Time for a Change
By Les Bonser
This is a work of non-commercial fan fiction. The characters used in this story remain the trademarked property of their respective owners. No trademark infringement is intended and no profits are made by the author for writing or distribution of this work.
No permission is given to anyone other than the author to archive this on any website. No permission is given to anyone other than the author to repost this on any newsgroup.
Chapter 3
An unassuming flat, off the King's Road in Chelsea, outside London
James Bond awake at his normal hour. He could smell the scent of fresh brewed coffee as it wafted up from the kitchen. His housekeeper, Mae, was in today and had already fixed breakfast.
Bond stretched and then got out of his bed. He headed to the bathroom and quickly showered, shaved, and dressed. Under his suit jacket, he wore a standard issue shoulder harness and a Walther PPK 7.65 mm pistol.
With one last look in the mirror, Bond ran a hand through his hair. There was the slightest hint of gray at his temples. Otherwise, his short hair was jet black, with a thick black comma that fell over his right eyebrow. The face that looked back at him was marred only by the faint scar on his right cheek. His long straight nose seemed to match the wide, thin mouth. The most noticeable feature was the piercing blue-gray eyes.
An office building along the Thames, later that morning
Bond arrived at his office at his normal time.
To his few casual friends, he was an ex-Royal Navy officer, now toiling in the endless bureaucracy of the British government. In actuality, he was an anachronism; a cold war soldier with no war to fight. He was a spy and assassin in the service of Her Majesty. He worked for the British Secret Intelligence Service.
His office was in the high-security office by the Thames. Once, the SIS had hidden behind various fronts, including that of the Universal Export Company. This was back when it was known as MI6. Military Intelligence Department 6. Now know as simply the British Secret Intelligence Service, the organization was tasked with defending the Empire from threats from foreign countries and terrorist groups.
Once, Bond had taken on, and defeated, foes from such organizations as SMERSH and SPECTRE. But now he mostly read reports and wrote even more reports.
Today, for example, he had to review the reports from NATO on the situation in Bosnia and reports from the Americans on the situation in Iraq. Then, he had to summarize the reports in his own report to the department head and provide "expert" advice on what Great Britain should do regarding both situations.
An hour into the report reading, Bond shifted in his chair just as his phone rang. He answered it. It was Moneypenny, M's executive assistant. In the old days he would have called her a secretary.
"She needs to see you, James," Moneypenny said.
"It'll give me a chance to see you," Bond teased.
"You know it's always a pleasure," Moneypenny teased back. This was a game the two had played now for many years. Moneypenny had long ago given up hope that Bond would carry through with his amorous promises.
"I'll be right up," Bond said and replaced the receiver on the phone.
Moneypenny was on the phone when Bond stepped into her office. She waved him on into M's office. The light above the door was not lit; no major crisis was at hand. When lit, the red light served to remind those entering the office that they might hear or see sensitive information that was not meant to leave that office.
Bond knocked on the closed door.
"Come," said a female voice from inside the office.
Bond turned the knob and pushed the door open. The office was no longer decorated in the dark hardwoods and nautical motif of the former occupant. Now, it looked like any other career bureaucrat's office.
Bond closed the door behind him. The older woman behind the large desk looked up and acknowledged his presence with a nod.
He took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk and waited patiently for the steel-haired woman to finish reading the memo in her hand.
"James," she said when she finished. She used his Christian name, not his official code designation. This meant that whatever chore she had for him didn't involve national security or a world-threatening crisis.
M handed him the memo she had just read. As she did so, Bond noticed the Royal crest on the letterhead. It was from Her Majesty. A closer look proved the point; the Queen's diminutive and feminine signature was affixed at the bottom of the document.
"You've heard about the auction in New York to benefit the Princess Diana Charities?"
"Yes."
"Well, we want to make sure it goes off without any difficulties," M explained. "After the Princess's death last summer, the Crown is obviously sensitive to problems that might occur."
Bond nodded.
M continued, "One of the auction items is a gemstone, called 'the Lion's Soul'. This gem comes from the Princess's private collection. Prince William specifically asked that it be donated in honor of his mother. There has already been one robbery attempt."
"Yes," Bond said. "I read the report. One of those costumed 'super- criminals' the Americans seem so plagued with."
M nodded. "Your job, 007, will be to prevent any further attempts until after the Charities has auctioned it."
M had finally used his Double-O designation. That meant this was considered a serious mission after all. Not exactly the type of thing they usually called Bond out for, but serious nevertheless.
"Yes, ma'am," Bond responded. "And if it's stolen after the auction?"
"Then that will be the American's problem. We're only worried about it until then."
M went back to reading from the large pile of documents on her desk. Bond took this as his clue to be dismissed.
He went outside the office and stopped at Moneypenny's desk. "Penny, do you have anything for me?"
"Why, James, is that another of your lame come-ons?" Moneypenny teased.
"Lame?" Bond questioned, pretending to be offended.
"Well, actually, I do have the folder on the Princess Diana Charities and the New York auction." She handed him two folders. He glanced through them quickly. He saw that the auction was being held by Sotheby's, an auction house renowned for handling such events. They had previously held the auction for Andy Warhol's estate, as well as that of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.
"You know, Penny, you could accompany me to New York. It's strictly a diplomatic mission this time. Not a chance of any danger."
"Oh, James, you promise and promise..." She sighed. "But some of us have real work to do."
"'Real work'?" Bond asked.
"We can't all be jet-setting around the world on the company dole," Penny said.
"Last chance, Penny?"
"No thanks, James. She has way too much for me to do," Moneypenny said, nodding toward M's office. "You will take good care of yourself?"
"I never get into any trouble," Bond said, trying to look innocent.
"I know very well what you 'get into'" she retorted.
Bond smiled and gave the boss's secretary a quick kiss.
"Be sure to read those reports," Moneypenny said. "And stop by Q Branch!" she called after Bond as he sauntered down the hall.
Q Branch was located in an isolated sub-basement of the building. Technically it was the armory for the SIS. Bond liked to think of it as his personal toy store.
As he walked through the door, a tall, thin man with a wild head of white hair looked up at the noise and walked toward Bond. He was Major Boothroyd, SIS' Armourer and head of Q Branch. "Good to see you, 007," the Major said.
"Major," Bond said, nodding slightly.
"I understand you're currently engaged in a...well..., more diplomatic mission than normal."
Bond didn't answer. He missed the excitement of his 'normal' missions.
"Oh, well, yes," the Boothroyd said. He walked over to a table. "Considering your proclivity for getting into trouble, even on diplomatic missions, we want to make sure you're fully equipped."
"Why does everyone around here think I get into trouble?" Bond asked. He didn't get into any more "trouble" than any of the other Double-Os. All of the agents in that elite category tended to work on only the most sensitive and dangerous missions.
The Major ignored Bond's question and handed Bond a small rectangular box.
Bond turned it over in his hands and found a small catch. A cover swung up, revealing a small computer screen. It was one of those newfangled "personal digital assistants." "I've never been much for computers," Bond said.
"This is one of the new Palm Pilot personal computers," the Major explained. "All the top executives in America use them to track their appointments."
"I thought that was why I had a personal assistant?" Bond said, thinking about the young Ms Helena Marksbury, his secretary, nee personal assistant in the new "politically correct" terminology.
Boothroyd took the device from Bond with a huff. "Pay attention, 007, this could save your life someday."
Boothroyd slide the small plastic stylus from the side of the device. He showed Bond how to use the small computer. The stylus allowed the user to write directly on the surface of the screen. Whatever was written was either translated into text or was captured as "digital ink." Bond decided the gadget might be useful after all for jotting down codes and various notes, or even a young lady's telephone number.
"Unlike the standard commercial version, we've added some nice features," Boothroyd explained. He showed Bond a specific page on the electronic screen. The appointment said "Meet Bob for Lunch."
"Go to this appointment, and use the stylus to enter this code," Boothroyd explained. After entering a complex code, the screen on the gadget changed from an appointment to a GPS display. "We've built in a military quality Global Positioning System receiver. It will tell your correct position to within 20 to 30 meters."
Bond nodded.
"You'll never get lost again, 007. This GPS is also tied to a world wide atlas," the Major explained, touching the icon on the screen that looked like a tiny globe. A map of the surrounding area was quickly displayed on the screen. Although the size of the screen was a hindrance, Bond saw that you could easily scroll the map with the stylus.
"I never get lost," Bond exclaimed.
The Major then turned the device over and unfastened the cover from the battery compartment. Inside the battery compartment was a tiny wire latch. Boothroyd showed Bond how to trip the latch. A tiny window on the backside of the device became visible.
"There's a camera built in," the major said.
Boothroyd held the Palm Pilot about a foot above the surface of a work table. A newspaper was resting on the table. Boothroyd then took the stylus and touched the notepad icon once and the magnifying glass icon (for the "Find" function) twice.
"Wait three seconds," the major said. He waited. His lips trembled slightly as he counted to himself. He then showed the tiny screen of the device to Bond. An image of the newspaper print was on the screen.
"The image is stored in memory. The camera is fixed focus, from about one foot out up. You can take a picture of anything, but if you take an image of text, you can read it later. There's even an optical character recognition program built in," Boothroyd explained. "Once the text is captured, it can be translated into other languages or even encrypted or decrypted."
Boothroyd then touched the envelope icon. "And this is the e-mail program. You can send anyone at SIS a secure message. We can also send you messages. You never know when we might have to order you home, 007."
"But I don't have to *read* the messages," Bond pointed out.
He took the device from the Armourer, closed it up, and slide it into his inside suit pocket. "Anything else?"
"Well, yes." Boothroyd next handed Bond a pen. It looked like a standard ballpoint pen, if a bit thicker than usual.
The Armourer took the pen and clicked it once. The writing point of the pen appeared. He clicked it again and a felt-tip marker appeared.
"Just the thing for highlighting the good parts of 'Lady Chatterly's Lover'," Bond quipped.
"Get your mind out of the gutter, 007," Major Boothroyd warned. "When you have the marker extended, you can twist the top clockwise to ignite a chemically powered laser. It'll only last for about 15 seconds, and can only be used once. But you might find it helpful." He clicked the pen again to retract the marker tip and gave it back to Bond.
"Oh, and did you ever get me that new Walther?" Bond asked.
"We've been trying to get you to stop using that PPK for years and now we can't get you to stop bugging me about the P99," the Major exclaimed.
Bond shrugged.
"No, 007, we haven't cleared the P99 for service yet. I can get you a very nice Glock..."
"No thanks," Bond said, cutting the older man off.
"The Glock is cleared for service and works very similar to the P99," Boothroyd explained. "And I can equip you with a Glock model in any caliber from 9mm short to .45."
Bond patted the side of his suit jacket, under his left arm, where the PPK rested in its shoulder harness. "Thanks, but I'll stick to what I know. The Glock is just too fat."
Boothroyd wanted to explain that the smaller model Glocks were smaller than the new Walther model, but knew that Bond's mind couldn't be changed. In his many years in the Service, the Major had dealt with the various peculiarities of each of the Double-Os. Bond was about as stubborn as anyone could get where his weapon was concerned.
"Have it your way, 007." The Armourer threw up his hands in mock defeat
Bond was on a British Airways flight to New York before evening fell. The plane was flying west via a circular route over Iceland and Greenland, and actually kept pace with the sun. It was nearly the same local time in New York upon arrival that it had been in London upon departure.
Usually when he traveled, Bond used various aliases to cover his covert missions. This time, however, he was traveling as himself. He used his diplomatic and law enforcement credentials to bypass the normal Immigration inspection. As soon as he flashed his credentials, the Federal agents and airport police manning the security checkpoint treated him as one of their own.
A quick cab ride into Manhattan and his trip was over.
Bond settled into the Four Seasons hotel. The SIS Chief of Staff, Bill Tanner, had balked when Bond had requested the hotel. But Tanner had acquiesced to keep one of his top agents happy. After all, Bond did not much like being what amounted to a glorified security guard on this mission.
The hotel was on East 57th Street, between Park Avenue and Madison Avenue. It was the tallest hotel in New York City, with a total of 52 floors. Bond's room on the 20th floor had a splendid view of Central Park to the northwest.
Anticipating a long, but tedious day ahead, Bond dined in the hotel's excellent 5757 restaurant and prepared to turn in for the night.
Before slipping into bed, Bond took out his PPK and cleaned it. It wasn't dirty and hadn't been fired in several days. He'd last used it during weekly firearms practice several days ago. He'd cleaned it after the practice session.
He cleaned the gun now because it was a ritual. A way of calming himself and focusing on his job, regardless of how boring he felt it was.
In fact, this mission had no call for a weapon. But Bond knew from long experience that every mission could change at a moment's notice. And he preferred to be prepared for anything. Besides, he felt naked without the PPK tucked under his arm.
On the trip across the Atlantic, the weapon had ridden undetected in an x- ray proof hidden compartment inside his briefcase. After exiting the plane and moving through Customs, Bond had put on the shoulder harness and transferred the gun to its rightful place.
He slid the Walther PPK from his shoulder harness. He laid a towel out on the desktop of small desk beside the bed and placed the gun on top of the towel. He then retrieved a small plastic brush, a gun rag, and a small squeeze bottle of gun oil from the hidden compartment of his briefcase.
The PPK was a small weapon. It fit neatly in Bond's hands; almost to the point of being partially hidden in his large hands. Bond's weapon was the stainless steel version of the gun. It fired 7.65 mm cartridges. In the United States, this particular round was called the .32 automatic.
As an agent for the United Kingdom's Secret Intelligence Service Bond had his choice of any standard handgun. He preferred the small Walther and its "anemic" bullet for one reason. It was easy to hide and could be carried almost anywhere. Bond's job called for him to occasionally kill people, if necessary, for national defense. In those instances, he preferred to kill close up. The small caliber was well suited for this. The gun was concealable and even a tiny .22 could kill when the muzzle of the gun was pressed firmly to the victim's skill.
Pressing the magazine release button on the left-hand side of the gun, right behind the trigger, Bond ejected the seven-round magazine. He laid it down on the towel. Normally, the PPK used magazines with small plastic grip extensions on the end. These extensions made the grip of the gun about one quarter inch longer. Bond preferred the smaller size of the gun without the magazine extensions.
He then pulled the slide back and ejected the single round in the chamber. It fell to the desktop and Bond laid it aside.
Bond used Teflon-coated, armor-piercing rounds. Contrary to popular opinion, the Teflon coating was not what made the round so deadly.
The Teflon only helped lubricate the bullet as it passed through the barrel. What made this round so deadly was that the bullet was made from brass and not the normal lead. Lead was soft and would deform when it penetrated. The harder brass, the same material used for the shell of the round, deformed less when fired through a tire or windshield, or though a "bullet-proof" vest. Granted, the .32 was low-powered and wasn't the first choice for taking out someone through body armor, but using the armor- piercing rounds helped.
With the slide pulled back, Bond then looked in the chamber. Although he knew the round that was just in the gun was out, he always practiced thorough gun safety. More than anyone, he knew just what sort of harm a gun could do.
He then slide a finger into the trigger guard and pulled down. The front edge of the trigger guard slipped down out of the frame of the gun. Using the forefinger of his other hand, he pushed the trigger guard slightly to the side and held it there.
Using his free hand, he then pulled back on the slide. The slide moved back further than normal with the block formed by the top of the trigger guard gone. He then tipped the back of the slide up and it came clear of the frame rails.
Moving the slide forward removed it entirely from the frame; leaving the barrel exposed at the top front of the frame. A stout coil spring, the recoil spring, circled the barrel.
First, he used the brush through the barrel. Then, he wiped the entire gun and its various exposed internal parts clean with the gun rag. Solvent wasn't necessary; the gun was already clean. He then applied a tiny amount of oil on the sliding portions of the frame and slide and reassembled the gun.
The "cleaning" complete, Bond placed the magazine in the gun and pulled back the slide to chamber a round. He then ejected the magazine and topped it off with the round that had previously been in the gun's chamber. The magazine held seven rounds. With a round in the chamber and seven in the magazine, he had a total of eight rounds of fire before needing to change magazines. In Bond's hands, eight rounds was enough to take out six or maybe even seven men at close range. If only some larger men didn't require two rounds, a "double-tap," he'd probably be able to off a full eight men at distances less than 15 yards.
Bond seldom missed what he aimed for.
He then slid the magazine into the gun. On the back of the slide, on the left side, was a small lever. The level moved in a 90-degree arc, from horizontal with the slide to vertical. Right now, the lever was horizontal. A large red dot indicated that the gun was ready to fire.
Bond was careful to keep his fingers from anywhere near the trigger. He placed his thumb on the lever at the back of the slide and moved it down to the vertical position. His did two things: it placed the gun on "safety" and "decocked" the hammer without firing the gun. With the safety on, the trigger could be pulled without firing the gun.
He placed the gun back in the shoulder harness and replaced the cleaning supplies in the hidden compartment of the briefcase.
This done, Bond removed his clothes and climbed into the large king-sized bed.
Tomorrow he'd be reviewing the security at the auction house. He would be reviewing all of the security systems, as well as the personnel involved. His last thought before drifting into slumber was: Hope I don't run into any of those costumed American crazies.