JANE BOND

when James Bond disappears , his daughter Jane refuses to wait.

Alone , without support, she faces an island where the is more dangerous than death.

Jane Bond

By Faramarz Parsa

One of Britain’s most elite secret agents, James Bond, falls into the hands of an unknown terrorist group after receiving false intelligence.

The news of his capture strikes like lightning, shaking political and intelligence circles across Europe.

Jane Bond, his daughter—who has just begun her honeymoon—hears the news through her father’s friends and colleagues. Without hesitation, she returns to London.

Her husband, Jack, tries to calm her:

“The British government will surely start a rescue mission. Don’t worry.”

But Jane cannot stay still. With determination in her eyes, she replies:

“No. I won’t wait. I have to now.”

Jack holds her closact—startinge.

“My dear teacher… this isn’t your fight.”

Yet Jane, who has completed full military and combat training, begins searching for clues. She seeks help from her father’s old friends and her university classmates skilled in modern information technologies.

Hours later, her old friend Alice calls:

“Jane, I have bad news. Your father’s being held as a hostage… they want to trade him for two special prisoners.”

“What prisoners?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll contact you as soon as I find out more.”

Without wasting a second, Jane reaches out to one of her father’s former intelligence colleagues. The man says only one sentence:

“According to our sources, James is imprisoned on one of the uncharted islands of the Mediterranean.”

Jane doesn’t hesitate. That same day, she decides to set off alone—without any backup—on a mission that will change her life forever.

The air was heavy and damp.

A soft mist clung to the shoreline as a salty breeze drifted in from the sea.

A small boat docked at the pier of an island not far from Greece.

Jane stepped out — wearing dark sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat.

She carried only a small suitcase and a handbag — inside, a few spy tools and a light pistol.

In the tiny coastal village, most shops were half-open, and the curious eyes of locals followed her every move.

Jane pretended to be just another tourist. She entered a small café; the aroma of fresh coffee and cigarette smoke filled the air.

The waiter asked,

“What would you like, miss?”

“A black coffee. No sugar.”

She sat by the window, watching the boats rocking gently in the water.

Then a man’s voice came from behind her:

“You’re a stranger here… not from around, are you?”

Jane smiled.

“Don’t you think most people here are tourists?”

The stranger smiled back, his tone friendly.

“Sure, but they don’t usually come to this café. How long are you staying? If you need help, I know this place well.”

“Just for a few days. I’m looking for someone. Maybe you can help me.”

The man’s expression shifted slightly — cautious now.

“Looking for who?”

“Someone who might be on one of the abandoned islands nearby.”

“Abandoned islands? There’s only one around here… Kalimora Island. But no one goes there.”

Jane leaned forward.

“Why not?”

“They say it’s a smugglers’ hideout… or worse — a place for those the government doesn’t want anyone to know about.”

Jane paused for a moment, then asked softly,

“Thank you. What’s your name?”

“Leon. And yours?”

Without thinking, she replied:

“Bond. Jane Bond.”

At that very moment, a spoon clattered to the floor.

Three men in the corner of the café lowered their newspapers and fixed their eyes on her.

A brief whisper passed among them.

One of them stood up, pretending to pay the bill.

But from his eyes, Jane knew something was about to happen.

A second later — the crash of a chair, a short scream, and chaos.

In a flash, Jane struck the first man in the stomach, seized the second’s arm, and flipped him hard onto a table.

The third pulled out his gun — but before he could fire, a cup of scalding coffee splashed across his face.

Silence.

Everyone stared at her in fear.

Jane grabbed her bag, turned to Leon, and said calmly,

“Now tell me, Leon… is there a boat that can take me to Kalimora?”

He lowered his head and muttered,

“If you’re mad enough — yes. I know someone.”

Night had fallen heavy and still over the Greek coast.

A silver mist rose from the sea, swallowing the pale light of the moon.

A small wooden boat waited by the pier.

Leon checked the engine and said quietly,

“It’s about three hours to Kalimora Island… but the sea isn’t calm tonight.”

Jane answered coolly,

“I’m not afraid of rough seas—only of lies.”

The boat drifted away from the dock, its engine breaking the silence of the night.

The shore lights faded behind them until nothing remained but darkness and the rhythm of the waves.

Leon stared toward the horizon.

“That island isn’t a place you want to set foot on. No one’s ever come back from it.”

“I didn’t come to come back,” Jane replied. “I came for my father.”

A strong wind swept across the deck. The waves turned wild and angry.

Jane pulled a dark scarf over her shoulders and took a small scope from her bag.

In the distance, a faint light flickered.

“There… look. What’s that light?”

“I don’t know. There shouldn’t be any light out there…”

Just then, a faint sound crackled through Leon’s radio — distorted, ghostlike, yet clear enough to chill the blood.

A man’s voice, fragmented and metallic, said:

“Target identified… she’s not alone.”

Jane narrowed her eyes.

“They’ve found us. Turn it off!”

Leon quickly killed the frequency — but it was already too late.

A red flare streaked upward in the distance, glowing against the mist.

Another boat appeared — black, unlit, slicing through the waves behind them.

“Damn it! They’re chasing us!”

“Head west—between the rocks! I know how to lose them.”

Jane drew her pistol, dropped to one knee, and aimed into the darkness.

The moonlight caught her face — calm, cold, burning with fury.

The first shot from the pursuers skimmed past their boat, throwing up a spray of seawater.

Jane took a slow breath — and fired.

The bullet struck the enemy’s engine. A flash. Then the roar of an explosion tore through the night.

The other boat burst into flames and vanished into the black water.

Breathing hard, Leon turned to her.

“Who are you?”

Jane’s voice was steady.

“I’m just a schoolteacher… Bond. Jane Bond.”

Their boat moved silently toward the dark outline of Kalimora Island —

where the shadows were waiting.

The silence after the explosion was heavy.

The small boat moved steadily through the waves, its engine humming softly.

Jane kept her eyes fixed on the horizon. Something deep inside her whispered — this was only the beginning.

Leon slowed the engine and said,

“We’ll have to hide in the cove until sunrise. From there, it’s only half an hour to Kalimora.”

Jane nodded slowly, though her gaze lingered on him.

There was something in Leon’s eyes — something that didn’t belong to an ordinary man.

His movements were too precise, too calm, too calculated… like someone trained for covert operations.

“You said you’re from this island, right?”

“Yeah… most of the time.”

Jane gave a faint smile.

“What does most of the time mean?”

Leon didn’t answer at first. Only the sound of the waves filled the space between them. Then, after a long sigh, he said quietly,

“I was sent by someone who’s worried about you, Jane.”

“By who?”

“By Jack… your husband.”

Jane stared at him in disbelief.

“Jack?! You mean you knew who I was all along?”

“Yes. He contacted me through the London Special Division. He said if Jane decided to go after her father alone, she might put herself in danger. I was ordered to follow you — quietly — just to protect you.”

Jane’s hand moved to the grip of her gun.

“So you’ve been lying to me this whole time?”

“No. I’ve been keeping you alive. If that second boat hadn’t spotted us, believe me — you’d have never known who I really am.”

A tense silence fell between them.

The moonlight traced half of Jane’s face in silver.

“You don’t understand, Leon,” she said softly. “This isn’t just about saving my father. It’s about finding the truth. Something’s hidden in all this — and Jack knows more than he’s telling me.”

Leon looked down, then whispered,

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe Jack only told me part of the plan… But now that we’ve come this far, we’re in this together.”

Jane met his eyes for a long moment, then said quietly,

“Fine. But from this moment on — I’m leading this mission.”

“Understood, Ms. Bond.”

A gentle wind brushed the sea.

In the distance, the dark silhouette of Kalimora Island emerged through the mist.

Leon turned off the engine and murmured,

“From here on — silence. Any sound could give us away.”

Jane’s reply was calm, yet fierce:

“In silence, danger awakens. Let’s go, Leon… let’s bring him back.”

The boat slipped soundlessly into the fog, carrying a British operative and the daughter of James Bond — one born from the bloodline of a legend, the other from the shadow of the Secret Service — toward the island that until that night existed only in classified reports:

Kalimora — The Island of Shadows.

The boat glided quietly through the night.

Jane stared at the horizon in silence, but her mind was far away — back to the moment Jack, with his usual warm smile, had said:

“A honeymoon should be peaceful… Greece is perfect — far from the noise, far from everything.”

At the time, it had sounded reasonable.

But now, surrounded by sea and shadows, every word of his smelled like a plan.

She was a teacher — a simple history teacher in London.

But why would a teacher have a direct number to the British Intelligence Service?

Why had Jack known the instant she changed her return ticket?

Jane took a deep breath. The hum of the engine matched the pounding of her heart.

“Leon… you said Jack contacted the ‘Special Division,’ right?”

“Yeah. Personally.”

“Which division exactly?”

“M.I.6.”

Jane’s eyes narrowed.

“Leon… since when does a schoolteacher have direct contact with MI6?”

Leon bit his lip and looked away.

“I’m just the messenger, Jane. Orders from above — stay close, keep you safe, and don’t interfere.”

“From above? Who exactly?”

Silence.

Leon tried to change the subject.

“Look… do you see that faint light on the right? That’s the island.”

But Jane wasn’t listening anymore.

Scenes flashed in her mind —

Jack lowering his voice while on the phone,

Jack who never cared about her father’s missions, suddenly knowing every classified detail,

and that strange gift — a new wristwatch, sleek and military, with a faint metallic glint and an invisible chip beneath its surface.

Something deep inside Jane screamed a warning:

Jack wasn’t just a worried husband. He was part of this game.

She turned her gaze away from the sea and whispered under her breath:

“If my father fell into this trap because of him… then I’m not just coming for a rescue — I’m coming for revenge.”

Leon heard her, but said nothing.

The mist thickened around them.

The light of the island grew larger, closer —

and with every wave that carried them forward, the secrets beneath the surface began to rise.

The mist still hung heavy over the water.

The boat slipped quietly between the rocks when suddenly a faint beeping broke the silence — beep… beep… beep…

Leon pulled a small encrypted phone from his pocket. The screen glowed with a dim green light.

For an instant, his eyes reflected a strange glimmer — like a man who had been waiting for this exact signal.

Jane frowned.

“Who’s calling?”

Leon hesitated, then gave a thin, cold smile.

“A new order… I have to go.”

“What? We’re in the middle of the sea! Where could you possibly go?”

He simply said,

“I’m sorry, Jane. If you keep going, you may find the truth… but not with me.”

Before she could react, Leon steered the boat toward a narrow cluster of rocks.

He pulled a small metallic case from his pocket and placed it on the seat.

“For when you’re alone… you’ll need it.”

Then, with startling agility, he leapt overboard, slipped into the dark water, and vanished.

Jane stood frozen. Only the sound of the waves and the salt in the air remained.

“Leon… come back!”

No answer.

The fog grew thicker, the silence heavier.

She started the engine — but the fuel gauge was nearly empty.

Far ahead, the faint glow of the island flickered through the mist.

As she drew closer, shapes began to emerge along the shore — silhouettes of armed men, scanning the coastline with heat lamps.

Jane steered quickly toward a jagged rock formation.

From the beach, shouts echoed through the night:

“Check the east side! She’s close!”

She crawled into the darkness, hiding between the rocks, her breath shallow.

Footsteps crunched closer…

One of the guards stopped right beside her.

The beam of his light swept just inches from her face —

but Jane remained still, a shadow among shadows.

When he turned away, she slid silently down the rocks and ran toward the dense forest that covered the island’s heart.

A bullet tore past her ear.

The ground slipped beneath her feet — but she didn’t fall.

Only one sentence echoed in her mind:

“Loneliness is not my enemy… it’s my only weapon.”

The roar of the waves blended with the shouts of the men behind her,

and Jane Bond, with no backup, no allies, and no way back,

stepped into the heart of the island of death.

The wind blew in from the sea, carrying the restless sound of waves through the darkness.

Jane hid among the trees of the island’s dense forest.

Her clothes were soaked, her boots caked with mud and sand.

The sky was thick with clouds; the moon appeared only in fleeting glimpses — like an eye watching from above.

She took a deep breath and sat under the shadow of a tree.

From her pocket, she pulled out the small metallic case — the one Leon had left on the seat before disappearing.

The lock was small and delicate, marked with a familiar symbol — the insignia of British Intelligence.

Jane whispered,

“So… Leon wasn’t lying.”

She pressed her cracked fingernail against the seam of the latch. It clicked open.

Inside were several items:

a detailed map of Kalimora Island with red markings at specific points,

a waterproof memory card,

and a small folded note — written in Leon’s handwriting.

It read:

“If you’re reading this, I’m gone.

Be careful, Jane. What brought your father to this island wasn’t a mission — it was a betrayal.

The key is in your watch.”

Jane stared at her wrist in shock — the same watch Jack had given her before their honeymoon.

A faint green light pulsed from its back.

She pressed the hidden button gently. A soft click. The face of the watch lifted, revealing a tiny chip beneath the glass.

Words appeared on the miniature display:

“Subject 007 captured – Phase II initiated.”

Jane froze.

“Phase II? What does that mean…?”

Then — the distant growl of engines broke the silence. Searchlights swept across the sky.

Quickly, she folded the map, pocketed the devices, and darted behind the rocks.

Armed men were climbing up from the shore, scanning the trees with automatic rifles in hand.

Jane moved quietly up the steep slope until she reached a small cave carved into the cliffs.

The air inside smelled of salt and damp stone — but it was shelter enough.

She sat down, breathing hard, and looked at her watch glowing in the dark.

“My father’s here…

Leon’s dead…

and Jack — he’s either part of this plan… or he is the plan.”

Her hand tightened into a fist.

“Whatever it is — by sunrise, I’ll know the truth.”

Outside, the footsteps faded into the distance.

The island fell silent once more.

And in that silence, the green glow of the watch — small as a star — illuminated Jane’s face.

The mist had begun to thin, yet the darkness remained heavy.

Jane crawled out of the cave, the map clutched in her hand, and moved toward the first red-marked point — a small storage hut at the edge of the shore, marked with a single cross.

Pressing her body against the wooden wall, Jane peered through a crack between the boards.

Two guards sat inside, smoking and talking lazily.

She drew a slow, steady breath.

Every step she took was calculated, weightless.

Picking up a pebble, she tossed it toward the far corner — the faint clatter broke the monotony of the night.

The guards turned their heads.

A blur of motion — one fell across the table before making a sound, the second was caught in a silent choke and collapsed beside him.

Jane stripped the ammo from one, leaving both alive but unconscious.

She swept the table for intel — two infrared remotes, used to disable lights and security feeds.

Pocketing them, she disappeared into the shadows before the cigarette smoke even rose to the ceiling.

Before reaching the beach, the faint crackle of static broke through the trees — the whine of a sensor.

A sniper. Hidden beneath a tall tree, already locked on her.

Hiding would be suicide.

Movement — that was her only chance.

She ducked and sprinted; a bullet tore through the spot she had just vacated, ripping bark from a tree root.

In one fluid motion, she grabbed a round stone and hurled it toward a low branch.

The branch snapped, fell with a sharp crack — the sniper’s scope twitched to the noise.

Jane rolled to his flank, climbed the rise, and in a heartbeat struck — a sharp, precise blow to the neck.

The sniper dropped, unconscious.

Panting, she grabbed his scope.

It wasn’t a simple rifle feed — it was linked to a local transmission tower.

That meant more guards, more eyes watching.

At the small dock, a few cargo containers stood stacked beside an idle jet ski.

Suddenly, floodlights burst to life.

“There! Over there!”

Shouts echoed. Men with rifles closed in, row by row.

Jane tucked the map under her arm and dove between containers.

Two men appeared in her path; she kicked the edge of a steel plate, launching herself upward — her knee slammed into one man’s chest, sending him sprawling.

The second raised his weapon — too slow.

A sharp twist, a disarm, and he was down.

Gunfire erupted — brief, contained.

Jane ducked behind the containers, fired two rounds from her compact pistol — not to kill, but to cripple — hitting the tires of the jet ski to cut off pursuit.

Then, with a utility knife and a thin rope from her belt, she slipped into the water.

Cold. Silent.

The sea — her only ally.

By the time the guards reached the dock, she was gone.

Her arms burned, her lungs screamed. Blood trickled from a shallow cut on her arm.

A bruise darkened her thigh.

But she was alive — and so far, unstoppable.

Back in the forest, she followed the narrow path to the cave.

Her steps were shaky now, her breath uneven.

Inside, she sank against the stone wall, pulled out the metal case again, and reached for the waterproof memory card Leon had left behind.

The portable reader clicked as she inserted it.

A small light blinked green — the tiny display came to life.

A list of encrypted files appeared, filled with cryptic names and recent timestamps.

One file stood out, its name in bold:

PHASE_II_MANIFESTO.enc

And below it — a smaller one:

CLUE_AUDIO.wav

Jane exhaled slowly, fingers trembling.

Her hand brushed the watch on her wrist — the watch Leon had mentioned.

When she pressed its hidden button, a four-digit PIN appeared on the small screen.

She recognized it instantly — not just a number, but a date. The date Jack had said, “Trust me, always.”

She entered the code.

The reader blinked twice.

The file CLUE_AUDIO.wav unlocked.

A soft click.

Then — silence before a voice.

Dawn had not yet broken.

The sea had calmed, but the mist still clung to the island like a heavy blanket.

Jane emerged from the shelter. Her shoulder throbbed where the bullet had grazed her, but her mind was sharp and alert.

Far in the distance, the faint hum of engines came and went — patrols sweeping the coast.

Everything smelled of danger, of warning.

She unfolded the map — the largest red mark lay deep within the island’s northern forest.

A narrow, thorny path led the way.

Her boots sank into the wet ground, breath shallow, each step heavy yet deliberate.

Then — a glint beneath the brush.

She crouched.

Hidden under damp leaves lay a semi-automatic pistol, half-buried, rusted, forgotten.

Jane picked it up, wiped it clean with her sleeve.

The faint light of early morning caught the engraving on the steel:

a lion and shield — the insignia of British Intelligence.

For a moment, she froze.

Her gaze flicked between the weapon and her own trembling hands.

Not fear — confusion.

If this was here, then who was the enemy?

And who had really designed this mission?

But there was no time for doubt.

“Maybe it’s just debris,” she whispered to herself.

“Or maybe… someone from our side was here before me.”

She slid the pistol into her belt and pressed on.

The wind blew from the east, carrying the metallic scent of salt and oil.

The trees thinned. The ground sloped downward.

Through the fog, between jagged rocks, she saw it —

a concrete structure, low and half-buried in the cliffs.

A tunnel entrance.

Tall fences surrounded it, barbed wire coiled along the top, and floodlights — dark for now, sleeping.

Jane crouched and lifted her wrist, switching her watch to magnifier mode.

Through its thermal lens, she saw faint movement inside the compound — three, maybe four figures.

“So this is it,” she whispered.

“The hideout.”

She pressed her hand to the cold soil — it smelled of metal and fuel.

The earth itself seemed to hum.

Her voice dropped to a breath:

“Not for the mission. Not even for my father… but to learn what’s become of the truth.”

Somewhere above, a bird cried — sharp and sudden, slicing through the silence.

Jane retreated behind a tree, lowered herself into the shadows, and waited for night to fall again.

Far ahead, deep within the island, a dim light flickered from inside the tunnel —

like an eye awakening in the dark.

Night had returned.

The mist had settled low, and the air was cold and heavy.

Jane moved quietly through the northern forest, each step measured, her senses tuned to the faintest sound.

Only the rustle of leaves beneath her boots, and the whisper of wind that carried the scent of iron and fuel.

She reached the edge of the concrete wall.

The floodlights were off — strange.

As if someone had deliberately cut the power.

Scanning the area, she noticed severed cables lying across the ground, and fresh footprints pressed into the mud.

Jane crouched, touched the tracks — the soil was still soft.

Whoever had been here, it was recent.

She followed the path along the eastern side, where the map indicated a natural slope leading to an underground passage.

With her multitool, she brushed away the damp earth until the edge of a hidden steel hatch appeared, half-buried beneath the roots.

She pulled it open — the hinges groaned softly.

A rusted staircase descended into the darkness.

Jane switched on the small light embedded in her watch and began to climb down, one careful step at a time.

The tunnel smelled of fuel, rust, and something else — something faintly electric, like hot metal.

At the bottom stretched a narrow corridor lined with pipes and tangled wires running along the ceiling.

At its far end, a weak light blinked.

Jane raised her weapon but didn’t fire.

Her steps were silent, her movements precise — a ghost within shadows.

She leaned against a half-collapsed wall and looked inside.

An old control room — abandoned, dust-coated, filled with dead screens and corroded machines.

But one monitor was still alive, glowing a pale green.

On its screen, a message pulsed:

ACCESS: LEVEL 7 – AUTHORIZED.

Jane stepped closer.

The display was touch-sensitive, with four menu options:

SURVEILLANCE – AUDIO LOGS – LAB DATA – PHASE II

Her finger hovered for a moment, then tapped SURVEILLANCE.

The screen fragmented into dozens of live feeds — every corner of the island:

the docks, the forest, the eastern cliffs… even the cave where she had hidden the night before.

Her eyes widened.

Someone had been watching her from the very beginning.

One feed caught her attention — a live shot outside the tunnel.

A group of armed men combed through the rocks.

In the center of the frame, her small boat burned — flames licking the night sky.

Jane whispered,

“So… there’s no going back.”

Then, another window flickered to life — an image from deeper inside the compound.

A dimly lit room.

A metal chair.

Open restraints.

And on the wall… a shadow — the shadow of someone sitting.

Her voice trembled:

“Father…?”

The screen glitched — and went black.

For a moment, silence. Then, new text appeared across the monitor:

YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE,

Ms. BOND.

Jane froze.

A red light began to pulse overhead.

Somewhere in the distance, an alarm — muffled but growing louder.

She steadied her breath, raised her gun, and whispered:

“You’re wrong… I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

And with calm, deliberate steps, Jane Bond walked forward —

into the heart of the tunnel,

into the dark,

where Phase II was waiting.

The red lights still pulsed inside the tunnel.

The air was hot and damp; the distant alarm echoed through the metal walls like a heartbeat of the island itself.

Jane moved forward, step by step — her gun in hand, more for comfort than defense.

The corridor ended at a heavy door, its edges scorched and blackened.

She braced herself, pushed hard, and forced it open.

Inside lay a large concrete chamber — flickering lights, the stale smell of oil and iron.

At the center stood a metal chair with its restraints undone.

On the table before it, a few folders lay soaked and dust-covered.

One bore a fading label:

“Operation Legacy – Bond.”

Her hands trembled as she opened it.

Inside were a series of old photographs — her father, James Bond, on missions across decades, surrounded by unfamiliar faces.

In one corner of a photo, a face she never expected — her mother.

Tears welled in her eyes.

Her mother’s gentle smile beside her father’s cold, determined stare.

On the back of the photograph, faint handwriting read:

“For the future that must know the truth.”

A soft click echoed behind her.

Jane turned sharply.

In the doorway stood a man in a military coat, his face hidden in the red haze.

“You shouldn’t be here, Jane,” he said — his tone calm, not threatening, but cold.

“Where’s my father?” she demanded.

He hesitated.

“Your father made his choice. He died for the mission.

But you… you were never meant to follow.”

Jane stepped closer.

“Then maybe I made his mistake.

But I didn’t come here to fight — I came to understand why you lied about him.”

The man was silent for a long moment. Then quietly:

“The truth… is always more dangerous than death.”

He turned, walked toward the shadowed exit, and disappeared into the darkness.

Jane was alone.

The red lights dimmed, one by one.

She sat in the chair, staring at the photographs, and whispered:

“Maybe I was never meant to stand beside them…

but adventure runs in my blood — from you, Father.”

From outside came the muffled sound of the sea.

Dawn was near.

Jane closed the folder, laid her gun on the table, and looked around the room one last time.

Climbing the rusted steps, she reached the mouth of the tunnel just as the pale light of morning spilled through.

She drew a long breath of open air and said softly,

“Father… I didn’t come to replace you.

I only wanted to know why you left.”

Then, in silence, she walked into the mist.

Far across the island, a low explosion rumbled —

but Jane didn’t turn back.

Only the wind and the sea remained…

and a woman who had found no answers,

only a legacy —

heavier than the name Bond itself.

© 2025 Faramarz Parsa. All rights reserved.

This story and its contents are the intellectual property of the author.

Reproduction, copying, or distribution without written permission is prohibited.