Licence to Kill by Ian Fleming

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Licence to Kill by Ian Fleming

Post by The Sweeney »

I wrote these on another forum, but thought I may as well post them here too. Here are a couple of scenes from Licence to Kill that I could have imagined Fleming writing -
`Bond grabbed the stiff gear lever and rammed it into third. The wall of cars lined up on the looming horizon was drawing ever closer. He could just make out several figures now outside the vehicles, weapons drawn and aiming towards Bond's hurtling lorry. And then Bond saw the larger object, protruding menacingly from one of the men's shoulders. Christ Almighty! It looked like some kind of missile rocket launcher. There would be a matter of seconds before it was released and sent speeding towards Bond's windscreen. There would be no way of avoiding it. The road was just too narrow.

And then he had an idea. Where had he read about it? In one of the American truck magazines, a stunt which had been performed before a televised audience. It had driven up on a ramp from an angle, and then managed to keep travelling on just the wheels of one side of the truck. Yes, there may be just enough momentum with the raised jagged rocks on the right side of the road. The bank of rocks were perhaps slightly too high, but that couldn't be helped.

Bond fiercely pulled the steering wheel round to the right and stamped his foot down on the accelarater, his face contorted into a snarl. Bond braced himself for impact. The cockpit shook violently as the right wheel of the truck rolled heavily up onto the embankment. There was a mighty roar of protest from the engine as Bond's world suddenly turned on its side. A cloud of dust and rock particles gathered around the windscreen like thick fog. The fading view of the road was now at a different angle, and Bond tried to readjust his perspective through the dusty mist. The wheel in his hand suddenly began to wriggle erratically like a wild animal, as though it had a mind of its own, and Bond was struggling to keep it in a fixed position. Bloody hell, the sweat from his palms was causing the wheel to slip through his fingers. Keep control, dammit!! Keep control! Steady! '

etc...
`Bloodied and bruised, his suit now hanging from him in filthy tatters, Bond crawled across the ground like a wounded animal, gasping for air. He suddenly felt the cold steel across his face and tried to look up. It hurt like hell to glare into the blazing sun, but Bond knew this was it. The game was up! Sanchez finally had him. If only he could somehow distract Sanchez, buy himself some valuable seconds before the steel blade was raised and brought swiftly down to Bond's offered neck. Bond closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable searing pain, the blinding flash that would finally condemn his fate.

But then he suddenly felt Sanchez hesitate. Why? Bond again tried to look up. Christ, his head hurt. But this time he could just about see the details in the dark sillhouetted figure, backlit by the sun. Why had he stopped? Maybe there was still time. Bond suddenly remembered the lighter in his pocket. He then collapsed back against a rock and groaned, overplaying his injuries, but only slightly. He was still in a desperate weakened state, but anything to give him a slight edge, lure the other man into a sense of over-confidence in Bond's damaged appearance.

And then Sanchez spoke. It was odd to hear the voice in the desert after all this time. `You could have had it all!' Sanchez grabbed Bond by the collar and pulled him to his feet. Again, Bond feigned his languid posture, rolling his head from side-to-side and allowing another groan to pass from his lips. Bond's right hand was now inside his trouser pocket. He could feel the cold metal of the lighter. Bond stiffened, then looked Sanchez straight in the eye. He was pleased to see Sanchez had a few injuries of his own. Blood was streaked down the left side of the dark, grubby face.

`Don't you want to know why?' Bond managed to say, in a strangled voice.

Puzzled, Sanchez faltered. He then looked down curiously at Bond's hand reaching for his pocket and pulling out the lighter. The couple of valuable, precious seconds had the desired effect. Bond casually turned the lighter round in his hand, the engraved lettering now offered to Sanchez to read. Before Sanchez could react, Bond had flicked the hammer back. The flame shot directly upwards and Bond had only a split-second to jump back. There was a ghastly scream and a rancid smell of fumes and burning flesh as the figure staggered backwards, dancing in the inferno of flames.

Bond quickly twisted and half-ran, half-crawled away from the sickening scene. He only had a few moments before the screaming figure became engulfed and transformed into a huge ball of fire....'

Etc.
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Re: Licence to Kill by Ian Fleming

Post by Dr. No »

are these from the Book of the movie?
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Chief of Staff, 007's gone round the bend. Says someone's been trying to feed him a poisoned banana. Fellow's lost his nerve. Been in the hospital too long. Better call him home.
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Re: Licence to Kill by Ian Fleming

Post by Kristatos »

Dr. No wrote:are these from the Book of the movie?
No, the Sweenster was trying to imagine what a LTK novel by Fleming would have been like. He captures Fleming's style very well too, I might add.
"He's the one that doesn't smile" - Queen Elizabeth II on Daniel Craig
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Re: Licence to Kill by Ian Fleming

Post by The Sweeney »

Cheers Kris. :cheers:
Dr No, I'll take that as compliment.... :wink:

I wrote one more scene -
Truman-Lodge raised his voice above the sound of the mechanics within the huge warehouse, and spoke proudly of what he was about to show the team. `Our product is all completely an ordinary gasoline, making it absolutely undetectable'. He raised an arm to emphasise his tour guide speech, gesturing an unnecessary wave towards the factory in front of them.

Bond looked down over the edge of the railings to see huge piles of stone bricks that were being maneovered along a coveyer belt, and fed into a huge steel grinder, dropping one-by-one from the black carousel into the giant iron teeth below, like a shark's gaping jaws, crunching and spitting the rocks as though they were made of candy.

One of the Oriental men pulled away his mask to speak. `How do you get it by....'

`Hey! Do you want us to tell you all our secrets?' The voice boomed out across the warehouse, and Bond recognised it at once. It was Sanchez. `Before we're partners?' he continued. Sanchez stood on the raised walkway of the warehouse with a couple of other men, grinning and performing a theatrical display of saying no by shaking his index finger from side-to-side. `Take them to the lab.'

The group all started following Truman-Lodge across the walkway. Bond groaned inwardly. He suddenly recognised the figure standing behind Sanchez. It was Dario, the unmistakable thick black shiny gelled hair pushed back off his face and the sly eyes were carefully watching the party as they passed him by. Bond hesitated and moved to the back of the queue, putting a hand over his protective mask to keep it in place. Maybe Dario wouldn't recognise him. Bond looked straight ahead as he strolled casually past Sanchez and Dario, but he felt the eyes on him. Bond's palms started to sweat. Christ, of all the people here, it had to be him.

He heard Dario's inquisitive Mexican voice behind him. `Whose the new guy?'

`Somebody who I thought could be useful' Sanchez replied.

The party entered the lab, and Truman-Lodge told the men they could now remove their masks. God, now he was for it! Bond edged back slowly from the Oriental team but kept his mask firmly on. He looked across to his left at Dario. The eyes remained fixed on Bond. Yes, he was sure Dario had recognised him. He was rumbled. Now what? Bond moved slowly away from him and started making his way round to the front of the group. The table in front was littered with test tubes, bunsen burners and bubbling perspex jars, all of which looked highly flammable. If Bond managed to knock the table over, no doubt the place would go up in flames. This would be his only chance of escape right now.

Champagne was being handed round to the guests. Bond decided to take his mask off. To hell with it. He was caught anyway. Now all he could do was calculate his position from the table and stick to the pitiful plan he had quickly conjured up. Bond took a long mouthful of the champage. It tasted perfect. Ice-cold and with the faintest hint of strawberries. He would enjoy this moment while he could.

One of the doctors, an enthusiastic bearded man began answering some questions about the cocaine and gasoline mixture they were testing. He spoke in broken English to the party, which was now becoming more lively and animated. They were pleased by what the doctor was telling them. Bond suddenly noticed in the corner of his eye Dario moving round the group towards him. Bond ignored it and nonchalantly looked on ahead at the doctor, before taking another mouthful of champage. May as well get as much of this inside him as he could before he decided to act out his desperate plan.

`Just keep quiet.' Bond heard the low Spanish drawl up-close in his ear and felt the nuzzle of Dario's gun in his side. Bond turned and looked at Dario, who was trying to keep his arrest low profile, not to disturb the party. Fine by me, thought Bond. The party will be disturbed soon enough.

Bond looked over and caught Sanchez eye, who suddenly stopped smiling. He frowned and looked puzzled at what was going on between Bond and Dario. No one else had seemed to notice, as they were too engrossed in what the doctor was showing them, but Sanchez had definitely clocked it.

Now the doctor was lifting a jar quarter filled with light pink liquid and carefully pouring it into a clothed sieve, which was causing several chorused `ahhs' and `ohhs', as the audience showed their delight and approval at what they were seeing.

Truman-Lodge was still doing his tour-guide speech to the group. `....and we'll send our chief chemist along to supervise the reconversion process.'

Sanchez interrupted. `And you keep the glass....' he tapped a long thin torch lighter onto the rim of a large jar containing thin blue liquid, `as a bonus.' The party laughed out loud at his joke. Now they were in total admiration for the man. He had certainly gained their respect and undivided attention by this tour. They were hanging on to every word he was saying. Sanchez dipped the torch lighter into the flame of a bunsen until it lit. He then brought it over to the jar.

Bond had been waiting for this moment. He narrowed his eyes and watched Sanchez carefully. The pressure from Dario's gun in his side had eased somewhat. Even Dario's attention had been taken off Bond temporarily, as he looked on at what Sanchez was about to show them. Sanchez dropped the flaming torch light into the jar, which suddenly erupted into a mini explosion as flames shot upward out of the jar. The crowd, momentarily startled, leapt back slightly. Now!

Bond twisted sideways and brought his head squarely forward onto Dario's face. He satisfyingly felt his forehead connect with something soft, which must have been Dario's nose. Dario screamed out and fell back, clutching his face. Bond then dived across to the table, picked out the firelighter from the jar and flung it across the room towards another table behind him, littered with more tubes and jars of liquid. Luckily it did the trick. As soon as the torch hit the table, the whole place was up in flames.

etc.
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Re: Licence to Kill by Ian Fleming

Post by carl stromberg »

I think the Sweeney ought to contact Glidrose and offer his services! :cheers:
Bring back Bond!
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