The Deadly Desire Of Pussy Galore free porn video

James Bond has been tasked with stopping Auric Goldfinger's mad scheme, but after he meets mesmerising lesbian aviatrix Pussy Galore his life will never be the same again. THE DEADLY DESIRE OF PUSSY GALORE by BobH (c) 2018. All characters (c) their respective owners. - 1 - James Bond came to groggily, his head pounding, dimly aware that he was in an aircraft. Someone was leaning over him. At first the face was blurry, but as it came into focus he saw it was a woman. A very beautiful woman. She was blonde, with prominent breasts, and wearing a tight black trouser suit over a silver waistcoat. It took Bond a moment or two to recognise her. He decided to proceed as if he hadn't. "Who are you?" he demanded. "My name is Pussy Galore," replied the woman. "I must be dreaming. I thought I'd wake up dead." Pussy held up the dart gun she was holding. "Tranquiliser gun, knockout shot." "I see. Well, I'm delighted to be here. And, by the way, where is here?" "Thirty five thousand feet, flying southwest over Newfoundland." Pussy stowed the tranquiliser gun. "That explains the humming," said Bond, rubbing his temple. "The humming means you're in Mr Goldfinger's Lockheed JetStar, heading for Baltimore. And you're his guest." "I'm honoured. I never realised he enjoyed my company that much." "I don't suppose it'll be all fun and games," she said. "Mei-Lei?" Bond hadn't noticed the pretty Chinese stewardess at the galley behind him, but he certainly noticed her now. "Can I do something for you, Mr Bond?" asked the girl, bowing to him. "Just a drink. A martini, shaken not stirred." He swivelled his seat back round to face Pussy again, catching her giving Mei-Lei an appreciative look that was just a little bit longer and more lascivious than it should have been. "Won't you join me?" he said. "Not on duty. I'm Mr Goldfinger's personal pilot." "You are? And just, ah, how personal is that?" "I'm a damn good pilot," she snapped. "Period!" A sore point. Interesting. "Well, that's good news. By the way, where is our host?" "He flew on ahead." Mei-Lei arrived with Bond's drink. "Thank you," he said, raising it. "Here's to Operation Grand Slam." Bond had hoped this would provoke a response, but he was disappointed. Pussy showed no reaction to the name at all. "This should be a memorable flight," he said. "You can turn off the charm," she said, as she entered the cockpit, "I'm immune." Since he could do nothing until they landed, Bond was quite happy to relax until they reached their destination. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious, but if they had taken off in Switzerland and were now over Canada it had been several hours. Settling back in his seat, he reviewed his situation. Bond had been tasked with learning how Auric Goldfinger - who despite hs name was British - had been smuggling gold out of the country. At a factory in Switzerland owned by the Goldfinger he had discovered there was something bigger going on. Just what this might be he had yet to figure out. All he had was a name - Operation Grand Slam - and the curious fact that all of Goldfinger's security guards and the various scientists working for him appeared to be Chinese. Then there was Pussy Galore. From the hungry look she had given Mei-Lei it was clear she had a more than purely aesthetic appreciation for the female form, but there was more to the woman than that. Bond cast his mind back to the start of this affair and to an additional briefing he'd been given by M.... "What can you tell me about John Steed?" his boss had asked him. "Steed?" said Bond, frowning. "I see him occasionally at my club. He's genial, witty, a splendid fellow." "I believe you worked with him during the war when you were with Naval Intelligence Division." "A couple of times, yes. We first met at RAF Camp 472 Hamelin, an agent launch point for missions against the Nazis." "Would it surprise you to learn he works for a sub-division of MI5?" "Not really, no. Many of us who took part in wartime covert operations have remained involved with the intelligence services." "Hmmm. Anyway, our colleagues over at five give him far more leeway than they should, in my opinion. The chap has employed a small stable of talented amateurs to help him over the years, and was most recently partnered with one Mrs Catherine Gale." M slid a manila folder across his desk. When Bond opened it, he whistled at the photo it contained. "Oh, do grow up, double-oh seven!" sighed M. "Those are impressive...accomplishments." "Yes, quite," said M, choosing to believe Bond was now looking at the sheet the photo was clipped to. "Mrs Gale has a Ph.D. in anthropology and is also an expert in almost as dizzying an array of subjects as you. Her late husband was a farmer in Africa and she became a pretty decent bush pilot. While living there she also learned to hunt, fight and take care of herself." "All very interesting," said Bond, "but what does Cathy Gale have to do with Auric Goldfinger?" "I'm getting to that. A few months ago, Mrs Gale moved to the US and began a new venture - Pussy Galore's Flying Circus." "Pussy...Galore?" said Bond, not quite believing his ears. "Yes, a provocative soubriquet, isn't it? Yet it's the one Mrs Gale has chosen to use for this new venture of hers. We have reports that she also flies Goldfinger around, though whether or not there's more to their relationship remains unclear." "Based on this file she sounds like a straight arrow," said Bond. "It's hard to believe the woman in those reports would do anything that was criminal or treasonous." "I hope you're right, double-oh seven," said M, "because if you're not, your orders are to terminate her." - 2 - Bond was just finishing his meal when Pussy Galore's voice came over the intercom. "We'll be landing in Baltimore, our port of entry into the United States, in fifty five minutes," she said. Bond got up. "Mei-Lei, I'd like to arrive more, ah, appropriately dressed. Did any of my luggage survive with me?" he asked the girl. In response she pulled a suitcase out from under the galley counter. "And, ah, my attache case?" "Black attache case damaged when examined. So sorry." "Apologies are quite unnecessary," he told her, heading for the bathroom at the rear of the plane. The loss of the attache case meant a lot of standard issue equipment he no longer had. Pity. After taking precautions to ensure he wasn't being observed, Bond took out his toiletries case and unscrewed the handle of his razor, shaking out the small homing device concealed within. Activating this, he placed it in its compartment in the sole of his shoe. He hoped this would be enough to enable his CIA friend Felix Leiter to track him when they landed. After shaving and changing into a grey three piece suit, Bond emerged from the bathroom to find Pussy Galore waiting for him, gun in hand. "We'll be landing in twenty minutes," she said raising the gun and pointing it at him. "Do you want to play it easy, or the hard way? And this isn't a tranquiliser gun." Bond slid his hands into his trouser pockets and smiled. "Obviously, you know a lot more about planes than guns. That's a Smith and Wesson 45. If you fire at this close range the bullet will pass through me and the fuselage like a blowtorch through butter, the cabin will depressurise, and we'll both be sucked into outer space together." He sat down nonchalantly. "But if that's how you want to enter the United States you're welcome. As for me, I prefer the easier way." He lifted his wine glass and Pussy smiled, lowering her weapon. "That's very sensible." "And besides," said Bond, "there's always so much going on around Mr Goldfinger. I wouldn't dream of not accepting his... hospitality." "He'll be very glad to see you too," she said, running the barrel of her gun along his jawline. "You like close shaves, don't you?" With that she turned and headed back to cockpit. Bond watched her go, sipping his wine and wondering what game she was playing. He was finding her very hard to read. The private Auric Enterprises Inc flight from Switzerland landed at Bluegrass Field, Kentucky, right on time, taxiing into a hanger bearing a red white and blue banner that read: 'Pussy Galore's Flying Circus'. When the plane halted and the engines powered down, Mei-Lei opened the door. The stairs, however, were beyond her. "Mr Bond, please." He lowered them for her. "Thank you," she said, descending the stairs. "Any time," said Bond, following her down them. He was looking around him with interest when Pussy appeared on the stairs, a white coat over one arm. "Do mind your step, captain," said Bond, taking her free hand. She shook it off and raised the coat to show him the gun she was holding. "Just keep playing it easy," she warned him. They crossed over to the hangar entrance where, at the sound of aircraft engines, Bond gazed up into the endless blue sky to see five small stunt planes in V-formation. As he watched they gracefully peeled off one by one. "Talented chaps." "They should be. I trained them," said Pussy. "Now come on." "You're a woman of many parts, Pussy," said Bond as they moved off towards the road. "I believe that the bourbon and branch water is rather splendid here in Kentucky. Now that we're both off duty, perhaps...." The words died in his throat when he saw the squat figure of Goldfinger's unspeaking Japanese chauffeur/bodyguard Oddjob, standing by a red station wagon, waiting for him. There were a couple of the Chinese guards already inside, both of them doubtless armed. Oddjob smiled, waving him towards the car. "Manners, Oddjob. I thought you always took your hat off to a lady," said Bond, referring to how back in Switzerland the man had killed Tilly Masterson with his steel bowler hat. Bond climbed into the rear, Oddjob slamming the door behind him. Through the open window Bond said: "You know he kills little girls like you?" "Little boys, too," replied Pussy. She slapped the car roof and it drove off. Looking through the rear window, Bond watched as the stunt planes landed, the pilots then climbing out and trotting over to Pussy. And all five of them were women. - 3 - After twenty minutes or so on the road, the car containing Bond was driven onto the grounds of a ranch. Pony and trap racing was taking place on a small track on their left while up ahead Goldfinger was tending to a horse. Auric Goldfinger was a big man, in both height and girth and, as usual, he was clad in the 'country gentleman' style he favoured. He smiled when Bond was removed from the car. "Ah, welcome to Auric Stud, Mr Bond," he said, indicating the horse, "lovely animal, isn't she?" "Certainly better bred than the owner." Goldfinger didn't rise to the bait, instead merely sighing. "Show Mr Bond to his quarters, please," he said. Oddjob and the two guards led Bond down some stairs and into an underground stone-walled cell beneath the ranch house, the heavy door clanging shut behind him. Bond carefully examined his surroundings. Light entered the cell from above between the horizontal bars of a ground-level opening, but at least the bed was agreeably soft. Sighing, he loosened his tie and dropped down on to it. Time to plan his exit strategy. An hour later he started pacing from the wall to the door and back again, smiling at the Chinese guard sitting impassively opposite every time he reached the door. He kept this up for twenty minutes, then slowly lowered himself behind the door. When he didn't reappear in the window, the guard came over and peered through the bars. Impossibly, the cell appeared empty. In disbelief he opened the cell door and entered, gun held out in front of him, whereupon Bond dropped from the ceiling. After a brief tussle, he knocked the man out, took his gun, and exited the cell, locking the door behind him. He headed down the corridor, halting when he heard voices coming from above. "Get to the point, Goldfinger," someone was saying. Looking up, Bond saw that he was under what appeared to be some sort of large model that had been raised from this level on a couple of hydraulic lifts. Between these was a crate. Bond climbed up on this, poking his head up inside a model of some building and looked through its window. While he didn't recognise all the faces of those in the room beyond, he was familiar with enough of them to know it contained some of the major figures of American organised crime. What *was* Goldfinger up to? "The joint is bomb proof, electrified, lousy with...." "Bear with me please," said Goldfinger, interrupting this tirade. "Fort Knox is a bank, like any other. Larger, better protected perhaps, but nonetheless a bank. It can be - I think the expression is - blown! My plan is foolproof. Gentlemen, I call it Operation Grand Slam. I have devoted fifteen years of my life to it...." Climbing down off the crate, Bond hurried over to a nearby table, grabbed a pencil and some paper, then returned to his position. Goldfinger was still speaking, but now he was holding up a small canister. "Your organisation, Mr Midnight, brought a consignment of these canisters across the Canadian border. They contain Delta-9." "What's that?" asked someone. "An invisible nerve gas, which disperses fifteen minutes after inducing complete unconsciousness for twenty four hours. Tomorrow, at dawn, the flying circus of my personal pilot Miss Pussy Galore will spray it into the atmosphere. Once the population, including the military, has been immobilised my task force, which Mr Strap and his people smuggled across the Rio Grande from Mexico, will approach Fort Knox in motorised equipment along Bullion Boulevard which runs past the depository and intersects with Gold Vault Road." While Goldfinger had been speaking, Bond had hastily scribbled a note: 007 TO CIA. AERIAL NERVE GAS PRECEDES DAWN RAID FORT KNOX. "The fence surrounding the depository - as Mr Strap reminded us - is electrified. It will be dynamited. My task force will then move to the main entrance and demolish it," said Goldfinger. "How may I ask?" "You made that possible Mr Solo, by arranging through your considerable influence in shipping circles to bring through customs uninspected a consignment labelled machine parts. All that will then remain is to descend to the vaults where the bullion is stored." "I've heard enough," said Solo, impatiently. "Let him finish," someone urged. "If you have no objection... I'll take my money now," said Solo. "What's the matter, Solo? Too big for you to handle?" Goldfinger looked around the room. Everyone had fallen silent, waiting to see what he would do. "Gentlemen," he said, smiling, "we must respect Mr Solo's decision. Please excuse me for a moment while I take care of him. And make yourselves comfortable." Bond took this opportunity to remove the homing device from his shoe heel, wrap the note around it, and slip this into his pocket, before resuming his position. The mobsters were discussing Goldfinger's plan. "How do we get it out? That's the bit I wanna hear!" "Yeah, it'd better be good!" Bond never heard what came next. At that exact moment someone grabbed his legs, yanking them out from under him, and he fell. Hard. There was a surprise awaiting him when he saw who his assailant was "Pussy!" he said, getting to his feet "Well, well, who taught you judo?" She was, he thought, looking very stylish in a tan blazer over her cream riding outfit. Behind her stood two of the Chinese guards, one with a gun trained on him. Pussy held out her hand. "The gun you took." "The gun," said Bond, patting himself down. "The gun, of course." He lifted it from his jacket pocket and handed it over, stock first. "We must have a few fast falls together some time." As he was led away Bond saw Goldfinger's henchman Kisch closing heavy steel doors behind them for some reason. He was taken out past the front of the ranch house to where Goldfinger was seeing Solo off, gold bars being loaded into the trunk his car. "Mr Bond," he said. "I thought you were resting in your quarters." "Oh they are delightful. But it's much too nice to stay indoors. I ran into Miss Galore and she suggested that we join you." "Mr Solo, this is Mr Bond. Another of my distinguished guests." "Hello," said Solo, clearly not caring. "Leaving us so soon, Mr Solo?" said Bond. "Unfortunately he has a pressing engagement" "Yeah, and I'd like to get started, Goldfinger," said Solo. He called over a guard to open the car door for him. "Boy!" "When you gotta go, you gotta go," said Bond, surreptitiously slipping the note-wrapped homing device into Solo's pocket. "My plane will get you to New York on time, with your excess luggage," Goldfinger assured him. My chauffeur's an excellent driver. You will be at the airport in a few minutes. Goodbye, Mr Solo. Some other time, perhaps?" "Happy landings, old boy," said Bond cheerily. As soon as Solo had gone, Pussy reported Bond's escape. "I found him under the model," she said. "Operation Grand Slam," said Bond, looking smug. "I did enjoy your briefing." "So did I," said Goldfinger. Only later would Bond learn that Delta-9 had been released into the room, killing all the mobsters. At a nod from him, Bond was taken away and returned to his cell. This time there were four armed guards in the cell with him, making escape all but impossible. - 4 - On the verandah later, Pussy swung her legs onto the hanging chair and let out a sigh. Bond's presence was making things more difficult for her than she liked. Sitting at the table beside her was Goldfinger. A servant brought drinks and placed these on the table before them. "Your share of Operation Grand Slam will make you a very rich woman, my dear," said Goldfinger. "Why else would I be in it, Mr Goldfinger?" She reached for her drink, which gave him the opportunity to place his hand over hers. Only through an effort of will did she suppress a shudder. "You'll retire to England, I suppose?" "No, I've spotted a little island in the Bahamas," she said, sliding her hand out from under his. "I'll hang up a sign, 'no trespassing', and go back to nature." She knew Goldfinger would probably imagine she was joking about that last bit, but Pussy was deadly serious. She liked nothing better than making love to a woman under the stars, and she didn't want to be interrupted when she was. Kisch arrived at the table. "Yes, Kisch?" said Goldfinger impatiently. "Two men in a car with binoculars." "Touts looking for racing tips," said Goldfinger, pausing and fondling his lapel as he considered the situation. "There's another possibility, however. Kisch, ask Mr Bond to join us." Kisch walked off and Pussy sipped her drink, gazing thoughtfully at the distant fence. "We were right to spare Mr Bond's life in Switzerland, if those gentlemen are his friends," announced Goldfinger. "Let's convince them he needs no assistance. For their benefit, Pussy, let's make him as happy as possible. I suggest you change into something more suitable." "Certainly," she replied, swinging her legs off the seat and standing up. "Business before pleasure." Were there actually friends of Bond's at the fence, she wondered, or was this some sort of test for her? As she walked off she saw Kisch bringing Bond the other way. Pussy rushed to her room, eager to get there before Bond and Goldfinger began talking. Some time back, at great risk, she had planted a listening device under the verandah since this was where Goldfinger conducted much of his business. As soon as she was in her room she removed a ventilation grille near the floor and pulled out the receiver unit. She turned it on then started peeling her clothes off, listening to them all the while. "Ah, Mr Bond," said Goldfinger, "sit down, please. Mint julep? Traditional, but satisfying." "Yes, thanks. Sour mash, but not too sweet, please. You disappoint me, Goldfinger. You know Operation Grand Slam simply won't work. And incidentally Delta 9 nerve gas is fatal." "You are unusually well informed, Mr Bond." "You'll kill sixty thousand people uselessly." "Hah! American motorists kill that many every two years." "Yes, well... I've worked out a few statistics of my own. Fifteen billion dollars in gold bullion weighs ten and a half thousand tons. Sixty men would take twelve days to load it on to two hundred trucks. Now, at the most, you're going to have two hours before the army, navy, air force, marines move in and make you put it back." "Who mentioned anything about removing it?" There was a long pause, during which time Pussy was putting on her fresh clothes. "Is the julep tart enough for you?" asked Goldfinger eventually. "You plan to break into the world's largest bank but not to steal anything. Why?" "Go on, Mr Bond." Sitting at her dressing table as she began fixing her make-up, Pussy could almost hear Bond thinking as all the details finally fell into place. "Mr Ling, the Red Chinese agent at the factory?" he said. "He's a specialist in nuclear fission... But of course! His government's given you a bomb." "I prefer to call it an atomic device. It's small but particularly dirty." "Cobalt and iodine?" "Precisely." "If you explode it in Fort Knox, the entire gold supply of the United States will be radioactive for... fifty seven years." "Fifty eight to be exact." In her room, Pussy opened a small box and took out a treasured brooch. It had been given to her by an African witch-doctor after she saved his life. "I apologise, Goldfinger," Bond was saying. "It's an inspired deal. They get what they want - economic chaos in the West - and the value of your gold increases many times." "I conservatively estimate... ten times." "Brilliant. But the atomic device, as you call it, is already, obviously, in this country." "Obviously." "But bringing it to Fort Knox undetected could be risky. Very risky." "On the contrary, Mr Bond. The risk is all on your side. If the authorities should attempt to locate it, who knows where it might be exploded? Perhaps the Polaris submarine pens at New London, Cape Kennedy, near the White House. But we are speculating idly. Operation Grand Slam will be successful. You will be there to see for yourself. Too closely for comfort, I'm afraid." Pussy heard a small truck drive up, which she took as her cue to rejoin the boys. When she emerged from the ranch house Pussy could see the truck had been driven by Oddjob. On the back was a ragged metal cube, the crushed remains of a car. "Forgive me, Mr Bond," said Goldfinger, "but I must arrange to separate my gold from the late Mr Solo." "As you said, he had a pressing engagement," said Bond, frowning. He seemed more dismayed at the sight of the crushed car than could be explained by the demise of Solo. Goldfinger finally noticed her. "Very chic, Miss Galore. Don't you agree, Mr Bond?" Bond looked her up and down admiringly. Pussy knew she looked spectacular in her mauve top, salmon trousers, with matching clutch purse, but male approval was something she neither sought nor appreciated. "Please entertain Mr Bond for me, Pussy. I'll join you both later." This was not a task she would ever have chosen, but if she had to entertain a man better it should be someone like Bond rather than a loathsome toad like Goldfinger. "That's some brooch," said Bond. "It's African," said Pussy, stroking it and smiling. "I was given it when I lived over there. It's a representation of Zeineb, an African goddess and protector of women. It supposedly has magical powers." "Surely you don't believe in magic?" "I never used to, but after some of the things I saw over there I'm not so sure anymore. But enough about my brooch," she said, hooking her arm in his. "How about it, handsome? Don't you think it's time we got to know each other socially?" "Well, well, the new Miss Galore. Where do you hide your gold knuckles in this outfit?" he said as they walked off. "I never carry weapons after business hours." "Yeah? So you're off duty?" "I'm completely defenceless." "So am I. Beautiful place Goldfinger has here." "Yes, I'm glad you're enjoying it." "Too bad it all has to end tomorrow morning. He's quite mad, you know." They had reached a barn. Bond paused at the door. "Well, now. What do we have here?" He went inside while she remained at the door. She knew what he wanted, what men like Bond always wanted, and despite Goldfinger's instructions she had no intention of encouraging him. "You're quite a girl, Pussy." "I'm strictly the outdoor type," she said, hoping he'd take the hint. "I'd like to think you're not in all of this... caper," said Bond. That sounded like an opening of some sort, as if he was expecting her to open up about something. "Skip it. I'm not interested," she replied, refusing the bait. "Let's go." As she turned to leave he grabbed her arm and spun her around. "What would it take for you to see things my way?" "A lot more than you've got." "How do you know? "I don't want to know." She tried to leave, but he gripped her arm, pulling her back, then gripping her shoulders. "Isn't it customary to grant a condemned man his last request?" he grinned. "You've asked for this." She grabbed his arm, swung her shoulder into him and used a judo throw to hurl him into the hay. Going over, she stared down at him. "Get up!" she demanded, whereupon he swept her legs out from under her. "Certainly," he said, getting to his feet. He offered her his hand and helped her up. She attempted to throw him again but this time he was ready and threw her instead. She landed in the hay, turning and glaring at him. "Now let's both play," he said. He dropped down in front of her and she lashed out with her foot, but to no avail. He climbed on top of her, forcing her arms down. She turned her head this way and that, trying to avoid his questing lips, but the unwanted kiss came. Then something strange happened. Bond went glassy eyed, before slumping forward across her in a dead faint. "What the hell!" said a female voice, then a young women emerged from behind some hay bales, running her hands over her body and staring down at herself in apparent amazement. Pussy pushed Bond's unconscious form off her and stood up. "Tanya?" she said. "No, Pussy, not Tanya. It's me. It's James Bond." - 5 - Even as he spoke the words Bond still found himself regarding what had happened with disbelief. He had been trained to stay focussed, to calmly handle any situation, however outrageous, but though he wasn't panicking this was still something that had never been covered in any training manual. "The eyes," he said. "What?" said Pussy. "The ruby eyes on your brooch. They're glowing." And they were, but as Pussy glanced down to confirm Bond's observation so that glow faded away. "It really *is* magic!" she said, looking stunned. "Which means you really are Bond." "Who am I - this girl, I mean - and what was she doing here?" asked Bond. He glanced down again at the form fitting black jumpsuit he was wearing, with its epaulets, gold edging, and gold sunburst over the left breast, at the wide white belt and matching white ankle boots. "I recognise the flight suit I'm wearing," he said. "It's the one worn by pilots in your flying circus." "Tanya Smith, the only brunette among them, and one of two Englishwomen. I suspected Goldfinger might have someone spying on me. Now I know who." "What can you tell me about her?" "Not much, but I recognise the type. Poor little rich girl, rebelling and looking for excitement. I doubt very much that 'Tanya Smith' is her real name, either." "Can you reverse what happened?" asked Bond, feeling a sense of unreality as he gazed down at his unconscious body. "I don't even know how this happened in the first place, so no. But given the brooch is supposed to protect female wearers and how you were forcing yourself on me while Tanya was spying on me, I can only surmise you were both seen as a threat to me and that somehow triggered it." "That...actually makes sense," said Bond, grudgingly. "A man I know as Q might be able to figure out how to reverse engineer the brooch. It's not in his usual wheelhouse, but he is very smart. In the meantime, what are we going to do about sleeping beauty here?" "I suggest we gag him and tie him up while we try and decide what to do next." This they did, tying his hands behind him and propping him up against the barn wall. Then Pussy turned to face Bond. "Now, I believe we have some unfinished business," she said, "and this time I'm actually interested." She pulled him to her and kissed him passionately. "Wh..what are you doing?" he gasped when they came up for air. "Why Mr Bond," she said, smiling and stroking the other woman's bottom as she slowly undid the zip at the rear of her flight suit, "I'm going to teach you how to pleasure a woman properly." In the minutes that followed, offering no resistance, James Bond became a woman. Afterwards, as they lay naked together in the hay, sharing a post coital cigarette, Bond studied her companion thoughtfully. Pussy's breasts were every bit as magnificent as Bond thought they'd be, and certainly more impressive than her own, rather more petite pair. And the sex! She'd never dreamt women were capable of feeling such pleasure! Bond still wanted her own body back, but perhaps she should explore this one a little more first. "Penny for your thoughts?" said Pussy, plucking the cigarette from Bond's fingers and taking a long drag. "I was just wondering," said Bond, deciding the time had come, "how Cathy Gale got involved in the affairs of Auric Goldfinger." "So you *do* know who I really am," she said, extinguishing the cigarette in a small patch of dirt floor she had carefully cleared of hay. "I had wondered. It's because I wasn't sure whether or not you were for real or just a stooge of Goldfinger's testing my loyalty that I acted my part around you. May I ask how you know?" "I was briefed on you by my superior, M. I also know John Steed a little. Splendid chap." "Yes, I imagine he must look like that to other men, and I suppose he is. Mostly. Steed and I had a somewhat rocky working relationship." "Why?" "Let's just say I wasn't always appreciative of his methods, nor of his habit of 'volunteering' me for missions without my consent. As a result of working with Steed I had - and still have - connections in the British intelligence community, but I was always freelance, never an agent." "How did you meet Goldfinger?" "He was looking for someone to run and train the flying circus he was recruiting. I got the job when I answered the ad and passed the interview. I knew of his dodgy reputation, of course, so this seemed like a good opportunity to infiltrate his organisation and see if I could get the goods on him." "Did it never occur to you to tell anyone what you were up to?" "Of course it did!" she snapped. "But I don't need permission from a bunch of men to do what's necessary. I'm more than capable of thwarting Goldfinger's plans by myself." "And the name - 'Pussy Galore'. Was that his idea?" "No that was mine. Think of it as a statement." "A statement? About what?" "About what I want most from this world." Despite herself, Bond chuckled at this. It was a sentiment her male self would have wholeheartedly agreed with. "So you've always been a lesbian?" "Always. I don't have much time for men and only put up with their nonsense to the extent that I have to." "And Mr Gale?" "Never existed. He was just a useful fiction designed to help fend off unwelcome male attention. I've only ever been interested in women sexually. Speaking of which...." She leaned over and stroked Bond's cheek. "Such a pretty face," she murmured before kissing Bond softly on the lips." "I wouldn't know," said Bond. "I haven't actually seen it yet." "A situation we have to correct," said Cathy, reaching across to her open purse. This contained everything the modern woman-about-town might need need: make-up, cigarettes, a lighter, brass knuckles, and a gun. So much for being defenceless, thought Bond. Cathy handed her a powder compact, which Bond opened. She studied her reflection in the small mirror, letting out a little sigh of relief. Cathy was right; she *was* pretty. That shouldn't matter to her, but it did. And where she had been older than Cathy she was now six or seven years younger, which felt almost as weird as being female. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, Bond saw someone lunging for them with a hay bale hook. Acting on split-second instinct she grabbed Cathy's gun, turned, and fired. Only when the figure fell to the ground did she realise what she had done. "I can't believe you did that," said Cathy, staring at her aghast. "It was reflex," said Bond, gazing at the grey-suited corpse at her feet. "It was over before I could stop myself, and now he's dead. James Bond is dead." - 6 - By the time the guards came running, the two women had hastily dressed. Goldfinger was not happy at the sight of the body. "I wanted to kill Bond myself," he said, glaring at them. "He was trying to kill Pussy," said Bond. "I had to shoot him to save her." "She should never have allowed herself to be in that position!" he raged. "What's done is done," said Cathy calmly. "Indeed," said Goldfinger, "and since Miss Smith here was responsible for his death she will be taking Mr Bond's place." "That will only leave me with four pilots!" Cathy protested. "Not if you fly the lead aircraft yourself, Pussy. When you do so you should still be able to get back in time to deliver the package. Now go!" Cathy looked at Bond, who gave a small nod of assent, before reluctantly heading off. When she had gone, Goldfinger turned to Oddjob. "Take Miss Smith to the task force assembly point," he said. "Operation Grand Slam is a go!" Which is how, an hour or so later, Bond found herself sitting in the back of one of the phony US Army vehicles being used by Goldfinger's task force. They were parked a safe distance away from Fort Knox and Bond was being held at gunpoint by Oddjob. Soon, she heard the sound of aircraft. Glancing up she spotted the V- formation of stunt planes overhead. Pussy and her girls were beginning their run over Fort Knox and its military base. Ten minutes later some sort of signal was given and the small convoy set off. Oddjob donned a gas mask, thrusting another at Bond. As they drove along the roads leading to Fort Knox, Bond saw bodies laying everywhere. There had to be thousands of them. She felt sick. Had Cathy Gale lied to her, or had she been caught before she could switch her fake canisters for those containing the genuine Delta-9? With them having lost President Kennedy to an assassin only last year, Bond wondered how a still traumatised American public would cope with a domestic death toll of this magnitude. Eventually they reached the gates of Fort Knox where, when a whistle was blown, they removed the gas masks. Clearly the air had been tested and the nerve gas had now dispersed. An explosion followed soon after - the gates being dynamited - and then they were through, being driven up to the imposing structure of the fort itself. Their vehicle stopped in front of the loading bay doors and Bond and Oddjob got out, just in time to see a familiar weapon rising from the roof of the convoy's fake military ambulance. It was the same laser Goldfinger had almost cut Bond in two with back in Switzerland. Using the laser the invaders made short work of the doors, and then they were in. Kisch was directing operations dressed in a US military combat uniform, complete with sidearm. Bond watched all this activity with interest until the sound of a helicopter caused her to look up. It was a Bell 47 medevac helicopter, painted white, but rather than a stretcher it had a large crate strapped to its extended landing skids. When it touched down Goldfinger hopped out, wearing a heavy coat. "Good morning, Miss Smith. I'm sorry it had to come to this." Cathy Gale was in the pilot's seat, clearly having no sooner landed with her flying circus than flown back with Goldfinger. A trolley was brought out and the crate strapped to the side of the helicopter placed on it. This was then wheeled into the building and the crate lid removed to reveal the atomic device within. Bond watched Dr Ling arm it as the main door to the vault was opened. As soon as the countdown counter had been started the bomb was wheeled into the vault by Kisch, with Goldfinger, Oddjob and Bond following. Inside, the vault was vast and multi-levelled. Bond was handcuffed to the trolley by Kisch, then sent down on an open elevator to the floor several storeys below. When the elevator stopped, Bond examined the bomb. Unfortunately the disarming of nuclear devices was not one of the areas she was an expert in and she stared at it helplessly, having no idea how to render it safe. Suddenly she heard the sound of gunfire from above, closely followed by the vault doors slamming shut. She had no idea what was happening, but she could see Kitsch and Oddjob on the upper level. It appeared Goldfinger's two main henchmen were now locked in here with her. "We're trapped!" Kisch shouted. "The bomb... I'll take the fuse out." The silent chauffeur obviously had other ideas because the next thing Bond heard was the sound of the pair struggling. Then they appeared at a guard rail, high above. "Don't be a fool!" shouted Kisch. "You can be a hero, I'm not!" Oddjob lifted Kitsch and hurled him over the guard rail, "No, no!" screamed Kisch, screams abruptly silenced by him smashing into the vault floor. This was bad news for him but great news for Bond, because Kisch still had the key to her cuffs on a cord around his neck. Bond started dragging the bomb trolley over to the body. Seeing this, Oddjob raced down the stairs. As quick as he was he was never going to get to Bond before she reached Kisch, so he threw his steel hat at her, frisbee style. He had slain many people for Goldfinger in this fashion but Bond ducked, and the hat sailed safely past her. Ripping the key from Kisch, Bond undid her cuffs as Oddjob leapt from the final landing, hitting the floor with an echoing thud. Where male Bond might have held his own against Oddjob in a hand-to- hand fight, the much slighter female Bond knew she would stand no chance. Frantically scrabbling Kisch's sidearm from its holster, she fired three bullets into Oddjob just as he reached her. He stopped, momentarily looking surprised, then pitched forward, dead. Bond let out a sigh of relief, but she was still locked in the vault with a bomb she had no idea how to defuse. For a while she just stood there studying it, with only the incessant ticking of the counter for company, then the vault door opened again. On the gantries above her Goldfinger's Chinese guard were retreating into it the vault, firing desperately at oncoming marines who soon overpowered them. Bond barely noticed this so desperate was she to stop the bomb. They were almost out of time so she grabbed a set of wires at random, intending to yank them free, then a pair of hands reached past her and turned the device off. The countdown stopped at 007. Bond looked up, sighing with relief on seeing the familiar figure of Felix Leiter heading towards her. "What kept you?" she said, wiping the sweat from her brow. "We had to wait until Goldfinger brought the atomic device out of hiding before we dared make a move," said Felix. "You must be the young lady we were told about, Tanya Smith?" "Yes, that's right. Who told you about me?" "Pussy Galore, or should I say Cathy Gale? She informed us you and she were James's back-ups, gave us British intelligence codes that enabled us to confirm her bona fides, then laid out the whole plot for us." "So she *did* manage to get the Delta-9 canisters switched in time". "If she hadn't an awful lot of people would've been dead instead of faking it." Bond smiled. So Cathy was right. She *had* been more than capable of thwarting Goldfinger by herself. "I'm only sorry James didn't live to see this." "He died serving Queen and country," said Bond. "I'm sure it's how he would've wanted to go." After a debriefing, which necessitated a little bending of the truth, Bond was driven to Bluegrass Field where Felix, the commander of military forces at Fort Knox, and a small government jet were waiting for her. "Come on, Miss Smith," said Felix. "Get aboard. You can't keep the President waiting." "A special plane, dinner at the White House. How come?" asked Bond "The President wants to thank you and Cathy Gale personally." "It was nothing, really." She shook their hands. "Goodbye, Mr Leiter. Thank you, Brigadier." "Good luck," said Felix as she boarded the aircraft. When the plane took off, Bond settled back in a plush swivel chair, still in her form-fitting flight suit, relaxing for what seemed like the first time in a month. In the chair and on the table opposite were an evening dress, matching high heels, jewellery, and a make-up kit, things someone had put together so she could make herself presentable for her and Cathy's dinner with the president. Was getting dolled up in stuff like this what people would expect from her in future, she wondered? Bond had started this mission as a man in his early forties and ended it as a young woman in her mid twenties, so now what? What did she want to *do* with her life? She was saved from having to ponder the question further by the curtain to the cockpit parting and Goldfinger stepping out. He was dressed in a US military uniform and holding a golden gun. "I'm glad to have you aboard, Miss Smith," he said. "Well, congratulations on your promotion, Goldfinger. Are you going to the White House, too?" "In two hours I shall be in Cuba. You have interfered with my plans and betrayed me, Miss Smith. Now you must pay the price." "It's very dangerous to fire guns in planes. Bond even had to warn Pussy about it. By the way, where is she?" "I will deal with her later. At the moment she is where she ought to be, at the controls. But there is something that puzzles me. You may look like her but you don't act like the young woman I intimidated into spying for me, you don't act like her at all. Perhaps Miss Galore can solve the mystery for me." He called out to her. "Pussy! Join us, please." Cathy Gale stepped out from the cockpit. She was wearing a white trouser suit, the African brooch pinned to her lapel. "I have a question for you, Pussy," he said, making sure both were covered by his gun. "Perhaps you can explain why Miss Smith seems so different." "I could," she said, "but you'd never believe me." "Try me. You might be surprised by what I'd believe." "It's her brooch," said Bond. "Turns out it's as magic as it was always claimed to be and can switch minds. I'm actually James Bond." Bond had expected Goldfinger to laugh at this but he didn't. Instead his face grew serious. "Yes, yes, I can see it now," he said, studying her face intently. "That would explain so much, and as for the brooch. Anything with such a power is worth more than gold." He reached out, ripping the brooch from Cathy's lapel. Bond used the momentary distraction to kick him hard between the legs, causing Goldfinger to involuntarily pull his gun's trigger. The bullet smashed a window and chaos ensued. As the cabin rapidly depressurised and the air rushed out, Bond and Cathy grabbed anything they could and held on desperately. Goldfinger was not so lucky. He was sucked right out through the window, still holding the brooch, both of them disappearing forever. The plane was plummeting downwards, but as they reached lower altitude and air pressure equalised, they were able to fight their way to the cockpit, drop into the seats, and attempt to pull the joysticks back with all their strength. It was no good; the plane was doomed. Minutes later it crashed into the sea, exploding on impact. It did so without its passengers. At the last possible moment they had used the aircraft's sole parachute to exit it, drifting down safely between the trees on a spit of land. No sooner had they done so than they heard the sound of a helicopter overheard. Felix Leiter had found the real aircrew and was now searching for the pair. Since Cathy had removed her jacket Bond stood up and started waving it to attract the helicopter's attention. "Oh, no, you don't!" said Cathy, dragging Bond down beside her and pulling the parachute over them. "This is no time to be rescued." She smiled, her mouth hungrily seeking the eager lips of the younger woman while unzipping her flight suit once again. It had been a long mission and she had saved the day. Now it was time for Cathy Gale to claim her prize. - 7 - Even though it had been confirmed that the young woman sitting before him was indeed the former James Bond, M still found it hard to believe this was the same person he had once considered his best agent. "You understand why you can no longer continue in the double-oh section, of course?" "I do," she said. "The section is an elite division of MI6, and despite how fit I am the physical demands of the job are beyond most women. Who'll be replacing me?" "Your twin brother. We gave you the name 'James Bond' and he'll take over from you. The Americans will have to be informed, of course, but he was always your understudy so hopefully no one else will notice." 'James Bond' had no more been his name than 'Moneypenny' was the real name of M's secretary. These were codenames that came with the job, and they always knew they would one day be used by others who followed them. "Iain's a good man," said Bond. "What have you told him about me?" "That you died doing your duty. You and I are the only ones who know otherwise - and Mrs Gale, wherever she is - and it has to remain that way. Still, it's odd that the young woman whose life is now yours should also be a twin, even if she never knew it." "It's an amazing story." "I'd call it sordid," said M. "The wife of a knight of the realm gets pregnant by a Corsican gangster who, when they're born, then demands one of the twin babies be handed over to be raised by him and his barren wife? But never mind that. Thanks to the family money you're now a wealthy young woman, so are you still sure you want to work for MI5 in an unofficial capacity, Bond?" "I am," she said, "but you shouldn't call me Bond, not anymore. That name belongs to someone else now." "Then I suppose I'd better introduce you to your liaison," said M, pressing a button on his desk. "Miss Moneypenny, send in One-Ten, please." As the door behind her opened, the former James Bond rose and turned to greet the newcomer. She held out her hand. "The name's Peel," she said, "Emma Peel." *** The End. *** Notes: I've been watching Cathy Gale-era episodes of THE AVENGERS recently, a show Honor Blackman famously left to play Pussy Galore. I was idly musing about the two being the same person when the basics for this one popped into my head, pretty much full blown. I was particularly amused by the idea that all along Emma Peel had been a bodyswapped James Bond. Relatively quick and easy to write, too. A tale like this necessarily makes use of a lot of dialogue from its source material, and I took this from the latter half of the 1964 movie. The scriptwriters who originally wrote that dialogue were Richard Maibaum and Paul Dehn.