Phantom Planet

Las Chicas Club, Bilbao, Spain

He sipped the Vodka martini as smoke curled around his head, the vermouth bringing a sweet tickle to the tip of his tongue. He was transfixed by her erotic and evocative gyrations; gyrations that were synched to the loud reverberations of Rainbow Warrior, a heavy metal anthem by Tyr; an anthem that seemed to have been composed for peeler's in gin-soaked, smokey, back-alley clubs. As luck would have it, though luck had absolutely nothing to do with it, he sat in such a club; as I said, transfixed and mesmerized by the sultry, olive-skinned, vision of delight on the stage at the front of the room.

She finally looked his way, catching his eye, touching herself in a way that would be illegal in most countries; that would constitute a marriage offering in a few more; and that would most certainly leave any red-blooded man incapable of normal sleep patterns for several days. Those who knew her, however, could see that she was dancing differently, that she was swaying in a way reserved for intimacy, the kind of sway reserved for someone with whom she would have no reservations.

His penetrating eyes drew her in, his gaze compelling her to focus on him. His face was mystery, it promised danger ... and more. His unwavering intensity drew her closer ... closer. The toned body of the Mossad agent moved slowly around the pole, winding up with her bare back pressed against the cold metal, her hips beckoning suggestively as she licked her lips. Her long curly black hair covered her face as she turned away from him; the curls then dragged slowly across her breasts and shoulders as she turned her face back to him.

He had set down the Martini glass; he was holding a €20 bill in his hand.

She gyrated off the stage, playing up her long legs and full chest. She danced past the three college kids, with mouths as big as their American wallets. She pirouetted and two-stepped through the over-stimulated crowd of Japanese business men. The alluring Ms. Bach just smiled at the gerontogeous men; playfully, though firmly, rebuffing their hopeful hands.

She smiled at the man sitting in the shadow of a curtain, her gaze unwavering, as she passed the gauntlet of admirers. Her strong, long legs stopped moving in front of him. She stood with her feet shoulder width apart; the metallic green of her thong, and the pasties on her nipples, were glittering in the dim light; her deep blue eyes were smiling in a "come hither and spend money on me" kind of way.

He drew a final puff on his cigarette, then stabbed it out in the amber glass ashtray next to his half-empty glass. He motioned with the €20 bill, flicking it once towards himself. He was going to enjoy this. She reminded him of a woman he once had; an intoxicatingly beautiful woman he met at an allergy-research clinic atop Piz Gloria, in the Swiss Alps.

She smiled wider and stepped forward boldly; she slowly put her left knee on the chair, pressing tightly against his thigh; she quickly swung her right knee to the other side of the chair, gripping his body between her legs. She put her hands low on his chest, slowly moving them upwards, pressing against the Egyptian cotton of his shirt, her mound of Venus gently rocking against his happiness at how close she was. She smiled and then pouted, "He sido una chica travieso."

He smiled and reached up behind her, wrapping his fingers in her hair and pulling hard; forcing her head back and her mouth open. She squealed and he let go.

She looked at him with fire in her eyes, "That's not nice, Popi." She slapped him hard across the face, making his left cheek sting and burn. Many heads turned to see what the noise was, to see who had gotten out of line. Now it was her turn to grab his hair, locking her fingers into it and pulling his head towards hers. He had spun his head to the right when she struck, and he was still looking to the right when she grabbed his hair, her lips now pressed against his ear.

"Blue jacket, gold chain, it's in the heel of his left shoe."

She pushed herself away from him and stood up from the chair. She reached down and plucked the €20 bill from his hand.

"Eberardo!" she called out loudly, "Sacar la basura!"

The Englishman gulped the last mouthful of his drink as Eberardo and his brother picked him up, shoving him roughly towards the front door. The man almost lost his footing on the final shove, but pin-wheeled his arms on the sidewalk, regaining his balance before falling into the trash stacked on the curbside. He turned around quickly, ready for a fight, but the men had gone back inside. The man straightened his jacket and his tie, and then looked both ways to see how many had seen his ungraceful exit. He needn't have worried though, this was Bilboa. It would have been an odd day if someone hadn't been bodily tossed out of Las Chicas.

He took out another cigarette, lit it, then snapped the zippo shut; he cast his eyes around once more as he did so. He saw what he wanted. Pocketing the lighter and inhaling deeply, the smoke pleasantly warming his lungs, he stepped onto the pavement and crossed the street. He entered the bougie café, and ordered an espresso. He took it to a seat near the front window, ignoring the two obvious goons who were pretending to read the paper. More likely pretending they CAN read, he thought to himself. One of them looked his way. The dark haired Englishman smiled and raised his espresso cup in the man's direction. On his way in through the door, the English agent had picked up the local newspaper that had been discarded in the rubbish bin. He opened it to the second page and let his mind wander, as his ears recognized Kate Rusby's voice singing her new song, Underneath the Stars. He breathed quietly, the music was soothing. He sipped his espresso, and offered a small wish that he didn't have to wait for the stars to come out before the target emerged.

Three hours, five cups of espresso, and a dozen Morlands: that was how long he had to wait for the long haired Blue-Jacket-With-The-Gold-Chain to emerge from Las Chicas. The goons had left, the server in the café had changed shift, an attractive redhead wearing a brightly-coloured Pucci knock-off had taken their table. The new server had started playing heavy metal, and he was now listening to Megadeath show their softer, gentler side with their hit A Tout le Monde. The Englishman, with an Eton and Fettes College background, found that he actually enjoyed this particular track.

He finished the last of his espresso; picked up his gun-metal cigarette case, and zippo; and then moved towards the door. He deposited his items in his coat pocket as he peered across the street at the target, who was just standing there talking with his companion. They started to move south, then stopped, then started, then stopped. The Englishman decided to dart into the alley on the south side of the building, to blend into the twilight shadows and be less obvious.

Standing four feet back from the corner of the building, he watched the Blue Jacket turn towards him and wave.

The Englishman sighed without surprise as former cafe goon #1 stepped out from behind a recess in the wall and wrapped his strong arms around him, pinning the Englishman's arms to his sides. Former café goon #2 appeared out of nowhere, smiling a toothy smile. He said nothing as he started swinging his arms, punching our man in the stomach repeatedly. The Blue Jacket laughed out loud and waved once more, then headed north with his companion.

The Englishman threw his head back hard, contacting the nose of goon #1, but not breaking it. He raised his feet in the air to lash out at goon #2, but the one holding him anticipated that move. He leaned forward slightly, so the Englishman's legs had no line of attack to his friend. Goon #2 gave the Englishman an upper cut to the jaw, splitting his lip, and leaving his ears ringing. He lifted the man's chin, having his goon friend pull back again, holding the man up high. Goon #2 smiled and pulled back his fist.

Goon #2 stopped smiling as the shot rang out. His face looked confused, then angry as he watched a dark hole appear in the middle of the forehead of goon #1. His buddy fell backwards, dead as rocks, with the target of their ministrations falling on top of him. The surviving goon turned to face the street, to face where the shot had come from. He reached inside his jacket to pull out his side arm but before he did, his left eye disappeared ... along with a significant portion of the side of his face. He fell backwards as well, landing on top of the Englishman, who pushed and kicked wildly to get out from under him.

As the Englishman regained his feet, he stepped to the corner of the building and looked left and right, to see if any attention was headed his way; to see if he could identify the person that had taken out the goons. He saw nothing of concern. He looked across the street and up at the roof line in response to the wolf whistle. He saw the Mossad agent holding the rifle, watching him through the scope. He imagined she smiled as she gave him a thumbs-up, the setting sun's sweet-light glittering of the metallic green pasties and reflecting warmly from her Middle Eastern skin. He tipped his hand to his forehead, giving an appreciative salute; he also gave her a smile and a nod. Thank you, Anya, he said to himself.

Anya Bach lifted her free hand, pointing two fingers to her eyes, and then pointed the fingers north: the way Blue Jacket had gone. She watched as the Englishman patted the top of his head once, and then tapped his head with one fingertip; he then patted his head again, and lifted one finger in a swirling motion. Anya nodded, This guy's living up to his reputation. She moved away from the ledge to reposition herself.

The Englishman moved out into the street; straightening his shirt, tie, and jacket. He quickly headed north along Luis Power Kalea, away from the river. He saw Blue Jacket, far ahead. He hurried to catch up, walking quickly around what few people were on the street. He was closing the distance, fast. When he was ten feet behind them, he heard the ping of a bullet whizzing off metal. The flower pot on the lamp post had hung from a small cable. Yes, Anya was that good. The flower pot fell straight down, crashing onto the head of Blue Jacket's companion. The man fell to the ground, but the English agent couldn't tell if he was dead or unconscious. He didn't really care.

Blue Jacket jumped back in surprise, then quickly pivoted his head left and right. He saw the Englishman launching himself through the air. Ecrivain's right hand man took the fool brunt of the American football style tackle. Both men hit the ground hard, latching on to each other. Equally matched in size and strength, they rolled this way and that as each tried to free their arms, as they each held desperately to the other's arms. There were more people on the street, standing back from the two men. After thirty seconds, a couple of onlookers decided that enough was enough. They stepped forward, reaching towards the two struggling men. There was a loud ricochet sound on the brick wall of the building next to them. Everyone ducked, then looked around. The two men stopped momentarily, but putting bravery before intelligence, they again moved towards the men locked in the prone shoving match. This time two more bullets ricocheted, one each between the feet of the advancing men. Bravery gave way to intelligence, they moved back quickly into the crowd.

The Englishman was now up on one knee, trying to get his opponent into a head lock, but unable to move behind his target. He looked up as he heard the rapid clump-thump-clump-thump-clump-thump of a prosthetic leg moving towards him. He saw the large frame of the six-foot two-inch, white haired American; a man with one leg, one hand, and a cane.

"Hey, Jimmy. Need a hand?" he held up the stump arm that was capped with a hook. At that moment, two National Policia pushed through the crowd and yelled at the men. Without hesitating, Felix Leiter spun on his one good leg, pointed his cane at the Policia, and then triggered a switch that spewed almost half a litre of gasoline on the two officers. He dropped the cane and reached in his pocket, pulling out his own zippo lighter. He flipped the lid and turned the wheel with his thumb. The two police officers, stood there covered in gasoline, slowly drawing their guns; they were glancing between each other and the American giant with the flame in his hand. Everyone heard the squealing tires of the dark burgundy/purple Cadillac Ciel, as it screeched to a stop at the curb.

The distraction was enough; Blue Jacket wavered for only a second. The Englishman freed a hand and punched him in the face, three times. He pulled back from the man, grabbed his left leg and yanked off the man's left shoe. He looked up to see Felix already getting into the car, the two Policia just watching and doing nothing. The Englishman dashed to the car, jumped in the air, and landed in the backseat just as the rear end of the car settled low from sudden acceleration.

The car zigged and zagged around a couple of lorries, then turned East on the highway along the river. City traffic or not, the crazy platinum-blond woman behind the wheel smiled widely and pressed further down on the accelerator.

Felix half turned to look in the back seat as the Englishman righted himself, "Hey, did you ..." His head snapped back and he grabbed his nose. The punch was expected but it came much faster than he anticipated.

"I told you never to call me, that."

The American didn't get mad, he just laughed as he pulled out a hankie to staunch the blood from his nose. The woman behind the wheel, wearing a revealing top and very tight pants, glanced over at the American, then at the rear-view mirror to see the Englishman. "Should I expect more of this or do you guys already know how big each other's dick is?"

To the surprise of everyone in the car, the Englishman blushed at the woman's language.

She glanced quickly over her shoulder, and then back at the road. She held the tips of her fingers on one hand backwards in the air, "I'm Torris. Any friend of Felix is a friend of mine."

He reached over the seat and took her finger tips in his finger tips, make the motion of shaking hands, "My name is Bond. James Bond."

The American put the hankie away, the blood flow abated. "Don't let this suave bastard fool ya, he's a son-of-a-bitch of royal proportions." Felix looked over his shoulder, "And there's no one else in the world I'd trust with that shoe in his hand."

Bond looked down at the shoe; he grabbed the heel and twisted it hard. He looked up to see Felix holding a folding knife, blade extended. Bond took the knife and wedged the blade under the heel of the shoe, forcing it up with a popping sound. A recess cavity held a small USB drive. Bond looked up at his old friend Felix, and smiled.

Vauxhall Cross, London

"That was the Foreign Secretary," she said as she hung up the phone, "He's made peace with the Spaniards, but really Bond, firing into a crowd of civilians?"

"That wasn't me, Mum, that was the Mossad."

She gave him a disparaging look, "Really, James."

James crossed his legs and picked a piece of lint off his knee. He folded his hands in his lap, looked up at M, and waited. The door to her office opened. Felix Leiter, Ms. Bach and Ms. Torris came in together. Bond greeted them each with a warm handshake and smile, while M stayed behind her desk, twiddling the keys on her keyboard. With no preamble or greeting, M spoke to the small group.

"Felix, would you begin please?"

The screen behind M's desk changed to show a handsome man in his late 30's or early 40's. He had a baby-smooth complexion, and long wavy hair. A ladies men if ever there was, the image was of the man getting out of a limo, with a gorgeous woman on each arm.

Felix stood as he spoke, "This is probably the smartest man in SPECTRE's organization. His name is Angus Ecrivain. We know that he's British, we know that he's a playboy, we know that his field of specialty is orbital mechanics and planetology. For ten years, we observed and recorded a series of rocket launches by SPECTRE from a facility in ... Uhh, M? Please?"

The screen changed to show a satellite image of a rocket launch facility between two close mountain ranges. It had Latitude and Longitude coordinates printed at the bottom of the image:

44.447696, 81.132095

"This is in the Tian Shan mountains in China's Ili Prefecture, near the Kazakhstan border. It's south of the deepwater Sayram Lake. SPECTRE launched fifteen rockets from that facility in a ten year period. Then nothing for another nine years. In the last six months, there have been five more launches. We thought at first they were putting up communications satellites, in some bid for global control of communications. However, there has been no commercial communications revelations by Spectre. In fact, our orbital tracking system can't even verify what was launched is still in orbit. And we have no indication what went up, ever came back down. It's like it just disappeared. An audit of the footage was recently done and fresh eyes picked up some interesting facts. One, the payload capsules were too big for communications satellites. Two, the boosters were all far too powerful for communications satellites; that means they were lifting something much larger. Third, we've received intel from a source close to Ecrivain that there is another launch taking place in nine days. This one will be special, because Ecrivain himself is going to be on it.

"How reliable is that source?" asked Bond.

Now it was M's turn to speak, as she changed the image to that of a ravishing Japanese beauty. Skinny as a waif with a bosom that made her look in danger of toppling over, M identified her as, "Ms. Fuch."

"She's ours Bond, she's been in place as the favoured party-girl for the last seven months. She's even managed to weasel her way into living with Ecrivain. We get coded transmissions from her about every three days. It was her information that led us to Ecrivain's right hand man in Spain."

"M, with the data we took from him, won't they be making changes to their security? To their access? Won't they be expecting us?"

"Well, to our surprise, James, the data you took had nothing to do with security or their systems as we had hoped it might. All it had was deep space images of a phantom planet, the one they call Nibiru."

"Nibiru?" Bond snorted uncharacteristically. "Isn't that a bunch of internet, doomsday, hogwash?"

Felix cleared his throat. "Actually, James, no, it's not. We've been on it from the beginning, efforting changes in the information given to the public. Nibiru is real and is coming close to Earth, but there is no danger of it colliding. It will be close, but no cigar, if you know what I mean. All the doomsday stuff was just our people deflecting interest in it, so people wouldn't think too much about it. They wanted to let the hoopla get ridiculous and burn itself out."

James looked back at M, "I'm guessing that since we risked our lives to get the is information, information that points to a hoax, that there's more here than you've given me yet?"

Anya spoke up, "James, the Mossad is very interested in getting access to the Chinese site that SPECTRE is using. We don't know what SPECTRE is doing, but with Ecrivain involved, it can't be good. We've worked hard to get Britain and the Americans on board with us. We want to go into the site."

Felix nodded, "Yeah, I've been working with Avi Ben-David, trying to get our people on board. We've finally got the Pentagon behind us, and now you Brits."

"Yes," M said a little sourly, "Us 'Brits', as you put it, also want to know what's going on. SPECTRE has been putting a lot of stuff upstairs but so far nothing has come down. I want you, James, along with Ms. Bach and Ms. Torris to go to Turkey find out what's happening. Bond, you're cover is a journalist with Relevant Magazine. Anya is going as your girlfriend, and Cli will go as your photographer. Ecrivain's public face company is holding a charity event. We've already secured an invitation for the three of you, as press."

"Cli?" James gave M a questioning look.

M smiled and held her hand to indicate the woman who had driven the Cadillac Ciel, "I mean Ms. Torris."

The young woman smiled from behind wisps of her platinum-blond hair, "Clio, actually, but my friends call me, Cli."

Bond smiled, roguishly, "Cli Torris, it will be a pleasure to work very closely with you. I hope I don't wind up rubbing you the wrong way."

M stifled a grin, Anya Bach rolled her eyes, Felix just sighed and shook his head.

The silence was quickly broken by M, "Angus Ecrivain is attending the gala charity event in Istanbul in two days. Get close to him, James; and find out what's going on."

Bond nodded to his boss, "Mum."

M gave her best motherly smile to her star agent, "James, Q is waiting for you."

Topkapi Palace, Istanbul (Sultanahmet),Turkey

Everyone loves going to a party, and no one loves posing for pictures at a party; but they do. Cli's evening gown revealed just enough leg, thigh, and boob to capture the men's interest; as she captured their faces on her camera. The camera also recorded isotope levels of various radioactive elements, as well as detecting chemical traces from a long list of products. After a half hour of dogging the handsome, long haired man, Cli was finally able to get him to stop long enough to pose for two pictures with his preferred brunette, Ms. Fuch.

As the electronic version of a shutter gave the pseudo-noise of a shutter click, the amber indicator on the lower-left corner of the camera display came on. Cli smiled and handed her card to him, "Thank you Mr. Ecrivain. Would you mind a few words with our reporter? He's over by the bar. I'm sure he'd love to get your take on the silent auction and how much funding it's going to raise for the children." The image and readings had already been transmitted back to Vauxhall Cross by the Camera's cellular transmitter.

Never one to pass up good press, Ecrivain's ego led him to follow Cli to the bar, with his Japanese lover in tow.

Cli tapped Bond on the shoulder. As he turned and smiled, Cli spoke quickly, "Mr. Moresby, this is Angus Ecrivain, he's an international philanthropist and one of our hosts this evening. I thought you might like a word with him."

Bond smiled and touched the arm of his own companion. Anya turned and gave a dazzling smile; almost as dazzling as the moss green scoop-neck gown that clung promisingly to her shapely body.

"Mr. Ecrivain, a pleasure to meet you, Sir." Bond smiled at him. "May I present my companion for the evening, Cassidy Plummer."

Anya held out her hand, responding to her cover name, "A pleasure Mr. Ecrivain."

Angus held her hand, and her gaze, a bit longer than was polite. Finally he asked, "Ms. Plummer, you look so very familiar. Have we met?"

She smiled demurely and pulled her hand back, taking hold of James's arm, "I don't believe so, Mr. Ecrivain. I'm sure I would have remembered such an encounter." She gave him a smile and a look that would have stripped a priest of his vows. Many people recognized Anya but couldn't place where they had seen her. She had gone by a different name, and a different colour hair, when she spent four months on the International Space Station, performing tasks directly related to the Mossad's interest in Earth as viewed from outer space.

The elegantly sensual Japanese brunette on Ecrivain's own arm smiled and extended her hand, "A pleasure to meet you. My name is Anita." She touched Anya's hand lightly, then touched Bond's hand lightly.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Mr. Moresby?" Angus asked.

"Yes, very much. I didn't know that Trans-National Consumables was involved in such philanthropy. It is a pleasure to see though. Has your company been hosting these events for long?"

"This year is our first one," Angus smiled, "I believe your photographer said you would like to speak with me about the silent auction and it's proceeds?"

"Yes, that would be very nice."

"Well I was just about to go to the hosts suite, to freshen up a bit. Would you care to join me? We can talk more privately there."

"That would be lovely," James smiled, "Thank you."

"Very well, Mr. Moresby," he turned to his companion, "Anita, perhaps you could entertain the lovely Cassidy while I take care of this?" He smiled dazzlingly at her.

As the men walked along one of the inner courtyards of the Palace, Bond commented, "I didn't know they opened the palace for such affairs. I thought the Department of Antiquities in Ankara would blow a gasket at such a risky use."

Angus smiled and whispered conspiratorially, "With as much business that my company does in Ankara, their choice was to let us use it, or kiss my ass, as the Yankee's say."

Bond smiled appreciatively at the bawdy humour and glanced around to see that Cli was following them. He turned back to Ecrivain, "Do you mind if my photographer joins us? To memorialize the moment, as it were."

Ecrivain looked at her, pushing his long hair behind his left ear. "I'm sure that would be fine." As SPECTRE's bad-guy led the way to the host suite, Bond didn't see him flash a brief look at two men standing nearby. One of them raised his hand and spoke into his wrist, after they moved past him.

Cli was looking for threats, but she didn't see any. With so many party goers wandering the historic courtyards and walkways of the palace, she'd missed the two guys Ecrivain had signaled, just as Bond had. She turned her ear to the music, hearing the song Countdown to Insanity playing. She smiled. It seemed that the H-BlockX hit was prescient to their mission. It was too bad that she didn't take it as an omen.

Walking the short distance through the crowd, Cli was able to hold the camera-back up for James to see. Traces of hydrazine, a rocket propellant, had been detected on Ecrivain by Q's latest gizmo.

Angus opened the door to an ostentatiously decorated room on the south side of the courtyard. He stepped through and Bond followed, with Cli closing the door behind her.

"A drink, Mr. Moresby? Before we get down to business?" Angus asked as he walked over to the well stocked, portable bar.

"That would be lovely, thank-you."

"And you, Miss?" Angus asked the photographer.

"Nothing for me, thank-you."

Angus clinked a glass and a couple bottles as he began mixing. "I love a good Manhattan, something I developed a taste for while studying at M.I.T.; what would you like, Mr. Moresby?"

Bond, sticking to his character, responded, "I guess I'll try one of those as well, Mr. Ecrivain, if you don't mind."

"Mind?" Angus loud voice proclaimed with surprise. "Why would I mind? Although I must admit, I'm surprised."

"Oh? Why is that?" Bond sat in an overstuffed chair, taking a small reporter's notebook and pen out of his pocket. Cli pretended to examine the tapestries on the wall behind him.

Angus replied, "I thought you were a Martini man ..." Angus turned, holding a small handgun that was pointed right at the Englishman as he finished his sentence, "... Mr. Bond."

Cli spun around, surprise on her face. James looked at him, impassively. He was about to protest but just then another door opened: four large SPECTRE mercenaries in black suits entered. They all moved to stand on each side of Bond, shoving Cli forward to stand at the side of Bond's chair.

"Well," Bond said, without a flicker of upset, "I guess I'll have that Martini then."

Angus nodded appreciatively at Bond's English coolness. With his henchmen in the room, he set the gun down on the portable bar and picked up the shaker. He added ice, Vodka, gin, vermouth and then shook Bond's drink. He put the metal coil filter on the shaker and turned the contents into a proper martini glass. He held up a bottle of pearl onions towards Bond, "Gibson?"

Bond just gave him disparaging look. Angus smiled and nodded his head. He set down the bottle and picked up a dish; he speared an olive with a toothpick and then added it to the glass. Angus handed the martini glass to one of the henchmen who handed the glass to Bond. James took a sip of the concoction, then nodded to Angus, "Very good."

Angus took a sip of his Manhattan, then set the glass down and picked up the handgun. "So, tell me, Bond. What brings you here?"

"I'm surprised you know who I am."

"Bond, really. How many years have you been chasing Blofeld? Do you think I didn't recognize you the moment I saw you?"

At that moment, the door opened. Anya stepped into the room and stopped, staring at the henchmen. She was roughly shoved into the room by Anita, who followed close behind her. One of the henchmen moved over to Anya and took her by the arm. He roughly shoved her towards Bond, leaving her standing beside Cli.

Anita Fuch walked over to the smiling Angus Ecrivain. She put one hand on his shoulder and kissed him on the cheek. "I see you weren't fooled either, Darling."

Angus looked at his special lady and leaned forward to give her a slow kiss on the lips. "Here, my dear," he handed her the gun, "Do hold that on Mr. Bond. Please shoot him if he gets out of line."

"Well," Bond said, "That's that, then."

"Bond, it's been a pleasure meeting you, but Anita and I must depart. Since MI-6, the CIA," he nodded at Cli, "and the Mossad," he winked at Anya, "are all here for me, I guess you have caught a sniff of my plans to go on a long trip."

Bond set down his Martini glass and stood up. The henchmen moved in closer to him.

"Yes, and normally we wouldn't care if someone wanted to go gallivanting off into space."

"Do I hear a 'but' in there somewhere, Mr. Bond?"

"But we're at a loss to figure out what the hell you're going to space has to do with Nibiru."

"Ahh," Angus frowned, "I see you decoded the data on the USB drive." After a pause, he looked resigned, "No matter. That haggis will be out of the stomach sooner or later."

Anya and Cli tried to move a bit, to spread out, but the henchmen pushed them back towards Bond, containing the three in a small area. Anita watched them, a pert little smile on her Japanese face.

"Mr. Bond, tell me," Angus continued, "Do you know what the composition of Nibiru is?"

Bond said nothing.

"Rhodium, Lithium, Painite, Gold, Tanzanite, and Poudretteite. There are so much of these, that the surface of the planetesimal is virtually a jeweller's garden."

Bond squinted as he tried to put the facts together, but couldn't. He had to ask, "So why are you sending rocket ships there?" It was a leap, but he knew the supposed satellites that SPECTRE had launched never actually resulted in anything winding up in orbit.

Ecrivain smiled, it wasn't a pleasant smile. "Because, Bond, whoever controls Nibiru will be a very, very, very wealthy man."

Cli inhaled sharply. Bond looked at her; her eyes were wide as she spoke to Ecrivain, "You're a madman."

Angus laughed out loud and raised his glass to salute the young woman, "Sometimes the youth are the most visionary, wouldn't you agree, Bond?"

Bond looked from Angus' smile, to Cli's look of horror. He turned back to the man in charge of the moment, "You're ... going to Nibiru?"

Angus laughed so hard he had to spit out part of his drink. The henchmen chuckled. Anita looked at the man she'd been forced to endure for so many months, wondering why he was laughing. She knew she didn't know everything going on with the man, but now her stomach started to get that queasy feeling.

Bond saw Anya turn to Cli, "You don't think he's ..." she trailed off.

Cli was nodding, "It's the only explanation. The heavy lifts, the large cargo pods, the ten year long lack of activity and now the sudden resurgence of activity. It's the only thing that fits."

Anya turned back to Ecrivain, "She's right. You're a madman."

Bond was looking at the women, "Mind explaining this to me?"

"He's going to bring Nibiru, here," the Mossad agent said.

"What? I thought it was already coming here," Bond looked thoroughly confused.

"You've been sending drive engines to Nibiru, right?" Cli looked at Ecrivain.

Still smiling, he nodded, "Yes, you are correct. Please," he gestured gallantly, "continue laying it out for Mr. Bond."

Cli continued, looking off into the distance, talking faster as she warmed up, "He's sent massive drive engines to Nibiru. He's landed them remotely and when Nibiru is in the right position, he's going to fire those drive engines and move the planetesimal a fraction closer to Earth, a fraction closer to our gravitational field."

"Yes! Yes! Go on! Please!" Ecrivain was obviously excited. Anita, standing beside him, was very still and listening very intently.

"He's going to move it closer to the Earth and ..." Cli trailed off.

Anya picked up her line of thought, "And then he's going to detonate massive charges all over the surface of the planetesimal. That way all the valuable minerals will be ejected with enough velocity to escape Nibiru's gravitational pull ..."

"... but not Earth's," Cli picked it up again. "He's going to try and put tonnes of those metals in Earth orbit."

"Not quite," Ecrivain tried to look modest, but failed. He watched both women looking at him quizzically before he would relent to their unexpressed desire to know, to admire him. Finally he let them off the hook. "I'll be placing all that wonderful detritus at L4." He finished with a flourish.

"What is L4?" asked Bond, even more confused.

Cli answered, "A LaGrange point. A specific point in Earth's orbit. It's also called the Harvester's Garden. To have a source of mineable material there is what drives the R & D into space mining. Deposit a few asteroids in a geo-stationary orbit at L4 or L3, then all you have to do is containerize the materials, and give it a very small acceleration counter-clockwise to the orbit. It slows down the material enough that Earth will catch up to it; and then a high orbit facility can capture the material and process it."

"It will never work," said Anya, "It's a risk beyond precedent."

"The slightest miscalculation within millions of factors," Cli said, a tear forming in her eye, "And all that junk will fall into Earth's gravity well. Perhaps the planetesimal itself." She turned to look into Bond's eyes, "If he's off by so much as a hundred joules, in the wrong direction, his greedy economic plan either becomes a waste of time or it becomes an extinction level event for the whole planet."

"Ladies, I assure you, I know far more about orbital mechanics and this planetesimal than your grade school understanding can even begin to comprehend," he sneered derisively at them.

"Ecrivain," Bond said, "You can't do this, you can't take such a risk without involving the world's governments. Such a scheme, well, you can't put the planet at risk just so you can ..."

Ecrivain held up his hand, "Bond, I assure you, I know far better than these two little tarts about what I'm doing. There is nothing any government has to offer that SPECTRE cannot already provide. Now, if you will excuse me, this night has become very wearisome. I think it's time for us to head back to China." Ecrivain reached out to Anita, putting his hand on her lower back.

Bond took a step forward, but two of the henchmen reached out and grabbed him, the other two latching onto Anya and Cli. "Ecrivain," Bond raised his voice, "You don't expect us to do nothing. You don't expect me to stand by and let you put the whole planet in jeopardy, do you?"

Ecrivain smiled and laughed, "Why no, Mr. Bond. I expect you to die!"

Bond rolled his eyes, as did the women.

"Darling," Anita said, turning to face Ecrivain, "I believe he's heard that before." She drove her knee up into Ecrivain's groin as she tossed the hand gun right at Anya.

Bond drove his elbow into one henchman's solar plexus and then turned to punch the other. He saw Cli swinging her camera like a battle mace, right at the head of another henchman. The gun roared it's discharge as the fourth henchmen let go of Anya, falling dead to the floor. She made quick work of the other three as Bond and Cli struggled briefly with them.

They all turned at Anita's scream, turning to see her falling lifeless to the floor, an ice pick protruding from her heart. Bond lunged at Ecrivain who had opened a secret passage in the wall. The madman hobbled through, clutching his crotch, tears streaming down his face. He heard Ecrivain spitting words through his pain, "On with the fucking show, Bond!"

The secret door closed and snapped locked just as Bond hit it with his shoulder, doing nothing more than bruising his ego.

TianShan Aerospace Launch Facility, Ili Prefecture, China

The trio returned to England; to brief M, as well as the American, and Israeli ambassadors. James and Anya were hastily put on a plane to Belgium, while Cli was taken to the Home Office to assist MI-6 in explaining the situation to His Excellency Chua Wuzhou, the Ambassador of China. Once her role there was completed, she made her way to Almaty International Airport in Kazakhstan, where the Russians were loaning MI-6 (and therefore the CIA), some equipment.

After James and Anya arrived in Belgium, a flight out of RAF Tongeren took them to Gan, in the Maldives. They were met there by an assembled team of five British SAS who had been at Kaani Village on vacation. The two secret agents were kitted up and given a briefing on HALO jumps. James and Anya were not strangers to floating under canopy, but Anya had never HALO'd before. They made their exciting night-time incursion into the Tian Shan mountains, only a kilometre north of SPECTRE's launch complex. They landed inside of security's outer perimeter, avoiding a lot of trouble and avoiding announcing their arrival.

The plan was a simple one, stop Ecrivain and take him into "special" custody. If that wasn't possible, destroy the launch facility before he could launch. While most supplies were flown into the facility, there was a single road that wound its way to some local villages for labourers and locally grown produce. As it was the dead of night, there was no traffic on that road, and the guards on the gate weren't all that alert. The guard force had indeed been bolstered since the events in Turkey, but no one actually thought an attack would come right up the main road, which it was.

Two SAS silently slipped into the guardhouse and made quick work of the half-asleep SPECTRE guards. This allowed the rest of the team to commandeer the jeep, while one SAS remained behind to watch the phone, the radio, and their point of emergency egress. If the plan went as planned; that lone SAS would put all his training to test with a solo-ground egress towards the Kazakhstan border: sixty-five kilometres on foot, as the crow flies.

It was two hours before Ecrivain was scheduled to enter the craft, so the team made its way around the facility buildings, across the open plain in the moonless night, right up to the launch tower. It only took a few minutes to overpower the guards near the base of the tower, with two of the SAS donning their uniforms. James, Anya and the remaining two SAS entered the launch tower lift and were taken up to the rocket capsules entry gantry. Anya hastily put on her climbing gear, then with the assistance of the SAS, climbed onto the top of the gantry cage. James entered the capsule, while the two SAS hid themselves in the warren of short corridors and equipment rooms at the top of the launch tower. James wasn't in favour of the plan that had been presented. However, there would be no way to capture Ecrivain on the ground, not with such a small team, and get away with him.

James made himself comfortable, looking around the small capsule. There was seating for two people, plus an unreal amount of computerized equipment. James was impressed, it looked like there was enough equipment to run the entire world. Pulling out the small booklet of pictures that Anya had prepared for him before leaving England, James quickly found the controls for the launch escape systems. He studied them carefully, re-reading the notes that Anya had prepared with the book. She had been the escape system specialist on the ISS during her stint on board. The system being used by SPECTRE was an exact duplicate of that used by Space-X, stolen from them and re-created in SPECTRE's own fabrication facilities. James took out his Leatherman and undid the panel holding the escape system controls. Peering at the back of the panel and at the image/instructions sent to them by Space-X before departing Gan, James disconnected the correct wire, snipping it short enough so that it wouldn't accidentally ground against anything. He then replaced the panel and put the screws back in.

James heard a single click in his earpiece, he looked out of the hatch and up at the top of the gantry enclosure. He could see Anya through the mesh, she touched her watch and then spun a single finger in the air, then held up five fingers, flashing them twice. He nodded once to her. She lay her head back down, to keep as small a profile as she could on the top of the cage.

It was only a few minutes after this that he heard two beeps in his earpiece, the SAS hiding in the launch tower were signalling that the elevator was moving. James reached up and turned off the cabin lights in the capsule, having more than sufficient lighting from the floods on the gantry. He pressed himself as far back against the side of the capsule as he could, he only wanted to be seen at the last possible moment.

After a few moments, the light danced with shadows. People were moving along the gantry towards the capsule. A technician stuck his head in the capsule and reached up to activate the lighting. As the light came on, he saw the Englishman wedged against the side of the capsule, pointing his Walther PPK at him. The technician slowly lifted his hands but was grabbed from behind, and roughly pulled back from the opening. He was replaced by Angus Ecrivain, in his full space suit including helmet. The restriction of the sightlines of the helmet prevented him from seeing Bond before he was fully in the capsule and lowering himself into his seat. Bond smiled at him, using the gun to tap his own head and motioning for Ecrivain to open the helmet faceplate. He could see Ecrivain's lips moving, obviously speaking with launch control.

Ecrivain finally lifted his visor, "Well, well, well; Mr. Bond; what an unwelcome surprise." Ecrivain scowled at him.

"I can't let you do this Ecrivain, you're putting the entire planet at risk."

Ecrivain chuckled, "Visionaries are always stymied by amateurs who simply can't comprehend the great minds they are surrounded by."

Ecrivain looked up over his head, towards the hatch. "Take him now!" he yelled.

Nothing happened. The smile on Ecrivain's face started to fade. He turned his head to look out through the hatch. The two guards that had come up in the lift with the astronauts and the techs were holding guns on the co-pilot and techs. Two more men in military uniform were standing with them. As he looked out through the hatch, he saw four cables with big clasps being lowered over the forward edge of the gantry cage. The four men with guns grabbed those cables and hooks, pulled them way back into the gantry cage, and hooked them to their harnesses.

Ecrivain looked back at Bond, "So, you're here to kill me are you?" Ecrivain started to get out of his seat. Bond pushed him back towards the seat but Ecrivain lashed out, grabbing Bond's jacket and pulling him forward. As Bond had only been wedged against the side of the capsule, the pull freed him, pulling him down.

Fisticuffs ensued.

As Bond and Ecrivain fought, as Ecrivain tried to get the gun, as Bond tried to subdue him with one hand and retain the gun with the other; neither of them noticed the new light from the sky or the activity on the gantry.

The Erickson SkyCrane, on loan from the Russians and under the command of the CIA's own Cli Torris, flew in fast from the West. A long, heavy, cable was hanging below the craft. The end of the cable had an odd looking object just above the massive hook. As the SkyCrane arrived on station, the object on the cable activated positioning jets, manoeuvring itself directly at Anya, who was now standing on top of the gantry cage.

With her attention directed above, the SAS in the gantry below her had forced the space craft co-pilot and technicians to the back of the gantry. They were now on their knees and sported plastic zip-cuffs on their wrists and ankles. One of the guards was looking down at the ground, watching SPECTRE mercenaries rushing towards the launch tower.

As Ecrivain and Bond struggled, as Anya took hold of the jet directed cable, the guard watched the elevator start moving. He moved his mend to the front of the gantry itself, near the capsule. They were under orders not to interfere with Bond and Ecrivain, but two of them watched to make sure Ecrivain didn't get the upper hand. The other two SAS raised their weapons pointing them right at the elevator entrance. Just the elevator slowed to a stop, they both took note of the Mossad agent running like hell along the length of the gantry cage top, running towards the space capsule. The two SAS fired their Heckler & Koch UMPs on full auto, making short work of those in the elevator. A moment later, the elevator moved downwards, but would take far too long for anyone else to come up and stop what was about to happen.

Anya had run full tilt along the gantry's cage top, her own safety harnessed now attached to the cable from the hovering SkyCrane. At the end of the gantry cage, her powerful dancers legs launched her right at the LES tower at the top of the capsule. Her body slammed against the craft with a thud, her hands scrambling for purchase, then tightly gripping the base of the launch escape system tower. She silently prayed that James had time to disable the second stage of the escape system. She reached down with one hand and grabbed the hook from the SkyCrane's cable and firmly attached it to the hard point attachment just inside the structure, at the top or the capsule. It was the same attachment a helicopter would use to hoist the craft after it splashed down in the ocean.

She reached up with her gloved hand and touched the ear piece in the right ear, "Secure James. Blow it now!"

Inside the capsule's small space, Ecrivain and Bond were still struggling. Many systems had been knocked out of kilter, ensuring the capsule would not launch for several days if James failed. He heard Anya's voice in his ear and smiled, the signal giving him extra strength. He put his palm in the middle of Ecrivain's face and pushed hard, ignore the pain of the man biting his hand. Bond reached up with the other hand, flipped the safety cover off the launch escape system, and then pressed the red button.

Normally a two stage process, the system activated the first stage which was to blow the explosive bolts holding the capsule to the body of the rocket. The second stage, the ignition of the rocket propelled escape tower, never happened. James had cut the correct wiring inside the panel. Everyone heard the explosive bolts fire. Now with his bleeding palm out of Ecrivain's face, James smiled with satisfaction at the look on the SPECTRE madman's face. Then their world was thrown upside down.

The SAS were ready for the explosive bolts, as soon as those fired they all moved rapidly to the forward edge of the gantry, packing in close to each other. The other end of their rescue cables had been attached to the Sky Crane's cable, just as Anya's had. They all could see inside the hatch, then they couldn't see inside the hatch. The capsule disappeared from view, high above. Then they all felt like a Titan from Olympus had reached down plucked them off the face of the Earth.

Anya, hearing the bolts fire, raised one arm and spun it in the air while yelling in the radio, "SEPARATION!"

Those on the ground watched in dismay as the powerful helicopter rapidly accelerated upwards, plucking the space capsule from the rocket like a child plucking a daisy. They were further marvelled by the sight of the bodies on long cables swinging like pendulums beneath the capsule. The four SAS were tightly holding on to each other, to minimize their effect on the helicopter and the capsule; the capsule itself swinging only minimally due to the rapid ascent of the most powerful helicopter in the world. As the extraction mission turned towards the West, Cli turned the radio to a new frequency, then transmitted in Mandarin on the new channel, "Lìkè!"

Once the full scope of what SPECTRE was doing had been explained to His Excellency, the Chinese Ambassador, it had taken only a matter of hours before the Chinese agreed that this endeavour had to be stopped. They agreed to work with the British to attempt to capture the man responsible, Angus Ecrivain, with the proviso that China be the country to prosecute him. That had taken a few more hours of wrangling but the final arrangements had been made as Bond and Anya were HALO jumping into China. With Cli's one word transmission, a flight of six Chinese Jian JH-7 fighter bombers turned into the Tian Shen valley and proceeded to carpet bomb the entire facility. They levelled everything while those swinging on the cables below the space capsule had front row seats.

Inside the space capsule, the sudden jolt of the craft being yanked into the air caused both Bond and Ecrivain to land hard. Bond's gun went flying out the hatch and he broke his arm as he landed against the arm of one of the flight chairs.

One of the SAS, Sgt. Windass, saw the gun fall past them. He pulled one of the ascender devices from a utility pocket, but it wouldn't fit on the cable he was dangling from. Discarding it, he pulled some paracord from a utility pocket and cut two lengths, one of his men helping him. He then fashioned two quick Prusik knots around the cable, looped the loose ends, and started pulling himself up the cable he was dangling from. His men watched him, knowing there would be room for only one of them upon reaching the capsule. It was only after thirty seconds of his ascent that they all saw the figure fly out of the open hatch, arms and legs splayed in free fall.

With his broken arm, James used his free arm to try and contain Ecrivain, but Ecrivain was getting the better of him. Ecrivain moved himself around and placed his knee squarely on Bonds broken arm. The British agent screamed with pain, drawing the attention of the woman clinging to the top of the capsule. Taking her own rescue cable, which was slack because she was still holding on to the launch escape system tower, she looped it around the taught helicopter cable, inched around a few feet so she was above the still open hatch, then quickly let herself fall towards the open hatch. Her gloved hands clamped down on the cable as she stopped by the open hatch.

Ecrivian looked up as the woman stopped in front of the open hatch. He looked into her rage filled face. Bond's screams of pain filled both of their ears. With one hand clambing her cable in place, Anya reached in the opening, grabbed hold of Ecrivain's space suit, then pushed her strong legs against the edge of the capsule, pulling Ecrivain out through the opening. She watched as he fell, screaming. Then much to her surprise, he pushed his legs and arms out to stabilize his fall, then a parachute deployed from the back of his space suit. She, along with the SAS, watched him float down two thousand feet to the surface of the Earth. They also saw hundreds of ground troops moving towards the facility that had just been bombed. They saw several of those military vehicles break off from the rest, heading in a direction that followed the parachuting Ecrivain.

Anya turned her attention back to the capsule. Her outfit was far less bulky than a space suit, so she was able to quickly pull herself into the capsule. She unhooked her rescue cable once she was safely inside. She helped James to a sitting position, pulling a small med kit from her pack and quickly fashioning a sling for Bond's arm.

Notwithstanding the pain in his arm, Bond pulled Anya close to him and kissed her. It was one of those deep , long lasting, passionate kisses that made men glad to be men, and women glad to be women.

"James, your arm."

"My arm may be broken, Anya, but the rest of me is just fine," He smiled as he unzipped his jacket. As he did this, his arm bumped a panel and the capsule was filled with music. They both rolled their eyes when they realized Ecrivain's first selection had been Cold Inside, by Hurt. Bond turned off the music. Neither one of them were feeling cold at the moment, quite the opposite actually.

"Now, about your name," he winked playfully as he pushed Anya Bach onto the flight couch. He managed to do it in such a way that with one arm, in one motion, he also unzipped the jump suit she had been wearing.

"Oooh, James ..."

Sgt. Windass took a few minutes to get up to the capsule, but after seeing Ecrivain fly through the air, he wanted to make sure Bond was okay. At a level almost equal with the door, he had to kick his legs and start to pendulum himself, finally latching on the hatch with both hands. Fighting against the wind over the opening, he slowly pulled himself up to the hatch. He stopped as his head passed the edge, taking a long moment to look inside.

Sgt. Windass slowly let go of the hatch, releasing himself back to this rescue cable and Prusik knots. "Fucking MI-6," he muttered to himself.

It only took thirty seconds for him to descend to the end of his cable, to his men.

"Everything okay up there?" One of them asked.

The sergeant just nodded and looked away, settling in for the twenty-minute flight to Kazakhstan on the end of the cable.

He sighed, and considered changing careers,"The things we have to do for Queen and Country."

Author's Note: The Bond girl names were taken from, or inspired by, http://ask.metafilter.com/77496/Bond-girl-seeks-double-entendre