Author's note: Thanks (and I really mean THANKS!!) for the reviews! Just what I needed to keep the fire going. Still not in the action yet, but the war of words is coming right up, hehe… can't wait to write M's reaction after this one; I'll have a field day!
Disclaimer (can't believe I forgot this!) : Bond, M, MI6 and Romania do not belong to me.
Chapter 5: The Needle in the Haystack
"So, Mister… Bond, is it?" said Popescu as he took one of the warm, buttered buns that were being passed around the table in a basket. "What is it that the British government wants me to know that has to be delivered so discreetly?" Bond allowed himself to crack a smile as he set his wine glass down. He wondered if he should act the bureaucrat or the agent. Beside him, Sorescu was obviously trying his best not to look, or hear, by talking to the other guests seated at the table, but Bond knew that he was all ears.
"We're concerned about the drastic reduction in funds for the Romanian military," said Bond at last, deciding to go with blunt diplomacy, "Since most countries have stepped up in defense in the recent years, Britain deems this is a most unnatural turn of events. At the same time, I'm not ashamed to say that my superior is a huge fan of your policies, sir. Equality in this modern era is something we definitely need. Discrimination must be done away with."
He watched as Popescu nodded amicably, even though he did not look at him, he knew he was getting there. If it wasn't for Foster, he wouldn't have been able to cook up such a delightful lie. Against his resolve to not look Sorescu's way, Bond's head turned to look at Foster, and he saw that her eyebrows were slightly raised.
"And who exactly is this superior of yours?" asked Popescu.
Bond took a deep breath before answering. "She, not he. She goes by the name of M. Her real name is a mystery to me, but her intentions are not. She heads the MI6, thus she has many contacts from all over the world. Money and human resources are easily available to her. She only needs to ask." M can kill him later if she wanted to. For now, he needed to make this lie work.
"She sounds like a very powerful person. Head of MI6, too," said Popescu to himself as he tore a piece of the bun and chewed it thoughtfully. Bond observed him: his black hair was slicked to the back, his black goatee was well-trimmed and the upper button on his collar was unfastened. His physique wasn't exactly fit either. Bond deduced that he was the type of man who had the necessary vision, but not the talent. Popescu was probably one of the lucky bastards whose fortunes either fell accidentally onto his lap or had been rigged for him.
And who had more capability to do so than his close friend, Sorescu?
"So what does the head of MI6 want to do with the Romanian Minister of Defense?" asked Sorescu abruptly. He immediately apologized for butting in what was obviously a private conversation, but Popescu waved his apology away.
"No, no, I've told you before many times, Mikhail, do away with those apologies of yours! How many years have we been the closest of friends and the best of brothers?" said Popescu with a laugh as he turned to Bond, "Mikhail here is the person I trust most in the world. I have never had a reason to doubt him. Therefore, I hope you do not mind including him in our conversation."
"Oh no, not at all," said Bond with a smile for Sorescu. All the better, in fact. "So what does the director of MI6 want, you ask. Plain and simple. Frankly, she believes that you're up to something, sir, something quite radical that's got your government shrinking funds for the army. She also thinks that what you're planning is in line with your beliefs, of which she is highly supportive of, and so she would like to invest in it. That's all." Bond resisted the urge to remain serious. Images of M's face contorted in fury and spewing soundless shrieks from her mouth danced before his mind's eye and he resisted the urge to laugh. Oh, he would have a field day with this, he would.
Popescu smiled and nodded as he sipped some of his wine, but Bond could see the worry in his eyes, as if he wasn't sure of what he had just heard. He was about to further clarify for him when the corner of his eye caught a nod by Sorescu. Then a bespectacled man who had unnaturally broad shoulders and long white hair tied in a ponytail jerked his head the slightest bit. Bond's eyes darted around the table and caught small and quick nods by most of the seated guests. Then it hit him. Popescu was nothing more than a mere puppet, and right now, the strings were being jerked by a table of people whose money bought them the power and influence to do anything they pleased. Bond's eyes met Sorescu's, and he knew that Sorescu knew what he had just realized.
"It sounds like a terrible coincidence, Mr. Bond," said Sorescu this time in a low voice that only Bond could hear, "that MI6 should get in touch with us using this excuse just as their agents have been discovered dead. I do not believe you."
"With all due respect, Mr. Sorescu, you should be apologising to my superior for their deaths, and you should dispel of notions of attempts at double-crossing because those agents were sent by M. The operation was approved by the ministry but the agents were M's and they shared her agenda. She regrets the unnecessary deaths very much so she sent me to take her request and intentions directly to you with whatever information that they have managed to relay to her."
"And why do you think that I had anything to do with it?"
Bond gritted his teeth. He had to be careful now. Sorescu apparently was aware of spies in his organisation for a long time, and to have to justify the presence of the MI6 agents, including himself, was tricky. The wrong answer could jeopardise his and Foster's positions and give their identities, as well as their lives, away.
"If you had no part in it then why did you relate their deaths to my arrival?" he answered, having found the kink in the rope. Sorescu drew a deep breath and nodded. "Very well, Mr. Bond. I had no part in it, I assure you. It is just that the coincidence seemed rather striking." Sorescu cast a glance around the table. "Your employer's intentions are all very well, and you are quite an articulate man, but I find hard still to trust you."
"That is only normal, Mr. Sorescu. First appearances can be quite deceiving sometimes. I may not seem like an honest person. If you like, I can set up a meeting between you and her. No one has to fly anywhere, it can be over the phone or through live video conference."
Sorescu nodded, but Bond knew that he considered this a serious risk. For all Sorescu knew, the woman who called herself M could be lying as well. "How about 7pm, Mr. Bond? Then we can go straight to dinner at my restaurant here. One of the hospitality officers will escort you to the ascertained meeting place."
It was not immediately obvious, but Bond sensed a sign of dismissal. He thanked both Sorescu and the Defense Minister, who was reduced to silence and could only afford a polite smile and nod at Bond. Poor bugger, he thought to himself as he walked back to where Woodwick sat, and from whom he expected to hear another round of bombardment.
Evelyn checked her reflection in the mirror again, tucking stray strands of her ponytailed hair behind her ear. Waterproof mascara: check. Waterproof barely-there shimmery lip gloss: check. Waterproof blush: check. Waterproof –
Screw it.
She casually sauntered out of the bathroom and into her wardrobe without anything on except for her underwear. The sound of a woman weeping on the television in the bedroom drew her curiosity. She peered out from the other end of the walk-in wardrobe, which opened out to the bedroom. She allowed herself a scoff at the sight of Sorescu asleep on the bed, still fully dressed in his suit. His lips were pursed together, the discipline and strictness that dictated over almost every aspect of his life showed even in his sleep.
Evelyn returned to the wardrobe, which housed a huge collection of designer clothes, shoes, handbags, accessories, and just about anything that mattered to a fashionista, that she had amassed over the five years that she had been married to Sorescu. She selected a one-piece, bright turquoise swimsuit by Pucci that she had purchased two days ago but had not worn it yet. She felt a bit ridiculous by the bright, almost tacky colours. What was she thinking when she made the decision to buy it? She changed out of it and tossed the swimsuit into a box full of yet more designer clothes and accessories that she no longer wanted to wear, all of which would be auctioned off at the charity fete she would be hosting the day after tomorrow. Evelyn made a mental note to get housekeeping to dry clean them before the event.
She finally donned a simple red two-piece, grabbed a handbag in which she tucked a pair of Christian Dior sunglasses, put on a dark blue Chanel silk kimono with a white-and-blue floral pattern over her swimsuit and slipped into a pair of bejeweled Christian Louboutin heels. Normally she would wear a pair of comfortable slippers, but today's evening swim was going to be more of a chick chat between her and a select few of the WAGS of East Europe's male who's who, most of whom she was not even on a first-name basis with.
The pains of being a rich man's wife, she thought sardonically to herself as she strode out of the enormous wardrobe. The thought of it made her laugh. She was probably one of the most fortunate MI6 agents ever sent on an undercover mission. She had all the money, shoes and attention that most women longed for. Emiliana Sorescu loved the life that was laid out before her; Evelyn Foster only wanted nothing more than to return to her small flat in London and watch reruns of Fawlty Towers with a tub of ice cream.
"Emilia?" said Sorescu suddenly, startling her and making her stop in her tracks. She turned to look at him. "You're awake," she said dumbly.
He remained in his original position, with his head on the pillow and slumped on his neck. "Yes, I am. And may I know where you're off to?"
"A few friends and I are meeting up for a swim at the pool downstairs. It's nothing."
"Of course it is," he replied with a lazy smile. "Why? Is there a reason for me to think otherwise?"
Her heart unwittingly skipped a beat, but she remained the calm expression on her face. "No, of course not." She gave him her warmest smile. "You can trust me. I will never do anything that will upset you."
He nodded slowly. "I know that, my darling Emilia. That is why I want you to come back early, an hour before six, I hope. I would like you to be with me during the meeting with that James Bond and his supposed superior."
It was all that Evelyn could do to stop herself from punching her fists in the air. Finally, he had trusted her enough to allow her into the secret project that he had been planning so meticulously with his 'business partners'. She tried her best to contain her triumph with a coolly raised eyebrow. "Are you sure? You would not mind me if I listen to all those details that you have kept away from me so securely for all these months?"
Sorescu sat up and beckoned her to come to him. She did, and sat beside him on the bed, wondering what he was up to. He took her hand in his and clasped it so tightly that it panicked her. "I realize that I have been unfair to you. You have been good in helping me with the accounts and masking the – what I would like to call – lapses in the records, which are bound to occur in a business of this nature. You are quite intelligent, actually, compared to the previous man – do you remember that German oaf I used to employ, Harald Kiefensen? – most importantly, you're not afraid of the dirty side of the business and yet you're not the feisty, spunky type who can support or oppose me in a whim. Plus, you're family, and that is always safer than entrusting secrets to a stranger." He patted her hand firmly. "All I ask of you is to be my right hand person – not man, do you notice that, dear Emilia? – to be by my side not only in marriage but also in business. What do you think of my proposition?"
She did the only natural thing to do. She kissed him on the lips, a loving but not overly passionate kiss. "I think it is a good one. I do not object." Even when she was out of eyesight, Evelyn dared not allow herself a smile of triumph.
Woodwick's overbearing insistence at finding out why Bond had spent almost an hour at Sorescu's table, speaking 'in hush-hush conspiracy' with Defense Minister Popescu at that, and committing the most heinous crime by keeping tight-lipped about the whole affair, drove Bond out to the indoor Olympic-sized swimming pool on the sixth floor. A swim was just what he needed to clear his head and give him time to arrange his strategy. He could not hazard a call to M to tell her of what he had cooked up in the lie to Sorescu for fear that his mobile would be checked. All was left to chance, both of which he hated because they made him feel useless. As useless as he felt when he watched Vesper drown before his eyes. The sound and rush of the water in the pool that flooded his senses as he swam brought back the painful memories of that day. He squeezed his eyes and banished them out of his mind, but they kept coming back, haunting him.
Why? he finally had the courage to ask himself. Louder. WHY?
He rose to the surface and coughed as the burst of air entered his lungs. Still coughing, he swam for the pool edge and leaned against the smooth tiled wall as he wiped the water from his eyes and nose. He thought that he had truly put the incident behind him, even swore to himself that he would not revisit the very thought of her by handing that man, Mr. White, over to MI6 to do as they pleased with him. He had washed his hands clean of Vesper, and he was determined to keep them spotless.
His eyes caught the figure of Evelyn Foster as she strode into the pool area and left her belongings on a table flanked by two patio chairs. Bond allowed himself to admire her long and slender legs, and then the faultless curves of her slim hips and waist when she removed her kimono. Bond found himself catching his breath when she bent over to remove her shoes, allowing him a good eyeful of her décolletage. As if she knew he was watching, the moment she straightened up, her eyes caught his and she smiled, almost seductively.
He smiled and nodded politely back but he allowed his eyes to linger on her as she made her way towards him. She lowered herself gracefully onto the cool marble-tiled floor without so much as a shiver and dipped her long, flawless legs into the water.
"Hello," said Bond, without so much as a smile. "Don't you think it'll be wiser for us to act as perfect strangers whose only connection to each other is Sorescu?"
Foster tilted her head as they exchanged glances. "Well, technically we are, aren't we?" She lifted the tip of her toes to the surface of the water, teasing little ripples from the surface. He tried not to look. "Your reckless actions, Mrs. Sorescu, will get both of us killed by your gangster of a husband."
"I'm married, rich and bored. Action justified." There was just a touch of sarcasm in her voice. Lowering to a more serious note, she resumed, "Have you got your story straight with M?"
He had to crack a grin at that. "No."
Foster stared at him in undisguised amusement for a few seconds before letting out a laugh. "It's always fun to ruffle her feathers, isn't it? To see that indignant look on her face and watch her fumble for words is a joy."
"But that will also be courting termination and possibly your own death," he replied as he looked up at her. "A rather hefty price to pay, don't you think?"
"Are you always such a spoilsport, Mr. Bond?" she asked back. "No, don't answer that. I'll hazard a guess. A disaster, the tragic loss of someone important, someone you love or trusted, has turned your back against the holy institutions of marriage and amusement. You've got a hole, a big, gaping one that you're determined not to fill for fear of enlarging it."
She glanced back at him and took in his unfathomable expression, which was set in stone. She sighed and, without proper warning, pushed herself off the edge and into the pool. Bond watched as she swam a few metres away and turned back to face him. "Cheer up, Bond," she said to him, "how about you race me to the other end of the pool? I'll let you win."
Bond scoffed, but he swam out to where she floated and taunted him with a smug grin. "I'm in, but you'd better be a damn good swimmer."
"Or it would be a complete waste of muscles, won't it?" she remarked back.
Was it too long and speechy? Let me know, as always, feedback is much appreciated and loved! THANKS!!