This is another literary based oneshot. I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. I realized that "Background to a Spy" was basically written in my own style, so for this one I did my best to emulate Fleming's style and word choice. Oh, and I have to give a shout out to Moonraker (which I never thought I'd do, considering it was by far my least favorite book of the series) for having the absolute best detailed information about... well, everything I mention in this oneshot. Title once again taken from a chapter in From Russia With Love (though this time I didn't realize it until I'd already chosen the title). But this doesn't take place during or have anything to do with FRWL. I don't know when it takes place, actually. I hope you all enjoy it!
P.S. If anyone that's read Casino Royale (preferably before having seen the movie) wants to chat about how the movie stood up next to the book, drop me a line. I have my own opinions, and I'm curious to see what other literary fans think.
Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond. But it has now become a life goal of mine to bring into my possession a signed copy of Casino Royale.
"The blubbery arms of the soft life had Bond round the neck and they were slowly strangling him. He was a man of war and when, for a long period, there was no war, his spirit went into a decline. In his particular line of business, peace had reigned for nearly a year. And peace was killing him."
-From Russia With Love by Ian Fleming
The early afternoon sun was bright and warm, the sky a perfect blue. Inside the building in Regent's Park, sunlight streaked through the windows, banishing the usually shadowy and slightly somber air that hung about the place, and reminding the men and women that whether they liked it or not, summer was upon them.
James Bond's own office was positioned so that he caught the sun at this time of day just right. When he was especially busy he pulled the curtains closed and cursed the sliver of light that always seemed to escape and crawl lazily upon his desk. When he knew he would be gone for a while, usually on assignment, he would keep the shades drawn, with specific instructions to Mary that they were not to be opened. He suspected that the moment he was in his car she opened them, but to be honest she was the best secretary he'd ever had, looking out for him on both a professional and personal level, and he had better things to do than admonish her for a letting a little light into his office.
Summer had never been a favorite time of year for Bond. Tourists packed the streets of London, causing bottlenecks when they craned their necks to stare at the most absurd things and slowing down traffic due to their bizarre inability to drive on the correct side of the road. The heat in July and August often bordered on unbearable, especially when one was wearing a suit and tie and was relegated to a stuffy office. But most frustrating was the daze summer seemed to put people in, as if during those few months of warmth and sun they forgot that work still needed to get done, planes still needed to fly, and criminals still needed to be dealt with. It was hard for Bond to get anything done when the rest of the world was so extremely cheerful.
Bond finished scanning the report he was looking over and signed a 7 next to the space labeled "00" at the bottom of the paper. It had been something to do with money laundering in Manchester; he hadn't really been paying attention. Placing the paper in his Out tray, which Mary would empty at the end of the day, filing certain papers and delivering others to M's Chief of Staff or wherever else they needed to go, Bond took a cursory glance at the stack in his In tray. There was still a good two or three hours more work to be done, mostly reading reports and signing them to show they'd passed by him. There was a chance he might come across something interesting along the way, but he doubted it; Bond had learned in his years in the Service that anything that came in his In tray was almost definitely unimportant and, worse yet, uninteresting.
This was how Bond had been passing his days for months, and how he spent them all year round, except when on assignment: into the office by ten, paperwork until half past noon, lunch and coffee in the canteen with the Chief of Staff (if he was on lunch at the same hour), shooting practice twice a week, then four more hours of paperwork before pushing back from his desk and wishing Mary a good evening before driving home. Night duty, sometimes, which was fun for a time but which he had then grown tired of. It all added up to what was the kind of work that was liable to drive anyone, and especially a person like James Bond, insane.
Bond sighed and turned in his chair towards the open window.
Bond liked working in the Service, there was no doubt about it. He could hardly see himself doing anything else, especially since receiving his 00 number. True, there were times when the weight of his duties became a bit too heavy, a bit too much of a strain. Especially after needing to employ his 00 number and end another person's life, the guilt would sometimes stay with him for a while, wearing him down. But he always had bounced back, and after all these years he didn't think- no, he knew he couldn't survive without the adrenaline he had come to rely on, and without the feeling of accomplishment that came after completing an assignment and getting to sit back with his friends and have a drink and a cigarette and make jokes about how close it had come this time, but how they hadn't failed, not yet! Assignments were only given to him two or three times a year, though, and when not on assignment, when he nothing to do but paperwork and had no real chance to flex his muscles, the monotony and safety of the soft life made him want nothing more than to get back to work.
Still, sometimes, especially on days like these when the work was slow and the day was long and hot, it didn't seem like all that bad an idea to take some time off to relax.
Bond leaned back and put his hands behind his head. Working in the Service, Bond didn't get holidays, except the two weeks off after every assignment that were regulation. He'd like to take a holiday, he decided. He hadn't been on an assignment in months, hadn't even heard from M in months, and now was probably the best time to do it. Yes, all the best places would be filled with tourists, but he'd traveled enough to know all the best spots that only the locals were familiar with, and he'd just veer clear of the cliché tourist spots like he always did.
The beach, Bond thought. Perhaps he'd go to Miami or the Caribbean again, or maybe to France. Or maybe he'd make a call to Felix or Mathis and find out what they were up to. He hadn't seen Felix in almost a year, and hadn't seen Mathis in three, and another thing Bond had learned in the Service was to see your friends often, as there was no telling how long they- or you, for that matter- would be around.
And a girl, Bond continued. He'd like to meet a girl on this holiday. She'd have dark brown hair and sparkling green eyes and full breasts and a nice laugh, and she'd understand that there probably wouldn't be an "us" after the summer was over. He'd meet her by the pool, or in the dining room, and she would be from New York or Italy and be beautiful and interesting and clever and on the day he had to leave she would kiss him and they would both promise to call the other, both knowing that they never would.
He would swim and play cards and dine well and hear live music on this holiday, Bond decided. He would play at the tables in the casinos, and eat caviar and drink champagne, and go to a local bar that had live blues and jazz bands and where the people were friendly and knowledgeable. He would meet Felix and maybe Mathis for a drink and listen to what was new in their lives and tell them what was new in his, and feel content and wonderful and not worry about a thing and not be the least bit bored.
Yes, Bond thought. The soft life might actually serve him well for a change.
Just then the red telephone on Bond's desk rang. Startled out of his daydream by the shrill ringing, he grabbed the telephone.
"007 here."
"James, M wants to see you right away." Miss Moneypenny's voice carried the same urgent yet composed tone that was vital for keeping everyone in order.
"Do you know what about?"
"An assignment, I think. He hasn't had need for a 00 in months. Kept giving lesser assignments to regular agents. I think he's been keeping you off the field in case something important came up. Anyway, he wants to see you. You'd better hurry."
"Right. I'll be there in a minute."
Bond put the telephone back in its cradle and stood up without a thought, smoothing out his suit as he left his office and walked past Mary.
"Where are you off to?" Mary asked curiously. She checked the clock on the wall. "It's two thirty. Bit of an odd time to check out, don't you think?"
"Meeting with M," Bond responded briskly.
Mary raised her eyebrows. "Oh. I didn't know he had anything for you. Good luck."
Opening the door to the corridor, Bond looked back at Mary. "Thanks," he said, then flashed her a quick smile before closing the door behind him.
Bond rode the lift to the top floor, then headed down the corridor towards the last door but one on the left. Opening it, he saw M's Chief of Staff and Miss Moneypenny both look up from their desks. Smiling briefly at the Chief of Staff, Bond stopped before Miss Moneypenny's desk
"Know anything more about this then what you told me on the telephone, Penny?" Bond asked hopefully. He liked having an idea of what he was getting into before talking to M himself.
Miss Moneypenny smiled apologetically. "Not really, James. Something came in this morning from Scotland Yard. M made a few calls and it seemed to rile him up. But I don't know exactly what it's all about." She shrugged. "You'll just have to go in and see."
Bond nodded. "Is he ready for me?"
"Hold on a moment." Miss Moneypenny pressed the intercom button on her desk. "007 is here to see you, Sir."
"Send him in," the voice belonging to M responded a second later over the intercom.
Miss Moneypenny motioned towards the door on her right. "Go on in."
Approaching the door, which looked important even before you knew who was behind it, Bond took a calming breath and opened it. Without needing to look up, Bond knew that the light above the doorframe was now glowing red. Bond shut the door behind him.
"Sit down, 007." M was sitting behind his desk, and Bond sat down in the chair directly across from him. "How has the summer been treating you?"
"Alright, Sir. The work's been a bit slow, but I expect it'll pick up soon as it usually does." M had asked after Bond's wellbeing enough times for Bond to be able to discern when M actually cared and when he was just making pleasantries. This was a case of the latter.
"This came in today." M slid a folder across the desk to Bond, the red star at the top declaring the contents confidential. As Bond opened the folder and began looking at the report, M began filling his pipe.
"About a year ago a laboratory in Bristol misplaced a very important chemical," M explained. "It was a chemical compound, actually, one that they had been working on for a number of years. The compound was intended to be a pesticide, but at the time it was still too dangerous to use. Anyone that ingested the compound became ill." M lit his pipe and placed it between his teeth. "A year ago the vial containing the compound disappeared. It was a big scare for a while, what with the potential for chemical warfare, but eventually the press lost interest and so did the civilians." M paused, looking at Bond to make sure he was following.
"I remember, Sir. People were pretty frightened for a time. I read about it in the newspaper after it happened," Bond commented, trying to figure out what this had to do with him.
"But you didn't read about all of it," M replied. "What the press failed to get wind of, because the laboratory, with influence from us and Scotland Yard, didn't reveal, was that just a day before the vial was noticed missing a laboratory assistant, Hugh McIvor, abruptly quit."
Bond raised his eyebrows. "Was he questioned?"
"Well that was just it: he vanished just like the compound did. Not a trace of him anywhere. Naturally he was suspected as having something to do with it, but no one could find him. But three days ago a Scotland Yard man called the Yard from America, where he'd been on holiday. Seems his motorcycle broke down on the countryside and he walked to the next house for help. Said the man whose house he stopped at fit the description exactly of McIvor, and that he noticed the man had an impressively large vegetable garden in addition. Called the Yard as soon as he could, and they were nice enough to pass it on to us as it's now out of their territory. I've already talked to Head of Station A, and they've confirmed that this man, presumably McIvor, bought his house in Connecticut one week after McIvor and the compound disappeared." M looked Bond in the eye. "Your plane leaves at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Head of Station A will send someone to meet you."
Bond nodded once.
"You're to get into McIvor's confidence. Make up a pseudonym and a background; you're good at that if memory serves. You're to contact my Chief of Staff after gathering your information in the first two or three days." M paused and took his pipe out of his mouth, placing it on his desk. "We're hoping to get McIvor back to England in one piece if possible. Scotland Yard feels it would be better that way. But as always…" M trailed off but looked at Bond pointedly, and in this way Bond knew that M was telling him that he would trust Bond's judgment on the matter.
Bond nodded again. "Of course, Sir. I'll do my best."
"I've told Q Branch that you'd be coming by to pick up supplies. You best go make the necessary arrangements," M finished. "Good luck."
"Thank you, Sir."
Bond stood up and left M's office, winking at Miss Moneypenny on his way back to the lifts. Waiting for the lift to arrive, Bond began going over his plan in his head.
He'd need to ask Mary to find all the information they had on McIvor and the chemical compound so he would know exactly who and what he was facing. Then he'd have to go directly to Q Branch to make sure they had all the equipment he'd need. Probably just a gas mask and some chemical testing strips, but it was better to go earlier to ensure everything was in order. And he'd call May when he got back to his office and ask her to pack for him.
Bond checked his watch; it was three o'clock. That didn't give him any time to waste.
I guess the holiday will have to wait, Bond thought as he stepped into the lift and pressed the button to take him back downstairs. He smiled wryly as the images of the beautiful girl and the beach were replaced with images of a guarded criminal and a cloud of deadly gas.
But as he stepped off the lift and into his office, telling Mary what he needed even as he realized he'd have to make sure a car was waiting for him when he got off the plane in America, Bond knew that he would choose this over a holiday any day.
After giving Hugh McIvor's name to Mary with the instructions to find whatever information about him she could, Bond turned to head to Q Branch. But at the door to his office he paused. Striding back over to the window, he pulled the curtains shut. Then he turned and left the room.