Chapter 4. On Her Majesty's Secret Service's Nerves
February 19, 1977, 2:15 AM. Outside London.
Roan stepped off the plane and scanned the darkened runway. Given the time of night, it wasn't surprising that there was hardly anybody there. Of course, this wasn't a public airport, so one would hardly expect the usual throng of tourists, even if it wasn't 2 AM.
The airstrip belonged to Britain's department of counter-intelligence. According to Roan's instructions, he was to find a car waiting for him, and drive into London. The next morning, he'd be meeting with the team investigating Warner's death. Unfortunately, in addition to the lack of people waiting for him, there was also a lack of cars.
"Agent Montgomery?"
Roan turned around and perked up when he saw the woman approaching him. Her pale skin glowed in the lights of the nearby gate hangar, with dark curly hair partially covered by a small red cap. She looked like she would be completely at home at a croquet match, which was fine by Roan. He'd been to some pretty wild croquet matches in his day. "I'm Montgomery," he said in response.
"My name is Charlotte. I was sent here to pick you up," she explained in proper British annunciation. "We didn't have a car ready for you, so I'll take you to the hotel."
"Excellent," Roan replied, grabbing his bags. "I can't think of a better place for us to go." He followed her to the edge of the airstrip, where a small blue MG was parked. "Not bad. I see MI-5 still pays well."
"Hardly," the woman responded. "At least for me. I'm rather low on the totem pole, I'm afraid."
"Hmm." Roan hadn't been expecting a ticker-tape parade at his arrival, but a bit more than a low-level lackey would have been nice. She probably didn't even have the clearance to know about the case.
"I suspect you'd like an update on the investigation," the woman said after the car had reached the highway. "Warner was examined this afternoon, and the cause of death appears to be a heart attack. We didn't see any sign of forcible entry in the hotel room."
"I see."
"It did look like Warner was expecting a visitor last night. He'd ordered a bottle of scotch, and two glasses. The room service waiter bringing it up found the body a few minutes later."
"Interesting." Scotch was more of a drink for a late-night meeting than a romantic rendezvous. Maybe the killer had shown up first, and brought the Klebichov agent with him. "Any Soviets seen in the area?"
"As part of our security for the meetings, we've kept a close eye on any suspected KGB agents. We haven't noticed anyone in the vicinity of the hotel."
Roan decided on another line of questioning. "I was told that Warner wasn't the first person to die during these meetings."
"No, he wasn't." Charlotte kept her eyes on the road as she spoke. "There was another US emissary, an assistant to Warner who died in a car crash. Drove into a lorry on the opposite side of the road."
"Ah. Thrown off by the whole left-side-of-the-road thing?"
Charlotte didn't smile. "Unlikely. He was an experienced driver, and it was the middle of the afternoon. There was also a British agent with him, who presumably would have told him if he was on the wrong side of the road."
Thanks to the late hour, they entered London soon and were able to make their way to the hotel in little time. "This is where Warner died, and where you'll be staying."
"Wonderful," Roan said drily. "So, can I interest you in a night cap?"
The woman snorted. "You Americans are all the same. Never as charming as you think you are." She motioned toward the passenger door. "I suggest you get a good night's sleep, Agent Montgomery. I'll be here to pick you up at 8 tomorrow morning. You have a meeting with our head of security, and with the new leader of your American delegation at the meetings. Good night."
February 19, 1977, 7:40 AM, London.
A restful night's sleep was about the least thing Roan wanted from his nights. The British agent's rebuff had been surprising, but nothing to be too concerned about. He knew that his second impressions tended to be even better than his first.
Roan did take the opportunity to check out Warner's hotel room. Unfortunately, the place had been cleaned out pretty quickly. Clearly, the meetings were too secret to risk anything from getting leaked via curious maid staff. He'd have to speak to a few hotel employees when he had the chance. But no one was cleaning at 3 AM, so he decided to give sleeping a try.
Charlotte was waiting for him when he came down to the lobby the next morning. "You're late," she commented, arms enfolded.
"Proper grooming can't be rushed," he replied, receiving a snort from the British agent. Wasting no time, she led him out into the cold, windy air of the London morning. Roan briefly wondered why secret summits couldn't take place in the Caribbean.
"We'll be quicker walking," Charlotte commented. "Traffic's too thick this time of day. Now way we're getting through Trafalgar Square."
Roan shook his head. "This will never do." He glanced around, and noticed a police car at the end of the block. "Come on."
The young constable standing by the car was young, probably just starting out in his career. That would make it easier. "Excuse me," Roan said, easing into a British accent. "We need to get to MI-5 headquarters as quickly as possible. It's an emergency."
"I haven't heard anything," the constable rumbled.
Roan made a point of studying him with disdain. "I wouldn't think you would. Do you really think in a situation like this, one could risk taking the time to inform every rank-and-file bobby of what's going on?"
"Uh…"
"I suppose now you want me to tell you my life story while people's lives are at risk, do you? Or perhaps there's a school crossing guard around here we should clear it with first?"
The constable's expression was a combination of offended petulance and confusion. "Well, maybe not. But can I see some identification first?"
"We don't have time to…" Roan's protest was cut off when Charlotte reached over, showing her credentials.
"Ok, Agent Banginton. Come on!"
Roan and Charlotte hopped into the rear of the car, and a moment later they were off.
What he may have lacked in critical thinking, the constable made up for in aggressive driving. They weaved their way through traffic, sending the occasional pedestrian into a torrent of 'bloody's and 'bollock's. Roan watched this enfold through the car window with only passing interest.
"Bangington?" he asked Charlotte as they zipped through an intersection.
"Banginton," she corrected. "Why?"
"And Charlotte. I suppose you sometimes go by Lotty?"
The British agent frowned, but didn't reply.
Roan chuckled. "Lotty Bangington. I like it."
"Banginton," Charlotte retorted, "is a long-standing family name. Our family crest is one of the most recognized in Essex."
"I'm sure I'd love to see it," Roan replied drily.
"By the way, your accent needs some work," Charlotte commented. "You keep migrating from Kent to Cornwall mid-sentence."
"It got us here, didn't it," Roan replied, pointing to the building they were now parked in front of.
From the outside, it was clear that a lot of money had been spent on MI-5 headquarters. It gave off the usual air of class, while not standing out in a way that would cause anyone to look twice at it. To Roan, it just looked stuffy.
They quickly hopped out of the car, leaving the confused constable behind. "Wait! Is there something I can do?"
"Keep watch!" Roan responded in his best Cornwall/Kentonese. "Make sure nobody suspicious follows us!"
There were two men waiting for them in the conference room upstairs. "Right on time," one of them said when they sat down. He was American, with an easy smile that appeared to have been built from hours of rehearsal. Even though that sort of skill was valuable among spies, Roan knew that wasn't his stock in trade, because he recognized him.
"Mr. Felix," he said, shaking his hand. "And what is the senior Senator from New York doing here?"
"I've been asked by the president personally to oversee these negotiations. There has been some concern regarding the …turnover the project has experienced lately."
"That's one way to put it," Roan remarked.
"And the way we should continue to put it," the second man said gruffly. Unlike the other, he was clearly British. However, he didn't give off the smooth polish of an Eton or an Oxford graduate. Even though he seemed to be middle-aged, he still had the slight brutishness of someone who'd once spent much of his time using his fists.
"This is Terence Hamilton, who has been running security for the meetings," Charlotte introduced.
"Before we waste any of my time," Hamilton said before Roan could reach out his hand, "let me assure you that you are already wasting yours. Warner's death was a heart attack, pure and simple."
"My government would beg to differ," Roan replied calmly. He looked to the Senator, who shook his head.
"The President has assured me he has complete confidence in MI-5's security protocols, and with the coroner's examination of Warner. I'm afraid there was a miscommunication with the CIA."
Roan's eyes narrowed. He'd been around long enough to know that something wasn't right. "That simple? Given the nature of these meetings…"
"What these meetings are is historic. A chance to finally find some common ground with the Soviet Union. To put an end to 60 years of enmity."
And if things go well, a chance to put himself in the Oval Office, Roan thought. Like any politician, Felix was known for his ambition. Roan didn't have anything against politicians himself. He knew that not every solution required a gun or fist, and appreciated those that could find one through their words. But he didn't have the patience for it.
Unfortunately, this meant he'd have a better chance making his case to the Brit. "And what about Romanova?"
The burly man chuckled. "We know all about Alexis Romanova. He has gone anywhere without one of my men a step behind him. If he were to try anything, we'd know instantly. He didn't go anywhere near your hotel, and hasn't picked up any of your…Klebichov agent."
"If that actually exists," the Senator commented.
"Are you really sure?" Roan asked. "Romanova is a trained spy. He could have given your men the slip."
Hamilton stood up and leaned into Roan. "Are you telling me I can't do my job, Mate?"
Nonplussed, Roan turned back to Felix. "Perhaps I could talk to the Soviet delegation here?"
"Not a chance," Felix replied. "This negotiation is too important. I won't have some overly ambitious spook go all Rockford Files on things." The Senator released his grip on the table, and added, "Look, Agent Montgomery. I can understand why things look suspicious, but is a heart attack really all that shocking. Warner was facing a lot of pressure. It just got to him."
"And what about his visitor last night?" Roan asked.
"Maybe a way for him to relieve some of that stress," Hamilton rumbled. "Too bad she was too late." Clearly unwilling to spend any more time in the meeting, he added, "We've arranged for a plane back to DC tonight," Hamilton said. "I assure you we spared no luxury. You can drink as much as you want. Get your jollies with as many stewardesses as you want. Just be on that plane."
Roan resisted the urge to laugh. Clearly, Hamilton had read his dossier. He could see that nothing further could be gained from the meeting, and stood up. "Good day, gentlemen," he said, avoiding shaking hands with Hamilton and Felix, and quietly left the room.
"So are you going to be on that plane?" Charlotte asked. As they left the meeting, they saw their constable chauffer was too busy hassling a couple of mohawk-coiffed passers-by, so they were now returning to the hotel in a taxi.
"Sure," Roan said easily.
"I don't believe you."
"Believe what you like. You people seem to be good at that."
"But you don't agree with them. About the heart attack?" Charlotte seemed genuinely curious.
"No," Roan responded with no hesitation.
After a second, "Neither do I."
Roan turned to her. "Are you telling me you're going to help me, Lottie?"
"Charlotte. And yes."
"Why?"
Charlotte looked out the window, watching the Thames go by, the silhouette of London Bridge in the hazy distance. "The car accident. The British agent that died in it."
"The one with the US emissary?"
"Right. He and I were…close."
February 4, 2011. 2:40 PM, Burbank, CA
"So what do you think?"
Sarah looked up from the notebook and studied the curiosity in her fiancée's eyes. "Well…"
"Seriously, Sarah."
"Ok, Chuck," she shrugged slightly. "I guess I'm not sure what this means. It's not exactly a believable description of a real mission. Are you sure you flashed on it?"
"Absolutely," Chuck replied. "That's Roan, all right."
"Hmm. And what about the girl?"
Chuck smirked. "You mean Lottie Banginton?"
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Why do all those spy stories always have those ridiculous names in them?"
"Hey, we can't all have exotic names like 'Walker,'" Chuck responded, somewhat defensively. "I mean, how exciting is that? Half the characters on TV are named Walker."
"Chuck," Sarah said patiently, "the reason I chose that name is to blend in. You don't want something so absurd that it screams 'I'm not who I say I am.' Do you really believe people would accept a Weinerlicious employee named Lottie Banginton?"
"I'm still struggling with the idea of people accepting a place called Weinerlicious." Seeing Sarah's unyielding expression, he said, "Fine. Point taken. And in any event, I checked Castle database, and there's no record of her anywhere."
"So maybe what you're reading isn't an actual case file," Sarah suggested.
"But I know it has to be important!" Chuck protested. "Why else would my father leave it for me?"
Sarah put a hand on Chuck's arm. "It is important. It's important because it gives you a chance to connect to your father. A chance to get a picture of what he was like when he was younger." She paused momentarily. "Even if that picture is built around ridiculous names, unrealistic plotting, and a serious lack of description."
Chuck smiled, and hugged Sarah. "Have I ever told you how much you get me?"
Sarah waved her left hand at him, flashing her ring. "I thought I already got you. Diamonds are forever, right?" Her face turned serious again. "Just don't spend all night reading, ok? We are going to need you to pay attention at the stakeout. Even if rogue arms deals aren't as glamorous as Klebichov agents." She rolled her eyes again at the last part.
I hope everyone's enjoying the "Spot the Bond reference" aspect of this story. Hopefully they aren't all as obvious as the one at the end of this chapter, but I've been working in stuff with the names of the movies, characters, gadgets, etc. Not sure how much further I can go before running out of ideas.
I haven't managed to completely check this, but as Chuck pointed out, I'm pretty sure there's a character named 'Walker' in every show on TV. I'm not sure if Chuck Norris started it, or what, but they're everywhere – especially in spy shows.
Of course, with the cancellation of 'Brothers and Sisters' and 'The Event' there are now about 15 different Walkers now looking for work. But Sarah Walker remains blissfully employed. Or at least the actress playing her is.
Speaking of Sarah, don't let her do all of the reviewing in this story! She's tough man (though she makes some good points – and I'm not just saying that because she could kick my ass).