Please accept my apologies for the nearly year long break in this story. To cut a long story short - my marriage broke up and my writing took a seriously bad turn. I never meant to be away for so long, but finally I'm in a place to carry this on. It seems my life has to parallel Ashleigh's in a strange twist of fate. To appease you all, there will be two chapters posted tonight. Please enjoy and forgive me.
'You!' Ashleigh managed to stammer for a second time.
Of all the people in the world, he was the last person she had expected to see.
Yet, when she thought about it, she really shouldn't have been surprised.
Seven years previously
The hotel was just down the river from the highly abstract MI6 building. Like many of the major hotels in the city, several members of staff were cunningly planted MI6 operatives. This fact, plus the close proximity to the HQ meant that it was considered the perfect place to hold a celebratory gathering.
To be honest, there hadn't been much for MI6 to celebrate recently. Terrorism was rife in the world, and the Middle East conflicts were dangerously close to getting out of hand. It meant there would always be work, but little to celebrate.
Tonight was different though. A huge operation had taken place recently, and more surprisingly had been an unmitigated success. Several agents were letting their hair down, alcohol was flowing freely, and several rooms had been booked at the hotel to let the party continue late into the night without the customary hassle of fighting over taxis. Even M was there, sedately sipping mineral water in the corner, deep in conversation with the Norwegian ambassador.
One person was missing though, and one person was looking for her. He glanced round, wincing slightly at the scene in one corner where someone was being challenged to drink a foaming green cocktail, but saw no sign of her.
Except, of course, for the billowing muslin that covered the doors outside. Billowing because someone had accidentally left the door open. Given away by a mild breeze, he thought to himself as he headed for the doors.
Outside, on a small private balcony, Ashleigh Kain contemplated her future. She had been doing this a lot lately. Damn it, she was nearly twenty four, and she had been stuck in cryptography for the last seven months. The elegantly arranged blooms in the flower pot in front of her were bearing the brunt of her frustration as she unknowingly tore them apart.
In front of her the city glowed. The sun was setting over Waterloo bridge, taxis advertised their wares as they nipped up and down the streets, and above it all, the new London Eye presided. She watched the glass pods as they rotated sedately, and found herself hypnotised by their slow journey.
'Been on it yet?' a rich, deep voice asked from behind her.
She nearly jumped over the railings in surprise.
'Not yet,' she murmured, not bothering to turn around. Only one person would have come looking for her, and she was glad he had. It didn't mean she was going to make him feel welcome in her makeshift private space though.
'Scared, Agent Kain?' he gently teased.
'Too right, I am,' she said quite seriously. 'I've always hated Ferris wheels.'
'Hardly a Ferris wheel, Ashleigh,' he nodded towards the structure. 'I'm sure we're supposed to think of it as a feat of British engineering.'
'Overgrown Ferris wheel,' she grumbled under her breath.
'You're cheerful tonight. Not celebrating?'
She shook her head, suddenly painfully shy.
Charles Robinson sighed deeply. Sometimes it seemed like you needed to use a sledgehammer to get through to this particular young woman. 'You should be.'
'I don't feel like it, Charles.' Ashleigh shrugged. 'You must understand that.'
All too well, Charles thought as he gazed out over the river. Gently he laid a hand upon her arm where it rested on the railing. 'So you're hiding out here.'
'I was,' she smiled slightly.
To his surprise, he was glad he had made her smile. For the last six months, he had made Ashleigh Kain his personal project. Being a member of M's staff was an honour, he knew that, but working within a group of equally experienced agents was often frustrating. More often than not it led to petty bickering in the command room.
The recent assignment had been his case. A nuclear submarine had suddenly vanished off radar. MI6 was perplexed, and were even more so when several other submarines had vanished as well, including three belonging to the Norwegian Navy. Random messages had been sent to MI6, strange transmissions, and even more bizarre demands. It had soon become clear that the world was being held to ransom.
Again.
While James Bond and two other 00 agents had been off doing the hard physical work, there had been teams of agents doing the hard background work back in London. One of them had been Ashleigh Kain.
Charles had noticed the young agent immediately. It was difficult not to knowing her history. Father who had been 009, James Bond's goddaughter, it was more surprising if you didn't know who she was. What had surprised him was her complete lack of confidence about her own abilities. He had taken her under his wing, a high ranking mentor so to speak. On a one to one basis he found her to be a pleasant, but quiet young woman, and with an intelligence that was surprising even for an agent. Cryptography was obviously something she was good at, and so he had made sure she had gotten the transfer to his assignment. It had been a good idea, the best he had had.
A week ago, was that all it had been, there had been a tentative knock at his office door. A bright eyed, flushed Ashleigh had appeared, carrying what appeared to be several very large maps.
Within minutes she had covered his desk with them, showing him the pinpoint co-ordinates of where the subs had vanished. He hadn't made the connection. Patiently she explained. The co-ordinates were the code. Running them through a computer had revealed a pass key – the series of digits that broke the code. She had used the code to translate the passkey into a new co-ordinate, one that revealed where exactly the subs were – a stabilised iceberg in the Artic Circle.
She had had just one question – could it really be that easy? Charles had frowned, and then proceeded to explain something that all agents needed to know.
Most of the men they dealt with were egomaniacs. They were obsessed with their own worth, their own power. They wanted the world to know what they were doing, that was why things often appeared so simple. The simple part was finding them, the difficult bit was stopping them.
But that wasn't Ashleigh's job. Ashleigh's job was to find them, and she had.
His pride in his young protégée had been noticed. But not by her. Stubbornly she had continued to do her job, and even now as they celebrated a mission, she refused to join in, despite her major role in it.
He tried once more.
'Ashleigh, if you hadn't found those co-ordinates…'
'Then someone else would have,' she cut in. 'I just happened to get there first.'
'But they might not have. You did this, and we won because of it.'
'No!' she snapped.
His hands balled into fists, the urge to shake some sense into her growing with every word. 'You should be in there lapping up the praise, Ashleigh. Accepting the credit for a job well done!'
'But what if I had been wrong? Its one thing to go in there and accept that credit, but it means responsibility. And if I had been wrong then I would have had to accept responsibility for that failure.'
'You're an agent, that's what you have to do. Accept responsibility for your actions. Even if you made a mistake.'
His hand had crept into hers as he had spoken, without realising it. Her palm was soft beneath his, her fingers entwined gently with his.
He glanced down at their hands, joined together. They had worked together for some time now, and her strangely attractive looks hadn't escaped his notice in that time, but he had convinced himself that he felt nothing more than pride in her as a teacher would a prized pupil.
Relationships between agents weren't necessarily frowned upon, as long as agents were discreet. Things got complicated when high ranking agents got involved with agents far below them. There were more than one agent that had got where they were today by sleeping their way to the top.
In a close knit organisation like MI6, sex often reared its ugly head. Charles had experienced it before, but only as a junior agent. It had been some time since he had felt this way about another agent. He had no doubt that he could be making a huge mistake.
But they were close, so close. Six intense months had left them with a friendship that couldn't be denied. And a growing attraction.
Her cheeks were flushed, her lips reddened, her pupils dilated. The biological symptoms of desire. He recognised them in her, could feel the warmth of her palm as she slid her skin against his.
Feeling like he was about to cross a line that he seriously shouldn't, he pulled her closer to him, feeling her free arm wrap around his waist. Dipping his head, he pressed his lips to hers.
She pushed closer against him, kissing him back with a passion that she had kept under control for the past few months.
How long they stood together on that balcony he didn't know, but at some point his hand slipped inside his jacket, and he removed the small plastic key card he had there. He handed it to her, her decision, she could walk away now, or they could go else where.
She kissed him softly, and then nodded.
The call had come through to M directly. The party had been going on for some hours now, and she was glad for the excuse to leave it. She didn't particularly like seeing how alcohol could hinder some of the finest minds in the organisation so quickly. She often thought that the best way to bring MI6 to its knees would be to put a free bar in its way.
Right now though she needed one of the finest, and sensible minds in MI6. She checked her watch, it was just after 1am. He'd probably be asleep, but she knew he wouldn't mind the intrusion.
From her pocket she took the skeleton key card. She had been given it by the hotel at the beginning of the evening, but she hadn't thought she would have to use it. However this was a matter of national security, and it was necessary.
His room was on the third floor. She paused before it, then slid the card into the slot. The light turned green, and she slipped inside.
The suite was large, comfortable, and elegant. She tapped lightly on the bedroom door, and entered.
Her first thought was how startling the contrast was between his dark and her pale skin. Entwined, and most definitely asleep, there was no denying what had happened between them.
Shock made her stare, taking in the hands still clasped together even in sleep, the rumpled sheets around them, tousled hair, and content expressions on their faces.
Her star member of staff, and the young agent she was trying to protect. M could seriously feel a headache coming on.
She glanced back at the sleeping, naked pair, sheet pulled up to preserve modesty, and decided that she could do without Charles Robinson tonight.
For three weeks, their relationship blossomed. Kept discreetly away from work, they met whenever they could, stolen evenings at her house in Islington, or at his flat in Fulham, evenings spent just enjoying each other's company, sharing the simple pleasures that others took for granted like having dinner together, or watching a film. Sooner or later they would tumble into bed together, and once more allow their passion to take over. In all honesty, it had been one of the happiest times in Ashleigh's life, and she had found herself fighting a growing dependency on Charles. To her surprise she had even began thinking that they were a couple.
They had thought they were being discreet, but M had seen the glances stolen between them, the smiles they shared across rooms, and had known that this was serious.
It had been a cold, calculated move, but M knew she had no other option. She couldn't allow the relationship to continue. Robinson was far too senior, and M had other plans for Ashleigh.
She had made the offer to Charles. Become Chief of Staff. There were a few conditions, and stipulations. One being the impossibility that Robinson could ever become involved with anyone within the organisation.
At the same time, M had offered Ashleigh a transfer to a different department. This time she would be a more active agent, and able to prove herself. It could lead to great things. Things M knew Ashleigh wanted. The gamble M was taking was whether Ashleigh wanted Robinson more.
Robinson had glanced into M's hard blue eyes, and had known that she knew. He had no idea why she would object to the relationship, but he couldn't find the words to argue with her. A sudden weight had settled upon his shoulders as he had slowly, and carefully made his decision.
That night he had let a rain soaked Ashleigh into his flat. She was being transferred, she told him enthusiastically, almost dancing round his home in excitement.
Then she had seen the look in his eyes.
Dully he had outlined what M had offered him.
'Oh,' she had said softly, suddenly understanding everything.
She couldn't hold him back, she knew that. She wouldn't hold him back.
He had taken her to bed that night, but each kiss, each caress, each touch had felt like the last. That had been their goodbye, and when Ashleigh had slipped out of his home early the next morning, she had determinedly not looked back.
Seven years later, and her life had changed beyond recognition. Older, perhaps wiser, but definitely changed, Ashleigh faced her ex lover, and felt a sudden sense of security fill her. In the darkness of the wooded park, she threw her arms around him, letting his solid strength comfort her, pressing her face against the brushed suede texture of his jacket, breathing in his warm, rich scent.
'Charles,' she whispered.
He held her, pulling her against him, one hand cradling her head, letting his fingers slide through the silky shortness of her hair. 'Tell me what happened,' he murmured to her.
'Not here,' she shook her head, glancing around at the shadows, suddenly feeling very exposed.
The bar they found was smoky, with quiet jazz playing over a scratchy stereo system. A bored looking barman was leaning on the bar, idly flipping through a newspaper while the rest of the clientele gazed gloomily into their drinks and avoided conversation with each other. Ashleigh followed their example, swirling the vodka in her glass, refusing to meet Charles's eyes.
'I have a daughter now,' she muttered finally. Charles nodded, letting her speak. 'I was attacked, and while I was unconscious on the floor they took Tasha.'
She raised her eyes at last, and in them was a challenge. Go on, she seemed to say, ask me who her father is. Instead he leant over, and lifted her short fringe, seeing the healing gash on her forehead.
'Do you have any idea who took her?' he asked.
She coloured. 'No,' she admitted finally. 'Two men took her, but who they were working for I have no idea. I was followed when I left my home, was told that Paris was where I could find answers,' she sighed with frustration, 'so here I am, and no closer to the truth than I was when I was stuck at home under M's claustrophobic protection.'
M had been distinctly silent since her return to MI6, Charles knew. Meetings, inquiries were being held, questions were being asked, and M's behaviour was under scrutiny. But for now, Charles wouldn't tell Ashleigh that. He picked up his whiskey and tipped it down his throat.
'I can help you,' he said simply, as he clinked his glass back down onto the table.
'Can you?' she asked coldly. He could sense her retreating back into herself, determined to fight the fight alone. He could still remember how stubborn she had been, how stubborn she still evidently was.
'I can.' He took her hand, felt her about to snatch it away, and tightened his grip. 'Just trust me, Ashleigh. I want to help you, so just let me, okay?'
'Okay.' She had to admit, it was good to see a friendly face at last, someone who was on her side. 'I just want my daughter back, Charles. I'm supposed to protect her, and I can't. I haven't protected her, she should never have been taken.'
'But you can find her, and I'm going to help you.'
She took a deep breath, forcing away the tears that had threatened, the ones that always threatened when she thought of her little girl.
'Right,' she said, hoping her voice didn't sound as shaky as she thought it did. 'Where do we start?'
He looked steadily at her, and began to speak. He didn't ask her about her child's father. He didn't have to. He already knew. And he'd have to deal with that little revelation later.
'You understand what you have to do?'
In the darkness the voice seemed to surround Alec, chilling him to the bone. It was a voice of authority, a voice of command, and Alec knew he would have to obey. Summoning his strength he forced all the arrogance he could into his reply.
'It's hardly as if I have a choice, is it?'
Merkalov laughed in the darkness. 'We all have a choice, Alec. But there are always consequences to the decisions we make, so choose carefully.'
Alec scowled. The implications were clear. Make the wrong choice and Natasha would suffer. One day, he'd make Merkalov suffer. And suffer he would.
'I understand.'
The weapon was thrust forcefully into his chest, almost crushing the breath out of him. He glanced down, and in the dim light he could just make out what looked to be a semi automatic weapon. He raised an eyebrow as he recognised the model. 'An interesting choice,' he said scornfully.
'You've yet to make yours. And time is running out.'
Alec's fingers tightened on the gun. His eyes closed, and he could see his daughter's sweetly smiling face, and knew his decision was made.
'I'll do it,' he said bleakly.
Merkalov's laughter filled his world.
