Chapter 3: File 3: The Gatecrasher


THE BOND IDENTITY

FILE HB007/003

Grey's residence. 4th floor.

The commotion downstairs continues to provide a suitable cover, as I make my way down the hall towards the designated room, one of many trailing off far into the distance. Guessing this was probably once a hotel of some sort. Which begs the question, 'who buys an entire hotel to live in as their home? Didn't this guy ever catch 'The Shining'?

"443. I'm here." I announce to Q.

"Alright," he begins. "Now, the heels of your left shoe, should twist and slide out to make a handy state-of-the-art lock pick."

"Nice. And what does the other make, an electric toothbrush?"

"Not the time, Holly, not the time!"

Q, always an easy target.

4.8 seconds later and the lock's as good as picked. Good thing too, as I hear footsteps approaching from the main staircase. I make it in, just in time, resuming radio silence until the noise of footsteps trail off into the distance. Perfection.

Inside, the room appears to be a fairly ordinary albeit spacious office. Large mahogany desk stationed by a set of double venetian doors leading out towards a balcony at the back. A large luxurious leather sofa with a picture of some old guy hanging above it to the right. To the left, a large floor to ceiling book case stacked with literature about self empowerment, mind manipulation, exotic snakes and...

Wait! The painting above the sofa. It's not straight. This guy's way too hung up on detail to let an imperfection like that pass by. And it's as likely a place to hide a safe as any. But if It's recently been tampered with, the question remains, by whom?

I walk over to the sofa, and slowly reach up to take the painting down. Then I notice it. A reflection in the glass. Something moving. Behind me!

I duck, just in the nick of time, as an object imbeds itself into the painting's surface at extremely high velocity, and take cover behind the sofa. Was it a knife? I glance up at the painting and see... a pen. Wait, a pen? Guess it really is mightier than the sword.

"Look, whoever you are, I have no issue with you." I call out. "This doesn't have to get personal."

There's silence, which I choose to read as a mute agreement, slowly tilting my head out from behind the sofa. Suddenly two more pens, bury themselves into the sofa's arm, mere inches away from my face. Wrong call, on my part.

"Right then!" I shout out, ducking behind the sofa once more. "Let's chalk that one up to a 'miscommunication' and move on, shall we? Now, I'm making a presumption that English is not your first language, if, that is, you speak at all. So l'll put this to you as plainly and simply as possible; stand down, or I will take you down!"

More silence ensues. Damn.

My eyes scout around the room for anything that will give me an edge, and catch a reflection of the attacker from a reflection on a nearby table ornament. Surprise surprise, it's the 'missing' hot brunette from downstairs. Now the pieces all fit. Time to switch tactics.

"I take it the human paperweight, currently chocking on his own vomit downstairs, was your idea? You wouldn't have anything to do with a certain 'power surge' earlier on too, would you? If I'm on to you, how long before Grey is too? Only a matter of time, honey. Maybe we can work something out?"

I need just the briefest of distractions to have a clear shot. I retrieve the lock-pick out of the shoe once more. Then I go for the second shoe, releasing a USB key out of a hidden slot in the heal. Handy for downloading data. Not so much for killing people with.

Patiently I wait for my window of opportunity. Then I hear it. We both do. Voices, coming from down the hallway.

"We're on the fourth floor now, sir." bellows a voice into a radio. "Commencing a search of every room, now!"

My cue! I launch myself off of the sofa towards her, heal first, and drive the lock-pick into her left shoulder. She doesn't scream. She doesn't even flinch. What she does do, however, is drive her right knee clear into my chin with considerable force. It hurts. Like a bitch.

I wince and respond with a kick of my own, slamming it directly into her stomach, launching her clean off the ground and over the desk behind her. We both hit the floor together, catching a moments breath.

The table. An overturned pen holder rolls along it, stopping dead in front of her eyes. Damn it, more pens.

She grabs a handful and begins hurling them at me, one by one, like throwing stars. One grazes my shoulder as I dive towards the sofa, grabbing a cushion for defence. It does a poor impression of a shield, but then again, it is only a cushion.

I decide to hurl it at her, as a distraction, while I get in close, making surgical swipes and stabs with my dagger-like weapon. But she artfully manages to bob and weave around each attack, before knocking the heal out of my hands and sailing through the open window with a precision spinning roundhouse kick. I'd applaud her style, if my hand didn't hurt so damn much. She's that good.

I respond with my own kick to the side of her head, with as much force as I can muster. She doesn't go down. Why the heck doesn't she go down?

I make a dive at her, taking the fight to the floor for a little 'ground and pound'. We tussle,and roll, trading punches to the ribs. She manages to get on top, locking me down to deliver three unanswered blows. But I'm letting her. Positioning my body at just the right angle, before bringing my right leg over her head and forcing it to the ground. Hard. Then I wrap my arm around her exposed arm and pull with all my might, until it pops. A swift side kick to the jaw, and I roll backwards to safety.

She's lying there, still.

I get up, barely, exhausted, bruised and trying real hard not to acknowledge it. Pride can be a awful thing.

I hobble over to what's left of the desk and rummage through some scattered papers. Something caught my eye before, during the scuffle. Blueprints, bank transactions, telephone numbers... there. A single sheet of paper. On it, a grid of letters. Thousands of letters. What does it all mean? Q. I need him. I re-open communications.

"...Q?"

"Holly! Where the bloody heck have you been, sunning yourself on the sandy shores of...?"

"Not now, damn it! There was... somebody already here... a professional... she's good. Probably, the best Ive ever fought... was barely able to..." And that's when I notice it.

Now, I'm not one for chills, and things that go 'bump' in the night barely register to me when my head hits that pillow. But even I have to admit to feeling a slight unease as I look down to where the body of my attacker was, unconscious, only moments ago, to find nothing is now there.

The window. She's taken it, for sure. But how? And without me even noticing? And with all the pain she must be in?

"She's gone." I tell Q.

"Gone? Who's gone? Gone where? What the bloody...?"

"No time, Q. Now, by the looks of it, she's already been at the safe and emptied its contents over a table, so what am I looking for?"

"Ahh... right... okay... are you hurt?"

"Q!"

"Sure, sure. Okay... It's a list... of sorts... they call it; 'The Bucket List'."

"Please, do not tell me M sent me all the way here just to..."

"No, no, it's not an actual bucket list, though to be honest, intel on its specific contents remain something of an enigma. What is confirmed is it holds some kind of threat to national and international security. What do you see?"

"A list of very large bank transfers... some observation notes taking from some kind of behavioural experiments... does 'Treadstone' mean anything? ...wait, there's a sheet of paper... rows and rows of letters on it... coded, perhaps?" I suggest, cluelessly.

"Or it could just be your average crossword puzzle! The cigaret lighter's equipped with a retina-prism focus camera lens. Snap everything before cramming it all back in the safe. Remember, you were never here."

"This isn't my first time, Q. I know what to frigging do! There's a compact laptop here too. I'm guessing encrypted."

"Theres an algorithm converter built into a USB Key located above the heel in your... Hey, who am I kidding? You've done this all before too, right?"

"Okay, seriously... I am really not having a good day!"

"Oh, it's about to get a whole lot worse, sweetheart!" comes a familiar voice behind me. I spin around to see four of Grey's heavies standing there, including the two from the front door earlier. The smaller of which is addressing me now.

"Looks like you and me get to party after all." he says with a twisted smile.

Still enough juice left in me to take them all down. If they weren't all heavily armed, that is. But they are. So I won't.

Guess 'Tweedledum' gets to keep his job after all.

To be continued...