Chapter 10
When did that happen?
James pondered the question on his flight to Morocco. When had he become so deeply attentive to Q that seeing him twice gave James daydreams about what he must look like when tired or stressed or laughing out loud or smugly impressed with his own genius. When? Or perhaps more appropriately – how? And hadn't he just been pondering this same question about Q a short while ago?
It was all conversation. Q was a voice in his ear, not a face on a screen or across a table. He was as good as a GPS, only with better topic points. So how had James developed feelings for him? And he had, he realized, developed deep feelings. He cared about Q's wellbeing, and it wasn't just a moral thing.
He cared if Q was being abused for Q's sake. He intervened in a domestic couple's squabble because he recognized it as Marnie and wanted to protect Q's family, to protect Q. He kept trying to find Riley so he could figure a way to get the man arrested or deported or whatever it took to get Riley's claws out of Q.
He'd purchased coffee for Q and cared about how Q liked his tea and about Q's relationship with his best friend. He cared that Q not think James had overstepped boundaries and pried into his personal life. He desired Q's good opinion and trust despite not requiring it for any type of mission.
And he trusted Q. Perhaps it was the anonymity of the calls, of being simply a voice in Q's ear, but he'd told Q details about his case in Washington and answered all of his silly questions about favorite colors and foods. To many, the questions weren't a worry, but for a spy? And James had always answered truthfully, even if his explanations had been vague.
In his head, he heard Eve. She was saying that sometimes there was no explanation for attraction. Sometimes the universe just knew what it was doing, and we must all realize we're not really in control at all. We just accept that and move on. "Sorry. I have a friend who says crazy things like that."
A friend named Q.
The plane landed in Morocco right on time, and then James' thoughts were pulled to the mission at hand. After he and his things were settled in a hotel room, James pulled out his phone and called command.
"007, I expect you landed without incident," R answered stiffly.
"You sound upset about that," James answered, although he didn't honestly care if R liked anything ninety percent of the time, including now.
"Not about your flight, 007. I'm upset about your pet project," the woman grunted. "This is my department, Bond. I will not have you trying to go behind my back and show me up. I worked hard to get here, just like everyone else in the department. For your little consultant to just waltz in with his laptop and-"
James interrupted her with, "So Q decrypted the drive then." It wasn't a question.
She stopped her complaint and stayed silent for a telling amount of time. Of course she was upset. Q had done in a few short hours what none of them could do in a month. Even someone like James could understand the jealousy and defensiveness that would come from being shown up like that. But for now, the important part was getting the information found on the drive.
"Yes," R finally admitted.
"So do we have more to go on now than we did when I left? Because 'see what you can find in Morocco' isn't much of a mission." Okay, so they had someone for him to tail, but the file had been so thin, so vague, that he knew they'd been grasping at straws.
"Mr. White could be your way in. Q unearthed the jackpot of all jackpots. It's a list of all Spectre agents and some locator information. Basically, at the heart of it, you seem to have brought back an address book of the new century. Congrats, 007." And she made it sound like this was somehow unimpressive. Sounded like grade A espionage to James. "Anyway, the hierarchy was easy to discern once we had the names and other information. You remember Blofeld – the man hosting the meeting in Paris. Ernst Stavro Blofeld. Well based on the new data, he's the head of this snake – or this kraken, I suppose. And an initial search shows he was once part of the French Foreign Legion, so I hope you've kept in practice with your French. Mr. White was also in the Legion, and primary analysis suggests he could be Spectre's number two."
"So follow him around until he reveals Blofeld. Exciting." James rolled his eyes and walked to his window. "Do we have a known location on Blofeld?"
"No. He's dropped off the map entirely. The last known location for him besides Paris was noted two years ago, but it was in Morocco, and Mr. White was seen in the country around that same time period." Mid-sentence, James' phone beeped to inform him of an incoming call, and looking at the screen revealed it to be from Q, but he couldn't hang up on R for a personal call. James would call him back. "Mr. White is a regular sight there, so he should be simple enough to find. Track him to Blofeld, and we can close this case."
Q's call was officially in voicemail. "Consider it done," James said. "I'll find Blofeld in 48 hours or less. Feel free to time me."
"Oh trust me," R said, genuine agitation in her voice, "I will." And she hung up on him.
He knew acting high and mighty, like he was above her reproach, only made her angry, and yet he couldn't stop himself from goading her on. She was so easy to annoy. Working in espionage, she should really work on that.
After an appropriate amount of self-gloating time had transpired, James descended from his narcissism and returned his attention to his phone and Q. There was a new voicemail waiting for him, so he hit play on it and brought the phone to his ear. Sometimes it was strange to listen to voicemails made by Q these days. Ever since forwarding his calls to his mobile, James hardly ever missed one.
He waited through the automated message until, finally, Q's voice came on the line.
"James… or 007… I'm not sure calling you by first name is appropriate at the moment." He sounded subdued, almost anxious. "I- I may have done something far worse than I ever imagined. I created encryption software for Riley to securely hide his files from any prying eyes. I knew it wasn't for architecture or building plans, but… I suppose I was stupid enough to think he was hiding money laundering or gambling. But at least I can say I knew it was illegal."
Q took a deep breath to steady his words, but James could already hear where the message was going. He didn't like it, and he didn't like the attitude seeping through Q's words. It was a regretful thing, a guilty thing, and Q wasn't guilty.
"I decrypted the files you wanted. Eve told me it was all your idea – get me away from Riley and doing what I truly want to be doing, what I should be doing. And you're right. You're both right. I should be using my skills for something good. But do I deserve to? Because I've done something so terrible, it doesn't bear thinking on. But, it's true. I decrypted your drive in minutes, because I had the key. It was encrypted with my own software, with the software I gave to Riley." Agitation had slipped into his tone, a righteous sort of anger. "How dare he? How dare I? I can no longer pretend to be blind. I will accept your offer of joining MI-6, supposing the offer still stands in light of my apparent treason. But first, I will fix what I started. I'm heading to work for the last time, and I'm going to erase all traces of my program and plant a virus to erase it on anything else Riley tries to plug into our systems. I'm going to fix it here, and then I'm going to help you stop it wherever it's spread to."
A cold feeling was settling in James' stomach and he knit his brow tight as he stared out at the hot Moroccan morning. No, this was bad.
"Wherever they've sent you, stay smart and don't let some neophyte shoot you," Q said. "I'll see you when you're back on British soil."
The call ended and James immediately hung up and then called Q back. The voicemail symbol glared back at him from his phone, angry that he hadn't waited to erase the message. The phone rang and rang with no sign that Q was currently on the phone, and yet the call eventually diverted to voicemail. Cursing, James tried again, but the result was the same.
Starting to feel desperate, he switched tactics and dialed Moneypenny. It rang five times before she finally picked up, and for a moment he worried he'd gotten her voicemail too.
"James?" she asked, clearly not expecting a call from an agent in the field to her personal phone.
"Find Q," he said. "He's heading to work. Find him and stop him."
"What? Why? He said he was going to resign. Isn't that what you want-" But he barreled through her delay, his voice growing louder.
"He's going to get himself killed if he's not careful," he snapped. "If Riley works for Spectre, as Q has proven he does, then Q is walking into a precarious situation. Q's gone to erase Riley's servers. Once Riley realizes that Q is trying to sabotage him, that Q planned to leave him for MI-6, then Q is nothing more than a liability. Eve, get someone to him now."
"Fine." She took a moment where he hoped she was picking up her office phone or putting out an alert to an active agent in London. "But you two are going to properly explain what the hell is going on once he's back in custody."
"Ask him whatever you like once he's restrained at headquarters," James said. "Call me when you have him."
He hung up before hearing her agree and shoved his phone into his pocket. With a tense sigh, he ran his hands through his short hair. Why was Q such a spastic fool when he was such a brilliant genius? Why did his brain not run the numbers and the chances and realize how dangerous a situation he was putting himself into?
"Idiot," James hissed into the quiet of his room.
In the silence that followed, he didn't know if he was referring to Q or to himself.
By lunch, James was sitting in a small café eating a spongy sandwich and wishing he hadn't ordered anything at all while he watched Mr. White barter with someone across the street. True to R's supposition, the man had been easy to find. Morocco covered a lot of ground, but their intel was finally padded enough that they'd narrowed it down to one city. After that, it was almost like Mr. White wanted to be found.
On a normal day, James would feel productive and accomplished. Not today. Because it had been five hours since Q's voicemail and Eve had not called him back.
James glanced down at his sandwich, debating if he wanted to finish it. He wasn't sure if the sandwich was subpar or if his stomach just wasn't feeling up to it, but it made him nauseous to consider eating another bite. So he set it down and brushed off his fingers, his lips set in a deep frown.
Looking back across the street, he felt adrenaline spike in his veins and he stood up abruptly. Mr. White wasn't there. James crossed to the door and looked up and down the street, but his target was nowhere to be seen. Where had he-?
"Men like us tend to stand out," an older, Austrian voice murmured just behind him, and James froze on the spot. "Next time, you may want to bring along a woman to be your buffer. A man on holiday with his woman is less conspicuous than a man brooding alone in a café."
"Mr. White," James greeted stiffly. "I was hoping we could discuss business."
"I'm sure you were." The Spectre agent took a step back from James. "Come back into the café and let us 'talk'." He had a small gun in his hand, hidden mostly in his sleeve, and no one seemed to notice. He motioned for James to walk to the table in the far back, and James did. "What is your name?"
"Bond," he answered. As he slid into his seat, he said, "James Bond."
"Well, Mr. Bond, what business does the British secret service have with me?" Mr. White sat primly on his chair, his gun hand resting on his knees so that it still pointed at James under the table.
"Spectre." James set his own arms on the table in full view, no hidden weapons. "How far does it reach? How deep does the rabbit hole go?"
At that, Mr. White laughed and shook his head. "Last I heard it had managed to spread to five countries in its search for global power. They had their fingers in French food prices, American technologies, and even your precious British infrastructure."
"Last you heard?" James asked.
"Ah. Didn't you know? I've been out for a year now, Mr. Bond. German prostitution isn't really in my cards. Nor is slave trading. But I digress. You're falling behind if you still think I'm involved." He was smug and leaned back in his chair.
"Then help me catch up. I'm not after you. I want the leader. I want Blofeld." James leaned back too, putting on a carefree air. "Help me and the British government will protect you from the Spectre fallout."
Mr. White chuckled again. But he lowered his gun, and that was a good sign. "The British government is useless. Spectre has been operating in London for the past couple of years and they haven't noticed. The fact that you're here looking for Blofeld is proof of your agency's incompetence."
"How so?"
Mr. White looked so haughty that James wanted to flip the table and choke him with it, but he resisted the urge. For the mission. Damn the mission sometimes.
After an agonizing, aggravating minute, Mr. White sighed in a self-satisfied manner and said, "Blofeld is in London."
"How do you know? I thought you were out."
"He called to try and pull me back in. Apparently he's worked out a reverse underground railroad in your very backyard. Kidnapping British citizens and carting them off to foreign countries as slaves via halfway houses that run throughout the United Kingdom." He snorted then. "Protect me, you say. You can't even protect yourselves."
James stood slowly, and Mr. White allowed it but his lips fell into a disapproving frown. That was the least of James' worries though. Because if British citizens were being secreted out of the country through a corrupt housing market, then James had a good idea where to start looking for Blofeld. And he didn't like it at all.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. White," he said. "I'm sure we'll be in touch."
"I doubt it," Mr. White sneered back. "At the rate you're going, we'll both be dead before you even get a running start."
If it wouldn't appear desperate and unprofessional, James would have started running right then. But instead he walked calmly from the café and out into the street before he picked up his pace and headed back toward his hotel.
He dialed Q on the way but he didn't answer. Then he tried Moneypenny and got her voicemail too. Cursing inwardly, he called R.
"Have you found Blofeld?" she asked, all business.
"I have a lead, and you're not going to like it," James answered.
James didn't like it either. Because the only Spectre related housing scheme in London that he knew of was Riley, and Q had gone to confront it alone, and now he couldn't contact Q or Eve. He needed to get on a plane immediately, and he wanted every available agent in London out looking six hours ago. For now, he had to rely on R and her stagnating department.
Damn.
Uh oh! A wild plot development appeared! :) If you liked the chapter, please leave a comment!
