Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the James Bond universe, created by Ian Fleming. No money is being made from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. The only character that belongs to me is Leona Drake.
Author's Notes: This is my first attempt at a James Bond fanfiction. I hope you enjoy.
Breaking the Blade
A man clad in a dark coat made his way through the streets of London. It was dark, the night had fallen, and it was the time of the day when few ventured outside if they had other ways of completing their business. Yet this man was not afraid of the dark, or any of the creatures that dwelt within it. He knew most of them already, in one form or another.
The creature he was on his way to find was different however. Though creature was too harsh a term, even for this one… woman was more appropriate. He shook his head slightly when he thought about how his superior at MI6, only known as M, had sent him to find a former colleague and fellow agent. According to M the Secret Service needed said agent back in active duty in order to expose an individual again on the agency's radar.
Agent James Bond couldn't for his bare life understand why none of the agents currently in active duty could not deal with this new threat, and neither could he understand why he, of all people had been sent to track down, and convince her to return to active duty. He had never had a particularly close relationship with her, quite to the contrary actually. To him she was a beginner, young and inexperienced, with a self-confidence that did her more harm than good. She had no intuition, no feeling for how this job was to be done, and if anyone asked him he would say that the only good judgement she had shown within the Service was to hand in her resignation. He knew that her perception of him was not much better. To his knowledge she saw him as "a relic of the cold war", as his superior once had so eloquently put it, but as opposed to M she had showed no sign of ever warming up to him.
Her name was Leona Drake. Her MI6-profile said that she was the youngest agent ever to carry the famous prefix of Double-0. Fellow agent James Bond would have called her a gold digger, if he weren't a gentleman. After an assignment that went bad, and resulted in her capture and subsequent torture, 008, agent Leona Drake, left MI6, and had not been heard or seen since.
From what Bond saw now, as he walked through a seedier part of the city, silently cursing the rain that had begun to fall, everything had gone downhill for ex-agent Drake after her final assignment for the Secret Service. It was evident, he thought to himself as he found the address he had been looking for, that Drake had stopped caring about more than her job. He thought her address justified if she had no money, but putting your life on the line for Queen and Country paid rather well, in fact. And Leona Drake was not the kind of person to risk it all on the stock market. That, at least, was not her kind of thrill.
It was a run-down concrete building, similar in structure to every other building in the nearby area. As he entered he didn't even bother to be surprised or irritated that there was no elevator, and that Drake, according to a small note he had in his left coat pocket lived on the eight floor. Walking up the stairs he heard all the noises one could expect from such a place; crying, shouting, talking, something breaking, dogs barking… For once he did not bother to listen closer, but continued steadily upwards until he reached the eight floor, and the door that had the same number written on the note.
He stood for a moment surveying the door, and realised to late that he should never have done. The blast from a shotgun issued from the door, making a jagged hole in it, the remaining pellets missing his flesh but instead straying the right arm of his coat, making burnt holes in the fabric. Rarely the one to be caught off guard, he called the name of a higher power that he really didn't believe in as he dived for cover.
"WHAT THE…!"
An icy, dangerously sharp female voice floated out to him through the newly made hole in the door in front of him.
"I warned you once, Bond, seven years ago, of what would happen if the Service came looking for me… Such a shame that no one listened. Well, a shame for you I should say, because I find it rather exciting to have you in my sight… I hoped it would happen sooner.
Some women have the distinctively unattractive tendency to gloat too much, thought Bond as he crept silently towards the door. With a swift move he put his hand through the hole in the door, finding the barrel of the shotgun and proceeding to pull it through the hole. Of course the gun went off, and he heard her swearing loud and clear as she was slammed against the door and lost her grip on the shotgun.
In another move he managed to open the door, only to narrowly dodge one of her fists.
One could claim a lot of things about Leona Drake, but if one claimed her to be a bad fighter one would most likely end up in a hospital somewhere and stay there for quite some time. James Bond however, was not a bad fighter himself, but the battle now taking place inside of Leona Drake's run-down apartment put even him to the test. It wasn't long before the two of them gave up on simple kicks and punches and instead decided that everything in sight would make for good weapons. Tables, chairs, walls, broken glass, cutlery, everything went.
Bond had one advantage over Drake. Experience. Leona Drake was a fierce fighter, and had adopted a mixture of different styles, but she was, and always had been more of a street fighter than a trained assassin, which was one of the reasons why Bond viewed her as a rookie. That experience was the most likely reason why, after a while, Leona found herself on the floor of her own apartment, surrounded by the remains of its inventory, with her arms locked to the floor in a tight grip and one of his knees pressing into her back. At that point a string of curses not even a drunken sailor could best came from her mouth.
"Easy now, Drake, I just came here to talk."
A hash laugh filled the room – her laugh.
"James Bond came to talk? I wonder just how cold is it in hell today?"
He pulled her up, but didn't loosen his grip on her wrists.
"I came here because M said she needed you back, not because I wanted to."
She turned her head, trying in vain to make their eyes meet.
"Then M is a fool. You are the last person who could ever persuade me to return."
"That is exactly what I told her, but she sent me anyway. But as I recall my last conversation with her, she said nothing of persuasion. She simply said to get you back… "
"You and the rest of MI6 can go to hell for all I care!"
Now it was his turn to let out a harsh laugh.
"Don't you think I know you feel that way, Drake? But Steele is back on the radar, and he's up to something big this time, bigger than Beijing, bigger than everything he did before." He paused, because though he hated what he was about to say next he knew it was the truth. "And if anyone can get to him, it's you…"
"Oh, how touching… You're a good liar, Bond, I'll give you that."
This was why he despised her. She was cocky, sharp, and she would cut you if she got the chance, friend or foe, that did not matter. He was quickly running out of what little patience he had come with. He should have known it would end like this.
"That I am, Drake. I am also one who prides himself on completing his missions. Tonight you are my mission, and very little, least of all your protests, is going to stop me from bringing you to HQ. From there on M can do whatever she sees fit… You can come back with me quietly or you can waste your energy on fighting me all the way there."
Leona Drake fought all the way to the car, but when he threatened to put her in the trunk she quietened down enough for him to put her in the backseat in restraints. When he reached the MI6 headquarters he let someone else take care of Drake. He had more than his share of her for the evening.
The few days were unusually quiet for James Bond, and he saw nothing more of Leona Drake. But the third day after he was sent to a rundown London apartment he was called to a briefing. It was a classified briefing, which meant that the number of people attending would not be large. Probably just the head of the departments that the case applied to, his superior M, and the agent assigned – in this case himself. As he walked into the conference room he found he was right. He saw M, and representatives for the department of health and the department of national security. He was rather surprised of the representative for health, for as opposed to national security, the health department to his knowledge had little to do with MI6.
M greeted him, and stepped to the front of the room, where a large screen was located. On the screen now came what Bond recognised as an MI6 file. The name on it was Castor Steele.
"Gentlemen…" M began. "This" she gesticulated towards the screen "is why you have been assembled here. Mr. Bond, you know Mr. Thomas from the department of national security and Mr. Shaw from the department of health…?"
Bond nodded, and offered a silent greeting to each of the two gentlemen in turn. M seemed satisfied with this, and continued; "Now to the point. This man…" again a hand waved rather absentmindedly towards the screen. "…is Castor Steele. Steele has been on the radar of MI6 several times. We have also deployed several attempts to bring him to justice, but so far he has avoided them all, robbing us of many talented agents in the process. Steele is the worst type of criminal, he has no conscience, and there is nothing he will not do…"
"Yes, there is, actually."
Another female voice sounded in the room, a voice that made everyone in the room turn to see who had spoken. It was, to Bond's surprise, none other than Leona Drake. In appearance she was very different from the night he had come to her, now tastefully dressed in a white shirt and black pants. The two top buttons on her shirt were undone, business like and yet just casual enough. Her hair was smoother and looked cleaner, and the scrapes and bruises that she had sustained in their fight were admirably concealed with natural looking makeup. Now she looked…more like a lady than Bond could ever remember having seen her before, but he could also see that she was one of the most dangerous ladies that he had ever met, and that said quite a lot. There was a look in her eyes, a sharp, cold look – it was the look of an assassin. And that, Bond noted to himself, was very different from the youthful, curious look that he had seen in them before.
She continued into the room, seemingly unaware of the three men surveying her. She settled in a chair at one end of the conference table, next to Bond, and then continued;
"Steele is a business man. He will not do anything that is not profitable. He will, however, make money wherever he can find them, regardless of what someone sees to be morally correct. Where most of us have a conscience, Steele has an insatiable desire for profit."
"You should know that, Drake. Mr. Thomas, Mr. Shaw, this is Miss Leona Drake – she has extensive knowledge of Steele, she was the agent assigned to our last attempt to stop him. An attempt that failed, though through no fault of agent Drake."
Bond noticed a flash of something that resembled discontent in Drake's eyes. That at least the two of them had in common, a burning desire to complete their missions successfully. It was a common trait for most of those carrying the prefix of double 0.
M continued. "Special agent Drake will also be assigned to this assignment, together with agent Bond.
Bond was shocked, and from the astounded look on the face of the woman beside him, he surmised that Drake felt the same. To his knowledge, if there was a double 0 on a mission, there was no need for any more agents. Clearly that was not how M saw Castor Steele.
A few minutes later, when the two representatives had left the room, seemingly satisfied with the information they had got, M turned her full attention on her two agents with a rather mischievous smile playing around her lips.
"You're both handling this admirably well. I had expected something close to a riot… I know that the two of you are not overly fond of each other, but you are both needed on this assignment. You needn't worry though; I'm sending you to opposite ends of the globe." There was a pause, and M pushed a button on a small remote control that made the image on the screen change. Instead of Steele's MI6 file, a floor plan of a building and other information regarding it popped up. From what she could see, Drake assumed that it was some sort of research facility, and when she saw the name of the building she saw she had been right. It read; Blade Industrial Research Centre.
She recognised the name. It had to belong to Castor Steele, among his followers known as the Blade, for his edged business style. M watched her, and saw her reaction.
"You assume correctly, Drake. It does belong to Steele. A fairly recent purchase of his, this one. That, of course, made our contacts rather suspicious. It made them think that he is planning something very specific, and the agency agrees. But we don't know exactly what he's planning, and this is where you enter, Drake. I'm sending you to there to find out what he is up to."
"Where exactly is this research facility?"
"In Greenland."
Drake smiled wryly. "Well, in that case, I hope you send him to the Antarctic." She said with a nod towards Bond.
"Not quite," said M. "I'm sending him to Egypt."
"Egypt?" Bond inquired.
"Yes. Steele is currently in Cairo on what he refers to as a business trip. I want to know what precisely this business involves."
"I understand." said Bond calmly.
"Q branch will outfit you with the rest of the details, and anything that you might need for this assignment. That is all."
They both stood to leave, but as they were approaching the door, M called out to them.
"One last thing. Remember this, both of you; Shadows stay in front or behind – never on top."
"You should remember that." Drake whispered to Bond as they went their separate ways outside M's office.
"You too," countered Bond.
She turned and gave him a shrewd smile.
"Yes, I will, of course. But I would dare to assume that there are more women in Egypt than there are people at all in Greenland. Especially where I'm going…"
"Your assumption might be correct at that, but I never knew you to be particularly picky in your choice of partner."
"Perhaps not, Bond, but I do have a certain standard. I wouldn't have you if you were the last man in the world…
"Maybe I will be, if you screw this up…"
At that all he got for a reply was her laughter. At least her sense of humour, for one, was the same as it had always been.
Once entering MI6's Q-branch, an ageing woman clad in a white lab coat met Leona Drake. This woman was Vera, first name unknown. She was Q-branch's female alibi, and she had been Leona's contact with the branch all the time she served as a double 0.
"Drake! Welcome back in business… I heard M stiffed you on the double 0. I also heard that she's sending you to Greenland."
Leona nodded, and smiled.
"Thanks, Vera. Don't worry about the double number. It probably isn't necessary anyway. I don't know many researchers with a double 0 prefix, do you?"
Vera shook her head.
"No, but this "researcher" might need it… Your experience with Steele isn't the best one."
Leona shrugged.
"True, but hopefully I won't be seeing much of him where I'm going. Bond, on the other hand… Leona gave Vera a shrewd smile.
"Where is M sending him?" Vera asked.
"To Egypt… it seems Steele is there on business…"
"Why do they always make the rest of us envy him?"
Leona shrugged. "I don't envy him…I'd rather be in nowhere-land on Greenland than with Steele anywhere in the world, especially after our last encounter. Now, what have you got for me?"
Vera was curious, but she could take a hint. She left the subject, and proceeded to educate Drake on the various objects the Q-branch would outfit her with on her current mission.
The objects in front of her reminded Leona Drake once again that she had not got her prefix back when she re-entered the service. It reminded her also that her part of the mission was the gathering of information, not the infiltration of dangerously high social circles. There were no weapons, no explosives, and hardly anything with sharp edges on the table. Instead there were other nifty little devices to pick locks, decrypt passwords and store and transfer large amounts of data.
Leona couldn't quite decide how she felt about it all. She hadn't expected to regain her former status, but still… The difficulty lay in separating her own thoughts about herself from the reality. In her own mind she was, and had been, also after she left the service, an assassin. Now she was an undercover agent. A gatherer of information, nothing more. Her licence had been revoked a long time ago, and she had yet to get it back.
In another part of the MI6 HQ, 007 James Bond was maintaining his marksman skills on one of the firing ranges at the service's disposal. His weapon; his trusted Walther 9mm, did some substantial damage to the targets. He needed the focus that the target range gave him, especially now. Steele was dangerous; not because he was particularly menacing or frightening, but because he would do anything if it made him money. And whomever came in the way of a lucrative deal had to be removed. Steele was the rare sort of human not to have a quarter of an inch of conscience or moral. The only thing he understood and craved was money.
There was indeed something potentially frightening about this prospect. Bond had seen with his own eyes what Steele was capable of. He had been present when then 008 Leona Drake was brought in to a floating MI6 base in international waters after, rather amazingly, having escaped The Blade's torture chamber somewhere in Beijing. It was not a pretty sight to see, he couldn't remember having seen someone so mangled and still breathing. Drake had been lucky not to lose one or more limbs, or her life, for that matter.
After that incident Leona Drake had resigned from MI6 and seemingly disappeared, he had thought for good. Only now had he begun to realise that she had come back, from the dead so to speak. She had changed, though. Her edges had sharpened, her mind had sharpened, and she seemed calmer in the face of danger, more of an assassin… more of a double 0. But she no longer held that status within MI6, now she was working undercover. He thought of how that must have been a blow to the face for her. It would have been for him. The service had tried to get him to work undercover from time to time, but his cover always ended up shattered. He thought it too much work to maintain a cover – it was better just to try and blend in as long as possible, and when that ultimately failed, for no other reason but that "blending in" was not in a double 0's job description, he thought it best to stare the mostly rather ugly reality square in the face rather than try an fool it to believe that one was something one was not.
His eyes fell on an ordinary wall clock located high on one of the walls outside the target range itself. It was exactly 2 p.m. It was time to go - his mission was about to start.