Hallo, and welcome back to the chaotic world of Clayton Bradley, her Majesty’s most inept secret service agent ever. I had so much fun playing the first adventure that I decided to make him a recurring character to play.
Todays Bradley-Girl is sooo heavily inspired by Nomiya Mika, from the legendary Pizzicato Five. I had the pleasure to see them live in Düsseldorf in 2000 just before they split a year later.
So, to get you in the right mood for this adventure, why not listen to one of their best songs?
Prologue – 4.50 from Shibuya Station
London, April the 4th 1966, 1:20pm
Clayton Bradley found himself seated in Director M’s lavishly appointed office, a space that seemed designed to subtly intimidate even the most seasoned operative. The director herself regarded him with an expression that was difficult to decipher – somewhere between amusement and weary tolerance. He had been summoned, ostensibly for recognition of his recent efforts, which involved the rather delicate matter of recovering several samples of… well, bodily fluids. And, surprisingly, a recurring need for assistance in transporting her daughter from school.
“Mr. Bradley,” Director M began, her voice crisp and precise, “you have demonstrated a certain aptitude lately. Not only did you successfully retrieve the aforementioned specimens – a feat which, I must admit, was unexpectedly challenging – but your occasional assistance with my daughter’s transportation has also proven… useful.” Clayton fidgeted in his chair, the plush velvet doing little to ease his discomfort. He couldn’t help but consider the possibility of being tasked with grocery shopping again; it had been a surprisingly tedious affair involving several near-misses with rogue pigeons and an unfortunate incident with a particularly stubborn grapefruit. “Uhm… thank you, Director,” he mumbled, “very kind. What can I do for you today?”
The director’s lips curved into a slight smile. “I require your presence in Tokyo,” she announced, crossing her legs with a decisive click. “You will meet with our contact there. She will be awaiting your arrival at the airport; I doubt you’ll have any trouble spotting her.” A pause hung in the air as she continued, “Your briefing will be provided on the plane, as is standard procedure. And Mr. Bradley,” she added, her tone taking on a distinctly sharper edge, “ensure you acquire all of your latest gadgets from Q and strictly adhere to his instructions. All of them.” Clayton’s face brightened considerably at the mention of Q and his workshop, a veritable wonderland of eccentric devices. “Oh sure, Director!” he exclaimed, practically leaping from his chair as he hurried out of the office and down the corridor towards Q’s domain.
Descending into Q’s laboratory felt like entering another dimension entirely – a chaotic realm filled with blinking lights, whirring gears, and the faint scent of ozone and slightly burnt toast. Upon boarding the plane, Clayton eagerly opened an envelope that had been provided to him. Inside was a photograph of his contact in Tokyo: a woman sporting a dark kimono with a vibrant floral pattern, a towering beehive hairdo, and sunglasses so large they practically obscured her face. Beneath the photo were further instructions, written in M’s notoriously cryptic script, which included warnings about avoiding karaoke bars and a detailed diagram illustrating the proper usage of a newly developed self-stirring umbrella. Clayton sighed; Tokyo was going to be an adventure, alright.
The landing in Tokyo was smooth, but Clayton Bradley’s initial impression of the city was one of vibrant sensory overload – flashing neon signs, bustling crowds, and an aroma that blended exhaust fumes with something distinctly floral. He emerged from the airport terminal to find himself confronted by a scene that both confirmed and exceeded his expectations. There, parked in a prime location just outside the arrivals gate, sat a gleaming British sports car – a bright cherry red Jaguar E-Type, looking utterly incongruous amidst the Japanese vehicles. And behind the wheel was the woman from the photograph, brought to life with an even greater degree of charm than he’d anticipated.
She was undeniably beautiful, a young Japanese woman with flawless skin and eyes that sparkled with amusement. Her beehive hairstyle, perfectly sculpted into a gravity-defying masterpiece, seemed to defy all laws of physics. And as she spotted him, she waved enthusiastically, her voice carrying across the tarmac in an unexpected accent “Oi, mate! Come ‘ere, quick! Get yer arse in the motor!”.
Clayton stood for a moment, momentarily paralyzed by the sheer absurdity of it all. He’d braced himself for a briefing, a stern introduction, perhaps even a coded message. Instead, he was greeted with in a cheerful Cockney accent from a woman who looked like she’d stepped straight out of a magazine spread – if that magazine had been dedicated to showcasing the most delightfully bizarre and unexpected combinations imaginable. He quickly recovered, offering a slightly bewildered but polite nod in return. The Jaguar’s door swung open, inviting him inside, and Clayton Bradley found himself getting his “arse in the motor.”
The cherry red Jaguar E-Type roared to life with a satisfying growl as Kitty slammed her foot on the accelerator. The car shot off like a rocket, leaving a trail of bewildered onlookers in its wake. Clayton Bradley gripped the passenger seat, bracing himself against the sudden surge of speed. He’d barely settled into the plush leather interior when Kitty, still maintaining a breakneck pace through the Tokyo streets, turned to him with a wide grin and delivered the line in a voice that was anything but what he expected: a thick, undeniably Cockney accent.
“Right then, I’m Kitty, Kitty Boom Boom. Pleased to make yer acquaintance. M didn’t say nothin’ about you lookin’… that… alright, did ‘e?” she declared, her words tumbling out with cheerful abandon. Clayton’s head swiveled around, his expression a mixture of confusion and mild alarm. He’d been expecting polite formality, perhaps a few carefully chosen phrases in Japanese. Instead, he was being greeted by a whirlwind of speed and unexpected linguistic choices. “Nice to meet you too, Miss Boom Boom,” he replied cautiously, glancing at the photograph again just to confirm that he hadn’t imagined her appearance. “Your accent is quite… unusual… for a Japanese.”
Kitty erupted into laughter, a bright, infectious sound that echoed through the car. She expertly navigated the crowded streets with an almost reckless confidence, weaving between taxis and scooters with effortless grace. “Just Kitty, innit? Me proper name’s Haibara Fukiko, but I prefer Kitty Boom Boom, yeah? Especially the ‘Boom Boom’ bit, cor blimey!” she said dismissively, waving off his comment with a flick of her wrist. “Me old man’s a Japanese diplomat, see? And me mum’s from Scottland, she is. I was raised ’round London… or proper on the cobbles, as I like to say. If you ask me dad, he’ll tell ya I were brought up in England, in some posh private school for girls, innit.”
Clayton Bradley found himself wondering if he’d stumbled into some elaborate prank orchestrated by M, or if this was simply how things operated in the world of espionage these days – a chaotic blend of international intrigue and utterly unexpected accents. He decided not to dwell on it too much; after all, he had a feeling that his mission with Kitty was going to be anything but ordinary. “Me auntie Margaret, me mum’s sister, she’s always on at me to talk all posh like, innit? But blimey, that’s just dead boring, yeah?” Kitty adds laughing.
The Jaguar continued its exhilarating – if somewhat terrifying – journey through Tokyo’s bustling streets, Kitty expertly maneuvering the car while maintaining a lively commentary on the local traffic and the merits of various ramen shops. Clayton, still slightly disoriented by her Cockney accent and the sheer velocity of their progress, was attempting to process everything when something even more unexpected occurred.
Without warning, Kitty leaned over from the driver’s seat, her movements surprisingly fluid despite the speed at which they were traveling. For a moment, her head vanished completely between Bradley’s legs, accompanied by a series of muffled sounds and the distinct clinking of metal on metal. Clayton tried to maintain an air of composure, focusing intently on the passing scenery while discreetly adjusting his posture. He was acutely aware that any sudden movement could result in a rather awkward situation.
Then, with a triumphant grin, Kitty reappeared, her head emerging from the inside of the glovebox and she produced a crisp white envelope. “Ere!” she announced cheerfully, handing it to Bradley. “More wot’s from M” The gesture was casual, almost nonchalant, as if disappearing between his legs to retrieve classified documents was an everyday occurrence.
The moment Clayton Bradley opened the envelope, a visible wave of color drained from his face. The vibrant Tokyo cityscape outside seemed to blur as he stared at the stark black ink on the page. He felt a distinct lightness in his head, followed by a sudden and unsettling feeling that he might be about to faint. Kitty, oblivious to his internal turmoil, continued her cheerful narration of the passing sights, pointing out a particularly impressive display of bonsai trees with evident enthusiasm.
The first line of M’s message was enough to send him reeling: “Bradley, you should by now have made contact with my niece Fukiko…”
“You alright, love?” Kitty asked, her voice laced with genuine concern as she finally noticed his pallor. “Lookin’ a bit peaky, innit? What’s Auntie Marg’s orders, then?”
Scene #1 – Oi! Dat’s me bubblegum!
The hotel room that Kitty had arranged was a study in understated elegance – plush carpets, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering Tokyo skyline, and a distinct lack of any discernible personality beyond what was clearly necessary for accommodating international operatives. Both Clayton and Kitty found themselves seated on the king-sized bed, poring over the details of their mission with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
Clayton handed Kitty the photograph he’d been studying – a stark black and white image of an older man, his face etched with years of hardened experience and adorned with a sprawling network of intricate tattoos that snaked across his skin. The man’s visage was grim, radiating an aura of menace. “Oi, I know ‘im,” Kitty stated matter-of-factly, her voice losing some of its usual bubbly quality. “Proper gettin’ stuck into some shady business, ‘e is.”
Clayton continued reading the short notice from M, his expression darkening with each line. “Your objective is to assassinate your target Ishimoto Ryoko, an international arms dealer,” he read aloud, the words feeling heavy and unnatural on his tongue. “He’s suspected to live on the Island of Toshima, lying just before the Sagami Bay. The island is heavily secured, and we advise you to search for safe ways to enter the island.” He finished reading, then crumpled the short notice into a ball and tossed it into an ornate silver ashtray, where he ignited it with a flick of his lighter. The paper burned quickly, sending a plume of smoke curling towards the ceiling.
Kitty handed him back the photograph of Ishimoto Ryoko, her expression unreadable. Without a word, Clayton carefully tucked the image into the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket, securing it against his chest.
The silence following was abruptly shattered by Kitty’s sudden outburst. She threw her hands in the air with a theatrical flourish, letting out a joyous scream that echoed through the hotel room. “Cor blimey, now our execution dates are sorted,” she declared in an euphoric tone, “time for the bit where we make a few bob, innit?”
Before Clayton could even process her words, Kitty launched herself at him with surprising speed and force. She grabbed his collar and began kissing him wildly, a whirlwind of unexpected affection and chaotic energy. The kiss was intense, bordering on frantic, and left Clayton reeling from the sudden shift in dynamics. He found himself caught off guard, struggling to maintain some semblance of composure amidst the onslaught.
However, something within him – perhaps a deeply ingrained sense of self-preservation or a lingering awareness of his duties to M – kicked in just long enough. With a subtle but decisive movement, he managed to free himself from Kitty’s grasp, creating a small space between them. The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow: she was M’s niece. A fact that could very well cost him dearly.
As he pulled back, his tongue instinctively searched his oral cavity, producing an unexpected and decidedly cherry-esque result – a wad of chewed bubble gum. “Kitty,” he said, his voice strained, “this is yours!” He held up the sticky pink blob.
Scene #2 – Well prepared is half the battle
Clayton Bradley decided that a reconnaissance mission was paramount before committing to any further plans. The idea of blindly charging into a heavily secured island with a woman who could drive like a maniac and had a penchant for unexpected kisses wasn’t particularly appealing. Fortunately, Kitty possessed an extensive network of contacts – a fact he was rapidly learning. She knew just the boating service that offered tours through Sagami Bay, and within two hours, they found themselves aboard a glass-bottomed boat heading south, leaving Tokyo’s sprawling cityscape behind.
Kitty was utterly captivated by the underwater world beneath them, her gaze flitting between the glass panel and the fishes swimming below with an almost childlike enthusiasm. “Blimey, ever ‘ad a ponder on what them bleedin’ fish make of us, yeah?” she mused aloud, her voice laced with genuine curiosity. “Like, we’re pokin’ our noses in their digs?” Clayton attempted a polite smile, but his attention was divided between Kitty’s whimsical observations and the steadily approaching silhouette of Toshima Island.
As they drew closer to their destination, Bradley casually inquired of the tour guide about the island. “Excuse me,” he said with practiced ease, “could you tell me a bit about Toshima? It’s quite an impressive sight.” The tour guide’s smile faltered slightly. “Sir, we are not permitted to get any closer than this,” he replied stiffly. “There are…reasons. Security protocols and all that.” He avoided eye contact, clearly uncomfortable with the topic.
Undeterred, Clayton produced a pair of high-powered binoculars from his pocket and began meticulously inspecting the shore of Toshima Island. Through the lenses, he could make out imposing concrete walls, strategically placed guard towers manned by figures in dark uniforms, and what appeared to be sophisticated surveillance equipment scanning the surrounding waters. The island was clearly not just “heavily secured” – it was a fortress. He noted the presence of several vehicles that looked suspiciously like armored personnel carriers parked near the shoreline. It was going to be far more complicated than he initially anticipated. A grim expression settled on his face as he lowered the binoculars, the image of Toshima’s defenses burned into his memory.
Clayton’s carefully constructed plan for observation nearly dissolved into chaos when Kitty, ever impulsive, turned her attention to the water surrounding their boat. “Ere, wot we doin’, duckie?” she asked curiously, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Jump in an’ have a paddle over ‘ere?” She was already leaning precariously over the railing, seemingly poised to launch herself into the waves.
“No! Kitty! Stop it!” Clayton exclaimed in sheer panic, his voice rising several octaves. The thought of M’s niece storming the heavily fortified Island of Toshima alone – a prospect both ludicrous and terrifying – sent a jolt of anxiety through him. “We have to go back to the hotel and…” Before he could finish his thought, Kitty interrupted with a mischievous smirk playing on her lips. “…an’ go proper mental like grown-ups do, yeah?” she finished for him, her voice dripping with playful innuendo.
Clayton stared at her, speechless and slightly bewildered. He had envisioned meticulous planning, strategic reconnaissance, and perhaps a few gadgets from Q. He hadn’t factored in impromptu make-out sessions as part of the mission protocol. The absurdity of it all threatened to overwhelm him once more. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Kitty’s smirk widened, clearly enjoying his discomfort. It was going to be a long and complicated assignment.
Scene #3 – Steadfast on deck
The attempt to turn the glass-bottomed tour boat back towards the mainland was abruptly cut short by an unexpected development. As the captain attempted to maneuver the vessel, a sleek speedboat emerged from behind Toshima Island, rapidly closing in on their position. It bore the unmistakable markings of the island’s security force – black paint, stern lines, and a distinct lack of welcoming signage.
Just as the tour guide began stammering apologies about unforeseen circumstances and restricted zones, Kitty executed a move that left Clayton reeling. With an almost theatrical flourish, she seemingly lost her balance and tumbled overboard with a splash. The water erupted around her as she disappeared beneath the surface.
Clayton’s initial reaction was one of pure panic. He leaped to his feet, shouting for help and frantically scanning the waves where Kitty had vanished. But even amidst the chaos, a chilling thought began to creep into his mind: this wasn’t an accident. It felt… calculated. The timing was too precise, the execution too graceful. He couldn’t deny that it might be a deliberate act orchestrated by M’s niece – a bold and utterly bewildering move in their unfolding mission.
The tour guide, now visibly shaken, sputtered about calling for rescue services while simultaneously attempting to explain himself to an increasingly agitated captain. Clayton ignored them both, his gaze fixed on the spot where Kitty had disappeared. He knew he should be concerned for her safety, but a larger, more unsettling question consumed him: what exactly was Kitty’s plan? And how deeply involved was she in this elaborate game of espionage? The speedboat from Toshima continued its approach, and Clayton realized that whatever Kitty’s strategy was, it had just dramatically escalated the stakes.
The sight of armed personnel hauling Kitty aboard the speedboat was a jarring confirmation of Clayton’s growing suspicions. Despite her predicament, she appeared remarkably composed, even managing to maintain a semblance of dignity despite being drenched in seawater and clad in a rather impractical kimono. “It is remarkable,” he muttered to himself, his voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and grudging admiration, “how she can swim in this kimono…”
He quickly snapped into action, grabbing his camera from his jacket pocket. With practiced efficiency, he made several quick snaps of the thugs on the speedboat as they sped away, capturing their faces, uniforms, and any identifying markings visible on their vessel. “Quick! Bring me back to the harbor!” he barked at the bewildered captain of the glass-bottom boat, who was still reeling from the unexpected turn of events.
Back at the harbor, Clayton practically leaped into Kitty’s waiting Jaguar, tires screeching as he spun out of the parking lot and sped back towards the hotel. The vehicle roared down the streets of Tokyo, a blur of neon lights and bustling crowds fading in his rearview mirror. Once inside the suite, he wasted no time in opening the suitcase Q had provided – a standard issue kit for any agent operating in the field. Inside, nestled amongst various gadgets and gizmos, was a compact photo development kit. Each special agent was rigorously trained on its use, and Clayton swiftly set to work.
With practiced hands, he developed the photos he’d taken just hours earlier – images of the island’s defenses, the approaching speedboat, and most importantly, the faces of the men who had abducted Kitty. The grainy black-and-white prints slowly emerged from the developing fluid, revealing a wealth of information: identifying marks on uniforms, distinctive tattoos on several of the thugs’ arms, and even a glimpse of a logo emblazoned on the side of the speedboat – a stylized serpent coiled around a sword. Clayton carefully laid out the photos, each one a piece of a puzzle he desperately needed to solve before it was too late. Kitty’s disappearance had just transformed their mission from a simple assassination assignment into something far more complex and dangerous.
The phone call was a disaster waiting to happen, and Clayton Bradley delivered it with remarkable efficiency. He dialed M’s number, bracing himself for the inevitable fallout. “Uhm… hallo!” he began, his voice already betraying his anxiety. “Ehm… Aunt Margaret…” He caught himself just in time, a wave of embarrassment washing over him. “Oh shit, sorry! I mean M. How are you?” The stutter was palpable, a clear indication of the turmoil brewing within him.
M’s response was immediate and icy. “Ok, Bradley. What have you done?” Clayton noticed how cold sweat began to bead on his forehead as he attempted to formulate an explanation. “I… uhm… Kitty, I mean Fukiko. She is…” He paused again, desperately trying to organize his thoughts.
M lost all patience, her voice rising sharply. “Stop wasting my time, Bradley! What happened?” Clayton quickly brought M up to date with everything that had transpired – the tour boat, the approaching speedboat, Kitty’s dramatic plunge into the water, and her subsequent abduction. He meticulously recounted the events, leaving out only one crucial detail: the lingering taste of Kitty’s cherry-flavoured bubblegum still residing in his mouth cavity.
M was far from pleased. “Clayton!” she roared, her voice echoing through the phone line. “You will get my niece back! As soon as possible and at best… YESTERDAY! If anything happens to her, I will make you pay.” The threat hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the consequences that awaited him if he failed. Clayton swallowed hard, the weight of responsibility pressing down on his shoulders. He had a niece to rescue, a mission to salvage, and a very angry director to appease – all before tomorrow.
Scene #4 – Creepy! Creeeeeeeeepy!
An hour later, Clayton found himself seated in the austere office of the Japanese Secret Service – the Kōanchōsa-Chō, as he’d attempted to pronounce it earlier, earning him a polite but slightly amused glance from his host. Director Fukuhara Shozaburo was a man of quiet authority, his face etched with years of experience and strategic maneuvering. Clayton explained how he had “lost” one of their agents, Haibara Fukiko, presenting the photographs he’d developed earlier as evidence. He detailed their mission, outlining its objectives and explaining how Fukiko had seemingly orchestrated her own capture by leaping overboard.
“Ah… Bradley-san!” Director Fukuhara said with a knowing smile, “I see you have already made your experiences with her. A character you can only hardly keep in check. She told me that she is really looking forward to work with you.” The comment was delivered with an air of amusement, hinting at the challenges ahead. After a brief but informative conversation, Clayton received a trove of intelligence: details about Ishimoto Ryoko, the reclusive magnate who owned Toshima Island; information on his private army, known as the “Crimson Serpents”; and a comprehensive overview of their operations.
“Fukiko has all the other relevant information stored in her office,” Shozaburo-san continued with a cryptic smile. “Because she likes… to really dive into her work. You will see what I mean… it is something… special!” He then handed Clayton a small, silver key. “This will grant you access.”
Following the director’s instructions, Bradley navigated the labyrinthine corridors of the PSIA headquarters, searching for Kitty’s designated office. Finally, he located it – a glass-doored room tucked away on a less frequented floor. He inserted the provided key and turned the lock, the door clicking open with a satisfying sound. The immediate impression was one of deliberate concealment. All windows were masked with thick packing paper, plunging the room into a dimly lit atmosphere. Stepping inside, Clayton felt an unsettling sense of anticipation – and perhaps a touch of trepidation. He had a feeling that whatever awaited him within Kitty’s office would be far more than just “special.”
The words escaped Clayton’s lips as a strangled gasp – “What the fuck?” He stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes darting around the room in disbelief. The scene before him was… unsettling, to say the least. It wasn’t just cluttered; it was an obsessive shrine dedicated entirely to Clayton Bradley. Uncountable photographs adorned every surface – plastered on the walls, taped to the ceiling, arranged in elaborate collages. They depicted him at various stages of his life: awkward childhood snapshots, tense moments during past missions, and a disconcerting number of images capturing him in less-than-professional attire.
But it was the additions that truly sent a chill down Clayton’s spine. On some photos, Kitty had meticulously glued cut-out versions of herself – creating bizarre and often humorous scenarios. There was a photo of them at a beat club, dancing frenetically with Kitty superimposed onto his image, both appearing to be lost in the music. Another showed them on a beach, with Kitty’s cutout playfully positioned beside him, seemingly sharing an ice cream cone. And then there were… other photos. Photos of Bradley and Kitty…in bed? A wave of discomfort washed over him as he realized the extent of Kitty’s peculiar obsession.
Fighting to regain his composure, Clayton quickly grabbed a notebook lying on a nearby desk. The cover was adorned with bright pink hearts and framed by the words “Operation Cherry Blossom,” followed by his name repeated countless times within a swirling vortex of more pink hearts. It was clear that this wasn’t just an office; it was Kitty’s personal playground, a testament to her eccentric – and slightly alarming – affection for him. The sheer volume of material suggested a level of dedication that bordered on the unsettling.
Just as Clayton braced himself to delve into the dossier labeled “Operation Cherry Blossom,” his gaze snagged on something unexpected amidst the sea of Bradley-centric imagery. Tucked away in a corner of the desk, partially obscured by a cascade of pink heart stickers, was a photograph that sent a jolt of recognition through him. The face was deliberately scratched out, rendered almost unrecognizable, but there was no mistaking the unmistakable curve of her cleavage – a detail Clayton knew intimately.
“Natalia Flopinova!” he exclaimed, his voice a mixture of surprise and growing concern. “Oh Kitty,” he muttered to himself, a note of exasperation creeping into his voice, “you really have some serious problems!”
Clayton Bradley stood amidst Kitty’s unsettling shrine of personal adoration, weighing his options. The intelligence gleaned from Kitty’s office presented three potential avenues toward uncovering Ishimoto Ryoko’s operation. One lead pointed towards a Sumō hall in Ryōgoku, where the brother-in-law of the elusive magnate was a celebrated superstar of the Sumō scene – a potentially volatile environment for discreet inquiries. Another trail led to a fisherman operating out of Miyagawa Port, rumored to be deeply involved in smuggling activities, a risky proposition given the potential for armed resistance.
However, Clayton’s gaze drifted back to his cufflinks, subtly gleaming under the dim light of Kitty’s office. Q had anticipated this mission with characteristic flair, providing him with a discreet solution: a pocket-sized breathing apparatus and an underwater propeller cleverly concealed within the elegant design of his cufflinks. It was a classic Q gadget – ingenious, efficient, and delightfully unconventional.
He considered the alternatives briefly, dismissing them with a mental shrug. The Sumō hall promised potential chaos, while the fisherman likely would be heavily guarded. This option offered a degree of stealth and control that the others lacked. No further complications, no need for elaborate disguises or risky negotiations – just a direct approach to Toshima Island.
“Right,” he murmured to himself, adjusting his cufflinks with a decisive click. “No fuss, no muss. Just get to the island and do my job.” The prospect of silently slipping beneath the waves, propelled by Q’s ingenious invention, appealed to Clayton’s pragmatic nature. It was time to embrace the absurdity of it all and trust in the gadgets – and hopefully, a little bit of luck – to see him through.
Scene #5 – It could have been so easy…
Clayton Bradley slid into Kitty’s sleek Jaguar – a vehicle that felt strangely out of place amidst the chaos of Kitty’s office – and accelerated toward Izukyū-Shimoda, a picturesque coastal town just outside Tokyo. He followed Route 135 along the scenic coastline, imagining it could have been a delightful weekend getaway with a non-abducted Kitty by his side. Now, however, time was of the essence, and he needed to hurry.
After two hours of driving, a jarring burst ripped through the air as one of the Jaguar’s tires exploded with dramatic force. Clayton pulled over onto the shoulder, secured the vehicle as best he could, and surveyed the situation with a sigh. He couldn’t help but recall another unfortunate incident – the time he’d raced a train to Venice, only to have his small light blue Mini Cooper sputter to a halt due to an empty fuel tank. His automotive karma was clearly not the greatest.
Half an hour later, as he trudged along Route 135, kicking up dust and lamenting his luck, a friendly older woman materialized on a 1960 Honda C77 motorcycle. She was a vision of weathered resilience, her face creased with kindness and her eyes twinkling with unexpected mischief. Without a word, she gestured for him to hop on. Clayton hesitated for only a moment before accepting the offer – what choice did he have?
The old lady revved the engine, unleashing a surprisingly powerful surge of energy. With a sudden burst of speed and a cloud of dust billowing behind them, they vanished down Route 135 towards Izukyū-Shimoda, leaving Clayton clinging on for dear life, wondering just how much faster this unexpected ride would be.
Scene #6 – Q, you are a genius
A completely dusty Clayton Bradley gingerly lifted his sorry posterior from the Honda C77, offering a heartfelt “Thank you!” to the surprisingly speedy old lady. His legs felt unsteady as he stumbled towards the harbor of Izukyū-Shimoda, envisioning his meticulously planned infiltration – a silent, subaquatic approach to Toshima Island.
His initial plan involved securing passage on an unassuming fishing boat, exiting at a strategic distance from shore, and then deploying his Q-designed breathing apparatus and motorized cufflinks for a stealthy underwater journey. Sadly, that vision proved elusive. There were no available fishing boats willing to take him anywhere near Toshima Island. The only option was a dilapidated rowing boat – old, shaky, and clearly past its prime.
With considerable arm-twisting and a significant dent in his expense account, Clayton managed to purchase the vessel from its reluctant owner for an exorbitant price. A bitter taste lingered in his mouth alongside the dust; he felt undeniably ripped off. Despite the financial sting and the less-than-ideal mode of transport, he was finally on his way.
Bundling all his strength into each stroke, fueled by a clear vision of his heroic rescue of Kitty, Clayton pushed off from the harbor… veeery slowly. The little rowing boat groaned under his effort, barely making headway against the gentle current. His grand entrance, once envisioned as a silent and spectacular display of espionage prowess, was now reduced to a laborious slog across the water, leaving a noticeable wake that likely alerted every fisherman within a five-mile radius. This mission, he thought grimly, was rapidly descending into farce.
After what felt like an eternity of slow-motion rowing, Clayton finally paused, glancing at his wristwatch and then down at the markings on his pocket-sized breathing apparatus. “Good for 30 minutes of air,” he read aloud from a faded sticker wrapped around the tube. His trained eyes, usually focused on targets and enemy agents, now assessed the distance to Toshima Island with questionable nautical experience. The island appeared significantly further than it had initially seemed – a hazy silhouette against the horizon.
“Now or never…” he muttered to himself, calculating the time, the distance, and his own less-than-stellar rowing abilities. Thirty minutes of air wasn’t nearly enough to cover that expanse at his current pace. Abandoning any pretense of stealth, he took a deep breath (the last one for a while) and plunged into the water. The coldness of the ocean shocked him momentarily, but he quickly adjusted, activating the underwater propeller in his cufflinks. The device whirred to life, providing a surprisingly strong thrust that propelled him forward.
The cufflinks, designed for subtle propulsion, proved to have a mind of their own. They dragged Clayton’s hand forward with unexpected force, transforming his body into an ever-expanding, somewhat comical, British sausage powered by miniature propellers. It was not the image he’d envisioned when planning his infiltration.
As he approached the shore, close enough to risk exposure, he carefully positioned the mouthpiece of his breathing apparatus between his lips and attempted to control his descent. This proved to be a surprisingly tricky maneuver. The slightest adjustment in hand pressure resulted in either a rapid ascent or a dizzying plunge into the depths. After several near-disasters, he managed to find the delicate balance – a constant dance of hands up and hands down to maintain a steady depth below the water surface.
Fifteen minutes later, breathless but triumphant, Clayton reached the shore. It was late evening; the sun was poised to set within the hour, casting long shadows across the rocky coastline. The fading light played perfectly into his plan – providing cover for his clandestine arrival. He melted seamlessly amongst the rocks, becoming one with the landscape as a group of soldiers from the Crimson Serpent, Ishimoto Ryoko’s notoriously efficient private army, made their rounds along the coast in a jeep. Their headlights swept across the beach, momentarily illuminating the jagged cliffs and then moving on, oblivious to the presence of a very soggy, slightly propeller-powered British agent lurking amongst the shadows. The stage was set for whatever awaited him within the heart of Toshima Island.
To be continued …
I hope you liked this episode of Clayton Bradley’s misadventures in Nippon. See you next week for the next and final part.
