"Last time that mad fuck gets use of my office!" Malcolm lifted his lip like a rabid dog and hissed at the plate of mandarins. Jamie, in all his infinite hilarity, had drawn an array of faces on the fruit so he'd feel extra guilty about tearing their skin off. He was even less amused to find his name card changed to 'Wanker' – mostly because it lacked any flare or finesse usually attributed to their playful insults. Malcolm knocked it off the desk in despair with a flap of his wiry arm. If they didn't have the energy to insult each other properly then something was definitely wrong.
Here, in private, he took a moment to sigh and rest his head in the comfortable pit of his hands. It was all well and good to joke but there really was a prison cell with his name on it. A very real, very cold room with bars and terrible room service where no amount of spin could buy him one of Sam's biscuits. He was running scared and knew it. Maybe he really should take Jamie's generous advice and scamper off to some extradition-free hovel in the Pacific ocean. Apparently the whole immigration system could be arranged to fail long enough to -
"That's what I thought."
"Jesus – fuck!" Malcolm startled so hard he nearly fell off his chair. He'd thought he was alone in his office but something shifted on the couch and turned around to face him, hair askew. Sam. Why was it always Sam?
"You've been treading disaster all week and you didn't think I'd notice? I tear holes in alibis for a living, Malcolm. What's up?"
"What's 'up' is my fucking blood pressure. You nearly gave me a goddamn heart attack and a fucking aneurysm simultaneously. Great big bollocking brain bleed." His hands went in a few zillion directions as he tried to mime a brain explosion. Maybe she was the one that had been drawing on all his fucking fruit...
Sam was unmoved. He always alliterated when she caught him in a half-truth. It was his tell. "What are you planning?"
"Nothing." Malcolm shifted back in his chair, brooding.
"What are you planning?"
"It's not a plan." He picked up another mandarin but stopped short of peeling off its face. Fuck. Now he had feelings for fruit.
"What are you planning?"
"Barely even a draft. Look," he put the mandarin back in the bowl. "It's a little bit of one-off revenge that we may or may not be able to use as leverage against a few key panellists on the inquiry."
Silence.
"Okay!" Malcolm relented. "So... it's borderline espionage but it's not like I've got a lot to lose in the freedom department right now. We're sort of more in the bending rules territory. What? Are you gonna slap me again? Is that your plan. I wouldn't say that I exactly disliked the experience."
Sam ignored all of his usual banter and rising temptation to grant his wish. "You know something," she realised, starting to pace in his office. "That's why Julius dropped by. He's got his ear to the ground and somewhere in the depths of our depraved parliament a pin's dropped and he came running to you like a faithful puppy."
"I wouldn't adopt a Julius puppy if he was the last stray in the universe."
Sam wasn't panicking, she was thinking.
"Look – did you do this to my mandarins?" Malcolm added, holding one up accusingly when he couldn't bear the silence any longer. "It's not very funny. I have a heart. I dust the ice off it once a year and hang it in the doorway during festive occasions."
"Yes, it's very small." She agreed. "We use it to decorate the tiny tree at reception." Sam had to put a hand over her mouth to stop herself. Usually she thought those comebacks rather than uttering them to her highly strung boss. Shit. He was staring at her. Worse. She couldn't read his face. Was he amused, impressed, furious? Honestly it was impossible to tell. Maybe they were all the same emotion to him.
"Sam."
"Yes." Why'd she go and mention Christmas again? Jesus. She was starting to blush under her thinning layer of foundation.
"Biscuits."
"Yes." With that, she escaped, closing the door on her way out. She didn't catch the smile on his lips.
"Pygmy Jerboas!"
Julius stopped mid-stride down the high street, clutching his sad looking sandwich wrapped in excessive layers of gladwrap. An ominous ghoul had appeared, shadowing him. "What?" he finally asked, when he couldn't shake it off. "If you're Death come to warn me I've already been served notice by your Scottish twin."
Malcolm, as was custom, ignored him. "The smallest rodent in the world. Teeny tiny... Teeth so small they can't make it through the cheese on a mouse trap. That's what you are, Julius. The smallest rodent left on the ship."
"What is it now, Malcolm?"
Malcolm slipped a note straight into Julius's trench coat pocket before he could protest. "Need you to do a little digging for me between your sandwiches and tea."
"Malcolm – you know I can't just go hunting around. I could find anything. You're not the only one burying skeletons in the lawns."
"Sure you can old friend," Malcolm clapped him on the back in a display that would seem friendly to anyone else. All Malcolm's skeletons were in a forest so he had nothing to worry about. "Because I've got a wonderful picture book at home that I'd love to share with my hack friends next time I have them over for a drink."
Julius could feel his head starting to sweat. "One day I'm going to burn your house to the ground and your stash of photographs with it."
"Hell doesn't burn, Julius," Malcolm was still grinning in an unnerving fashion. "Cheerio then. Looking forward to hearing from you."
"Ta ta..." Julius much preferred it when Malcolm was swearing. A 'friendly' 'polite' Malcolm could only mean trouble.
"That's a terrible code name..." Jamie leaned on the opposite side of Sam's car.
"Why is it terrible?" Sam actually sounded put out as she opened the door and slipped into the driver's seat.
Jamie took the passenger seat and closed the door – but not before he folded his seemingly infinite layers of coats carefully in. She couldn't think why but Jamie reminded her of a bat. Maybe it was because he only came out at night.
"If your intention is to spy," he explained, "selecting a code name from the most famous spy franchise in the world probably isn't an ideal cover."
"Wow Jamie – a whole sentence without profanity. I'm proud of you."
"Oh hold your fuckin' scorn, Money Penny – this is what I get for tryin' to be nice."
Sam grinned. That was better. "Never change. Malcolm put a lot of work into you."
"Yeah well he taught me how to offend in four languages and wire the unwanted ministers into the feeding chambers of the press gallery. Now, what miserable cunt has the unfortunate pleasure of being stalked by us today?"
Sam handed him a file before pulling out of the driveway. Jamie flicked through it and sighed, tossing it on the dashboard. "I'm going to get my prison tattoo now."
Money Penny and Bond in play.
X S
Jamie is not fucking Bond. You tell him I said that.
X M
"What?" Jamie turned to Malcolm's P.A.
"You better be Q."
"No. I'm fucking Bond. I'm a Scottish Bond."