Three Decades of James Bond 007 Page #4

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undermined all those regimes?

Only to come home: 'Well done, good job.

But sorry, old boy.

Everything you risked your life

and limb for has changed. '

- It was the job we were chosen for.

- Of course you'd say that.

James Bond,

Her Majesty's Ioyal terrier...

defender of the

so-called 'faith. '

Oh, please, James, put it away.

It's insulting to think I haven't

anticipated your every move.

Yes.

- I trusted you, Alec.

- Trust?

What a quaint idea.

How did the Ml6 screening miss

that your parents were Lienz Cossacks?

Once again, your faith is misplaced.

They knew.

We're both orphans, James.

But where your parents had the luxury

of dying in a climbing accident...

mine survived the British betrayal

and Stalin's execution squads.

But my father couldn't let himself,

or my mother, live with the shame of it.

Ml6 figured I was

too young to remember.

And in one of life's

little ironies...

the son went to work for

the government whose betrayal...

caused the father

to kill himself and his wife.

Hence, Janus.

The two-faced Roman god

come to life.

It wasn't God who gave me this face,

it was you...

setting the timers for three minutes

instead of six.

Am I supposed

to feel sorry for you?

No. You're supposed

to die for me.

Oh, by the way...

I did think of asking you

to join my little scheme...

but somehow I knew...

never to his friend.

Closing time, James.

Last call.

For England, James.

Wake up!

Mister!

Wake up, please!

- Wake up!

- I'm here.

- I'm here!

- Hurry!

Hurry up! Come out!

Pull yourself together!

We're going to die!

Do something!

Get us out of here!

I'm a little tied up...

Never mind.

The things that we do

for 'frequent flyer' mileage.

Here, let me help you.

That's it, mind your head.

Let me go!

Who are you?

Listen, I'm on your side.

I'm here to help you.

- I don't know anything.

- I don't believe you.

- I don't care what you believe.

- Look!

They might be back for us any minute.

You either take your chances with me...

or your fellow countrymen

who killed everyone at Severnaya.

I've never been to Severnaya.

Your watch has.

Frozen by the GoldenEye blast.

And I'm willing to bet you're the one

who climbed up the dish to get out.

- Who are you?

- I work for the British government.

And the more you tell me,

the more I can help you.

- But I don't know anything!

- Then let's start with what you do know.

My name is Natalya Simonova.

I was a systems programmer

at Severnaya facility until...

Go on.

- Until they killed everyone.

- Who? Alec Trevelyan?

No. I don't know who that is.

Who was the insider?

Who was the traitor?

Boris.

Boris Grishenko.

- KGB or military?

- Computer programmer.

- There was no one else?

- No.

They're going to kill me,

aren't they?

Trust me.

Trust you?

I don't even know your name.

Good morning, Mr. Bond.

Sit.

I'm Defense Minister

Dimitri Mishkin.

So, by what means shall we

execute you, Commander Bond?

What, no small talk?

No chitchat?

That's the trouble with the world today.

No one takes the time to do a sinister

interrogation anymore. It's a lost art.

Your sense of humor doesn't slay me,

Commander. I'm sorry.

- Where is the GoldenEye?

- I assumed you had it.

I have an English spy, a Severnaya

programmer and the helicopter they took.

That's what some traitor in your

government wanted it to look like.

- Who was behind the attack on Severnaya?

- Who had the authorization codes?

Russia may have changed, but the

penalty for terrorism is still death!

- And what's the penalty for treason?

- Stop it, both of you! Stop it!

You're like boys with toys.

It was Ourumov.

General Ourumov set off the weapon.

I saw him do it.

Are you certain it was Ourumov?

Yes. He killed everyone

and stole the GoldenEye.

And why would he do that?

There is another satellite.

Another GoldenEye?

Thank you, Miss Simonova.

You were saying something about

the lost art of interrogation, Mr. Bond?

Defense Minister, I must protest!

This is my investigation.

You are out of order.

From what I am hearing,

it is you who's out of order!

- I have seen this gun before.

- Put it down.

- In the hand of our enemy.

- Put it down, General!

Do you even know who

the enemy is, Dimitri?

- Do you?

- Guard!

Defense Minister Dimitri Mishkin...

murdered by a British agent,

James Bond.

Himself shot while

trying to escape. Guards!

Come on!

They're in the archives!

Down!

Spread out!

Cover the other side!

Trust me.

Go now!

Faster!

Damn it!

Down the alley!

Use the bumper!

That's what it's for!

What was that?

Go left!

Get out!

Either you've brought me

the perfect gift, General Ourumov...

or you've made me

a very unhappy man.

Mishkin got to them

before I could.

Bond is alive?

He escaped.

Good for Bond.

Bad for you.

Take a seat, my dear.

You know, James and I

shared everything.

Absolutely everything.

To the victor go the spoils.

You'll like it where we're going.

You may even learn to like me.

Stay with her.

Bond.

Only Bond.

He's going to derail us.

Full speed!

Full speed! Ram him!

Why can't you just be

a good boy and die?

You first.

You... second.

Up!

Situation analysis: hopeless.

You have no backup,

no escape route.

And I have the only

bargaining chip.

Where is she?

Oh, yes.

Your fatal weakness.

Ourumov, bring her in.

Lovely girl.

Tastes like...

like strawberries.

- I wouldn't know.

- I would.

So, back where we started, James.

Your friend or the mission.

Drop the gun.

I'll let her live.

Ourumov, what has this

Cossack promised you?

You knew, didn't you?

He's a Lienz Cossack.

- It's in the past.

- He'll betray you!

- Just like everyone else.

- Is this true?

What's true is that in 48 hours

you and I will have more money than God.

And Mr. Bond here will have

a small memorial service...

with only Moneypenny and a few

tearful restaurateurs in attendance.

So, what's the choice, James?

Two targets.

Time enough for one shot.

The girl, or the mission?

Kill her.

She means nothing to me.

See you in hell, James.

One-inch armor plating.

I'm fine,

thank you very much!

- Boris, yes!

- What are you doing?

Boris is on-line,

backing up his files.

If I can spike him, I might be able

to find out where they're going.

But don't stand there!

Get us out of here!

Yes, sir.

Good luck with the floor, James.

I set the timers for six minutes...

the same six minutes you gave me.

It was the least

I could do for a friend.

- What does that mean?

- We've got three minutes.

What else do you call your butt?

- What?

- It's Boris' password.

He plays word games: 'What I sit on,

but I don't take it with me. '

- Chair.

- Like I said.

Thirty seconds.

He's not in Russia, Germany,

Paris, London, Madrid.

Twenty-five seconds.

New York, Toronto, Chicago,

San Francisco.

Twenty seconds!

Mexico City, Rio, Miami.

- Come on!

- Wait!

He's in Cuba, Havana. No.

Now!

Do you destroy every vehicle

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