CARRY ON SPYING-Part One
MI6 headquarters was one of Britain's most openly guarded secrets. On one hand, it had a legally appointed address along with an easily seen building. Anyone could pass it by without noticing it but if they wanted to stop and point that was perfectly all right with the government as long as you didn't snap any pictures, or make it a part of a tour, magical mystery or otherwise. There were few guards to be seen, although the perimeter extended far beyond the actual building grounds. It seemed like the perfect terrorist target. Only by careful and close observation could you begin to notice the slits on the tops of the building concealing the automatic weapons or the steel reinforced walls and doors. Or the passage between the gates and the actual entrance set up to make a perfect kill zone for anyone trying to break into the place.
Bond smiled as he drove past the first security checkpoint. As Felix Leither, his CIA counterpart had once joked, when it comes to Langley or Mi6, the roaches check in, but they don't check out.
After another spot check and inspection of his car, James parked in the personnel section of the garage, clicked the security measures he had on the newer version of his late, beloved Aston Martin and took the elevator upstairs. He waved jauntily at the camera.
The quiet voice from the mike in the ceiling asked, "Any weapons to declare, sir?"
Bond opened his coat, revealing his standard issue Walter PPK in his gun harness, pulled up his trousers to reveal his back up 38 Taurus revolver in his right ankle holster and his twin throwing knives on his left. He waved at the hidden camera as the voice said. "Pass on sir", as the elevator opened in front of him.
The next stop was a metal detector and a sweep with a security wand done by a pretty brunette with an equally engaging smile. Bond found himself grinning like the Cheshire Cat as she waved her magnetic wand over his back, front, sides and top. Yet with all that they still missed the wooden stick hidden at the small of his back. Better tell them to drill household security a wee bit more, he thought.
Bond then stepped down into a bustling floor filled with people arguing, typing, even a few hanging around water coolers. They each continued to carry on with whatever they were doing or not doing in some cases with barely a nod to him. But he noticed that several pairs of eyes lingered on him momentarily as he went by as if they had been talking about him.
Hmmm. Must be getting paranoid.
James glanced at his watch. The assignment meeting he had with M was in twenty minutes. Plenty of time to see Q in his mechanical lair, he thought, veering left and then down to still another security check and a freight elevator. The area he stepped into was in direct contrast to the bustle on the upper floors. He walked across the catwalks hanging above gun training pits. Strains of Mozart floated up from the firing grounds where agents were shooting at various targets. They all had on full earphones as the guns barked out their own rhythm beneath his feet. Apparently Amadeus was what you needed to hit a target properly nowadays, Bond mused.
Down the end of the hall was a different story.
"Good Lord, Q!" Bond shouted over the din, "Why do they call it Silent Lucidity when you play it so bloody loud?"
"Oh, hello there, 007." Q was in his lab coat, sipping something from a mug shaped like a Dalek from the Dr. Who series. "Let me turn that down." He snapped his fingers twice and the volume dropped almost instantly.
"I didn't know you were a Queensrÿche's fan, Q?"
"I'm not," Bond growled. "But I do keep up on whatever people bang their heads to these days."
"Queensrÿche is NOT head banging music, 007," Q sniffed.
"It depends on whose skull you're banging," James grinned.
"They are a band shouting against the subtle cruelties of a world gone mad over the loss of life's meaning."
"Well, they do shout a lot," Bond conceded. "But you just like them because they're British."
"Excuse me, but everyone knows they're American," a young girl's voice piped up behind them.
Q rolled his eyes and glared at the slender young blonde humming along to the song.
"Alice, how many times do I have to correct you. The band MIGHT and I say MIGHT be American-"
"Might? Might? They started in Bellevue, Washington. You can't get more Yank than that!"
"Well, there IS Kansas, you know," Bond offered.
Both of them stared at him for a moment.
James cleared his throat and pretended he was a piece of lab equipment while they fought it out.
"They might be American, but their soul is straight from Iron Maiden or Judas Priest-" Q said, brushing his hair out of his eyes.
"Oh, get with it, Q! No one listens to them anymore. They can't even decide if there are two of them or one or whatever. They can't even spell their own name right. When will they get it, right? Reich? Ryche?" She giggled.
"Shut it, Alice. Go listen to Pain Blockers."
"That's Painkiller, thank you very much." She turned and sniffed her button of a nose at Bond.
"I suppose this is some sort of hush-hush for your eyes only meeting," Alice snipped. "So, I'm off to lunch."
She turned and snapped her fingers once.
The room was flooded with "I Hate Everything About You."
"Same here," snarled Q.
"Best Song EVER," she yelled as she hit the door.
"Sound off!" The Quartermaster yelled, snapping his fingers again. The song died a sudden death.
"That girl is driving me crazy," he said rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Cheer up", Bond said. "I got something for you to look at that might put you right again."
"Please tell me it's a double sloe gin fizz."
"What? Earl Gray tea not cutting it anymore?"
"Bond-"
James pulled out the stick he had confiscated and offered it sideways to the Quartermaster.
Q peered over his glasses. "What is that?"
""A stick, I think."
"A pointed stick actually."
"Yes. Now that you mention it, it does have a rounded point at the end. " Bond agreed.
"Careful! He said as Q reached for it.
"It's a stick, 007, not a Tommy Gun."
Bond pulled it away. "I'm serious Q. I saw a stick like this one knock a man into a wall once."
Q blinked. "Really?"
Bond stopped. Where had THAT come from? He couldn't exactly recall the details but a picture crossed the back of his mind just then, like an unformed melody from a half recalled song-not a head bashing one either.
Q took advantage of Bond's brief revelry and snatched the stick from his hand. "Looks safe enough to me," he said, holding it up to the light."Nice wood, very polished. Might be oak? Ash?"
"Be careful with that," Bond repeated. "The whole Field was told if we found one to bring it immediately to the O.P.s Division."
"Oh that lot," Q snorted. "Weird bunch, if you ask me. Never come down to talk to anyone; always hiding in the shadows."
"Sounds like your kind of people. When's the last time you saw the sun?"
"Well, we all can't finish our missions on beaches in Jamaica, 007. Some of us have to do real work. Hmmm."
The Quartermaster peered at the stick's tip, glasses down.
"Well, I'll leave you to it," said James.
"Hmmm. Oh yes, yes." Q reluctantly set the stick down on a clear spot between a magnifying glass and several notebooks.
"Whatever it is it's probably voice activated," Bond said. "The person I saw with one of these said something when she used it."
"That's handy."
"Maybe it's like my gun, cued to the owner alone."
"Hmmm," Q said again, his face thoughtful. "What did she or he say?"
"I don't know. "
"What?"
"Can't remember."
"That's not like you, 007."
"Yeah, I know."
"Sure, sure. Pointed sticks, pointed sticks, " Q intoned. ""Ooh, ooh, ooh; want to learn how to defend yourself against pointed sticks, do we? Getting all high and mighty, eh? "
Bond grinned and finished the line, "Fresh fruit not good enough for you, eh?"
They both laughed.
"Now I know you have someone to spy on besides me," Q said making shooing gestures, "Get out of here and leave me to my work."
"Fine."
Bond almost ran over Alice and her take away bags as Q pushed him out the lab door.
"Sorry," He apologized. "Your boss is obsessing again."
"He's mad, you know," she said dryly.
"Barking," Bond replied.
"Mindcrime" on high screamed at his back as he left the Quartermaster to his irritated assistant.
They were fighting again.
The more things change, the more they stay they same, James thought.
Down at the end of the corridor, Bond hung a right to stand before a familiar red door. Two men were there waiting for him.
"Identify yourself," said the smaller of the pair. The second man drew his pistol and stepped to the side.
"Commander James Bond"
"Rank"
"Double O Division-senior officer-007"
"Word of the day?"
The man with the pistol stepped back two paces dropped to his knees and raised the gun up at James forehead.
"Raisins," Bond replied.
Both the questioner and the cover man subtly relaxed.
"Hey, James," the pistol man said. They shook hands. "Glad to see you back."
"Nice to see you too, Coventington." He nodded at the other man, "Would you have let him shoot me if I got it wrong?"
Bill Tanner, M's Chief of Staff, grinned. "Maybe. It's been a fortnight since we last seen you, James. Maybe we forgot what you looked like."
"There's no way I'd forget his handsome face," said Coventington. He rubbed his chin ruefully. "Or your right hook. You took me down something sharp in that lift down in Bolivia, years back. Doubt if you would remember, Bond. But I do."
James flashed back to that encounter when he had chased down the people responsible for the death of Vesper Lynn. M had been ordered to take Bond in for "debriefing" after Agent Strawberry Fields had been found dead on his hotel bed. More like their bed after what they had done in it together earlier that day. He sighed, remembering the smell of her strawberry red hair as they lay there together after making love.
Is that what death smells like? He wondered.
"Can you help me find the stationary?"
Her laughter echoed in his mind.
When he found her lying there soaked in motor oil. Bond had known that the truth about Fields death was out there waiting for him. He had to go find it, even if M didn't approve. So three years ago he gotten into the elevator with Coventington and three other men. The retrieval had failed before Bond's savage take down. He had walked out alone.
Last rat standing.
The agents had recovered. But they hadn't forgotten; or at least one hadn't.
"Sorry about that," Bond said.
"No, you're not," Coventington replied. "But that's okay. "All in the line of duty, as they say."
Bond turned to Tanner. "Why are you minding the door? I'm sure you both have better things to do."
M's Chief of Staff looked like a solemn bulldog but he could fight and shoot with the best of them. More importantly, M trusted Tanner. "I'll let him tell you, James. But I suspect everyone will read about it in the papers soon enough any way."
Bond frowned.
"Arms up"
James brought his arms up and to his sides. Tanner quickly and expertly frisked him. It had been five years since the death of the last head of MI6. Right before then there had been three attempts on her life and an actual bombing of their headquarters. One of their own had almost shot her right in front of him. There had been no indication that he had turned either. It all came as a complete surprise to everyone. Hell, she had even given the agent three Christmas present. Mostly ashtrays and cigars, though he didn't smoke. It was the thought that counted, Bond mused.
Since then the Bureau had learned from their mistakes. There would be no further infiltrations of their strongholds, not if they could possibly help it. And from the look of determination on Tanner's face as he patted Bond down, that was definitely not happening on his watch.
"Hey, Bill, you're getting a little personal there." Bond joked.
"Oh, sorry, 007."Tanner stood up quickly, face reddening. "You're clear to go in."
Bond touched the large round button by the side of the door. It was answered by its mate inside. He turned the knob, walked through the small space in-between the doors and stopped once again. This time it is Moneypenny, M's faithful secretary. She pointed her side arm, a Ruger at him, smiling.
"Password?"
"Please."
She frowned. "Please?"
"As in 'please don't shoot me," Bond said deadpan.
Eve Moneypenny rolled her eyes and lowered the pistol. "Dear Lord, Bond, are you ever going to let me live that down? I said I was sorry."
"Oh, what did you say? I couldn't hear you over the roar of the falls; you know when I went over them after my unfortunate incident."
"Whatever," she sighed.
"That's what I wanted you to say last night, but you resisted," he said brightly.
"Ah, see that's where you're wrong, 007. That was Rosie and her five sisters, not me."
Bond grinned. This had been their routine for years, trying to top each other in sexual innuendoes.
So far, she was far ahead.
"Well, as handy as the old girl is-"
"Oh, James, that's awful-"
"She doesn't hold-"
"James!"
"-A candle to you." Bond blinked innocently. "Whatever did you think I was going to say?"
She smiled. "Point to you, 007. Now go on. Stop dawdling."
James raised his eyebrows.
"What? No full body cavity search?"
"And have you complain about sexual harassment? No thanks."
Bond stepped in closer. "I'm not complaining."
Eve flashed that special smile at him. "Maybe I am. "
"Oh?"
She leaned in close enough to give him a whiff of her perfume. "You're not trying hard enough." Moneypenny husked,
Bond grinned. "Oh, it's hard enough-being around such a lovely lady as yourself. It's very hard."
"Promises, promises."
They stared into each other's eyes; his blue; her brown.
Then the buzzer shrilled behind them.
"Oh, bother," Moneypenny, sighed. " Don't keep the old man waiting."
Before she could turn completely away, James kissed her lightly.
"No bother," he whispered in her ear
Bond heard her giggle behind him as he walked through to M's office.
"Bout time, 007," M said as his senior agent walked in.
"Sorry, sir," Bond said.
"No you're not. The way you two carry on… Why don't you make an honest woman of her?"
James felt his eyebrows rise. M never said a word about his flirting relationship with Moneypenny.
M shifted in his seat. "I know I don't have any business-"
Bond waited.
"But, oh never mind. It's just the times I guess." His boss stared off for a moment; his thin, rugged face troubled.
"Sir?"
"Just something someone said recently. It would be nice to have a little more love in the world, that's all."
Bond's mouth fell open. Since when did his boss go gaga sentimental, especially over him and Penny? M knew the routine. Eve Moneypenny was a company girl, which meant she was all hands off deck as far as bedding was concerned. Yes, there was that time in Singapore. But, that was a lifetime ago. Now the only sex play they had was subtle innuendos, as Adam Ant used to sing. Nothing more.
What was the Boss on about? He wondered. Whatever it was passed quickly. M's eyes met Bond's gaze almost sheepishly for a moment, then he cleared his throat and handed his agent a wide, unmarked manila envelope.
"Take a look at this."
Bond took it from him, flipping the top open. He slid out several glossy black and white pictures and glanced down at them. They were all the same shot. Five people-four men and one woman dressed in black robes wearing full silver masks. Three of the men were fairly tall making the woman seemed almost petite in comparison. Good figure though, Bond noted. The backdrop was unclear, as if the pictures had been shot against a full London fog but the people in the foreground seemed to have a weighted presence all their own.
James frowned. "What's this? A fancy dress party?"
"Not exactly."
James glanced up at his boss. M's face was grim, almost granite in expression. But the agent saw something else behind it all.
Fear.
"Look again, 007."
Bond stared down at the pictures. All of them were indeed the same shot-four people dressed in black tailored robes with silver face masks. But as he watched the people in the photograph moved.
Startled, James let the pictures slip from his fingers to M's oak desk. The people in the photograph were moving like a living video tape trapped in snapshots. Before he could process that, the tallest person in the top picture began to speak.
"Lieutenant Colonel Gareth Mallory," the voice was mildly grating, like a whisper of nailed fingers on a chalkboard. "You are called M by your people." James heard the sneer under the term. The figure sketched a slight bow, waving a thin, white bony hand towards them. "It might have to do with being the head of MI 6 or the letter of your last name." the figure shrugged. "I suppose it doesn't matter. Your type are all the same, only seeing what you want to see and believing whatever it suits you to hear. You're very selective."
The figure froze in place. The eyes behind the mask seemed to light up and stare through the photo right at James. There was profound malice in those eyes-and something oddly familiar too. It was disconcerting.
Like having your mind read by a cobra, James thought.
"Since you understand selective awareness, now is the time to shut your eyes and your mouth."
This voice came from the woman in the second photo. She was moving back and forth, gasping as if she had just finished a race. There was a frantic quality to her movements that spoke of mental illness. Her eyes were those of the mad, red, wild and livid. She froze in place in her photo, no longer moving.
"Your so called intelligence community is a bumbling bunch of fools. You know nothing. You see nothing. But should you decide to nose about in our business, you will regret it." This voice was silky, almost hauntingly so speaking from the third photograph. James caught a glimpse of longish black curly hair under the mask before he stepped back, his speech given.
"Your Prime Minister will understand who we are and what we can do." This came from the first speaker, the one with the thin, white hands. His voice came from all of the photographs at once.
James frowned. How are they doing that? He wondered.
"So we have a demonstration for the dullards," the silk voiced man purred from the third picture.
"See and fear," the woman said, her voice trembling with something like ecstasy.
"Step away, Bond!" M said.
James moved back. A beat later, the pictures rippled and rose as one in the air above M's desk. The fourth man in the photos came forward, pointed a stick and shouted a short bark of gibberish. To Bond's astonishment, the pictures all emitted a greenish blue light, burst into flames and floated back down to the desk in ashes.
"Look at the far wall," M said quietly.
James glanced near the door. There was a hand sized scorch mark there on the wall.
"What the hell?"
"Now look at the photos."
James looked where M was pointing. His mouth fell open.
All four pictures were back on the desk, intact, as if nothing had happened.
