Bond Movies 06 - The World Is Not Enough by Raymond Benson Page A

from him, stinging from the rejection. Bond could see that
    Elektra King was a girl who was quite used to getting what she wanted, and didn't like it if she didn't.
    Bond looked at his watch. If he was going to go, he needed to get moving.
    ‘I'll be back as soon as I can.’ He strode toward the door and opened it.
    ‘Who’s afraid now, Mister Bond?’ she asked, under her breath but loud enough for him to hear. He stopped.
    Was she right? Was he afraid of what he might feel if he gave in to his desire for her?
    Without looking back at her, Bond coldly headed out of the door.
    The Casino L’Or Noir represented the elegant and mysterious world that Baku had become. Since the collapse of the Soviet Union, the city had metamorphosed from a simple industrial port to a modern-day equivalent of the long gone international centres of intrigue and exotic ambience, places like Tangier or Casablanca, Macau or Hong Kong. SIS estimated that more than half of Azerbaijan's illegal activities originated in Baku’s nightspots, and the new casino was the most popular and well attended. The city’s shadowy figures gathered there at night, deals were made in back rooms while money was won and lost in public. The wealthy liked to be seen there, as it was the place for the powerful and beautiful in this part of the world.
    James Bond wore a sharp Brioni tuxedo and Q’s X-ray sunglasses, with which he could clearly make out every concealed weapon in the room. All sizes of pistols were underneath jackets, even the odd grenade. An added bonus to the glasses’ features was the feet that Bond could see through clothes as well.
    He walked around the perimeter of the main room until he found the curtained off alcove he was looking for. Two beautiful women crossed in front of him before he could enter. One turned back to look at him and smile, unaware that she was totally on display. Her friend turned to look at Bond, too. He smiled back, nodding hello. The second woman had a pistol concealed in her bra.
    Bond slipped through the curtains and found a small, private bar where a bartender was chopping ice with a pick in the sink under the counter. A large thug in a suit and tie sat on a stool across from him. Through the X-ray glasses, Bond could see that the man was a walking arsenal — guns, knives, and a cudgel were all underneath his jacket. He was Bond’s kind of guy.
    He walked up to the man and stood next to the bar. Nonchalantly, he said, ‘I want to see Valentin Zukovsky.’
    The thug took a sip from his drink but didn’t look up. Then, turning menacingly to Bond’ he said, ‘This is a private bar. There is no Zukovsky here. So hit the road.’
    ‘Tell him James Bond is here.’
    The thug blinked, leaned forward, started to stand and reach into his jacket for a gun. ‘I said, this is a private bar. Do I have to escort you -’
    In one swift move, Bond grabbed the ice pick from the bartender, slammed it into the bar through the dp of the thug’s tie and kicked the stool out from under him. The brute fell and hung from the bar, gasping, strangled by his own tie. Bond reached inside the jacket, took the gun and placed it on the bar.
    ‘He tied one on,’ Bond said to the bartender.
    A hand twice as large as the thug’s appeared and squeezed Bond’s right shoulder. Bond turned and was confronted by a seven-foot-tall, light-skinned muscular man.
    ‘Mister Zukovsky will be delighted to see you,’ he said. The man’s mouth was full of gold teeth. Bond recognised him immediately. Maurice Womasa, aka The Bull, aka Mister Bullion - hence, the teeth. A killer from Somalia, The Bull was wanted for genocide, among other unsavoury acts.
    Bond smiled, removed his passes and motioned to the door. ‘After you . . . ’
    ‘I insist,’ the big guy said, shaking his head.
    ‘Of course you do.’ They left together through a door at the side of the bar. The other thug stood up and pulled the ice pick out of the bar, freeing himself. He