A/N: I'd like to thank Nera, Rebelbyrdie, Andrea and Michael for their great words of encouragement. Thanks very much, guys!

I forgot to do this in the first chapter, so I'll do this here: Olivia Benson and the SVU squad were created by Dick Wolf.

James Bond was created by the late, great Ian Fleming. I'm not making any money off this story.

Benson & Bond

Chapter Two

"Benson…Olivia Benson," she replied, shaking his hand with a comically deadpan expression on her face.

Bond grinned at her humorous play of his introduction. When he saw the shy smile creep across Benson's face in response, Bond immediately decided right then and there that he was really going to like this woman.

Listening to Cragen speak about her earlier, Bond had pictured meeting a stogy, secretary-type of cop who went by the book. Instead, Benson turned out to be far more attractive, with dark brown hair that was pulled back into a pony tail, and large, expressive dark eyes set within a beautiful, angular face that had very feline features. She wore jeans with a t-shirt and an un-zippered hoodie; a very practical outfit which still managed to show off her slender and fit body very well. Bond noted that the hoodie served to hide the holster for Benson's gun, which rested on her right hip.

"Olivia, you might want to show Mr. Bond the apartment that you and Elliot were at yesterday," Cragen said. He turned to Bond and added, "It's where the last-known sighting of Marcus took place."

"Sure," Benson said. She glanced at Bond. "We could go right now, if that suits you."

"That would be splendid," Bond replied. "Thank you, Captain."

"Not a problem. Have fun, kids," Cragen said, as they left the office.

"Let me just pick up a few things, and then I'll be right with you," Benson said, as she gathered some items from her desk in the squad room.

Bond noted a thin man with dark glasses was looking him over intently. He was seated at another desk, and his dark suit and matching shirt made him look like some kind of a mafia hit man. Another detective, an African-American, sat back in his seat and also gave Bond the once over.

"You traded Elliot for a new partner, Liv?" the man with the dark glasses asked.

"Yeah," Benson jovially replied, as she left the squad room with Bond. "I just got tried of Elliot, so I traded him in for a new model."

"Man, don't ever get her mad!" the African-American cop muttered to the man with dark glasses.

When they got into the elevator, Benson said, "Please excuse the flip remark, Mr. Bond. They've been busting my chops since I got in today." She grew thoughtful for a moment. "In fact, they've been busting my chops ever since I got back, period!"

"Think nothing of it," he said. "It must be hard, being the only female member working in the squad."

"I wasn't always the only female detective. Once, we had another woman member of the SVU, but I am the only one now," she replied. "Normally, the guys are really great. It's just every now and then I feel like I'm trapped in a room filled with pre-schoolers, you know?"

He nodded, smiling. "You mentioned you just got back? Were you out on vacation?"

"No." She shook her head, grinning. "God, I wish I was on vacation!"

"It wasn't maturity leave, was it?" he asked.

Benson almost burst out laughing at that. "Um, no! I was away," she said, chuckling. "I was working undercover for the past few months for the FBI."

"Really?" Bond said, impressed. The more he got to know Olivia Benson, the more he liked her.

B&B

The more Olivia got to know Bond, the more she liked him. He had a laid-back, yet confident attitude that she very quickly grew accustomed to. He and Olivia compared notes on their upbringings--his in London, hers in New York--on the drive over to the apartment, and Olivia was endlessly fascinated by Bond's stories of his wild and unruly boyhood. It was hard for her to believe that he ever buckled down and got a job as a straight-laced cop. Yet there was something about Bond--an underlying electric current within him--that told Olivia that he was anything but straight-laced. Olivia got the feeling that there was far more to Mr. Bond than what she saw on the surface.

Strangely enough, when the topic came around to work, that was when Bond appeared to clam up. He was tight-lipped with details about why Scotland Yard was after Marcus, only saying that the investigation was still ongoing, and that it involved the daughter of a Lord in Parliament.

'Typical,' Olivia thought. 'Regular rape victims usually get tossed aside by the system. But once the victim is rich and powerful, everybody moves heaven and earth to get them justice.' Not that Olivia blamed Bond; he was simply doing his job, as she was.

"Did you check up on George Hellmann?" Bond asked, as they got out of the car.

"Yeah, Hellmann's got no priors," Olivia replied. "There's no record of him on VICAP."

"We still don't know for sure if Marcus was the one who broke into the apartment," Bond said. He pulled the door open and held it for Olivia.

"Thanks," Olivia muttered, impressed with--as well as taken aback by--Bond's chivalry. "And yeah, you're right about that. We still don't know for sure who ripped off the apartment--or even what was stolen, if anything."

When they arrived at the superintendent's apartment, the same woman who took Olivia and Elliot up last night came to the door, and her hair was still done up in hair rollers. "You here with my reward?" she asked happily.

"No, we're here to see the apartment again," Olivia told her. "We still have to catch the guy first, remember?"

"How long will that take?" she asked, angry. Then, before Olivia could even reply, she took one look at Bond and said, "Hey, you're a different guy!"

"If you say so," he said with a slight nod. "Although I don't feel any different."

"Oh, you're like that British guy!" she exclaimed. "Simon Cowell!"

"Could you please let us into the apartment?" Olivia said, growing annoyed.

"There's workmen already up there, fixing the window. They'll let you in," she replied. She turned to Bond and said, "Hey, say something else!"

"It was a pleasure meeting you," he said politely, as he left with Olivia.

"Don't cha just love that accent?!" the woman swooned.

"Who the hell's Simon Cowell?" Bond whispered into Olivia's ear as they ascended the stairs.

"He's on a TV show called American Idol," she replied. "I've never seen it. I don't get to watch much TV with my crazy schedule. But I've heard about it."

"I look like him?" Bond asked.

"You sound like him," she replied with a shrug. "You're both British."

"Lucky for me," he muttered, as they walked up to the door.

The front door was opened, and Olivia was startled to see a pair of men in worker's overalls tearing up the floorboards in the apartment. And the shattered window was still broken. When she and Bond entered the apartment, the workmen glanced angrily at them as if they were intruders.

"What are you doing here?" one of them asked with a sharp tone.

Olivia pulled out her badge. "NYPD, we're conducting an investigation. What are you doing here? I thought you guys were supposed to fix the window, not tear the place up."

Both workmen gave each other a wary look. Then one of them quickly bent down and reached for something in his tool box.

"Freeze!" Olivia cried as she pulled her Glock out of its holster and aimed it at the man. "Don't move!"

But the man kept rummaging in the tool box, completely ignoring her order--until Bond came over and kicked him in the head, knocking him back against the wall. Olivia saw the workman was reaching for a gun in the tool box.

The second workman dove out the window. Once he hit the fire escape, he began climbing down to the street.

"I got this one!" Bond said, as he leapt after the second man.

"What? No, wait!" Olivia called after him. She was about to remind Bond that he was out of his jurisdiction, but Bond had already scampered down the fire escape.

"Hey, hey!" Olivia said, turning her attention back to the man on the floor when he moved suddenly. She pointed her gun right at his chest. "Don't try anything funny, buddy! You're under arrest!"

But the man just smiled at her. "It doesn't matter," he said smugly. "Nothing you can do to me could be worse than failing my master."

With that, he quickly placed something in his mouth and bit down hard.

Olivia watched in horror as the man convulsed violently and then died right before her eyes. 'He killed himself!' she thought, her eyes wide with shock. 'The frigging perp just committed suicide!'

Realizing she was now alone in a ripped-up apartment with a dead body, Olivia stared out the windows in disbelief and muttered, "What the hell is going on here?"

B&B

'Little bastard can run,' Bond thought, as he raced down the street after the second workman. Normally, he would drop down into a shooting position and put a bullet in his quarry's leg. But there were too many people on the street, and the workman used it to his advantage, weaving in and out of the throngs of people, and thus making himself a harder target to hit.

So Bond stayed right on top of him. Every now and then the workman would glance back at him in terror, and Bond knew that it would be just a matter of time before he got the bastard.

Or not.

Bond cursed when the workman ran across the street, against the light, and was struck dead on by a car. People screamed in horror as the impact flipped the workman head over heels before he landed on the street with a sickening thud.

Bond ran up to the man and bent over him. The workman was alive, but just barely. Bond leaned over so that they were face to face and said, "You're about to die. Release your burden before you go. Tell me who you're working for."

The workman smiled, exposing bloodied teeth. "You will know that soon enough. My-my master will reveal himself…when--"

And that became the last thing the man would ever say.

"Shit!" Bond angrily said. He quickly rolled the body, looking for any kind of ID, or something that could give him a lead. There was nothing like that on the body, save for a single pill that was wrapped in a clear plastic bag.

'A suicide pill,' Bond realized, as he placed it in his suit jacket pocket. He'd seen it before; it was the same type that had been given to CIA agents on especially dangerous missions. 'But this guy couldn't have been CIA. His behavior was way too fanatical; he referred to his leader as his master, almost like a crazed zealot would.'

The driver who ran into the workman got out of his car and came up to Bond. "Hey, it wasn't my fault! He just ran out in front of me, and--" the man stopped and stared down at Bond's hand in terror.

Bond realized he held his Walter PPK in his hand. He had automatically pulled it out without even remembering it. Bond quickly re-holstered his gun and started casually walking away from the accident.

"Where are you going?" the driver called after him.

"You'd better call the police," Bond said over his shoulder.

"I thought you were the cops," the driver muttered.

Bond headed back towards the apartment building, eager to talk to the other guy whom Olivia had detained. Yet when he arrived, Bond was frustrated to see the other workman was also dead. Olivia was bent over his tool box, going through the dead man's things. She wore latex gloves on her hands.

"What happened here?" Bond asked, examining the body. He checked the pockets, but found no ID or wallet. "You shoot him in self defense?"

"No, he killed himself," Benson replied. "He swallowed a pill before I could stop him. And I already checked the body, he's got no ID."

'Damn it,' Bond thought, as a chill ran up his back. His worse fears had been confirmed. Not only was Marko working in New York, as he suspected, but this mysterious organization was also here in force. But who were they and what were they up to? This was the second time he came close to finding out, only to have the answers slip through his fingers.

"Where's the other guy?" Benson asked.

"He just got run over by a car. He's dead, also."

Benson gestured at the dead man on the floor. "Just before he died, he said, 'Nothing you can do to me can be worse than failing my master.'" She gave Bond an uneasy look. "What the hell is going on, Mr. Bond?"

"Call me James," he said, as he thoughtfully strode over to the window. "Did you report this, yet?"

"Yes, the crime scene unit will be here shortly…for the second time in two days," she replied, with a slight roll of her eyes. "And now…Mr. Bond…will you please tell me what's going on?"

Bond gazed at Benson, wondering how much he should tell her. Normally, he would call in his own people to handle the bodies and collect whatever evidence there existed. But since she already called her people in, Bond didn't mind Benson's people handling it--he didn't have much choice in the matter, anyway. As far as Benson herself was concerned, he really liked her; she was an extremely competent cop who knew New York City far better than he did. She could be a huge asset to him.

'To hell with it,' he finally thought. 'If Benson's going to help me, then she needs to know everything. M will probably be pissed at me for telling Olivia--but then again, since when isn't the old gal mad at me, anyway?'

"Can you keep a secret?" Bond asked her. "Because I'm about to tell you a biggie."

Benson gave him a wary look. "Whatever this is, it's a lot bigger than just Luke Marcus, isn't it?"

"Luke Marcus is a major part of it," Bond said. "I've been tracking him for the past few weeks, under his real name of Lucien Marko. He's a bomb maker, one of the best in the world."

"He's a terrorist?" Benson asked, her eyes wide.

"He has no political agenda. He hires his skills out to the highest bidder. He's more of a mercenary, really."

Benson nodded in understanding. "And if he's here, then that means he's going to blow something up here?"

"Most likely. We don't know yet what his target is here, or who hired him." He pointed at the dead body. "But it's a good bet that that man, as well as his friend, worked for Marko's employers."

"His employers wouldn't be the same guys who caused 9/11, would they?"

"No, it's a relatively new organization on the scene; one that's very good at hiding itself. Like Marko, they appear to be in it for the money, more than anything else. We've been trying to track them down, as well."

"When were you planning on telling me all of this?" Benson asked, irritated.

"I'm sorry," Bond said sincerely. "But we were hoping to grab Marko without causing too much of a ruckus. Unfortunately, that appears to be no longer the case. You now know everything I do, Liv."

"Only my friends call me Liv," she solemnly said. "You can call me Olivia."

"Very well, Olivia," he respectfully said. He bent down and examined the torn up floor boards. "It's safe to say that Marko didn't find what he was looking for, or else these gentlemen wouldn't have been here today."

"What were they looking for?" Olivia asked. "You have any idea?"

"With Marko, it could be bomb-making equipment, but he's usually too careful not to leave stuff like that just lying around," Bond replied. He ruefully smiled when he recalled Cannes. "And if he had to leave anything behind, he'd blow it with a self-destruct device. Trust me, I've had some personal experience with that."

Bond held up his wristwatch and pressed the sides at two o'clock and eight o'clock with his thumb and index finger. The little green light switched on, informing him that the Geiger counter located within was working. He held out his arm, keeping an eye on the green light, as he slowly walked around the apartment.

Olivia stared at him as if he were insane. "What are you doing?"

Bond turned his wrist so that she got a good view of the face of his watch. "See that green light? If it flashes red, then there's radiation here."

"First time I've seen a diver's watch with a built-in Geiger counter," Olivia commented. "Scotland Yard sure has some neat toys."

"We like being prepared, just like the Boy Scouts," Bond said. A sweep of the apartment told him there was no radiation anywhere. "Nothing, it's clean."

Bond did a double take when he saw Olivia staring at him with distrust. "Is there something wrong?"

"Why do I get the feeling you're not telling me everything, Mr. Bond?" she asked.

"Because, as a detective, you're trained to be suspicious?" Bond shot back.

Olivia was about to reply when she was interrupted by the arrival of the crime scene unit. A group of people wearing blue wind breakers and carrying various bags and equipment entered the apartment, all led by a young woman with red hair. She looked around in exasperation and said, "This is the second crime scene in as many days here! What's with this place, is it haunted?!"

B&B

"I love it when the defendant cuts a deal," Casey said, as she removed a slice of pizza from the pizza box on her desk. "It's a good day!"

"Any day not spent in court is a good day," Elliot commented, taking a bite out of his slice. Then, realizing he had just insulted Casey's livelihood, Elliot muttered, "Sorry, I didn't mean--"

"You kidding? I spend most of my time scheming to stay out of court," Casey replied with a wave of her hand. "I was told by a law professor that once you step foot into a courtroom, that's the first step in an uphill battle, and if you can avoid it, do so."

"You certainly did that," Elliot said, smiling. "Westfield and his attorney folded like a house of cards."

"Their defense couldn't hold water, and they knew it," Casey told him, taking a sip of her soda. "He was smart to take the deal, or else I would have nailed him to the wall in court. Since I now have the rest of the day free, I'm thinking of celebrating by getting a new ipod."

"You usually get an ipod every time you win a case?" Elliot asked.

"My old ipod died, and I need a new one," Casey explained. "You free?"

"I wish I could, but I should get back to the barn," Elliot said with a sigh. "Maybe I should call Liv, first, and see what mood she's in before I do."

Casey started to laugh--until she slapped a hand over her mouth and quickly turned away from him.

"What?" Elliot indignantly asked.

"Nothing! It's nothing," Casey said, making a big show of clearing her throat. "I um, got something stuck in my throat, and…oh, boy, you're not buying that at all, are you?!"

Elliot confirmed it by slowly shaking his head. "I'm a detective, Casey. I can detect bullshit when I see it. Now, what was so funny?"

"It's just something that Fin said about you and Olivia…well, it was mainly about you, actually."

"Oh really?" Elliot said, with a nod. "This ought to be good. Let's hear it."

"Ok, look, I don't want to get Fin into any trouble, here," Casey said sheepishly.

"Too late," Elliot flatly muttered. "Now what did he say?"

Casey drew herself up in her seat as she decided to try another tactic. "You know, technically, I'm your boss, and you really shouldn't be treating me--"

Elliot leaned forward in the chair and said, "What did Fin say?!"

"He said that you were cuckolded by Olivia," Casey said rapidly. "And that you two were basically like a married couple. And when you just mentioned calling Olivia to see what mood she was in, that…you know…that reminded me of Fin's joke, ok?"

Casey abruptly stared at something over Elliot's shoulder in surprise. "Hey, it's Olivia!"

Elliot shook his head in disgust. "Oh, come on, Casey! You can do better than that--"

But she kept pointing behind Elliot as she got out of her chair. "No, no, I really mean it! Olivia's on the news! Look!"

They had the TV turned on to the news while they waited for the pizza to be delivered. It was still on. Elliot watched, stunned, as Olivia left the front doors of the very same apartment building that he was in with her last night.

"No comment, no comment," Olivia muttered, shaking her head, as she pushed her way past the group of shouting reporters.

Elliot didn't even wait for the news to end. He pulled out his cell phone and speed-dialed Olivia.

She picked up on the second ring. "Yeah, Benson."

"Just saw you on the news," he said. "What happened?"
"Uh, yeah, Elliot," Olivia said, sounding oddly embarrassed. "I just brought the bodies over to the coroner's office right now."

"Bodies?!" Elliot said in disbelief. "What bodies?! Are you ok?"

"Yes, I'm fine. We're both fine," she assured him.

"We?" Elliot asked. "Who's we?"

"Look, I don't feel comfortable talking about this over the phone. You know, just in case somebody's listening in," Olivia told him. "So we'll be at Warner's office, ok?"

"Who the hell is we?" Elliot asked again. But the phone was dead. "She hung up!"

"Is everything all right?" Casey asked.

"She said she couldn't talk about it because somebody might be listening in on the call," Elliot said, shaking his head.

"Whoa, that sounds paranoid," Casey commented.

"In other words, she's starting to sound like Munch," Elliot said, growing very concerned. "Excuse me, Case. I've got to get to Warner's office right away."

"Sure thing," she said, with a nod.

Elliot stopped at the doorway when he saw Casey abruptly making a frantic dive across the desk for her phone. When she saw he was watching her, Casey suddenly froze with a guilty look on her face.

"You'd better not be calling to warn Fin," he said, wagging a finger at her.

"Oh, no, I-I wasn't, I…." Casey started to say, until she just gave up with a wave of her hands and grabbed a second slice of pizza. "Oh, never mind, Fin's on his own!"

B&B

'What have I gotten myself into?' Olivia thought dismally. She stood with Bond, watching as Melinda Warner performed an autopsy on the man whom had committed suicide right in front of her. Olivia had asked Warner as a personal favor to do the autopsy right away. Because of the poisonous nature of the death, Warner was fully clad in protective clothing--including a face mask.

Olivia recalled the various run-ins she had with Marcus--or Marko, to use his real name--and wished she'd knew then who he really was. Perhaps his secret life as a bomb maker to the highest bidder was what made Marko so damn arrogant. But if Olivia had known who Marcus truly was when he was in the interrogation room, she would have pistol-whipped the bastard.

"It's a highly potent, concentrated dose of cyanide," Warner said, as she stepped back from the body on the autopsy table. "I'd have to do more extensive tests to be officially sure. But the cherry red color of his blood confirms my theory, as well as the smell of almonds."

She removed the mask and gloves and dumped them into a garbage bin. Warner even took the added caution of washing her hands before coming over to where Olivia and Bond stood.

Warner gestured at the un-swallowed cyanide pill on the table--which Bond had retrieved from the man who was hit by the car. "This is real spy stuff here! Looks like you've got a real hot potato of a case on your hands, Olivia."

Olivia shot a look at Bond and thought, 'You don't know the half of it, Melinda!'

"You must not see this sort of thing very often," Bond said.

"On the contrary, Mr. Bond, I see it a lot," Warner said with a smile. "This is New York City, after all."

"Yes, of course," Bond said with a slight nod. "If you ladies would excuse me, I have a phone call to make. I'll be right back."

With a furtive glance at Bond, who stood on the far side of the room speaking into a cell phone, Warner came over to Olivia and whispered, "He's hot! You jump him yet?"

"Melinda!" Olivia whispered with shock. "Give me a break! I just met the guy!"

"Oh, come on, Liv, tell me with a straight face that you haven't at least thought about getting it on with Mr. Bond," Warner said with a grin.

Olivia couldn't help but smile shyly in response, which caused Warner to laugh. It was true; the thought of sharing a romantic moment with Bond had crossed her mind, despite how odd he appeared to be. Yet a part of her felt strangely guilty for even having these thoughts. It was crazy, but it was almost as if Olivia were somehow betraying Elliot.

'Oh, what the hell am I thinking?' she chided herself. "No, I've gotta keep my mind in the game," she said to Warner. "This is turning out to be a case with major implications, and I've got to keep my head clear."

"Good thinking," Warner said with a nod. Then she burst into a smile. "But there's no rule against dreaming, is there?"

Olivia just rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Stranger and stranger," M said on the other end of the line. "You say the one captured by Detective Benson killed himself with cyanide?"

"Yes," Bond replied. "The pills looked to be the same as used by the CIA in some of their more extreme missions. In case they don't want their agents to be caught alive by the enemy."

"Oh, you're not suggesting that the CIA is involved in this, are you, Bond?"

"Perhaps a rogue element of the agency?" Bond said, thinking aloud. "But still, even a bunch of disgruntled spies wouldn't show the sort of zealotry I've seen here."

"Do you know what Marko was looking for in the apartment?"

"No," Bond said grimly. "The NYPD's crime scene unit went over the place with a fine toothcomb, but they found nothing. I don't think either Marko or the workmen found what they were looking for, as well. There was no evidence that it was a bomb making area. No traces of radiation, or anything else."

"What other leads do you have?"

"I'm planning on heading back to the barn with Detective Benson and go over her files on Marko. We'll see if we can dig anything up from that."

There was a pause on the other end. "Uh, yes, very good 007. Um--one thing--you're heading back to the barn?"

Bond smiled slightly. "The Special Victim's Unit's precinct house. It's what Olivia calls it. I guess I must have picked it up from her."

"Ah, yes, I see. Tell me, Bond, this Detective Olivia Benson, is she pretty?"

"Very, but don't worry, M. I'm completely focused on the main task of finding Marko."

"That's a good boy." The line abruptly went dead. M was never one to waste time on such platitudes as saying goodbye.

Olivia came up to Bond when he was putting his phone away. "You ready?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. Bond glanced at Warner and gave her a nod. "Thank you for your help, doctor."

"Oh, you're most very welcome, Mr. Bond!" Dr. Warner said, flashing him a dazzling smile. "And please, feel free to come back again just for a social visit next time!"

Once he and Olivia were walking in the corridor, Bond said, "For a coroner, Dr. Warner seems to be very…cheerful."

"Yeah, that's our Melinda," Olivia said with a slight chuckle. "Dr. Happy-Go-Lucky."

When they emerged on the street Olivia grabbed his arm. "Oh, wait! I almost forgot: I told my partner I'd be meeting him here. You mind waiting?"

"Not at all," Bond replied. He did a quick scan of the street and spotted a car double-parked with the engine running. "Your partner doesn't happen to drive a car with tinted windows, does he?"

"No. Why?" Olivia asked with a frown.

The car with tinted windows abruptly roared to life just then, screeching down the street right at them.

Bond tackled Olivia to the sidewalk. "GET DOWN!"

A hail of bullets hit the wall right where they were both standing just seconds ago.

"HOLY SHIT!" Olivia screamed.

"You all right?" Bond asked, as he helped Olivia up to her feet. She seemed a little dazed, but was physically fine. He grabbed her hand and pulled her over to their car. "You got the keys?"

Still dazed, Olivia handed them to him. "What are you doing?"

"Going after them. Come on." He opened the driver's side door and shoved Olivia inside. When she automatically sat in front of the steering wheel, Bond gently pushed her aside until she sat in the passenger seat. "I'll drive."

"What are you doing?!" she angrily cried.

"We were looking for another lead, and we've just been handed one," Bond said, as he shut the driver's side door and started up the Impala. "Do you trust me, Olivia?"

"Do I have a frigging choice?!"

"Hang on," Bond said, as he twisted the steering wheel and stomped on the gas. The Impala screeched out of its parking spot raced down the street.

"Elliot!" Olivia cried, as she waved to someone through the passenger side window. "ELLIOT!"

B&B

Five minutes earlier

Elliot had parked around the back of the coroner's office and was just turning the corner when he heard the gunfire. It sounded like an automatic emptying its whole clip. He instinctively ducked for cover between two parked cars, his Glock at the ready, as other people in the street also scattered to safety. Then the gunfire ceased as a car with tinted windows screeched off down the street.

Elliot got up and started running down the street until he saw Olivia running towards their Impala with a blond-haired guy. He called to her, but she didn't appear to have heard him. Olivia stood by the car momentarily, until Elliot saw the man shove her inside through the driver's side.

Elliot ran full bore towards the car, just as it took off down the street. Olivia saw him; she gazed wide-eyed at him, her hands pressed against the window, as the car raced away with her inside.

He could read her lips; she was saying his name.

"Son of a bitch," Elliot muttered, as he pulled out his cell phone and called Olivia. He did a double take when he heard a cell phone ringing in the street.

Elliot bent down and picked up Olivia's still-ringing cell phone from where it fell on the asphalt. Did it simply fall there, or was it thrown away? Did he just witness his partner being abducted?

Elliot grimly pulled out his police dispatch radio and called in an APB on the Impala. He didn't know what the hell was going on, but if Olivia had just been abducted by that blond-haired guy, then the sooner Elliot got the wheels in motion, the better.

'I just hope to Christ that Liv is all right,' Elliot thought, worried.

B&B

On his way out of the radio room, Karl Jergens nodded at the captain as he passed through the bridge. "What's our ETA?"

"We should be in New York by sundown, sir," the captain informed him.

"Excellent, I shall inform the master," Jergens replied.

Jergens left the bridge and made his way through a spacious banquet room, which was being prepared for a massive dinner by several stewardesses--all young women who meekly looked up from their work with frightened expressions as Jergens strode imperiously past them.

"Keep working," he angrily commanded them. "Don't look at me! Just keep working!"

With a final, timid glance at their fearsome boss, the stewardesses anxiously resumed their job of getting the table ready.

'Pitiful wrenches,' Jergens thought with disgust, as he walked down a narrow corridor to a security checkpoint. 'The only good thing about slave labor was that they were cheap.'

The security guards, who looked more like soldiers with their full body armor and automatic weapons, waved Jergens through.

Once Jergens entered the darkened conference room, his entire manner changed. No longer did he walk in a confident stride once he was in the presence of his master. The one, true master of them all.

"Come in Number Two," the figure seated in the chair said. He wore a suit, and had a white cat in his lap, which he stroked continuously in an affectionate manner. His face was shrouded in darkness from the others, who all sat around a large oval table in the conference room.

The cat watched with interest as Jergens, known as Number Two here, took his seat near the head of the table. "I beg your pardon for being late, sir," he said to the man with the cat. "But I've just received some very important information."

"I take it that it has to do with the explosion at our safe house in Cannes?"

"Yes, sir. Marko was required to make a hasty escape, and he blew up the safe house to throw his pursuer off his trail. He's now safely in New York City. Unfortunately, Guzman, our man in Cannes, has been killed."

The figure in the chair continued to gently pet the cat. "Who was pursuing Marko?"

"James Bond, sir."

"Bond." Their leader said his name with disgust. "MI6's newest agent has proven to be quite tenacious. This is unacceptable. The success of Operation Diamondhead hinges on Lucien Marko. We must take extreme measures to protect him, and that means hunting down and killing Bond."

"Yes sir," Number Two said. "We've got several teams of our best assassins hunting him down right now in New York."

"No," the shadowy figure replied. "To kill Bond, I want only the best. I want Mr. Ott. Summon him, Number Two."

"As you wish, sir," Jergens said, as he got up to do what he was ordered. He felt a chill run up his back. The dreaded Mr. Ott was never unleashed unless the stakes were very high. And with Operation Diamondhead finally coming to fruition, the stakes for Spectre were very high indeed.

To Be Continued...