Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God - Chapter 7
Title: Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God
Author: gwylliondream
Pairing: 00QAD (James Bond/Q/Alex Turner/Danny Holt)
Rating: R
Words: 50K
Warnings: Minor character death
A/N: Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God was written for NaNoWriMo 2017. Please see Chapter 1 for additional notes.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading.
When they landed at Dulles, Q was still snoring. Bond smirked at the sight of the sleeping Quartermaster. He had to check for a pulse a few times during the flight because Q slept so soundly. Maybe it wasn’t wise for him to order that second dirty martini.
“Q?” Bond said, jostling Q’s arm. “Wakey, wakey.”
Q turned his face away from Bond as Shannon turned the fasten seatbelts sign off and thanked the passengers for flying British Airways.
“Q, time to go,” Bond said. He was grateful that he didn’t have to listen to Q’s shrieking during the flight, nor did he have to pry Q’s terrified fingers from his thigh, but now it was time for Q to get moving.
Q finally jolted awake when the other passengers began to retrieve their carry-on bags from the overhead compartments.
“What?” Q asked. “What time is it?”
“According to my Omega, it’s just after sixteen hundred,” Bond said.
Q yawned and stretched his arms out across the row. “But is it today, or tomorrow?” he asked.
“What are you on about?” Bond asked.
“We left around seven. It should be evening by now. We’ve been flying for hours,” Q complained.
Bond knew Q was smarter than that. The effects of the Valium and the alcohol much have been making him think incoherently. “You should never have ordered the second martini,” Bond said.
“I just want to go back to sleep,” Q said, as the other passengers filed out of the plane.
“We’ll get you a hotel room straight away,” Bond said. He took his mobile from his pocket and began to search for a room. He knew he should have asked Eve to take care of these arrangements before they left, but since this mission wasn’t officially on the books, he had no choice but to look for a room on his own. He scrolled through the booking site and picked the first room on offer. The Marriott was close to the centre of DC and from the photos he could made out in his sleepless haze, it looked less pretentious than the more expensive suites in the surrounding neighbourhood. That would be good for maintaining their cover of travelling businessmen.
“That’s done,” Bond said. “Let’s go before Shannon kicks us off the plane.”
Bond practically dragged Q through customs. He hoped that the boffin had sense enough to remember that they were travelling under assumed identities. All he needed was to cause an international incident while investigating what happened to a mathematical genius who was being held by potentially nefarious babysitters.
They managed to make it through customs without incident. Q leaned against Bond while they waited for their suitcases to tumble down the ramp at the baggage claim. Bond couldn’t decide whether Q needed some coffee to keep him awake or if it would be best for both of them to sleep off most of the jet lag by checking into their hotel for a nap.
A nap it would be, Bond decided as he passed the Gate D Dunkin Donuts at Dulles. “Try to say that three times fast,” he chuckled.
“What?” Q asked.
“Never mind,”” Bond said.
Outside the terminal, Bond hailed a taxi and stuffed their bags into the boot. The driver only wanted to talk about the Nationals’ loss to the Cubs the night before. Apparently he had gotten even less of a restful sleep than Q had.
Q still seemed like he might pass out at any moment. He rested his head on Bond’s shoulder as the taxi wound its way through the city. When they pulled up to the hotel, Bond noticed a fresh patch of drool on the wool.
“Come on, Q. Up you go,” he said as he tried to get Q to stand.
Bond quickly paid the driver and ushered Q into the hotel.
The Marriott front desk clerk, Chloe, gave them a pair of keycards to access their room, saying, “The manager said you’d be wanting to check in early, but not this early. I should have guessed by the odd time that you made your reservation that you were Brits.”
“Very astute of you, Chloe,” Bond said. “I can assure you that we’re not here to try to take our colony back. Just the room, please.”
“Who could blame you? No one wants anything to do with Americans nowadays,” Chloe said. “Breakfast service ended a couple hours ago, but we have a vending machine around the corner. Enjoy your stay.”
Bond nodded to Chloe, and punched the up button outside the elevator. Room 721 would be one of the higher floors. He did hope that he would have a good view of the city. Q slumped against him as the elevator bell dinged to say that they had arrived on the seventh floor.
“I hope we don’t have much further to walk,” Q complained. “I’m dead on my feet.”
“You can sleep it off once we get there,” Bond said. “I’ll text Felix and move our meeting up to later this afternoon.”
“You would do that for me, Bond?” Q asked with a sleepy smile.
“Of course, dear,” Bond said. “As long you promise we will never fly together again, I’d do anything for you.”
“Arse,” Q said as they arrived at room 721.
Bond slid his keycard into the slot and got the green light to enter. He pushed the door open and shoved his way inside, dragging both his and Q’s luggage across the tiled entryway.
“Thank God we’re finally here,” Q said, flipping on a light. He shrugged out of his parka, leaving it on the floor while he marched directly into the loo.
Bond heard the water running after Q used the toilet. He could do with some freshening up himself after the long flight. He dropped the bags in the entry way and texted Felix to make sure they were on for later in the day. Felix indicated that there was action taking place at the site where they conducted surveillance on Turner and his captors. Bond took that as a good sign that he and Q chose to come to DC, rather than waiting in London for the CIA spooks to decide what they were going to do with their asset.
Q emerged from the loo looking no more refreshed than he did when he went in.
“I need to sleep more,” Q announced, placing both hands, the casted one and the uncasted one at the small of his back and stretching.
He looked miserable. Dark circles rimmed his eyes and he was still unsteady on his feet. The Valium may have been a good idea to allow Q to sleep on the plane, but knowing now the effect that the tranquilizer and the alcohol had on him, Bond vowed that he would never suggest it again.
“Hey,” Q said, “Why is there only one bed?”
“What?” Bond asked. He had been so distracted by Q’s exhaustion and Felix’s plan for Alex Turner that he hadn’t noticed. He walked into the bedroom and surely enough only one queen-sized bed graced this room at the Marriott. “I’m calling the front desk.”
Bond picked up the phone for room service and complained to Chloe. “I specifically booked this room for two adults,” Bond said.
“I thought the queen was going to be a little tight for the two of you,” Chloe said. “Let me see if I have anything else available.”
Bond sighed and whispered to Q. “She thought we were a couple.”
Q collapsed into a fit of giggles.
Bond watched Q toe off his shoes and strip off his socks.
His dishevelled hair and adorable laugh made Bond smile. He decided that if the Quartermaster ever offered to share a bed, he would have a hard time refusing.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Chloe came back on the line. “We have nothing else available.” All our rooms are booked and until some of our housekeepers show up for work, there will be no other room I can put you in.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bond said.
“There’s the Trump International Hotel across the street,” Chloe said. “It’s a little more pricey, but they usually have vacancies, you know, with the state of the nation today. I can give them a call and see if they have a room, although it is a weird time of day for two guys to be looking for accommodations.”
Q turned down the duvet on the bed and began to unbuckle his belt.
“No, Q, don’t get comfortable, we’re not staying here,” Bond yelled as Q dropped his trousers to his ankles before stepping out of them
“Sod off, Bond,” Q said, removing his jumper. “I’m taking the bed now.”
“Shall I call the Trump and see if they have anything available?” Chloe asked.
Bond was torn. Should he try to get a room at the Trump, handing over money that he had earned in service to the Queen and all of England to the man who seemed destined to destroy all of humanity? Or could he suck it up and hope Q would leave room for him at the edge of the bed? He decided he’d take his chances with Q, who had stripped down to his TARDIS boxer shorts and a white undershirt.
“No Chloe, we’ll be fine in this room,” Bond said before hanging the phone and approaching the bed.
What could possibly go wrong?
~
Hundreds of miles away, Marston watched the scene play out through the surveillance cameras that were mounted in the warehouse. The MI6 cronies arrived as soon as Eve called them in, the threat secured. More than secured-dead was more like it.
It was of little consequence, when considering the whole of Marston’s plan. Alex Turner’s technological breakthrough would be in their possession soon enough. And just in case it wasn’t, a seed had been planted that would ensure his cooperation.
A truth-telling algorithm wasn’t Marston’s only interest, although the lure of it proved impossible to resist. There were other interests whose success tipped the scales of world domination. Some were as valuable and obscure as Alex Turner’s project. Mind control, memory mining, dream programming, to name a few.
Turner was naïve enough that they could program his dreams without too much difficulty. It was the one tool they could rely on that might make Turner finally cooperate and work for their side. If Turner thought his loved ones were threatened, maybe he’d cave. They had played nice for long enough, using MI6’s brainy Quartermaster as a lure to get Turner to cooperate. But it had been to no avail.
Tiny Alastair held Frances’ hand as they wandered through the aisles at Harrod’s. The outside of the landmark retailer was lit up so brightly against the night sky that Alastair was certain it would be seen from space.
Inside, there were more delights than a child could fathom. Ever obedient, Alastair patiently waited while Frances selected the items to be put away for Christmas.
“But what about today, Mummy?” young Alastair pleaded.
“Alastair, you must behave like a good little boy,” Frances said. “No more fussing, or we’ll go home straight away.”
“But Mummy,” Alastair cried. “I want you to buy me a toy.”
The other shoppers, especially the ones with children of their own, could empathise with Frances’ situation.
“We can’t buy anything today, Alastair,” Frances said, taking his hand.
“But why not?” Alastair asked, his cheeks red from fussing.
“I’ve forgotten my chequebook,” Frances said. And with that, she led Alastair out of Harrod’s and back to their home where Alastair spent the rest of the afternoon working on his maths.
Marston had waited this long to control Turner’s invention. Frances Turner’s death was merely a minor setback.
~
Eve rushed to Danny as soon as she and Tanner made sure the scene was clear of any other threats.
“Call Six,” Eve directed Tanner, but he was already on it, mobile connecting with Mallory as Eve cut Danny free.
“Frances!” Danny shouted.
“We’ll take care of Frances, an ambulance is on the way,” Eve assured him.
“Oh, God,” Danny said, bringing his hands to his face.
“Listen to me,” Eve said, focussing her eyes on Danny’s to distract him from the dead bodies that littered the warehouse floor. “Do you have any identification?”
“I’m Danny, Danny Holt,” he said.
Eve thought Danny bore an uncanny resemblance to Q. She had never seen Holt before, except for in a grainy news story from some months back when his partner died. He had the same colouring as Q, with his green-flecked eyes and thick dark hair. His clothing lacked the style, if you could call it that, of the Quartermaster though. Bond certainly had no appreciation for Q’s hideous cardigans, his hipster trousers, and colourful socks, but Eve thought he’d hate the style of this ghetto-version of Q even more.
“Can I see some identification?” Eve persisted. “A drivers’ licence, perhaps.”
“I have it,” Danny said, reaching for his pocket.
“Hold it right there,” Tanner said.
Eve sighed. She knew Tanner was right. This poorly-dressed kid could very well be part of the operation, rather than a victim.
“Stand up slowly and Eve will get your wallet for you,” Tanner said, authoritatively.
Danny complied and struggled to his feet. Eve thought he looked woozy, but there was no telling how long he had been tied to the chair.
Eve plucked his wallet from his back pocket and handed it to Danny.
“It’s strange,” Danny said with a shaking voice, “they didn’t even want to rob me.”
“We’ll figure out what they were up to, Daniel, Daniel Holt,” Eve said, reading from the driver’s licence. “You can sit back down if you’d like, Danny. You’ve just been through a terrible ordeal.”
“What about Frances?” Danny asked, looking over Eve’s shoulder. “Is she dead?”
Eve looked over to see Tanner directing the newly-arrived medical personnel to where Frances laid, unresponsive.
“They’re going to look after her,” Eve said. “I’m sure they’ll do everything they can. What about you? Are you hurt?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Danny said. “They took me. I was visiting friends and when I left the Tube station, this girl….”
“There will be plenty of time to discuss what happened,” Eve said. She tried to be as comforting as possible to Danny. She knelt in front of him as he sat in the chair. She thought he could do with a hug, but she simply held his hands in her own instead. “I’m going to have to take you to our headquarters so you can help us with the investigation as to what happened here.”
“I’ll go with you,” Danny said, clutching her hands tighter. “You seem trustworthy.”
Eve smiled until she heard footsteps behind her. She turned as Tanner trotted up to her. He nodded at Danny, and lowered his voice to speak to Eve. “Mallory is putting Double-oh Five on this. This is a bigger operation than just these three would indicate,” he said, tipping his head to the three hoodlums that lay dead on the warehouse floor. “He wants Daniel Holt secured away, for the time being, at least. R is provisioning the location.”
Eve knew there could be eyes on Danny. If they tried to take him to the SIS building or if they simply decided he wasn’t wanted for questioning and let him go home, he could be the next innocent person killed.
Tanner’s mobile beeped. “You’re going to Pickwick 332,” he told Eve.
Eve nodded. “I’ll catch up with you later,” she said. “Danny, do you think you can walk out to my car?”
“I’ll be all right,” Danny said. He slowly got to his feet and wrapped his jacket around him.
Eve shielded his view from the worst of the carnage. Keeping her weapon drawn, she ushered Danny out to the street.
She helped Danny into the passenger’s seat of her car, got behind the wheel and buckled in. Satisfied that they weren’t being followed, Eve pulled away from the kerb and made her way through East London.
“Frances drove Scottie’s car there… it was Scottie’s car,” Danny corrected himself. “It’s mine now.”
“I’m sure Tanner will see to it that it gets back to you,” Eve said. “They may want to examine it for evidence so we can figure out who was responsible for your kidnapping.”
“And Frances’ death.”
“I’m sorry, Danny,” Eve said. She reached over the console to squeeze Danny’s hand.
“Frances wasn’t Alex’s real mother, you know,” Danny said.
“Yes, I think I heard that somewhere,” Eve said.
“I don’t think she loved Alex,” Danny said. “But she did want his killers brought to justice.”
“She probably wanted the best for him,” Eve said. “Even if you think she didn’t love him like a mother would.”
“Yes, you’re probably right,” Danny said, forcing a brief smile.
“You two were onto something,” Eve said. “Frances met with me and some of the MI6 staff. She was looking for help locating Alex. She said you had received some indication that he was alive?”
“At first,” Danny began. “I thought he was dead. I saw his body in a trunk.”
“That must have been very traumatic,” Eve said.
Pickwick 332 was located close to MI6. Eve imagined that Mallory wanted Danny close by so they could interrogate him properly when the threats had been neutralized. How she wished that Bond and Q weren’t on their CIA holiday.
“But nothing made any sense. I mean, who would kill him?” Danny said. He struggled for words. “Alex was kind. And he was smart. Most of all, he was quiet. He had never gotten into any sort of trouble. Never in any trouble at all. Not in his whole life.”
“He sounds like a wonderful man,” Eve said. “I’m so sorry that you lost him.”
“Me too,” Danny said. “I only hope that maybe we can find him again one day.”
“We’re all going to do our best to make that happen. If it’s even a possibility, we will leave no stone unturned,” Eve said. “Do you like cats, Danny?”
“What?” Danny asked.
Eve couldn’t blame Danny for being lost in thought, but she had an idea that might cheer him up.
“Cats. Furry little pets,” Eve said. “I have a friend who’s going to be gone for a few days and I promised him I’d check up on his two cats. He lives right over there. Would you like to come with?”
“Are you sure it’s not dangerous,” Danny asked. “What if they try to kidnap me again?”
Danny had a point, but Eve knew Q’s flat was under MI6’s watch. “It will just be for a moment,” Eve said, pulling up in front of Q’s terrace house.
“Should I wait out here?” Danny asked.
“I think it would be best if you stuck with me,” Eve said.
Eve nodded to the hidden security camera that recorded the entrance to Q’s flat. She punched her access code into the lock, scanned her fingerprint, looked into the optic device, and the door opened for her.
“Come on in,” she said, cocking her head so Danny would follow.
“Oh, look at her!” Danny said.
Pampuria mewled and descended the stairs to inspect the visitors.
“Pampuria,” Eve said, giving the cat a scratch under her chin. “It’s hard to believe it, but Pampuria once belonged to Ernst Stavro Blofeld, the head of SPECTRE a massive crime organization that MI6 took down last year.”
“That’s impossible,” Danny said, taking Pampuria into his arms. “What was a beauty like you doing with a bad man like that?”
Eve laughed. “She’s got a new owner now.”
“One who’s on the right side of the law?” Danny asked.
“Yes,” Eve said. “In fact, she belongs to one of the MI6 Department Heads. He’s a good friend.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Oh no, he doesn’t have a boyfriend, not yet at least.”
“I meant to ask if he was your boyfriend,” Danny said.
Eve snorted. “Oh goodness no!”
“I was just wondering,” Danny said. “What’s wrong with him? Is he an ugly bastard?”
Just then, Turing jumped onto the kitchen countertop. “Ahhh, here’s the other one,” Eve said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh.”
“Does he have big ears and crooked teeth?” Danny asked.
“Stop it,” Eve said. “In fact, he looks a lot like you.”
“Well, you’re a good friend for looking after his cats,” Danny said. He stroked Turing’s soft fur while Eve made sure the automatic feeder was operating properly.
“I think you’d like him,” Eve said. “Maybe you’ll get to meet him someday.”
Eve stopped in her tracks when she got to the back door of Q’s flat. The keypad to the lock dangled from its wiring and the guts of the device cascaded from the door handle to the floor.
~
Author: gwylliondream
Pairing: 00QAD (James Bond/Q/Alex Turner/Danny Holt)
Rating: R
Words: 50K
Warnings: Minor character death
A/N: Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God was written for NaNoWriMo 2017. Please see Chapter 1 for additional notes.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading.
When they landed at Dulles, Q was still snoring. Bond smirked at the sight of the sleeping Quartermaster. He had to check for a pulse a few times during the flight because Q slept so soundly. Maybe it wasn’t wise for him to order that second dirty martini.
“Q?” Bond said, jostling Q’s arm. “Wakey, wakey.”
Q turned his face away from Bond as Shannon turned the fasten seatbelts sign off and thanked the passengers for flying British Airways.
“Q, time to go,” Bond said. He was grateful that he didn’t have to listen to Q’s shrieking during the flight, nor did he have to pry Q’s terrified fingers from his thigh, but now it was time for Q to get moving.
Q finally jolted awake when the other passengers began to retrieve their carry-on bags from the overhead compartments.
“What?” Q asked. “What time is it?”
“According to my Omega, it’s just after sixteen hundred,” Bond said.
Q yawned and stretched his arms out across the row. “But is it today, or tomorrow?” he asked.
“What are you on about?” Bond asked.
“We left around seven. It should be evening by now. We’ve been flying for hours,” Q complained.
Bond knew Q was smarter than that. The effects of the Valium and the alcohol much have been making him think incoherently. “You should never have ordered the second martini,” Bond said.
“I just want to go back to sleep,” Q said, as the other passengers filed out of the plane.
“We’ll get you a hotel room straight away,” Bond said. He took his mobile from his pocket and began to search for a room. He knew he should have asked Eve to take care of these arrangements before they left, but since this mission wasn’t officially on the books, he had no choice but to look for a room on his own. He scrolled through the booking site and picked the first room on offer. The Marriott was close to the centre of DC and from the photos he could made out in his sleepless haze, it looked less pretentious than the more expensive suites in the surrounding neighbourhood. That would be good for maintaining their cover of travelling businessmen.
“That’s done,” Bond said. “Let’s go before Shannon kicks us off the plane.”
Bond practically dragged Q through customs. He hoped that the boffin had sense enough to remember that they were travelling under assumed identities. All he needed was to cause an international incident while investigating what happened to a mathematical genius who was being held by potentially nefarious babysitters.
They managed to make it through customs without incident. Q leaned against Bond while they waited for their suitcases to tumble down the ramp at the baggage claim. Bond couldn’t decide whether Q needed some coffee to keep him awake or if it would be best for both of them to sleep off most of the jet lag by checking into their hotel for a nap.
A nap it would be, Bond decided as he passed the Gate D Dunkin Donuts at Dulles. “Try to say that three times fast,” he chuckled.
“What?” Q asked.
“Never mind,”” Bond said.
Outside the terminal, Bond hailed a taxi and stuffed their bags into the boot. The driver only wanted to talk about the Nationals’ loss to the Cubs the night before. Apparently he had gotten even less of a restful sleep than Q had.
Q still seemed like he might pass out at any moment. He rested his head on Bond’s shoulder as the taxi wound its way through the city. When they pulled up to the hotel, Bond noticed a fresh patch of drool on the wool.
“Come on, Q. Up you go,” he said as he tried to get Q to stand.
Bond quickly paid the driver and ushered Q into the hotel.
The Marriott front desk clerk, Chloe, gave them a pair of keycards to access their room, saying, “The manager said you’d be wanting to check in early, but not this early. I should have guessed by the odd time that you made your reservation that you were Brits.”
“Very astute of you, Chloe,” Bond said. “I can assure you that we’re not here to try to take our colony back. Just the room, please.”
“Who could blame you? No one wants anything to do with Americans nowadays,” Chloe said. “Breakfast service ended a couple hours ago, but we have a vending machine around the corner. Enjoy your stay.”
Bond nodded to Chloe, and punched the up button outside the elevator. Room 721 would be one of the higher floors. He did hope that he would have a good view of the city. Q slumped against him as the elevator bell dinged to say that they had arrived on the seventh floor.
“I hope we don’t have much further to walk,” Q complained. “I’m dead on my feet.”
“You can sleep it off once we get there,” Bond said. “I’ll text Felix and move our meeting up to later this afternoon.”
“You would do that for me, Bond?” Q asked with a sleepy smile.
“Of course, dear,” Bond said. “As long you promise we will never fly together again, I’d do anything for you.”
“Arse,” Q said as they arrived at room 721.
Bond slid his keycard into the slot and got the green light to enter. He pushed the door open and shoved his way inside, dragging both his and Q’s luggage across the tiled entryway.
“Thank God we’re finally here,” Q said, flipping on a light. He shrugged out of his parka, leaving it on the floor while he marched directly into the loo.
Bond heard the water running after Q used the toilet. He could do with some freshening up himself after the long flight. He dropped the bags in the entry way and texted Felix to make sure they were on for later in the day. Felix indicated that there was action taking place at the site where they conducted surveillance on Turner and his captors. Bond took that as a good sign that he and Q chose to come to DC, rather than waiting in London for the CIA spooks to decide what they were going to do with their asset.
Q emerged from the loo looking no more refreshed than he did when he went in.
“I need to sleep more,” Q announced, placing both hands, the casted one and the uncasted one at the small of his back and stretching.
He looked miserable. Dark circles rimmed his eyes and he was still unsteady on his feet. The Valium may have been a good idea to allow Q to sleep on the plane, but knowing now the effect that the tranquilizer and the alcohol had on him, Bond vowed that he would never suggest it again.
“Hey,” Q said, “Why is there only one bed?”
“What?” Bond asked. He had been so distracted by Q’s exhaustion and Felix’s plan for Alex Turner that he hadn’t noticed. He walked into the bedroom and surely enough only one queen-sized bed graced this room at the Marriott. “I’m calling the front desk.”
Bond picked up the phone for room service and complained to Chloe. “I specifically booked this room for two adults,” Bond said.
“I thought the queen was going to be a little tight for the two of you,” Chloe said. “Let me see if I have anything else available.”
Bond sighed and whispered to Q. “She thought we were a couple.”
Q collapsed into a fit of giggles.
Bond watched Q toe off his shoes and strip off his socks.
His dishevelled hair and adorable laugh made Bond smile. He decided that if the Quartermaster ever offered to share a bed, he would have a hard time refusing.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Chloe came back on the line. “We have nothing else available.” All our rooms are booked and until some of our housekeepers show up for work, there will be no other room I can put you in.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bond said.
“There’s the Trump International Hotel across the street,” Chloe said. “It’s a little more pricey, but they usually have vacancies, you know, with the state of the nation today. I can give them a call and see if they have a room, although it is a weird time of day for two guys to be looking for accommodations.”
Q turned down the duvet on the bed and began to unbuckle his belt.
“No, Q, don’t get comfortable, we’re not staying here,” Bond yelled as Q dropped his trousers to his ankles before stepping out of them
“Sod off, Bond,” Q said, removing his jumper. “I’m taking the bed now.”
“Shall I call the Trump and see if they have anything available?” Chloe asked.
Bond was torn. Should he try to get a room at the Trump, handing over money that he had earned in service to the Queen and all of England to the man who seemed destined to destroy all of humanity? Or could he suck it up and hope Q would leave room for him at the edge of the bed? He decided he’d take his chances with Q, who had stripped down to his TARDIS boxer shorts and a white undershirt.
“No Chloe, we’ll be fine in this room,” Bond said before hanging the phone and approaching the bed.
What could possibly go wrong?
~
Hundreds of miles away, Marston watched the scene play out through the surveillance cameras that were mounted in the warehouse. The MI6 cronies arrived as soon as Eve called them in, the threat secured. More than secured-dead was more like it.
It was of little consequence, when considering the whole of Marston’s plan. Alex Turner’s technological breakthrough would be in their possession soon enough. And just in case it wasn’t, a seed had been planted that would ensure his cooperation.
A truth-telling algorithm wasn’t Marston’s only interest, although the lure of it proved impossible to resist. There were other interests whose success tipped the scales of world domination. Some were as valuable and obscure as Alex Turner’s project. Mind control, memory mining, dream programming, to name a few.
Turner was naïve enough that they could program his dreams without too much difficulty. It was the one tool they could rely on that might make Turner finally cooperate and work for their side. If Turner thought his loved ones were threatened, maybe he’d cave. They had played nice for long enough, using MI6’s brainy Quartermaster as a lure to get Turner to cooperate. But it had been to no avail.
Tiny Alastair held Frances’ hand as they wandered through the aisles at Harrod’s. The outside of the landmark retailer was lit up so brightly against the night sky that Alastair was certain it would be seen from space.
Inside, there were more delights than a child could fathom. Ever obedient, Alastair patiently waited while Frances selected the items to be put away for Christmas.
“But what about today, Mummy?” young Alastair pleaded.
“Alastair, you must behave like a good little boy,” Frances said. “No more fussing, or we’ll go home straight away.”
“But Mummy,” Alastair cried. “I want you to buy me a toy.”
The other shoppers, especially the ones with children of their own, could empathise with Frances’ situation.
“We can’t buy anything today, Alastair,” Frances said, taking his hand.
“But why not?” Alastair asked, his cheeks red from fussing.
“I’ve forgotten my chequebook,” Frances said. And with that, she led Alastair out of Harrod’s and back to their home where Alastair spent the rest of the afternoon working on his maths.
Marston had waited this long to control Turner’s invention. Frances Turner’s death was merely a minor setback.
~
Eve rushed to Danny as soon as she and Tanner made sure the scene was clear of any other threats.
“Call Six,” Eve directed Tanner, but he was already on it, mobile connecting with Mallory as Eve cut Danny free.
“Frances!” Danny shouted.
“We’ll take care of Frances, an ambulance is on the way,” Eve assured him.
“Oh, God,” Danny said, bringing his hands to his face.
“Listen to me,” Eve said, focussing her eyes on Danny’s to distract him from the dead bodies that littered the warehouse floor. “Do you have any identification?”
“I’m Danny, Danny Holt,” he said.
Eve thought Danny bore an uncanny resemblance to Q. She had never seen Holt before, except for in a grainy news story from some months back when his partner died. He had the same colouring as Q, with his green-flecked eyes and thick dark hair. His clothing lacked the style, if you could call it that, of the Quartermaster though. Bond certainly had no appreciation for Q’s hideous cardigans, his hipster trousers, and colourful socks, but Eve thought he’d hate the style of this ghetto-version of Q even more.
“Can I see some identification?” Eve persisted. “A drivers’ licence, perhaps.”
“I have it,” Danny said, reaching for his pocket.
“Hold it right there,” Tanner said.
Eve sighed. She knew Tanner was right. This poorly-dressed kid could very well be part of the operation, rather than a victim.
“Stand up slowly and Eve will get your wallet for you,” Tanner said, authoritatively.
Danny complied and struggled to his feet. Eve thought he looked woozy, but there was no telling how long he had been tied to the chair.
Eve plucked his wallet from his back pocket and handed it to Danny.
“It’s strange,” Danny said with a shaking voice, “they didn’t even want to rob me.”
“We’ll figure out what they were up to, Daniel, Daniel Holt,” Eve said, reading from the driver’s licence. “You can sit back down if you’d like, Danny. You’ve just been through a terrible ordeal.”
“What about Frances?” Danny asked, looking over Eve’s shoulder. “Is she dead?”
Eve looked over to see Tanner directing the newly-arrived medical personnel to where Frances laid, unresponsive.
“They’re going to look after her,” Eve said. “I’m sure they’ll do everything they can. What about you? Are you hurt?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Danny said. “They took me. I was visiting friends and when I left the Tube station, this girl….”
“There will be plenty of time to discuss what happened,” Eve said. She tried to be as comforting as possible to Danny. She knelt in front of him as he sat in the chair. She thought he could do with a hug, but she simply held his hands in her own instead. “I’m going to have to take you to our headquarters so you can help us with the investigation as to what happened here.”
“I’ll go with you,” Danny said, clutching her hands tighter. “You seem trustworthy.”
Eve smiled until she heard footsteps behind her. She turned as Tanner trotted up to her. He nodded at Danny, and lowered his voice to speak to Eve. “Mallory is putting Double-oh Five on this. This is a bigger operation than just these three would indicate,” he said, tipping his head to the three hoodlums that lay dead on the warehouse floor. “He wants Daniel Holt secured away, for the time being, at least. R is provisioning the location.”
Eve knew there could be eyes on Danny. If they tried to take him to the SIS building or if they simply decided he wasn’t wanted for questioning and let him go home, he could be the next innocent person killed.
Tanner’s mobile beeped. “You’re going to Pickwick 332,” he told Eve.
Eve nodded. “I’ll catch up with you later,” she said. “Danny, do you think you can walk out to my car?”
“I’ll be all right,” Danny said. He slowly got to his feet and wrapped his jacket around him.
Eve shielded his view from the worst of the carnage. Keeping her weapon drawn, she ushered Danny out to the street.
She helped Danny into the passenger’s seat of her car, got behind the wheel and buckled in. Satisfied that they weren’t being followed, Eve pulled away from the kerb and made her way through East London.
“Frances drove Scottie’s car there… it was Scottie’s car,” Danny corrected himself. “It’s mine now.”
“I’m sure Tanner will see to it that it gets back to you,” Eve said. “They may want to examine it for evidence so we can figure out who was responsible for your kidnapping.”
“And Frances’ death.”
“I’m sorry, Danny,” Eve said. She reached over the console to squeeze Danny’s hand.
“Frances wasn’t Alex’s real mother, you know,” Danny said.
“Yes, I think I heard that somewhere,” Eve said.
“I don’t think she loved Alex,” Danny said. “But she did want his killers brought to justice.”
“She probably wanted the best for him,” Eve said. “Even if you think she didn’t love him like a mother would.”
“Yes, you’re probably right,” Danny said, forcing a brief smile.
“You two were onto something,” Eve said. “Frances met with me and some of the MI6 staff. She was looking for help locating Alex. She said you had received some indication that he was alive?”
“At first,” Danny began. “I thought he was dead. I saw his body in a trunk.”
“That must have been very traumatic,” Eve said.
Pickwick 332 was located close to MI6. Eve imagined that Mallory wanted Danny close by so they could interrogate him properly when the threats had been neutralized. How she wished that Bond and Q weren’t on their CIA holiday.
“But nothing made any sense. I mean, who would kill him?” Danny said. He struggled for words. “Alex was kind. And he was smart. Most of all, he was quiet. He had never gotten into any sort of trouble. Never in any trouble at all. Not in his whole life.”
“He sounds like a wonderful man,” Eve said. “I’m so sorry that you lost him.”
“Me too,” Danny said. “I only hope that maybe we can find him again one day.”
“We’re all going to do our best to make that happen. If it’s even a possibility, we will leave no stone unturned,” Eve said. “Do you like cats, Danny?”
“What?” Danny asked.
Eve couldn’t blame Danny for being lost in thought, but she had an idea that might cheer him up.
“Cats. Furry little pets,” Eve said. “I have a friend who’s going to be gone for a few days and I promised him I’d check up on his two cats. He lives right over there. Would you like to come with?”
“Are you sure it’s not dangerous,” Danny asked. “What if they try to kidnap me again?”
Danny had a point, but Eve knew Q’s flat was under MI6’s watch. “It will just be for a moment,” Eve said, pulling up in front of Q’s terrace house.
“Should I wait out here?” Danny asked.
“I think it would be best if you stuck with me,” Eve said.
Eve nodded to the hidden security camera that recorded the entrance to Q’s flat. She punched her access code into the lock, scanned her fingerprint, looked into the optic device, and the door opened for her.
“Come on in,” she said, cocking her head so Danny would follow.
“Oh, look at her!” Danny said.
Pampuria mewled and descended the stairs to inspect the visitors.
“Pampuria,” Eve said, giving the cat a scratch under her chin. “It’s hard to believe it, but Pampuria once belonged to Ernst Stavro Blofeld, the head of SPECTRE a massive crime organization that MI6 took down last year.”
“That’s impossible,” Danny said, taking Pampuria into his arms. “What was a beauty like you doing with a bad man like that?”
Eve laughed. “She’s got a new owner now.”
“One who’s on the right side of the law?” Danny asked.
“Yes,” Eve said. “In fact, she belongs to one of the MI6 Department Heads. He’s a good friend.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Oh no, he doesn’t have a boyfriend, not yet at least.”
“I meant to ask if he was your boyfriend,” Danny said.
Eve snorted. “Oh goodness no!”
“I was just wondering,” Danny said. “What’s wrong with him? Is he an ugly bastard?”
Just then, Turing jumped onto the kitchen countertop. “Ahhh, here’s the other one,” Eve said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh.”
“Does he have big ears and crooked teeth?” Danny asked.
“Stop it,” Eve said. “In fact, he looks a lot like you.”
“Well, you’re a good friend for looking after his cats,” Danny said. He stroked Turing’s soft fur while Eve made sure the automatic feeder was operating properly.
“I think you’d like him,” Eve said. “Maybe you’ll get to meet him someday.”
Eve stopped in her tracks when she got to the back door of Q’s flat. The keypad to the lock dangled from its wiring and the guts of the device cascaded from the door handle to the floor.
~