Dublin Airport, Ireland

The custom officer looked at the passport and then at it's holder who stood before, having just arrived from Moscow. The picture matched the face of the tall man who had blue eyes and blonde hair. The officer stamped on the passport and asked,

"Rupert Solomon?"

"I Am." answered the man in a light cockney accent.

"What's your purpose of visit?"

"I'm visiting an old friend."

The custom's officer nodded apathetically then handed him his passport as he was done.

"Enjoy your stay."

"Aye, I will."

The man claiming to be Solomon walked away from the custom's officer and headed to the exit, once he reached the outside he was met with a warm breeze, which was a nice change from Ireland's usual cold weather, he grabbed the attention of a cab driver and got into the backseat.

-----------------------------

London, England

In a windowless building, a tall handsome man headed to a certain room on the first floor. He was met with nods of respect from his underlings as he passed them.

"About to meet the boss again?" asked a man whose skin was made or rubber and wore wide sunglasses

"Yes I am, Mr. Cain."

He was about to keep going, but turned around to face Cain.

"I thought I'd made myself clear on the subject of your actions."

"What actions?"

"What you did with a tourist in Cairo right before the Assassination."

"Like you're a saint, Gray. I know about what you did back in the eighteen-hundreds."

"I don't care about who you bugger, If your target had heard about it before you killed him, he would have taken protective measures, and it you would you be in our Morgue right now."

"Alright, chief. Next time I'll do it after I'm done killing."

Gray walked away and headed to a door with the number 101 on it. He stared into a screen on the right of the door and a device scanned his eye.

'Please state your name.' came a voice demanding identification.

"Gray, Dorian."

A beep was heard as the voice check was done and the door opened, he pushed it open all the way and walked in.

The walls were covered with flat screens and there was a leather arm chair in the center of the room on which Gray sat on. He lit a Cuban cigar as the center screen was switched on automatically and a face appeared, that of a strict man in his forties with a goatte, his eyed deep as the pits of hell and spoke with a powerful voice.

"Good evening, Mr. Gray." said the man on the screen in a sophisticated British accent.

"Good evening, Big Brother." said Dorian with respect as he took a drag from his Cuban.

"Some factors have lead to the Marshfield project to be put into action instantly, is the plan operable?"

"My agents are already in position, Sir. Consider it done."

"Excellent."

"I have more Good news, Sir. Mr. Bond in no longer a problem."

"Elaborate."

"You may remember that the Operative James Bond had abandoned the League three months ago, stealing several of our dossiers with him."

"Certainly."

"He was found yesterday morning, Sir. In Cairo, where Mr. Cain of Department 'A' was able to Assassinate Bond and retrieved the Dossiers. Bond's corpse is in our Morgue to validate his identity. Another one bites the dust."

"Had he not sold the files yet?"

"If he did, he would have had enough money to hire some very daunting security to protect him for the rest of his life, when we found him, all he had was a Beretta that jammed and wouldn't fire."

"Be sure to give England's thanks to the Operative you've mentioned. So, I presume all our breaches have been mended?"

"Except for the pitiful Shadows, Sir." said Dorian in a mocking tone of the said 'Shadows'.

"Yes, well, I suppose we should worry more about the cockroaches in our restrooms. That is all, Gray. England Prevails."

"England Prevails."

-------------------------------

Rupert Solomon grinned as he looked upon the traditional Irish pub, he paid the Cabbie and picked up his only bag, then headed in.

Inside, the patrons were watching a Soccer World Cup match, and as the men by the bar tossed back their pints and barked at the screen. Solomon approached a barmaid and asked.

"Evenin' Miss."

"Hello, can I help you?"

"I'm looking for a friend of mine, with the initials H-J. . You wouldn't know who is he by any chance, would you?"

The barmaid looked at him sideways, obviously thinking there was something off about him.

"No, Sir. No H-Jays in here."

"Are you sure? He's tall, thin, British, red hair..."

"Oh! You meant J-H!"

Solomon actually meant H.J., but was willing to play along.

"Yeah, why? Did I say H-J? Sorry, anyway, where is he?"

The Barmaid called for the Bartender, "Oyo, Rick!"

"What?" asked Rick the bartender as he watched the match.

"Did you see Jack? Someone is here to see him."

"He had himself twelve pints last night and had been sleeping it off ever since."

"Twelve Pints!" asked an astonished young man y the bar.

"Yeah, that Harding bloke has a kidney of Iron. I swear he's not human!"

"He must be in his flat, then." said the Barmaid as she turned to Solomon.

"And where would his flat be?"

The barmaid started to grow suspicious about him again.

"Are you really his friend?"

"Yeah, sure."

"How did you too meet?"

"We used to work together."

"When?"

'Back in the Nineteenth Century' Solomon contemplated saying.

"It's been a little while."

"Well why didn't you ask for his name? Why the initials?"

"You know what, I'll be back later." said Solomon as he turned and exited, cursing his luck.

Outside, he pulled a flask of cherry out of his coat and drank from it as he sat at a bench and looked at the bar, above which were a couple of apartments, no doubt did the bartender live in one.

He had an idea, suddenly. So he walked behind the bar and walked up the stairs that lead to the apartments. There were a couple of letter addressed to a 'Jack Harding' by the doorstep.

Looking around to make sure none was looking, he got on his knees and inserted two slim metal instruments and started picking the lock.

As he heard the latch clicking open, he picked up the letters and his bag and walked in like he owned the place.

The flat was obviously that of a carefree bachelor, cups and plates were everywhere, several books were on the floor next to the couch on which someone covered with a blanket slept with a faint snore.

Solomon stood by the couch and whispered, "Henry, wake up!"

Henry or Jack Harding wouldn't wake up, so he pulled the sheet from his face when suddenly a fist burst through the air and hit his jaw.

"Jesus Christ!" said Solomon as he landed on his back, Henry then grabbed a bottle that was nearby and went to attack him when a look of recognition crossed his face.

"Skinner?"