A/N: I've had a lot of fun reading your 'conspiracy theories' in the reviews about what has happened, and what will happen! I've enjoyed being deliberately vague about events, but I'll try not to torture you too much longer.
'Jambo' means 'hello' in Swahili. It's used as a general greeting and there's just something very friendly about it that I like. Not to mention I love Tanzania, so I just had to set at least one scene there, hence the previous chapter!
Enjoy.
As the grey haired woman stalked through the corridors of MI6, agents parted like the Red Sea did for Moses. There was no doubt that this woman was in a foul mood.
In fact, she was absolutely furious.
Each step seemed to convey this anger, the heel of the court shoes she wore cracking viciously onto the floor in a fast unending rhythm. Male agents winced as she passed, imaging that same heel grinding into the most precious parts of their anatomy. She already had most of their balls in her iron tight grip.
Barbara Mawdsey was the first female M, the official head of MI6. She was well aware of the honour of the position, and the perils of running such a large organisation as international security. She had to be aware at all times, she had to know what was going on, and be prepared to take the rap when the proverbial hit the fan.
Whoever held the position of M had to be able to rise above the personal, rise above emotion and act in accordance to what was the best for the United Kingdom.
At this moment in time, M was finding it very difficult to do that.
The phone call had raised her from a deep sleep; groggily she had fought her way from the Sandman's grasp and into reality. Her husband had merely grunted about the phone, and turned over, immediately slipping back into sleep.
He never saw how the blood drained from his wife's face, or how the hand that held the slim receiver trembled as she listened to the news.
Nothing good ever came from allowing one's self to become personal. This phone called merely proved that. She had struggled to digest the news, and felt fear grow in the pit of her stomach.
M was frightened. She was frightened that she had allowed too much to happen, frightened that all the secrets she had kept were about to come spilling out. But most of all she was frightened of what might happen to people she cared about. Not that she would ever admit to this fear, but it knotted itself deep within her, a solid, almost real mass beneath her diaphragm.
She snapped orders as she walked through the hallowed hallways, and one was repeated over and over again. One she was frightened of giving but she saw she had no other options.
She needed the best. She needed someone who could work quickly, efficiently and with a high level of skill.
But if she assigned him... M shook her head, knowing she had no choice, and merely hoped that he wouldn't let his 'issues' prejudice him against the case.
'Get me Bond,' she hissed.
She reached the sanctuary of her inner office, and knew immediately that the final obstacle was to come. A white faced Moneypenny was gazing unseeingly at the opposite wall; she jumped slightly as M marched in.
'Not now, Moneypenny,' M murmured, and briefly, only briefly, the strain showed across her features.
Moneypenny nodded, then briskly checked her records. 'We have agents in the area tracking all flights to and from the island, agents at all ports and all major roads. We've managed to keep the media at bay, they have absolutely no idea what has happened – we're working on a cover story as we speak. 007 has been contacted and is on his way.'
'Roused from some tart's bed, no doubt,' M snapped tartly, attempting to brush past her and make it through the door before Moneypenny could ask the question she was dreading.
She wasn't quick enough.
'It's Natasha, isn't it?'
'Yes,' M spoke slowly, 'Yes, it's Natasha.'
'Do you... do you think...' Moneypenny struggled with the words, trying to voice the fears that both women felt.
M didn't want to think. She wanted to work. She wanted to throw herself into the case, and seek a resolution. She didn't want to think what might happen to a five year old girl. Did M think they would hurt her? Torture her? Kill her? All the options had already crossed her mind, and M was terrified of every single one of them.
Natasha was only a little girl. Five years old and blessed with the intelligence of both her parents. She was always smiling, always laughing.
She was an innocent.
And now she was being punished because of who her parents were.
'Where the hell is 007?' she snarled before slamming the door shut behind her.
'Kidnapping?'
James Bond's highly expressive eyebrows threatened to reach the edge of his perfectly groomed black hair. He lounged languidly in the chair opposite his superior, and voiced his incredulous disbelief.
He realised immediately that he had made a mistake as M's facial muscles tightened to new extremes.
'Yes, a kidnapping. Have you a problem with that, 007? Or do you think it is in someway below you?'
'No, sir.' Even when he was being submissive there was an edge of defiance in Bond's manner.
'Good, because if you do there would be no difficulty in demoting you to a level you might consider more suitable to such a task.'
'Of course not, sir.'
M's tone was distinctly icy. 'The child was taken from her home yesterday afternoon... Am I boring you, Bond?'
Bond froze with one hand travelling to his yawning mouth. 'Late night, sir. Is there anything important about this child that I should know about?'
The pause before M answered was a fraction too long. 'Her parents are important to us. They both have close connections with MI6, and we are concerned that the child may be used as a bargaining device.'
'What for?'
'Information. We are as of yet unaware of how much knowledge the kidnappers have about the child's parents. Her mother works directly for us as a cryptographer. There is a possibility that the kidnappers were there to take her work, and took advantage of the situation to take the child. However, we believe that the child was the target of the attack, and that this had been planned for some time.'
'What happened to the mother?'
'She was attacked and overpowered. We believe the attackers had the intention to stun, rather than kill. She is recovering at home, and is yet to confirm if any of her work is missing. Obviously she is extremely distressed at the moment.'
'What about her father?'
'He was... away at the time of the attack.'
Bond watched the woman opposite him, and saw a muscle leap in her cheek. He was immediately intrigued. 'Who exactly is her father?' he asked.
'A diplomatically sensitive figure,' M stared coldly at Bond, knowing that the agent was reading her like a book, and hating him for it. 'And that's all you need to know.'
'What about negotiations? Has contact been made with the kidnappers yet?'
'No. Unfortunately we have no idea where they might have taken the girl. All we can do is wait.'
Bond nodded slowly, one hand idly brushing away a piece of imaginary lint from his immaculately cut jacket. 'How important is the child?' he asked as casually as he could.
Shock and rage exploded through M. 'Are you suggesting we allow the child to be sacrificed?'
Bond had faced M many times before, but never before had he seen pure, unadulterated rage course through her. The woman seemed to crackle with anger as she glared at him across the expanse of the thick, glossy wood desk. 'No, sir,' he decided was the safest answer after a telling pause.
'You had better not be. The child is known to us, as are her parents. We shall endeavour to retrieve the girl as quickly as possible, before any harm can come to her. Her safety is our first concern, more importantly it is your first concern. From this moment on you live for one reason only, Bond, and that is to rescue this child. Do you understand me?'
There was more to this than met the eye, any fool could see that, and while Bond could be accused of being many things, a fool was not one of them. M was being far too secretive, and his sensors were on high alert. It was a mystery, and one he would relish working on, if only to discover what on earth could make the usually hard edged woman so damned nervous. He only just managed to stop a smirk from forming, instead he adjusted the sleeves of his jacket so they fell more neatly over his shirt cuffs, hoping the action would distract M away from his face.
'Of course, sir. Rescue the child, save the world; it's all the same to me.'
'There's no need to be so damned flippant, Bond,' M growled, but most of the anger had left her voice now, she knew that Bond was on the case, and while he might jest and mock, he would be professional.
She felt the first trace of hope flood her veins. It was dangerous, it was always dangerous to hope in cases involving abduction, and she knew only too well that things could go so wrong. She only had to think of the fiasco that had been the King case and the resulting debacle as events had spiralled beyond her control.
No, M had learnt her lesson with Elektra King. There would be no hesitation; there would only be action, and successful action at that.
She could not let this fail. She would not let it fail.
Nor would she let Bond sabotage this. She slid open a drawer, and pulled out a slim navy envelope, briefly checking the contents before throwing it across the desk to land in front of Bond. It was her secret weapon.
'Your travel documents, 007. As time is of the essence, we travel immediately, leaving this afternoon.'
'"We"', Bond frowned, feeling a small amount of dread at the words.
'I'll be accompanying you, 007. Do you have a problem with that?'
Yes sir. Bond bit his tongue before the ill advised words could escape him. 'Not at all,' he lied through his teeth, throwing in a charming smile for good measure. 'It will be a pleasure.'
M smiled wryly in return, seeing straight through the suave gesture. 'I'm sure it will be.'
