Thank you for all the concern over my accident, I'm well on the mend now, and am back to work and everything. I even have a new car, which is nice.
The airport hanger loomed over the runway like a huge black monstrosity, its arched back the only discernible landmark in what seemed like a hundred miles. The small plane coasted to a stop, its propellers decelerating to visibility. Two figures descended the tiny steps, the first trying to resist the urge to salute the second.
The second figure sensed the urge. He glowered at the man, his face dark, his scars deliberately displayed. 'You don't salute me,' he growled, 'You obey me.'
The feeling of power that flooded through his veins was seductive.
The pleasure increased as he saw the fear and obedience on the man's face.
For one glorious moment Ashleigh felt like she was flying. She could feel the bike beneath her, but under that there was nothing but the air beneath her and the wind rushing past her helmet.
The she and the bike came crashing down to earth. There was yet another glorious moment of self satisfaction as the bike, and she, stayed upright.
It had been a risk but she had done it. After years of what felt like suspended animation, lost in codes, numbers, secret information that only she had privy to, she was once more doing something physical. Cautiously she twisted the accelerator.
Too early. The front wheel skidded, and then she felt the bike begin to slip away. The bike went horizontal, she was sliding underneath, the tyres spinning desperately as they tried to grip thin air.
Finally momentum and inertia dragged them to a halt. Ashleigh lay stunned underneath the hot metal, feeling the bruises already beginning to form. Gingerly she flexed her leg, and realised she was still alive. She could hear the cries of outrage begin in the distance, and fearing shots were about to be fired, she heaved herself and the bike upright. She kicked frantically, heard the engine roar once more into life, and the surge of power.
This was her bike. She had discovered the joys of the mountain roads, spent hours exploring them on the sleek black machine. The speed was a thrill, and she felt that same thrill now. No one could catch her now.
She was on her way.
The problem was, she didn't know where. She didn't even know where to begin.
She'd think about that later. The main thing now was to just get away.
'Are the checkpoints still in place?' M demanded, her fingers stabbing at the spread out map of the area.
'We removed them last night, sir,' the agent replied apologetically. He hesitated before saying his next words, unsure whether he would still have a job once they were said. 'On your orders, sir.'
M would have liked to have exclaimed something particularly vicious, but she was determined to keep her composure, despite the fact she was very close to losing it. Her anger was welling beneath the surface, fury was building up inside her, she felt like the human equivalent of Mt. Etna.
'The following order is to be relayed back to England immediately, and with immediate effect,' she said quietly, but firmly. 'We have a renegade agent. They are to be located and restrained by any means possible.'
Bond watched stonily. He could see the anger on M's face. She was right though, he understood that.
'And Ashleigh?' he asked. 'What are you going to do about her?'
M looked up at him with ice in her eyes. 'The order is for Ashleigh.'
The words chilled Bond to the bone. 'You're abandoning her?' Bond hissed.
'No, Bond,' M said in a matter of fact tone, coolly gathering together the map. 'I'm merely washing my hands of her.'
Bond knew that she was serious. When M decided an agent was no longer worth protecting, that agent was on their own. Bond had several scars and the memories of several months in a Korean torture camp to prove it. M had been just as unapologetic about that incident as she was now.
'It wouldn't be the first time you have,' Bond said flatly.
M acknowledged the insult with a tilt of her chin. 'We're returning to London immediately, Bond. I suggest you pack. And in future; keep your opinions to yourself, James. When I want to know what you think, I'll tell you.'
Inside the aircraft hanger there was nothing. No aircraft waited for their next flight, no equipment stood ready, waiting for use. The place was deserted, empty, and this vast emptiness was filled with silence. He could hear nothing but the thud of his boots on the bare concrete, the low inhale and exhale of his breathing. He coughed, his throat dry after the pressurised air of the flight, and the sound seemed to echo loudly into the metallic eaves.
He glanced around, but there was no welcome committee waiting with open arms for him. There was nothing and there was no one. A muscle ticked in his cheek, as a sense of resentment grew. He could see no reason why he had been brought here, why this place was so important.
'Ah, the prodigal son returns.' A thick voice shattered the silence. Alec whirled around, his nerves immediately set on edge. He saw who spoke.
'I'm no son of yours,' he said stiffly.
'Always on the defensive, Alec,' there was a mocking edge to the voice, 'Its only a figure of speech.'
Alec stared at the man who now stepped from the shadows. It was a man he hadn't seen for many years, and the reunion was not a welcome one. He remained steadfastly silent, taking in how the man had aged over the years. There was more grey in the bear like pelt than brown now, the strong bulk had thickened, threatening to run to fat, but Alec didn't doubt that the bear like strength would still be there. Small wire rimglasses settled across the once broken nose, emphasising rather than concealing the small blue eyes.
From the moment he had heard Natasha had been taken, Alec had tried desperately to work out who might have taken her. Only once had this man's face flickered into his mind, and had immediately been dismissed. It had been too long, this man belonged to the past, but it seemed he now had utter control over Alec's future.
Alec suddenly felt very afraid for his daughter.
'You've returned at last,' Pierre Merkalov smiled, his heavily accented voice gruff with emotion. He held his arms out wide to the younger man, offering a bear like embrace.
Alec ignored the gesture. 'I was summoned.'
'Oh yes,' Merkalov chuckled. 'The feather. You must excuse my little joke.'
'Some joke,' Alec growled. 'My daughter is missing and you leave a white feather hidden in my home. Forgive me if I fail to grasp the humour of the situation.'
The humour was still there on the older man's face, but Alec recognised the cold fury in the pale blue eyes. 'My dear boy, I needed to assure your arrival, the feather was merely…'
'A joke!' Alec interrupted. 'I understand the logistics, and believe me, I certainly understand the implications. It's an old trick yours, and this time, the joke has worn thin. I want to know what you have done with my daughter!'
'Done with her?' Merkalov's jovial smile broke. 'I've yet to do anything with her. However, if I do not receive your absolute cooperation, that situation could very rapidly change.'
'You do have her then?' Alec grasped at the throw away comment, struggling to find fact in the familiar rhetoric.
Merkalov stared at him as if he were insane. 'Of course we have her. I see no reason to deny it, Alec.' He seemed like a teacher patiently explaining a simple concept to a particularly stubborn pupil. 'You were supposed to realise I had Natasha. That's why I sent you the feather. I knew you'd know it was me, but next time I'll leave a business card if that will make matters simpler for you.'
'There won't be a next time,' Alec felt his temper rising beyond the boundaries of his control. This monster from his past had his daughter, and was flaunting it. His entire body tensed as adrenaline surged through it in preparation for an attack.
'Enough.' Merkalov ordered, all humour, all pleasantries gone from his tone, suddenly this was a man totally in control.
Alec had heard that tone too many times before, and in an utter pavlovian reaction, Alec stopped. His hands dropped, the fight left his body, he stared sullenly at the floor; the absolute essence of reluctant obedience. It had happened before he had even realised it, and his green eyes widened in shock.
Merkalov laughed, a harsh sound in the metallic silence. 'All the power in the world, Alec, you could have had it all. But you'll always obey me.' He stretched out a hand, brushing it almost lovingly against the unscarred side of Alec's face. 'All because I'm the father you never had. You'll understand it now, Alec, imagine my surprise when I discovered you had a child, but you know now, you know what its like to love your child, to want to protect them, to love them and to be loved in return. You're a father, and in my own way, so am I. I'm doing this for you, Alec, and you'll understand that one day.'
Alec knew then he was beaten. He slumped, listening as Pierre Merkalov outlined what he wanted Alec to do. And Alec knew that on pain of his daughter's life, he couldn't refuse.
The pale young man watched as the woman walked through the airport's departures hall. She seemed unsure, glancing up at the electronic screens, scrutinising, as if trying to decide where to head. She stood out like a sore thumb in the busy crowds, all knowing exactly where they were going and why.
She glanced round, her dark eyes taking in everything, almost falling onto his hiding place. He sucked in his breath and pressed himself closer to the wall. After a few moments, he peeped around the corner, and relaxed. She hadn't seen him. Instead she had headed down a small walkway to the left of the hall. Glancing around one last time, he followed.
Why had she come down here? He wondered moments later as he found himself in a deserted hallway, with what seemed like a store cupboard at one end. The overhead lights flickered, this obviously wasn't an area for passengers.
He sensed the trap a moment too late.
A hand snaked out, and grabbed him, dragging him off balance and round a corner. A second hand fumbled beneath his jacket, finding the concealed weapon there.
That weapon was now being pressed against his temple.
'Don't even think about screaming,' the woman hissed into his ear, her voice low, and definitely English. 'Because I definitely won't think twice about putting a bullet into your head.'
He managed to nod.
'Good boy,' she seemed to be smiling. 'Now, I'm going to ask you one question, and you're going to answer it. Just one question, you can do that can't you?'
'Yes,' he mumbled.
'Where is he?'
He knew who she meant. And the gun pressed harder into his head.
'One,' the woman said, 'two…'
'Paris.' The word was spat reluctantly.
'Thank you. That wasn't too hard now, was it?'
He never had the chance to reply. The butt of the gun crashed against the side of his head, and he slumped into unconsciousness.
Ashleigh looked down at the crumpled figure at her feet. He couldn't be more than twenty, she decided. He'd wake up in a little while, with a bit of a headache, but better that than dead. She examined the gun, fitted with a silencer, and decided it would be more trouble than it was worth trying to smuggle it onto the plane. She wiped it down with the edge of her t-shirt, and threw it on top of the boy.
She walked away without a second glance. She had a ticket to buy and a plane to catch. She smiled; it had been many years since she had been to France.
Back at MI6 headquarters, M's order had been received. One senior agent read it coolly, put the document down and carried on working. A moment later he stopped, picked up the paper, and read it a second time.
A flicker of fear lodged somewhere deep within his stomach.
Common sense told him not to get involved. Yet somehow, when it came to this particular young woman, common sense went right out of the window.
M's callousness and ruthlessness towards her agents was known throughout the organisation, yet it was not always approved of. This order was yet another prime example of this.
When he returned to his desk moments later, all thoughts of his previous assignment had vanished, instead he busied himself with all the passenger lists of all flights within Europe that had left within the last twelve hours. It was a daunting task, but he was determined.
Determined to find her. Before it was too late. He had a feeling she would need all the help she could get.