"Bit of a chill in the air this evening, yes?" Ernst Stavro Blofeld said to no one in particular as he hobbled down the gravel pathway. The sun was low in the sky and the cold wind off the Atlantic Ocean that had been a constant over the time they had been here was gusting strongly.
Blofeld leaned heavily on the wooden cane that he had been given and winced in pain every time he put weight on his broken right leg. A grim-faced group of five men walked behind him. Immediately behind him were Gareth Mallory, the head of the British Secret Service better known as M, and his chief-of-staff Bill Tanner. Behind them were three SAS commandos, carrying high-powered automatic rifles.
After a long ten minutes of shuffling down the path, they finally reached the solid metal gate which represented the only break in the ten-foot high concrete walls that encircled the facility. With a lurch and a loud creak, the gate moved open, revealing the gravel path continued out on to a windswept dune along the ocean coast. No other buildings or people were in sight.
Blofeld turned around, and gave a slight smile to the men.
"I think a long goodbye would be too emotional for us all, so I think I'll just be off."
With that, he turned around again, and continued shuffling down the path. The men watched him, silently for a while, until Tanner couldn't take it anymore.
"How can you do this, sir? After all that's happened?"
"It's not my decision," Mallory replied glumly. "There are other interests at stake."
Finally, Blofeld's shape disappeared into the darkness out of sight.
"Shut the damn gate," Mallory said, turning to go back into the building.
Four days earlier, Mallory had been momentarily refreshed by the cold blast of wind that hit him in the face as he exited the black Range Rover. This long week had been made longer by a journey that had been incredibly bumpy, from their small army jet being buffeted by turbulence to the hour-long drive over cratered gravel roads to lead them here.
"Godforsaken place," he muttered under his breath. He wasn't entirely wrong. The RRH Benbecula sat on the western coast of the island of North Uist in the Outer Hebrides. It was built in 1980 to host a long-range surveillance radar that was remotely monitored hundreds of miles away at RAF Boulmer. Most days, the small walled compound that surrounded the radar dome was unoccupied. And most years, the site would only see quarterly visits by a maintenance technician to double-check that everything was in working order.
But today was not like most days. And this had been a year like no other.
He looked around and saw the three heavily-armed SAS commandos staring at him, waiting for an order, while Bill Tanner unlocked the door to the unassuming concrete box that functioned as the control center.
'Well, get him out," Mallory barked at them with a hint of irritation in his voice, and the soldiers moved quickly yet deliberately to the back of the SUV, opening the rear hatch. He turned back and looked into the vehicle for a moment.
"Are you coming?" he said to Q, who was still working on his computer.
"Yes, yes, right away, sir," he said, stuffing his laptop into a backpack.
Together, they walked through the door of the command center and followed Tanner to the back of the building where he opened another locked door, revealing a steep downward staircase.
Mallory's predecessor as head of MI6 had seen fit to make some improvements to the facility after the events of September 11, 2001 – turning it into a "black site", one in a network of top-secret detention facilities that had been constructed to process high-value terrorism suspects. While Benbecula had been constructed to hold up to eight such suspects at any one time, this was in fact the first time it had ever been used.
"Get it ready," Mallory said to Q. "You know what I want , right?"
"Yes, sir. No connections anywhere. We'll do it the old-fashioned way."
The commandos came into the building next, carrying a man. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit with a black hood over his head. His right leg was in a cast, but despite that, it still seemed to be hanging at an unusual angle.
"Right," Mallory said. "Tanner – get him set up in the interrogation room. Give him some food and water. And get something for us, too. It's going to be a long evening."
Mallory followed the group downstairs and closed the door behind them.
Six hours later, Mallory shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The interrogation had gone for five hours, and it had gone around in circles. Mallory had obtained nothing new or meaningful in that time. He stared across the table. The peanut butter sandwich and glass of water in front of his subject had gone untouched. The only sign of discomfort was the occasional dabbing of an open wound on his face with a tissue. Mallory thought he could notice the slightest hint of a wince when that happened.
"I can make this much more difficult on you," Mallory said with a touch of exasperation in his voice.
Ernst Stavro Blofeld showed his first sign of emotion in the session, but it wasn't what Mallory was expecting as the leader of SPECTRE allowed a broad smile to cross his face.
"Oh, I'm sure you can," Blofeld said with a mischievous lilt to his voice. "But actually, Mr. Mallory – may I call you M, I feel like we've been together long enough now that we can move past the formalities?"
Blofeld watched Mallory's stone-face reaction, then continued.
"No? Very well then. I think you misunderstand the situation. The difficulty is all on your side. You see, Mr. Mallory, you think the heroics of James Bond and your other friends made a difference, when in fact, they didn't. Nine Eyes may have never become operational from your perspective, but our backdoors into those systems have existed for months or even years, in some cases. SPECTRE has had more information than you for quite some time now."
"You're the one who is in prison. And those backdoors have been closed."
"Oh, this is just a temporary inconvenience."
Blofeld leaned forward and took a bite of the peanut butter sandwich.
"And to think that people complain about English cuisine. This is magnificent! But I digress. Our work continues to this day, Mr. Mallory. My associates know where all of your so-called "black sites" are. And your claim that the backdoors are closed is an uninformed bluff. Until a few days ago, you had no idea they even existed! And even if – by some sort of miracle – you have accomplished it, then – how do you say it – the horse is already in the field already. It's too late! Soon enough, you will be walking me to the front door and wishing me a pleasant afternoon as I walk away from here a free man."
"What makes you think that? After all you have done?"
"The longer I sit here, the greater the risk is for you. I represent a ticking time bomb, and you have no way of knowing what the clock reads."
"What are you talking about?"
"Do you not understand? Everyone has secrets, Mr. Mallory. Even you."
Blofeld leaned back in his chair and took another bite of sandwich, washing it down with a drink of water. His left eye flashed with intensity and vigor.
"Well, that's not precisely correct. Everyone had secrets. But those secrets are ours now. You, however, control their fate. The longer I sit here, the greater the probability that my associates will dump them all. Democracy at work, some might say.
"But I suspect that many won't see it that way. Your Prime Minister won't want the contents of his personal e-mails made public, although I think his wife would be very interested by what he's been saying. Your American friends don't want to see their listing of covert agents publicized. The Chinese don't want the details of their cyberwarfare revealed. And the megacorporations that you all depend on most assuredly don't want people to know how deep their tendrils go into government or into the lives of the everyday person."
"I won't pay your extortion."
"Extortion is my business, Mr. Mallory," Blofeld said, allowing that smile to cross his face again. "I can assure you that you will pay. It may not be your choice, but you will pay. It's merely a matter of time. I am patient, and I am comfortable with my life's work. Your superiors and your friends, though, are not so patient nor so content. They have much to protect, and they will go to great lengths to protect it. Even if it means that I walk away. Just you wait and see!"
"What is your price?"
"My price?" Blofeld leaned in across the table again. "It's very simple, Mr. Mallory. I want to be left alone."