Agent 69- Stroken, Not Stirred
Page 28
THE END
You step to the side just as he delivers the final blow and reach out to grasp his wrist and send him plummeting to his doom. Unfortunately, Kruger has anticipated your final throw of the dice and pulls back his arm before your fingers can tighten around it. With a thin smile of victory, he follows up with a second blow with his left hand. Your eyes widen as the force of the punch knocks you backwards over the edge of the helipad.
“Goodbye Mr Hazard!” Kruger sneers as you plummet down, yours arms and legs flapping wildly as you scream in terror. Your screams are abruptly silenced a second later as your body smashes into the rocks below where mercifully you die instantaneously.
THE END
Go back a few moments and rethink your actions
You grasp Kruger’s ankle and pull it sharply to one side just as he prepares to deliver the coup de grâce. He yelps in surprise as the tug sends him off balance, his heavy frame teetering for a moment before crashing to the ground next to you. Grasping the opportunity, you are on him, raining blow after blow into his face.
“The bigger they are, the harder they fall.” You snarl angrily, blood running from his nose and mouth as you savagely beat him. Finally with Kruger dazed and on the brink of losing consciousness, you get back to your feet and turn your attention to the helicopter. The pilot’s eyes widen and the beating of the rotors increases as the bulky machine rises up and swiftly departs.
“James!” You hear a panicked voice call out behind you. You turn just in time to see a bloodied Kruger lunging at you, a knife in his hand. There is no time to react and you grimace, your body stiffening as you await the thrusting blade piercing your chest. A gunshot rings out and Kruger’s eyes open wide, a surprised expression on his face before the knife drops from his fingers, clattering to the floor. He drops to his knees and falls face down at your feet, a gunshot wound in the middle of his back. Behind him, Bérénice, still lying on the helipad deck in a pool of her own blood, drops her pistol and smiles weakly.
“Bérénice!” You drop to your knees at her side, rolling her onto her back and cradling her head. A pair of gunshot wounds to her body have stained her blue dress crimson and you know it is hopeless. She knows it too.
“I guess bad girls don’t deserve a happy ending.” She tells you, a trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth. You open your mouth to reply, but the words are not there. She smiles one last time, before the light in her mischievous hazel eyes goes out forever. Her eyes roll back in her head and she takes one final shuddering breath before her body slumps in your arms. You draw her close and kiss her tenderly on the forehead. While she was no angel, she did redeem herself by helping you to stop the missile launch and saving your life. With a heavy heart, you gently close her eyes and lower her back to the floor, a pang of guilt gnawing at your soul that you failed to protect her from Kruger’s wrath.
Minutes later, an American Black Hawk helicopter sweeps into view, circling the helipad for a moment before setting down before you. Marines pour from the door and having secured the helipad, slap your back and shake you warmly by the hand. You smile and nod your acknowledgement at their congratulations, but the victory has come at a cost. You glance at Bérénice’s corpse and wonder if you could have done things differently. Whether you could have saved her and Anya too for that matter…
THE END
A few hours later, you arrive at Vienna airport. As you step out of the gleaming, glass fronted terminal you glance up at an overcast late afternoon sky. Dark clouds are gathering in the east and you smile grimly, hoping it is not an omen. You climb into a taxi and speed off towards the city.
Arriving at Vienna train station, you cross the bustling ticket hall and step onto the platform. The Orient Express is waiting for you, the luxurious dark blue carriages stretching off along the platform. All around you others are getting ready to embark, flustered parents marshalling their children while weighed down with cases, lovers parting with a teary farewell and porters loading provisions for the restaurant car. You feel eyes on you and turn to face a figure lurking in your peripheral vision, but at that moment the porter, his cart unloaded, hurries past you. When he has passed, the figure has vanished. You shrug your shoulders wondering if it is just your paranoia and board the train. You make your way along the narrow but lavish mahogany panelled passageway until you find your compartment. Your hand closes on the brass handle and you carefully ease the door open. The first thing you see are a pair of long, shapely legs stretching out from the luxurious leather seats of the first class cabin.
“Mrs Somerset I presume?” You grin as you step through the door, your eyes tracking up from her legs to take in the rest of her tall, statuesque figure, from her narrow waist to her full breasts and her long, lustrous blonde locks cascading down past her shoulders. She is wearing a luxurious blue satin dress, the neckline low enough to afford a generous view of her impressive cleavage. Anya looks up, her blue eyes regarding you coolly for a moment.
“You are as reckless as your file suggests.” She tells you, her Russian accent betraying her true heritage. “Now come in and close the door before the whole train knows of this charade.”
“Now now darling.” You sooth as you shut the door behind you. “That’s no way to speak of our marriage. Besides, your accent is hardly convincing.”
“Quite right, a western man with a Russian bride is completely far-fetched.” Anya retorts dryly.
“Touché.” You grin, enjoying her feistiness and sitting down in the leather seat next to hers. The train jerks as it begins to slowly pull out of the station, the almost musical metallic chatter of the wheels rubbing against the rails as it picks up speed. You gaze thoughtfully through the window as the train leaves the old city behind, the green dome of the baroque church of Karlskirche and the spire of St Stephen’s Cathedral dominating the skyline.
Soon the buildings give way to fields and hedgerows and the train thunders out of Austria and into Hungary towards Budapest. You sit in silence and you wonder if Ms Suchova hails from Siberia, she is so cold. As the sun sets and the light quickly fades, you glance across at the beautiful Russian agent and wonder how you might thaw her frosty demeanour.
Suggest a visit to the Restaurant car
Strike up a conversation
Skip to a section
Just because you’ve reached an ending doesn’t mean you have to start from the beginning. If you would rather skip to the start of a particular part of the story, please select the appropriate heading below. To start from the very beginning, select “Pre-credits sequence”.
Pre-credits sequence
President’s Daughter
MI6 Building
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Miss Meriweather
Orient Express
Istanbul (With Anya)
Warehouse
Istanbul (Without Anya)
Warehouse
Johannesburg
The Vault
Bérénice Marceau
Villain’s Lair
Dome
Silo
Escape
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