CHAPTER TWO - AN OFFICIAL MISSION

James Bond sat in his office, pouring over paperwork. He scrawled his signature on the final page of a document without reading it and with some bitterness he tossed it onto the hefty pile that made up his 'out' tray.

All he ever seemed to have to do now was paperwork. Every day had become a monotonous routine, reading over file after file, running his eyes over the latest developments in tradecraft. The cases which called upon his particular and unique talents were few and far between. He was rotting.

After successfully retrieving M from Greece several years earlier, he had been assigned to a mission that took all three Double-O agents to the Amazon Rainforest. They had been tasked with the rescue of the daughter of a Cabinet Member who had been kidnapped.

They had spent days cutting their way through the dense rainforest, luckily avoiding the various venomous plants and animals dwelling within it. They had eventually found an abandoned military bunker in a man-made clearing, and Bond had gone in.

He had refused to follow protocol; it would have taken too long. Because of that, the other two Double-O agents had been injured. The girl had been rescued, everyone had lived. But Bonds name was mud at HQ.

He pulled open the top drawer of his desk, where he had hidden a bottle of cheap Scotch. Somehow, disregarding his usual tastes and opting for cheap and nasty whiskey was more fulfilling. It did not need to be savoured or enjoyed; it was simply there to numb boredom and pain.

There was a knock at his door. Mary Goodnight entered without waiting to be allowed – the two had dispensed with such formalities after their experiences together in Jamaica several years earlier. When he had returned to service he had requested she be transferred back here, as long as she was happy to return.

She had been and the two had slipped back into the old routine. However, she remained closer to him than she was with either of the other agents with the Double-O prefix which marked an agent licenced to kill.

She stood in front of his desk. Bond tried to close the top drawer without drawing attention to it and smiled up at her.

"Good morning, Goodnight." The joke they shared. She did not smile back at him, she had her eye on the drawer. She had seen, she knew. She turned on her heel and walked out, calling out to Bond as she left.

"You're wanted in M's office. Now."

The door slammed shut behind her and Bond sighed. He was becoming weak, he had lost his edge. But damn it, he thought, it was not his fault. If M used him he would be able to keep his edge sharp. He was being left in this office to rot.

He stood up, pulling on his suit jacket and left the room, slamming his door behind him. He passed Mary Goodnight, who was sitting behind her own desk. She glared at him frostily as he passed.

Bond took the elevator to the highest level and marched along the corridor. He opened the door to the reception, manned by the desirable Miss Moneypenny. He shot her a small smile.

"What can you tell me, Penny?" he asked.

"I'm afraid I don't know anything James. He's keeping me in the dark. It must be big."

Bond nodded. He saw the light above the door change to green and turned to Moneypenny.

"He'll see you now, James," she said. The door clicked open and Bond opened it, and stepped through it.

Bond entered to find his superior sitting behind his desk as expected. He was puffing on his pipe, staring down at a file. He looked up as the door clicked shut behind Bond and gestured to the chair.

"Sir down, 007," He said. Bond walked over to the chair and rested his hand on the back.

"I'll stand if it's all the same to you sir," he replied. M frowned.

"Suit yourself 007. Smoke if you want."

Bond nodded and removed his cigarette holder from inside his suit jacket. He selected one of his distinctive Morland Specials cigarettes with the three gold bands and lit it, inhaling deeply.

M continued: "I'm afraid what I have to say concerns a… a personal matter James."

Bond inclined his head slightly, intrigued by what the old man was saying. He took another drag on his cigarette. M seemed slightly flustered by the conversation. Bond was well aware the old spymaster found personal discussions to be uncomfortable conversation.

"Before I say anything else," M continued, "I want you to understand there's a reason we kept this information from you. You'll understand when we go on – it was a difficult decision to make."

Bond leaned forward over the chair, further intrigued by M's words. The older man looked Bond in the eye, removed his pipe from his mouth and coughed lightly.

"I received a phone call from Tiger Tanaka an hour and a half ago. Kissy Suzuki is dead. James Suzuki is missing."

Bond froze. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears, his vision blurred. Suddenly he was sitting in the chair, without any memory of sitting down. When Bond finally snapped back to reality he found his hands clenched tight.

M watched, looking for signs of something, Bond did not know what.

When Bond finally spoke, his voice was steady and calm. It surprised even Bond himself.

"Who?" he asked. M looked back down at his file, Bond knew this was an act – M knew every single detail off by heart. He was playing for time, using the file as a prop. Whatever the answer, this action told Bond that M expected it to provoke a powerful reaction.

"The whole village was burned to the ground. One survivor – based on his description, Tanaka believes that Irma Bunt has kidnapped your son."

The blood pounding in the ears again, white noise filling his brain. Bond struggled to catch his breath. Irma Bunt, the pig faced escort to Ernst Stavro Blofeld. No. She was dead, he was sure she was dead.

Bond heard it all again, he lived the events. The squealing of car tires – the sound of shots. Tracy, dead in his arms. Blofeld… strangling the life out of the monster who had robbed him of a future. Falling. Water. Then nothing.

Bond did not hear the clock ticking, his eyes fixed to the floor. Time seemed to stand still, the same events on a loop in his mind. Why had he been sure Bunt was dead. He had never seen the body.

That was the rule. If you don't see the body, assume the target is alive.

When Bond returned, when he finally checked his watch, he found ten minutes had passed. He looked up, expecting M to be glaring at him.

Instead he saw something he had rarely glimpsed in the old man's eyes: sympathy. Understanding.

"This goes against every rule in the book, James. If the higher-ups find out I've done this they will have my head," M stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"I want you to go after Bunt and rescue James Suzuki. This is an official mission, 007. We will not tolerate enemy action taken against our men."