Silhouettes: A James Bond Story

Silhouettes Part 12

As it turned out, Q's work was as good as his word, and getting out of the country was surprisingly easy. Indira wore a wig she'd used several times before on different assignments, and the smartchips in the passports supplied by Q-Branch had successfully scrambled any biometric software that Malaysian Customs might have been using, allowing the two of them to board a small, crowded AirAsia Airbus for the short flight to Thailand. There, the Airbus banked and followed the coastline, until the vast stretches outside of Bond's window of green and brown of farms and paddies gave way to the concrete and pavement of the country's capital city. The plane slid through the low-lying haze of humidity and pollution like a stiletto slipped between a target's ribs, and made its landing at the old Don Muang airport near the city center.

Thai Immigration passed them through easily, and soon enough they sat in an over-air-conditioned luxury sedan that smelled of jasmine, admiring the jagged spires of downtown Bangkok's skyline slowly pass by their window as their cab driver tried with limited success to find gaps in the choking traffic.

"You handle the hotel," Indira told Bond. "I'll get a bead in Breckinridge."

"The hotel is already taken care of, but your part of the plan seems a touch vague. Care to share with me how you plan on doing that?"

"Trade secret," Indira said. She winked coquettishly and tossed her hair, then laughed at her affectation. Bond enjoyed the glimpse she gave of the nape of her neck. "I'm afraid if I told you, you would be scandalized."

"Well, I do have a reputation around the office as a bit of a Calvinist..."

Indira laughed again. It seemed that being someplace other than Malaysia-even if it was only marginally safer-had had an impressive impact on her mood and manners. The self-burning intensity Bond had seen in her at their first meeting had given way to a personality that could be downright playful. "Yes, that's the reputation of Double-Oh Seven encapsulated. 'Easily shocked. Easily offended.'"

"I've asked them to redact that bit."

Indira said nothing for a moment, simply smiled at him, then leaned against her door and toyed with her glossy hair. "The current South Korean Ambassador to Thailand used to be assigned to KL," Indira explained. "I met his wife at one of the long, well-liquored brunches that were the center of social activities."

"I understand you were instrumental in both promoting the brunches and ensuring the alcohol kept flowing."

Indira shrugged girlishly. "One uses the resources at their disposal. Anyway, Maggie Moon, the Ambassador's much-younger, former K-Pop star wife, was having trouble adjusting to the rather staid lifestyle she'd married into. I sensed she needed a friend, so I made myself available to her. As it turns out," Indira's lip curled only the slightest fraction, "she was feeling neglected by husband in oh so many ways..."

Now it was Bond's turn to smirk coldly. "One uses the resources at their disposal."

"I'm relatively sure she was lying when she told me she'd never done 'things like that before.' But the rest of her intel turned out to be impressively solid."

"Thank you for exercising my imagination, but what does this have to do with Breckinridge?"

"His movements will be logged by Customs and are traceable. He'll need some pretext to be here. There must be some diplomatic shindig. Maggie will know what it is. I'll just send her a text-um...I want to know the name of that new designer whose bag I liked so much-and I can work that into what she's up to today. Can your phone mask my cellular activity?"

"Yes, hold on..." Bond brought out his Q-Branch issue phone and activated the secure uplink.

"Perfect," Indira began tapping away at her own phone.

"Your cover's been blown. She might have seen you on the news."

Indira snorted. "Not unless the fashion channel carried the story." After a few minutes of intermittent tapping, while Bond watched the sun-blasted spires of Bangkok's newest high-rise office buildings and multi-million dollar condos crawl by, Indira slipped her phone into her pocket with a slight flourish.

"Got it! Diplomatic party for the Dutch Ambassador at the Erawan Grand Hyatt at nine tonight. That means Breckinridge will be there closer to ten or ten thirty. He does so like to be fashionably late."

"We'll need access," Bond mused. "Let's see if we can manage that through the embassy here."

"There's a service entrance we can use. Maggie said it was how they smuggle the more expensive call girls into the venue without them showing up on guest lists. They're being arranged for some of the diplomats from, shall we say, more restrictive countries."

Bond shook his head. "The secrets one's privy to as the spouse of an Ambassador. Pity she's not more discreet with them."

"Maggie never could keep her mouth shut," Indira said.

Bond gave her sidelong look, which was returned, the double-entendre unspoken between them.

"I wonder how much further to the hotel..."