Tommy Collison

So, with the new James Bond movie, Quantum of Solace, coming out on the 31st of this month, I tried to imagine what it’d be like. Most of us saw Casino Royale (and if you haven’t, do so. Now. Go!) and know it ended with the mysterious Mr. White being shot in the thigh by Craig, in a really nice suit and a killer (no pun intended) gun. I’ve always enjoyed writing, and decided to try visualizing a Pre-Titles Sequence of the new film. I’m trying to make it as close to Fleming’s Bond as possible. Comments welcome.

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James Bond stood in the alleyway, casually leaning against the wall. In his mouth he sucked on a cigarette, enjoying and savoring it. He glanced around warily before shaking his sleeve to reveal his black Rolex. The time was 12:21 AM. Only nine more minutes. Around him, New York life continued as usual, taking no notice of the man in the alleyway. The man who shouldn’t have been there.

Deciding it was time to move, Bond stomped out his cigarette and shivered. It was mid September and unusually cold for this time of year. Despite the black overcoat that helped him blend in with the night, he was freezing.

Rubbing his hands together, he began moving. “Gotta get to that bridge,” Bond thought. He slipped between the light thrown by the street lamps, moving like a shadow.. or a ghost. Many saw him pass, but his presence never fully registered in their minds. This was a highly useful skill. People saw, but didn’t see him.

He reflected on the man he needed to meet. The man was a Cuban associate of Mr. White, who was currently being interrogating in a top secret location in Britain, approximately 5585 kilometres away. The Cuban didn’t know his employer was currently was under arrest. He believed that everything was safe.

James Bond was going to accept an offer for 30 of the United States’ finest stinger missiles. The Cuban was nothing but a courier.

Bond reached the bottom of the bridge and looked around. It was night, but his eyes had long become accustomed to the gloom of the New York night. Finally, he spotted a set of iron steps set into the stone bridge and began to climb.

It was 12:29 AM when 007 reached the top and looked again. This time, he spotted him. The man was standing uneasily. The first tell. He had his hands buried in his faded grey tracksuit pants. The second tell. To complete the image, a large Cuban cigar protruded from inside the hood that covered the man’s head.

Bond began sidling timidly over to the man, but changed his mind halfway. He was Mr. White. A man of unimaginable confidence. He changed his walk and confidently strode the rest of the distance until he was leaning against the rail of the bridge beside the man.

“White?” the man grunted. Bond noticed a bulge in front of the man’s stomach, and would’ve been willing to bet his life that it was a pistol.

Sensing the first scent of danger, Bond radically changed plan. “No, he couldn’t make it. I had to come instead” he answered cooly.

“They didn’t say nothing about him not showin’ up!” hissed the Cuban angrily.

“Last minute change, your men couldn’t be reached.” replied Bond, injecting just a hint of apology.

The man appeared to be mollified with this explanation. “So, we still on for the deal?” he asked.

“Very much so” answered Bond, and the Cuban reached for something in his jacket.

And that’s when it happened. Again, the whiff of danger came to Bond’s nostrils just in time. The Cuban had reached for his gun.

Bond’s arm shot out and clenched the assassin’s wrist, jerking it upwards. The bullet fired flew harmlessly into the night. Just as the Cuban’s mind registered this, Bond’s fist came out of the blue and cracked against his temple.

He grimaced in pain and tried to shove his elbow into 007′s face. Bond expected this and moved to safety. The man’s arm flew above his head. Taking advantage of the Cuban’s exposed stomach, Bond thrust his arm into the man’s kidney. Another grunt. It was almost over. Bond rammed his fist again and again at the organs in the man’s torso. The Cuban tried in vain to stop the onslaught of pain that just would not stop. Finally, the Cuban slumped unconscious.

Breathing heavily, Bond reached down and opened the man’s jacket. As expected, there was a small package in one of the pockets. Everything he needed to know about the stingers. MI6 would have recovered the missiles before the Cuban’s body would be found.

…and speaking of which…

Bond bent down and picked up the body of the unconscious Cuban and dumped it over the bridge. Disinterestedly, he watched the dead weight drop the five or so metres to the watery depths below. It made the smallest of splashes, floating for a few seconds before being swallowed by the water

So, they’d known about him, and the switch. No matter. The man was dead and the stingers recovered.

By all accounts, a good night

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Wow, that was longer than I expected. Well, hope you enjoyed. Would love to know what you think!