Chapter Three

"Scottish Negotiations"

Bond and Hunt stood outside a huge brick building in Berlin. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, feeling the sturdy security of the gun at his side. But when Devon saw him do this, she frowned. Reaching over before he could protest, she grabbed the gun and threw it into a nearby Dumpster.

"What did you do that for?" he demanded.

"You think we'll get ten steps into the building if you're packing heat? Don't underestimate Geoff Morgan, Bond. He's an expert and doesn't need to know twenty kinds of jiu-jitsu to kick your ass."

James, put properly in his place, frowned and followed her inside. Once three steps in the door, they were both frisked and led to an office on the third floor. As they stood outside an intricately carved door, Devon sighed and turned to him.

"Alright. Last warning: in the name of God, don't open your mouth unless he talks to you, alright? I know you might have been trained to be the offensive in all situations, but this is different. You rub him the wrong way, and we're both dead."

Bond tried to get a word out, but she hissed and put a finger to her lips.

"Come in," someone demanded in a thick Scottish accent.

She opened the door and they both stepped into a richly furnished office. A man, probably in his late twenties, sat behind a large desk. He had ear-length, wavy black hair and dark, expressive but cold eyes. His hands were clasped together in front of him and a smirk played on his lips.

"Devon Hunt," he commented when he saw her face. "Knew you'd find some loophole to get you out of there."

She sighed with a grin. "Can't surprise you."

"Never."

She gestured to James as he stood, looking almost sullen. "This is-…"

"Christian Donovan," he interrupted. She shot him a surprised and worried look, but he gave her the Don't-tell-him-who-I-really-am glare.

"Donovan," she finished.

"Well," Morgan began, stepping out of his deep leather chair to walk around and inspect Bond. He looked him up and down, getting a feel for his character. "Mr. Donovan here has the air of a military man. Good physical build; carries himself proudly. I also noticed before you two entered that he happened to be carrying a light pistol, which you so intelligently relieved him of, Devon. Wouldn't have wanted a scene, would we?" he asked with a grin.

"No," she responded, giving Bond a sideways glance and proving Morgan wasn't a man to mess with.

Morgan leaned on his desk and folded his arms. "Well, I expect you aren't here to talk about the weather. What do you need, and what are you offering?"

Devon pulled out a piece of paper with some script and some figures on it. "This is what we're after. And those are the compared prices I can get it for from some of your competitors. However, I'm willing to offer a bit more, just to keep good relationships up with my regular dealer."

He chuckled. 'How much more?"

"Seven grand."

"American? You're gonna have to do better than that. I couldn't see this for less than at least eighty-five hundred."

"Seventy-five."

"Eight-twenty-five."

"Eight even."

"Done." He slapped the piece of paper down on his desk and grinned, showing off a set of gorgeous teeth. "I'll get it to you in a few minutes. Lemme see where it is." As he picked up the receiver of the phone next to his desk, he shot Bond a look. "I have a few things to go over with you, Devon," he commented. "So if your friend could step outside a moment…"

"Yeah." She grabbed James' upper arm and pulled him from the room in spite of his struggles. Once they were outside, he whispered furiously.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded. "If he's got anything to say, he can say it in front of both of us!"

"Will you shut up?" she snapped, also very low in volume. "Get it through your head that on this turf, we are not equals. He trusts me more than you. Now sit out here like a good boy or we are both screwed."

She left him there and went back inside, almost closing the door but accidentally leaving it just a crack open. James took full advantage of this mistake and casually placing his ear next to the crack while he tried to peer through the frosted glass that lined the doorway.

"Just why are you in such urgent need of this program, Devon?" Morgan's voice and fuzzy figure asked as he hung up.

"Got a new project and I have to track someone down through a ghost trail," she responded. Bond had half a mind to yell at her later for telling anyone else. Rule number one when it came to missions: never reveal anything about them to other parties!

"Oh. And the fact that you're working with some Nancy-boy from M16 has nothing to do with it?" he laughed back. Bond's eyes lit up in surprise. So he had known?

"Not enough that you need to know."

"So now I'm just the middle-man?" Morgan responded, moving closer. "You'd cut me out of some prime information? Dev, I thought we were better than that."

Bond saw her look away. "No, Geoff. It's purely professional now. Don't you understand? If anyone knew I was still coming around here when I could just as easily get cheaper stuff from someone else…they'd start talking."

"So why don't we give them something to talk about?" he asked, just before pulling her in for a long, passionate kiss.

James almost choked, giving away the fact that he was eavesdropping on the whole scene. He pulled away from the door, deeply offended that she'd left out that little detail of her knowing this man.

He heard them move apart and someone came over to the door, at which time said door was pulled open and Devon emerged, holding a package. She motioned for Bond to follow her, and they left the building in stony silence.