The Alpine Caper
James Bond aka Harry Potter may well be back in his next adventure: The Alpine caper.
Well, and stuff. And it did happen.
Harry was on leave. Obviously, MI6 had given him a few days off to get over the death of Natalya. And, conveniently that had provided time to de-bottle and de-tree-branch Greengrass. Kreacher had, as asked, turfed her out in her ear before she overstayed her welcome at Grimmauld place. The last thing he wanted was some pure-blood witch swanning about Grimmauld place in her nightgown. Regardless of how pretty her back was. She was no longer de-witchified, and not, in Harry's opinion his problem.
But annoyingly, the whole tempo of the global war against evil had taken a slump in the last week, and HR had conspired with Moneypenny.
In the first instance, to make sure he was on leave for Ascot. Moneypenny was smug, clung to his arm and he had to spend far too long looking at bloody flowers. Gardening had always been work for Harry, not fun. But he owed Moneypenny, and played along, and have her a couple of good, champagne-lubricated kisses before fleeing back to Mayfair, his flat, and peace and quiet.
In retaliation, perhaps, he got a text message the next day saying he was on leave for four days. Two half holidays he'd missed while in Cuba, a bank holiday, and one day off. Harry read the message and realised that the entire non-magical UK was about to descend into a long weekend of visits to the B&Q, drinking, and everywhere being full. And Magical Britain, well he'd avoided being officially back so far.
A trip overseas suggested itself. For no particular reason, certainly nothing to do with attractive women he'd seen recently, he decided on Austria. Annoyingly that meant a plane trip. Harry eyed his corporate card. It got him discount BA travel too, and Vienna had a magical bit, if he got too bored.
The jet took three hours, and had toilets, and attentive aircrew. It was a lot better than trying to fly a fighter carrying a nuclear bomb. Harry smiled and made cheery polite conversation from business class.
One of the stewardesses suggested he might like to go to Passage. Harry misheard her.
"It's a club" she restated for his benefit. "A nightclub. Very cool. Very... permissive"
Oh, thought Harry. Sounds fun.
Passage had a ten euro cover charge. As soon as the large, hatchet faced bouncer let him in, the intense throbbing beat started trying to jelly his skeleton.
Two drinks later, Harry decided he liked it.
Carolina Frederica was a round-faced slightly slavic woman with a bubbly laugh, blue eyes, and a good line in flirting in slightly accented English. She also wore a huge signet ring and a massive necklace. Harry was distracted looking at the tops of her breasts. Which were while 'average', quite pleasant looking.
"So, James" said Caroloina, sipping a long-island iced tea "What do you do?"
"Universal Exports" said Harry "I'm a troubleshooter for the firm."
Caroline smiled slightly, dimples forming. Harry found them quite satisfactory.
"You're not really a smuggler, are you?" she asked more seriously, while skulling the last of the glass, nearly throwing the empty glass, and putting it down instead.
Oh. Thought Harry. She comes from serious eastern European money. Throw your glass away money. The casual way she wore the gems suggested something.
"No, very law-abiding. Lots of government oversight in my job" said Harry honestly. "The signet, your family's?" He glanced over her shoulder. In the darker recess of the club., Harry thought he saw two blokes, er, well not snogging. A very permissive club.
She looked at the ceiling "Don't get weird. It's a thing."
"Austrian?"
"Austro-hungarian. We've got a few places left" said Carolina. She narrowed her eyes "A nice little ski-chalet up in the mountains. Do you ski?"
"When forced" admitted Harry.
"And do you like being forced" purred Carolina "You Brits are weird like that."
Harry couldn't help chuckling "Not at all. Born in Wales, technically. But a ski lodge. Sounds private?"
"Better than my apartment" said Carloina. "A nice warm fire, cosy bed?"
"Sounds ideal" said Harry. "Can I brush up on my Austrian?"
"Maybe. Baby" said Carolina in Austrian accented German, in a what Harry thought sounded like a posher accent than her English one.
He followed Carolina outside via the cloak counter, and covered up. They had match-books, so Harry took one, as a memento, and in case Carolina had something to smoke.
The pavement outside had an inch of hard snow in it. The road, slush.
"Do you have a car?" she asked.
"Taxi. I'm on holiday" said Harry.
"Well, I've got my little Alfa" said Carolina, and by that, she meant a classic early seventies Alfa spider. Carolina had to throw stuff off the passengers seat into the parcel shelf behind before Harry could sit.
Harry got in the passengers seat and buckled in.
Carolina fiddled with the choke, and started the Alfa. It rattled and coughed for second then purred.
"It's in good condition" said Harry.
"We wait. We need heat for the windscreen, and the carburettors, they do not like the cold" said Carolina.
"My Aston Martin's the same" said Harry casually.
"Which model?"
"A DB5" said Harry.
Carolina turned to him and lifted her eyebrows "Really. James Bond, and you drive an Aston Martin DB5?" Please show me some ID."
Harry took out his wallet, and showed his drivers licence.
"Is the DB5 an affectation?" asked Carolina.
"With my name, you sink or swim" said Harry. "I choose to swim in style." he added in German.
Carolina laughed musically, and a minute later, revved the Alfa, dropped the clutch skilfully and swerved the Alfa from the roadside into the slush, where she drove efficiently but carefully in the poor conditions.
"Don't worry" she said "I have snow tires."
"Spikes or studs?" asked Harry.
"Studs." said Carolina. "Spikes make the police complain."
Once they got out of the city, she accelerated and started to drive very competently on the high speed highway away from the city.
"Limited slip?" asked Harry.
"Yah."
Harry relaxed and admired the scenery. They headed south-ish. Carolina looked over at Harry,
"You look quite relaxed." she smiled.
"Decent seats, and you're a confident driver" said Harry. "Is it far?"
"Mostviertel is an hour and a half, two in bad traffic"
And the radio worked, and played dance-club music all the way there.
Harry got out of the Alfa next to a log cabin with a steep, overhanging roof.
And for all that, it had central heating, and Carolina knelt down at the fireplace and lit it herself, and the logs started burning.
She took off her fur coat, and stood there in her clubbing dress. "Now, Mr Bond... are you going to kiss me?" Harry brushed up on his Austrian.
-==0==-
Harry lay in the warm, comfortable bed. Carolina lay naked over on the side of the bed, looking smug.
"So, tell me honestly, how is my accent?" asked Harry.
"James" said Carolina, looked at him with a smile and a flushed face "We're going to sleep. Tomorrow, I'll make you a traditional ski-lodge breakfast, and we can... screw each other some more."
Harry nodded.
"You learnt from someone from Vienna, but you have Russian consonants" she added idly, in English.
"I speak a little, with an accent." admitted Harry.
"So, you're a... cunning linguist" she said and smiled broadly.
Harry smiled in return. "Well, if madam insists?"
"It's good manners." said Carolina.
Harry woke up in a very warm comfortable bed, feeling well shagged. The blonde in question looked, slightly Russian aristocrat in sleeping repose. Harry was struck that Greengrass was similar, but more Hungarian looking. And taunter. But that was not relevant. Carolina was... bubbly and pleasant, and in bed with him right now. And had NEVER shot him, which counts for a lot.
Harry was wondering about a pre-breakfast snog, when his phone vibrated gently. Harry checked it, and it wanted a pin to unlock.
A text message. 'Central Office. All possible haste.'
Shit, thought Harry, my holiday got cancelled. And I was going to get breakfast too.
Harry leant over and kissed Carolina on the cheek softly. She blinked her eyes open.
"James?" she asked.
"Message from the office. I have to go, my holiday's cancelled." he said.
"But I need you" said Carolina.
"So does England" quipped Harry, and Carolina burst out laughing. A soprano, thought Harry. Like Greengrass. Not that that's why I picked up Carolina. Nope. She's pretty, rich, sophisticated, and Harry Potter doesn't have any connotations for her.
"I'm not driving you down" said Carolina "I'm being selfish and keeping you."
Harry got up, had a quick shower, and dressed, then found the ski-gear room near the kitchen, and pulled on a bib, coat, and boots, and took skis.
"I'll ski down then. Sorry darling" said Harry.
"Fine. Leave them at the chairlift" said Carolina, sitting up in bed naked, and pulling the sheet up as a caul. "You okay to get taxi?"
Harry came back and kissed her "I would rather stay" he whispered.
She sighed. "The good ones are married to someone, or their jobs" she said.
"I'm not that good"
"James, you're my best. Come see poor Carolina" she said. Harry left, feeling quite tight in the chest.
He got outside, and more snow had fallen overnight. The Alfa was covered with a foot or more.
Harry looked around, got his bearings, and shussed off across country, through black tree-trunks, to the ridge, and started to descend.
Something niggled at his imagination. There weren't wolves in the mountains, were there? Because he'd seen grey moving in the black tree-trunks.
The staccato pop pop pop of Russian 5.56 carbine rounds kicked Harry's heartbeat to a fast pace.
Someone had just shot at him.
Harry awkwardly turned around on his skis, and cursed his dislike for skiing. James Bond could ski well, in the movies anyway.
Harry slid backwards down the hill in a reverse-snowplow and through the trees behind him he saw three, no four figured on skis, without poles, but carrying short rifles.
Hit squad. Fuck. Harry patted his chest to check – he still had his bullet repelling charm on. Right, outrun them, get clear, kill them and make it look like a regular failed hit.
Had Carolina been in on it? He wondered, and that was icier than the mountain air. She'd seemed... genuinely unwilling for him to leave. Probably not. He didn't exactly cover his tracks on holiday. Passport in Bond's name, his credit card. Still, going to central Europe as Harry Potter would attract much harder to kill enemies. Some of whom might be undead.
Harry spun on the skis, nearly fell, and righted himself, and took up a downhill stance, and picked up speed. The trees made it quite dangerous. Almost dangerous enough to be interesting.
He didn't hear another burst of gunfire, and in a nice open space made a quick spin to see behind himself. He was getting a good lead on his pursuers.
Harry stopped, wriggled a hand into his ski-clothes far enough to get his wand out, and disillusioned himself.
A quick size-and pull charm to a tree and Harry was twenty feet uphill from his last ski-tracks.
He took off the skis and held one up. Time to play 'ski hazards that kill."
The grey-suited skier was very good, and was shooting downhill with a gun instead of poles. But he never saw the ski hit his neck. Harry's hands jolted, but the grey-camo'ed man was clearly dead. Live people's heads aren't at that angle. Harry checked the weapon. A Russian AKS-74U. So Russian special forces. Well, he did make lots of Russians dead recently. Harry cycled the bolt, and went hunting.
The other three members of the team were very good, so Harry stayed disillusioned, and apparated in close and shot them in their backs.
Conscious of his short schedule, Harry cleaned the weapon off, dumped it, apparated to the base of the distant chairlift, dumped the ski gear, feeling annoyed. Harry apparated back to Vienna, to a parking lot near Club Passage. He took a taxi to the hotel, picked up his bag, and got to the airport by taxi, and paid by card for the next flight to Britain – Air Austria.
The air crew were very friendly, and one reminded him of Carolina, and one of the others, of a dark-haired Greengrass. Harry ate the offered breakfast – doubtless less loving than what he'd missed out on, and caught up on sleep.
Once he cleared customs at Heathrow terminal four, a bobby pointed him to an unmarked car.
Harry got in, and the driver, who was wearing and earpiece said "Mr Bond" and left.
Harry got a text message from Moneypenny a minute later.
"SEE M IMMEDIATELY"
Oh, that sort of urgent, thought Harry.
Moneypenny had a cup of tea waiting for Harry, as he waited. Her hair was grey-blonde today.
"There's a briefing in an hour in Briefing two. Everyone's recalled." said Moneypenny.
"Serious?"
"One of our SSBN's has missed its check-in." said Moneypenny. Harry swallowed with difficulty, his throat suddenly dry.
"A nuclear submarine?"
"With twenty-four nuclear missiles. With MIRV warheads" added Moneypenny. The teacup shook in Harry's hand. Very serious.
Moneypenny nodded "You might as well go to Briefing Two. Q' branch are running briefing workshops. Crash course in nuclear weapons targeting, and disarming."
Harry finished the tea, and went to be sick. Nuclear weapons pinched. Lots of them. He runsed his mouth with tapwater and stared into his own eyes in the mirror. This was a lot scarier than some Death Eaters, he thought.
He went to Briefing Two three minutes later, and sat down next to a grey haired boffin.
"Bond. Pre-brief me" he said.
The boffin checked on their laptop "Hmm. Right, Big bombs, twenty-four of twelve. Mixture of City killers, and dummies."
"Dummies?"
"Dummy warheads, to help overwhelm anti-warhead defences" said the Boffin "I'm Boothroyd, by the way. Well not really. But Aliases."
"Right. And ... targeting?" asked Harry.
"Boothroyd took a carton off the floor and cut it open and took out a red ringbinder.
"This is classified Top Secret, compartment Regal Horrorshow" said Boothroyd. "This is the intro to targeting. We use grid co-ordinates, Twenty digits. The last two of each ten are wank, really."
"Uhuh" said Harry "Lat and Long?"
"But not quite, because this is Polaris. Americans." said Boothroyd.
The next hour was a blur of red ringbinders, full of pages with every page stamped in red TOP SECRET.
"Whoever did this" said Boothroyd slowly "Kill the sons of bitches." he added politely.
"That" said Harry mildly "Is the job description."
"Sorry about the alias" said Boothroyd "terrible rumours about you, of course."
"The one about M isn't true" said Harry lightly "The seduction course, that one's true."
"And escape and Evasion at the regiment?" asked Boothroyd, sounding quite military all of a sudden.
"Well, yeah. Prior experience" said Harry quietly.
"So, Lieutenant Colonel Winthrop says the sun shines out of your skinny arse" said Boothroyd "Compared to here, where you're famous for wrecking everything you touch."
"And surviving missions" said Harry.
"Wrecking everything you touch," repeated Boothroyd "And M is being Cruel and Unusual. Aston bloody Martin."
"I like the DB5" said Harry honestly. "It's a chick magnet."
Boothroyd snorted. "And calling yourself James Bond has no problems?"
'Not yesterday" quipped Harry, with a crooked smile.
"Oh you poor bastard" said Boothroyd.
"She wants me visit again" said Harry with a wry smile. "Little ski chalet, pretty girl."
"Your file says you're an indifferent skier" said Boothroyd. Who was clearly senior then.
"I only skied off the mountain. I was there for the woman." said Harry.
"That's why they call you Bond" said Boothroyd.
"That's all M" said Harry tiredly.
The room was filling up, and finally M came in, and shut the door and locked it behind her.
"Sit down, pay attention." said M. "The admiralty report they have lost contact with the HMS Ranger. A Reliant class SSBN, Twenty-four missiles. One Quarter of Britain's strategic deterrent."
M paused "And the Prime minster got a call from the Kremlin. They've just lost a Kilo class. Thought it was us. We thought it was them."
Fuck, thought Harry. This is going to be a détente thing again. And I just terminated a Spetznaz team.
"Because of this, we think it's the work of a new threat. Designated Threat-Occelot." said M. "Admiralty assure us that if the ship sank – not on purpose, the distress beacon would have told us by now. So they ship has been boarded. Which is impossible. Boothroyd, head of Q branch has some theories."
Boothroyd stood up next to Harry "Now..." he paused "Pay attention double oh's" he said, and there were snickers from the room and Harry felt the gaze of his colleagues. Oh, another Bond reference.
He shifted a little uncomfortable in his saet.
"The Reliance's must be surrounded by seawater, or the reactor will overheat. That is a failure mode we could detect from satellite." started Boothroyd dryly.
004, who was young, female and from Trinidad, and far too bloody serious, was taking notes.
"If the bridge warning system is not touched every eight hours, a distress beacon will separate from the outer hull and surface. It transmits a distress signal for four days. And pings so that sonar warning arrays can detect it. The beacon has basic black-box recorder facilities, and there is no detection of it being set off. The control to set it off manually can be made with one hand from deck level, the knob is under the stairs to the command centre, marked "turn every four hours." There is a safety-wired lever next to it- if pulled the beacon goes off immediately."
"The last known position was in the Atlantic, four hundred nautical miles off the sea lanes." said M. "Significantly, the Soviet vessel was lost less than one hundred miles away, within two days of the Ranger."
Harry and the other double-oh's looked at each other and everyone looked worried.
"Not an accident" said M firmly.
"Now, one of the Admiralty analysts is having a nervous breakdown, claims a LNG carrier was in the vicinity of both vessels." said M. "Coincidentally, that vessel is large enough to contain two SSBNs with room left over."
"Who does that belong to?" asked 004 sharply.
"We're already following that up" said M, and the room quietened.
"Bond, you're being assigned a Soviet Major. You've got a track record of operating well with their people, and they want their ship back." said M. "Boothroyd..."
"We believe" said Boothroyd "From... methods and techniques most classified, that the Soviet navy is very agitated about the Kilo class that is missing. Some of the diplomatic language is not very diplomatic. Our working hypothesis is that the Kilo has a flaw that requires special care and attention. Care that a prize crew may not supply. For those of you who slept through the briefing, a naval reactor is quite capable of exploding, being fuelled with plutonium. A several kiloton explosion."
"And my associate will know about the special care required" said Harry. "An engineer?"
"No" said M "You're getting one of our opposite number. Major Amasova from the first directorate."
Harry realised everyone was staring at him. He smiled "Well, I'll be on my best behaviour" he said.
"Bond, if you ruin the very fragile truce we're operating under for this mission" said M.
"I'll be charming" interrupted Harry.
M glared at him. "Don't make a hash of this."
"So, do I get a briefing from the Admiralty – if there's things about Rangers?" asked Bond.
"Moneypenny may get you an appointment. But, and I'd remind EVERYONE... everything about our strategic deterrent is most secret, and everything about Polaris is Top Secret, and our relationship with the Americans be severely damaged if any of it leaked. So my official direction is that if any of you recover control of the vessel, and you cannot secure it fully, destroy it to prevent it being studied. "
"Q, hand out the scuttling folders, if you will" asked M.
Q rummaged in the cardboard box and handed out a pile of red, translucent plastic envelopes that had a few pages in each one. The cover, Harry realised said "Ranger Class scuttling procedures. TOP SECRET."
"Everyone, this file is Top Secret Ultramarine Stygian" said M "Mentioning that you have read it is an offence under the Act. Everyone, open your file now."
Harry tore open the packet and took out the ... four pages? They felt flimsy and smelt of fireworks. Flash paper then.
Around the room everyone was opening it up.
"Four, five and Six, pay extra attention to the page on how to destroy the communications keys. You will be sent off to escort Admiralty Signals teams to re-key the other three vessels. Ranger is in dock, Resolute is at sea, and four – for your comfort, you're getting Ranger. Five, you're getting Resolute, Six, Reliance."
"Where is Reliance?" asked six.
"In deep refit. Should be quick" said M.
"My comfort maam" asked 004, she looked quite tense.
"A submarine at sea has no provision for female personnel" said M "Five, you're ex navy, you'll love it."
"Destroyers maam, not bloody subs" muttered five, and all the agents laughed nervously.
"Quiet" said M sharply. "Seven – you'd better be able to scuttle a Resolute with your eyes closed or there will be hell to pay."
Harry read the two relevant pages, covered in diagrams, and checklists. It was rather overwhelming.
Something occurred to Harry "Maam?" asked Harry "Do we have a procedure to scuttle a Kilo class?"
"Oddly" said M in an icy tone, "We do not have the USSR's most closely held procedure. You read Russian, Q will help you cram this process, and you will have to use your creativity, should the opportunity present."
Four lifted her hand "Maam, should we find the Kilo, should we destroy it, or try to salvage it, for intelligence."
"Four, you're going to Portsmouth" said M. "Not swanning across the Atlantic."
Four looked ropeable, thought Harry. Why the hell was M babying her?
"Everyone else, and four, five and six, once you're done, are assigned to chase up every lead reported. No matter how wild a goose-chase. An eight thousand ton submarine does not just vanish into thin air by magic!" snapped M.
Harry's back went cold. Magic. A statute breach with nuclear weapons. He blinked, and tried to concentrate on the diagram, which had got a bit crooked. Harry blinked again. The checklist was... crooked on the page. It had been made from two pieces and photo-copied. The last part was quite short.
Disengage all locking latches, pull in all control group stops in banks one through twelve, grasp both throttles and lift to maximum position and lock off."
Harry stared at it. Three steps. He read the step before. "Disable over temperature alarm."
That seemed, like you could skip it. The one before... disable secondary radiation alarm.
Harry got out his pen and started crossing out steps that seemed irrelevant.
There were five steps that weren't alarms and warnings. Disable primary coolant pump, Disable backup coolant pump, the last three. Bloody simple.
Beside him, Q coughed. "Spotted the gubbins. I have a theory about you, you know."
Harry looked over at Q, who was smiling with half closed eyes "Perceptive fellow" said Q quietly.
"M wants me to say, Bond, just try not to break it, that should guarantee it blows."
Something that was not in the scuttling sheet occurred to Harry. Something about when. He couldn't help frowning quite hard.
"Come on, Bond" said Q, and he stood up, and tugged at Harry's sleeve.
"I'll take Bond off for the special briefing" said Q.
M nodded curtly.
Harry slipped the file back in the folder and followed Q out of the room. Which... was being guarded by four armoured soldiers with submachine guns at port-arms.
"Two of you with us" said Q, and headed down the hallway.
Two of the soldiers followed Harry and Q, one pushing past to be in front.
"We're going to my office" said Q loudly.
They took the stairs, not the lift. Harry appreciated that was being a bit paranoid.
Q opened the door to Q branch, and over into a small door Harry had never looked at before, and opened it, a small office with a desk. The soldiers guarded the door, and Harry and Q went in.
"Sit" said Q, and he took out a bug-detector, and checked the readout. "Safe" he said, and pressed a button, the door clonked.
"How long after the scuttle before it blows?" asked Harry. It had been playing on his mind.
"Four to twelve seconds" said Q "Depending on the fuel state. Teaching you how to read the meters and logs would take a degree in nuclear physics. Pull lever, bang."
Harry nodded. Just time to apparate away, then. "How long would it take, hypothetically" said Harry "To get out of the reactor room, to the escape hatch?"
"It's three stories up companionways" said Q, and he took out a metal roasting pan "Papers in the burn tray."
Harry put the file in the burn tray.
"Light it" said Q.
Harry shrugged "No lighter" he said.
"At least carry some matches" said Q, taking a metal lighter from his top drawer, and lighting the entire file. It burnt very quickly, turning to silvery ash in under a minute.
Harry watched the bluish flames. Homely really, reminded him of potions.
"Bond" said Q "We're not expecting you to kill yourself doing this."
"Neither am I" quipped Harry.
"M picked you because you're the agent that survives." said Q.
Harry nodded once.
"And four is being babied. The Navy's not the place for a clever young woman to give orders out of the chain of command." said Q. "And I think M's going soft on her personally. Her scores in weapons are good." Q paused "Better than yours." he added.
Harry shrugged.
"We do have some basic details on the Kilo class. The Alfa class, older, have sunk before. We got a camera in, the old Four, and have these reactor room photos."
Q opened a safe behind his desk and took out a large folder. He opened it over the metal tray, and there was a photo of ... a machinery room of some kind, with marine growths on everything.
"The ship had been sunk for a month before we got to it" said Q, and he pointed out controls.
It was a lot more automated than the Reliance class, which was uncannily mechanical.
"Our best guesses are that the Kilo class is a derivative of this control room. The scuttling procedure will be similar."
"Four to twelve seconds again" said Harry.
"Quite" said Q "In the unlikely event you found both at a dock, with catwalks and bunting, one going up would scuttle the other."
"How... big an explosion would that be?" asked Harry.
"About four kilotons" said Q dryly "The entire vessel will be melted."
Harry froze, quite big then.
"How... far away is safe?" asked Harry.
"Well, you did the ADM course. Didn't you?" asked Q. Harry smiled nervously – he'd crammed it and forgotten it after the exam.
"Twenty miles, don't look in the direction of the explosion., and be upwind, preferably... use breathing apparatus suitable for a nuclear war" said Q drily "The usual. Decontaminate as soon as possible"
"Is an escape breather a suitable substitute?" asked Harry.
Q froze and blinked "That's... a very creative idea. Probably work. Oh and take iodine pills, as per procedure."
Harry nodded, and Q went over every photo, one at a time. Harry tried to ignore the partly skeletal human remains in the water in many of the photos.
"So, you said this was old four took these?" asked Harry. "Promoted out?"
"Died of radiation" said Q.
Q eyed him silently for a moment. "Do you have children?" asked Q.
Harry fronze in surprise at the question. He'd assumed Q, who'd seen his training reports was senior enough to see his personnel file.
"No" said Harry "I'm not married. Last serious girlfriend was before I joined the Regiment."
"Ah" said Q, and he hesitated "Do you … want children?"
Harry felt his mouth open, and briefly imagined holding Ginny, watching a bunch of little Potter-Weasley crosses playing in the fields by the Burrow. He swallowed with difficulty, and looked Q in the eyes "Doesn't seem to be time, does there" he said.
"It's just HR want – " started Q.
Harry interrupted "I don't need grief counselling, I don't need to talk to someone about my feelings."
"Well that's true I suppose" said Q mildly "But medical could freeze a semen sample for you. There's some risk if you mess around with reactors and bombs that you might not be able afterwards."
Harry stared at Q "A sample"
"They'd hold it temporarily, till you found a clinic with cryo-storage, after the mission" said Q.
Harry tilted his head "You're assuming I'll live."
"Yes" said Q. "Personally I'm retiring soon."
"You don't look a day over eighty" said Harry sarcastically. Q glared at him for a moment.
"Now, we've got a lead for you" said Q, handing over a tiny camera "Microfilm camera, this one is also a viewer, so you can view microfilms."
"Microfilm?"
"We were contacted, discreetly some time ago, by persons who claimed to have developed a submarine tracking system. That could find a submarine at sea. Like a radar" said Q.
"There's sonar" said Harry.
"Better" said Q "We sent six to investigate, and it was small outfit in West Germany."
"And?" said Harry.
"It seemed too good to be true" said Q. "They wanted a hundred million."
"Oh" said Harry, that was a lot.
"The scientists from that organisation are now missing" said Q.
Harry lifted his eyebrows.
"Last records from Interpol, they went to Greece, then, interestingly, claim they were robbed at the hotel. The usual, travellers cheques, cameras, money."
"And then went missing?"
"After going to Italy" said Q.
"The rumour is that a microfilm of their invention was taken" said Q "We want it. It's the sort of coincidence that isn't. Submarine tracking system inventors go missing... and then two submarines get hijacked."
"You're on the ... hijacking boat" quipped Harry. Q have him a dirty look. "Piracy, Bond."
"Yo ho" said Harry sarcastically.
"Oh do be serious, 007!" said Q, with a twinkle in his eyes. Harry sighed, everyone loved their James Bond jokes.
"So, Greece, Italy?"
"Egypt. Sources say someone in Cairo's got it." said Q. "Don't tell the Russians."
"Aren't I supposed to work with this major?"
"Oh you'll find that easy" said Q.
"Huh?"
"Major Amasova's a young woman" said Q.
M's admonition made more sense, Harry realised. But he could be professional.
"Do we know anything about the tracking system?" asked Harry.
"That's why we didn't buy a demonstration. They wouldn't show Six anything" said Q, then he said "Except an accurate track of Reliance's course at sea. The Admiralty went on a witch-hunt, of course."
"Of course" said Harry. "But... it wasn't a spy at Admiralty."
"Actually we found two" said Q "Six shot them, attempting to escape."
"So, spies but not the source" said Harry.
"Leaking information, but not submarine tracks" said Q.
Harry chalked that up to regular spy business.
"Your friend Sheik Hosien might know someone in Egypt" said Q.
"Oh... Jadesh. He's..."
"Your friend, because you're James Bond" said Q. "Why, nobody cares."
Q let him out, and waved the soldiers off. "The file is destroyed. Back to Briefing two."
Harry stood around in the Q workshop, and looked around at some of the slightly contrived funny demos. An exploding plaster-cast, of all things. All, he supposed the result of his appointment, and slight problems with magic screwing up technology.
Q came out of his office, and looked around "Well, let's get you equipped" he said.
"Geiger counter?" asked Harry.
"Rolex Submariner." said Q, taking one from a drawer "The sweep second hand is the radiation level. It's stationary normally. If you see it doing more than ten revolutions per second, the battery will go flat very quickly." Harry exchanged his for the special one, and put his in his jacket pocket.
Q nodded, and led him over to a large, car-sized cloth-covered form. He pulled the cover off, and there was a white car shaped like a door wedge, up on jacks.
"Lotus Esprit S1" said Q "Your new car." Harry felt a massive pang at the loss of his DB5.
Q opened the driver's door, and got a folder out, and handed it to Harry "Operations manual."
Harry gave the inside a quick peek. - it was a sporty interior with a no obvious gimmicks.
"And?" asked Harry.
"It's convertible" said Q, with a smirk, and pointed to the door, Harry got in.
Q got in the passenger seat slowly "Not as young as I was" he said apologetically.
"Press the middle switch on the console" said Q.
Harry did, and nothing happened.
"Turn it on first, 007," said Q drily.
Harry turned on the key, and pressed the button – and the dashboard spun, all the instruments changing, and a panel of switches on the ceiling was exposed.
"Converts into a short-range submersible" said Q. "One hundred feet is the maximum depth, so don't go too deep, the pressure seals will blow and you'll drown. He pointed out the controls "T bar for left, right, and forward. There's no air for the engine one you're under, so the float switch turns it off."
"And... moving?"
"There is a bank of electric propellers." said Q. "Forty minutes endurance."
Harry eyed the huge folder "It's a car and a submarine."
"You have tonight to learn it" said Q. "I'll have someone bring you dinner."
Harry sighed.
"Turn it back to normal – the doors lock in submarine mode." said Q.
Harry did, and after a lot of whining actuators, the car dashboard was restored to normal instruments.
"Now, with a due sense of dread," said Q "The engine is turbo-charged. When driven hard, you'll get another forty percent engine power. It does tend to come on with some delay."
"Top speed?" asked Harry, interested.
"One forty, maybe more. We've uprated the brakes, used carbon-carbon from a fighter jet. The tyres won't take panic braking twice – they shred." said Q.
"Weapons?"
"In sub mode, four small diameter torpedoes, mini depth charges, and, as a car, we're particularly pleased with it, an anti-aircraft missile. Ideal if you're tagged by a helicopter.
"Does it work underwater?"
"No" said Q. "Don't be bloody silly. The controls are under the radio facade."
"No machine guns?" asked Harry.
"No" said Q firmly "Just bloody shoot them yourself."
"Why not" asked Harry.
"Because it's a full of submarine parts, Bond!" said Q loudly.
"Gun, ammo?" asked harry.
"PPK, ten magazines" said Q.
"Ten?"
"You might need them." said Q.
"If I had a normal gun, I could get ammo" said Harry pointedly.
"James Bond uses a PPK" said Q, with a smirk "M and I agree."
"Bastards" muttered Harry.
Q went back to his office, leaving Harry to familiarise himself with the Lotus.
One of the Q branch boys handed Harry a cafeteria plate with sandwiches at six.
He left work past midnight, vaguely familiar with the Lotus. He drove the DB5 home, and patted its dashboard when he got to Mayfair "You're my favourite" he said softly.
Harry got to sleep, and woke tired, to the sound of the bedside phone ringing.
"Bond" croaked Harry.
"Your flight is in fifty minutes. A car will be outside your door in ten" said Moneypenny.
"Ugh... thanks" croaked Harry.
He packed a suitcase, taking his 'hot weather' suits in white. He put the match-book from his coat into his suit pocket, it was an easy way to make fire in public, and there seemed to be a lot of flash paper in this mission. No time for food, he cast a cleaning charm on the kitchen, and dragged himself to the door.
He was asleep in the back seat of the 'London Taxi' before the black cab had started moving.
"Mr Bond, we're here" said the driver, and Harry woke up at Heathrow.