Hey! Nice to read you! Welcome to a series of shots of a oneshot which might become a more-shot. It’s like a triology in five parts. I was currently binge watching the whole James Bond Bluray Box again (Sean Connery FTW!) and decided that it would be quite funny to play a spy … or the sorry excuse of one!
The result is somewhere between the Wish version of James Bond and Lupin III … and I highly recommend to tune into the Lupin III soundtrack while reading. The rule system that I use is the Cypher System by Monte Cook Games and the Mythic GME 2nd Edition by Word Mill Games. Oh and by the way: it is the first time that I exclusively use the Mythic Android App for everything, including making notes of the scenes.
Prepare for heavy use of clichés and get your Martini. Shaken, not stirred…
Prologue – Bradley, Clayton Bradley
London, September the 23rd 1965, 10:14am
The meeting began with a curt acknowledgement. “Very well, Mr. Bradley,” M stated, her voice precise, “I want to get this straight first… we cannot afford another 00 currently.” She paused, allowing the statement to settle before continuing. “Thing is, our computer systems are only eight bits and more than a three-digit number and higher than 255 is not possible.” A slight gesture accompanied her words; she flipped her legs behind her desk with a casualness that belied the seriousness of the situation. “Soooo,” she added, “001 to 009 are taken, but you can have the codename 069 if you like.”
M’s gaze shifted, seemingly dismissing any further discussion on the matter of codenames. “License to kill is theoretically not granted,” she clarified, “but hey… it is a tough world out there and as long as the paperwork does not end up on my desk… I don’t care what you do as long as the job is done.” She rose from her chair, moving with purpose towards the window. The view encompassed London in its entirety, a sprawling panorama laid out before them. “I want you to go to Nice to meet our contact at the train station,” she instructed. “You exchange the suitcase and return to London as soon as possible. That should be manageable for a rookie like you, right?”
Clayton Bradley responded with an enthusiastic nod and a smile. M’s attention then returned, adding one final detail. “Oh, one more thing,” she said, “limited expenses and you have to drive with your own car… take the ferry to France at 6pm.” The announcement seemed to deflate Bradley somewhat. He sank back into his chair, responding with a subdued, “Oh! Sure!”
An hour later, Clayton Bradley found himself behind the wheel of his 1961 light blue Mini Cooper, navigating the roads towards Dover. The vehicle hummed with a determined energy as he pressed onward. M’s instructions regarding the 6pm ferry crossing echoed in his mind; the prospect of missing it was distinctly undesirable. Recognizing the precariousness of his situation, Bradley decided to push the little car’s capabilities. He applied more pressure to the accelerator pedal, eliciting a noticeable surge from the engine. Whether he could reach the ferry terminal on time remained to be seen, but he was certainly attempting to make up for lost time with considerable enthusiasm and a healthy dose of risk.
The Mini Cooper pulled into the parking lot of Gare de Nice Ville early in the morning, its arrival coinciding precisely with the agreed-upon timeframe. Clayton Bradley unfolded from the vehicle, visibly overfatigued after the late departure, the ferry crossing, and the subsequent drive. A noticeable hunger gnawed at him; he immediately sought out a nearby establishment to grab a bite to eat. After securing some sustenance, he located a relatively quiet spot within the bustling train station. Leaning against a wall, he unfolded a newspaper, attempting to appear nonchalant while discreetly scanning the surroundings. He waited, his eyes periodically drifting from the printed page as he looked for any sign of his contact—a subtle gesture or a familiar face amidst the crowd. The morning light filtered through the station’s glass roof, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, and Bradley settled into a tense vigil.
A gentle tap on his shoulder broke Bradley’s concentration. He turned to find himself facing a striking woman, undeniably a bombshell with an arresting presence. “Ahhh, mon petit chou-fleur…” she began, her voice laced with a thick Russian accent that somehow blended seamlessly with the French phrasing. “…have you fire for cigarette?” she inquired, tilting her head slightly. Bradley, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected approach and her unusual request, quickly recovered. He reached into his pockets, producing a lighter with practiced ease and offering it to her. She inhaled deeply from the newly lit cigarette. “Oh, merci beaucoup comrade!” she declared, punctuating the phrase with a playful wiggle before swiftly turning and heading directly towards the rail tracks, disappearing into the throng of travelers awaiting their trains.
Bradley’s attention shifted from the newspaper back to the bustling terminal, just as he spotted his contact—a portly middle-aged Turkish man easily identifiable by the small fez perched atop his head. The man raised a hand in greeting, and his thick mustache contorted into what appeared to be a friendly smile. Suddenly, the scene took a dramatic turn. A silent “Plop!” seemed to ripple through the air—or perhaps it was simply the absence of sound as the man’s eyes widened in alarm. Then, with alarming suddenness, he slumped to the ground, a dark red spot blooming on his jacket.
Before Bradley could react or even fully process what had occurred, the woman who had previously solicited a light for her cigarette moved with startling efficiency. With a fluid motion, she reached into the fallen man’s grasp and swiftly retrieved the suitcase he had been carrying. Maintaining an air of nonchalance, she seamlessly blended into the growing crowd that now recognized the pitiable state of the chubby man on the ground. In a blink, she vanished amidst the throng, leaving Bradley standing in stunned silence as chaos began to erupt around him.
Scene #1 – Venice or bust!
A wave of suspicion washed over Clayton Bradley as he couldn’t shake the feeling that the woman was far from what she appeared to be—certainly not French. He observed her smoothly entering the night train bound for Venice, a detail that solidified his growing unease. Driven by a sudden urgency, Bradley sprinted towards the departing train but arrived just seconds too late, watching as it pulled away from the platform.
“Damn… that is not good for the records,” he muttered to himself, “M is going to rip my head off.” He quickly scanned the railway schedule, locating the details of the Venice-bound train. “Hmm… expected to arrive in Venice at 6am tomorrow. No planned stop between Nice and Venice. Wonderful!” A smile slowly spread across Bradley’s face, a newfound confidence replacing his earlier apprehension. The lack of stops presented an opportunity. He raced towards the parking lot, leaped into his Mini Cooper, and hurtled into the night, heading east with a determined purpose—to reach Venice before the train did.
The majority of the route Bradley was taking ran parallel to the train tracks, allowing him to keep a constant eye on his quarry. After roughly half an hour of relentless driving, the distant lights of the Venice-bound train became visible in the distance, spurring him to press the pedal of his little Mini Cooper even further down. However, instead of responding with increased speed, the vehicle emitted a raspy stutter and gradually began to roll out, its engine protesting the strain.
Clayton, feeling utterly betrayed by his tiny companion, pulled over to the side of the road. He snipped his finger against the fuel gauge indicator in frustration. “Naaaah… great! The tank is empty,” he sighed, a mixture of annoyance and resignation coloring his voice. Exiting the car, he stood on the deserted street, contemplating his predicament. Fortunately, another vehicle appeared relatively soon, and he managed to secure a lift to the next petrol station, hoping to salvage the situation before it spiraled further out of control.
After a short walk from the petrol station and another five hours of relentless driving, Clayton finally spotted the train again, its lights cutting through the pre-dawn darkness. He instinctively checked the fuel gauge one last time, just to be certain nothing further could go wrong. With both feet firmly pressed onto the throttle, he surged forward. The Mini Cooper responded with a renewed vigor, quickly overtaking the train and leaving it far behind in its wake. He screeched to a halt in the parking lot of Stazione di Venezia Santa Lucia, the tires protesting loudly. Knowing his little car was now effectively useless until his departure from Venice, he meticulously locked it and patted the roof in a gesture of farewell.
Clayton sprinted towards the train station, quickly checking the tracks where the night train from Nice was expected to arrive. As he raced through the night to Venice, thoughts swirled through his mind: confronting the woman directly for the suitcase or adopting a more subtle approach. He weighed the risks and benefits of each strategy. Ultimately, Bradley opted for stealth mode. Rather than a direct confrontation, he decided to follow her, hoping to uncover further information and potentially snatch the suitcase without being noticed—a far better chance at securing it undetected.
Scene #2 – Ahh … Venice!
Bradley positioned himself behind a sturdy pillar inside Stazione di Venezia Santa Lucia, strategically located near the tracks where the night train from Nice was due to arrive. Minutes later, he spotted her—the woman with the distinctive Russian accent—exiting the train. Her casual dress made identification straightforward. Shielded by the throng of departing travelers and tourists, Bradley managed to follow her undetected as she navigated the labyrinthine streets of Venice.
She entered the Rio Terà Lista di Spagna, crossed Campo San Geremia, and meandered through the city’s intricate network of canals and alleyways until she reached Ponte dei Santi Apostoli. Bradley maintained his cover, unseen but close behind. However, he was forced to halt as he witnessed her engaging in a conversation with a man on the bridge across the Rio dei Santi Apostoli.
“Tell Phantom I have suitcase,” she stated in broken English, her thick Russian accent still prominent. “I come to casino in evening.” The man nodded curtly. Suddenly, his gaze flickered towards the corner where Bradley was hiding—a near miss. Perhaps Clayton’s ability to blend into his surroundings needed some improvement. Luckily, the man seemed to dismiss what he’d possibly seen and turned back.
The mysterious woman continued her tour through the city, eventually entering Palazzo Gritti in San Marco—a lavish five-star hotel that was sadly far beyond Bradley’s financial reach.
Scene #3 – Understanding among nations
Just as Clayton Bradley was about to follow the woman into Palazzo Gritti to attempt some reconnaissance, a sharp piece of metal pressed firmly against his back. “Non fare una mossa sbagliata, signore!” he heard behind him—”Li seguiamo da un bel po’ di tempo ormai.”
Bradley was instantly irritated and responded quickly, attempting what he hoped was flawless Italian: “Ahh… sì, sì… una… uno momento, por favor… señor… bitte schön!”—a jumbled mess of borrowed phrases that likely conveyed little more than his surprise. He was guided by his assailant into a narrow, dark alleyway.
“We better talk English, right?” the man said, his Italian accent thick and laced with an underlying menace. “Why are you following Miss Flopanova?”
Bradley launched into an elaborate explanation for the man, attempting to portray himself as a harmless admirer. He spun a tale about simply following the woman because he was captivated by her beauty and had been contemplating asking her name—and perhaps even inviting her to dinner. To his surprise, it seemed to work; the man appeared to buy his act, seemingly relaxing his grip on the metal object against Bradley’s back.
Just as the man was about to put away his weapon, Bradley made a sudden, awkward movement—and that’s when the hidden blade concealed within his wrist snapped out with surprising speed, aiming directly for the man’s throat. A silent gurgle escaped the man’s lips as he collapsed onto the cobblestones.
“Oh oh… not good!” Clayton muttered under his breath, immediately scanning his surroundings to ensure no one had witnessed the incident. He quickly rolled the man’s body into the nearest canal, sending it disappearing beneath the murky water. Straightening his black suit with a practiced hand, he surveyed the alleyway once more before speaking.
“At least I know parts of her name, now,” Bradley said, a grim determination settling over his features as he walked out of the alley and towards the hotel.
Scene #4 – A concierge to fall in love with
Bradley meticulously checked his outfit one last time before stepping into the opulent five-star hotel. In the grand lobby, he spotted a female concierge and approached her with an air of practiced charm. “Oh well, well… what have we here?” he bootlicked, attempting to project an image of sophisticated ease. “Tell me, I am supposed to meet Miss Flopinova here. Is she in her room?”
The lulled concierge blushed slightly and sheepishly produced a guestbook, diligently checking for the room number of Miss Flopinova. Bradley was able to quickly glimpse where her finger slid above the page, revealing the inscription: “Natalia Flopinova, Room 311.” With a stuttering voice, the hotel staff member confirmed that Miss Flopinova was indeed in her room after checking for a missing key on the wall.
“Ah, thank you… I will wait in the Lobby, my dear,” Bradley said smoothly, offering a wink before approaching the bar within the hotel’s lavish lobby.
After several hours spent nursing a drink at the bar, Bradley’s patience was rewarded as Natalia Flopinova entered the lobby, radiating an undeniable presence in a sleek black evening dress and towering stilettos. She was walking towards the counter, engaged in conversation with the concierge he’d encountered earlier that day. Placing her key onto the counter, she left the hotel into the early evening air.
Bradley sprang to action, leaping from his seat and running towards the counter. Slowing his pace as he approached the young female concierge, he adopted a disarming smile. “Well, it seems as if I missed Miss Flopinova…” he said in a low voice, placing his hand on the counter and supporting his chin with the other. Slowly, deliberately, his hand began to slide across the polished surface, eventually covering the key of Natalia Flopinova.
A short intermezzo of mundane nonsense and flirtation followed—a carefully orchestrated dance of polite conversation designed to distract the hotel staff. And then, subtly, almost imperceptibly, Bradley acquired the room key of his prey.
“Jackpot, baby!” Bradley whispered as he walked towards the lift. “I wish M would fall for my tricks as easy as this concierge did. Would be good for the next salary negotiations.” With a soft “Bing!” the lift reached the third floor. Searching for room 311, he quickly glanced across the floor and approached the door. Entering the room, he instantly noticed the suitcase of his contact sitting on the bed.
“Room Service!” he heard from just in front of the door. “Wait what? Now? In the evening?” Bradley thought to himself, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. In a swift motion, he grabbed the suitcase and headed towards the window. He heard something fiddling around at the door—someone was attempting to open it using… alternative methods.
Bonk! Clayton Bradley found himself sprawling on the floor, a black nylon stocking of Miss Flopinova having sent him tumbling. Freeing himself from the stocking’s embrace, he quickly stuffed it into a pocket of his tuxedo. Exiting the hotel room through the window, he carefully balanced along a small ledge along the wall of the hotel building until he reached the balcony of a neighboring suite.
Just as he thought he’d secured a safe vantage point, a man leaned out from the window he’d just vacated. “Stop!” the man shouted, producing a weapon with alarming speed. Cowering behind the stone railing of the balcony, Clayton Bradley narrowly evaded two bullets that whizzed past his head. The attacker then vanished back into the interior of Natalia Flopinova’s suite.
Swift like a little monkey, he found himself dangling from the balcony and scaling down to the one below. Further and further he climbed, until he reached the last balcony before the water surface of the canal. Just in that moment, a gondola passed by. He seized his opportunity, jumping onto the back of the narrow boat and gesturing to the gondolier to continue rowing. Passing beneath the next bridge, Bradley leaped from the gondola and landed squarely on the stone structure.
He opened the suitcase, and immediately spat out, “Oh no.” Looking into the gaping almost-emptiness of the interior, he realized the situation was far worse than initially anticipated. Wait! Almost empty? Bradley thought to himself that besides a small ticking thingy he found, yes, the suitcase was indeed empty. The shock of realization hit him hard and with eyes wide open, he kicked the suitcase into the canal, searching for cover behind the railing of the bridge.
“Fupp!” it made as it hit the water and exploded, sending a fountain of dead fish and murky water spraying out from the canal. Straightening his suit again—a futile gesture given the circumstances—Bradley walked away, leaving the chaos behind him.
Scene #5 – Cauliflower … again!
Natalia Flopinova must have sensed she was being followed and set up a trap. But who was this man that shot at him? At least Bradley knew where Flopinova was heading, and he was certain she carried the contents of the suitcase—whatever that might be—with her. He quickly called for a gondola and announced his destination: Casinò di Venezia, famous for being the oldest gambling establishment in the world.
Jumping out of the gondola at the footbridge of the casino, he greeted the porter nonchalantly and entered. Scanning the lobby, he located the exchange counter and decided to change some of his money into jetons. After a while, he entered the main room, after a very embarrassing encounter with the lady behind the exchange counter who thought his little money was her tip.
Bradley quickly noticed Natalia Flopinova standing at a Roulette table. He walked towards the bar, securing a drink before sauntering casually toward said table. In the moment he arrived, Natalia turned around and looked at him directly. “Ahhh, il mio piccolo cavolfiore… we see again!” she whispered with her signature accent, her finger tracing Bradley’s chin in a gesture that was both playful and unsettling.
Her hand moved further down, stopping at something dangling out of Bradley’s tuxedo pocket. “Uuuuh! I have same model,” she whispered as she produced her black stocking from Clayton’s pocket. “Why you steal? Why not ask! Probably I have give you!” she said with a smirk. “But I am surprised you not went boom!” she added with playful disappointment. “You will follow now…” she declared with an ice cold undertone, indicating that she had a small silencer-equipped firearm hidden in her handbag.
“Miss Fapinova… is there a possibility that I can talk my way out of this situation?” Clayton Bradley asked, attempting a disarming smile. “Is Flopinova!” She paused, her expression hardening. “Natalia Flopinova. And to you is: Major Flopinova!” she said with a menacing tone and gestured Bradley to move. “Go! Now!”
To be continued …
Oh no! Will Clayton Bradley get out of this alive? Will he be able to retrieve the content of the suitcase … whatever that might be? What will M say? And what is Natalia Flopinova’s dress size? The next part may have most of the answers!
