Silhouettes: A James Bond Story

Silhouettes Part 4

In the end, and much to Bond's surprise, Q-Branch no longer stocked the classic Walther PPK ("They're bloody difficult to get—particularly in seven point six-five millimeter, they barely make any of those anymore," Q had complained with outsized peevishness), so Q had issued out a late-model Walther PPK/s chambered for 9mm-short. The gun was nearly identical to Bond's old standby, with its slightly longer grip being the only major difference (which translated into an extra bullet in the magazine). Once he'd signed for the equipment—scribbling his signature on a seemingly endless ream of forms while Q looked on with the baleful expression of a man sending his children to the workhouse—he returned to his office and shut the soundproof door. Then he sat behind his desk, propped one foot on a plastic equipment case and dialed his secure landline. The reception was vaguely tinny as it ran through countless safeguards and double-blinds, but after only a few seconds a voice answered.

"Leiter."

"I don't know what surprises me more, Felix, the fact that you're at your desk or the fact that you answer your own phone."

A chuckle was relayed from the other side of the Atlantic. "You must have me mistaken for someone with a position of authority and regard, Bond. I'm just a humble government servant. One that is, I should point out, working diligently to troubleshoot the mess you Brits seem to have made of Southeast Asia."

"Well, that's actually the reason I'm calling. I'm hoping that a humble government servant can help me out with said mess."

"We had a pool going for how long it would be until I got this call."

"Oh, and how did you fare?"

"I lost. I thought it'd be at least another twelve hours before we got an official request from Six."

"Well, this one isn't quite official."

"Oh, I'm not sure I want to know where this going. But I'm not sure I don't want to know either. "

"Just some information, Felix."

"If I have it I'll share it."

"That's what I was hoping. Tell me, has Langley sent anyone after the girl yet?"

There was a pause from the other end of the line. "If we did, that information would be compartmentalized tighter than a infectious diseases lab. Give me a little time."

"My flight's in three hours."

"You're awfully demanding for being the man behind the eight-ball. Don't worry. It shouldn't take me too long. You just have to know who to ask and where to look."

Bond thanked him and hung up. Seventeen minutes later, his phone rang.

"The kill order's been cut," Felix said, "but it hasn't been implemented yet. No travel funding has gone through. If I had to venture a guess, I'd say that the Regional Director's keeping that one in his back pocket if it becomes necessary, but wants to give you all a chance to sort things out first. Honestly, our best play is to stay out of it as much as possible."

"You have anything more definitive than a travel budget?" Bond asked skeptically.

"Hey, brother, I don't know how things are done on that side of the pond, but here nothing gets done without a budget code and line-item big enough to underwrite a Third World nation's annual deficit. You know, should the need arise. Trust me, if the money isn't there, it's not happening."

"That's a valuable insight. Thank you, Felix."

A chuckle. "My word, it almost sounded like you were being judgmental. But I'm sure that can't be the case. Not after the dumpster fire you all started."

"We lack you American's practice, so we're doubly-disadvantaged. Thanks, Felix. I mean it."

"Good luck, James," Felix said with a disturbing amount of sincerity. "I really don't envy what you have to do."

Three hours later, as the night deepened, the silver arrowhead of an Airbus 380 canted upward, pierced the silver veil of clouds, and then flattened out on its long arcing trajectory through the dark. In a pod in the first-class cabin, James Bond nursed a martini and read a dossier, learning more about the woman he would likely kill.