

Talbot flung himself to the floor. Bond heard the bullet whiz between the two of them and hit the water. It sank alongside another coin from the child, who had now run out of ammunition and left. Bond saw the sniper bullet reflecting up at him. It was 50 calibre and Bond was trying to think of how long it took to reload as he dragged Talbot up from the ground. “Come on!” Talbot said, now running. The smile had been wiped from his face but Bond could not enjoy it. Another chunk of marble blew up in front of his shoes as he ran. Bond followed. Talbot appeared calm under pressure, which Bond was surprised by. They ran to an alley, out of view of the sniper but far from safe. Talbot's car was sitting under a tarp shelter. It was unlocked. Bond got on the other side. Bond soon recognised it as a BMW 507. Talbot turned the keys and it came to life. Bond's heartbeat slowed. Talbot's hands were white as he gripped the wheel.
“You’ve been here five minutes and the bullets are already raining down.” Talbot said as he guided the German car along the tight back street.
“Lucky they were a bad shot, then.” Bond said as he replayed the shots in his mind. He considered the angle of the shining light and the bullets. He had seen Spectre hitmen make better shots than that.
“That was no assasination. That was a warning.” Bond said.
“Before you go getting any wild ideas, Bond, those shots could have been from anyone. You're not the only one with enemies and bad blood. I've conjured up enough of it in the last year.”
Talbot drove quickly, looking in the mirrors. He appeared confident that they were not being followed. Bond had to forgo his bias and concede, the man seemed to know what he was doing. He turned right and started driving down a wooden ramp.
“I know what you're thinking, Bond. All your type back in Blighty think the same. But I'm telling you…”
It became very dark. Talbot drove without headlights. It was as if it had turned from day to night in an instant. “You must realise, I've seen them all come through here. Russians, Germans, thieves and murderers, the whole show.”
“What about Spectre?” Bond said with force. Talbot didn't answer. In the darkness, it was too hard for Bond to tell how he reacted.
“Spectre?” Talbot stopped the car and got out. Bond followed him. They were deep underneath Rome, tucked away in a reinforced section of a sprawling tunnel network left over from the days of emperors. Bond looked both ways. The tunnels seemed to stretch on forever, ancient stonework meshing with modern engineering.
Talbot walked to a metal door with a fingerprint sensor fastened to the wall beside it.
“That's what you're here for.” Talbot said as the door unlocked.

Talbot's office was generously decorated. It was around the same size as Bond's one back in London but the desk was better. Talbot most likely spent more time at his desk than Bond ever did, his ego reasoned. Instead of a secretary's office, Bond noticed a room off to the side. Through thick glass and a keypad, Bond saw that the room was stacked with enough armoury to stage a coup.
“I see where the money's been going.” Bond said, raising an eyebrow at the weaponry.
“Well, you never know who could turn up at your door.”
“Get many visitors?”
“Some, but they don't enjoy it. You understand, Bond. Some of these thugs need a word in private.”
Talbot was feeling confident now, his stature growing. He had gotten over the shooting incident quickly. Bond couldn't warm to him. He had seen plenty of young go-getters arrive and fall by the wayside. He looked around a decade younger than Bond, who was trying to think of what he was doing twenty five. He shook the dust covered memories away and sat in the desk chair. Bond complimented the office.
“This is no backwater, Bond. This is Rome! When I was assigned here, they told me I’d be canned or dead within six months. Well, neither have happened and I've taken the fight to the crims myself. I've even dragged the Italian law by the scruff of the neck and gave them a good hard slap to wake them up!”
Bond was listening. He was also getting bored.
Talbot finished his grandstanding and pulled the blinds on the double glazed window, wanting to hide the outside world.
“If we pull this mission off successfully, which I have no doubt we will, it's going to hand us both a golden ticket right to the top.”
“I've been there.” Bond said. “It's not all that.”
Talbot scoffed.
“The mission being?” Bond asked after the long pause.
Talbot flicked on a projector and spent a minute with his back turned to Bond. An image of the Colosseum hovered on the wall before them.
“There's the stage for our act.” Talbot said. He pressed a hidden button. Five faces came up on screen. Bond recognised only one of them. Corinne's eyes shone even in black and white.
“Tonight's cast, if you please. That's why you're here, Bond. We’re going to lure Spectre out into the open. Then, we’ll end them for good.”

Bond suddenly felt the heat in the room go up. He did not fear Talbot as a man but he was weary of his mouth, which would no doubt relish the chance to inform M and the rest of the service that the 007 had not only been corrupted once by the renowned thief Corinne, he had gone to seek her once more and brought her in one a clandestine mission of his own. That was a genuine fear Bond could feel as he watched Talbot pace the room.
“You’ll be a bit part player for this one, Bond. There'll be no machismo heroics from you this time. The plan is so simple that I couldn’t believe it hadn’t been thought of before.”
Bond stayed very still. “Keep talking. And cut the bluster, Talbot. I'm in no mood for it.”
Bond decided to go on the offensive. He got the impression nobody had spoken to Talbot with such derision in a while, if ever.
“You're going to deal with Spectre face to face, Bond.” Talbot said with a sneer. “For the last time.”

“It turns out terrorism is quite an expensive business.” Talbot said. “Spectre is low on funds. They had to look outside the firm for help. That's what your good friend Stechkov was doing, before he ran into trouble.”
“Trouble.” Bond said with a disbelieving laugh.
“We almost had him flipped when you came along. I did try and tell M you should be left well out of it, but M said-”
“Who’s this?”
Talbot's face dropped. “Very funny.”
Bond lit a cigarette and waved at Talbot to carry on.
“The five faces you see here are a veritable who’s who of the underworld. I've spent the last six months cultivating a deal. Strictly business, of course.”
“You don't do business with these kinds of people, Talbot. They don't deal with anyone who-”
Talbot raised a hand to silence him. Bond resisted the urge to knock his teeth out.
“They’re not all fanatics, Bond. Some of them understand logic and a good offer. I've been running a traitor deep in the fabric of their operation for months. Tonight, they’ll cross the divide.”
He had Bond's attention. Talbot clicked again. The faces were crossed out with crude skulls. Including Corinne's.
“All eliminated. Loose threads cut off. By Spectre's hand, of course. They’re tearing each other apart from the inside. Leaving one candidate for Spectre's top man, who will reveal themselves at the meeting.”
“I've seen their best before.” Bond said. “They didn't get far. Who is the last man?”
“My source says he is only referred to by the codename Phantom. They need money and they think I have it. They’ll send him.”
“I've never heard of Phantom.”
“You must be losing your step in old age, 007.” The younger man said, fixing his hair. “You’d better prepare to do so.”
Talbot walked to the window and opened the blinds. It was pouring down rain outside.
“When is the deal going ahead?”
“Midnight. They’re very keen.”
That was more than enough hours to kill. He thought about Corinne. He wondered who on earth Phantom could be. He had dealt with almost everything Spectre had thrown at him and never once heard the name. Bond stood up and forced out a sigh. “Out of interest, who was the girl?”
Talbot didn't show any emotion. He was tidying up the desk, talking to Bond without looking. “Same old Bond. Always interested in the ladies instead of the job. Just like they said.”
Bond ignored the snark but wondered who Talbot was referring to.
“You can’t have this one Bond. For one, she was a thief. Quite a good one, apparently. Secondly, she's dead. My source passed on the word. Letter box drop, very old school. Dispatched by Phantom himself. Why?”
Bond didn't bother to answer, safe in the satisfaction that he knew a crucial part of the puzzle that the arrogant spy before him was unaware of. Bond asked to leave. Talbot obliged and did so while maintaining the air of a man putting garbage to the curb. They walked down a small set of stairs. Bond noticed the sensors on each step. Talbot was very security conscious. There was another pad on a narrow entrance.
“Midnight, Bond. This whole thing will be over.” He said as he closed the metal door.

The door spat Bond out onto a quiet street. It was still raining as Bond walked through the ancient streets. He did not look back at the office. He knew Talbot would be watching. The rain was causing havoc with traffic, which was already in a state of chaos. Bond could hear distant wailing horns as he crossed the street. Sunken into a decaying archway was a newsstand. There was a hard faced man sitting on a stool surrounded by newspapers and Vatican themed souvenirs. His weary eyes sized up Bond as he stabbed at a packet of chewing tobacco. He sold Bond an umbrella which looked like it had been around as long as the tiles they were standing on. Bond thanked the man and then pointed a gun at him.
The vendor didn't react. His eyes were half shut to begin with. Bond knew he had caught a watcher.
“Russian?” Bond said. The man spat tobacco into a cup.
“East German it is.” Bond said and from the man's reaction knew he was right. It was a good surveillance spot but a boring job even for someone like this man, who barely seemed to breathe.
“Tell me something interesting and I won't kill you.” Bond bluffed. The man stuck more tobacco into his mouth.
“It depends on what you find interesting.”
“See many people going in there?” Bond said without looking over his shoulder.
The old spy had been around the block enough times to know there was no point negotiating. A surveillance posting wasn't worth taking a bullet for. Besides, if the English wanted to fight amongst each other, that wouldn't be such a bad thing. “Plenty of people.” He said in English. “Not in the day. Always night.”
“What do they look like?”
“Not professional. Not like you and me. They go in but they do not come out.” The German said. Bond was seeing the pieces of the jigsaw in his head but none of them fit. He put his gun away. The German had run out of tobacco.
Bond put some money down on the newspapers which had rain drops on them. “Get yourself a new packet.”

It didn't take long to walk to the Pantheon. His mind was so clouded and jumbled that time didn't feel real anyway. He dispatched the old umbrella into a bin and looked around. Bond was standing in the square, facing away from the magnificent building. He did a full turn. There were so many windows and offshooting alleys and streets that realistically he could be shot or followed from anywhere. Bond's chest was heavy with dread. The rain was at his back as he entered the Pantheon. He could hear his wet coat dripping on the marble floor. The rain had driven all the tourists inside. Bond slicked his wet hair back and looked around. It was difficult to admire the architecture around him. It was too crowded, for one thing. Though he felt safe in the knowledge that not even Spectre would try anything here. The thought painted a vivid picture in his mind. Bond walked slowly, looking at the marble. He couldn't shake off the feeling that Talbot was hiding to nothing with his bait and hook scheme. As much as he despised their being, the Spectre organisation tended to operate shrewdly and always in secret. From previous encounters, Bond hoped they knew enough to show some caution when he was involved. But what about Talbot? As far as Bond or Spectre was concerned, he was a nobody. A new face trying to claw desperately to the top. Or was he? What if M was grooming him to take the reins, to heed the call that had once been strictly James Bonds? He thought about all this as he stood up close to one of the columns, examining the craftsmanship and thinking that the long gone faces depicted on the little statues had it much better than he did. A tap on the shoulder froze him.
“Missed me?” Corinne said.

Bonds guard was up. He was more on edge than he cared to believe. He looked her up and down. Everything Corinne was dressed in was so new and stylish it might have just been created for her in one of the Italian fashion houses that morning. She wore a designer coat down to her knees and a silk headscarf, the material of which Bond couldn't even begin to describe. “Busy afternoon, I see.” Bond said. She came in close and spoke to him.
“I think I was followed.” She said.
Bond put his arms around her and pulled her in, looking around the whole Pantheon as he did so.
“We’ll see about that.” Bond answered and let go. She slipped her hand into his as they began walking.
“I must say I'm surprised to see you.” Bond said. Something stopped him from saying it, but he had convinced himself she would abandon ship and go her own way. It was the only thing he had been sure of that day. He was glad to feel her touch and have her at his side and Corinne knew it.
“I already tried running away once.” Corinne said. “Look how that turned out. Anyway, you must know that I'm caught in the web just as much as you are. Whoever planned all this is the person who sent our departed friend after me in the first place.”
“It's going to end tonight. One way or another.”
Corinne brushed against him. Bond noticed she had procured a gun. It was strapped to her thigh.
Bond looked up. Bleak afternoon light tried to get through the roof. He pointed and they both cast their eyes over the intricate ceiling that cascaded downwards, a marvel of ancient technology.
“Did you follow me this afternoon?” Bond said, still looking.
“No.” Corinne answered. “How could I?”
“I saw you. In a mirror, walking down the slope.”
Corinne stopped looking. She kept going. “Maybe it was an illusion.”
Bond caught up with her and held her by the wrist. “Promise me.”
She looked into his eyes. “I'm not from your world. Even if I tried to follow you, I wouldn't be able to.”
A harsh realisation set in. Bond knew she was telling the truth. Part of him wished he had caught her in a lie. The fact that he hadn't meant he really was second guessing himself and could be sure of nothing.

“What about the meeting? Did it go how you expected?” Corinne asked him. He was still looking at the crowd.
“As I thought and a whole lot more.” Bond answered. None of the tourists interested him.
She gripped his hand tighter than ever before. “The plan?”
“A bad one.” Bond shook his head. “Plotted by a young fool in over his head.”
They had done a full circuit of the Pantheon three times over. They now stood in a shadowy corner, flanked by oil paintings. He gave a whittled down version of the plan, careful to not divulge too much information to a non operative, though at this point she was hardly a civilian. Corinne's face darkened as he told her.
“Bait them out and fire. Like shooting pheasants, apparently.” Bond said.
Corinne was disgusted. She let go of his hand and turned away. “Idiotic. Simply idiotic. Our lives are in the balance, you know that don't you? How dare you make it sound so simple!”
“I have my orders. I have to follow them.” Bond said.
She turned on the spot. Her face was inches from Bonds. Her eyes bore into his. “You have me.”
The heaviness on Bond's chest gained weight.
Corinne's mind was racing now. He had seen the look in her face before and it could only spell trouble.
“It's not you that they want. They think you’re dead.”
Now Corinne was on the back foot. She stepped away from Bond. “How can that possibly…”
“That's the information-”
“How can the Englishman think I was killed, if there was no evidence left behind? That was all cleaned up by my people in the village. When we sweep something under the carpet, it stays there. How could…” Her voice trailed off. Bond listened. “Mistakes aren’t tolerated in Spectre. They’ll have been a cover up. There always is.”
“No.” Corinne said. “Not this time.”
She walked away at pace, going back outside. Bond followed her. He caught up to her in front of the doors, under the shelter of the old roof. The rain had gotten worse. The sound of it echoed above them.
“Who killed me?” Corinne said. The strange wording threw Bond off and he could only think of Talbot's all knowing smile as he thought about it.
“The intelligence said it was a Spectre operative called Phantom. That's all I can say.”
Corinne's blood ran cold. She took a sharp intake of breath and her whole body seized up. Bond grabbed her to stop her from falling. Instincts told him she had been shot from afar. Bond held her to his chest, the outer sanctum of the Pantheon silent except for her strained breathing.
“You're doomed, James.” Corinne said. “We’re walking to our deaths.”
Bond held her up straight. “Speak to me.”
“You won't meet Phantom tonight because he doesn't exist.” Corinne said. “He died in La Sante Prison five years ago.”
Bond's heart pounded. No one was around. It was like they had all of Rome to themselves.
“How do you know that?” James Bond asked, his life depending on the answer.
“I know because I was there.” Corinne said. “I know, because he was my father.”

End Of Part Four. Part Five Coming Soon. As always, thank you for reading.

Chapter Text

THE KILLING GAME, PART FIVE

It was nearly midnight. James Bond heard distant bells and wondered if they were signalling his imminent death. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Corinne. She was sitting by the open window, barely dressed and smoking. Bond saw Corinne’s reflection in the rain soaked mirror. She had washed her face, her bare beauty making Bond look for longer. Bond searched for his watch on the floor. He stood up and walked to the seat behind her. The air smelled of the damp soil from the flowerbed under the window. Corinne didn't move an inch as he touched her shoulder.
“Almost time.” Bond said.
Corinne smoked silently. Then she looked up at him. “We should have ran when we had the chance. We should have kept running forever.”

Not long before, they were walking through the streets of Rome, neither of them even noticing the downpour of rain. They were the only people walking. They left the Pantheon behind them. It was there that Corinne had told Bond something he never wanted to know. The mission he had been sent on as a last chance to save his reputation with M and the British Secret Service had been doomed from the very beginning. He thought of the naive young spy Talbot, making a faux deal with a fake Spectre traitor known only as Phantom, who was long dead.
“I watched him die in prison.” Bond remembered Corinne telling him as they walked, the rain hitting their backs. “My father was a very bad man and an even worse parent, but someone had to be there when he died.”

They retreated in a dark corner in a bar that was tucked away in a bystreet. There wasn't even a sign above the door. Time seemed to melt away. Bond ordered two stiff drinks.
“Have you ever been to La Sante?”
“Not willingly.” Bond answered. He had deposited a prisoner at the Parisian prison once and couldn't leave soon enough.
“It's a terrible place.” Corinne quickly told him.
“How did he die?”
Corinne took two sips of her drink. “I hadn't spoken to him for many years. I learned through professional connections that he had been caught and was going to be executed as a traitor to France, but he was too unwell even for that. Some kind of cancer. I hardly recognised him at the end, but I thought at the time that maybe I never did.”
After the day's events Bond's mind was truly frazzled. He downed the vodka and quickly got the barkeep's attention for another one.
“When did you know he was…” Bond began to say and trailed off as the Italian put the second vodka on the little table.
“Phantom? I think I always knew.” Corinne said.
Bond held his glass. “He told me, when he knew he had no time left. It only took two minutes to explain it all. It was the last thing he ever said to me.”
She finished her drink, then took Bond’s vodka and downed it. Bond didn't say anything this time. He just got up and walked to the bar.

The last two days had been nothing but a frenzied rush from the start, beginning with Bond's mad dash out of M’s office followed by a breakneck trip to the French Alps. As he sat back down beside Corinne in the darkened confines of the Roman bar, Bond felt the paranoia slip away, even momentarily. All the bad feelings could all wait until afterwards. If the job was doomed from the start, then there seemed no point to hasten its seemingly inevitable end. It was now evening. The owner silently walked around lighting candles.
“I can hardly remember him as a person, but he taught me everything I know. How to shoot a gun, how to hide, when to talk and when to stay silent. Our memories play tricks on us. It may sound strange, but I always said my father taught me more in death than he ever could in life.” Corinne said as she watched the candle flicker.
Bond stared at the floor. His memories of childhood were all blanked out, like torn out photographs from the album of his mind. Bond told her so.
“Maybe we aren't so different after all.” Corinne said.
“No one is.” Bond said as he emptied his glass. “Anyway, we all go out the same way.”
“The famously optimistic English.” Corinne said, saluting him with her glass.
“Always.” Bond answered.

Bond asked her what her father taught her through his death. It was his final question. He said it as they stepped through the narrow doorway into the chastening Rome evening. In Bond’s experience, dead men rarely held much wisdom.
“I suppose I became who I am partly thanks to him. I tried to deny it for a long time until I had to accept that yes, my father was Phantom. The great Spectre assassin. His blood is my blood. As I watched him take his last breath, I realised that I would one day die the same as him, that everything he taught me would in turn send me down a path that ended the same as him. Everyone is born with a fate chosen for them, and in life all we can do is either run away from it or alter it through our own actions.” Corinne said, tightening her coat around her and walking ahead. Bond watched her for a while.

James Bond stood on the plush carpet of the hotel suite, buttoning a fresh shirt. Corinne had not moved from her spot by the window and didn't seem intent on doing so. Bond took out a canvas bag and began loading two pistols. He put his leather holster on. He fished out clips of ammunition from the bag. It was a gift pilfered from Talbot's armoury. By the time he noticed, Bond hoped to be long gone. It was nearly time to leave. The Colosseum wasn't far away. All Bond knew was the rendezvous point and that he was being used as human bait. He wondered who Talbot's man on the inside was. If the original Phantom was dead, who could the new one be? His eyes went to Corinne again. “Maybe Spectre wanted you from the very beginning. They thought you would take up your fathers mantle.”
Corinne stubbed out her cigarette. “They could never find me. My identity is one of the many things my father took to the grave with him.”
“They really don't know who you are.” Bond said, as much to himself as Corinne. “That's why they were fine with covering up the failed kill in the Alps.”
Corinne got up from her chair and closed the window. “You still haven't told me what you plan to do if this deal tonight is the trap we believe it is. What is your plan, 007?”
Bond loaded his second pistol. “Kill anyone who stands in my way.”

Bond watched Corinne getting dressed. The fear of the unknown was setting on them both. Bond had never known so little while going into a mission that meant so much. He looked at the woman before him and wondered if anything could be the same after tonight. She was pulling on trousers when he took out one last parting gift from Talbot. It was a PPK, fully loaded. “Take this.” Bond said and handed it to her. It wasn't long ago that the thought of handing her a loaded gun would be writing his own death sentence. Now that someone else had apparently written one for him, it didn't seem to matter anymore. Corinne took the gun and hid it. “It will take more than that to save us.”
“I told you once before, I've been in worse spots.”
Corinne strapped on a Cartier watch. “It's time. Tell me one thing before we leave.”
Bond listened as Corinne spoke. “If it comes to a choice between your country and me, which one will you side with?”
In an instant, Bond stopped doubting himself. He felt his confidence returning. He looked one of the most wanted criminals in the world in the eye as he spoke to her. “It won't come to that. I'll make sure of it. It's going to end tonight. One way or another.”

Within minutes, they were descending in a rickety elevator. The hotel was eerily quiet. Bond wore the Armani coat he had bought that day, stuffed with extra ammo clips. If it was going to go the way he believed, he would need them. No one was waiting to kill them as the doors opened. They walked into the lobby and out into the night. The rain had stopped but the streets gleamed in the moonlight. Corinne had parked the Alfa Romeo nearby, under a pine tree. Bond made sure she got into the driver's seat. He put his hands on the roof, opened the door and leaned in. She turned to look at him and the expression on her face told him she knew what was coming next.
“Don't say it.” She said. “You can't do this alone.”
Bond shook his head. “It's the only way. I have to go into a world that you can't enter. To do things even you wouldn't understand. It can only be done alone. It will all make sense after it's over, I promise. Wait for me at Hadrian's Villa. If I don't show up within an hour, go on without me and don't look back.”
Corinne was shaking her head and so were her hands as she put the key into the ignition.
“You said we all have our fates determined for us from the beginning. What do you think was mine?” Bond asked her one final question.
The engine sprang into life. She locked eyes with him. “For you? Whatever you want it to be, James.” Corinne said. Then, she kissed him on the cheek just as she had done the first time they met. Seconds later, Bond stood on the cobbled tiles and watched her drive away.

The colosseum loomed into view. Bond walked calmly through the quiet streets. It was a cold spring night that was made for staying indoors. The only sound was Bond's steps on the tiles. He could see the rendezvous point nearby. Bond quickly checked his tools for the night's proceedings. He had his trusted pistol in his shoulder holster and another by his ankle. Bond felt inside the breast pocket of the Armani coat and his fingers felt his insurance policy, a grenade he took from Talbot's personal collection. Cars passed as Bond crossed the road. Talbot was waiting exactly where he said he would be. They met under the Arch of Constantine. Bond couldn't remember what victory it commemorated but wondered if it was a good omen. So far, he had only felt bad ones. Talbot was watching him approach. He wore all black, including black gloves. He had a duffel bag slung across his body.
“Going incognito, Talbot?” Bond said.
“Something like that. The Colosseum is strictly off limits at this time of night, of course. Not for me, however.”
“How are we getting in?”
“I have a contact.” Talbot said, his signature smug grin returning. “I've got a lot of them.”
“I'm sure you do.” Bond said. Talbot gestured with a nod and started walking. Bond put his arm out and stopped him in his tracks.
“What's in the bag?”
Talbot looked sideways. “Well, cash of course. That's what they’re expecting after all.”
“Now would be the time to tell me the plan.” Bond had had enough of Talbot and Phantom and the whole lot. He knew now that this was his chance to end it.
“But-”
“Now.”
Talbot scoffed. “Fine. It's really quite simple. As you’ve been told, you’re going to act as bait to lure our man into the trap. Phantom will be part of the Spectre side. He's going to make sure this all goes off swimmingly. You're going to walk in with the money. When the Spectre man comes out to make the drop off, we’ll hit them. We bag Phantom, the Spectre man and anyone else in the vicinity. Then it's back to England for interrogation and medals for the two of us. Savvy?”

Bond knew the plan would be shoddy but not as bad as this. It was almost unthinkable that M had heard this plan and thought nothing wrong with it. A bell tolled in the distance as Bond thought.
“Very good.” Bond said. The only way to flush them all out at once would be to keep in line with the plan.
“Just one condition.” Bond said to Talbot who was now nervously looking at his watch and over his shoulder at the Colosseum. “You're hardly in the position to be bargaining, Bond. Remember what M told y-”
Bond suddenly pushed Talbot against the arch and held his forearm to his throat.
“Tell me, Talbot. Have you got a license to kill?”
“No.” Talbot struggled to say.
“A shame. Because I do. That means I don't have to resort to faux deals to get what I want. I don't negotiate and I don't interrogate. I just put them down.”
Talbot squirmed but did not speak.
“Do you have Double O status yet?”
Talbot coughed and shook his head. Bond released him.
“I'll be 008.” Talbot said while coughing and rubbing his throat. “When M sees how washed up you are.”
Bond punched him in the ribs. A straight jab. “I asked you if you have Double O status or not.”
“No!” Talbot groaned.
“Perfect. Then you'll have no problem. Following my lead.”
Talbot was bent over coughing. Bond shoved him forwards and the spy started walking.
“Come along, Talbot. For England and the service.”

There was a small gate next to the entrance most tourists used. They walked up without hurrying.
“You first.” Bond said. He was now getting boosts of adrenaline and nervousness.
“I hope you haven't gone mad, Bond. This would be quite the time for a meltdown.”
“Get moving.” Bond told him.
Whoever was posing as Phantom was now so close that he could taste it. The real thrill of the chase was sinking in. Talbot sidled up to the entrance. Bond watched him closely. Talbot whistled. In an instant, a shrouded figure emerged from the darkness and opened the gate. Talbot went through and beckoned Bond to do the same. They entered the Colosseum. The gate shut behind them and the figure disappeared. Bond and Talbot began their slow walk into the epicentre of the old arena. The thin beams of their flashlights showed their path ahead. Talbot walked slowly. Wind swept through the cracked remains, making a howling noise which didn't help the two men feel any better. They walked out into the arena. It was a full moon and seemed to be directly above the Colosseum. Bond looked up at all of the old stands, which had bore witness to countless forgotten battles and deaths. There were so many broken columns and narrow pathways that it seemed you could get lost forever inside the annals of the arena. They went up a small set of stairs and entered a flat area which looked down onto the Colosseum floor which had been the centre of the killing game thousands of years ago. Talbot stopped.
“This is it, Bond. Walk forwards. Phantom is waiting for you.”

Talbot hid behind a crumbled wall. He looked at Bond with urgency. “Go ahead, Bond. I'm covering you.”
Bond peeked. No one was there and there was no sign of movement. There were two dim lamps lighting the stage for what Bonds darkest thoughts were telling him was going to be his execution. He looked at Talbot and pulled out the grenade. “One false move, and I'll send us all to kingdom come.”
Talbot was wide eyed with panic. “You really have lost it.”
“Want to find out?” Bond told him. Talbot seemed to shrink in size. He handed Bond the duffel bag.
“Your collateral.” Talbot said.
It was heavy enough to contain an unseemly amount of money. Talbot unholstered a pistol and waited for Bond to go.
Bond put the grenade back and started walking forwards, the duffel bag over his shoulder. A cold wind swept around the arena. Bond thought of being at home, walking through Regents Park to his office and watching the world outside his window. He thought of Corinne. The train to Paris which set all of this in motion. Driving through the snowy valleys. Wheels turning in his head. Puzzle pieces coming together. Bond was standing alone now. He looked behind for a second. Talbot was gone. Bond's breaths appeared in front of him. The night had gone freezing cold. Bond focused. A shadow moved in the near distance. He could hear footsteps. Phantom was approaching.

The footsteps grew louder. They were coming from dead ahead. Bond slid the duffel bag of money along his arm and let it land at his feet with a thud. He refrained from going for his gun. He could not jeopardise the imminent arrival of the man he now believed had orchestrated this entire mission. The pieces came together. The only wild card was Corinne. It had always been Corinne. The figure stepped out from the shadows, directly into the moonlight. His blonde hair now visible along with a disfiguring scar which ran along the left side of his face. A familiar face. Alec Trevelyan stood within reaching distance of James Bond as smiled, as much as his scars would allow him.
“Hello, James. Happy to see me?”

Bond stood motionless. His ears were ringing as if a bomb had exploded. He could see Alec Trevelyan standing before him but could hardly believe it. He wanted it to be a figure of his paranoid imagination.
“Come on James, speak!” Trevelyan said. “You were never short of words in the old days.”
The old days before Trevelyan had betrayed the service he and Bond had worked together for years to build from the ground up, the old days before he had waged a rogue campaign of terror onto Britain and the western world that Trevelyan had secretly despised all along. Trevelyan had gone missing for two years in Siberia and was declared dead. Bond knew one day he would turn up in some capacity, but was still stunned at his former friend's appearance.
“I wasn't sure whether to call you Alec or Phantom.” Bond said. Trevelyan liked his response. He was almost bristling with glee. His eyes swept down to the money. “You know what to call me, Bond. What's this, a reunion gift?”
Talbot appeared at Bond's side, gun drawn and pointing at his temple. Talbot wasn't smiling anymore. His face was as dark as the sky above them. He snatched the duffel bag and backed off, taking his place behind Trevelyan.
“Sorry, Bond. I needed some going away money.” Talbot said, safely out of the way. “The service is nice, but money is better. Besides, I can't end up washed up fossil like you, can I?”
“Shut up.” Trevelyan said without looking. Talbot straightened up. “This man James Bond is worth ten of you.”
Bond looked behind them. He took in the old Roman arches and tunnels surrounding them and wondered how many guns were pointing at him. Bond didn't care about Talbot anymore. He only saw and heard Trevelyan.
“This seems like a lot of effort for some money, Alec. Couldn't you just rob a bank?” Bond said.
Trevelyan was so happy that it made Bond uneasy. “Banks couldn't hold half of what I have, believe me. Money will mean nothing soon. Until then, I have more than enough of it to achieve my goals. The truth is, I just wanted you.”

Talbot stepped backwards. Trevelyan's wild eyes were still locked on Bond.
“I never took you as a Spectre man. I thought you were on your own crusade.” Bond said to Trevelyan who was now holding a pistol with a long silencer attached to the end. The same one he had used when he and Bond worked together as 006 and 007, a partnership that had long been swept away like footprints in sand.
“Spectre. My god, Spectre. After all this time, you're still obsessed, aren't you? Does it even exist anymore?” Trevelyan said.
“You tell me.”
Alec began walking from side to side. “Don't ask me to explain it all to you. Not this time. I didn't want anyone else to deliver retribution to you except for me. I thought you would appreciate that.”
“You missed your chance with the sniper rifle in the piazza. I was a sitting duck.”
Trevelyan blinked. His face changed for a split second. “You’ve lost me, Bond. What sniper have I ever missed with? You think I of all people would miss a shot like that? Miss a chance to put a bullet between your eyes?”
Trevelyan was an expert marksman. Bond knew that firsthand and Alec knew it too.
“Someone took a shot at him. I forgot to report it…” Talbot said in a very small voice. Without looking, Trevelyan stepped backwards and backhanded Talbot across the face. Using the distraction, Bond reached for the grenade and took it out. Trevelyan was smiling again. He looked at the hand grenade with relish. “Lets not blow this out of proportion, right James? Isn't that something you would say?”
“Not to you.” Bond answered.
“You see Talbot, James has had this figured out for some time. That's why he brought along a little insurance policy. Though I suspect the girl helped you along quite a bit, right James?”
That brought Bond to life. He had to wait for his moment. He felt his heart pumping.
“That stupid Russian, Stechkov.” Trevelyan said as if he was describing missing a flight. “His only job was to lead you to me, but the girl had to get involved and ruin it. I killed all those flatfoots in the casino for her and then she goes and shoots you. Imagine my surprise! Then to make it worse, that damn American comes along and saves your skin! You’ve got a lot of friends, don't you Bond?”
“I used to have more.” Bond said. Trevelyan touched the scars on his face and spat on the floor.
“Being James Bond's friend isn't all it's cracked up to be. I'm sure Corinne will agree when Spectre is done with her. You should not have helped her escape the mountains. It would have been a much less painful death than she’ll receive now.”
Bond raged. He was close enough to Trevelyan to strike but couldn't. He needed something to happen and fast. Trevelyan held his gun up and aimed at Bond's forehead.
“Of course, none of this will matter. Your death will be long forgotten just like those who died here all those years ago. This is the opening act. The rest will consume us all.”
“Tell me.” Bond said. “You could never resist a good monologue.”
Trevelyan’s closed fist struck Bond with venom. Bond took the pain and stumbled one step backwards.
“The world is a rotten place. It can only be saved with a great reset. This can only be done by ridding itself of all the secrets, all the organisations pulling the strings from the shadows, all of those who lurk in the dark like you. Everything has to come out into the light, so people understand the truth. Society has to be destroyed to be built up again. Starting with you.”

Trevelyan had his finger on the trigger. A shot rang out, followed quickly by another. The lamps beside them exploded in a flash, plunging them into darkness. On the other side of the Colosseum, Felix Leiter picked up his sniper rifle and moved to another vantage point. He ran quickly and with operational assuredness. Once he was set up in another spot, he saw James Bond in hand to hand combat with a dark figure.
“Here we go again.” Felix Leiter said, before putting his eye to the sights again.

Darkness reigned supreme. Trevelyan had fallen backwards, shoved by Bond. The grenade had fallen from his hand, pin still in. Alec Trevelyan watched Bond fighting Talbot. They were exchanging tremendous punches. Trevelyan aimed his gun but it was so dark he could hardly aim at either of them.
“Give up, James! It's over!” He shouted. In truth, he wanted the glory of killing James Bond for himself. No one could take that away from him. Alec Trevelyan scanned the upper arches of the Colosseum. He had heard the shot whistle past him and could picture its trajectory. He had a small cadre of gunmen with him and signalled for them to fan out in search of the shooter. Then, he began crawling on his hands and knees towards the bag filled with money.

Talbot sent a knee into his sternum. Bond fell back, feeling every crack of the marble against his side.
“How I've waited for this moment!” Talbot said. He threw another punch. “Your time is over.” Talbot said as he struck another blow. Dark clouds covered the moon. The Colosseum was now in total darkness. Talbot had to step forwards to get close enough to strike again.
“I've waited for this since the moment I laid eyes on you.”
Bond lurched upwards, throwing a closed fist upwards as he rose. It hit Talbot with such force that he went flying backwards.
“Likewise.” Bond said.
Bond pressed his advantage. He was on top of Talbot, pinning him and looking up for Trevelyan, who was nowhere to be found. Where could he have gone?

Talbot produced a knife and slashed Bond's arm. He felt the blood run down his sleeve.
They both stood up. Bond pinned Talbot's knife hand in place and it was now a test of strength. Bond's slashed arm screamed with pain. Talbot looked him in the eyes and snarled like a dog.
“I'm going to kill you first, then the woman. She’ll suffer for you.”
Bond summoned his strength and drove Talbot backwards in something akin to a rugby scrum. Talbot was now hanging off the edge of the stone floor, the dark drop into the ruins behind him. Talbot was now clinging on to Bond to save himself. He was teetering on the brink.
“I'm done for, Bond.” Talbot said. “Don't…”
Bond couldn't let go of Talbot even if he tried. He had a vice like grip on Bond and was about to drag them both over.
“The girl is being held in my office holding cell.” Talbot said through gritted teeth. “If you let me live, I'll-”
There was a thud. Talbot's eyes glazed and his grip loosened. Bond looked down. Talbot had been shot in the chest. He watched the treacherous spy plunge down into the darkness. Bond turned on the spot. Alec Trevelyan was holding the money and a silenced pistol. He looked at Bond.
“Nothing worse than a traitor, is there James?” Trevelyan said before running.

Bond dragged himself up. He shed his coat and ran in the direction Trevelyan had gone. There were brief exchanges of gunfire sounding from behind him. Bond was sprinting, following the echoing sound of Alec Trevelyan's escaping steps. The rocks and sand crunched underneath him as he ran. The footsteps cut out. There was silence. Bond took cover behind a crumbling corner of the Colosseum wall. It was now pitch black. He had lost his flashlight in the fray outside. He crouched down and retrieved the PPK strapped to his ankle. Bond slowly stepped around the corner with his gun raised. Trevelyan could now be anywhere. There were so many nooks and crannies inside the Colosseum that made it impossible to tell, doubly so in the darkness.
“Just like old times, eh Bond?” Trevelyan’s ghostly voice rang out. The voice echoed so much that there was no way to tell where it had come from. Bond stopped moving. He had his back to a wall.
“None of this will matter soon, James.”
Bond kept moving through the dark annals of the Colosseum. He kicked a rock which skittled along the floor before stopping.
“You know you’ll have to choose between me and the girl, don't you?” Trevelyan said. Bond felt the cold sweat running down his back. Corinne was right, as always. “What's it going to be?”
The echo died off. Bond saw a shadow move around the corner. He spun around and fired into nothingness.
Then, he could feel a presence appear behind him.
Alec Trevelyan held the gun to the back of his head. “I think that's checkmate, don't you?”
Bond closed his eyes and thought about Corinne's talk of predetermined fates.
“Goodbye, Bond. I won't forget you.”
Trevelyan pulled the trigger.

The gun clicked. Nothing happened. It was a misfire! Trevelyan practically frothed at the mouth in rage as he struck Bond across the back of the head, sending him to the ground. Bond was laying face down, his vision blurred. He had dropped his gun and could feel Alec searching for it. He let out a guttural scream of anger. Bond looked up. Trevelyan’s plan clearly called for precise timing. He had given up the chance to kill Bond to escape. Bond dragged himself up. He had fallen on his gun and picked it up again. Trevelyan had fled with the money. He followed Alec's steps, his arm aching and the back of his head throbbing. They had made it to the ground floor again. Every archway was blocked with iron bars except for one that was conspicuously destroyed. Bond wondered just how many people were involved in the conspiracy as climbed through and dropped down outside the Colosseum walls. The sound of gunfire had died off. Bond ran down the street and saw Trevelyan's shadow jumping onto a motorcycle. There was another machine sitting beside Trevelyan’s, which Bond guessed Talbot had intended to be his. Alec had no working gun to destroy the other motorcycle. He looked back. Bond was now sprinting at full speed towards him. Trevelyan could only shake his head in disbelief as he felt the throttle.

Bond jumped aboard and kickstarted the machine all in one motion. Soon, the sound of the dueling motorcycle engines reverberated around Rome, much to chagrin of sleeping locals. The former friends weaved through the curving cobbled streets and shuttered markets at a breakneck speed. The wind hitting Bond's face took his breath away. Trevelyan was an accomplished motorcyclist and had clearly planned his escape route to perfection. He apparently knew every twist and turn of the ancient city.
Bond's mind flashed as quick as lightning. “Which one will you choose?” Alec had said. That meant one thing. Corinne was still alive. They peeled off into a long, straight road. Bond skidded to a stop. A hundred yards up the street, Alec Trevelyan did the same. He turned sideways and looked back at Bond who had stopped.
“Choose me!” Alec Trevelyan screamed. He watched as James Bond turned his bike around, tires screeching. Bond sped off in the opposite direction. Alec Trevelyan sat on his motorcycle, listening to approaching sirens in the distance. Other than that, it was totally silent. Bond was gone. Alec stared in disbelief, before disappearing into the night.

Bond was travelling at a speed he had never done before. He hit the slope that Talbot had escaped down hours before. Talbot had almost pulled off his scheme but he hadn't anticipated outside intervention. He was too confident in his intellect. Bond followed the exact route Talbot had driven, another misstep but the money hungry traitor. Bond stopped at the metallic door which led to Talbot's lair. He was breathing heavily. He got off the motorcycle and left the engine idling. He walked to the keypad. There was only one passcode on his mind. He keyed in 008 and the buzzer turned green. Bond's last thought of the late Talbot was one of derisory pity. He loaded a new clip into his pistol and pushed the metal door open.

Bond shot the lights out from the bottom of the staircase. Sparks flashed everywhere. He counted three sets of panicked steps upstairs. The first man went to check the door. Bond killed him with one bullet. The lights upstairs were flashing. Bond went up. The sensors he had noticed on the stairs sounded the alarm, but he didn't care. Darkness and light exchanged places in quick succession. “We’re blown!” One of the guards shouted. He was taking cover in the doorway of Talbot's armoury. He was armed with a sizable machine gun. He shot a wild, panic soaked spray of bullets above Bonds head. Bond rolled forwards into a crouch and downed him with a single bullet. Bond stood up. The only room left was Talbot's office. Bond stepped through the broken glass from the shattered lights. He put his bloody arm against the wall.
“Come in. Let's talk.” A strange voice said. Bond stood in the doorway with his gun raised. Behind the desk, the faux German spy was sitting with his hands on the desk. The packet of chewing tobacco was on the desk, beside a Luger revolver. The German seemed different under the lights of the office. Younger and less haggard, which meant more danger to Bond.
“You want the girl and I want Herr Talbot's money. Let's talk.”
“Open the cell. Then we’ll talk.”
“The button is under the desk. Okay?”
Bond nodded.
The Germans hand went under the desk. There was a puff of smoke and a bullet flew past Bond's head and wedged itself into the wall. Bond fired one bullet back.
“I've had enough negotiations for one night.”
The German shunted backwards in the office chair and stopped, permanently. It was the exact same death pose that a certain Stechkov had made in the Victoire Casino. Bond walked across. The button was exactly where he said it would be. Bond pushed it and the wall of maps and files behind him started to move. They moved sideways, revealing a glass door. Corinne was standing behind the glass, her face etched with rage and sadness. She softened upon seeing Bond, who was now wheeling a dead man in a chair over to the touchpad. It turned green and the holding cell door opened. Corinne stepped quickly out. She looked around at the path of destruction Bond had waged outside. She looked at the dead German. James Bond stood in front of her. He was covered in blood, his own and god knows who else's.
His eyes met hers as they always did.
“Fate can wait another day.” Bond said. He took her hand. “Follow me.”

Authors note: End of The Killing Game, Part 5. The sixth and final part will be published soon. Thank you to anyone who reads this.