Iceland was covered by pretty much any kind of rock, stone and sand imaginable. Grass in all its different species and colours could be found; ice and volcanos, geysers and hot wells; and moss, of course. Bryophytes of the class of Musci, typically growing in dense mats on rocks, moist ground, and — trees. Trees, which by the way most certainly could not be found on Iceland. Shrubs, yes, maybe even the odd Birch tree fighting to gain height and glory, only to be held down by the lack of nourishment and harsh weather conditions.
No, there were most certainly no trees on Iceland. Nothing in fact to provide any kind of proper hiding place for two people on the run in a far too conspicuous car. Bond who had started this mission with a grumpy 'Yes, Sir' — biting back a much harsher reply to M and Major Boothroyd — while he was wondering as to why a battle-hardened 00-agent had to do the work of a newbie, retrieving a harmless, unassuming scientist from an utterly uninspiring conference on trees in the northern part of the Atlantic Ocean, that was Reykjavik, Iceland. A place with absolutely no trees, as was becoming clearer by the minute, while he tried to avoid breaking down in the middle of nowhere, dodging yet another large stone lying on the road, if the two tire tracks even merited that name. His passenger, the harmless, unassuming scientist, sat quietly beside him, bracing himself for the next pothole. Bond had been sent off on this mission with the barest amount of information. A picture of the scientist, showing a serious young man, wearing glasses framed by a mop of dark unruly hair, no sense of fashion whatsoever; a name — Ethan Carmichael, codename 'Q' — an address, a time and date. He had made it just in time for the start of the conference, but had not been able to make contact with the target, who by then already had been introduced and was on his way to the podium.
Bond had been surprised when Carmichael's talk, the apparently much anticipated keynote on Estimating the aboveground biomass for selected shrubs and small trees in the post oak savanna of Texas was indeed worthwhile listening to. Not that Bond understood half of the mathematical formulas, statistical data, or schemata and tables which made up most part of the Powerpoint slides; no, it had been the enthusiasm and rather endearingly awkward humour of the speaker which kept Bond captivated while scanning the bright and friendly conference room for any intruders. During the Q&A, Bond's mind had drifted back to the orders M had given. Carmichael had been given full security clearance and he had to be brought back to London as fast as possible. No explanations, just a stern look that broke no argument. Yet, Boothroyd's goodbye had been the most confusing.
"Be gentle with him."
The sheepish look and uncharacteristic pleading had Bond wondering how Boothroyd knew Carmichael. During the three hours flight from Heathrow to Keflavik, Bond had ample time to contemplate the past few months leading up to this mission. As much as he had been annoyed about being used like an errant boy, he could understand M's point of view. Bond had not been his best since Vesper's death. His belief in being able to create a foundation for his life, a base from which he could venture out and which he could return to, a place apart from MI6 — all of that had been shattered when she drowned, when she had betrayed him. Before he lost himself in reminiscence and too much whiskey, the landing was announced. Now, he was back in the field, wondering if this was M's way of telling him that he was too old, too broken to continue as a 00-agent.
The applause at the end of the session brought Bond back to the present. His assignment was clear: take Carmichael back to London as fast as possible. People were leaving the auditorium to disperse into smaller rooms or get a cup of coffee in the lobby. Before Bond was able to move towards the podium, he was surprised to find Carmichael purposefully walking up to him.
"Bond, I presume?"
The vibrant and exuberant demeanour had been replaced with a sad, knowing smile. Bond was caught wrong footed.
"Yes. Bond, James Bond. And James, please."
He took the offered hand, warm and firm.
"Ethan — or, whatever codename auntie gave me this time?"
"Q."
Ethan grew pale and swallowed hard.
"I'll get my bags."
Bond frowned. Apparently, Ethan knew who he was. And he had tried this before? Ethan was in his mid-thirties and Bond had never met him at MI6 nor heard of him. Why this strong reaction to a simple codename? And was 'auntie' referring to M? He would never let her live that one down.
Ethan returned with his two bags, one for his laptop and notes, the other one apparently for his few belongings, while ending a conversation on his mobile. He indicated the exit, but in the doorframe he turned and looked over the rows of chairs, the podium, the large white screen. It was a good bye. That much Bond could understand, even if he still had no idea what else was going on. He led Ethan to the Land Rover which was parked right outside the conference venue.
The gunshot came out of nowhere and Bond had Ethan on the ground, himself on top of him as soon as he heard the shot. Drawing his Walther, scanning the area and unlocking the car door was done before the second shot. Bond returned fire, having spotted at least one gunman on their left, hidden behind parked cars. He got Ethan into the Rover from the drivers side, pushing him over the gearlever to the passenger's seat, shouting "Down" before he himself got behind the wheel and had the Rover running, accelerating out of the car park less than a minute after the first shot had been fired.
Ethan was holding his bags firmly in his lap, eerily calm, while Bond tried to navigate through the outskirts of Reykjavik. The road was almost empty, making it easy for one black car to follow them, trying to overtake and force them of the road. Speeding the clumsy Rover to its absolute limits, Bond was able to keep ahead. When they saw the exit sign for Keflavik airport, Ethan was about to say something but another black car was turning on the other side of the road, effectively blocking the way in front of them.
"Left," Ethan said cooly. "Now."
Without hesitating Bond turned the wheel, only then seeing the small gravel road leading away from Keflavik. Keeping track with the cars behind him as well as the road in front of him, he surprised himself with feeling alive, elated. He cast a glance at his passenger. Bond had mistaken his quietness for shock. Clearly, Ethan was composed and lead him expertly through the intricate web of paths and open landscape, giving directions at the right moment, letting Bond know when to speed up and when to brake. Bond could concentrate on keeping the car on the road — or whatever went for a road in these parts — avoiding the larger rocks and deeper potholes. Their pursuers kept close. Probably too close for any sane person, but Bond was thrilled by the chase and the realisation that the man beside him knew exactly what they needed to do, where they had to go. As much as Ethan looked like the incarnation of a nerdy scientist, the authority with which he led him had Bond's mind and body singing.
Boothroyd had made sure the Rover was equipped with extra fuel and other amenities for an off road week long trip, still, Bond wanted to put an end to being chased as soon as possible. Ethan seemed to sense Bond's thoughts. He was tense and had his eyes closed in concentration.
"Speed up," he said, keeping his eyes shut. "As fast as you possibly can go in this terrain."
Bond shifted down, then hit the accelerator. The car shot ahead, barely keeping inside the tire tracks.
"Once you're on top of the next slope, slow down, let them get closer, then speed up again."
Bond did as he was told, and the chasing cars closed in rapidly.
"Now."
Bond pushed down the pedal.
"Sharp right."
Bond threw the Rover to the right, narrowly missing a steep cliff right in front of them. With screeching tires the two cars behind them went over, crashing spectacularly to the bottom. A few seconds later two explosions followed by a fire ball which marked the end of the chase.
Bond stopped the Rover. He had a wide grin on his face, adrenalin pumping through his body. When he turned to look approvingly at his passenger, he realised how shaken Ethan was.
Looking back, Bond could see a column of thick black smoke rising from down below, the sound of metal exploding muted by the depth of the fissure. Together with the blackened rocks around them, remnants from an eruption centuries back, it created a scary landscape, hissing and spitting at them. Bond reached out to touch Ethan's arm, but he flinched, opened the door and fled the car, running a few hundred meters before he stopped.
Bond got out of the car and walked slowly towards the lonely figure, now bend over and shaking. He made sure to make enough noise to be heard over the racket from the fire and small ongoing detonations. Again, he reached out and softly touched Ethan's shoulder. This time, he did stay, shivering, despite the warmth. Bond turned the touch into an embrace, slowly, indicating his every move and giving Ethan time to withdraw or adjust. The man held still, breath hitching, as if trying to suppress his crying. Bond held him tight, let him cry and stroke his back with long, soothing movements. After a while, the trembling ceased. Embarrassed, Ethan turned away, trying to regain a semblance of dignity.
The smoke had turned into a light grey cloud and no more explosions were to be heard. Bond waited patiently. Ethan needed time, probably more time than most of the recruits Bond time and again had trained. Eventually, he looked at Bond.
"Would that count for the first kill?"
He indicated towards the thinning smoke.
"Are you —" Bond was too surprised to finish. "A double-oh?"
Ethan shook his head, the sad smile back.
"No. But knowing how it feels," he swallowed. "Pathetic. I didn't even pull a trigger."
"Ethan," Bond stepped forward, closing the gap between them.
"I guess, calling me by my codename would be appropriate from now on." Ethan did not look at him.
"They would have taken you. Killed me, if they had gotten the chance."
Bond knew it was a void statement. Ethan — Q felt responsible and he had probably seen the men in the cars during the chase. Nothing Bond could say would change that. All he could do, was wait and just keep close. Normally, a recruit would have been trained for weeks, months even, before Bond would be sending them off into the field. Thus, he would be able to help, to watch for signs of a breakdown or any psychopathic reactions. With Q, Bond had no way to know what to look for; how to react to let Q know that he could trust Bond. He cursed the lack of proper preparation and planning for this mission, and wondered how M could had made this kind of mistake. The two cars were from two different agencies. One were Russian, the other probably Chinese, maybe Mossad. He had been too busy keeping his own car on the road to get a clear identification.
"Chinese and Russian," Q said quietly. "In case you were wondering."
He was standing with his back towards their car, holding his glasses in one hand and rubbing his face with the other.
"How do you know?"
"They'd tried to approach me. The Russians three days ago, the others yesterday."
He had put his glasses back on and turned to Bond.
"We better get moving."
"Do we need to take the same way back or is there a faster way to the airport from here?"
Q shook his head.
"I don't fly. I was about to tell you, when I realised you were on the way to the airport."
"You don't —" Bond looked at him with utter disbelief. "How did you get here?"
"By boat. We have to get to the other end of the island. Seydisfjördur."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why don't you fly?"
Slowly, Bond was guiding Q back to the Rover, shielding him from the crash site. He opened the door and pushed Q gently into the seat.
"You must have flown to Texas, or was that talk just based on studying books?"
Q looked rather confused before he realised, what Bond was referring to.
"No. I," Q looked directly at Bond, before looking away. "It was the last time I sat foot in an aeroplane."
Without further explanation, Q buckled up and closed the car door. Bond went to the other side after having glanced down at the debris. Everything was quiet and the black, melted metal could be mistaken for a natural part of the landscape. Sitting behind the wheel again, he wondered what he had gotten himself into and why he hadn't been briefed properly. What had M, what had Boothroyd been thinking? Sending him on this mission with absolutely nothing, no intel, no plan. Nothing. And why wasn't he told about the contacts made by the two other agencies? Why would they even be interested in Q? Why was MI6 interested?
Drawing a deep breath, he started the car.
"Well then, Seydisfjördur it is."
They didn't talk, both of the men lost in deep thought. Q gave directions with the same precision as before and Bond tried to drive as fast as possible, knowing fullwell that there had to be other agents lying in wait or maybe even following them. The smoke from the crash would have been visible far and wide, even if it could be mistaken for a smaller eruption or some other kind of demonic earthmoving event this island was concocted of. Bond had wanted to contact headquarters, but finding a network out here was futile. The Rover and the mobile had been the only equipment, Boothroyd had offered for this mission. More and more, Bond felt that this had to be some kind of test. Every now and then he glanced at his passenger, assessing him, wondering who was the test subject. Maybe they both were. Bond, because he was getting old and was broken down; Q, because he was to become part of MI6 soon?
After driving for close to five hours Q called for a stop. They had entered another eerie landscape, made up by a glacier, a beautiful narrow waterfall and the ever present lava rocks. Q indicated a spot close to the waterfall under an overhanging rock. It would hide the Rover from a helicopter or drone, and provide a minimum of disguise for anyone looking for them on the ground.
Excusing himself, Q stumbled out of the car and found a spot behind some rocks to relieve himself. Bond stood on a small hill, watching the horizon for any kind of life. Not even a sheep made an appearance. They made dinner on a small gas cooker, some uninspiring but satiating stew poured out of some tins. Bond found a few bottles of wine, thinking that Boothroyd at least had tried. Q looked tired. Vulnerable, his mind supplied unbidden. The silence between the two men had been companionable. They only needed few words to organise the cooking and cleaning up.
"There are some sleeping bags and pillows in the back of the car. You can take a nap, I'll keep watch."
The grateful look Q gave Bond had him smiling before he could stop himself. Q's smile in return was radiant, bringing back a bit of the vibrant man talking about calculating the biomass of living trees. Reluctantly, Bond turned away to find a spot for the look out. No good in falling for a man in the middle of nowhere, while the hellhounds of several enemy agencies were out there hunting for them. Despite being past midnight there was enough light to find a trail up the cliff. Bond found a bunch of rocks, which would have to make do as a hiding place.
The sounds from the waterfall were soothing, soft splashing in a monotonous rhythm. It was calming, relaxing in a strange way. Bond had no trouble staying awake, letting his mind drift to the events earlier of this day. Regarding his own reactions in a new light. The situation on the road to Keflavik, where Bond had responded to Q's order without question despite knowing the man for little more than an hour. He had continued to trust him, even after he realised how close they had been to fall down that cliff. Bond thought back to Vesper, his trust in her and how she betrayed him. But this was different. There was something about Q which resounded with a deeper need in Bond. Maybe he was becoming desperate, wanting to believe in the possibility of a real, unconditional bond between him and another human being. A bond, that would be able to transcend the killing and cheating, he had to do to stay alive. With a wry grin, he shook his head. Would he be able to extend the same kind of leniency onto someone else, someone like Q? Would he be able to leave him for a new mission, risking Q getting into a new relationship with somebody else? Would he be able to put his own life on line, knowing that he would leave Q behind, alone and heartbroken?
Getting a bit ahead of yourself, Bond thought. He stood up to take a walk around their camp, needing to move to get his thoughts back in order. That's when he heard the muffled cries from the Rover.