A Pound of Death
Rowena Chowdrey

A Pound of Death

Fiction & Poetry

Voters Rating 77 / 1000



The lives of citizens of mainland Europe changed forever after terrorists spilled the blood of journalists at the Charlie Hebdo office. Today every man woman and child relies on Her Majesty's Secret Service Agents to quietly identify and clinically snuff out ruthless ISIS plots created to indiscriminately destroy the defenceless. 
​A robbery at the De La Rue printing factory shines a light on something considerably darker. 
Has a high-ranking politician stolen some polymer notes before they become legal tender?
If so, why has this theft taken place - and who ultimately stands to benefit?
The beautiful, disaster-prone 009 agent Bolly Bradshaw's politically sensitive mission is to follow the intelligence trail and discover the answers. 
A person of interest is identified: Bill Spondulix, an American billionaire Pharmacologist. 
With the help of her colleague Lady Martina Seymour and her old diplomatic friend Charli, they quietly delve into every nook and cranny of the Chateaux de Chillon on the banks of Lake Geneva, and the new, groundbreakingly designed Hydro Hotel, set in majestic solitude in the mountains above.
It does not take long for MI6 to discover the frightening truth: an audacious, sophisticated plot designed to kill millions and to destroy the global economic structures we all take for granted.
The chase is on to save us all.
Will Bolly and Martina succeed?
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This religious structure may be beautiful, but it is also unforgiving and treacherous. It offers only death defying salvation. I run as fast as I can across the bridge. Halfway along, bullets suddenly dance around me. The bridge begins to dip slightly down towards the opposite apostle tower. Hot metal capsules dramatically spray. Some ricochet off Christ himself, making a clanking noise as they bend against carved stone. Spent metallic cartridges momentarily catch the light cast by the cathedral's up-lighting. They spin in different directions to their final resting place. Whilst bullets fly, nothing remains sacrosanct. The opposite tower is now temptingly within my reach.

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