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Bond Farewell

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Bond Farewell Ever since I can remember I have dreamed about today. It should have been so special, the most important day of my life, the once in a lifetime opportunity to learn from the only person who had so much to offer me. We were supposed to be flying out on our first mission together. Now it seems that it's all too late. My dreams lie in tatters on the floor with the dust that lines the corridor. I joined MI5 two months ago and am on my first "assignment" after a gruelling training course. I hadn't imagined this scenario. There won't be any action, gizmos, or scantily clad beautiful ladies! I suppose I should be grateful that I have succeeded this far in my training but I believed that the first mission might be more spine tingling and action packed than this. I am going to visit James Bond in hospital; he has only been given a few more days to live. Some Russian spy has poisoned him and I will never rest until he is six feet under. M has suggested I try to learn as much as I can in the next twenty four hours, or as long as this unfortunate, brilliant man has left to live. What a situation to put me in. I never imagined my first meeting with my idol would be under such horrendous circumstances. ...read more.


"Why isn't he here?" I ask, "There must be a lot you want to say." The Commander explains that MI5 cannot afford to let the rest of the world know that James Bond is dead. He would prefer that his son retain a memory of his father which depicts how he was. So I agree to his request, this is the least I can do for someone who has served his country so faithfully for the last thirty years. The terrible shame is that the boy has no idea that his father is only twenty miles away eking out the last moments of his life. "Do you think you could manage to pour another dry martini into the drip?" he quips. I reply, "Would that be shaken not stirred?" This lightens the atmosphere and we seem to start to feel more comfortable in each other's company. He says that the food smells absolutely diabolical and he's glad he can't eat it, and would like to know why Fortnum and Mason can't send in a little liquidised something for him. His upper class background has left him with a liking for the finer things in life, and he doesn't suffer fools gladly. His food and drinks have to be prepared specifically the way he likes them. Coffee has to be black without sugar and it has to be from De Bry in New Oxford Street and brewed in an American Chemex. ...read more.


He suggests I pass on a kiss from him and thinks it would be fun to carry on the tradition of throwing my hat on the stand from the door. His breath begins to rasp even more, and he can't speak as many words with each one. The fingers that were once so sure are now fiddling agitatedly with the bedspread. James looks me straight in the eye and says to always suspect everyone when at work. Try not to become too attached to anyone, and then you don't have to lie to them or become responsible for them. He says talk can be the strongest survival technique. He managed to talk himself out of being lasered in half by Goldfinger. Then the talk stopped. Bond was looking at me although he was no longer seeing me. Suddenly I am aware of that terrible noise, the high pitched whine from the machine by his bedside. His eyes stare at the ceiling. His body is limp. "Oh God he has gone," I say out loud. I don't quite believe it and feel sure that someone can save him. Slowly I turn and leave the room. I am not as afraid as I thought I would be at seeing my first dead body. The doctors and nurses are running down the corridor pushing the crash trolley "It's Mr Granger" shouts the ward sister. It seems such a shame that he has to be anonymous in death. Stunned I leave the hospital and summon a passing taxi. "Eton College" I say firmly as the driver opens the window. Dominic Lawrence ...read more.

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