CHAPTER 3
Q tapped his fingers on his lap as he sat in the waiting area outside the laboratory. The smell of rubbing alcohol pervaded the air in that place where expectancy and disquietude mingled with each other seamlessly. It loomed over him like a plague. He shifted his eyes nervously, "What's taking them so long?" he wondered, striving to keep himself from fidgeting around in his seat too much. Finally, the door opened.
"I'm sorry for the delay. Here are results that you have requested." said the doctor, lifting his clipboard. Q stood up.
"So far, the patient's faculties are normal for someone of her…classification. Her skills and capabilities remain unimpeded. The problem, however, rests in the brain. It appears that the blow she had taken to her head during the time of the accident caused some traumatic brain injury. Much of her long-term memory was damaged. She's healing well, but it may take some time for the lost information to be restored"
"And what of the microchip?" Q asked.
"Ah yes, that. We made an in-depth analysis just like you asked. I'm afraid the results were all negative."
Q narrowed his eyes, "You mean…"
"There is no trace of the microchip."
"What do you mean it's gone?" M exclaimed; her eyebrows rising.
"It wasn't there. The microchip is lost." Q replied.
"Well where do you think it is?" she shot back, impatiently.
"I honestly don't believe that it's a matter of where. I think the proper question would be who has the chip."
"Fine. Who do you think has the bloody chip?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest.
"Whoever the person responsible for the accident was."
M's eyes widened. "You don't say?"
"Oh but I do. On the day of the handover with Bond? There was a considerable number of people on that street, how incredibly convenient it had been that it was she who got hit. The doctors? They were from our team. They knew of the project as much as we do, it would have been a violation of the protocol to tamper with something without prior notice from my division. And then a few days later, a video is posted, threatening the identity of every agent known to the British Secret Intelligence. It isn't coincidence, M. It's a contrivance, and we are all part of the same game." he pointed out matter-of-factly, after which he added "I'm sorry. That was highly disrespectful of me."
"No, it's quite alright." she murmured, turning her back on him and walking towards the window. "Keep your eye on Bond. He may just give us the lead we so desperately need." Q nodded slowly, fearing that he may have just offended the very person he worked for. Inwardly chastising himself, he made his way towards the door. "And Q?" she said, looking over her shoulder. "It was a bloody good decision, hiring you."
Q walked out of the room, smiling.
Once again, he found himself gazing at her through a window silently. There was something about the manner in which she carried herself. He could not quite put his finger on it but if there was one thing for certain, it draws him to her. It was a queer feeling, this one. It reminded him vaguely of how he used to climb walls as a child—balancing on top of rundown brick and concrete fortifications alike, the sheer thrill of the possibility that any time he might lose his footing then fall and break his neck. Yet amidst the danger, there was something else: that inexplicable rush of delight that comes after he has run the entire course. He was never a daring little thing to begin with, but it was precisely that pleasure which fuels him to brave those walls. So it was with her.
"I know you're there."
He froze, still as a stone.
"Will it always be this kind of situation with us? Wherein you are standing on one side of the glass and I on the other?" He could almost sense the smile in her voice as she said these words.
"Not necessarily."
"Well then." She approached the glass, looking into it as if she could actually see him, "I dare you to enter this room."
Swallowing, he ran his ID card through the scanner and the door opened. He went inside. "Happy?" He asked, trying to sound unfazed. She approached him, her eyes cold and full of disdain. His heart beat heavily against his chest and he held his breath. All of a sudden her lips broke into a wide smile, "Happy." and before he knew it, she was snickering.
"You really should have seen your face."
Whatever fear he might have had just then had faded away. Pursing his lips, he glared at her. "And you are so amused by this aren't you?"
She stopped and regained her composure. "In less than 72 hours I have been locked up, released, only to be locked in again, interrogated, and subjected to more medical examinations than I ever had in a year all thanks to you. So if you must know: yes I am having the time of my life."
He did not know exactly how to respond to this. On a normal day he would have made a snippy comeback, but then all of which she had just said was more or less true. Instead he muttered, rather unconvincingly "I am sorry for your inconvenience."
She gave him a tiny smile. "I don't blame you. Not really, I blame you some. But I figure that what they want from me must be something important. I'm just frustrated that I could not give it to them sooner." She let out a sigh as she turned around, but all of a sudden she halted. "Oh that's right, where are my manners? Do forgive me; you see I've been locked in too long." Laughing, she faced him once more and extended her hand out to him, "I'm Verna, and you are?"
Slightly amused, he shook her hand. "Q."
"Lovely. Now that we're fully acquainted, also because you owe me several, you must help me get out of here."
