"X, I presume?"
The traditionally polite English voice broke through the ambient noise of the Parisian resturant, interrupting Xander Cage's musings on his latest assignment.
"Yeah, that's me" he answered without looking up. "Actually, I prefer Triple X," he continued, "but everyone says it makes me sound like a porn flick…" Xander chuckled. It was a cheap gag, he knew, but it was his and he still got a giggle out of it.
"Indeed," Replied the anonymous Englishman. "And certainly 'Mr X' is, by far, too cliché."
Xander laughed in spite of himself, he'd never heard that one before. He turned to appraise his newly arrived companion.
The man was tall, dark haired, well built without being stocky and dressed in an impeccable grey Armani with matching Italian leathers.
"Bond." said the Englishman, holding a manicured hand out towards X. "James Bond." He continued. "M assured me I'd know you when I saw you."
Xander shook the proffered hand.
"Might I join you?" Bond asked politely, indicating the empty chair opposite Xander.
"Sure, man. Go right ahead." Cage nodded. "We're supposed to hook-up right!" X chuckled again.
As he rounded the café table to the unoccupied seat, Bond moved with a certain self-assured grace and elegance, not the cocky swagger X was used to seeing in the States.
As he made himself comfortable, Xander noted the numerous and highly visible differences between them;
The Englishman was obviously cultured, his bearing and manners were evidence of that, whereas Xander's idea of culture was a trip to the local Jazz Bar for a beer.
Bond was dressed in high end men's couture; Xander slouched in an oversized, fur-lined jacket, with a sleeveless Tee and faded fatigues beneath.
Bond stepped lightly in his Italian leather; Xander trod soundly in his heavy black boots.
Visually, he thought, it would be hard to find two people with less in common than the two of them, yet here they were; brought together by their less visible similarities.
X knew, through the information funnelled to him by the NSA, that Bond was MI-6's go-to guy. He'd been in the game since before Xander was born, and was widely regarded as the best in the business. As far as X knew, he'd never even been seriously injured in an world where retirement usually meant you were dead. The guy was a legend. And now, he and X were supposed to join forces and take down a new type of bad-ass, some sort of cyber-terrorist.
Life didn't get much better than this, Xander thought to himself.
"Something I should know about?" inquired Bond, having seen the self-satisfied grin on Xander's face.
"Huh, oh, no, nothing, just amped about this gig is all." Cage explained. "I've only been with the Agency two years and here I am teamin' up with the best there is. It's a real rush."
Cage realised that he was star-struck by the man sitting opposite him, a new experience for the underground hero and cult superstar. One he was relishing.
Being Xander Cage meant that he was usually the star attraction, with action-sports fans tripping over themselves to speak to him. Now the roles were reversed.
But the more he thought about it, the more something didn't seem quite right.
"So then" said Bond. "Should we get down to business?"
"Yeah, sure, in just one second." said Cage, peering suspiciously at the man before him. "There's something I think I wanna ask you"
"Certainly" was Bonds unfazed reply. "Go right ahead" he gazed serenely back at Cage.
"How old are you, man?" Cage's mind was racing. "My file on you says you iced Dr No in '62…I was born in '67…OK, no problem so far…I'm 38, immature for my age, I'll admit…but you, man…you're like, what?...45…50 tops. Either you been doin' this since you were seven or something hinky's goin' on!"
Instead of the panic Cage expected to see in the eyes of his counterpart, there was nothing but calm, a cool appraisal hinting at respect.
"I'm impressed X" said Bond after a moment "I've worked with much more experienced Agents who haven't noticed that little flaw in the story."
"So you admit it?" Said Xander, surreptitiously raising the pistol he held hidden in the pocket of his coat to point, under the table, at the man across from him.
"Admit what?" asked the Englishman innocently, a playful glint in his eye.
"You admit you're not James Bond" countered Cage. "Don't play with me, man. Who are you?"
"Oh, but I am James Bond. As much as any man ever could be. I will admit, however, that 'James Bond' is not the name I was born with" said the mysterious man.
"So who the hell are you, then?" asked Cage again. "Answer the question or I swear to Elvis I'll cap you right now. I don't play games, buddy, I play hard." Cage's usual rough-velvet voice had taken on a decidedly steely edge.
"The name I was given by my parents is of no consequence any longer, X. That man is dead. What matters is who I am now. Right now, you're sitting across the table from James Bond. The Fifth."
"Wha? You'd better start makin' some sense, man, before I lose my famous cool" Cage felt the tension in his gun arm building.
"Very well, have it your way." Bond sighed. "X, you're about to hear something that only a handful of people outside MI-6 know. And I'm not telling you because of the gun you have under the table, so you might as well stop playing with it." Bond's voice had become flat, business-like, the polite Englishman disappearing in the space of a single breath. "I'm telling you because you have the sense enough to be concerned about a minor inconsistency. One many others in this game have missed. For that, and that alone, I think you should know."
"I don't need to tell you that this is in the strictest confidence." Bond fixed Cage with a gaze like a laser. "Should this information be leaked, I will most likely die, and MI-6 will ensure that you do. Do you understand?"
Cage nodded slowly, not at all sure he wanted any part of what was about to happen.
"I am the fifth 007, the fifth James Bond, to serve in Her Majesty's Secret Service. The name is fictitious. There never was a real James Bond. It's a character. An identity granted to MI-6's top operative in the event that the serving James Bond should die. I am the fifth agent to assume the title. My four predecessors are dead. I hope not to join them for some time. Does this satisfy your concern, Mr X?"
Cage was speechless. Long moments passed as Xander processed this new intel, comparing it to the information he new by heart from Bond's file, building a more accurate picture of James Bond and the inner workings of MI-6.
"Mr Cage, are you still with me?" Bond asked, leaning towards the table.
Xander's mind was racing at the revelation, but, again, something peculiar about the man opposite him tugged at his thoughts. Then, like a kick in the balls, it struck him, and made him feel sick to his stomach: Mr Cage!
Nobody outside the NSA was supposed to know of the connection with Xander Cage the extremist and Agent xXx.
"How do you know who I am?" Cage asked. The icy calm he felt before an extreme stunt had fallen over him. This conversation was turning out to be an action-sport of its own.
"Well Mr Cage, it's really quite simple. You might assume that I'm not really a fan of the extreme-sports craze, and you'd be right. My lifestyle makes it all rather obsolete. But I do make it my business to be well versed in the world's current affairs. And you must admit, yours is not a face unknown in the spotlight, nor is it one easily forgotten.
Be that as it may, Mr Cage, that is not the reason I know who you are. I am also well briefed on all the pertinent facts about any new agents that MI-6 is looking to recruit. Especially when it is me they are slated to supersede."
Cage blinked in surprise. He realised, inconsequentially, that never in his life had he been so violently stunned three times in one day, much less in one conversation.
"Please Mr Cage. If you continue to lose your focus so readily, I may need to recommend that M review her plans for you."
"Plans?" Xander tried to gather his mental forces. "What plans?"
"For you to become the sixth James Bond, Mr Cage. Really, I thought it was all rather self-evident. M wanted this meeting for me take your measure as an agent and report back to her with my counsel on the matter. Standard operational procedure, although I will admit you are the first ever agent considered for the Bond program who wasn't already serving with MI-6."
"So this" Cage indicated their surroundings "is all because M wanted for you to meet me?" Cage narrowed his eyes. "There's no cyber-terrorist is there?"
"No, there is no cyber-terrorist, Mr Cage." Bond conceded. "We couldn't in good concience ask the NSA to send their new pet project to Paris to be poached from them, could we?"
"No I guess not" Cage smiled. This day was just getting stranger and stranger. And he was loving every second of it.
"Shall we order then?" Bond asked, turning to signal the maitre'd. "I do hope you drink Martinis, Mr Cage"