AN- fixed up a minor error. It seems Mallory can't count! Lol
Mallory stepped back into his office, gently shutting the door behind himself. He had made his choice. Or rather, M had made it for him. When it came to what was, essentially, an interrogation, he had been very eager to hear her thoughts. She did not disappoint. He did understand her 'interrogator's' stance. The accountability of the spy agency to the public (the very people it is meant to be protecting), should always be at the forefront of all of its actions. However, as M clearly stated, this is not always possible, particularly of an agency that 'worked in the shadows'.
Being shot in the arm made the conflict a little clearer. He would balance, as best he could, the public's knowledge against the needs of the agency. Ultimately, however, his priority was now with the men and women of the agency. Hence, with no regret, he urged Q to (against protocol) provide an electronic trace for Bond and M, that only Silva could follow.
His instinct, always the most persistent of masters, urged him to check his laptop. Ridiculous, he inwardly scoffed. It would be impossible for Silva to infiltrate my laptop. The most stringent of security measures protect it.
He walked to the oak cabinet to the left of the room and took out the crystal whiskey decanter, using his good hand to pour himself a goodish amount. As he took a sip, he ignored the logic that stabbed at his denial, determined to cut through. Silva had been able to outsmart the whole of the organization. He had managed to outwit Q, who had invented the very firewalls that protected their most personal of information. To Silva, decrypting a laptop would be as difficult as taking a very long nap (in an aerodynamically designed bed adjusted to the height and weight of the rester, to attain maximum comfort.)
He took another swig of the alcohol and turned his attention to the grey compact machine sitting amongst the clutter on his desk. Shaking his head at his perceived ridiculousness, he returned to his desk and sat down in his leather chair, pressing the small button to the upper left of the laptop to turn it on. As it geared up to his home page, he expected to see the usual windows icons over the background desktop photo of his wife and son, Henry.
The entire screen was blank, but for six words, written in black Times New Roman font.
Were you sexually tortured when captured?
Mallory wasn't sure how to process these words. Clearly, they referred to his time as a prisoner of the IRA. His mind went to the very early years of his involvement with the British army. Part of the training included how to handle oneself in all situations. This included sexual torture.
The instructor had been a tough, no nonsense woman that the (at the time) single Mallory was desperate to get into the bed of.
"To all the men who think this doesn't apply to them, I'm going to be very blunt. Sexual torture is not limited to women. Indeed, some capturers deliberately assaulted male captives, in a direct attempt to emasculate them."
The ongoing talk about scenarios involving sexual torture and how to deal with it, was sufficient enough to cure Mallory of his 'crush'.
Seeing as you are so interested, Mallory thought. The answer is no. The psychological and physical torture was scarring enough, as it was. Why the interest, anyway?
Of course, he was well aware that Silva's past involved capture and torture as well. He felt an odd clenching of his stomach, as though a turnkey was slowly turning, pulling the contents tighter and tighter inwards. Perhaps this was the man's way of reaching out to him, of revealing something of himself. If this was true, Mallory didn't want the responsibility. He didn't think of himself as a coward. However, taking accountability for the reprehensible treatment of a traitor (who had been let down by his own people, but a traitor, nevertheless) was far beyond what he was willing to deal with.
He considered what action to take. Bond and M clearly had a plan to attempt to thwart this man, outwit him in his own game. Should he simply discount the ravings on his laptop, and allow the plan to continue forward? Who to trust with this new information?
A new set of words appeared on the screen before him, replacing the first six.
I like the new Q
These words baffled Mallory more than the previous ones. The turnkey untwisted, replaced by burning anger. Wasn't this madman going after M? Why was he wasting time playing games? Within a few seconds, as though in answer, new words appeared.
Clearly not as smart as me but he's very pretty.
Mallory swallowed, suddenly feeling uneasy. Not exactly threatening words by themselves, but taken in conjunction with the first statement about sexual torture… yes, Mallory felt that tightening of the stomach again. Perhaps making Mallory feel this unease was Silva's plan. Threats and sexual innuendo to-
Boys as pretty as that should be careful. Bad things happen to such pretty boys…
Son of a bitch! Mallory no longer felt uneasy. The anger was back again. Good, now he felt more in control.
If Bond doesn't kill you, I'll make sure I do you sick son of a bitch!
Four pictures suddenly appeared on the screen. He had always hated the one of himself. It was a most unflattering angle. Bond was far better looking in reality than he looked in his photo. Q and M's were rather photogenic.
Beside each of the four photos were four addresses. One was Bond's current hotel room. The other three were very current indeed.
Mallory thought of his wife, of his boy. He slammed the whiskey down and hastily reached for the telephone.
Tbc…