Dear Mr. bin Laden,
We have been following your career with great interest, but you see, Mr. bin Laden, we are concerned that you will never become a world-class villain like ourselves. Face it, you wear a dress; you live in a cave and—we will try to put this delicately—you lack savoir faire. And your colorless henchmen are bringing you down. You are not Bond material but, as we see it, you have potential. We believe that, with our guidance, an upstart like yourself may someday hope to face a world-class nemesis like 007. We’d like to give you some friendly advice, one evildoer to another. Think of it as the Fab Five—Julius, Auric, Ernst, Emilio, and Kamal—giving you an “Evil Eye for the Bad Guy” makeover.
Lair. You have a real cave-design issue. A damp, dark cave filled with guano says worlds about your self-esteem, and we don’t really want to go there—and neither does anyone else. You live with bats and blind salamanders. It’s an embarrassment, but it doesn’t have to be. Caves can be among the most exciting and dynamic lairs to hide from governments and their minions while putting your dastardly brilliant plan into place. They are meant to be remodeled with the latest high-tech trappings and should always create a sense of space and grandeur of scale. Think oversized lasers. Don’t be afraid to accessorize; no cave is complete without a few hundred workers running around in sterile white garb or intimidating black jumpsuits, doing your bidding—even if it’s only busywork. And come on, those cheap rent districts of Tora Bora and Waziristan aren’t going to impress anyone, let alone Bond. Think big—inside volcanoes, tropical islands, underwater caves. Like they say in real estate: location, location, location.
Personal grooming. In order to be a world-class villain, you need class. If you can find a mirror, take a good look at yourself. The crazed panhandler style might throw Bond off guard since he’s accustomed to more refined social circles, but it does little to help your image in the international arena. Drop the white sissy dress and shave the rat’s nest of a beard. The mujahedin beat the Soviets out of Afghanistan, you guys won—but that was over a quarter century ago. Time to move on. Quit trying to hold on to past glories. Move into the twenty-first century. If you want to take on someone as suave as Bond, you need to start dressing for success. Dump the pajamas for an Armani. Be daring—clip the claws, get a manicure, pedicure, facial—go meterosexual. Make Bond want you.
Henchmen. You have a real problem when it comes to your support staff. What’s with all the Number Threes in al Qaeda that seem to be caught by the Americans every other month? There’s only one Red Grant, Oddjob, or Jaws, but the Number Threes in Qaeda seem to be as interchangeable as bowling pins and just about as memorable. Sure, you might not find someone who can kill with the toss of a hat and we understand you don’t like working with females like our own beloved May Day or the very special Xenia Onatopp, but you need a henchman who is distinctive and memorable. Your henchmen are unremarkable never-beens. Your organization is large and you should have the talent to promote from within, but it’s impossible to recognize and cultivate a truly unique and gifted henchman if you constantly have all potential candidates going on suicide missions. Sure, it saves you on retirement plans, but high turnover rates can be equally costly to your organization. Invest in cultivating a henchman with enough pizzazz that everyone will recognize him. Think branding.
Mission and Message. You have a strategic planning problem. After 9/11 you had the world’s attention, yet you squandered it with nonsensical ramblings, demanding that the Americans close their bases in Saudi Arabia. That’s peanuts, and besides, your own Saudi government proved capable of kicking the “infidels” out on their own when they wanted to stay clear of the American invasion of Iraq. Since then you’ve been floundering, casting about for a real mission with a clear message. We’ve listened to your tapes, watched your videos on al-Jazeera and, frankly, Mr. bin Laden, we can’t make heads or tails out of them. We get that you hate the Americans, and that the rest of the West isn’t far behind in your estimation, but your goals are muddled. You need something concrete—corner the world’s gold market or control the global heroin market, maybe monopolize solar power. (You’ve already got the oil, so why not go alternative as well? Think Switchgrass—Bush already is.)
If an economic goal isn’t for you, consider capturing the International Space Station. If Ernst could snatch both Soviet and American rockets, surely you could take over a single piece of aging, half-completed hardware. Saddam was imaginative enough to attempt to build one of the world’s largest artillery guns, so it seems the least you could do is build a gigantic laser. Maybe you could take out the moon with it. Thanks to your longstanding ties to Pakistani intelligence, you have access to some of their greatest scientific minds to help you dream big. (Suggestion: No one has ever tried to create a giant water gun. Continents could be drenched while the oceans are drained dry.) If you want to be big, you have to think big. As they say, “The world is not enough.”
Pets. Yes, pets. Affection for God’s creatures can work wonders to soften your image if used properly. Believe it or not, Emilio’s fascination with sharks really did bring out his warm and fuzzy side. Before the sharks, he was unbearable. And stroking the white Persian cat did wonders for Ernst, but we understand that you have a real problem with pussy, which brings us to your biggest obstacle to becoming a world-class villain: women.
Women. We’ve noticed you have a real issue with women. You spend your days and nights with only men. All of the photos and videos we ever see of you, you are with men. This has to change. So do your Neanderthal views of women. You see, Mr. bin Laden, the job of villain extraordinaire only appears to be about world domination, acquiring unfathomable riches, and power. It’s not. The real struggle with Bond, James Bond—the epitome of polished, yet understated machismo—is about the women. The contest is about charisma, manliness, sexiness. It’s about who will win over Honey Rider, Tatiana Romanova, Domino Derval, Holly Goodhead, Octopussy, May Day, and the other bombshells. So if you want to move into Bond’s class, take our advice to heart. As long as you drape your women with tents for clothes and force them to walk silently ten paces behind you, you will never have Pussy Galore.
With darkest sincerity,
A collaboration of Bond’s greatest villains
RAELYNN HILLHOUSE has slipped across closed borders, smuggled jewels, and been recruited as a spy by two of the world’s most notorious intelligence services (they failed). The St. Louis Post-Dispatch wrote that “she’s truly like James Bond and Indiana Jones all rolled into one.” Her widely acclaimed first novel, Rift Zone, draws from her experiences. Her next novel, Outsourced (Forge, May 2007), is about an operative who becomes a target in the multibillion dollar War on Terror, and the only one he can trust is his ex-fiancée—who’s been hired to kill him. A former professor and Fulbright fellow, Hillhouse lives in Hawaii.