THE GIRL WITH THE PHOENIX TATTOO
A James Bond Novel
Computer keys clicked madly as her fingers flew across the board. Her eyes read the information on her laptop, absorbing it in her mind.
Her name was Amelie LaRousse. She was 24, had short, dyed black hair, multiple piercings: seven in her ears, a ring in her nose, one in her eyebrow, and her navel. She had several tattoos: a giant phoenix on her back, wings spread, engulfed in flames with tail feathers that looked like a peacock, one of the tail feathers reached her upper left thigh, a bleeding heart with barbed wire on her outer left ankle, a sleeve tattoo on her left arm of and viper on her neck with its mouth wide open, showing fangs. Her clothes consisted of industrial zippers, black jeans, fishnet sleeves, trashy heavy metal bands t-shirts that were torn or cut up on the sleeves, spiked jewelery and Doc Martins. She was very intelligent, despite her appearance.
She was one of the best computer technicians. Any problem with a computer and she would be the one to fix it. With no formal education, Amelie learned about computers by reading books and studying them, remembering everything. She began an independent computer repair business at the age of sixteen, starting small with college students who would pay her a suitable amount of money to fix their broken computers or laptops. Her business was quite successful until a man named Bill Tanner found her business card when his laptop broke. He dialed her number. She told him he may need a new computer, but she could save his backup. Impressed with her skills, he offered a job as a computer technician in a British government job.
"All you have to do is take a Civil Service exam," he said. "I'll put in a good word for you."
She figured she'd try anyway even though she had no education. She passed the Civil Service exam with flying colors. As Bill Tanner promised, she got the job at the Ministry of Defense: MI6, high security and classified, which required her to wear an ID. They offered her a private cellphone in case they needed to contact her within the headquarters.
Bill Tanner was the Chief of Staff of MI6: a man with a dry sense of humor. She met the head of MI6, a lady known as M: a cold, blunt woman with small steel eyes, short grey hair, who often expressed a strong dislike for Amelie's appearance: all her piercings and tattoos, dark eye makeup, her clothes. Often, she expressed many times that she wear something appropriate for the office. Amelie only stared in defiance back, not caring what she said.
But what nobody knew in MI6 was that she was a hacker. Often she would hear stuff around the office about how nobody could locate this person and take an interest into the suspicious matter. She would sit at her laptop, smoking a cigarette and drink black coffee, hack into the suspicious person's computer and read their personal information. If this person was really up to something, she would print it out and leave a report on M's desk.
M became suspicious, yet impressed with the intimate details of these people: their bank accounts, their e-mails, text messages and cell phone call transactions. How did someone get a hold of this? Surely there was someone that worked within: someone who was intimately good at computers. She questioned all the computer techs until she came to Amelie. She wasn't surprised that it would come down to her since Amelie was a suspicious character. Despite her appearance, she was one of the best technicians.
Amelie sat in M's office in her heavy black makeup, grey lipstick, drinking a cup of coffee. She held up a file to Amelie.
"Where did you get all this information?" M asked.
She raised her eyebrows as if implying that she already knew the answer.
"Are you a computer hacker?"
Again, a raise of eyebrows.
"Amelie, you do realize that what you're doing is a security risk. If this person you hacked into found out our location, it would be very bad."
"Relax," she said. "I only used my computer. You're in no danger whatsoever. Plus I'm very careful. I heard word around the office that you couldn't find this guy so I wanted to help."
Despite her breaking of the rules and possibly posing a security risk, M was impressed with the intimate details she had found on this suspicious character.
"Amelie, I know you're only a computer technician, but would you consider working for me, using your professional skills? All you have to do is find what you can for me on whatever suspicious person I ask you to look into. And try to make it as less suspicious as possible."
"I can do that," she said. "On the condition that I wear what I want to the office and you don't make any more comments about it."
M rolled her eyes.
"Very well," she said. "Your first assignment: we're trying to locate a terrorist financier. It is possible they may be responsible on...do you know about 9/11?"
Amelie replied, "September 11 2001: four hijacked passenger airlines, organized by Al-Qaida, occurred in the US in four locations: the World Trade Center in New York: American Airlines Flight 11 into North Tower at 8:46 AM, United Airlines Flight 175 into South Tower at 9:03 AM. The Pentagon in Washington DC: American Airlines Flight 77 at 9:47 AM into the western side, and Shankville, Pennsylvania: United Airlines Flight 93, originally targeted for DC, but was forced to crash land by a group of brave passengers." She paused.
M was shocked. She memorized every detail of the 9/11 attacks verbatim along with the times and dates of the events.
"I can tell you the names of the terrorists, types of planes, or how many people were killed," Amelie added.
"No need," said M. "Anyway, this financier is difficult to locate. He has many connections. 007 is following a possible connection in Madagascar. His name is Mollako, he's a known international bomb-maker." She showed her a picture of him. A black man with half of his face burned.
She had heard M talking about Mollako with 007. Recently, she had heard he was going to Madagascar to follow him.
She knew who 007: none other than the infamous James Bond. She hadn't seen him in person, but had heard about him around the office. When she was bored, she would hack into his computer or laptop to get to know him a little bit. She had read his e-mails and found he had an interest in boating. Often she read his mission files, e-mails to M, etc through his private account. She only did it just to get pointed in the right direction if she needed to locate a person of interest.
"Mind you, it might not be easy," said Amelie. "These grunts often use cash to purchase their equipment like cellphones. But I'll look into it."
Sitting at her laptop, she typed at the keyboard: /Mollako/find/cellphone. If this guy did pay for a cellphone with cash, then the trail was cold. The screen read: Searching...waiting... Mollako/cellphone not found.
Perhaps she could look into who his known associates would be. She had access to MI6's files. While waiting to pull up files, she typed: /Mollako/find/computer/e-mail. The screen read: Searching...waiting...
She took a sip of coffee and a drag on her cigarette while she waited. Then,
It was currently closed, but piece of cake. She could hack into Mollako's e-mail account. This was child's play. She found several e-mails from a Gmail account called GreekGodAlDim. She read some of these e-mails. Most of them were short sentences, frequent use of the word 'job', 'goods' and times and dates. His last e-mail from GreekGodAlDim said ELLIPSIS with a time, date and map coordinates.
More keystrokes. /GreekGodAlDim/find e-mail. Waiting...connected.
Once she was connected, she found that GreekGodAlDim was actually a man named Alex Dimitrios. What could she find out about him. Turning to her MI6 account, she typed in his name, which gave a brief description. Greek, married to Solange Dimitrios, owned a 1964 Aston Martin. Rich guy, hot wife, expensive car.
A few more keystrokes /Find/Alex Dimitrios/computer and she was in. His e-mails and text messages were among many of them: most of them were in short sentences with times, dates and again excessive use of 'job', 'stuff', etc., which were definitely suspicious: illegal dealings, maybe. She knew a thing or two about illegal dealings: only pay cash, less of a paper trail. What was this man up to?
She hacked into Dimitrios's phone and found a text message in progress with one word: ELLIPSIS. The message was to a mysterious number with a time and map coordinates. She stared intently at the word. She knew the meaning of it: three punctuated dots that indicated an intended omission, a pause in speech, an unfinished thought, a trailing off sentence.
She typed in the phone number to see who owned it, but nothing came up. It was probably a disposable phone, probably paid with cash. It would not be easy to locate since many disposable phones did not contain GPS like all the modern ones. She would have to send 007 the text message of what she found from Dimitrios's phone, along with the disposable phone number.
Using her alias, VIPER, she sent Bond a text message, attaching the text message, trying to make it sound mysterious as possible. She typed up a short message along with some attached information and clicked SEND.
By morning, she was at the office bright and early with a file for M.
"What did you find?"
"Well, forget about finding Mollako," she stated. "That trail is cold. Paid in cash for a cellphone. I can tell you that he had an e-mail account...in different locations. Maybe a local library or community center, who knows? He was contacted by an Alex Dimitrios."
"Are you able to locate where Dimitrios now?"
"Knowing he has money, he has equipment. But before we get into that, there's something you need to know from Mollako's e-mail. There's a time, date and map coordinates in the last e-mail. Along with the word ELLIPSIS. According to these map coordinates, it appears to be in Madagascar...more specifically, the Nambutu Embassy."
It had stopped raining when they approached the military camp. There were various men dressed in military uniforms, surrounded by various weapons, crates, and children younger than 12 holding guns. The ground was muddy and though it had stopped raining, the humidity still hung in the air.
The man stepped out of the jeep. He was dressed in a dark suit. His black hair was slicked, his mouth feminine and small. He was 45-years-old. Though his eyes were brown, the other clouded with a scar running vertical from the corner of eye and another by his eyebrow. This was Le Chiffre.
He was full of hatred for the one who gave him that scar: a red haired 10-year-old child prostitute named Rotem Samt (or Red Velvet) that a close friend named KinderHimmel introduced him to a night of pleasure in Germany. KinderHimmel (aka Karl Heisenberg) was a German pimp and pedophile who ran an orphanage, which he used as a front for child prostitutes. Le Chiffre was his favorite client and allowed him to visit whenever he pleased. Le Chiffre's particular age group was ages 10 to 13, preferably tied up.
Though Le Chiffre liked visiting the other prostitutes in KinderHimmel's brothel, his favorite was Rotem Samt. He requested that he not allow other clients to visit her, wanting her as untouched as possible. KinderHimmel obliged, knowing that Le Chiffre always did good business and when he wanted something, he made sure that it was done. He made sure no other client played with Le Chiffre's toys, not even himself.
Upon his first encounter with Rotem Samt, she was restrained to the bed, thrashing violently. All he did was touch her and jerked forward and bit him repeatedly like a snake. The little bitch left him enraged with pain. Though he was born with hemolacria: a condition that made him weep blood out of his left eye. His eye was bad shape as it is, but she just made it even worse.
He made sure that Rotem Samt was punished for her deed, which involved KinderHimmel screaming at her in German and beating her. After that, he continued to visit her and KinderHimmel made sure she didn't bite this time. He only would sit on the bed and stare at a restrained Rotem Samt, who stared back with terrified, tear-filled eyes and whimpers.
He always kept a picture of Rotem Samt in his mind whenever he fucked his girlfriends while they were tied up and insisted that they wear red haired wigs. It made it more easier to picture her. Though he hated her, the image of her bound and helpless aroused him.
He approached the tent of Steven Obanno, a feared warleader of Lord's Resistance Army in Ugunda. Obanno was dressed in military attire and his coffee black skin was drenched in sweat. Le Chiffre carried what looked like a giant silver suitcase.
Mr. White, Le Chiffre's associate, was waiting there with him. Mr. White was a cold, hard faced man with a Roman nose and cold grey eyes, dressed in a fine suit. He assured Obanno that Le Chiffre was one of the best bankers to finance him. When he placed it on the table, it divided into three other separate suitcases, which revealed to be a lot of money, about $101,206,000 to be exact. Obanno examined the suitcases to make sure it was all there. Reaching for his inhaler and taking an brief inhale, Le Chiffre turned and sat at the table and faced Obanno.
"I suppose our friend Mr. White will have told you," began Le Chiffre. "That I have provided reliable banking services for many of the freedom fighters over the years."
Obanno folded his hands, staring intently at Le Chiffre. "Do you believe in God, Mr. Le Chiffre?" he questioned.
"No. I believe in the reasonable rate of return."
"I want no risk in the portfolio."
"And I can access it anywhere in the world?" Obanno's eyes narrowed to slits.
Looking at Mr. White for a moment and then at his associate, Obanno nodded and they packed up the three suitcases, shaking hands. One of Le Chiffre's associates handed him a cell phone.
"I have the money," he said. "So short another million shares of Skyfleet stock."
"Sir, you must know you're betting against the market," replied the other voice on the phone. "No one expects this stock to go anywhere but up."
"Just do it!" Le Chiffre insisted. Then hung up.
There was a giant ring snake and mongoose fight going on, amid the buzz of shouts and money being waved and passed down to the bookies on bets over what animal would win. James Bond stayed hidden in the shadows while his contact, Carter, was in the ring below with an earpiece on. Carter spotted a black man with heavy burn scars on right side of his face and his hand. This was Mollako, a known international bomb maker.
"Looks like our man," Carter said. "Burn scars and everything."
"I wonder if bomb makers are insured for things like that," Bond replied, crossing his arms, remaining casual.
Bond's phone make a bing while he was observing the scarred man. He looked at it and it said "NEW MESSAGE". Opening his text message, the sender was VIPER, which he looked at quizzically. Who was this? The subject was three dots. He read the message that was sent:
Nothing is what it seems…
There was an attached message, which he opened and there was a text message transaction with two mysterious phone number with coordinates and a time. There was a single word: Ellipsis.
Who could have known about his mission?
"He's on the move...and he's heading straight towards me," said his contact. "What happened, Bond?"
"It's nothing. A mysterious text message from a VIPER about something. I'll look into it later once we stop Mollako. And stop touching your ear."
"Put your hand down!" he repeated, more firmly.
Mollako spotted Bond's contact and looked scared, realizing who he was...then burst into a run.
Fuck! Bond cursed in his mind and watched as Carter pulled out his gun and took off after Mollako.
"Holster the bloody weapon, Carter! I need him alive." Bond said.
Mollako was fast and agile, running through the crowd and jumped into the snake pit, the cobra hissed at his ankles and almost struck him. Carter, trying to keep up with Mollako, bumped into another person and tumbled into the snake pit, setting off his gun. It caused a mass panic within the ring and people were screaming and running all over the place.
He broke out into a run and chased Mollako. He was not going to lose him. Carter royally fucked up by not staying unobvious. He ran through construction sight, watching Mollako jump the fence and disappear from view. Bond looked for options of to catch up to him and jumped onto a bulldozer, throwing a driver out and apologizing as he did so. He set it into full gear and drove towards the fence, causing destruction in his path and he spotted Mollako behind some sewer pipes. He shot at Bond, leaving bullet holes in the protective glass of the bulldozer. The sewer pipes rolled and jumped everywhere when he ran into them. Mollako was fast and leapt onto the roof of an unfinished building. Bond attempted to deter him by knocking debris from the building, but he continued to run.
Leaping out of the bulldozer he climbed the wall and continued to chase Mollako up the building. Mollako climbed the beams like a spider monkey with little effort.
You can run, but so can I. Bond thought as continued to chase him.
As Bond climbed up the building beams, there was a fiery explosion down below. He didn't know how or where it came from. He had to get Mollako alive. Mollako shot at some people who tried to get his attention.
Once at the top, he leapt onto a pile of pipes that were held up by a crane, holding on for dear life and climbed with little effort up to the arm of the crane. Bond looked and made a running start and leapt and followed in pursuit. He wasn't going to reach Mollako by climbing after him so he kicked the release lever and the pipes dropped, allowing him to ascend faster to the arm of the crane.
At the top, Mollako bobbed and weaved through the beams of the crane. Once he saw Bond, he climed to the upper level and looked around to see a way of escape. It was too high up for him to jump off and he was stuck once he saw Bond. He grabbed his gun and tried to shoot only to hear the disappointing clicks of an empty magazine.
Desperate he threw it at Bond, only for him to catch it and throw it back, knocking him down. Soon, the two men engaged in a fist-and-kick fight, trying to knock each other off. Mollako kicked Bond in the knee, sending him down, only he was agile to grab the edge and watched as Mollako ascended to the upper level and leapt onto the neighboring crane and then onto another roof top.
Bond followed in pursuit, only landing painfully than Mollako did: bruising his ribs and cutting his forehead in the process and hurting other parts of his body as he crashed onto the crane and to the roof. This was not going to feel well tomorrow. He grunted and kicked down the door in hopes to find a short-cut to catch up to the bastard. He caught Mollako off-guard in the construction site, startling him. He jumped down the elevator shaft to the lower level and continued to run.
Running through all these obstacles was starting to piss Bond off. He channelled his anger into his energy to give him a burst into running that he knocked down a drywall without effort.
Bond watched as Mollako escaped to more lower levels as agile as a puma. He looked around and found the scissorlift, grabbing a tool to cut the brake and he descended with speed. He leapt off and continued.
Fuck this motherfucker! Mollako thought. He ran into the Nambutu Embassy, his target. A little late, but they said to test the first bomb there. He breathlessly told a uniformed guard there that someone was chasing him and needed a safe place to hide.
Bond leapt onto the back of the van and looked around for his target only to see he was still running. He leapt over the wall and rolled.
He casually walked in the Embassy, casually and looked for Mollako, knowing he would be speaking to the ambassador.
Mollako was supposed to go to the ambassador's office, activate the bomb and then leave his backpack in an unconspicious place. Then, to text back to Dimitrios that it was done. Just as he was about to activate the bomb...
Bond found him and he kicked him in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. The ambassador opened his drawer and reached for his gun. Bond wrestled the ambassador for a moment, disarming him. He grabbed Mollako by the backpack and frogmarched him out of the Embassy...after taking a few steps, an alarm sounded, blaring throughout the building. The guards leapt up from their relaxed positions to attention, grabbing their guns.
Fuck! Fuckity fuck! Is this sweaty fuck bloody joking? Bond thought, pissed off as he continued to drag Mollako out. Wanting to avoid any bloodshed, not to mention bad reputation from the British government, he shot at a steam pipe to defer some of them. Shots rang out everywhere. Bond evade the shots, even the machine guns the soldiers fired. He ran down the halls avoiding the bullets; glass and wood exploding in their path. Soon, Mollako cried out in pain, collapsing from a gunshot wound to his leg. Bond followed down with him. He did not want to lose him again. He pushed some guards out of the way and continued to run through rooms until he decided his only way to escape was out the window, throwing Mollako out. He followed and landed on top of him, dragging him away along with his backpack. Before he could get any further, there was a fence and several clicking of guns cocking behind him. He was cornered.
The ambassador emerged and said:
"Laissez tomber, Drop it."
Reluctantly, he dropped the gun, then released Mollako. He couldn't believe that the ambassador was so blind to allow him to let Mollako go.
Fuck it! Then without any thought, he grabbed his backup out of his pants and shot Mollako in the chest, killing him and then shot at some gas tanks he saw in the corner, sending off an enormous explosion. Bond took off with Mollako's backpack and dug around and found the bomb, relieved that it hadn't been activated. with a cellphone that had the same phone number and text message contained the one word:
Had someone known about this? There were coordinates along with a date and time along with the text message.
He had to look into who sent him that text. He knew this was not going to be good since he just shot someone within the embassy and blew it up. He was going to get such a tongue lashing from M once he got back to England.