Judas Kiss: A James Bond Novella

Bond woke up in the soft linen embrace of his hotel sheets to the sound of a busker playing Harmonica in the street below. He had been in Paris for three days and he was beginning to tire of the fellow's limited repertoire. He descended in the elevator to the ground floor buffet where he helped himself to a plate of luxuriously creamy scrambled egg and a single strip of thick French bacon. Breakfast concluded, he returned to his chamber and collected his belongings (leaving a tip for the room service staff) before checking out in the lobby.

He had an important meeting with the head of station in Paris at lunch time and so he decided to take a stroll around the cultured streets of the city. He dispatched himself from the hotel and was almost run down by a lunatic on a fire engine red Vespa. He gesticulated wildly at the posterior of the scooter and progressed, more cautiously this time. He trudged past a boulangerie patisserie, a chic sushi bar, a chemist and a children's clothes shop. Around the Garre du Nord he began to feel that sixth sense sensation that told him that he was being followed. He turned left into a fast food establishment and ordered a small portion of fries, his peripheral vision showing him an Asian man with a cigarette drooping from his mouth, evidently trying to obscure his observations of Bond behind a£200 pair of Ray Ban aviators.

He obviously perceived that he had been noticed as he made a vain attempt to disappear in a passing phalanx of Japanese tourists. Bond collected his French fries and paid before walking casually out of the restaurant. This would reassure his follower that he had gone unnoticed and allow Bond to lure him to a location where he could discern his intentions. Crossing the boulevard Bond observed that there was a petite agglomeration of pre-chewed bubble gum concealed beneath the chips. Disgusted he dispensed the prop into a public waste receptacle.

He caught the door behind a citizen and stepped inconspiciously into the spacious light well within. He took out the keys to his Chelsea apartment and rattled them slightly against the lock. Had the Asian followed him further he would assume that this was Bond's place of residence. Sure enough the tail had slipped stealthily through the closing door and Bond could see in the reflection on the brass door plate that he held an ugly P99 hand gun in his gloved fist.

Bond's advanced SIS reflex training meant that the rounded bullet splintered into the wooden panelling of the exterior entrance just as he flung himself behind a shelf of cracked plant pots. He hit the ground awkwardly and painstakingly cocked his palm-print recognition modified Walther PPK pistol. The man loosed off shot after shot, 8,9,10, Bond knew that the gun only had 12 shots in each round and that the assassin would have to reload soon or risk his gun jamming. Twelve. Bond rolled out of his cover and into a protective commando stance. He emptied a full clip into the man's torso, aiming for non-lethal shots which would only maim and injure. He walked in a crouch over to the body, picking him up by the lapels, "Who sent you?" he grunted through bared teeth.

"SC...SCEPT..."

The sniper's shot was perfect, it went straight through the section of his skull which held in place the forehead and exited through the tissue behind his brain stem. Bond whipped round just in time to see the sniper's silhouette pounce up and sprint away.

He knew that pursuing the elusive assassin directly would be an inefficient method by which to apprehend him. His route would undoubtedly lead back to ground level probably to some sort of escape vehicle. It would be far more practical to stay on the ground and then intercept when the assassin decended. Bond leapt to his feet and smashed through the doors, breaking into an athletic sprint. The silhouette’s head and shoulders were just visible on the roof and Bond gave chase, roughly barging aside residents and tourists. Having reached a breach in his prospective path the silhouette took lousy jump and, having misjudged his own ability, crashed hardly into the wall of the opposing building. Fortunately for Bond he caught a window sill and scrabbled into the residence, at least he could still interrogate the criminal later.

Bond reverted his attention to his own course and narrowly avoided collision with an unkempt branch of foliage. He sprinted across a zebra crossing in order to gain a visual advantage. Again he saw the fleeting shadow, this time some twenty feet ahead of him and emerging from the shadowy confines of an apartment on to the elaborately decorated balcony. What the hell was he doing? Bond thought. 

Suddenly, a sleek black Mercedes Benz S2000 convertible tore around the corner at ludicrous speed and swerved wildly through the traffic towards the man whom Bond pursued. The assassin leapt from the balcony and fell two stories to the speeding car below. This time he did not miss-judge and landed perfectly in the passenger seat. He crouched, cushioning his fall, and gave Bond a taunting smile.

 Bond cursed under his breath and scanned the area with his keen grey eyes, searching for a suitably agile vehicle in which to pursue. An eager grin spread across his face as his eye caught the distinctive lines of a Jaguar F-Type rolling into a white outlined parking space. Its rotund driver hauled himself out of the car and waddled over to embrace a slender young woman of about half his age. Bond jogged over to the car and vaulted into the driver’s seat. Thankfully the plump man had left the keys in the slot and so Bond floored the accelerator and was off, throwing a parting smile to the fat man’s attractive companion.

Bond followed the trail of damage and was soon alongside the Mercedes. In a desperate attempt to shake Bond the driver swerved off down a ramp and on to a riverside walkway. The path was so narrow that Bond was forced to drop back and drive behind them, leaving the walk the Mercedes, and subsequently Bond’s commandeered Jaguar, roared back out on to the road. The Merc drifted around the corner and on to the Pont d’Asnières once again Bond pulled alongside and this time rammed hard into the side of their auto. His eyes traced the glinting shards of glass from the shattered windscreen.