:
Say you Love Me
Chapter 3.
Pink Flamingos
"How do we handle this?"
"We – you mean you."
"I did?"
"Yes, you did."
"Okay, then how do I handle this?"
A black Mercedes shot out from the curb, clearly in the path of Starling's BMW. A quick expletive deleted, followed by a racing change, and the silver BWM shot around the Mercedes to continue down Shaftsbury Avenue, unimpeded.
"You drive like a man."
"That's a sexist remark. One complaint to Human Resources and you could get fired for that."
"Well, hell. If I'd just known that earlier," he quipped.
She shot him a glance through the oversized Ray Bans.
"Is it really that bad – working with a woman?"
"I wouldn't know. Ask me when this is over."
"Oh Bullshit. You've never worked with a woman."
"No."
"Never?"
"Of course not – there were never any in the Navy. And never in this job till now."
"Oh hell, there's women in the Navy."
"Never any in my area."
Starling shook her head, hair flowing behind her, in the open convertible.
"Back to our assignment," she said with a scowl. "You think the Brokers have any knowledge of who's behind this."
"Yes, I'd think so. They'd have to. But that's all they know – and maybe contact information," Bond replied and looked deeply into an alley off Shaftsbury.
"So how do we get it?"
"Well... how you get it might go like this: You enter the shop. Ask about the package Bradley sent us. Here's the ticket stub." He hands Starling the claim ticket. "While they disappear to get the package, you take a picture of the security system with your phone. With any luck Q will have a toy for us to defeat it by tonight."
"That sounds easy enough. Where do you come in?"
"I'm your backup."
"What if the plan doesn't work?"
"Doesn't work? Expound."
"Well, for starters there could be two people behind the counter. And only one goes for the package. What do I do then?"
"You improvise. Two guys – two girls – a gent and a girl – what?"
"Let's say a guy and a girl."
"Okay, then who goes back for the package – the gent or the girl?"
"How, would I know. You're the expert."
"If the package is very large then the guy goes back for it. I'll have to come in and distract the girl."
"Sounds fair so far, but what if it's the girl that goes back and I'm left with the guy."
"Then you should have worn the short skirt and heels you wore yesterday."
"Hey that's another sexist remark!"
"Yes, I suppose it is – and our target is coming up, right around this next corner."
Starling quickly ducked the nimble BMW in the direction Bond pointed.
The quick banter had melted a little of the ice between them and it was none to early. It might be too early for these thoughts, but Bond was beginning to imagine this assignment might not turn out too bad.
The narrow alley off Shaftsbury quickly ran into a vein of old London, or what looked like it. The buildings had none of the freshly scrubbed looks and shiny facades as those on a major passageway. New Low-let construction mixed with some old time buildings lined the alley for several kilometers. Billingsly Brokerage, was painted on a fresh sign overlooking the door. The building was on a corner lot with a loading dock on the adjacent side.
Without hesitation, Starling kicked a long trousered leg out the BMW and made off toward the business entrance. Reluctantly, and thinking she'd need a distraction, Bond followed. On the corners of the building and strewn in convenient places were video cameras. Coming up along side of one, Bond snapped a picture of the camera. More important, and what they would have to find, would be the recording device attached to the cameras.
:
"Hold on, I've got it somewhere," Starling explained to a pretty Asian girl working behind the counter. She made a mock show of fishing through her pockets for the claim ticket. "Here it is!" she exclaimed, now that Bond had sauntered into view.
The girl took the claim ticket, and keyed the claim number into a computer.
"Sorry, doesn't seem to be here."
"Not here. Are you sure? Grams was so needing this package. Could you double-check?"
The girl bit the side of her lip.
"Well, I suppose I could check receiving. It might be on the loading dock."
"Super!" Starling enthusiastically replied.
The girl did a dancer's spin on one heel then disappeared through a beaded curtain.
"Where do we look," whispered Starling.
"You keep the girl busy, I'll follow the wires." Bond immediately, turned and disappeared down a side corridor.
Starling noticed but managed to keep her face out of the interior video cameras. The attendant came back holding only the claim ticket. She handed it back to Starling.
"I'm sorry – no package yet." The girl looked around and noticed Bond was missing.
"Not here? Oh dear, that's simply awful."
The girl was looking irritated now.
"I wonder?" asked Starling. "If I give you this this number, could you ring me when the package arrives."
The girl didn't answer but reached for the card.
"Oh, this number's no good – I'll have to give you another," she stalled. Fumbling for a biro from inside her small bag, Starling killed more time. Finally the girl snatched her own ballpoint from under the counter and snapped it down on the counter.
Starling made a time consuming show of inking out the number on the business card and writing another. She followed the first performance by making a show of blowing on the ink when Bond quietly re-entered the room from the far corridor.
"Hey – you're not allowed in there," the girl protested.
"Oh – Terribly sorry," apologized Bond. "Just looking for the loo."
"We don't have a lavatory for the customers," she snapped. After a long suspicious look at Bond, then the claims card. her expression turned hard. "And you'll have to go."
"Do ring me when you can," added Starling.
:
Back in the car, Starling put back on the Ran Bans and then bumped the starter.
"Did you find it?" she asked Bond as the engine responded almost immediately.
"Yes, I did." Bond turned to look at the shop window. The girl was eying them through the blinds. "I don't think she was too happy with us."
"No, not a bit."
"It's a simple video system recording system. Probably keys on motion. Right now it's unplugged so it can't phone home. Q will probably give us a device to plug in the line. That way we'll find out who it's trying to call."
"You didn't get caught in the cameras?
"Don't think so. Anyway, it'll be dark in a few hour and we can come back then. You have something to wear for the occasion, I take it?"
‡‡‡‡‡
It was after midnight and the bin lorrys could be heard through the city making their beep-beep-beeps while backing up to the rubbish bins. An earlier rain had passed through the city leaving everything wet and shiny black. Streetlights reflected distorted shapes in black pools of standing water.
It had taken all evening for Q's young assistant to finish the gadget they needed to bridge the Ethernet connection on the Video recorder. Now when the recorder phoned home the signal would be routed through the server in MI6 headquarters.
Getting in and out of simple places like these was not always simple. Leaving Starling's flashy BMW in the headquarters car park, an unmarked white service van was chosen as the best substitute. They ditched the van just beyond the eyes of the video cameras and proceeded on foot. This wasn't exactly a necessary precaution, but it would be easier to get the van back into traffic parked the way it was.
Also not exactly critical to this assignment was Bond and Starling's decision to dress in cat-burglar black. Starling agreed for once that since this was more or less a training assignment it would be best to prepare for every contingency. But now Bond was suspicious this was a clever subterfuge. Choosing clingy black Lycra with a gray stripe, he wondered if this wasn't just an excuse to show off the latest fashion. The girl had athletically chiseled arse and legs and both were showcased in the shiny black Lycra. Up top, she had on a little jacket that covered her shoulder harness and hid the Glock. She wasn't large up-top, about medium to Bond's eye, so the flared open jacket worked well to balance her figure.
Their 'mission' if you could call it that was likely to be brief and short. It might take a couple of weeks to find out who was behind all this. At that time the perpetrator would likely be pinned down to some rat's nest in the world and this whole thing would be turned over to the nearest field office. Starling and he would likely fly there, brief the local field agents, and then wash their hands of the whole affair. And then what? Would Starling turn out to have a softer underbelly? When the job was over would they fall into each others arms after dinner? Would they slip into bed or just shake hands and wish each other luck? At this point, Bond had no idea, but one look at her derriere in black tights made the thing a pressing question.
A lorry moving in their direction snapped Bond back to business. They both ducked into a shadow until the vehicle was safely past. Ignoring the cameras for now, they snaked around the back of the building. From somewhere inside the Lycra suit, Starling produced a lock-pick and went to work on the door. Within a few anxious minutes she had the door open and they were inside and looking for the business records of Billingsly Brokerage. Inside the distinctive smell of cardboard was everywhere. Under the dim light of security lamps, flattened boxes of all sizes were seen scattered in piles.
Quickly Bond went straight away for the Camera DVR while Starling went looking for office records. He found the Ethernet cable still unplugged and inserted the bridging device.
He caught up with his partner examining a half-lite textured glass door labeled 'Office'.
"It's locked," announced Starling. "Now, where did I put that pick?"
Bond was ready to offer his help when she found the pick in a pocket hidden along a seam. Delicately, nimble fingers went to work on the office lock. While holding the tumblers in place with friction and torquing the door knob, the lock suddenly gave way with a snap.
Spending an hour, cross-referencing paper files with a list of customers Bradley had supplied, they took pictures of everything with miniature digital cameras. Using a special thumb drive given to them by Q's assistant, the computer was rebooted without the need of a password or user-name to log in. They made copies of everything that looked worthwhile and then shut everything down.
Bond went out first, looking over the corridor while his partner made one last look over the office. Locking the office door behind her, Starling came out with a sheet of paper in hand.
"What's that?"
"I thought the numbers looked familiar," she said. "Unless I'm mistaken, it's an invoice for our package".
"Is that odd?"
"Yes; they said it hadn't arrived, yet here's the lading invoice."
"So – it arrived after we left?"
"Don't see how – they were closing as we left."
"Does this really matter?" asked Bond.
"Well, if they lied to us about having it, I suppose it does."
"You're sure then?"
"Well, I could be mistaken, but it must be around here somewhere. Receiving is just over there," she said, pointing a finger toward the receiving department.
"Do we really have time to shop?" Bond quipped.
"Girls always have time to shop. Besides, we need to be sure, and Bradley may have left us something special."
"Not likely."
Like browsing for discounts, Starling found a long queue of packages with numbers close to her own.
"...28, ...27, ...26... Here it is!" Two feet high and over thee feet long, the package sat there matching the claim number.
"Don't open it," injected Bond, but the three inch wide cell-tape holding the box lid tight had already been slit and the lid pulled open.
"It's already open," retorted Starling, gently prying the lid apart to lay bare the contents. There under old newspapers was something large and obnoxiously pink.
"What the hell is this?" she muttered.
"Looks like lawn furniture."
"Yeah, Pink Flamingos – two of them," she added.
Bond grabbed one of the birds by the neck and lifted it out of the box.
"Birds in a box," muttered Bond.
"Wonder where he got these."
"Out of his garden, I'd say. Look at he dirt here." Bond pointed to the long green metal legs. "Stuck in the ground about a foot, I'd say."
"So this is how Bradley gets rid of his old junk?"
"Bradley always did have a strange sense of humor." Bond dropped the pink bird back in the box.
"Stranger yet is why they sent us away without our package."
"And then opened it."
"They were on to us for some reason."
"It certainly appears so."
The hair began to rise on the back of Bond's neck.
"Maybe we better go. This is getting all too susp..."
There was an audible click – and everything went black.
"Down," ordered Bond, and they both ducked. He could hear Starling's gun sliding out of the holster. There was no sound from his own chamois carrier, but an moment later the safety was pushed off with a faint click. "Listen," he whispered. "Footsteps."
Soft soled footsteps approached the door to the package room. Steady at first, then pausing, whoever it was stopped in the door. With little to no ambient light from outside and the place was almost pitch black. No one could navigate around all the packaging mess in this darkness. Bond moved his head in the direction of Starling's breathing.
"Night vision – infra red," he whispered. Sitting in the darkness for what felt like hours, Bond could hear Starling shift position.
"I see him," she said. Her own night vision must be coming around faster than his, thought Bond.
Moments later a shot came ripping through cardboard and whistled between their heads. A long flame from the gunshot was still visible in the door when Starling moved up from their hiding position, and ripped off two quick shots from the Glock and ducked.
Another shot from the unknown gunman ripped between the pair to shatter glass behind them.
Immediately, and mostly on instinct, Bond and Starling raised together. Two shots from the Glock and three from the Walther filled the small space with thunder. Before the echo diminished, the gunman could be heard to turn and run for it. Stumbling footsteps, crashing into packages and boxes, the attacker was trying to put distance between them.
"Where's the fucking lights?"
"Wait." Starling began digging through the jacket and produced a small torch. Holding the small light beside the gunbarrel, she pointed to the empty door frame. Within moments Bond himself had pulled a torch light from the cargo pockets and both were scanning toward the doorway. Approaching the doorway from opposite sides, there was no sign of the gunman in the adjoining room.
The blood trail began a few paces beyond the door. Violet red rivulets running away from a large splatter in the floor were almost luminescent under bluish white lite from the Led torches.
"Careful," cautioned Bond, knowing from experience that men were most dangerous when wounded. Twice cautioning Starling not to rush, they followed the blood trail's meandering path toward door in the rear of the building. The trail led to the rear door standing wide open and out to the open lot behind. Taking positions on both sides of the doorframe they scoured the alley for the gunman.
A flash then a shot echoed between the buildings and hit the side of the door frame nearest Bond. The flash came from across the back alley and down a bit. Wanting to return fire, but not having the angle, Starling bit her lip anxiously but held back.
Bond returned a quick shot and was angling for another when the rumbling V8 of a black Dodge Charger filled the small alley. Flushed out of hiding, the man made for the Charger. Briefly the interior lights flashed on and the gunman disappeared inside. Now Bond and Starling opened fire. Bond quickly emptied the small clip of the Walther; Starling continued on until the muscle car was out of sight.
Standing there until the sounds of a noisy exhaust were replaced by the sounds of the city at midnight, Bond exchanged clips in the Walther, clicked on the safety, and stowed it away. Starling followed Bond's actions and slid the weapon under her jacket.
"Let's find the damned lights and get out of here."
"Do we go back for the Flamingos?"
:
A/N: A big thanks to everyone for reading, and the favs and follows. Also, much grats for comments from cloud 9123. It was the much needed inspiration to trudge through another chapter. :)
