Against what feels my better judgement for reasons I can't determine I'll open the account here. All of these writings that I did apparently occupy almost two years of my life. Crying out loud I spent the better part of a week away in Dorset in 2008 trying to finish the last Lazenby, Octopussy. I can't copyright them but I nonetheless crafted these along. Shame the old site went belly up or you'd all be guided there pronto.
This is a revised and extended edition of the story seen on the Fan Fiction section “George Lazenby in Diamonds Are Forever”. Parts added, maybe removed and edited throughout. With thanks to Thompson Colton for his artwork for the ‘book cover’ and to all those who read this and managed to picture Lazenby in it.
Based upon and inspired by the idea of Lazenby returning after OHMSS and being directed once again by Peter Hunt. The story aims to be more true to the revenge storyline continued in the novels by You Only Live Twice whilst retaining some elements of the actual Diamonds Are Forever movie.
Somewhere near London November 21st 2007
Adaptation: Ultimate Edition
Chapter One- Casebook: 007
Chapter Two- Licence Renewed
Chapter Three- The Whyte House
Chapter Four- Guests of Willard Whyte
Chapter Five- In the Night
Chapter Six- More than a Nightcap
Chapter Seven- Breakfast and Fast Cars
Chapter Eight- On the Inside
Chapter Nine- Wild Mustangs
Chapter Ten- Going Up
Chapter Eleven- Old Acquaintances, Never Forgotten
Chapter Twelve- A Man Down
Chapter Thirteen- Stuck in the Mud
Chapter Fourteen- To Find a Needle
Chapter Fifteen- To the Edge
Chapter Sixteen- The Breaking Point
Chapter Seventeen- To Hell With Blofeld
Finale- Just a Man
“...it’s quite alright. We’re just taking a rest we’ll be going on soon. She’s just...taking a rest...you see we have all the time in the world...”
Bond’s own words echoed in his head dully as if he was underwater. The words were spoken as if by a child. He recounted the past hour like he was removed from this world. The drive out of the town in a shower of emotion from the well-wishers, the car bedecked like a mobile florist. He was so in love with her and he never thought he would love a woman like this. Her Majesty’s Secret Service was his job. Or had been...They were going to have children. Three boys and three girls. Now they had all the time in the world.
He was going to love and care for her forever. The car that hurtled past full of young people. “We do look like an ad for a flower shop.”
He had seen the Mercedes from the corner of his eye. Crawling down the road in a manner Bond otherwise might have noticed. Tracy had been speaking to him and Bond had been smiling. He would leave the service, settle down and have a family with this woman. The woman he loved unlike any he had known. They would live somewhere...it did not matter where as long as they were together. Maybe he would work in finance...heck, work for Draco. He had heard the Mercedes rev its engine and then tear past. Bond had ducked as his world was torn asunder by the hammer of bullets destroying the windshield…flying glass…blood.
“It was Blofeld!” he had grunted darting around the car to get in. A look over at Tracy then another look the first barely registering the blood trickling from her head wound. The numb recognition of her body as it slumped over onto his lap.
How could he have missed that damned car? It was travelling so slowly that if he had had noticed he could have shot out the tyres...
Tracy was lying on the ambulance’s gurney. The ambulance had arrived from Marseilles around fifteen minutes after the motorcycle cop called in help. The paramedics had checked Tracy’s pulse but there had been none since the bullets hit the Aston Martin. They had to prise Bond gently from his hold on his late wife.
Bond walked up to the gurney and reached out as one of the paramedics went to pull the off-green sheet up.
“Please let me have one look...at my wife.”
Bond bent over looking at the pale face of Teresa di Vicenzo Bond. Even her light brown hair seemed paler. He took a cold hand in his as if she was alive and then kissed it. “Nothing more, nothing less.” The sheet was pulled over Tracy’s face and then she was carried into the ambulance. Bond got in with one medic but his mind was elsewhere. A police car had turned up half an hour ago and would remain with the DBS as forensics was called in.
It had to have been Blofeld who had killed Tracy with his consort Irma Bunt. Ernst Stavro Blofeld. He had taken revenge on Bond for the latter’s actions at Piz Gloria. Bond had hoped Blofeld to be caught up in it...
Clearly the bastard had made it and with Irma Bunt had come for his own revenge.
As the ambulance lurched, racing away from the shattered Aston Martin his hands held hard together. So hard that the knuckles cracked. His lips parted in a sneer, his teeth clenched. He knew what he had to do. James Bond would go out and find Blofeld. If it meant going to every single country, every single mile of this planet he would find Blofeld. He would get Blofeld.
For Tracy’s sake he would have his revenge.
Late spring in London showed the great metropolis bathed in sunshine, which did little to warm the Londoners themselves.
Not that any of this mattered to Bill Tanner as he pushed open the door to M’s office just after the light above the outer room went green. A great haze of smoke hung in the air above M’s desk like the smog that used to plague London a decade ago. The head of the Secret Intelligence Service did not look up from his papers as he spoke.
“Chief of Staff.”
“Sir,” Tanner stood very still. M’s temper had been known to make several appearances in the past month and even Tanner was careful not to provoke it.
“Sit down, Tanner,” M said gruffly. He now raised his eyes to Tanner. They were red-rimmed, the face itself showing the signs of the stress he was putting himself through. He took his pipe from his mouth and tapped it out into an ashtray. The sound was just as hollow as his voice. “What do you have this morning?”
“Nothing new, sir,” Tanner placed the dossier he had been carrying onto the desk in front of him. M took it turned it and gazed upon the cover. It had been growing dense since it had started a month ago. The cover bore three simple stamps.
For Your Eyes Only- Classified!
And finally, CASEBOOK 007.
Tanner opted to take advantage of M’s silence and pressed on.
“Sir, James…007 has not been sighted anywhere since Singapore a week ago by Station S. The CIA thought they had sighted him two days ago in Hong Kong but that turned out to be a false lead. I think…”
“Her Majesty does not pay you to think nor does she want CIA’s second guesses!” M snapped and slammed the dossier down kicking up bits of ash. “I want Bond found. All this business about his wife…it’s,” he shook his head. His voice strengthened as if finding a second wind. “The man has vanished without so much as a trace. Gallivanting around the globe trying to find Blofeld is not the answer. Not now. The Prime Minister would go through the roof if he knew that the best agent we had was off on a private vendetta. This department does not back vendettas, Tanner.”
Tanner nodded and said in a quieter voice. “Your orders, sir?”
“My orders, Chief of Staff are to bring 007 back to London immediately. By any means and that does mean alive, Tanner. I don’t want one of the other 00’s to get the crazy idea of shooting Bond.”
Tanner stood took the dossier and left.
The walk to his office was dominated by thoughts of Agent 007. Bond was a good friend of Tanner’s and vice versa. Tanner could not believe that Bond would throw everything away like this. It did not seem like James. Tanner had heard about the wedding and the immediate aftermath. Everyone was sorry for Bond and expected him home within a few days. Instead Bond did not return and stories continued unabated of Bond’s hunt for Blofeld. Damn it, James. Why did you have to go AWOL?
Reaching his office Tanner went straight to his desk placing 007’s casebook by the phone. Lifting the receiver he dialled a familiar internal line. As he turned his chair away from his desk his blue eyes settled on the portrait of the Queen.
“Chief of Staff here, could you have 003 come to my office immediately.”
The woman’s name was Marie and she lay draped across a yellow towel beside the calm swimming pool listening to the distant radio in the house. The area was secluded, high in the hills above Tokyo. Marie’s body was clad in a simple two-piece bathing suit that seemed somehow at odds with the lightly tanned body it covered. She gazed at her nails and blew upon them. Then a shadow fell across her and she looked up to see a handsome man standing there. Black hair combed neatly to one side and with startlingly empty eyes. As if the very life had been sucked out of him. He wore a dark casual suit without a tie.
“Don’t mind me. I’m just sightseeing.”
“How did you get up here?”
“Your gatekeeper was most co-operative and allowed me in here,” the man referred to the day guard who was always out of sight from Marie. The man smiled a little. “Now I was wondering if you might help me.”
Marie felt some fear and it crept into her French accent. “In what way?”
The man knelt by her hands on the top of his legs. “I’m looking for a man called Blofeld. Ernst Stavro Blofeld.”
Marie sat up, her legs curled beneath her giving her the appearance of a mythical mermaid. “I…I don’t know anyone…”
The man’s hands lashed out and took off her bathing top rapidly bringing it around her neck. She gasped for air; surprised at the speed of his actions.
His voice remained level. “Now, I know you know Blofeld for you’re on his payroll. Every month, on time, you get a nice cheque for your services to his organisation and to him personally. Every month your house here is quietly maintained and your vacations pre-paid. You’re off to Fiji next week, no?”
Marie’s eyes widened a fraction and not from the lack of air now apparent to her. She was oblivious to her naked breasts being on display and for that matter, so seemed her assailant. She nodded and gasped for air her hands now only just trying to get the bra off her neck.
“Right, so I’ll ask you again. Where is he!?”
“C-C-Cairo,” she gasped as the oxygen began to cut off.
“It would be unwise of you to lie to me,” the man grunted letting the grip slacken he let her rub her neck. “Well?”
“I’m telling the truth.”
He let her go completely dropping the bra as if it was contaminated and straightened. He began to walk off as she cried after him:
“Who are you?”
He barely paused as he glanced over his shoulder.
“Just a friend.”
The Cairo casino had an underlying stench of sweat as if the ceilings fans had given up trying to force it out and so pushed it down. It was one of several in Cairo and showed its age through frayed carpets and dusty walls. Perhaps it was the desert outside trying to reclaim its land.
The squat man at the card table near the poke tables wore a fading red fez. His white suit showed stains on the chest from the food he had had earlier and his shoes were scuffed. He had a reputation in Cairo for being nothing short of a luckless loser. A man who had money on Britain to win the Suez War. His name was Haka and he was loosing money. He watched the cards shuffled once more with a miserable look. Haka was unaware of the man standing a few feet behind him. He dragged a handkerchief across his forehead. It came away dark and grubby.
The dealer placed a card down. A six of hearts.
“Hit me,” Haka said with a wave of the hand.
Next thing he knew he was being spun around –it was not easy considering his girth- and smashed across the face with a fist. Haka toppled to the ground his stool falling next to him and his fez flying away. He put a hand to his face and looked up. The man standing over him wore a white suit that bore no mark. It was the man’s blue eyes that frightened Haka. They were bright with hidden fire.
“Get up you fat slob,” the man commanded.
He was English, thought Haka. He wondered if he owed any money to someone from the war. That was a long time ago but some had long memories.
His thoughts ended abruptly as the man bent and pulled Haka up. “Next time I ask you something I shan’t ask you nicely.”
“W-what do you want?”
“Blofeld,” the man said simply. His voice had an edge to it. “Ernst Stavro Blofeld.”
Haka felt his blood run cold. “I…I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“You’re a liar,” the man pulled Haka with him and led him outside. They went up to a car waiting down the side of the casino. A flash car, for Cairo thought Haka. He was pushed against the wall and the man stood back.
“Ernst Stavro Blofeld, I want to know where he is.”
“Who are you?”
“I may as well tell you,” the man produced a cigarette from the pocket of his suit. “The name’s Bond, James Bond.”
Haka felt fear stab at his heart. James Bond. Who in Haka’s underworld had not heard of the British secret agent? Who had not heard of Bond’s mission of revenge?
Bond noticing Haka’s reaction stepped forward the cigarette in the corner of his mouth still unlit. Flickering lights from a bar across the dusty road from the casino played on Haka’s face.
“Now, Haka. Let me tell you what I know. I know that Ernst Stavro Blofeld killed my wife and with him was his accomplice Irma Bunt. Blofeld has gone underground and someone knows where that monster is. My contacts suggested you, Haka.”
“Me…me?” Haka gulped. “I don’t know anyone. I have no friends.”
“A little fellow in Tokyo suggested you. Well, that’s not true, he suggested this woman in the hills above the city who suggested you,” Bond reached into Haka’s breast pocket taking out a small matchbox bearing the inscription ‘King Tut’s Casino’ then put it back wiping his hand on Haka’s fez afterwards. “The little fellow only gave me her name after I tossed him through a window and she only gave your name after I…shall we say, persuaded her.”
“If your next words are ‘know anyone in Tokyo’ I will take this cigarette and make sure you don’t ever see another card again. Now, where is Blofeld?” Bond stepped back as if to give some room to the Egyptian. Even if Haka tried running he knew that Bond would kill him in seconds.
Haka smoothed his stained suit down. “I heard that he was in America.”
“Whereabouts? It’s a big country you know.”
“The United States, Nevada.”
Bond frowned. “Nevada?”
“Rumours, they’re honestly rumours.” Haka held his hands up pleading. His heart was beating quickly. Sweat rolled down his face in thick heavy drops. “Please.”
“Alright, don’t burst a vessel,” Bond fumbled in his trouser pocket and then was stuffing some Egyptian pounds into Haka’s breast pocket patting it. “Don’t spend it all at once.”
Bond then got into the car and drove off into the night.
Haka sunk to the ground grateful to be alive.
Bond parked the Aston Martin DBS outside the Cairo Hilton, his home for his stay in Egypt. Bond told the receptionist that he would be checking out in the morning and arranged a wake up call for 7am. He glanced through the doors at the DBS. Turning on his heel Bond walked up to the doorman and using some currency arranged for it to be parked in the hotel’s underground car park. The DBS was the same make as the one Bond had used during Operation Bedlam but was bought with Bond’s own wealth.
He went to the lifts and waited alone.
A moment later he emerged on the fifth floor and was at the door of his room fumbling for his key. Quietly he slipped into the darkened room. He closed the door on the lit corridor allowing his eyes to grow accustom to the darkness. He stared at the curtains on the balcony of his room. They were rippling from the night breeze.
He had closed the window before leaving this morning.
An arm clamped around Bond’s neck making him start. A familiar voice spoke in his ear.
“003,” Bond grunted. “I take it this isn’t a social visit?”
“No,” the hold was released and the lights turned up. Bond blinked turning to face his fellow Double-Oh. 003 was a tall stocky man who had his wartime service with SOE. Setting Europe ablaze.
003 ran a hand through his dull red hair and smiled without warmth at Bond.
“I’m under orders to bring you home. M wants you to stop your little vendetta.”
“Tell him I’m on my holiday.”
003’s smile faded. “M isn’t amused, James. Come on, pack your bag and we can go home. Back to London, there’s a good man.”
“No. Blofeld’s still out there and I am going after him!”
“You’re making a fool of yourself!” snapped 003. “Everyone at home thinks you’ve gone out of your mind. Your wife has died, it’s sad but you have to get past it!”
Bond dipped his head as if thinking and glanced at his bed before returning his gaze to 003. “I wish you would not speak of her like that.”
“I’m sorry, James but….”
It happened quickly as it so often did. Bond launched himself onto his bed landing with both feet and using the bed to dive at 003. The two men clattered into the door and straight through it as the wood gave way to the combined momentum of Bond and 003. The Double Oh agents appeared to drag each other to their feet before grappling in the corridor. Doors opened at the far end, inquisitive heads poking out and looking up. Shouts in French.
They bounced off one wall to the other and again until hitting the lift doors. Each impact made a loud echoing sound like sound effects from a Spaghetti Western. Bond bought his knee up into 003’s stomach. 003 gasped for breath and fell to the ground. As Bond turned 003 clamped his arms around Bond’s legs toppling Bond like a tree. Bond hit the ground hard his breath leaving him in a sudden burst. He rolled over but 003 reacted quick enough to restrain Bond by sitting on him.
“I’m sorry, 007. It’s time you went home…it’s the way it has to be.”
Bond struggled then went limp. “Alright…I’ll get my things.”
003 released Bond tentatively. Bond went into his room quickly packing his few things into a tan suitcase. He left some pounds on the bed for the damage done.
An hour later, with 003 at the wheel, the DBS rolled up at Cairo’s airport where it would eventually be put on a 707 bound for London.
At the other end would be M and retribution.