A/N: Apologies in advance for the technological discrepancies, I invented the device Ashleigh uses as I needed something that would conceal who she was while online… if it's not accurate, or technically possible, or if something similar already exists I do apologise for my lack of knowledge and general laziness for not bothering to research such matters. It was far too sunny today to do anything like that.
Also apologies for not being able to show the name of the foundation that Elliot runs, I do have the Russian name for it, but unfortunately not the font on this computer to include it.
*
Ashleigh reached for the case that contained her laptop, all the while muttering under her breath. She knew it was unprofessional, but her fury at James riled her, and for the moment it didn't matter if she reverted back to a moody teenager, there was no one to hear her as she connected all the necessary cables to the slim silver pocketbook. She had loved James when she was growing up, her glamourous godfather who occasionally materialised out of thin air to take her to shows, to drive her around in sleek open top cars and brought her perfect presents for a girl on the edge of womanhood. It hadn't made up for not having her parents around, but with a highly artistic temperamental grandmother and a jet setting godfather her adolescence had at least been entertaining.
But since her admission to MI6, and her rapid progression through the ranks, their relationship had suffered. It had been a huge shock for Ashleigh, discovering who her father and godfather really were, their secret lives as 007 and 009. She longed to follow in their footsteps and had seen this case as an opportunity to further her career. Now it seemed that James was determined to keep her in the dark at every opportunity, she supposed she should be grateful that he had finally admitted to her who they were after. It was a pity that it was only after her defiant behaviour that he had done so. She suppressed a shudder as she remembered the events of the night before. Her head began to pound once more, and she viciously plugged the adaptor into the machine, pushing the memories away. Now was not the time for a persuasive Alec to creep into her mind.
Booting up the laptop, she added the final cable, a small scrambler that would block her IP from being revealed, and secondly allow her into access into protected sites. The small device would also act like a code breaker working through thousands of passwords and encryption codes to find one that would provide Ashleigh with access. Standard MI6 issue nowadays, she said a small thanks to Q and headed onto the secure MI6 channels.
A quick search on Caleb Deronda revealed that precious little was known about him, the Deronda syndicate was a well known underground group operating across the west of Russia, and it were thought that the headquarters was in St. Petersburg, and that he had been operating from their for some time. Sighing, she settled into the chair, and resigned herself to a long futile search.
*
Dmitrov glanced sideways at the man that drove in a fury through the busy streets of St. Petersburg. As they rounded a corner in fourth gear, the Russian grabbed onto the dashboard to prevent himself from flying into the door. The man was angry, he could tell that, but he did not know why, and he wasn't about to cross the levels of professional boundaries to ask why. However if the risk of dying in this car was increased any time soon he was going to bite the bullet and ask.
James was in fact more than angry, he was furious, and it was taking all his self control not to drive into the nearest wall just to feel the vicious crunch as the bonnet would crease, to feel the satisfying thud of his head bouncing off the glass windscreen, welcoming the blessed blackness that the impact would bring. It was unlike James to think this way, but he was consumed by the anger that burned white hot inside him. And all of it was directed at Alec.
Alec was alive. The thought pounded around his head. How the hell could he have survived that fall, the satellite crashing down upon him? And Ashleigh, how could she have betrayed him in that way? Falling into bed with him at the first opportunity she had. Alec had magnetism alright, but it didn't explain why Ashleigh was attracted to him, Christ Alec was only a few years younger than himself. Alec was alive, and Ashleigh had slept with him, taunting him with that information. He knew it had been a mistake to allow M to pair them up, he should have recommended that he be assigned else where.
'You are angry with her?' Dmitrov finally ventured, wincing as they nearly collided head on with a taxi.
'No.' The teeth were gritted though, and Bond was determined not to answer any more questions. He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in the case, and to never have to think of Trevelyan again.
'Who is he? Janus?'
'I would have thought that the Russian spy network would at least be able to work that one out.'
Dmitrov ignored the jibe. 'To you? Who is Janus to you?'
'An old friend.'
'And you are angry at Ashleigh?' Missing the sarcasm in the other man's voice, Dmitrov had already decided that the British Secret Service was far too incestuous for its own good. 'Because she slept with your friend?'
'He is not my friend.' James's voice had reverted back to the icy cold tone that could rival the freezing wind that blew straight into the city from the sea. 'He is a traitor, a liar, a thief, and an enemy that will stop at nothing to destroy me. And up until an hour ago, I was convinced that he was dead. I knew he was dead, because I killed him.'
There seemed to be little that Dmitrov could say to that. He decided to cling to the door instead and pray that they reached the docks safely.
The call had come through that morning to Dmitrov, what appeared to be a body floating in the docks… what warranted Dmitrov's and Bond's investigation was that the body appeared to have been dead for some time, and also matched the description of the missing agent. As they arrived they could already see a crowd gathering around the cordoned off area.
They fought their way through the mass of people, and peered down into the slate grey water. The waves had been whipped into an icy swirl by the same wind that ruffled Bond's dark hair. Two divers were in the water, struggling to contain the body that was floating face down in the bay, buffeted by the breaking waves. Even through the masks of the divers it was clear they would rather be anywhere else than in this water. They heaved and kicked their way back to the edge, where three officers helped to drag the deceased man up over the high wall.
As they headed for where the body had been laid out, a hand reached out, and caught James by the cuff of his overcoat. Turning, he found himself faced with an attractive blonde woman. Never one to turn away from a pretty woman, even when in his blackest moods, he met her startling aquamarine eyes.
'Excuse me,' she spoke in English, without a trace of an accent, although her heavy coat and fur hut suggested she was up to date with the latest fashions in Russia. She smiled at him, although it didn't reach her eyes, which were anxiously peering at him through her blonde hair. 'Could you tell me what is happening please?' She shot a look to where the body had been covered by a dark grey blanket.
James paused, unsure what to say, but wanting to relieve her anxiety. 'A body has been found in the port, that's all that I can tell you.'
'That's perfectly obvious,' she glanced once more in the direction of the body then as a thought seemed to occur to her, she clapped a hand over her mouth. 'Oh god. It's Gregory Fraser, isn't it?'
'Why would you say that?' James narrowed his eyes and stepped in closer to her, 'And how do you know Fraser?'
She glanced round as if making sure no one was listening, leaning into James she whispered, 'I met him some time ago, we had dinner a few times, but then he vanished, I haven't been able to get in contact with him.'
'What else can you tell me about him?' James met her equally quiet tone, hoping to get more information from her, 'I'm a friend….'
'Bond!' Dmitrov interrupted, 'They are ready for us.' A quick flash of a badge and Dmitrov had secured access to the body, and he was impatient to get to the body.
'In a minute,' Bond turned, annoyed by the interruption, a quick flick of his head towards the other man, before he faced the woman once more. But those few seconds had been all she had needed, and she had vanished into thin air, nowhere to be seen. Disturbed he peered over the heads of those gathered, hoping to see her moving through the masses, but there was no sign of her.
*
Ashleigh's search was getting nowhere. Leaning over she picked up her bottle of water and sipped, rubbing her tired eyes. She had no idea how long she had been sitting in front of the laptop, but her stomach was growling at her insisting that she got something to eat. Fifteen more minutes and she would venture outside to find a snack.
So far nothing had turned up; all she had was a selection of surveillance photos, and the briefest of files on Deronda. The man was a walking enigma. She tapped her fingers on the edge of the table as she waited for yet another file to download. It was another picture, but suddenly she sat forward, this one was different, Deronda had company this time….
Quickly she highlighted the woman's face and began a search through the files for her identity. A detailed synopsis was soon pulled up. A successful business woman and a campaigner for 'good causes'. Grabbing a pen, Ashleigh scribbled down a few details and grabbed her coat.
*
Bond knelt next to the now covered body, pressing a handkerchief to his nose and mouth. The stench was awful, the body in some state of decomposition. Dmitrov gazed down impassively, waiting for Bond. With a swift movement he pulled the blanket back, and the stench assaulted them with a fresh stronger attempt.
It had been clear that Fraser had been dead for some time, and his body submerged for God knows how long. Bond took in the single, now puckered and dimpled gunshot wound to the head, and decided that that might be the clue that Fraser had been murdered. He had known the dead agent for some time, never socially, rarely seeing him within the Service, Fraser was one of the foreign boys, and had been linked with Russia only recently. An arrogant pompous prick was how Bond recalled him, with a penchant for blazers and overly large cufflinks. Thought he was rather debonair by all accounts, and had a way with the ladies. Bond had seen agents like that come and go, and here was another dead one. Stupid bastard had gotten himself killed on a case, and it was up to Bond to find out why. There was no denying it was him, the navy blazer, the old school tie, with the flashy tie clip, Bond could have recognised him by these even if the body had decayed further. Unfortunately the swarthy fleshy face was still recognisable, even if it did have a slightly…nibbled look about it.
'It's Fraser?' Dmitrov asked, lighting another cigarette.
'Without a doubt.' Bond stood, once more glancing around at the crowd in the vain hope he might spot the mystery blonde.
'And now we find who killed him?'
'Now we find who killed him.' Bond agreed grimly. 'You know Vasili, if I didn't know better; I'd say you've done this before.'
Dmitrov grinned and followed the broad back of the English spy as he weaved his way through the crowd once more.
*
The weather outside had not improved, if anything it had worsened. The cab driver peered through the brief glimpses of the road provided by the sweep of the windscreen wipers and hoped for the best. The thick snow was falling heavily, and more had been forecast. It wouldn't last long, the salt in the air would help to melt it but it was a nuisance until then.
'Is there any chance you could hurry up?' Ashleigh leaned forward, 'I must make it to the business district before it closes.'
The driver muttered something about going as quick as he could, but at least it prompted him to jerk into another faster moving lane. Ashleigh leaned back in her seat and glanced down at herself, her dark wool coat over her shirt and trousers were definitely appropriate enough for this trip. It just needed the right attitude to work.
At Elliot Enterprises Rebekah was bored. Ms. Elliot had been out of the office all day, and all Rebekah had been doing was diverting her calls, and typing up letters and faxes. She glanced at the clock above the door; there was an hour before she could leave. She sighed and went back to readjusting the paperwork behind the large modern semi circular desk. Nearby the floor to ceiling oak doors of Ms. Elliot's office remained firmly shut.
The ping of the lift therefore startled her, and as the doors slid open she grabbed a file and a pen and looked busy. She glanced up at the woman who walked from the small mirrored lift, well dressed in an expensive looking coat, and high heeled leather boots. Her dark hair was well cut, and she strode confidently towards the desk.
'I have an appointment with Ms. Elliot,' she announced in good Russian.
'Ms. Elliot does not have any appointments this afternoon.' Rebekah replied sulkily, barely looking up from the file.
'Ms. Elliot contacted me personally, and arranged the meeting herself. Now if you will tell her that Elizabeth Vaughn has arrived please.'
'Ms. Elliot did not inform me of any such meeting, Miss Vaughn,' the receptionist struggled slightly over the name. 'And she is not in her office to receive you.'
'There must be some mistake.' The Vaughn woman was politely insistent, but there was a steel edge to her voice.
'There is no mistake.' Rebekah despised her job enough without arrogant foreign business women adding to it. She once more opened the file and studiously ignored the dark haired woman.
Ashleigh was having fun. Leaning over the desk she tugged the file firmly from the other woman's hands. 'I've travelled a long way for this meeting, and I want to know why Ms. Elliot is unavailable. I'm meant to discuss a rather large account with her, and if I do not get an explanation soon, I'm going to get back into that lift and take the account to your nearest rivals. I'm sure Ms. Elliot would be upset to lose such valuable business as my company's.'
Rebekah knew she was beaten. If this woman walked away and such an important account was lost, and it was traced back to her, well, she'd lose her job, and despite hating it, that was the last thing she wanted. With a lethal glare at Miss Vaughn she got slowly to her feet. 'I'll see if one of the senior partners is available to talk to you, Miss Vaughn.'
'You do that.' Ashleigh moved over to one of the large navy sofas that were outside the office. 'I'll wait right here for you. And I'd like some coffee while you're at it. Black, no sugar.'
Ashleigh gave a slow sarcastic smile, and watched with a small amount of pleasure as the sullen receptionist stepped into the lift. As the doors closed Ashleigh counted to fifteen, and then leapt to her feet, she didn't have much time.
Like a thief she slunk into the expensive office of Lucinda Elliot, her aim entirely on the computer, impatiently she booted it up, her heart in her mouth, constantly glancing up at the door. She had a matter of minutes. It seemed to take for ever before she was presented with a desktop, and she scanned the list of files eagerly. It was all company related, there had to be something, had to be. Frustrated she clicked on one of the files, to be presented with a request for a password. Damnit. She had expected this, and tugged the small device she had used earlier from her pocket.
The small machine clicked and whirled as it scanned through the many options… this was taking too long… far too long, and Ashleigh began to panic. Please, oh please she begged it silently, the only sound in the room was the device and the agitated tap of the heel of her boot against the wooden floor. Her gloved fingers rested against the keyboard, eager to work. She glanced through the open door towards the lift, and saw that the lift was slowly ascending towards the top floor… this wasn't good. In frustration she yanked the device out of the port and shut down the machine, her fingers fumbling in their anxiety, her heart pounding. There was nothing to be had here from this machine, she could feel a trickle of nervous sweat sliding down between her shoulder blades, and she bit her lip to stop herself from verbally venting her frustration – her knowledge of Russian swearwords had to be heard to be believed. She hurried through the office doors back into the reception area, and as she passed the desk, she froze.
A series of four monitors were built into the desk, and on the top right one the surly secretary could be seen heading towards this floor in the lift with two men – one suited and distinguished looking, the other most definitely a security guard. It seemed the receptionist was a suspicious type. She had to act now, and quickly.
Casting wildly round the room for something that would help her she suddenly saw her escape route and said a silent prayer to whoever it was that was the patron saint of awkward situations. A fire alarm was nearby, and on the other side of the room a fire escape door. Ashleigh pulled the lever… and a horrible wailing filled the room. A quick glance at the monitors confirmed what she had hoped would happen, the lift had stopped at the next floor; Ashleigh could see the guard glancing round in confusion as the doors opened on the wrong floor, and the woman mouthing in anger. Ashleigh smiled; well that was a piece of luck.
Her second piece of luck came moments later; her eyes fell upon an open diary half pushed under a pile of paper work. It appeared to be full of Elliot's engagements, and as if taunting her with its simplicity, Ashleigh suddenly had her connection. With a small cry of triumph she reached for a pen and paper, scribbled down what she needed and headed for the fire escape.
She joined the mass exodus from the building three floors down, keeping her head down, and avoiding eye contact until she made it to the ground floor. A small smile played around her lips, even the horrendous sound of the fire alarm couldn't deter from her pleasure.
It didn't matter that the temperature had dropped even further outside, or that the snow was rapidly turning into churned up slush and ice beneath her boots causing her to slip and slide all over the place, Ashleigh was buoyed up by the feeling that she had finally made a breakthrough and she wanted to bask in it for a while before she had to make the inevitable phonecall. It would have to be done though and so with a martyred look on her face she took out her mobile.
It seemed to ring forever, so much so that Ashleigh began to believe that James wasn't actually going to pick up. With an impatient little sigh she rolled her eyes to heaven and began to mentally curse the pigheaded sod.
Finally there was a click of connection, and a frosty 'Yes?'
She had been expecting coldness, but this was ridiculous. 'I have something. Is the line secure?'
'Of course it is.'
'Is Dmitrov with you?' She politely ignored the scorn in his voice.
'Yes.'
'Ask if there is anything special happening at Mariinsky Theatre tomorrow night.'
Bond knew better than to ask why, there was always method in an agent's madness. He turned to the Russian in the passenger seat. 'What's happening at the Mariinsky tomorrow night?'
'It is one of the biggest events in the year, a charity event, a highly exclusive ballet performance.'
Bond nodded. 'Did you hear that?'
Ashleigh once more felt the satisfaction of everything falling into place. She quietly spoke a single word in Russian.
James's Russian was good, but the term was unfamiliar to him.
'It's the name of the charity that Lucinda Elliot patronises, its her event at the Mariinsky tomorrow, and I think that Deronda will be there.'
'That's a wild leap Ashleigh. Why?'
'You're known for some pretty wild leaps yourself. But this one is grounded in literature. The name of Elliot's charity roughly translates as 'Middlemarch'.
Ashleigh could almost hear James making the same connection as she had, as she knew he would. 'And the author of 'Middlemarch' was George Eliot. Who also wrote 'Daniel Deronda'. It's almost too obvious.' She could hear him getting reading to dismiss it.
'Do you have anything else to work on?' Ashleigh asked softly.
'No,' James admitted, feeling the frustration rise once more at the lack of intelligence they had about the case. 'What does the charity do?'
'I've no idea,' Ashleigh had to confess.
Bond turned once more to Dmitrov who had been quietly listening to the direction that the conversation was taking. Dmitrov nodded, 'I believe its something to do with developing cures for childhood diseases. But there are few links between Deronda and Elliot.'
'But a perfect cover up for creating a biological virus would indeed be a research centre for curing children's diseases.' James felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as the thrill of the chase was realised. 'We're going to the ballet tomorrow night.'
And on the other end of the phone Ashleigh smiled.