Goodbye, Mister Bond

Written March 1998

Bond is being held on his knees, his arms twisted painfully behind his back as a dozen mercenary solders keep him covered with sub-machine guns. Still, it could be worse.

A door opens and his captor walks in. Plastic surgery has again changed his face to one easily lost in a crowd but his eyes are unmistakable. Deep black pools, totally surrounded by white.

"Blofeld."

Blofeld's smiles broadly as he draws a pistol from inside his jacket. The mercenaries hold even more tightly as Blofeld takes aim at Bond's forehead.

"Goodbye, Mister Bond."

Blofeld pulls the trigger.