Skyfall: The Unofficial Novelisation

[Napoleon Solo]

Chapter 21: The Fuse is Lit

An hour earlier

Raoul Silva tried on the blond wig. "How do I look, Rapace?"

Rapace glanced at his superior in his police uniform. "Quite convincing," he lied. Silva looked nothing like a policeman. He was too regal, too rigid. But that wasn't what Silva wanted to hear. And if there was one thing Rapace knew, Raoul Silva reacted badly to what he didn't want to hear.

"Are the men in place?" Silva asked.

"Ready and waiting."

Silva paced for a moment, back and forth, back and forth. "I have been waiting for this for a long time -- more than three decades."

Rapace said nothing.

"In a way, I am a lucky man," Silva continued. "Many complain about having no purpose. They drift through life, one day like the other. Not me."

Rapace nodded. He knew it was best not to interrupt Silva.

Silva spoke again. "For more than three decades, I have known exactly what I wanted to do. Every thing I have done, every task I have undertaken has been for this purpose. Every aspect of my education, every bit of training...." His voice tailed off.

Silva looked down and stared at the floor for long moments. Finally, he looked directly at Rapace. "Finally, I am at the culmination of all that time, all the effort. It's humbling in a way."

Silva suddenly broke into a grin. "Start the attack."

[Napoleon Solo]

Chapter 22: Boom!

Bill Tanner stood at the curb as M's limousine approached. He glanced once more at his Sony Xperia (R) smartphone.

"Bloody hell," Tanner muttered to himself. "The Crying Man video has gone past 2 million hits on YouTube (R)."

The limousine pulled up and the Chief of Staff entered. "What are you looking at, Tanner?" M said stuffily.

"Nothing, ma'am," Tanner replied putting the Xperia (R) smartphone away.

"God, I miss the cold war," M went on. "We pick up some information about this plot but only at the expense of our own dignity. All the more fodder for Mallory to call for my head."

The limousine pulled into the halting traffic. M picked up a Sony Vaio (R) laptop computer laying on the seat next to her and opened it. "Well, if it's going to require another bloody hour to reach the office, might as well get some work done. Might as well be efficient on the way to one's own hanging."

Tanner nodded. Despite her cool exterior, the Chief of Staff sensed something was troubling M, something beyond the prospect of her career ending.

Ten minutes went by as M typed on theVaio (R) laptop's keyboard, twenty, thirty, forty. Then Tanner noticed as M went white.

"What the the..." M said, leaving the question unfinished.

Tanner sat up. "What's wrong, ma'am?"

"It's as if this bloody thing had a life of it's own..." She typed furiously at the keyboard. Tanner leaned over to look. A Microsoft Word (R) document was on the screen but no new characters appeared as she typed.

Suddenly the Word document closed. A video program opened up.

"Someone has taken control of the Vaio (R) laptop!" M exclaimed.

Now on the screen of a dark, handsome man with a day's growth of beard.

"We haven't been formally introduced, Ms. Mawdsley...or should I call you M?" the man said. "My name is unimportant. Let us say I am a bill collector, and you have one that is now due -- with interest."

Tanner didn't recognize the man. He took out his Xperia (R) smartphone and took a picture of the image on the Vaio (R) laptop's screen.

"By all means, Mr. Tanner, alert your colleagues at MI6. However, you'll find they're about to become a trifle busy. Good-bye for now."

The video image disappeared. The Word document was back on the screen.

At that moment, the car stopped.

"What is it, driver?" M demanded.

The driver glanced back at the car's occupants. "It's the police, ma'am. They're not letting anyone over the bridge."

"We'll see about that," M said.

M got out of the car, followed by Tanner. They approached a police officer talking on his radio.

"What is going on?" M asked angrily. As she finished spitting out the question, Tanner produced identification for both himself and the head of MI6.

"The policeman tipped his cap. "Sorry ma'am, but we received an alert there had been an explosion in the area. All emergency circuits had been activated and all assigned response teams sealed off the bridge."

"Where was the explosion?"

"That's the funny thing, ma'am. No explosion had taken place. But all the emergency circuits had been activated as if there had, with the highest priority. We're trying to figure out what happened. But you can't just unscramble an egg. We have to make certain before all emergency personnel disengage."

M frowned, then looked over across the bridge to MI6's headquarters. She then remembered the stranger's voice on the video transmission on the Vaio (R) laptop.

However, you'll find they're about to become a trifle busy.

M turned toward the Chief of Staff. "Tanner, alert..."

At that moment an explosion rocked MI6 headquarters, with flame shooting out the side.

[Napoleon Solo]

Chapter 23: Conversation in a Cab

James Bond watched images of disaster on his Xperia (R) smartphone.

"Repeating this bulletin," the newsreader's voice said over the BBC App (R), "an explosion has rocked the headquarters of MI6 in London. There are no immediate reports of casualties. London has ground to a halt amidst the disaster."

That was f***ing true, Bond thought to himself. The taxi he and Eve were in had managed to reach the edge of the area but it hadn't moved an inch for twenty minutes.

"Try the secure channel," Eve said softly, trying to make sure the cab drive couldn't hear her.

"What?" Bond asked.

"Try the *secure* channel," Eve said, her voice a bit louder this time.

"You'll have to speak up," Bond said.

"I said try the SECURE..." Eve caught herself as she was about to yell. She frowned and yanked the Xperia (R) smartphone from Bond. She deactivated the BBC App (R) and instead connected to what was intended as a Secure MI6 App (R). The screen was black but there was an unfamiliar voice speaking.

"....for the ladies and gentlemen of the MI6, this is a special broadcast you may find of interest."

"Hey!" Bond said. "That's not M talking!"

Eve frowned again. "Thank you for that bulletin."

The mysterious voice continued. "That little present was a sign of my gratitude to Ms. Barbara Mawdsley, a lady you all know as M. She created me so she should receive the proper credit. Whoever is in close proximity to her is in peril. You may see another sign of this shortly. Or perhaps not. No sense telling you too much at this point."

The transmission ended abruptly and the Xperia (R) was silent.

"Bloody hell, what is this?" Eve said to herself.

Bond opened the car door of the taxi.

"Now what are you doing?" Eve asked.

"We can't just sit around here, doing nothing, for f*ck's sake," Bond said. "We're not that far from MI6 or the alternate headquarters."

"You know how to reach the alternate site?"

"I can manage," Bond replied.

"All right," Eve said, reaching into her purse. She extracted two earpieces and handed one to Bond. "We'll both go. Let's take different routes."

"How come?" Bond asked.

Eve took a deep breath. "Because if there are any assassins about, it will make it harder for them to get us both. If we're together, and they find us, they can knock off two agents at the same time...." The contempt in Eve's voice increased with each word.

"Or they could isolate us and kill us easier than if there were two of us,"

Eve shook her head. It was a reasonable response! She felt shaken.

"I..." she paused. "I suppose that's a possibility."

"I'm not just a pretty face," Bond replied.

Eve shook her head again. Humor? Or at least a hint of humor, even irony given the craggy face? Eve was dumbfounded.

Bond put the earpiece in his right ear. "We'll play it your way and take different routes." With that, he was gone.

Eve sat back, still unsure of what she had witnessed. She quickly paid off the cab driver and exited the vehicle, seeking her own way to the alternate MI6 headquarters.

[Napoleon Solo]

Chapter 24: "Excuse Me, Constable..."

Bond, feeling a sense of urgency, began to ran. His Tom Ford (R) suit moved well, enabling him to keep up a brisk pace. It fit even tighter than a track suit. He could have made better time, though, if he had worn Nike (R) running shoes instead of his Gucci (R) loafers. The agent ran in the middle of the street because the sidewalks were jammed with dazed and confused pedestrians and, by staying on the street, he could make good time.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a police constable off to the right, emerging from the entrance to the underground. Bond veered and moved to catch up with the policeman.

"Excuse me, constable," Bond said, winded from his run.

The constable turned and stared at Bond. His eyes locked on Bond's.

"Yes, may I help you, mister...?"

"Bond," the agent wheezed, trying to catch his breath. "James Bond."

The policeman smiled. He was tall, at least two inches, maybe more, than Bond's 5-foot-10.

"Do you know the way to the alternate...." Bond caught himself. He had not wanted Eve to know that he didn't know where the alternate MI6 headquarters was. He had been tired of Eve trying to run the show, acting as if she were his superior. He had enjoyed putting her off balance with his "I'm not a pretty face" remark. He could sense her confusion. It felt good! Finally, he was on top of the assignment! Now he had to find a way to the alternate headquarters. Then, just as he was about to ask the constable, he realized it was supposed to be a secret. The constable wouldn't know.

"I know exactly, sir," the constable said, as if he had heard the unvoiced part of Bond's question. "In fact, you take this underground stop...." The constable then provided a full set of directions.

Bond looked off to the side.

"Is something wrong, sir?"

"I'm trying to remember the part that came after 'this underground stop.'"

The policeman sighed. "Perhaps if I wrote it out for you," he said, taking out a small notepad and pencil.

As the constable wrote, Bond took a closer look. Underneath the policeman's cap was blond hair, an even more yellow shade than his own. And it was long blond hair. It was the longest hair Bond had ever seen on a policeman.

Odd, Bond thought to himself.

The policeman finished writing and handed Bond two pages from the notebook.

"I think you will find that sufficient to find your way," the constable said.

"Much obliged, constable....?"

"Constable Silva," he replied. "Raoul Silva." He paused for a minute and began writing again. He then took that piece of paper and folded it neatly.

"When you arrive," Silva said. "Give that to Ms. Mawdsley. She'll find it interesting."

"Ms. Mawd..?" Bond caught himself again. He didn't want to say M's real name in public. Bond cleared his throat. "Right."

Silva gave Bond a mini-salute and began walking down the steps to the underground station.

* * *

"Bond said what?" M asked Eve.

"He said we should separate and go the alternate headquarters separately."

M grimaced. "We never Bond where it was because it opened after he resigned!"

Eve felt her stomach churn.

M called for Bill Tanner to come over. "Put out a search and seize on 007. We're not really sure where he is, but he could be anywhere in downtown London. Get all the help you can from MI5 and Scotland Yard."

Tanner, avoiding eye contact, nodded and walked away from M's temporary office in the alternate headquarters.

***

Bond, holding the notebook pages with the directions in his right hand fought his way through the underground station crowd. He was almost near the line that would take him to the alternate MI6 site.

Suddenly, the train he needed to catch was in front of him. But it was pulling out! Bond glanced at a sign of routes. It would be another 45 minutes before another train on the route would be here. Bond quickened his pace and within three steps was at full gallop, the Tom Ford (R) suit once again moving well on his body, almost as if it had been painted on.

Before he could reach the train, Bond was grabbed by a constable, who twirled him around and to the ground.

"For f*ck's sake, let me go!" Bond said.

He kicked the policeman in the left knee. The policeman collapsed to the ground. Bond kicked again, this time in the head, which sent the law office sprawling. Bond began to run again but it was too late. The train was gone. On the platform, meanwhile, a half dozen policemen swarmed over Bond. One of them knocked Bond on the head -- once, twice, three times -- before the agent finally collapsed.

Had the constables managed to look down the line, they would have seen a flicker of life from the explosion that had knocked the train off the tracks.

***

Bill Tanner sat down at a table at the alternate MI6 headquarters. Opposite him was a secretary from the 00-unit.

"How's it going, Lil?" Tanner asked.

"It's all rather horrible -- that explosion, the fire, this sudden relocation," she said.

"Yes, a bad day," Tanner said with typical British understatement.

"Not much chance of getting a sunburn down here," Lil said. "How long will we have to be here, without windows and this dim light?"

"Hard to say," Tanner said. "They're still evaluating the damage and trying to account for anyone who's missing."

"What else can go wrong?" Lil asked.

Just then, the lead car of the underground train crashed through the wall of the cafeter. It sounded almost like an explosion and dust flew throughout the room.

[Napoleon Solo]

Chapter 25: Word Association

Sir Gareth Mallory could hardly contain himself.

"M," he began, "your department has now suffered three, THREE, crippling blows within a short time. I provided you a short window to get this matter resolved and it only gets worse! In addition, a good many citizens of the city of London have been subjected to peril!"

M maintained her best Texas Hold 'Em (R) poker face. "So it would appear," she muttered softly.

Mallory paced in the conference room, back and forth. "Meanwhile, your man has been featured on a video on the Internet that has gone viral. He returns just in time to attack security personnel of the London underground system just as a bomb is detonated, causing an underground train to crash into your alternate headquarters -- a headquarters that had to be activated following an attack on the primary headquarters.

Mallory took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Finally he spoke again. "Is that an accurate summation of the situation?"

"Very much so," M replied.

"I gave your a fortnight to put this situation to rest. It has only gotten worse."

"If you say so," M replied.

"If I say so?" Mallory said, his voice rising. "There's a gaping hole in the exterior of the primary MI6 headquarters. Much of the underground system has been shut down entirely whilst the remainder is operating at a much-reduced schedule causing an already jammed commuter system to practically grind to a halt. That is not just me saying so, that is established fact."

"There is one thing," M replied. "We have a lead to the man who has caused all this."

"A lead?" Mallory asked, his race turning red. "If the reports I've seen are correct, your man actually encountered this Silva person before going his merry way into the underground system!"

M strained not to roll her eyes. "That was unfortunate."

Mallory bit his lip so hard it hurt. "Unfortunate? That's like saying the bloody sinking of the Titantic was unforunate! Admittedly, Silva has yet to inflict as many casualities as those who lost their lives on the Titantic, but he's off to a bloody good start, I'd say!"

"My man, as you call him, and myself, can bring Silva to justice if I have ninety-six hours."

Mallory shook his head. "What have you done to earn those ninety-six hours?"

"We have a key piece of information that only I can act upon," M replied. "You can discharge me if you wish, but you won't have that key information."

Mallory frowned. "You are in no position to impose such a demand!"

"It's not a demand," M replied. "Merely a statement of act. In addition, the key information is, shall we say, in delicate shape."

"Delicate?" Mallory asked.

"There is no computer record," M said. "It could be wadded up at any time. It could be lit on fire. It could be tossed in the nearest waste basket and no one would miss it."

"Just where is this information?"

M stared blankly at Mallory. "We're wasting time. Do I have my ninety-six hours?"

"You have twenty-four," Mallory said.

"Seventy-two," M said.

Mallory sighed. "Forty-eight, final offer."

"Forty-eight, it is," M said. "I will also need Bond to be available to follow up this lead."

Mallory's face reddened again. "Bond? You didn't say anything about Bond!"

"His presence will be quite vital to what I have in mind."

"Out of the question!"

"We're wasting time, this point isn't worth arguing," M said. "If you'd like, I'll resign in the morning. But you'll be back to square one regarding Silva and why he is such a menace to the crown."

Mallory leaned back in his chair and stared uip at the ceiling. "Bond must be evaluated first."

"All right," M replied. "But the clock doesn't begin running on the forty-eight hours until the evaluation is completed."

"Very well," Mallory said disgustedly.

Three hours later, Sir James Maloney was accompanied by two MI6 security men to a conference room that was part of the alternate MI6 headquarters below London.

"Thank you for showing up on such short notice, Sir James," M said, extending her right hand to shake his.

Sir James, a short, bald man with gray hair and a salt and pepper goatee, shook M's hand. "I was led to believe this was a vital security matter."

"And so it is," M replied. She pointed to a mirror on the wall. "That, of course, is a two-way mirror. Myself and other key personnel will observe as you conduct your evalufation."

"Of course," Sir James said. "May I ask something first?"

"Of course."

"The subject involved is an orphan, losing his parents thirty-three years ago at age eleven."

"Yes, that's correct," M said.

"According to the dossier I was provided his father was a rather handsome chap while his mother was quite beautiful. Yet, he turned out...well, looking a bit different than either of them. Was there ever any indication he was an illegitimate child or anything like that?"

"None whatsoever," M said. "I suggest we begin now. I'll leave you here, but I'll be behind that mirror. The sujbect will join you ina few minutes.

M didn't wait for Sir James to respond and was out the door in seconds. The room was spartan, just one rectangular table and two chairs. Sir James sat down on one end of the table. Five minutes later, James Bond, clad in a track suit and Nike (R) running shoes entered the room.

Bond pulled up short of the table. "So you're the shrink?"

"Actually, I'm a neurologist," Sir James said. "But I am, if I do say so myself, a bit of an expert on how the brain works."

"I see," Bond said. The agent stared blankly ahead.

"Please sit down, Mr. Bond," Sir James said, gesturing to the chair at the other side of the table.

Bond complied.

"We shall do a word association game," Sir James said. "This may provide us insight."

"If you say so," Bond said.

"I'll say a word. You respond with whatever pops into your mind."

Bond nodded.

"Broccoli."

"Saltzman," Bond said.

"Saltzman?" Sir James asked.

"Broccoli," Bond replied.

Sir James shook his head. "No I mean that was a very unusual response."

"You said the first word..."

"Never mind, let's resume," Sir James said. "Tea."

"Crumpets."

Sir James nodded in silence. Behind the two-way mirror, M, Mallory and Bill Tanner watched on.

"Martin."

"Lewis," Bond said.

"Abbott."

"Costello."

"Rowan," Sir James said."

"Martin," Bond replied.

"Napoleon," Sir James said.

"Solo," Bond retorted.

Sir James frowned but had a feeling it was best not to say anything about the odd replies.

"Moon."

"Raker," Bond said.

"Murder."

"Employment."

Sir James remembered something from the dossier about Bond's childhood.

"Skyfall,"

Bond frowned.

"Skyfall," Sir James repeated.

There was no sign of life in the glassy eyes. Seconds passed before Bond spoke.

"Done," he said.

Bond got up from the table and looked at the mirror. The track suit didn't look nearly as good as the Tom Ford (R) suit. Bond stared at the mirror.

On the other side, Bill Tanner tried to look ahead and provide no reaction. Mallory glanced at M, who also looked ahead.

Long, tense moments passed without a sound. Finally M spoke.

"I think he's ready," she said. "Tanner, please have Bond's DB5 ready. He and I are taking a road trip."

[Blowfeld]

Chapter 26: The Old Gray Suit Man

Bond paced the hallways truculently. d**n them! he thought. What right did they have?! A bloody psyche examine top it all. Bond despised head shrinks, always easy with the accusations. Quick to diagnose some bloody psychosis or another. The bloody shrinks were never there to help Sergeant Bond of the SAS when he had to explain to his commanding officers why the Green Peace protesters he and his French opposites were only supposed to monitor we now ringing Neptune direct though Davy Jones locker.

Bill Tanner broke the solitude of Bonds quiet brooding. For man in his 30s he look like an aged mafia hitman in the tracksuit EMS gave him. Who was that American rapper Bond reminded him of Tanner wondered, the white boy. Mars Bar? Snickers? M&M, that was it. Bond look like an older version of him.

‘Come on Bond wardrobe is waiting.’

‘Lets get you in the last suit you’ll ever need.’ Bill added cheerfully

I wonder what he meant by that Bond wondered. Next thing you’d know he’ll have me fitted up for coffin. Little did Bond Know the boffins were indeed sizing him up for a special box, for now he met the head haberdasher. “H” Bond insisted on calling him. It fit Bond’s meticulous nature to shorten the names of all the MI6 department heads. Like they did for the agents in MIB (Men In Black) his favourite movie.

Bond ran his fingers through the racks of clothes occasionally take a suit off the racks to inspect the garment then disdainfully turned it back. Wrong fabric, last years styles. Bond couldn’t stomach the paupers’ offerings of the government office.

The head haberdasher was dismayed too, he leaned in close to Bill, ‘you told me he was younger man. A young man at the begging of his career!’ His voice stressed his disappointment at being misled by M’s right hand.

‘these colours are all wrong for him, he’ll look at least 80. We normally dress younger agents older to make the more distinguished not dress older agents older!’

Bill interrupted, ‘But it is in his size right’

‘yes.’ The man answered as it were inconsequential, ‘mens small’

‘Good enough to do.’

The haberdasher let out defeated sigh. ‘Very well’ he pulled out a geezer gray Tom Ford suit from the cupboard.

The high dollar, hand crafted suit immediately caught Bond’s eye, he walked over to inspect it closely, after running his fingers over the fabrics he made his pronouncement ‘No.’
‘ Won’t do.’

‘Wont do! ‘ the haberdasher balked, ‘”won’t do!?” It’s a Tom Ford! You git!’

‘Yes’ Bond dull voice replied at ease in knowledge of high fashion. ‘Yes. But is clearly last years and done during his strait phase. Simply. Will. Not. Do.’ he shoved the gray suit back into the haberdashers hands.

The stunned haberdasher quietly repeated Bond’s words ’His strait phase...‘ Who was this idiot?

‘I’ll try to “queer” it up for you’ the man said in disbelief.

Bond gave him a polite smile.

“H” as Bond called him took the suit to his work station for a few quick alterations then brought it back to Bond, Bond rejected it once more but as the suit was about to be taken away Bond caught sight of an Omega watch the display case.

‘Wait!’ Bond called out ‘that’s one gay watch!’ He said admiringly.

Bill looked to the haberdasher seeking permission, with a head nod he had it. Removing the Watch from the case Bill handed it to Bond who promptly put it on his wrist. Happy with the watch he took gray suit as well.

Bond finally dress Bill Tanner looked to get him to the Quartermasters, where he was supposed to be an hour earlier.

‘Come on Bond. B is waiting for us.’

‘B? Whose aunt is that then?’

After seeing Tanner and Bond out the head Haberdasher locked the door behind them and turned off the lights. He was going home he had enough of this s**t for one day.

[Napoleon Solo]

Chapter 27
Briefing from B...Or Is it Q?

James Bond and Bill Tanner entered the makeshift Quartermaster's section of the temporary headquarters. A tall bespectacled woman in a lab coat approached and extended her right hand.

"My name is Ann Reilly, but you can call me Q'ute."

Bond tried to grin but his facial muscles protested too much. "Of course you're cute. If I had some extra time I'd suggest...."

Tanner cut him off. "Her nicname is Q'ute...q-apostrophe-u-t-e."

Bond grimaced. "That's a silly nickname. Why do they call her that?"

"You see, this is the quartermaster's section and....oh, bloody hell, forget it," Tanner replied testily.

Ann Reilly, or Q'ute stared at Bond for a moment. "Right," she said slowly. "Let me bring the head of section straight away."

"Straightaway?" Bond asked. "If there an F-1 race today?"

Ann Reilly hurried off, not providing a reply. A few minutes of strained silenced followed as Tanner avoided eye contact with Bond. The agent grimaced and paced back and forth, occasionally glancing at his Tom Ford (R) suit and Omega (R) watch.

Ann Reilly returned. "Please follow me, the head of section will see you now."

As they followed Q'ute, Bond turned to Tanner. "Does he have a nickname?"

Tanner shook his head in disgust. This preposterous plan of M's -- if it could really be called a plan -- ate at him. M clearly wasn't letting him in on crucial details. What the bloody hell were they? And did she really think a road trip with Bond was going to save her job? The Service had absorbed numerous body blows within a short amount of time. Why?

"I said," Bond uttered, his voice rising, "does he have a nickname?"

"Why don't you bloody ask him?" Tanner said.

"Oh for f*ck's sake, don't talk like that to me!" Bond said angrily.

"Oh for f*ck's sake, I'll talk to you any bloody way, I bloody well please."

Bond turned and kneed Tanner in the groin. As the Chief of Staff began to fall to the floor, Bond slammed his head with his fist, then kneed him in the face. Bond had had enough. He wasn't going to take it any more! If this is how his world was supposed to be -- dark, gritty, grim without a hint of humor -- then he was going to embrace it, for f*ck's sake!

Before Bond could could strike another blow, his body quivered as the electricity from the Taser (R) device shot through his body. Bond collapsed to the floor, near where Tanner writhed in pain.

Just before Bond lost consciousness, he spotted a rather tall man with unruly hair and a day's growth of beard holding the Taser (R).

"I say," the tall man said. "You remind me of someone. Have we met before?"

Everything went black before Bond could answer.

***

As Bond came to, he could feel himself bound to a chair. The glassy eyes opened slowly.

"My, my, that was quite a nasty snit." It was the same tall man with unruly hair he had seen before he blacked out.

"Who are you...wait," Bond said groggily.

"My name if it matters is Boothroyd. I had head of the Quartermaster section."

"What' your nickname?" Bond said slowly. "Do I call you B or Q?"

"You can call me sir," Boothroyd replied. "I just returned from the medical unit making sure poor Mr. Tanner was receiving the proper attention. You should really save that sort of energy for our enemies -- and yours."

Bond grimaced but said nothing.

"If you look over to your right," Boothroyd continued, "you'll see your Aston Martin DB5. It wasn't in very good shape when we picked it up from where it had been repossessed. And a nearly 50-year-old car isn't very practical to use. But I have my orders so I made what alterations I could on short notice."

"Did you put in an automatic transmission?" Bond asked. "I'm really not that good with a stick shift."

Boothroyd shook his head. "I'm afraid not. But if you give me your undivided attention for an hour or so, I can instruct you..."

Bond laughed. "Everybody thinks they can tell me what to do..."

"Well, in this case, the options we've installed..."

Bond interrupted. "My life has never been my own....and she's the cause of it all." He stared off to the side as if he were looking at some unseen audience, playing for their sympathy, as if he were an actor showing off his "acting chops" during a dramatic scene in a movie. "She is the bloody cause of it all! What is she not telling me?"

Boothroyd's mouth was agape for a moment. He breathed deeply and composed himself. He then took a small booklet out of his lab coat pocket. "On the other hand, maybe you should look when you take a break now and then from your driving. I just got a call from M. She's rather anxious that she and you begin her trip."

Boothroyd thought of Tanner's bloodied face for a moment. He walked to a nearby desk and pressed a buzzer. Three large, burly security men entered the room.

"In any event, these gentlemen will see you off," Boothroyd said. "The car will be parked above ground within 10 minutes. Good luck, Mr. Bond."

The words had barely faded when the three security men carried Bond, still bound in his chair, out of the room. Boothroyd breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed. The blunt instrument, indeed! he thought.

[Blowfeld]

Chapter 28

Haunted

The colour of M’s face drained. Through the shadows an apparition approached her it was a scene reminiscent of a Shakespearean play. She knew this terror, his panther like movements, his well-tailored suits. The round sewer tube gave ghost the impression of walking down the barrel of a gun. She was sure any moment there would be a reproving voice demanding her blood. She knew this apperitions voice well. His odd Scottish accent would accuse her slurring consonants with “S” in wild abandon above all else she knew to the marrow of her bones he would demand satisfaction.

The spectre was illuminated briefly as Bond passed under a pod light. Poof… the illusion was gone, or was it something more foreboding. Perhaps the blood on her hands etched away at her conscious mind. Isn’t that what a haunting was anyway.
As it happened the person she saw was not the Bond she expected, the Bond she expected to see was a handsome man of 50, stylishly dressed, well-manicured down to his impeccably arranged toupee. A menacing man and every inch a gentlemen. However this was his “young” son instead, she frowned thinking about how James cut a brutish figure no matter how she dressed him. Today young James T. Bond look precisely how she felt, old and haggard. God she thought he looks worse than Sean Bean in Sharpe’s Peril.
Hold it!
Now there’s a thought!
She could go to Sean Bean, no doubt he could help. But no she dismissed the idea; it was too late for her now she had thrown her lot in with Bond. God help her.

Bond approached his boss oblivious to her inner turmoil. He had the heavy stride of bouncer on Saturday night, ready for anything. When he got to M he cocked a finger like a gun and made a clicking sound like his was firing. This shook M, the thought of Bond killing her. How horrible was that? Could her superiors have given Bond the green light to exact his families’ revenge?
She looked into his dull tortured eyes seeking but not finding the answer.

‘Ready to go’ he asked in flat voice.

M tried to answer finding her voice had failed, so filled with her own terrors was she, instead she nodded curtly and they proceeding down the emergency tunnel to a discreet exit where they would find Bond’s vintage Aston Martin waiting for them.

Once they were in the car Bond asked ‘Shall I take you home ma’ma?’

‘Yes,’ Said M, ‘But not mine. Yours.’

She handed him a well warn card. Bond took the card from carefully her studying it under the cars dim map lights. His noticed it was the same card given to him by the nice police man he later learned was an enemy of the state. Bond flipped the card over viewing the careful hand written letters for the first time.

Skyfall
Followed by tomorrows date.
Or else the truth comes out about operation: Orbis non sufficit 1979

Tomorrow Never Dies Bond thought grimly. Deep down Bond knew whoever this tricky Bas***d was he had great calligraphy. The refinement required to compose ones thoughts in such a manner as to be able to write so beautifully Bond knew this criminal fell well outside his scope. Oh well he dismissed all doubts and started the car. The engine purred beautifully Bond had to hand it to the taser happy chappie, whathisface, Q. He knew his stuff. The silver car pulls smoothly away from the curb once Bond remembers the hand brake.

‘I suppose if we are going to Scotland, or someplace that approximates it visually we should top off the tank.’ Bond said glibly.

M indicated succinctly she didn’t give a d**n one way or the other and wished he’d just get on with it. However Bond continued to drive like an old granny craning his neck to check petrol prices as they passed, insisting each time they’d do better a bit further down the road. They were nearly out of gas and out of luck running on fumes when Bond finally relented pulling into all brightly lit all night affair. The high prices dismayed Bond, he frowned as he filled his shinny newly restored car up. Or at least M assumed it was a frown, with his face she never could tell. Fretting about petrol prices maybe he really was Scottish she mused.

Minutes later they were back on the road arriving in a few hours more at the Bond family estate. Well after midnight M was disappointed couldn’t see a thing of the country side or the estate. Bond fished the key for the front doors of the estate from a hide a key shaped like a plastic rock then led the way inside.

The welcome mat said :

Orbis non sufficit,
please wipe your feet

[Napoleon Solo]

Chapter 29: Memories

Bond poured M a drink.

"Not your brand, but the best I could find," the agent said.

M looked up at the whiskey sitting in the glass on the table. She snatched up the glass and downed the drink in one gulp.

"Careful, ma'am," Bond said. "It might be a bit strong."

M coughed loudly. "Smooth," she said, her voice sounding like sandpaper. "I'll take another."

Bond complied and poured a second drink. M hesitated before raising the glass to her lips again, then time only taking a sip.

Bond poured himself a drink into a glass with no ice. He also downed his drink in one gulp. Instead of a cough, he let out a burp.

"Not bad," Bond said as he poured another. The bottle, by this time, was more than half empty.

M looked around the kitchen area where they sat. This had once been a fine, old mansion, emphasis on old. She had had to dust off the table just to be able to have this drink. The furniture in other rooms was still covered with sheets. M felt her stomach rumble as a result of the whiskey.

"This must bring back memories," M said.

Bond froze before he could gulp the second drink down. He then grimaced and put the drink back on the table.

M was flummoxed. "Was it something I said?"

Bond stared at her, then down at the drink. He grabbed the glass again and slammed down the whiskey.

After long seconds, Bond finally replied. "I suppose you could say that."

M squinted at Bond. There was a moment, just a moment, when the glassy blue eyes showed some life.

"Care to talk about it?" M couldn't believe she had uttered the words.

"I suppose, we have nothing better to do," Bond said. "It's been a long time since I've seen my parents....must be over thirty years. I'd forgotten how much I miss them, especially mum."

Bond got up. He was a bit unsteady from the rapid consumption of the whiskey. "I loved me mum. She would say things like, 'James, you're so special.' Dad was more remote, but he'd chime in, `Boy ain't that the truth!' Mom and dad must have been rather playful. One time he said, `So special they have those special short school buses for him.' Mum acted like she hit him. Must have tagged a bit harder than she intended because he ended up with a black eye. He pretended to slap her. He must have tagged her a bit more than he intended. He knocked one of her teeth and she had to get a false tooth."

Bond walked back to the table. Still standing, he poured himself another whiskey. "I remember we used to have this neighbor who was awfully friendly, especially with mum. Uncle Albert, he called himself. He wasn't a real uncle but it seemed like a member of the family as often as he visited."

"Uncle Albert?" M asked. She didn't remember anything in Bond's dossier about any Uncle Albert. "What did Uncle Albert look like?"

"Oh, I dunno. It''s been years. Maybe five-foot-nine, blond hair, blue eyes."

M felt ill. "I see," M said. "I think the covers the subject quite nicely."

As Bond downed his third drink, there was a knock at the front door.

M stared at Bond. "You're not expecting anyone, are you?"

Bond burped, then blinked his eyes. "Nope."

There were knocks, more emphatic sounding this time.

"Go see who it is, Bond," M said.

Bond burped once more and walked toward the door. He extracted his Walther PPK from the shoulder holster under his Tom Ford (R) suit. He held it in his right hand as he opened the door with his left. On the other side, was a gray-haired man.

"Is Barbara Mawdsley here, laddie?" Kincaid said.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" Bond asked.

Kincaid moved by Bond. "I don't have time to play games laddie," he said. "I know all the MI6 tricks and I know you've got a gun on me. I need to see M, right now."

M came out from the kitchen. "Kincaid!"

Kincaid came up and hugged her. "Lassie, you're crazy for coming here."

"I had no other choice," M said as they ended the hug.

"Lassie, you have got to get out of here right now!"

Before M could reply, Bond spoke up. "Hey wait a minute! I remember you! You're Uncle Albert!"

Kincaid's face froze as the words reverberated through the castle. M's nausea intensified.

"Why have you stayed away so long Uncle Albert?" Bond asked.

Before anyone could speak, the sound of a helicopter spread through Skyfall Manor.

[Napoleon Solo]

Chapter 30: Fond Farwell

Kincaid grimaced. "Lassie, I think I may have come a wee bit late," he said to M.

M's eyes darted back and forth. "You may be right."

"Rubbish," Bond said. "They're trying to kill us. We're going to kill them first."

Kincaid raised his eyebrows. "You sound awfully sure of yourself, laddie."

Bond reached under the table and pulled out an object wrapped in a cloth. After taking away the cloth, M and Kincaid could see it was an assault rifle.

"Where'd you get that?" M asked. "I didn't see you bring that in!"

"Never explain, never complain," Bond said.

M stared at Kincaid. "My God, that almost sounded like a witticism."

Kincaid flashed a smile. "That's me boy!"

M's mouth was agape. "I was afraid you'd say something like that."

"Get down!" Bond said, raising his voice and taking command of the situation. He motioned M and Kincaid to exit out the rear of Skyfall Manor.

The noise from the helicopter was louder now, as if it were just above the manor. A moment later, shots ripped through the roof and hit the floor, just behind the fleeing trio. M stumbled but Bond yanked her back up.

"Keep going!" Bond yelled.

Just then, a group of a half-dozen men, wearing assault garb and carrying rifles, burst through the front door. Before they could fire their weapons, Bond turned and let out a burst from his weapon. One, two of them fell to the floor immediately. Before Bond could fire any more, a volley of shots rang out.

Kincaid grabbed the back of his right leg. He cried in pain as he fell down.

Bond turned and looked at Kincaid for a moment before he fired his weapon once more. This time, he got off a much longer volley of shots. The third and then the fourth member of the assult team grabbed their chests before collapsing. The remaining two retreated.

Kincaid laid on the floor, gritting his teeth.

"Come along, last call," Bond said, extending his left hand to assist the fallen ex-operative.

"You go along, Jimmy," Kincaid said, blood coming out from the corner of his mouth. "I think I've overstayed me welcome."

"Jimmy?" Bond said. "But we've never met."

"Oh, in a way we have. But that's not important right now. Me leg is shot up too badly. I'd only slow you and the lassie down."

Bond's face wrinkled. "Who are you?"

Kincaid smiled. "You had a beautiful mother. Your daddy didn't much appreciate what I did but....Just go, willya? Time's a-wasting!"

Bond looked up. The two surviving members of the assault team were regrouping.

The agent looked at the bleeding man on the floor. "I'll see you later," Bond said.

"Aye," Kincaid said, winking.

Bond moved away, without saying another word, taking M by the arm and getting her out the rear of the manor.

"We can't leave him..." M protested.

"We're doing exactly what he wants," Bond said, cutting her off.

As Bond and M got out the rear door, the two assault team members reached Kincaid, still laying on the floor.

The two men had their assault rifles drawn. Kincaid lay on his left side, silent.

"Get up, old man!" the first assault man said.

Kincaid looked off to the side. "You're a mighty bossy, laddie."

"And you're in no position to critique us," the second assault man said. "Get up."

"Well, if you say so..." Before Kincaid finished the sentence he took out a 1700s vintage musket pistol and fired it in the face of the first assault man. The ancient weapon ripped the man's skull apart. The second assault team member immediately fired his rifle, the shots ripping through Kincaid. A second later, Kincaid let out a last breath before he died.

Suddenly, the amplified voice of Raoul Silva reberated through the manor. "You've had enough time, my friends. I'm about to demolish this antiquity. If Ms. Mawdsley and her pit bull are still alive, your bravery has yielded you naught. If my men are the only ones left alive, you've taken far too long.":

A panicked expression filled the face of the final surviving assault team member. "Nooooooo!!!!!"

Explosions ripped through the manor as shells were fired from the hovering helicopter. What Silva didn't know, at least not yet, was that James Bond and his superior were safely outside the inferno.

[Napoleon Solo]

Chapter 31: Crescendo!

Just before closing the door of the small storage building, Bond watched as Skyfall Manor exploded. He had only the dimmest memories of the place and of his parents. Still, momentarily, he felt a great sense of loss. Then he slammed the door shut.

Inside, M sat at a desk by one wall, her eyes blank. Nearby there were a series of vintage cars. It was an odd assortment, Bond thought. One by one, he began to recognize them: a 1933 Bentley (R) 4 1/2 litre convertible with an Amherst Villiers supercharger. A 1953 Bentley (R) Mark VI. A Sunbeam Alpine (R) 1961 Series II. A "1964 1/2" original Ford (R) Mustang. A 1964 Lincoln (R) Continental. A red Mercury (R) Cougar XR7. A Chevrolet (R) Bel Air convertible. And, seemingly most out of place, a 1974 AMC (R) Hornet.

Bond shook his head. He had never seen these cars in his life! Yet, he felt like he had, as if he had some kind of personal history with each of the vehicles. Deja vu?

For f*ck's sake, get a hold of yourself! Bond thought to himself. There was a job to do -- maybe the last job, but a job nonetheless.

Bond tried not to show his inner doubt and turmoil to M. "Ma'am, you should take cover," he said as he checked his assault rifle.

M, still staring off into space, didn't respond.

Bond went up to his superior and crouched down, staring directly into her eyes.

"Kincaid sacrificed himself to save you," Bond said. "He'd want you to go on."

The comment seemed to snap M out of her torpor. "My God, that actually sounds like something intelligent to say!" she exclaimed. "Are you sick?"

"Never mind that," Bond replied. "Take cover behind those cars over there."

M's eyes raced for a moment before she got up from the desk and headed toward the fleet of vintage cars. Bond made one final check of his weapon, making sure a full clip was in place. He then also headed to the cars, getting behind the 1933 Bentley when an explosion tore open the wall of the storage building. Instead of flinching, Bond raised his weapon his weapon and aimed. He fired just as two more of Silva's thugs came through, cutting them down before they could return the fire.

Bond held the assault rifle steady. Surely, Silva had something else.

A moment later a bazooka slammed into the nearest car to the gaping hole in the wall, the Mercury Cougar. Now on fire, the Cougar flipped up into the air and landed on top of the Lincoln Continental. The force of the impact, caused the Continental to slam into the Bentley behind where Bond had been hiding. The agent tried to move away, but the Bentley struck Bond, sending him flying and causing him to lose his assault rifle. As his body was slammed into the ground, Bond could hear crashing as the vintage cars rammed into one another.

Then, all was quiet. Finally, a lone figure, clad in a long overcoat came through the hole in the wall, stepping over the corpses of the thugs. It was Silva. Behind him, in the distance, Skyfall Manor was still ablaze.

Silva looked at the bazooka and laid it on the ground. He then extracted a Glock (R) pistol from inside the overcoat. Silva stared at Bond's still form on the floor, lying by the wreckage of the 1933 Bentley.

Silva stood there, not moving an inch. He had waited 33 years for his revenge. He could afford to take his time. Time, after all, was on his side.

Five minutes went by, then 10. Still, the form of Bond did not move. Silva took the Glock and took off the safety. But he did not take a step. Another five minutes passed. Silva scanned the wreckage of the vintage cars. They had bounced around like billard balls on a pool table. All except one, that is. Somehow, the forlorn AMC Hornet had escaped the fate of the others. The red car remained parked where it was, untouched. Silva let out a chuckle.

He again turned to Bond. Finally, Silva walked up slowly, his semi-automatic pistol drawn and ready to fire. He stood over the MI6 agent. Bond's head lay facing away from Silva.

Silva raised the Glock. "First you, then M," he said. "Good-bye, Mr. Bond."

Bond sprang to life. Before Silva could fire the Glock, he grabbed Silva's wrist with one hand and yanked at him. Simultaneously, Bond raised his right leg to help send Silva sprawling. The Glock fired off to the side. Silva didn't let go of the weapon until he slammed to the floor.

Silva sprang up from the floor as if he were a rubber ball, ready for Bond as the agent tried to strike a karate blow. Silva blocked it while kicking Bond in the knee at the same time. Bond yelled as he fell forward. Silva pressed his advantage, slamming his knee into Bond's face.

Silva enjoyed the moment as Bond fell to the floor. Bond, however, had the presence of mind to grab at Silva's legs, He summoned the strength to pull Silva's legs out from under him, sending him sprawling to the floor on his back.

Bond scrambed and managed to pounce on Silva. The agent could feel the blood pouring from his nostrils but ignored it. Bond got his hands around Silva's throat. His thumbs dug in as deeply as he could. Silva, being taller, had a longer reach and he, took. got his hands around Bond's throat.

Bond's vision clouded as his oxygen was choked off by Silva's massive hands. He focused on Silva's face. Silva was smiling! Bond tried to dig his thumbs deeper into Silva's throat.

Silva's face was now almost entirely clouded over. Silva still had the smile on his face, the smile of victory, the smile of conquest.

Suddenly, Bond felt a rush of oxygen. The "clouds" he saw in front of Silva's face dissipated. The smile remained but something was different. Then, Silva's hands fell from Bond's throat.

Bond slumped to the side of Silva. The agent's chest heaved. He sat on the floor for long seconds as his breathing normalized. He looked once more at Silva's face, smiling in death.

Before he could do anything else, the agent heard a voice. A weak voice.

"Bond....?" It was M!

The agent got up. There, toward the wreckage of the vintage cars, lay M, clutching her stomach. Blood was on the ground.

Bond's eyes squinted. Only in the movies can guns go off at random without hitting somebody. Bond shook his head. Where'd that thought come from?

He hurried up to M. He kneeled beside her.

She forced a weak smile. "I knew I couldn't trust you...." she said, making a feeble joke.

"Ma'am, you need to lay still..."

M shook her head. "Just tell me you got Silva."

Bond looked back at Silva's corpse.

"I got him."

"At least that's something," M said. "Oh. I didn't really expect it to be...." The voice trailed off.

Bond didn't move for long seconds. Finally, he closed her eyes. He stood up, removed his suitcoat and put it over M. He took a deep breath and looked over the heap of wrecked vintage cars as well as the lone untouched AMC Hornet. He walked out the hole in the wall, took several steps toward Skyfall Manor. The fire was subsiding but there wasn't much left. For a long time, Bond stood there, with no particular thoughts.

[Napoleon Solo]

Chapter 32: Interlude on a Rooftop

Six days later

James Bond stood on the tarmac of a portion of Heathrow reserved for private aircraft. Bond was rigid as a Citation X (R) taxied from a runway. The aircraft stopped at the intended spot, very precisely and right on time.

Bond didn't move. He waited for the ground crew to take a gangway up to the exit door. The crew was expert in what they did. The hatch quickly opened and Eve, who along with Bond, was one of the few survivors of the Skyfall affair, emerged. She stood, not flinching a bit, holding a briefcase. Bond walked up the gangway and extended a hand.

Eve's face wrinkled. "Has everything been taken care of?"

"All the paperwork has been taken care of," Bond replied tersely. "I had a conversation with her late husband."

"How did that go?"

"About the way you'd expect when you've informed someone their spouse isn't coming back," Bond replied.

Eve shook her head. "Of course."

"That's not important right now," he said.

Eve handed the case to Bond and they descended the gangway. On the surface of the tarmac, a Land Rover Evoque (R) awaited them, the engine running and the driver, a member of the MI6 security team, waiting for his passengers to arrive.

Eve and Bond rode in the Land Rover for nearly a half hour before either spoke. Eve did so first.

"I must apologize, Bond," she said. "In the end, everything worked out, I suppose."

"I suppose," Bond said. The tone of his voice made clear he didn't want to extend the conversation. Eve didn't didn't try.

Another 45 minutes passed, and the agents arrived in the heart of London. Bond carried the case and exited the Evoque first. Eve walked right behind him. The drive had stopped at a 10-story building. There wasn't any spectacular design. Nothing to demonstrate the building was out of the ordinary.

"Why here?" Eve asked Bond.

"She grew up here," Bond replied. "Barbara Mawdsley spent the first 18 years of her life in this apartment building before heading to college. She had been identified very early on as someone quite academically gifted. Well, you know the class system in the U.K..." Bond's voice tailed off.

"She meant something to you, didn't she?" Eve asked.

The slightest smile appeared on Bond's face before all trace of emotion passed. "It doesn't really matter now. Let's go."

A few minutes later, Bond and Eve were on the rooftop of the apartment building. Bond held up the case and began to unlatch it.

"Is this what she really wanted?" Eve asked.

Bond arched his eyebrows, albeit with considerable pain. It was a display of his facial muscles he wasn't accustomed to using.

"Her instructions were quite explicit," Bond replied. "She always loved London, and especially this section of the city."

Eve said nothing as Bond opened the case and extracted a large vial of ash. Bond unscrewed the lid of the vial. Just then the a steady breeze came up from behind him. Bond empied the vial and the wind took the ash, scattering it around London.

Bond, clad in an overcoat over his Tom Ford (R) suit, along with a short neck scarf, watched silently as the wind swirled the ashes. Less that a minute later, the ashes had scattered. Bond tugged at the neck scarf for a moment, saying nothing.

Just then, Eve's smartphone buzzed. She turned away from Bond to answer it. "Yes?" she said into the receiver. "Yes, 007 is here. Who is it?" Eve paused for a few seconds. "Yes, I see. I'll tell him straightaway."

Bond turned to Eve. "What's that all about?"

"It's the new M," Eve replied. "He wants to see you within the next 45 minutes."

[Napoleon Solo]

Chapter 33: Epilogue

Fifty-two minutes later, Bond entered the waiting area to M's office. All of a sudden, the agent realized he was dressed differently than he was before. He was clad in an overcoat over an Anthony Sinclair (R) tuxedo.

Anthony Sinclair? Bond thought. Who the devil was Anthony Sinclair? Bond froze for a moment. What was this "Who the devil?" stuff. Normally, he'd say, "For f*ck's sake." Except, somehow, it didn't seem right.

Bond shook his head before continuing striding into the office. It didn't look at all what he was used to. At the desk in front of the door to M's office, there was an attractive brunette woman he didn't recognize, who was on the telephone.

The woman recognized Bond. "James, where have you been?"

Before Bond could speak, he realized he felt different. It was an odd feeling. He went past the secretary toward a window. While it was dark (Dark? Bond thought. It was bright daylight when he had received the summons!), the agent could recognize Regent's Park across the way. Then, he caught his reflection and his mouth went agape. Instead of the dirty blonde hair atop a pointy skull, there was a dark man with blue-gray eyes, whose black hair -- black! -- fell down in a comma over his right eyebrow. The face that stared back at Bond had rather cruel good looks. There was a flaw, however: a three-inch long, vertical scar on his right cheek. Bond also realized he felt taller -- at least two inches, perhaps four.

Bond's mind raced. What the bloody hell was going on? Then, the agent caught himself. That wasn't the normal way he'd express himself. Yet, it felt natural!

"Is something wrong, James," the woman at the desk asked, her voice trying to sound cool yet full of concern.

Bond shook his head and turned toward the woman. "No, Moneypenny..." Moneypenny? Who was she? Yet the name had come naturally off Bond's tongue.

"Are you sure?"

Bond tried to talk as naturally as he could. "Of course."

"Then you better go right in."

Bond strode confidently past Moneypenny -- if that was her name -- and through the the door into the new M's office. As Bond entered, he saw a middled aged man with glasses, busy at work at his desk. He seemed to take no notice of Bond until he spoke. "It's 3 in the morning, 007," he said. "When do you sleep."

"Never on the firm's time, sir," Bond answered. The words came out of Bond's mouth as if they had been scripted.

The new M motioned for Bond to sit down in the chair in front of his desk. Bond complied.

"Does toppling mean anything to you?"

Bond felt a surge of energy. He had never been in this place, yet he felt as if he belonged. For the first time, he felt as if he truly belonged.

"It's throwing the gyroscopic controls of a missile off with a radio beam or something, isn't it?"

Bond wasn't sure how M. was going to answer. But, for the first time in his life, the agent knew he could handle whatever his superior would say.


THE (LIVING) END

[Omega]

Man hating song by Adele begins. Something guttural and forlorn about how the sky left her falling to another.

[Kristatos]

THE END

NOT REALLY THE END

JAMES BOND WILL RETURN

IN

BEAK OF THE PTERODACTYL
(Old running joke from alt.fan.james-bond)

[Kristatos]

Does anybody want to have a stab at parodying the lyrics to Adele's theme song, to include references to chicken farming and the like? Here are the actual lyrics, if anyone wants a go:

This is the end
Hold your breath and count to ten
Feel the earth move and then
Hear my heart burst again

For this is the end
I've drowned and dreamed this moment
So overdue, I owe them
Swept away, I'm stolen

Let the sky fall, when it crumbles
We will stand tall
Face it all together

Let the sky fall, when it crumbles
We will stand tall
Face it all together
At skyfall

Skyfall is where we start
A thousand miles and poles apart
When worlds collide, and days are dark
You may have my number, you can take my name
But you'll never have my heart

Let the sky fall, when it crumbles
We will stand tall
Face it all together

Let the sky fall, when it crumbles
We will stand tall
Face it all together
At skyfall

Where you go I go,
What you see I see
I know I'll never be me, without the security
Of your loving arms
Keeping me from harm
Put your hand in my hand
And we'll stand

Let the sky fall, when it crumbles
We will stand tall
Face it all together

Let the sky fall, when it crumbles
We will stand tall
Face it all together
At skyfall

Let the sky fall
We will stand tall
At skyfall

[Napoleon Solo]

Here's a lame attempt to channel Frank Jacobs who wrote all those song parodies for Mad magazine once upon a time:

This is the end
Hold your breath and shoot a hen
Feel the earth move and then
Hear my blood pressure rise again

For once more the gunbarrel is at the end
I've drowned and dreamed this moment
So over-hyped, I owe them
Swept away, my money stolen

Let the sky fall, when he mumbles
We will stand tall
Face it all together

Let the sky fall, when he mumbles
We will stand tall
Face it all together
At skyfall

Skyfall is where we start
We'll win so many Oscars (R), we'll need a cart
When worlds collide, and days are dark
He may have the number, he may have the name
But you'll never recognize the starring part

Let the sky fall, when he mumbles
We will stand tall
Face it all together

Let the sky fall, when he mumbles
We will stand tall
Face it all together
At skyfall

Where you go I cannot go,
What you see I cannot see
Whoever thought 007 would be an Oscar contendee;
Look, he's working at the chicken farm,
Putting chickens in so much harm
Put your hand in my hand
And we'll stand

Let the sky fall, when he mumbles
We will stand tall
Face it all together

Let the sky fall, when he mumbles
We will stand tall
Face it all together
At skyfall

Let the sky fall

[Kristatos]

I like it. All I could come up with was "Eat your trifle, apple crumble", but that doesn't really tie into any of the jokes in the unofficial novelization.

[Napoleon Solo]

I like it. All I could come up with was "Eat your trifle, apple crumble", but that doesn't really tie into any of the jokes in the unofficial novelization.

Just editted it to completion. It's a combination of jokes related to the unofficial novelization (particularly the chicken farmer part) and the Oscar (R) fever for Skyfall.

[Napoleon Solo]

To accompany the parody Skyfall song, you could have a parody title sequence. For example, there'd be giant spinning Oscar statuettes in the sky while below, Bond could appear like he did in Quantum's titles, except he's shooting at chickens.