Chapter 9
Fire in the Hole
Switzerland
0314 Local Time
The white Learjet 45 touched down on the long runway, the tires squealing and smoking from the friction of the tarmac against their surface. The runway ran across the length of the plateau at the base of the mountaintop summit. At one end was a large hangar that already had several aircraft harbored inside against the snow. The other end of the runway ended at the edge of the plateau, upon which there was thousand foot drop to the rocks below.
The runway and hangar were parts of a larger facility. In addition to them, there was a large metal building a half mile in length and a quarter-mile in width. Next to the building were two smaller and square concrete facilities that acted as barracks for the workers and guards. The final building in the group was a two-story office building, painted slate grey with dark tinted glass windows. Encircling the facility on three sides was a length of chain-link fence with barbed wires on the top. The only side left open was the cliff-face where the runway ended.
The Learjet slowed to a stop outside the hangar as two figures stood in the light snowfall, watching the jet's engines wind down. The door to the jet opened with a soft pop, stairs sliding from the entrance and resting on the ground. From the mouth of the door, a tall and heavyset man emerged. His grey hair was fixed in a slicked back pompadour, his tanned olive skin clashed against the whiteness of the environment, as did his outfit of a black suit, black shirt, and black tie all encased in an open black trenchcoat. He was a man who people considered beautiful when he was younger, and age had turned his beauty into a rugged handsomeness and a distinguished air that was ten times more effective than simple beauty.
"Number 2," the Baroness said from the foot of the steps said with a short bow. "Welcome."
"Thank you," he said, his deep voice and Italian accent matching his looks. "And may I congratulate you on a most impressive set up, Number 3."
He reached out to the Baroness, taking her thin, black gloved hand and kissing the top of it. He gave the woman a confident smirk and stared at her with twinkling hazel eyes. He looked away from the Baroness and scanned her companion. The Russian looked at Number 2 neutrally, his massive hands tucked inside his gigantic winter coat. The Russian would not acknowledge the man unless he spoke directly to him, for that was what the Baroness had ordered.
"So, my dear," said Number 2. "Do you plan to invite me inside, or shall my poor Italian blood freeze away on this godforsaken mountain."
"Follow me, sir," said the Baroness with an extended hand.
She led the two men across the facility to the office. The building's first floor was one long room. Plasma monitors were mounted over all four walls, displaying the current standings of the stock exchanges of various western European countries, Asian markets, and the New York Stock Exchange. Above the walls, a mezzanine wrapped around the wall and looked down on the rest of the room. A long, rectangular conference table rested in opening's center, laptops and papers covered nearly every inch of the table. A small collection of men and women gathered around the table and were busy working, some typing away furiously on the laptops while others scribbled notes with pen and paper.
"So far so good," said Number 2, pleased that she had followed orders exactly. "How long until we're go?"
"Under five hours," said the Baroness. "Our people are in place in Frankfurt, Tokyo, New York, London, and Shanghai. Japan and China are already trading, and they'll still be trading by the time we're ready."
"Excellent," he replied. "And you prepared my personal suite?"
"Of course," she said with a soft smile. "It's set up to service your ever need."
"Show me," he said.
The Baroness waved off the Russian and led Number 2 to a metal staircase the led to the second floor landing. The corridor she led him down was a shade of cream-white, and had a dozen black doors on either side that were all closed off. Staff quarters, she informed him, for the workers down below. At the end of the hallway were double doors that had a sign on it that announced what was inside was off-limits to everyone and everybody at the compound. The Baroness pulled a key card from her pocket and slid it through the card reader beside the door. The door made a loud metallic click and she pushed it open to lead Number 2 inside.
They were greeted by a room that was on par with the most opulent hotel suites money could by. Thick, plush red carpet covered every inch of the floor. The walls, a rich amber color, had soft light fixtures that bathed the room in a golden light. A sixty inch LCD monitor was mounted on one wall, across from it was a king-sized bed with black sheets, a black comforter, and black pillowcases. The bed rested on a Brazilian rosewood frame. Resting beside the bed was an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne in it, a 1995 Blanc des Millénaires. A large window on the far wall looked out at the snowy peaks of the alps. The room had not been cheap, but Number 2 had always put comfort ahead of price. And, besides, money was soon going to be a problem he would never worry about again.
"Is it all you asked for?" asked the Baroness hopefully.
"And more so," he said. "Would you be a dear and give me five minutes alone?"
"Of course," she said, turning and leaving out the double doors.
With the Baroness gone, Number 2 walked to the LCD screen and placed his mobile up to it. The device synched with his phone and he began to navigate through the menu over the monitor's touch screen. He placed a video call and stepped back towards the bed to wait for the call's recipient to answer.
"Number 2," said the heavily distorted voice of Number 1, head of SPECTRE. His profile and features were basked in shadow. Even in the perfect display of the monitor, Number 2 could not make out anything about his boss. "How is Switzerland?"
"Cold," Number 2 said woefully. "Beautiful, but cold as hell."
"Well, it's only temporarily. What's the status of Midas?"
"All appears as if it is under control. I've only had a cursory glance, but I expect to carry out a more... thorough examination shortly."
"See that you do," said the hidden man in a curt tone. In the three years he had known his boss, the one thing Number 2 knew for certain was that Number 1 wanted facts and data, not hunches and guesses. "I received an email from Midas' employer earlier today. Their board of directors gave final approval for the operation to be carried out. You have a tentative green light. If the operations are up to your standards, begin the final phase of the plan at 0800."
"Yes, sir," said Number 2.
Like that, the man was gone from the screen. Number 2 turned the monitor off and pocketed his mobile. He ignored the growing pit of nervousness in his stomach. The thing had hadn't mentioned to Number 1 was the one loose end out there: James Bond and his SHIELD helper. Kraven hadn't reported back yet that he had carried out the British special agent's murder, and the Baroness had given her word that the man and woman had been murdered back in Belarus. But like Kraven, her man in Minsk had yet to report back.
Number 2 shook his head and loosened his black necktie. He shouldn't worry about the man; at this juncture there was nothing he nor anyone else could do to stop Midas. The money they needed for Midas was all cleaned and waiting in the Swiss bank accounts, SPECTRE's moles would not be found out until it was far too late, and all it would take to start Midas was a single keystroke. Yes, even if Bond was alive, he was powerless to stop them.
"You may come back in," he said to the door. On cue, the Baroness came back in. She stood at the threshold, her hands on her hips waiting for orders. "Be a dear and fix some champagne," he said to her. "One for yourself as well. It's a celebration."
She nodded and smiled, walking towards the ice bucket. Number 2 slid his tie off and walked towards the bathroom. Inside, he removed his coat, sports jacket, and tie. He placed them on an empty towel rack to keep the clothes from gathering lint. With the top button his black dress shirt open, he walked back into the room. Waiting for him was the Baroness. She sat under the black covers of the bed, two filled champagne glasses in her hands. Her clothes rest in a pile at the foot of the bed.
"You said it was a celebration, no?" she asked with a grin.
"You are right," he said, sitting down on the bed beside her. She handed him a glass and they clinked them together. Number 2 swallowed the glasses contents in three quick gulps. When he had finished, he placed the glass down by the bed and took the Baroness' half-empty glass from her hands and placed it beside his own glass. His rugged left hand reached out for her, tilting her chin backwards in front of him. "Let the celebrating begin," he said softly.
---
Outside the compound, two hundred feet below the cliff where the runway ended, two figures slowly climbed upwards. They both wore thick winter clothing, included gloves, hats, and goggles. Large packs were strapped to their backs. The clothing and packs were white to blend in with the snowy terrain. They both had twin pitons in their hands, using them and their spiked boots to scale the mountain foot by foot. The pitons were attached to their waists via rope, the ropes joining the two climbers together. The climber in the lead was smaller than the one that followed, a shock of red hair poked out from the lead climber's cap.
They were two hours into their ascent. The howling wind was their only constant companion throughout. One notable event had occurred an hour previously, when a jet had flown overhead to land on the plateau above them. They had both froze in place, clinging furiously to the cliff face to hide themselves with their surroundings. After satisfied they had not been spotted, they continued their trek upwards.
An hour later, the first climber came up over the cliff. They climbed up on to the plateau and helped the second climber up. On solid ground for the first time in three hours, the two climbers walked stiffly from the edge of the cliff towards a snow bank. There, they crouched and began to remove their climbing gear. Ripping the hat and goggles off, James Bond rubbed his bruised face. Behind him, Natalia Romanova slid her goggles on to her head.
Bond slid the pack from his back and pulled out the bag's contents. The black M4 assault rifle glinted off the moonlight as Bond turned off the safety. Natalia unzipped her winter suit and stepped out from it, revealing a skin-tight black bodysuit with a pair of thigh holsters containing her pistols.
"Quick way to catch a cold," said Bond nonchalantly as he observed her outfit. "Running around in that all night."
"Sneaking around in those heavy clothes is an even quicker way to catch a bullet."
"I suppose," said Bond, activating the M4's night vision scope. The gun came equipped with a grenade launcher and three additional projectile grenades.
With their climbing gear abandoned, they quietly and carefully began their journey across the snow and runway towards the main hub of the compound. Through his night vision scope, Bond could see out across the plateau. The scope gave the white snow an otherworldly green glow. In the filter, Bond saw guards patrolling the compound's chain-link front entrance, men spread through the area at key points, and sentries at the top of a two-story building near the site's center.
The sound of approaching footfalls stopped the two secret agents in their tracks. Bond spun to his right and saw a man, automatic weapon slung over his shoulder, walking parallel to the runway. The man breathed into his hands and rubbed them together as he walked.
"Contact," he whispered to Natalia. "Three o'clock, fifty yards away."
Bond went down to one knee, lining the man's chest up into the scope's crosshairs. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Natalia pass by him and disappear into the shadows. Going back to the target before him, the man was now thirty yards from Bond. Out of nowhere, a black figure pounced on the man's back. It was all legs and arms as the unknown wraith spun the man to the ground and drove his head into the snow. With the guard unconscious, Natalia looked up at smiled towards Bond's direction.
"Show off," he whispered softly to himself.
After sneaking through the snow for twenty minutes, they came to a large metal building with two board watchmen standing on both sides of a large bay door. Two tranquilizer bolts from Natalia's wrists dropped them to the ground in a matter of seconds. With the sentries sleeping, she and Bond opened the metal door beside the bay and ventured inside.
"Oh, my god," Natalia said suddenly.
The building in which they had entered was stacked with pallets as far as the eye could see. Loaded on each pallet were stacks of Euros. Bond looked further down the building, the pallets stretched all the way to the end of the building and went from left to right on both sides. An entire warehouse filled to the brim with perfectly counterfeit money.
"Take a good look," he said to Natalia. "This is what one trillion dollars looks like."
"So much money... for what purpose?"
"That's what we're here for," said Bond. Suddenly, an idea came to him. "I wonder if there is a nearby utility shed..."
They found what they were looking for a hundred yards due west of the warehouse. A locked shed that, thankfully, they had a key to thanks to one of the unconscious guards. With Bond standing guard, Natalia looked through the shed until she found was she was looking for.
"Here we are," she said, stepping out of the shed with two large, plastic gas cans. "There are eight more inside."
They worked quickly, spreading the gas throughout the warehouse, between rows and dabbling enough gas on the false money to start it going. When they were satisfied, Bond had used the last gas can to douse the first row of euros in gasoline, then pouring a large pool of gas at the entrance to the warehouse door. With the can empty, Bond retreated back into the snow and crouched behind an embankment fifty yards away from the warehouse. He slung the M4 from his shoulders and activated the grenade launcher attachment.
"Incoming," he said, shooting the grenade towards the pool of gas gathered at the warehouse door.
--
The vibration of the explosion is what woke Number 2 from his slumber. He looked to his right out the window. The night sky was now glowing orange from some unseen light source. Curious, Number 2 pushed away the sleeping and naked Baroness away from him and climbed from the bed. Naked, he crossed the carpeted floor and looked out the window at what lay below.
The warehouse was ablaze, fire dancing from every corner of the building. Black smoke poured from the skylights. Men hurried around the building, trying to figure out what to do. To Number 2, they looked like chickens with their head's cut off. While the fire burned the warehouse and the fortune within, there was a fire growing inside Number 2. It was a fire of hatred and the desire to see the arsonist killed in as many painful ways as possible. Even though he would not admit it, the fire was also one of fear and uncertainty. The source of his hatred and fear all belonged to the same individual.
"Bond," he said through clenched teeth.