Chapter Four

"Timeline"

They had barely returned to the hotel they were staying in when James threw his coat across the room in a huff and gave her a condescending glare.

"You didn't tell me you two had been involved."

She glanced up, surprised, and smirked. "Why, Bond…jealous?"

"Not at all. But it's nice to know about these previous relationships before we start compromising the mission all because of emotions."

"There's no compromising involved here. He just…we missed each other. That's all. Even you'd miss an ex if you'd been locked up for a few years," she commented.

"An ex?"

"It's none of your business. Butt out."

James was shocked. Usually, the women he'd dealt with were willing to talk about past relationships at the drop of a hat. In fact, they often did, even when he didn't bring it up. But she was like a concrete wall; there was no getting through.

"Miss Hunt, I'm afraid it falls under the category of 'withholding information' if you refuse to fill me in on how you know Mr. Morgan," he demanded, half following protocol and half actually interested.

She groaned and reclined on the sofa, rubbing her forehead. "Alright. Jesus, don't get your boxers in a twist.

"Morgan and I met when I had to find someone to outfit my growing operation. I needed electronics and, since I was in Berlin at the time, he was the closest and most reliable. He gave me the 'humor-me-and-you'll-get-a-discount' shtick, so I played the part of his arm candy at the MacGwen's Benefit social dinner where he needed to appear like he had a girlfriend or he'd be caught by the cops or something like that. After that, it's all "upstairs and downstairs and in the lady's chamber", as the story goes," she finished with a coy grin that told James they didn't exactly play pinochle after dates.

It was a moment before he responded. "Well. Alright then. Thank you."

"No problem. In fact, the conversation made me remember what a good poker player he was."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, see, it's this game that's really popular back home in the States, where you bet pieces of your clothes and everybody wins in the end…"

Bond escaped the explanation by retiring to his room, where he undressed and dialed MI6 headquarters. When he'd cleared himself, he demanded to speak to M.

"Yes, James, what is it? I find it hard to believe you've already acquiesced what I sent you there for only last night?" she greeted.

"M, we've got it and it only cost eight thousand. But I have since discovered that maybe it wasn't just coincidence that Hunt picked this 'Morgan' to buy it from."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean she knew him from before. How old did you say she was again?"

"Nineteen. About seven months away from twenty."

"And how long was she in prison?"

"Two and a half years."

"So she must have met him…when she was six- or seventeen."

"Cradle-robbing?"

"In so few words; yes. How would she be in Berlin when she was sixteen to have bought from him? I think there is a huge time gap with Miss Hunt here. Something about her story rings false."

"What do you need?"

"Access to pictures agents have taken at parties. MacGwen's Benefit ring a bell?"

"Actually…yes. I was there myself. We'll link you in a moment…"

The files popped up on Bond's laptop and he thanked his boss and hung up. Clicking the icon, he scrolled through the pictures quickly, trying to get a lead. There was the Prime Minister, a few generals, M looking two years younger, some senators from the U.S., a few African diplomats, and…absolutely nothing with Morgan or Devon.

He sighed and yawned. It was rather late in the wee hours of the morning with jet lag. But maybe he missed something…

Scrolling slower, examining every smiling face in every picture, finally he struck lucky. Behind a picture of a gaudily dressed woman and her tuxedoed youth, there they were, ascending a flight of steps; faces half-turned in giddy laughter. Morgan was wearing his hair slightly longer and curlier. Devon, obviously too young to be there, was looking rather grown-up in a golden-colored gown and glitter-frosted up-do.

Bond leaned back in his chair as the picture automatically cropped and focused itself. Soon the image of just the pair remained on screen in startling detail.

He saved it and continued to search, but didn't turn up anything else. Finally he re-examined all the pictures, and with a sudden growing sense of familiarity, realized he knew exactly where they were.

And it wasn't in Berlin.