Chapter 2 – 'We wish you a pleasant flight'

Bond took a last look at Prague through the window of the Bombardier Dash 8-400, but the cloudy sky below the plane was like a thick lid over the city. He leaned back in his seat, rested his head, and focused his mind on the events of the past days.

Apparently, it was a sordid and bloody stupid business that had costed the life of two brilliant scientists.

When M had called for him, a fortnight earlier, he had tried to get some more information about the reason for the call from Ms. Moneypenny, M's private secretary. But she seemed to avoid his look, and cut short any attempt at witticism, simply stating:

- "She's waiting for you, James."

When Bond entered the large office at the ninth floor of the MI6 building, M was sitting at her mahogany desk. On top of the desk, in front of her, there was only a thick folder. He felt a sudden excitement: it was certainly a new assignment...

But his eagerness soon turned into bitterness.

At the end of the briefing with M, he coldly took the brown folder with the red star meaning "top-secret" and took it to his office. After looking silently at the cover for a long minute, he made up his mind to go through the pages.

It began with a short two pages report by an MI6 analyst about a project named Mercurius, after the Roman messenger god. It was an EEC funded project involving scientists from five countries. Apparently, it aimed at creating some kind of new cryptographic protocol intended to secure bank to bank transfers and stock exchange operations. The project was subdivided into eight workpackages, each of them confided to two to four renowned scientists. Recently, the two scientists in charge of workpackage 6, Combination of cryptographic primitives, were found dead, and they were supposed to have been killed because of their involvement in Mercurius.

Then came a note from Scotland Yard, about the death of Prof. Michael Hughes, from University College department of computer sciences, in London. It stated that the shattered body of this respected scientist, known as a family man and father of three children, had been found 120 feet down a rocky cliff, near Deal. Two days after his death, his wife had received a letter in their mailbox, posted from Deal, in which he begged her pardon for cheating on her with his colleague Lenka Čermáková, and explained he couldn't bear this double life any more, and felt unable to leave either his wife or his mistress. But the Yard considered this "suicide" as obviously dubious: according to the autopsy report attached, Hughes had been killed by a head snap that could not have been caused by his fall. Besides, the letter sent to his wife had many odd spelling mistakes for a man who, according to his friends and family, wrote spotless English and was experienced in academic writing. The body of the letter was typewritten, but a graphologist had produced a report about the handwritten signature: the expert deemed that it was in no case written by Hughes' hand, and concluded it had been rather clumsily copied, apparently using some kind of tracing paper. According to the police, it seemed even very dubious that Hughes ever had an affair with his Czech colleague. Finally, the police report stated that some files belonging to Prof. Hughes appeared to be missing. His laptop and some data keys containing his latest research material couldn't be found. It was therefore concluded that the scientist had been murdered and his death disguised as suicide to conceal the theft of his research data.

The third document was a Czech police report with its English translation. It was about the death of Dr. Lenka Čermáková... The young woman had been found dead in the bath of her flat, after cutting her veins apparently. But the autopsy report stated that she had bruises on her arms and face indicating a violent struggle, and that she had certainly been drugged with a narcoleptic. The typewritten letter found next to her and stating she didn't want to survive her lover, Michael Hughes, seemed as dubious as the first letter. And as for the British professor, her laptop and some data seemed to have mysteriously disappeared. Bond put aside the translated abstract, and leafed through the Czech documents. His eyes stopped on the crime scene photos. He fixed for a moment the image of the livid body he had loved lying in a pool of blood. The blood... He could even feel its nauseating smell, he could feel it wrap around him like it had wrapped around Lenka... He felt his stomach was about to turn, and stood up abruptly to dismiss the feeling. He walked to the window, lit a cigarette, and tried to control the burning anger he felt growing deep inside of him. After a moment, he slowly crushed his cigarette in an ashtray, and came back to his desk to read the last item in the folder. He had regained control over his feelings. But still not over the little pulse beating on his temples.

The last document was a report sent by Stanislav Šlesinger, signalling that an unidentified group in Central Europe was trying to get offers for what they claimed to be top-secret cryptographic research material.

Bond closed the folder and put his hands flat on the table. All this sounded like a very badly managed operation, a crime perpetrated by clumsy, low-grade professionals. It was certainly not the kind of job a secret service would have done. There were too many gross mistakes in those poorly disguised killings. It looked like some gangsters or a mob had given up their traditional smuggling and robbery activities to try to make it with the same methods in the world of intelligence. Bloody fools! And bloody mess…

The rest had been routine work. The next day he was in Prague to meet Stanislav Šlesinger. The MI6 man knew his business, and he had links in Central Europe. He set a rumour afloat that Bond, supposed to be the representative of an international software firm, was interested by the Mercurius cryptographic data that was said to be up for sale. A few days later came the first contact, via email. Bond asked for a sample of the data, which was quickly sent. The electronic file was immediately transmitted to MI6 analysts, who confirmed it was without the shadow of a doubt taken from Mercurius.

The first rendezvous was soon arranged, in a crowded coffee-house right in the middle of the tourist area. Bond was told to sit down at a particular table, and wait for someone to join him. After about an hour, two men came and settled in front of him. The oldest and biggest one, who did most of the talking, had the build of a rugby player and was in his early forties. The youngest, in his mid-thirties, looked very strong and hard despite his short size, and had something in his eyes that made him look a bit deranged. They spoke poor English with a strong Central European accent Bond couldn't identify with certainty. Both of them were casually dressed, and wore big camera cases across the shoulder. They could have been tourists, except their gallows-look. Everything in their appearance and attitude seemed to confirm Bond's first impression: they definitely looked like Mafia strong arms, not like secret service professionals. Their obvious concern was to check on their client before allowing him to meet the boss. They gave him some more information about the data, and some details about the way the payment was to be made. They seemed satisfied with Bond, and told him he would receive an email in the next few days to set a new and final appointment. He was to bring the money with him to take possession of the data.

The photos of the two men taken by Šlesinger during this interview using a telephoto lens were immediately sent to MI6 headquarters for identification. The answer came after two hours: they had no background in intelligence, but both of them had impressive police records. The oldest one, Pavel Nekovář, was a Czech thug. The youngest, Vukasin 'Vuk' Stojaković, was a Serbian and had spent several years in jail for heroin smuggling, before moving to Czech Republic three years before. Both of them were known to be currently hired as henchmen by Pjeter Dobroski, the ruthless boss of an Albanian Mafia cell in Prague. A simple checking proved that both Nekovář and Stojaković were travelling under their real names in the UK at the time Prof. Michael Hughes was killed. Simple case. More than simple: childish...

Three days after this preliminary meeting, an email came. Bond was told to wait the next day at four and half in the morning at a bus stop in the center of Prague, unarmed. On due time, an old van stopped. 'Vuk' Stojaković was behind the wheel, and Nekovář on the passenger's seat. They went out, opened the boot doors and beckoned to come in. Behind the closed doors, they searched him thoroughly and, satisfied, went out, leaving him alone in the boot of the van, without windows. They drove for a little less than an hour. Bond had no idea where he was being taken, but he was sure Šlesinger knew it, thanks to an undetectable microchip in the heel of his left shoe.

The final act was played at dawn, in a big isolated shed. Bond was introduced to Dobroski in a small office on a side of the shed, with the two thugs staying two steps behind him. After a short talk, he deemed he had enough intel about Dobroski and the case, and it was time to balance the accounts. When he felt the moment was right, Bond suddenly struck out at Nekovář first and, taking advantage of the surprise effect, made the huge man lose his balance. He pushed him with all his strength, using the massive body as a human shield, and slammed Vuk against the wall as the Serbian was drawing his gun. He heard the sharp crack and felt the shockwave of the bullet in the dead body pressed against him. Letting go of Nekovář, Bond took hold of Vuk's shooting hand and sent him crashing against Dobroski's desk with a judo throw. Vuk's gun was now in Bond's hand, and he had the semi-stunned thug and the Albanian Mafia boss in his line of fire. Maybe he could have handled it in a different way. Maybe it was because of the Dexedrine tablet he had taken before going to this rendezvous. Maybe it was because of the cold anger he felt snarling deep in his chest for days. But everything went so fast he had no choice but to follow his instincts. Anyway, the bullet he sent right in the forehead of Vuk froze Dobroski, who had a hand in the drawer of his desk. For some seconds time stopped, and Bond himself, aiming at the man, couldn't tell if he was going to shoot the Albanian boss. But he regained control and, still very tense, shouted some sharp orders. He took Dobroski out of the small office where the linoleum floor was covered with two slowly growing puddles of blood around the bodies. He made him take an unsteady position, his legs apart and hands against the wall of the shed, and searched him. When he was finished, Bond reached for his mobile phone in the inner pocket of his jacket. He felt the dampness of his shirt before seeing the large red stain and being aware of the pain. Apparently, Nekovář's body hadn't been massive enough to stop Vuk's bullet. Indifferently, he dialed a number.

- "Stan? Could you lend me a hand in a bit of cleaning up?"

Before noon, the Mercurius files were safe while Dobroski was in a local safe house, and two advanced interrogators just arrived from London had taken charge of him. Clean job, indeed. And still, Bond couldn't feel satisfied...

The voice of an air hostess aroused him from his meditation.

- "Would you like something to drink, sir?"

His first impulse was to order a straight vodka, but he changed his mind and settled for black coffee.

After all, it was only nine in the morning.