The plane had been in the air for five hours. It would be landing in Havana in an hours time.
For Jasmin Van Dien, that wasn't soon enough. She reached forward for the glass of red wine on the tray table and drained it. Catching the flight attendants eye she nodded in acceptance of the silent offer and another glass was placed in front of her promptly.
Thank god for that.
The journey had been a nightmare from start to finish. She had crawled from James's bed somewhat reluctantly at a ridiculously early hour, sated, satisfied, and strangely aware of how much she was going to miss him. They had been inseparable since their meeting a week ago, and she enjoyed his company, and his body. He has asked her to accompany Ashleigh on the trip to Cuba for more than just her knowledge about Trevelyan. He sensed that Jasmin had a way of drawing things out of people, and if Ashleigh would just be willing to open up to her…
Well, time would tell. Personally, Jasmin wasn't holding out hope. The time they had spent together so far had been absolutely disastrous. They had met at the airport, and straight away, Jasmin had realised that Ashleigh was taking her newly reinstated agent status very seriously indeed. The black suit had fitted her perfectly, and the brilliant green satin camisole had been chosen to show off her colouring. New high heels had clicked across the floor, and designer sunglasses nestled on top of her head. The whole look had simply screamed 'professional woman'. Jasmin had bristled, annoyed by obvious attempt to intimidate.
There had been no greeting, no common courtesy. Just a brief glance from the top of Jasmin's head to her stiletto heels and a barely disguised animosity.
'I suppose we had better check in,' Ashleigh had almost snarled.
'I suppose we had,' Jasmin had just about managed to restrain herself from slapping the younger woman round the face.
That had been several hours ago. By now, Jasmin had allowed herself to guzzle several glasses of wine, and try to involve herself in the inane movie that had been showing. Ashleigh on the other hand had made a deliberate point of ordering every single English newspaper (and a few in Italian as well - Jasmin was sure she was just showing off by this point), and reading them from cover to cover. Before taking out a pen and doing every single puzzle she could find.
Jasmin was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. She didn't know how she could cope with this … this woman for the next twenty four hours, let alone however long they would be there. Normally, Jasmin was the last woman to feel any sort of, well, jealousy for want of a better word. In Ashleigh, she recognised a woman with a determination to match her own. The competitive streak in both of them would be sorely tested during their time together. She knew, and she understood that this wasn't easy for Ashleigh, that the younger woman was suffering underneath the cool façade, and that was clear in the anxious set of her body, the way her shoulders never seemed to relax, the way she started slightly if she was spoken to when she wasn't expecting it, the way the pen tore into the paper because she was pressing slightly too hard.
Jasmin was prepared to make allowances. But she had a job to do and she wanted to do it. They would arrive, observe, analyse and report the situation. If they received the authority to do so, they would intervene. James had warned her that Ashleigh would be difficult, and she suspected that James had been against M's decision to reinstate her. But if it gave her a distraction, a motivation, then Jasmin believed it would only be a good thing in the long run.
That was if Ashleigh decided to co-operate.
The plane was landing. Jasmin leant back in her seat and sighed. Ashleigh glanced over at her, and raised an eyebrow. 'Are you alright?'
Jasmin was silent for a moment or two, stunned by the sudden concern. 'Fine,' she managed weakly. 'Absolutely fine.'
'Good.' Ashleigh was curt. 'I thought you were worried about the landing.'
'Not at all.'
'There's really nothing to worry about.'
'I know, flying is supposed to be safer than driving now.'
'I didn't mean that. I meant that landing and take off are the two most dangerous parts of flying. But if we do crash, at least we'll be killed pretty much outright.' Ashleigh gave a cruel smile. 'See. Nothing to worry about.'
Jasmin scowled at her. 'Thanks for that.'
'Don't mention it.'
The flight, despite Ashleigh's scaremongering, did land safely, and the two women found themselves met with the traditional diplomatic greeting. A large bulky man in a straining suit, expensive sunglasses, and a demeanour that shouted 'agent' opening the door to a sleek black saloon for them.
Ashleigh gestured to the open door of the car. 'After you, Agent Van Dien.'
Jasmin paused, and then attempted to give a smile. 'No, after you.'
Ashleigh shook her head. 'You're not the sort of woman I want to turn my back on.'
'Fine. Have it your way, Trevelyan.'
The man's head snapped up, and Ashleigh grabbed Jasmin's wrist, twisting it painfully. 'Don't you ever call me that in public again,' she hissed.
Jasmin winced, Ashleigh's hand was tight around her wrist and getting tighter by the second. She swallowed. 'Of course not,' she gently pried Ashleigh's hand away. 'I'm sorry.'
Ashleigh nodded, but her face was white. She licked her suddenly dry lips. 'Lets just go. Please.'
Jasmin needed no more encouragement, she slipped into the car, and felt Ashleigh follow quickly behind her.
They didn't look at each other.
Ashleigh was stunned by Cuba.
In her head she had built it up to be a dark place, filled with deception and murder. Instead she was greeted by a lush island paradise, with palms swaying gently in the sea breeze, and sand so pure it almost seemed white. The window to the car slid smoothly down, and she could smell the gentle salt tang of the sea. They were close to it, she knew that.
Cuba was a favourite assignment of MI6 agents. The house, or rather, the lavish beach hut they would be staying in was reserved entirely for use by MI6. The agents would come out, make a brief report; Castro still alive, still in charge, communism rife, nothing else really to report, before crashing out and enjoying an all expenses paid two week holiday lazing in the sunshine and drinking pina coladas. Seven years previously, Ashleigh would have given her right arm to have been assigned there, and Alec Trevelyan's deeds would have just been an interesting fact regarding the island.
Instead she was here with nothing more on her mind than the whereabouts of her missing husband and child. And Alec's deeds seemed darker, and closer than ever before.
Ashleigh wasn't innocent of her husband's misdemeanours. Like every agent at MI6 she had heard about them, even studied them, carefully cross referencing them with other attempts at World Domination, each time the agents had studied where to find the weak links in the chain of the plan, where the best place to strike would be, and how to manipulate the antagonist into making his fatal mistake. With the Goldeneye incident it had been obvious. The weak link in the chain had been Alec himself, the plan had been overly dredged in revenge and the past while neglecting the fact that it had all been down to simple greed. If any other agent had been involved, then the chances are Alec would have succeeded. But no, James had been involved, and Alec had been reluctant to merely take out his opponent without proving that he was still the 'better' man. Petty rivalries and boys being boys had defeated Alec's plan - with both 007 and the one time 006 both determined to prove they were the best.
Who had come out on top? From what Ashleigh had heard, neither man could confidently claim victory over the other. James had assumed it with Alec's death - but that would not have come about without some luck on James's behalf, nor would he have survived if not for some good timing with a helicopter and a beautiful woman. Alec had spoken to Ashleigh only once or twice about the incident, but each time, Ashleigh had picked up on a quiet sense of satisfaction on Alec's behalf that he had managed to push James to his limit, to not only force him to kill, but to force him to admit that this was personal.
Even in his dying moments Alec hadn't been able to resist taunting James.
Ashleigh sighed. James had been her rock, albeit it a somewhat absent one for so many years. She had forgiven him so many things, from the broken promises that he would attend sports matches she was participating in during her school years, to him bedding her prettiest lecturer straight after her graduation from university.
Now she was in need of help, and she knew just who to turn to.
It would also annoy Jasmin, and that in itself had a certain appeal.
Jasmin smiled. The hut was perfect. From its close proximity to the beach, to the beautiful, mainly wooden furniture inside, it was a perfect retreat. It was, she thought to herself, a shame then that this was business. She cast a longing glance at the double hammock swaying gently on the porch, and let her thoughts wander back to James. She sighed softly, and thought of future occasions.
She was interrupted from her deliberations by Ashleigh pushing past, and not too gently either. Ashleigh took the briefest glance around, and then shot through a door on the other side of the room.
The door slammed behind her. Jasmin winced. For this favour, James owed her.
He owed her a lot.
Safely ensconced inside the bedroom, Ashleigh immediately pulled a small, silver laptop from its carry case. Within seconds she had it up and running, carefully balanced upon the bed covers.
'Requesting secure visual connection and transmission.'
An automated, mechanical voice answered her, disjointed and impersonal. 'Confirmed. State name of contact and security level.'
'007. James Bond. Requesting highest level of security.'
'Authorised.'
There was a brief flash from the screen, and suddenly, a clear link was created straight into James's office back at MI6.
'You made it safely then?'
'Yes.'
'Both of you?'
Ashleigh scowled, and slumped into a nearby arm chair. 'Yes. Both of us.'
'Where's Van Dien?'
'In the other room.'
'Does she know you're talking to me?'
'No. Do you want me to pass on a message?' Ashleigh said pointedly.
'No.' James looked discomfited, even on the satellite link. 'How long are you underground for?'
Ashleigh winced. 'Underground' was a term that the agents employed loosely, a period of time essentially spent in hiding once having arrived in a new location. The idea was to stay below the radar and to observe only, all the time waiting to hear if their arrival had been noted. 'Twenty four hours minimum. We're allowed access to the beach and immediate grounds only.' She pushed her hand through her hair and took a shaky breath. 'Twenty four hours, James. Twenty four bloody hours. I could be out there now, looking, trying to find out anything.'
'You know the reasoning behind it.'
'Yes, I do. But I also know that …' Ashleigh paused, before running her hand over her eyes, a tired, almost defeated gesture. 'But I also know that the more time that passes, the less likely it is that Natasha will be found.'
'We'll find her, Ashleigh. Of course we will.'
Her eyes were dark. 'I meant alive. The less likely it will be she'll found alive.'
Even thousands of miles away James felt a chill of apprehension travel down his spine. 'Don't be ridiculous. There are people searching everywhere for your daughter.' His tone was not unkind.
'Really? All these people helping me, and I've yet to see anything of them. Charles tells me that there'll be information at a party in Paris, and he nearly dies. Three shots, James. There were three shots fired. You were there. Did you fire back? Is that the third shot I heard?'
The pause was a fraction too long.
'You didn't did you?'
'No.'
Ashleigh put her head in her hands. 'So what exactly are you doing to help me?'
The desolation in her voice was plain to hear. James felt a momentary flicker of guilt.
'Everything I can, Ashleigh, as is everyone around you if you would be willing to open your eyes and see that,' James said coldly. 'Charles nearly paid with his life for helping you.'
'I know, I know.'
'M's reputation is on the line. The realisation that she has covered up the existence of a known villain has not gone down particularly well with her deputies. They think it's a clear sign of weakness, and they've been looking for that sign in M ever since she started. She wants to find your husband almost as much as you do. If only to bury him again.'
'As for me, well, I've encouraged you as much as I can. M wants me off this case, thinks I'll jeopardise it if I hang around too long. I'm doing all I can here, and Jasmin will support you as much as she can. Talk to her, Ashleigh, I mean it. She's there to help, not hinder you. As for me, M has other work for me, and unfortunately, this time I can't refuse, and I can't be there for you, as much as I want to be.'
She looked stricken. 'But James, I need you.'
'I know. I am sorry. Speak to Jasmin. She'll explain all she can.' He leant forward in his seat. 'There is one thing I can tell you though. If you get into any sort of situation with the Americans, ask to see the Rose.'
'The what?' Ashleigh looked confused.
'The Rose. Remember that.'
Before Ashleigh could say anything else, she saw James lean forward and tap a few keys on the keyboard in front of him. He glanced up one last time and spoke clearly to the computer.
'Ending visual link. Terminating connection.'
James vanished from the screen.
Ashleigh froze. For a few moments she stared at the blank screen, fighting back the urge to scream. She realised that she was shaking.
James had left her. Charles, in their goodbyes had been just as decisive, he would help as much as he could from his recuperative position, but he was limited in what he could do.
There was no one to help her. No one at all. Only Jasmin.
Ashleigh groaned.
In England, in his underused office in the MI6 building, James stared at an equally blank screen, a scowl on his face.
'I have work for you, do I?'
He started slightly, and turned to see M standing in the doorway of his office. He must have been distracted not to hear her open the door.
'You're a lying bastard, James.'
With that she turned on her heel and stalked off down the corridor.
For the first time in a long time, James Bond felt ashamed.
