The simple thrill of just driving came back to Ashleigh as she headed back to the city, the SATNAV directing her, she merely had to follow the instructions and put her foot to the floor. It seemed like forever since the last time she had driven for pleasure, instead she seemed to spend half her life in traffic jams along the banks of the Thames. When she got back, whenever she got back, she was going to take her Spider on a decent jaunt for once, head down to the West Country, let it have its head on some proper roads for once.
A passion for Italian cars had been instilled in her from an early age by her father, and she had rarely ventured away from them in her driving career. Today though, after the shock of the night before, and her lack of sleep, the cool German efficiency of the Mercedes suited her down to the ground.
She wondered if she was making a mistake with Alec. Of course she was. Even in her craziest moments, trapped under the spell of her desire for Alec, she knew that, and she knew that if she kept playing with fire she was going to get burnt, and badly. Was a few nights of passion worth that risk? The stubborn, and lonely, part of her insisted that it was, it had been a while since she had had some fun, and it wasn't as if she wasn't working while she got her kicks.
The mission, if she was honest, was disturbing her. They had so much information, but were unable to act upon it. Alec seemed desperate to warn her of the danger she was in, and the theatre incident had frightened her more than she would like to admit. She was desperate herself, wanting to get back to the city to James and Dmitrov, to find out what had happened, and to see if they were safe. Gripping the steering wheel firmly, she hoped that they were.
Her attention had wandered while she was driving, changing gear and braking on auto pilot while she thought of the night before. However the black saloon that suddenly appeared in her rear view mirror snapped her attention back to the road. Blacked out windows, and a menacing grill, it was far too close to her, and catching up with every second that passed. Warily, following the feeling in the pit of her stomach she kept glancing back at it, watching as it followed her every move, changing lanes when she did so. The feeling got worse, her mouth dried, and she felt her palms dampen on the wheel. Seeing a small minor road sign posted up ahead she made a decision, and turned quickly onto it, no braking, no indication. A heartbeat later the saloon appeared behind her.
'Shit,' she murmured, refusing to be distracted, she dropped down a gear and felt the Kompressor kick in as she pulled away, accelerating through the bends, it didn't help, the saloon was bearing down on her again. At last the threat was realised, and with a jolt, Ashleigh was thrown forwards, her feet slipping on the pedals as the Merc was rammed.
'Bastard!' she screamed, suddenly frightened again, feeling control abandoning her, venting her fury on the gear shift she cut down the gears, trying to put some more distance between her and them, but at the back of her mind she thought there was something wrong with the car, and she couldn't work out what. The tail swung out as she rounded a bend, seeing a straight up ahead she floored it. Again she was hit, and she braked hard, jerking the wheel to the right. cutting across the road, adrenaline and panic coursing through her, the fight was getting furious. A final blow to the left bumper, and the car slid towards the edge of the road, she lost control, frantically hitting the brakes again.
The occupants of the other car watched as the car rolled once, twice, three times, before coming to rest on its roof, rear wheels spinning helplessly. Ashleigh felt the car bump along the edge of the ditch, rise up, her temple hit the side panel, the ground came rushing towards her at a strange angle. She lost consciousness, and as the world faded away, her final thoughts were that the brakes had failed, and of Alec.
The night at the Mariinsky theatre had ended in tragedy. Half way through the second Act a hysterical screaming had begun. In the Grand Circle Vaskov's rapidly cooling body had been discovered. There had been no sign of Ashleigh, and James had hoped that she had been sensible enough to get as far away from the dead minister as possible. It was as if the discovery of the body had been a cue. Suddenly the theatre had erupted into carnage, armed faceless men had filled the theatre, three people had been shot, and had died as a result. There had been no reason given for the attack, no explanation, and James was more than suspicious. He could only think that it had been a cover up for Vaskov's murder, and now the blame was being placed upon an separatist terror organisation. It was clever, Bond could see that, and he and Dmitrov had found themselves in the thick of the action. A brief struggle to disarm one of the 'terrorists' had left Bond with a dark bruise on his ribs from the butt of a rifle, Dmitrov was sporting a split lip and cut under his eye.
