Bond slowly surfaced under the bridge. He kept all but his eyes underwater, still using Q's marvelously compact little oxygen rebreather. Slowly his ears cleared the surface. He heard the hollow plish plash of the river against the metal bridge supports, and further downstream the rushing of the water as the river picked up speed over the rocks.
He tread water patiently, listening for long minutes. No sound of vehicles, no sound of footsteps, no sound of voices. He slid noiselessly through the water to the riverbank, climbing onto the rocky soil. He ran a hand roughly through his short hair to dry it somewhat, before unzipping the waterproof pack at his waist and extracting a small case from it. He took out the earwig and fitted it close against his eardrum.
"007, reporting," he murmured. "Are you there Q?"
"Right here, 007." Bond couldn't help his involuntary smile at the sound of Q's voice. "Status?"
"Just surfaced. Still under the bridge. Anything on satellite view yet?"
He could hear the tip-tap of Q's fingers on the keyboard in the background. "Satellite coverage is spotty. I've rerouted one, but it'll take a few minutes. Stand by."
"Affirmative." Bond felt the tracksuit he was wearing start to dry almost instantly. Another of Q's innovations — no wonder the man hardly slept.
"How is Calais? Can you see the cliffs of Dover from where you are?" Q remarked idly. "I've always thought that sounded...scenic."
Bond chuckled. "Not from under this bridge, certainly, but I could when I was driving. It's very clear today. Or at least it was — we timed it just right, looks like the sun's about to go down any minute." The goal was for Bond to infiltrate the facility right at dusk, in that window of compromised vision between daylight and full night when the floodlights came on.
"And here we are as on a darkling plain / Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight / Where ignorant armies clash by night," Q quoted, his warm rich voice caressing each syllable.
That intimate voice in his ear was enough to send Bond's mind straying. In a different world perhaps Q would have lain in bed with Bond some sleepy morning, murmuring poetry into his ear, his posh voice rough with sleep and breathless with arousal.
Bond shook his head to dismiss the vision. "Let's hope there will be no confused alarms," he said wryly. "Nor struggle and flight for that matter. In and out, and they never knew I was here."
"Ideally, yes," Q agreed, his voice warm with humour. "But since when did your missions ever go as planned?"
Bond snorted his agreement. He spent the next few minutes checking over his gear, loading and holstering his Walther and sliding the digital lockpick into the pocket of his trousers before zipping the rebreather back into the pack.
"Satellite coming online now. No infrared, unfortunately." Q tapped a few more keys. "Looks like it's as we thought...two guards at the perimeter, possibly two or three more inside. Seems all the employees have left. Slackers."
"Not everybody finds it necessary to stay at the office until midnight," Bond chided as he climbed up the bank of the river, careful not to jostle any loose rocks. "They're French — they have wine to drink and mistresses to shag."
"Connard de buveur de thé," Q muttered darkly in Bond's ear. Bond took a moment to puzzle over the translation and chuckled. If he wasn't mistaken, Q had just called him a 'tea-drinking fucker.'
"Pot. Kettle," he said, repeating Q's phrase from a few weeks ago.
He lurked in the shadow of the bridge. It crossed the river approximately fifteen metres outside the boundary of the facility's gate. That would be the diciest part, the run across gravel and through the gate until he could seek cover among the few remaining vehicles in the courtyard.
"Guard coming around now...move on my mark. Five...four...three...two...go." The guard turned the corner as Bond moved swiftly and stealthily toward the gate. It clicked unlocked at his approach, and he slid through, letting it latch softly behind him again.
"Take cover, 007, the next one's coming around..."
Bond fell into a roll, cursing the crunch of the gravel as he came to rest underneath a truck.
"All right, head for the door again on my mark. Five...four...three...two...go..."
Bond made it to the front door. He inserted the digital lockpick into the lock, waiting impatiently. The light turned green and he ducked through the door and up against the wall on the inside.
"I'm in," he murmured to Q.
"Excellent. No cameras inside, so I'm blind in here, but I have the blueprints. Try up the stairs, the first door on your right. All we need is one computer that is networked to their server bank..."
That door yielded easily to the digital lockpick as well. It looked like a typical business office — partly-dead ferns in the corner, a calendar of exotic cars over the desk scribbled with notes — every inch the custom-motor-parts company it claimed to be.
"Laptop," Bond remarked. "Looks like it's docked with an ethernet cable."
"Lovely," Q crooned. "Let's see what my little darling can do."
Bond smirked. "Why Q, I'm blushing."
"The virus, 007," Q said acidly. There was a slight pause, and Bond could hear the smile in Q's voice as he added, "You won't be my darling unless you bring me back one of the prototype weapons they are supposedly manufacturing there."
"Is that all it takes?" Bond purred, slotting the memory stick into the USB port. "I'd have thought you'd play harder to get."
"Arse," Q grumbled. The red light on the drive flickered for a moment, and then turned green.
"Your little darling is on the loose, Q," Bond said. "Make us proud."
"Beautiful," Q breathed. "All right, we have our toehold. Angela, Iqbal, start hacking. Bond, let me know when you're at the door, I'll check the position of the guards again."
"Affirmative."
Bond pocketed the memory stick. He eased out the door to the office, letting it close behind him.
He made his way back down the stairs in hushed silence, pausing at the exterior door.
"Q, I'm..."
"Arrrêtez!"
Fuck. Bond turned his head slightly. The man was wearing a lab coat and holding a truly massive weapon, of the likes Bond had never seen before. Apparently some Frenchmen worked late after all.
"Posez votre arme sur le sol... ne tentez rien d'intelligent."
"He said, 'Put your weapon down. Don't try anything smart,'" Q translated in Bond's ear, his voice tight with tension. Bond could hear Q's quiet breathing in his ear as he weighed his options.
He turned fully toward the man, eyeing his weapon. He couldn't even tell if it had a safety. It looked like a sniper rifle but with an odd, bulbous shape where the magazine should have been. This must be one of the prototype weapons Q had mentioned, but what the hell did it do?
Well, only one way to find out. Bond slowly reached toward his weapon, pulling it from the holster with three fingers, as if disarming himself. He held it out to the side.
"Lâchez-le."
"Drop it," Q translated softly.
With a quick flick Bond flipped the Walther's grip into his hand, already moving. The man's first shot hit the door with a dull thunk as Bond ducked through it.
"First guard at your two o'clock, thirty metres." Bond could hear Q breathing rapidly, but his voice was calm as ever. Bond dropped the guard with a single shot.
"Labcoat is in pursuit at your six. Second guard coming around the corner, your seven o'clock, forty-five metres," Q relayed rapidly. Bond took cover behind one of the vehicles. Two more rounds from labcoat's weapon hit the vehicle Bond had ducked behind. Bond returned fire, but couldn't get a clear shot without exposing himself to the second guard.
"Iqbal, prioritize decryption of anything that looks like weapons design," Q was saying. A voice said something in return, and Q's voice sharpened to a razor edge. "I don't give a shit if the files are in French," he snapped. "Get a screenshot of the weapon from the satellite and run image recognition. Find the stats and send them to my screen — calibre, number of rounds, range, weaknesses..."
"007," Q's voice was entirely composed when he spoke into the mic again for Bond. "Second guard is on the move. If you fall back behind the second car you should —"
A sudden explosion startled Bond, the bright flash of it blindingly illuminating the courtyard leaving spots swimming behind his eyes. He ducked instinctively, falling back behind the next vehicle. The guard seemed equally surprised, frozen in place and gaping, and Bond managed to take him out with a headshot despite the bright colors still dancing across his vision.
"What the fuck was that?" he growled.
"Explosion, near the door. I don't know why. I didn't see labcoat throw anything. Someone in the building must have done it."
"I don't see him."
"He's between the vehicles at your four o'clock. He seems to be holding position. I don't know why. I don't see any backup coming from the facility, and why they would blow their own door—"
The next explosion threw Bond to the ground, dazing him. He stumbled to his hands and knees, ears ringing, Walther in a death-grip.
"Q," he managed weakly.
Q's voice was sounding increasingly frantic. "I don't know, 007. The vehicle you were behind a few moments ago just...just exploded. Two detonations."
"Grenades?" Bond asked.
"Maybe, but — I don't see anyone throwing anything. Mines set off remotely? But who would mine their own vehicle..."
"Bloody hell," Bond said. "I've lost him again."
"I'm looking...there's a lot of smoke, the satellite image is bollocks." Bond could hear Q murmuring to himself. "There's something about that blast pattern — oh!" Bond heard the epiphany in Q's voice.
"It's exploding rounds," Q stuttered out, his thoughts apparently racing faster than his words. "It's not bullets he's shooting — some sort of projectile explosive. Delayed detonation approximately..." Bond heard frantic tapping as Q apparently replayed the footage. "Thirty seconds after impact."
Q's voice turned dark and covetous. "Oh, I want," he said, and Bond found himself completely and inappropriately aroused.
"I'll bring you a souvenir, if I can get the bastard to drop the thing. Just find him for me."
"Still looking, just stay under cover until the smoke clears a — your 5 o'clock!"
Bond wheeled around, already firing. He barely processed the dull blow to his right shoulderblade, compensating automatically as it threw him off his stance. Labcoat fell, half his throat gone, but Bond's mind was just now realizing his situation.
"Q," he said numbly. "Q, I'm hit."
Q saw the whole thing as if in slow motion. Through the grainy, smoke-obscured satellite footage the man in the labcoat suddenly appeared at Bond's back. Q's warning came too late, Bond right shoulder jerking awkardly backward as he turned, still firing.
Almost unconsciously Q started counting.
Twenty-nine...twenty-eight...
Labcoat fell in a bloody heap but Bond's voice was all Q could think about.
"Q," Bond said, his voice emotionless. "Q, I'm hit."
Twenty-six...twenty-five...
Q ignored the chill blooming in his chest. "Can you extract it?" he asked.
Twenty-two...twenty-one...
Q-Branch was eerily quiet. All Q could hear was Bond panting heavily, grunting with exertion as he tried to reach inside the wound with his small knife. "No. It's in the scar tissue — deep, almost at my back. I can't reach it."
"Q" Iqbal's apologetic voice barely penetrated Q's numb, cold dread. "Stats to your screen now."
Q's bloodless fingers stumbled on the keyboard, taking in whole pages at a time. Specifications, test firings...
"I'm sorry, Q." Bond's voice was flat, resigned.
Fifteen, fourteen, think, think, THINK...
"Run. Through the gate, to the bridge..."
Bond hesitated not a moment, already running as Q opened the gate with a few keystrokes, still stumbling out his explanation. "Water...get it wet. It might work. Get out as far to the middle of the bridge as you can, dive as shallow as you can." Q felt his voice start to break and he brutally clamped down on his fear. "James, I don't know how deep the river is. You'll have to chance it. I'm sorry. Jump when I say. Stay in the water, keep it wet until we find you."
Ten...nine...eight...
Q was calculating wildly, one second to jump over the rail, two seconds to hit the water...Bond wasn't quite to the middle of the bridge yet, but there was no time, never enough time...
Six...five... "Now! Jump!" Q cried, his voice thick with the emotion he had been trying to suppress.
Bond was pure, fluid motion, veering to the rail, leaping with one foot on the edge and hurtling himself out into nothingness without a moment's hesitation. Q could see him, arms outstretched into the beginning of a dive, before he passed out of the light cast by the facility's floodlights and into darkness.
Q heard a rush of air and water and then nothing, the earwig flatlining as it got wet. Q heard a choked, keening noise that he only belatedly realized had escaped from his own throat and he covered his hand with his mouth.
He breathed in sharply through his nostrils, blinking away the dizziness and shaking that was threatening.
"Get me satellite coverage — communications, military, whatever you can scramble," he barked to his minions. "I need eyes on that river now. Send a retrieval team, stat. Cross-reference with his trackers. We'll need..."
He looked around, shaken again for a moment by the shocked faces turned toward him. Angela was outright weeping as she rerouted satellites, R's eyes shadowed with grief and concern as she looked at Q.
"He's not dead," Q barked, even knowing how irrational he sounded. "He's — he's got the rebreather. We'll need something for the extraction team...some kind of tank to keep the wound wet, and blood and plasma. Antibiotics..."
R nodded. "I'll coordinate with Medical."
"Trackers on the map now," one of the minions said quietly.
Q pulled up the map on the big monitor. Bond's tracker was moving rapidly down the river.
"Outfit a helicopter, I want it on its way within the next five minutes." Q said.
"His body'll end up in the Channel," someone commented and someone else shushed them immediately.
Q refused to turn around, watching the red dot on the map through blurry eyes as mindless, gibbering fear clawed at his chest, struggling to break free.
"He's not dead," he repeated to himself — but quietly, so quietly, so that his minions wouldn't hear the desperation in his voice. "He's not dead."
[Please review! :-D]