Thread: From Russia With... [Gwen x Methos]

The gentle lap of the ocean lapped up across a sandy beach, while the rays of the sun in all their brilliance beat down upon the sea side locality. Beyond the sand a rather sprawling white walled villa with distinctive red tile roofing was seen. A brick patio surrounded with vines, trees and shrubbery could be seen. If one looked more closely at the table a small bucket of ice was seen upon it, a small bowl of olives, a bottle of Smirnoff, a smaller one of Vermouth and a martini glass beside it. From the table the ring of a cell phone would interrupt the relative calm of the surrounding. The phone rang with a distinctive chime and indeed it proved rather insistent as being ignored for a period of over five minutes did not cause its ringing to halt. From the beach a dripping figure soon approached the phone and lifted it upwards Yes? Where am I? Greece. What am I doing here a brunette not that I how thats anyones business but mine. A pause followed as he idly noted I cant really be missing if youre talking to me right now can I? Yes, yes, there is always an emergency. Russia? Arrange a plane then, four hours. Yes, four hours I have something to take care of before I go. Whatever protestations the voice on the other side of the phone offered were dismissed by the cell phone being closed and then set back down upon the table. A large hand retrieved the glass from the table and it was brought to his lips and tilted back as he took a rather deep swallow from it. Thereafter, he padded towards the patio doors of the villa and stepped inside. Rivulets of water dripped over a tanned and rather muscular form as he rounded a corner to the bedroom. There blue-gray eyes fixed upon the sprawled form of a woman clad only in a bed sheet. Her head turned towards him, with dark curling spilling over the pillow where her head had been resting, she murmured James? His hand soon came to her cheek and his head leaned in to her own, his mouth pressing to her own as he murmured Im afraid I havent much time Several hours later he arrived at the airport. He strode rather swiftly through the private charter area until a darkly clad man remarked Mister Bond right this way. He had very much the appearance of a man whom had arrived at his destination in a hurry - his hair being disheveled, his tie askew and one cuff of his shirt undone. Yet none of that seemed to impact upon an almost invincible aura of confidence about him. Although one might speculate that finely tailored garb and classically handsome features allowed the man to look more than passable whatever his preparations. A roguish smile graced his lips as soon he found himself seated in a rather luxurious leather chair with a dossier opened upon a table beside him. A natural curiosity was displayed in the mans eyes as he read through the details as to what was diverting him from his Mediterranean distractions and back to the world of danger that he occupied. A kidnapping, normally not really his sort of problem, however, admittedly few were as well acquainted with Russia as he. A more detailed perusal soon revealed the reasons for his involvement aside from his knowledge of Tolstoy, borscht and vodka. Evidently the reason was politics, the British Ambassador to the UNs daughter had been kidnapped and was being held for ransom. The Ambassador was of course an old friend of the Prime Minister and a number of other members of the current government. A wry smile graced his lips as he idly noted Someone demanded the best man available, and they got me. Some part of him found this flattering although on another it was rather annoying as this was a tawdry errand compared to his usual beat of foiling terrorists and secretive organizations with sinister ends. The stewardess had brought him another martini and had assured him that it had been shaken, not stirred. Thus he read through the reports before him with a drink in hand. He really hadnt been left with many leads, nor a great deal of time. Presumably time being of the essence was why M had been her hectoring and maternal self. Although he was rather sure it was far better for him to have left without any preoccupation or unfinished business. After all he needed to be focused on the task at hand. As he regarded the pictures included in the dossier, what a task it was. Honey blonde locks of hair, finely molded features and soft green coloured eyes. Not to mention that the girls rather small frame seemed to possess sufficient curves to send his mind down a rather lurid path. Although he could almost hear the nagging voice of his superior reminding him that he was to devise a plan to save the girl, as opposed to devising a plan to seduce her once hed rescued her. How he was to rescue her was a matter his mind had turned to. His fingers stroked against his chin as he had very little to go upon, just a city, a name and a website. Fortunately being whom he was, he had some connections