FILE HB007/011 THE FLIGHT

Oh pain killers, oh pain killers, where would I be without you?

Well, Holly, probably neck-deep in a sea of agony!

Of course the trick, as always, is to not become so dependant on you, that our semi-regular rendezvous start to become a life-terminating addiction! I have seen way too many people I've admired in this world, check out of it permanently, via your seemingly harmless contributions to their pain relief.

In fact, I once read online that in the U.S. back in 2008, roughly 14,800 of the deaths caused by an overdose, where down to you alone. More than Cocaine and Heroin combined!

Damn.

Great way to spoil your own party, Holly!

Naturally, I decide to flush the damn pills down the toilet, and make my way back to the isle seat at the tail-end of the plane. Besides, pain's nothing a Vodka Martini can't fix. Although I did read somewhere that Vodka is the leading cause for... Ok, enough's enough, Holly. Focus on something else. Like the awful suction sound the loo's on aeroplanes make when you flush them! It's just... wrong.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we will shortly be landing in Moscow. The weather there is typically cold at -3°, so it's strongly advised that you dress accordingly, and wrap up warm!"

Thanks for the heads up, 'Captain', but none of us back here were under any illusion we were heading down into the Bahamas. Although, he did kinda have a nice husky voice. A bit like gravel churning in a cement mixer.

Back at the seat, Q is just as I'd left him 5 minutes ago. Still busy hammering away at the keys on his laptop like he was mining them for gold. He's been uncharacteristically quite during the entire flight, so I can only imagine what's going on in that computer-like brain of his. Probably a meltdown of sorts, especially considering the task ahead of us.

"Hey Nerd, you okay?" I ask.

He doesn't hear me of course. That would be the fault of those ridiculously-sized headphones clamped to either side of his head like some double-yellow parked car. I lift up one end and make a second attempt at contact.

"I said; Are-you-okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine! Of course I'm fine! Why wouldn't I be fine?" he responds in typically bullish fashion.

"Gee, I don't know..." I reply. "Maybe because of everything that's been happening? You being on your firstever field mission? I thought maybe you'd want to-"

"So there's been a lot of changes!" he snaps back. "So what? Changes are good! Without changes there would be no development... no growth! Do you know what happens when things don't grow, Holly? They die! Sometimes horribly! Like being tortured to death... having your limbs slowly removed, one by one!"

O-kay.

"My God, what would I do without these 10 little digits of mine?" he continues, inspecting each of his fingers in a trance-like fashion. "They're like... my children! Each one as important as the last. How could I possibly choose between you? How dare they make me? The scum!"

"Who? Look, Q, you really need to calm down..." I tell him.

"What's that you say, 'another drink'? Don't mind if I do, Holly! Make mine a Vesper Martini with a slice of lemon... shaken, stirred, whatever!"

"I... think maybe you've had 'five' too many...?" I note, stating the bloody obvious.

"Really?" he replies, in mock surprise. "How about we do this; I order what I want, when I want, in whatever quantity I want it? You know, being a 'grown man' and all? Does that work for you, Holly?"

"How about you stop throwing your toys out of the pram and man the heck up? This isn't a honeymoon you and I are on! I need that brain of yours working at full capacity when we land, cause there's a hell of a lot riding on this mission being a success!"

Cue, awkward silence.

Okay, so not the most 'understanding' moment of my life. But dammit, now I'm the one getting nervous, wondering if he's going to cope out there on the field! Wondering if he'll fold under any pressure? This isn't the flaming live shows on X-Factor, people's lives are at stake, including our own!

But then I catch my breath and remember my very first field mission, and how that made me feel.

"Okay, one last round!"I concede. "But after that, Q, it's triple expressos all the way!"

He vaguely nods in agreement.

"We will make it through this, Q. I promise!" I grip him tightly by the hand, just for added assurance, of course. "Look, why don't we go through the mission schematics?"

"Okay, sure!" he agrees me, before bringing up a fact file on his laptop screen. "Okay, 'Mikhail Doliński' as you'll remember, was a name that sprung up during your mission in Puerto Rico. He's a 'middle man', a political pawn for hire, with secret ties to everyone from extreme fundamentalist groups to the Russian mob. He was the sole trade-link between Grey and Quantum, and hopefully he'll be doing us the same courtesy. Involuntarily, of course."

"So how do we find him?" I ask.

"Remember The Red Iron Club in Pittsburgh?"

"Not personally, but yes, the name rings a bell. We used it to shake down Grey back at the... wait, are you saying I have to...?

"The guy's under 24 hour surveillance, 7 days week, Holly. By either the Russian Feds or the criminals whose empires, his very existence, secures. The only time you'll catch him off guard is at that club... for obvious reasons."

"Obvious... reasons?" I ask, knowing I'll regret it.

"This isn't your average late night gathering of 'Diversity' wannabes, dear girl. Think; 'Eyes Wide Shut' meets 'Ibiza' by way of 'Tim Burton' and maybe you'll get a vague idea of what goes on in there."

"Great. So what's my cover; 'high class go-go dancer, with lofty aspirations of becoming a lawyer?"

"Sadly, no. You'll be posing as a black market 'tech-dealer', whose past ties to the pre-disbanded 'Shop', have enabled her to 'acquire' possession of an experimental chemical weapon they were working on. And is now looking for a buyer for a quick handover."

"Okay. But I don't have an experimental chemical weapon, Q."

"Ah, yes. But he won't know that, will he?"

"Right, of course! .,.but what happens when he does? I ask

"Well then, you... we... I will worry about that when the time comes-look, just leave the details to me, will you?"

"Sure, no problem!" I tell him. "So, what do we do when we get our hands on him?"

"Nothing. It's not him we're after. Officially. It's a man they call; The Bookkeeper. A criminal accountant, both present and instrumental in every major arms deal of the last 5 years. He's the one MI6 wants. At least, on record." he tells me.

"And off record?"

"Your counter-mission will simply be to milk Doliński dry of all intel relating to his connections to Quantum. M wants to know everything! How he contacts them... who his contact is..."

"Fair enough. Ah, Q... I'm going to need you to... well... help me run a quick counter-mission of my own. Completely off record, of course!" I ask him.

"Ahh... okay... you mean like a counter-countermission?" he asks, understandably nervous.

I hate the idea of putting him up to this, but something's not adding up regarding this whole 'secret mission' thing my dad's supposedly on. And I need to know the truth.

"I need you, Q, to utilise your connections... this 'Berkof' friend of yours ... anyone who can assist in uncovering everything relating to my father's current mission."

"Riiight. Your 'father' being commander James Bond...? And by 'current mission' you mean the top secret, off the record, not to be spoken of, let alone acknowledged, highly covert operation he's been involved in for the better part of a year?"

"One and the same!" I tell him, apprehensively.

"Sure." he replies with a simple shrug, before turning his attention back to his laptop.

There are only a handful of people I can depend on in this world I live in. And even fewer people I can trust, Q being one of them. In these current times, I'm going to need every one of those people to-wait a minute! Did he say "Sadly no"?

To be continued...