I'm getting too old for this, he thought. His hands were cuffed agonisingly high above his head and only the tips of his shoes could touch the ground. His body was stretched to the limit and wracked by waves of excruciating pain.

He could see nothing. The small room was pitch dark and windowless, giving no clue as to whether it was day or night. Blinded in chains, he wondered how many days he had been there. A week? Two?

The mission had started well enough, he remembered. Q had fitted him out with several of the latest gadgets. An exploding pen, a watch which doubled as a wire cutter and a personal locator which had been embedded in his right shoulder. He winced at the memory of having it inserted—and then promptly and more roughly removed after his capture. Naturally the locator had been a decoy, intended to be found if he was caught. He could only hope his captors hadn't discovered the nanobots in his blood. If Q was right, they should be broadcasting his whereabouts to MI6 at this very moment. Unfortunately, the nanobots were not sophisticated enough to call for help. At least, he didn't think they were, although with Q one could never be certain.

Utilising highly disciplined techniques, he tried to disconnect his mind from the current pain.

~~~

It had been years since the British agent had last visited Canada. Not that he was getting much chance to look around this time. Fitted with the latest model parachute, he sat inside the small plane as it flew north of Arviat, a small hunting and fishing settlement in the scarcely populated Nunavut Territory. The building they were seeking was about a hundred kilometres northwest of the settlement, ostensibly a rehabilitation clinic specialising in drug and alcohol treatments. There were no roads in or out, all transport was by air or snowmobile.

The small plane intended to make only one pass at 20,000 feet, which meant he would get precisely one opportunity to jump.

"E.T.A. five minutes, sir." The pilot's voice came through the agent's earpiece.

The agent ran one more check of his equipment, though he knew everything was in order, preparing himself mentally for the dive. 20,000 feet was a long way down. A grin of anticipation crossed his face as he moved towards the opening, his hands gripping the support straps.

"E.T.A. sixty seconds, sir. Counting down from ten."

"... three..two..one." The agent pulled the goggles on at 'two' and jumped on 'one'. The next second he was in free fall. The wind was icy, despite the thermal underwear and gloves, but incredibly exhilarating. After about a minute he engaged the parachute, fighting the wind and cold to bring himself safely down in the snow about a hundred metres from his target. Quickly he drew the parachute close, bundling it up into a tight package which he buried in the snow. He wouldn't be needing that again.

His original thought had been to try for a landing on the roof, but the chances of discovery were actually higher there than through the front door. Given that the roof was the regular means of arrival and departure, it was certain to be electronically monitored.

Earlier intelligence had revealed that there were no regular guards on the front door. After all, it wasn't as if anyone could just drive up. The only time the front door was opened was when someone in the clinic wanted to use the snowmobiles for exercise or hunting.

He slipped the backpack from his shoulders and took out two lightweight snowshoes—another of Q's modifications—and fastened them to his feet. Then he removed his Walther PPK from the pack and put it in the holster inside his jacket and, finally, peeled off his flying coversuit and stowed it in the pack. Now clad in black trousers and jacket, he hid the pack in the snow and then snowshoed over the surface towards the building.

He climbed easily over the low wall and spent a few minutes surveying the location of doors and windows. There was a smaller door on the left side of the building, providing access to a nearby shed, which looked promising. He checked his watch. 2.11am. Hopefully a time when all of the inmates and most of the staff should be safely in bed. A few minutes later he was inside and moving cautiously through the dimly lit corridors towards the stairs. He had the building plan clear in his head. Cellars and cold storage in the basement. The ground floor was all office space and public reception rooms, including a kitchen and dining area. Accommodation for patients and staff was on the next floor and the top floor was reserved for research. That was the area he was seeking.

His primary mission was to obtain as much information as he could about the true nature of the "research", using his miniature camera and taking samples if possible. His secondary mission, to be attempted only after the first had been achieved, was to try and discover what had happened to his predecessor, 007, James Bond.

(to be continued...)