Now

London

"MacGuffin as watched over the years as Bond rose through the ranks, eventually outranking him, he knows he has his sight set on taking over Phoenix and he knows he can't stop him. Bond knows that he can never really do with Phoenix as he pleased while MacGuffin is around, MacGuffin knew what Bond thought, probably before he even Bond thought about it himself. Seems unreasonable for a man in Macguffin's shoes to pack off for a nice boating trip. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" asked Priest as he talked to both Sands and Nemo via his lap top, as he sat in a small room of a shady hotel.

"MacGuffin's faked his death." said Nemo.

"That's what I'm thinking." said Sands.

"Same here." said Priest.

"Good work, Priest, do keep it up. Investigate this man, this Edward Temple whom MacGuffin had met prior to his apparent death. Mister Sands, I trust you to provide intelligence."

"Will do, Captain. Sands, out."

Sands disappeared from the screen as he severed his connection.

"Priest, are you sure you can undertake everything by yourself?"

"I'll tell you when it gets too much."

"Well then, goodnight."

"Goodbye."

"And Priest..."

"What?"

"Nice accent."

Ten Weeks Ago

Off the Coast of Okinawa, Japan

Lee Gaum-Ja and Captain Nemo stood aboard the ship's conning tower, watching the sunrise from behind the horizon.

"How is your Japanese?" asked Nemo.

"Rusty."

"Well, Mister Hanzo speaks Korean very well, so you shouldn't have trouble communicating with him."

"Mister Hanzo is our... your ally in Japan, isn't he?"

"He is, we are long acquainted, and you can think of him as your ally as well. You are one of us, after all."

"Perhaps."

"Mister Hanzo will have much to teach you about the League's activities in the Pacific Rim, among other things. Be sure to show proper respect and try to cooperate with him as much as possible."

"I will pay him as much respect as he is due. Tell me, Captain, when will I return to Seoul?"

"As soon as we gather new members for your cell, we can't have you working by yourself."

"It seems like it's been a lifetime."

"It does, doesn't it? I don't like it any better; we haven't had seven operating cells to match every Branch of the League for the past year and a half. Two years ago we had seven cells, plus the London groups."

"Why do you suspect that is?"

"Isn't it obvious? We have a rat in our ranks."

"'Rat'?"

"I'm sorry; I meant we have a spy with us, reporting to the League, where his or her allegiance lay."

"You seem to be comfortable revealing a lot to me. The man who spoke Korean, what was his name?"

"Judas Priest."

"Yes, Judas said you kept him in the dark. Why are you being honest with me? What if I was the 'Rat'?"

"I don't know. You seem trust worthy."

"Is it that, or is it because of what we did the night you sent Judas and Mona away?"

Nemo fell silent, in a complete loss for words.

"I'm sorry; I should not have spoken about it."

"No," said Nemo, "Don't be sorry. We were going to address it eventually, I though so the morning after, but I couldn't bring myself to bring it up, and you didn't raise the topic. So I assumed it wasn't an issue.

"The fact is, Miss Lee, what happened that night, what we did, it was beautiful. But..."

"We can never do it again, I understand." said Gaum-Ja as she leaned over the railing.

"I don't mean to sound so callous. It's just that I'm not in a position in my life to be involved with anyone in a love affair."

"Don't worry, Nemo, I am not some little school girl who can't distinguish her urges from love, not anymore, anyway. We both needed it; it was great, as you said. We shall discuss it no more, there is no reason to."

Gaum-Ja stepped over to the open hatch-door, and said as she stood at the threshold, "Don't worry, Captain Nemo. It really does not matter."

She then walked down the stairs.

"Please..." said Nemo, in a voice lower than he intended it to be and thus went unheard as Gaum-Ja continued to descend into the bowels of the Yellow Submarine.

"Call me..." said Nemo as he found himself alone, "Call me Dakkar."

Priest crackled his fingers, none at a time, as he watched the stunning blond woman from a distance with great resentment.

She looked back at him from across the busy night club, and started walking in his direction. Priest leaned back on the couch and crossed his arms, a part of him wishing to get away from her as fast as possible.

She stood right in front of him, and placed a bottle of blood on the table before him.

"Mister Priest." she said.

"Josephine."

"You don't look happy to see me."

"Well, you did try to have me killed."

"I was hoping you wouldn't still be mad about that."

"No, it's all water under the bridge."

She sat down right next to him, crossing her legs she starred at him; he sat there trying to ignore her penetrating looks, feeling his icy blood warm up just a bit.

"I... I didn't say you could sit down."

Josephine leaned over to him, her face inches away from his, he could feel her surprisingly warm breath on his neck.

"What is it that you want?"

Now

London

Priest sat up from the sofa, alarmed at the sudden and loud beeping coming from the laptop. With a muddled head and a groggy disposition he staggered to the lap top, his feet aching as he had went to sleep with his shoes still on.

Priest pressed the 'Accept' button, Sands appeared on the screen.

"Priest? Where were you?"

"Having a perfectly good dream that may have turned erotic. What's the score?"

"I got the low-down on Ed Temple. He's dead."

"Bugger."

"He was killed following a gang war years ago. If you want to pick up the trail, you'll have to go after his successors."

"Right."

"Four years ago, a million pills of ecstasy were stolen from Serbian war criminals in Amsterdam. Ed Temple was a high society crime lord; he tried to trick a young Turk into getting him the drugs and leaving him with nothing. The Turk turned the tables on him, had him killed and walked away with all the money. That Turk is now the Big Kahuna of all things Drug related in London"

"Tell me about the Turk."

"They call him the King. He hangs around the Stoke Park Club. He's a reasonable guy, so just play it cool and try not to step out of line and maybe he'll help you."

"Yeah, I'll pay him a visit as soon as it starts raining."

"No. We have an associate well tied with the underworld, his name is big Chris Jones, he'll set you up. You just sober up and wait to hear form me."

"I'm not drunk, I'm never drunk, I was just sleeping."

"Whatever, I'll send you the files."

"Ace."

"And when you do get to meet him, don't pack that gun I gave you."

Two Days Later

London

Big Chris Jones was a money lender and independent criminal, well respected and feared in the underworld, a dark haired man of daunting physique and almost hound-ish features. Upon meeting Priest he had informed him that he and Sands had met many years ago during the first gulf war when Jones was with the Royal Marines and Sands was still with the CIA. He then took him to the Stoke Park Club, an exclusive golf club on the outskirts of the city, where he was introduced to and left in the company of the King.

The King was a man of Forty, Blonde and blue eyed and with a powerful jaw. He sat behinds his table in one of Stoke Park Club's rooms, dressed in Seville-Row's best, flanked by four of his lieutenants.

"I understand your situation, Mister Kaplan. I sympathies, I really do." said the King, "But what is it that you expect me to do?"

"I just need you to point me in the right direction." said Priest.

"What makes you think we have any idea where that is?" asked Gene McGuire, one of the King's men.

"Well, you did kill him." said Priest bluntly, which made everyone flinch for a bit, "Look, you already searched me when I came in, you know I'm not wearing a wire.

"The people I work for are very interested in knowing what Gideon MacGuffin and Eddie Temple talked about in the Reform Club, you people can help us with finding out, upon which my people will be very, very grateful."

"Who do you think you're talking to?" asked Terry, a Turkish man who sat two seats away from the King, "You think you can pay us to do your dirty work, fuck off!"

"Now, Terry, such language's not necessary." said the King, then addressed Priest, saying, "But Mister Kaplan, we have discussed all we could possibly discus. And unless you can come up with a good reason for us to help you, you'll find that you have outstayed your welcome."

Priest stood up, feeling frustrated, contemplating attacking the five men, for all the good it'd do, but deciding against it.

Instead, he simply reached into his pocket and took out a pair of sunglasses that he broke in half and dropped one piece on the table, then walked away and out of the club, leaving the five gangsters to ponder what was supposed to be meant by that gesture.

"No Cigar, huh?" asked Sands as he and Priest conversed through the laptop.

"Unfortunately so." said Priest, "Still; we'll just have to make helping us seem more appealing."

"How do you figure that?"

"I've worked for drug dealers for over twenty years, Sands. You want anything from them; you have to make yourself in demand."

"You want to bait the King into wanting to help you, I understand."

"A Hit. We pinch a great amount of merchandise, and when word gets to the king, he'll maybe want to make a deal."

"How will the King know its you?"

"I got that taken care of. It'll have to be big enough to be noticed, but not big so that every thug in the city will be coming after me. Ask Big Chris to snoop around."

"You got it."

Next Chapter: Priest does what Priest does best, crossing paths with an old enemy of his.

R&R.