Damn bunch of self-serving prigs!
This session of SIS meetings in Brussels is nothing more than an excuse for recklessly bad behaviour.
For Christ sakes! M could blackmail 6 different heads of international SIS agents after only one evening.
Naked serving wenches, a themed middle-ages dinner, who planned this event?
M swears they do this just to rile her up and try to make her complain. What she should do is track down the organizers of this fiasco and have them all shot.
M must endure this bloody circus and take it all in stride or accept ridicule for being a difficult woman. Damn she would never have achieved this position without being a difficult woman.
On top of everything her bodyguard took ill and she had to get a replacement. The planets must be aligning against her…the only agent available is James Bloody Bond.
The man is infuriating on a good day but this evening M would love to wipe the smirk off his face with a tire iron. Bond is ogling the serving wenches while she has to roam the room alone.
There is not enough alcohol in the world that can make this right in her eyes. She tosses back a double shot of scotch and wanders the room. Bond is to be following her but fat chance of that when she is the only woman in the room not naked from the waist up.
M stands near the bar. Once Bond stops staring at all the serving wenches he will likely be thirsty and need a drink. If he thinks he is having more than one while being her wayward bodyguard, he has another thing coming.
The C.I.A. European section head has spotted her and is weaving throughout the crowd. M and Bond were late to arrive and most if not all the officials where drunk before she made it to this excessive dinner. There is only one thing worse than being the only women of high rank here, and that is being the only sober one.
M had not yet met this C.I.A. section head but she knew who he was…she does her homework before arriving at these events. Mr. West is 60, balding and a friend of someone important, like most of the U.S. department heads.
M envies the male SIS heads because identification of her, for them is simple. The head of MI6 is a short older woman and she has been around longer than any of the rest of them. They are all men of the sexist, entitled and balding variety. Most still hold the opinion that she should be sitting in London knitting a sweater rather than running MI6.
Bond is momentarily distracted by a dark-skinned beauty and lost M in the crowded room. Damn it why is she so bloody short! If he doesn't find her soon he can kiss his number goodbye.
Bond has observed the room and discreetly getting photographing evidence of this insanity for M. As long as he can manage one of the two tasks he was given…it may only mean desk duty for the next month.
Mr. West extends a hand at M and slurs. "You must be M….M you are as gorgeous as they said you are…wanna have a drink…here let me get you one."
West turns and waves to the bartender who provides to glasses with amber liquid within a moment.
M wonders if she should just vanish…there is nothing to be gained by staying at this fiasco…they are all too drunk and worked up with the partial nudity to actually do any work tonight. More than a few wedding vows will be broken this evening.
West turns and hands her a drink, almost spilling in on her favourite blue suit. The man smiles and winks at her never taking his eyes off her cleavage.
With all the wait staff half-naked she cannot think why he would bother. Where in hell is Bond?
West places his arm around her shoulder to pull her close to him and whisper something.
"My predecessor told me all about you…M…said to watch out for you….you're dangerously…sexy. He said you got…along…very…very well…what is your room number darling? We need to discuss….some combined agency…manoeuvres. Damn...he was right! Britain has some serious…assets. And..I..would really.. like... a bedder...look at 'em."
M is too shocked to even respond to West when a very pissed off Bond appears and disengages the man's arm forcefully from around M's shoulder.
West looks shocked that anyone dared to touch him. "What the hell do you think… you're doin…son? The lady and I…are talking here."
West winks at her as he actually looks into her eyes for once.
"Mr. West I think we had better speak tomorrow…when you feel less under the weather."
West smiles at her. "How about….we plan…to have breakfast…in bed darrllin."
Bond cannot believe the gall of the man. M is being professional by not lashing out and making a scene but Mr. West seriously deserves a slap in the face for that!
Bond looks for any sign that M wants him to break the American's arm.
M looks at Bond and gives him a small almost imperceivable shake of the head as if she just read his mind. No use causing an international incident because the man cannot hold his liquor.
"If you excuse me, Mr. West I see that the French section head is waving me over. Maybe we can speak again later."
They walk quickly away from the drunk American and head towards the French director that M has known for years.
Bond thinks that M is being the most diplomatic he has ever seen. "Can I hurt him for you later?"
"For what Bond…being poorly sighted and drunk? If we did that to every man in here…well we could go home early…on second thought, maybe you're onto something…"
Bond laughs at her joke. "I don't think the man is as poorly sighted as you think. Every man in the room has watched you since we arrived."
"Don't be absurd Bond. If they are it is merely because they can't bloody well believe I'm still at this job."
Bond wonders why she insists on rejecting even the thought that men find her attractive. M is sexy as hell regardless of her age.
The head of France's SIS approaches and leans down and kisses each of her cheeks. Bond thinks the man's lips linger a bit longer than is normal for this type of greeting.
"Madame is lovely as usual…the night is well underway…would you care to join me for a drink?"
"I think the room has had enough to drink and it is only 19:00 hours. I am thinking of having an early night. Little or no work will be done this evening with all this revelry."
"An early night? I will accompany you to your room my dear. There is something we need to discuss Madame."
M looks confused at the request but allows Allard to guide her from the reception room. Bond has a scowl on his face as he follows at a discreet distance.
Allard puts his hand on her lower back as she enters the lift. Allard nods to his bodyguard and the man blocks the entrance to the lift. Bond scowled at him as the lift doors close on a very surprised looking M and a smirking Allard.
Bond hits the stairs at a run. M's room is on the 8th floor, god he hopes that the Frenchman is not taking her to his room. This is highly unorthodox behaviour for a head of a SIS department. In fact the entire conference so far is not normal…
Once he reaches the room he knocks and then presses his ear against the door…nothing. Bond enters with his spare keycard …damn… not here.
Bond tears out of the room calling the front desk as he hits the stairs. They are not being forthcoming with where Allard's room is. Bond makes it to the lobby…the bodyguard is gone.
He enters the festivities scanning the room for a small woman with white hair. Bond dials Tanner back at base. "Tanner…do you have a lock on M?"
"Bond? What on earth do you mean…you lost M!"
"TANNER! Is she chipped? Get Q on this now! Something is not right. Allard took her on the lift and blocked my entrance with one of his men…she is not in her room…have Q find her phone…find her by whatever means necessary!"