Silhouettes: A James Bond Story

Silhouettes Part 5

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

5:52 PM

KL Station was located off a small, busy street about a kilometer south of the sprawling Perdana Botanical Gardens, just off of Jalan Scott, in a new, yet non-descript building wedged into the rest of the block, and now seemed to be shouldering the old salt-stained brick buildings aside with its steel and glass like a drunk fan at a football match. Their cover story was as a non-governmental entity of some sort with a mission plan about "new media" that was specific enough to be credible and nebulous enough to be forgettable.

Bond was met by the Chief of Station in the large, open-floorplan office where a dozen or so young men and women wearing T-shirts that sported the fanciful NGO's logo clattered away at keyboards in meticulously messy-looking cubicles. A few were greeting and mingling with guests or clients, while the rest were surreptitiously hacking, intercepting, and relaying SIGINT. Of course, the real analysis went on in the back room, where Bond was led via a short corridor, decorated with an enormous mural that encompassed the entirety of the walls and floor and ceiling, and nicely concealed the pinhole cameras, motion sensors, and cellular suppressors.

"So, they sent you," Taylor Breckinridge said with no small amount of annoyance, when they sat down in his small, but tidy office. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I told Whitehall we could handle this in country. Indira Manyam was my agent. I know her contacts. I know her methods. I could feed the locals some small amount of very specific information and put them on to her in a day. Then it would be a small thing to convince them to turn her over-a few million pounds worth of inducement money we could funnel through some foreign aid endeavor or other-and the whole thing would look completely legitimate." He leaned his rangy frame back in the modernist plastic chair and draped one arm casually over the back, a small gesture directed at Bond to show just how little he was impressed by the visiting double-oh.

"But, I see they decided the best approach was to bring an outside man to hunt her down. Well, good luck, friend. Manyam ran countless operations all over the region. Here, Jakarta, Bangkok, even one in The Maldives, though I suspect that one was just to secure a cheap luxury resort for the occasional weekend of snorkeling. Anyway, you've got your work cut out for you. Good luck."

"For all our sakes," Bond said neutrally. "She nearly started a war."

"Oh, she declared war, Bond," Breckinridge said disgustedly. "Make no mistake. She knew the CIA had the hotel wired, and that were spliced in on the feed. And not only that, but we had a few of our people mixed in with the security teams just for good measure."

"So she could have been going up against her own if things went sideways," Bond said, more to himself than for Breckinridge's benefit.

"Oh, yes. That killing was a performance, and we were the audience. Forget the manifesto--that was after the fact. The way she ended Muqam? The fact that it was captured perfectly on camera? That was sheer showmanship. I'm mildly surprised she didn't curtsey at the end of it."

"Why? What's the point?"

"I take it you didn't read that dossier as closely as you say you did," Breckinridge said flippantly, and Bond tamped down the urge to backhand the man out of his cheap, trendy chair. "She was throwing it in my face. Twisting the knife for all those operations I refused to let her run."

"Targeting Muqam?"

Breckinridge sighed and waved a hand airily, "Muqam, the head of the ISI, the Pakistani Ambassador, Musharraf's bloody chef...listen, Bond, I'm sympathetic to the fact that she lost family in the Mumbai attacks, but she was a textbook case of losing one's perspective over a personal loss. Of course, the Paki government had some kind of a hand in helping LeT-either overtly or under the table-but her theories and conspiracies...well, they were just sodding fictions she dreamt up. And even if there was some truth to them, what does it matter? India and Pakistan's sibling rivalry isn't worth our getting invested in, and no one would thank us if we did. That was what she never understood: we have a larger mission than simply attributing blame for one terrorist incident."

"So why didn't you send her home?" Bond asked. "If she was such a loose cannon, why keep her around?"

"Because she was cracking good agent!" Breckinridge replied. "Look, get past that blind spot, and she could do the job like no one's business. Her diplomatic cover was perfect. She could work an embassy party like no one I've ever seen-chatting up dignitaries in their language, talking about economic policy, and demarches, and stimulus packages, and all the while fluttering her lashes, laughing at their jokes, and generally making every straight man in the room want to take her home."

"And then?"

Breckinridge shrugged. "And then she'd go home with most valuable source of intel. I'll tell you this, Bond, when it came to honey traps, she was second to none. The Americans can keep their drones and waterboarding. What Indira has between her brown thighs is a more effective weapon. And she's not shy about deploying it, if you understand my meaning."

Bond didn't know whether Breckinridge was really as much of a pig as he came off, but either way it was clear he was testing Bond, seeing whether he'd blanch at his coarseness or join in. He kept his expression neutral, but let a slight frown pull at his lips to show his disdain. "Who was she running lately?" he asked.

"Who?" Breckinridge shifted in his chair. "Whoever she could. She's worked half the senior embassy officers and whatever prominent business leaders she could hook." He snorted. "Girl must have a revolving door on her flat."

Bond was getting annoyed. "So who did she have her hooks into the deepest?"

Breckinridge held his hands open and half-shrugged. "She was a busy girl."

Bond glared at the man and got a mask of barely-concealed resentment in return. "Well," he said finally, "Six has her field reports. I'm sure everything I need will be available from them."

"I'm sure they'll get them to you with their typical efficiency," Breckinridge said. Bond didn't mention that he had those reports on an Iron Key drive in his hip pocket. "Sorry you came all this way for nothing."

Bond stood up and buttoned his suit coat. "Don't be," he said. "Meeting you has been very enlightening."