When Tomorrow Comes

Count Louis-Enrique D'aville lit his cigar and looked at the man before him. The man was approximately six feet –or there abouts, he was broad
shouldered and athletic. His hair was black, and a feint scar ran down his right cheek. His eyes were cold and dark, but his mouth was a little too voluptuous.
"You will do. But there is still something that isn't right. But at night I think we will manage. Now say to me again, the words I told you to say when you meet them."
The man cleared his throat, and in an almost accentless voice said,
"The name is Bond, James Bond. I'm here to collect the package."
The Count nodded and puffed on his large cigar. A twinkle in his eye.
"You know the plan? Remember I want you back here on The Mallard
tomorrow at noon. We will be waiting in Cannes also – so as not to draw
attention. Until then you must hide out somewhere safe."
The man nodded. He understood. The Count was making sure that he wasn't in Monte Carlo when this phase went down. He wanted to be sure that nothing tied him to the action that would take place that evening.
"Now leave me. I must set the next stage in motion." The Count commanded.
******
007 sat opposite M as the report he'd just handed in was digested. The head of MI6 was silent a moment, while thinking about the documents contents. Bond
sat there patiently. He wanted to light a cigarette – but as yet had not been
granted permission.
"You may smoke if you like." M said finally looking up at him. "You know – I think that you may have to go back to Monaco and keep an eye on that Count. In your report you say how you were able to get quite close to his daughter Lauren. I think you should ensure that that relationship is nurtured James, as I think through her we may get to the bottom of what D'aville is upto. I need to know where he's getting the weapons from for his deals. Who his suppliers are and so forth. It might be Iraq via the Russian Mafia, or even some of those characters in the Balkan states. Either way I don't like it. The Count is obviously using his privileged position to travel all over the world. I don't think he is numero uno –
I think he's working for someone, and it's your job to find out who."
Bond nodded. "I agree. There is certainly something about him I don't like. His arrogance smacks of Spectre – but we know that they no longer exist."
"Quite so James. But now we've got the Government on the verge of joining the
rest of Europe with this Euro fiasco, we have to be very careful. It will be harder
to trace criminal funds once everyone's using the same currency. I can see
certain people taking advantage, and others crawling out of the woodwork as it were. That is why we have to be more belligerent."
******
Monte Carlo 2 hours later

"Papa why do we have to leave Monte Carlo again?" said Lauren D'aville. They were on the deck of the luxury yacht which was once again docked in the busy marina that was one of the attractions of Monte Carlo. The beautiful Lauren was dressed in an orange two piece swim-suit and a turquoise tie-died sarong. Her Versace sunglasses hid her large almond shaped eyes from her father's scrutiny.
"My child. It is business. You know I have people to see from time to time. You must understand it is necessary for me to travel."
"Yes Papa – but why do I have to travel with you?"
"You know how I feel Lauren. It is unsafe for a young girl like yourself to be left on her own."
"Papa! I'm twenty -three years old. Why do you still treat me like I'm a child?"
"Because to me Princess you will always be my little girl."
Lauren's anger at her father receeded slightly. However, she was determined to stay in Monte Carlo a little longer.
"Look Papa since Mother died you have watched over me like a hawk. Can't you please let me have a little freedom?"
"You're not a prisoner Lauren. You know that." said the Count. Surprised at his daughter's choice of words. "I protect you because you are precious, and the world out there can be a nasty place."
I know Papa –So you tell me. Let me stay at the hotel. You can leave a
chaperone if you want." she said removing her sunglasses so that he could look her in the eyes.
The father and daughter finally agreed that she could stay at The Hôtel de Paris. Few exceptional luxury hotels in the world can command such a prestigious history and position, and The Hôtel de Paris was one of them. Built in 1864 with the ambition to offer the best of an era, the Hôtel de Paris symbolised this same excellence in the art of hospitality. Situated on the Golden Square of the Place
du Casino, with 197 extravagantly luxurious rooms and suites and stunning salons for meetings at the top, the Hôtel de Paris is heir to the spirit of the grand hotels. In fact the Hôtel de Paris of Monte-Carlo is a place like no other in the world, and if anywhere else for the young and very attractive Contessa Lauren D'aville had been chosen for her to stay, it would've seemed scandalous.
******
That Evening . . .
James Bond looked in the mirror and straightened his tie. He loved being in
Monte Carlo. The principality of Monaco was a wonderfully cosmopolitan place where luxurious living was very evident in it's premiere resort. It had only been a week since he'd last been here and he'd successfully stopped the intriguing
and flamboyant Count Louis-Enrique D'aville from finalising an arms deal with an extremist group of terrorists that had been working out of the middle east. If their paths were to cross again, he hoped that the Count hadn't realised that it had been he who had been responsible for the damage to the twin propellors of The Mallard.
According to the latest intelligence reports passed on by the CIA, D'aville's
daughter, the wonderfully attractive Lauren had stayed behind in Monte Carlo, when The Mallard had finally left that morning. Apparently she was staying at the Hôtel de Paris. Bond had chosen The Hermitage to stay at on this trip. But a little wander down to the Hôtel de Paris' casino was definitely on the cards, and hopefully a romantic reunion.
Meanwhile whilst 007 was making preperations for his evening, at a house in the poorer district of the resort, the man with the scar on his cheek knocked three times on the door. Rat-tat-tat. Then paused before repeating the knock. The door opened and the man walked into a dimly lit living room, where three men waited. The man in the centre of the trio was quite short, and had receeding black oily hair. His nose was quite large and hooked. Perched on this distinguished hawk-like feature was a Pince–nez. The armless spectacles were
gold, and had a gold chain attached to each side so when the wearer didn't need them, they could hang safely around his neck. He squinted through the lenses in the candle lit room and said,
"And you are?" 
"The name is Bond, James Bond. I'm here to collect the package." Said the
stranger. 
"Come nearer Mister Bond. I want to get a closer look at your face." The short man said, taking hold of one of the candles on the coffee table that was in the centre of the room.  
When he picked the candle up its light flickered around the room, revealing
some areas that had been in shadow only moments before. One of the things that was revealed was that the two men flanking the short man were holding in their hands automatic pistols with noise reduction units already fixed.  The short man held the candle up a little higher, and the single flame's radiance illuminated the features before him. Marco Santanini saw the feint scar on the right cheek and
was satisfied that the man before him was indeed the man that he'd been told
would come. He issued an order to one of the armed men. A moment later a
package roughly the size of a briefcase was brought forward. 
"Be careful how you carry it Mister Bond. Anthrax is dangerous stuff." 
The package was placed on the coffee table before them. The man who was
placing the package on the table was momentarily unarmed. The man with the scar revealed from beneath his jacket his own silenced gun. The three quick
phutt's from the muzzle hit their marks. The two guards were hit in the heads and died instantly, whereas Santanini was hit in his left kneecap. He fell to the ground immediately, in excruciating pain. The man with the scar smiled at Santanini.  
"It was a pleasure doing business with you Marco." And with that he shot him
again in the other knee. Santanini fainted and didn't see the man he knew as Bond leave with the case of four flasks of Anthrax. 
******  
Bond had been lucky that night, not only had he done well at the tables, he'd managed to rekindle his relationship with Lauren. Who by being assertive with her father the day before had actually convinced her father that she didn't need a
chaperone, as there were many people she knew staying at the hotel. So when
she'd bumped into the very handsome James Bond once again, it was only
natural that they continued where they had left off. 
The bed was rumpled, and clothing was strewn across the suite's floor in a trail.
On the bedside table an icebucket sat in a puddle of water where the warmth of
the room had made condensation form and drip down its outside. Upside down inside the bucket sat the empty bottle of Bollinger 64. 
"So Lauren, tell me about your father. He seems like an amazing man to me."
Said Bond who was selecting clothes from the wardrobe to put on.
Lauren was clutching a pillow infront of her, hiding her naked body, her legs
tucked beneath her. 
"Well, what can I say. The D'aville's are a very old family that has lived in the
South of France for centuries. We have a chateau just outside Cannes, but Papa
prefers Monte Carlo and spends a geat deal of time here. Although he travels
around the world as a Good Will Ambassador for his favourite charity – The Orphan Children's Association. Regularly, you will find him here in Monaco at least one week of every month. He is also a close friend of his Royal Highness the Prince, and that is probably another reason for us being here so often." 
"You say he goes abroad a lot. Where does he go most often?" 
"He spends a lot of time in the Eastern Block countries especially since the
USSR dissolved into separate states, and he's visited many of the Middle
Eastern countries, especially after some of the wars in those areas. Why?" 
"Oh I don't know. Just curious I guess."answered Bond deflecting her question. 
******  
Cannes 
The beautiful Southern French resort renound for its film festival, was quiet.
Preperations for the film festival wouldn't actually start for another week. The man with the feint scar headed for the big yacht out on the edge of the marina. He knew his boss would be pleased. He checked his watch –it was five to twelve
midday. 
Louis-Enrique greeted Stefan warmly. "It all went well I hear?" 
"Perfect."said the assassin. 
"Good, our friends from what remains of the old KGB will be happy. Not only
do I get the goods ordered by our Arab friends we also sign a death warrant on
one of Mother Russia's old enemies. Soon Stefan the holy Jihad that the Arabs want will begin, and then Communism will re-emerge and pick up the pieces." 
Stefan just nodded at his boss – The Communist man who's appearance bore all the hallmarks of the imperial west. 
"Soon, a new Socialist order will spread across the globe and the dirty sordid
lives we have had to endure will be cleansed. Tomorrow we go back to Monte Carlo, where hopefully that man called James Bond who Grigorakov wants disposing of, will be captured as a terrorist, and will be 'accidently' killed while he tries making his escape." 
******
It was time for Bond to take a gamble with the girl. It was a risk, but if he didn't do it, time would run out and maybe the mission will end up a failure. He had to flush her out and show her what her Father really was. Now he was dressed, he went to his briefcase and brought out a laptop computer. 
"Lauren, this is going to be difficult for me to say, but I need to and I want you
to listen. Many innocent lives are at stake and what I need from you is your help to ensure that those innocent people have long happy lives. Do you understand?" 
"What is this James? –You're scaring me. You sound like a Police man." 
"Well, actually I work for the British Government." 
"You mean you're a spy." 
"Well, I've been called that yes." He said quite abruptly. "Listen Lauren, I'm
sorry but I have to tell you that your father is known to have been dealing illegal weapons to various terrorist and mercenary organisations." 
"I don't believe you." Said Lauren visibly shaken and shocked by 007's words. 
"I'm afraid its true. I have proof. Look at the screen." Bond turned the laptop
towards her. She looked and saw an image of her Father shaking hands with
Saddam Hussein, and then another with Gadaffi, and another with Slobadan Milosevic, and yet another of him with a man in Russian military uniform.
This last picture caught her attention more than the others, despite the infamy of those 'others'.  
"I know that man, I mean I've met him personally. His name is Grigorakov.
He's Russian." 
"Yes we know." said Bond. 
"We?" asked Lauren looking over her shoulder behind her thinking someone
else had entered the room. 
"I mean British Intelligence." 
"Oh, right." 
"Listen Lauren we need your help. You are the only person who can get some
information for us. You can get to his private office on The Mallard without
raising any alarms. We need to find out what he's upto –and more importantly –who he is working for." 
"You mean he's working for someone?" Lauren said surprised. 
"Yes we think so. No one could carry out as many deals as he has without
connections and maybe orders from someone higher than him." 
Lauren nodded. A tear rolled down her cheek. "You mean our life has been a lie
all along?" 
"That is a possibility I'm afraid, although I think he has told the truth about being a Count." 
Lauren smiled weakly at this. "I'll do whatever you want James. Just ask and I'll do it." 
******  
Boris Grigorakov was pleased, The Red Republic Movement were going to
emmerge as a new political and military force soon, and the wave of socialism that will spread across Russia, Eastern Europe and eventually Western Europe will be unstoppable. The new Revolution will be total and relentless thanks to him and his network of agents that have remained waiting for orders ever since
that stupid period known as Glasnost.   
******    
James Bond returned to his own hotel, when he got there he found his old
French friend, Mathis waiting for him. 
"I have some bad news Zero Zero Sept." he said. 
"What?" asked Bond, finding Mathis's greeting a little cold. 
"There is a man called Santanini in hospital claiming you've murdered two of his friends and have shot out his kneecaps." 
"What!" said Bond. "I haven't killed anyone for about twelve months. You
know me Mathis I don't take people's lives for the fun of it. And I've never ever heard of anyone called Santanini!" 
"I think someone is trying to frame you. I don't believe it could've been you
either. For a start I know you were with the D'aville girl all last night." 
"So what are you going to do?" 
"Go through the motions, take you in for questioning so that anyone watching will think that we're doing our job."

Bond nodded, "Ok – do what you have to do but when tomorrow comes ..." 
The end of 
When Tomorrow Comes. 
James Bond will return.
In part three of The Monte Carlo Trilogy - Death By Winning