T H E | B O N D | I D E N T I T Y

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The name is Bond. Holly Bond. And I am a spy.

Which generally means, I get to spend a lot of time undercover. Not to be confused with spending a lot of time under the cover. Although, I do my fair share of that, too. For Queen and Country, naturally.

Now, going undercover normally entails having to bring down your average sociopathic megalomaniac. That's, 'Bad guy', to you. And the great contradiction with this particular type of criminal, is that they all want to rule the world, but are forever bent on destroying it. Like, come on guys, make up your mind?

One such walking oxymoron, is Dorian Grey. Yea, like the famous oil painting. After the man himself looked at it, that is. All old, grey and sagging, held together with bits of sticky tape. Trappings of a mortal man hitting the rosy ripe age of 74. Although that doesn't stop him constantly being surrounded by a bevy of beauties, like some underworld version of Hugh Hefner.

But big Hugh's not my assignment today. Not for the time being, anyway.

I emerge from the sea like something out of one of dad's stories. Jinx, I think her name was. Sure hope she wasnt superstitious.

I peel the wetsuit off of me like a banana skin, and begin my eveningwear transformation. The thinly veiled lycra top I'm wearing underneath, neatly stretches downwards to produce a nifty black all-in-one figure-hugging number. As in figure '8', naturally.

The sweet pairing of titanium stilettos and matching airings, stashed in my small water-resistant satchel, completes my new ready-to-wear outfit. Lastly, I turn the satchel itself inside out, transforming it into the perfect minimalist handbag, and ditch the wetsuit. 'Perfection' I think to myself.

"How's the outfit, Holly?" screams the high-pitched voice into my ear, courtesy of the state-of-the-art two-way voice receiver built into the airings.

"Dammit, Q!" I say. "You could have at least tested the damn noise levels, before bleeding my eardrums dry?"

"My bad!" comes his usual less than genuine reply. "Testing, testing, 1,2,3!"

"The only thing your testing right now, Nerd, is my patience!" I tell him. "The dress fits just fine. The shoes, on the other hand, are a little on the tight side."

"New shoes always take a while to wear in." he tells me. "But you wont believe how much cool stuff I've crammed into them!"

"Yeah, and I'm sure you had a ball, test-driving them back at the lab!" I tell him, always one to seize an opening.

"I... well... a lot could'a gone wrong... you know? So... err... ok, I was just..."

Well that backfired in the most awkward of ways. Guess I know what the 'Q' stands for.

"Ok, so what's my intel?" I ask, attempting the first rescue of the day.

"Dorian Estavez Grey. Corporate mogul and owner of Greystoke Energy Enterprises: 'Power to the People... blah, blah, blah'. Says here, he's a regular contributor to over a dozen charities, three-time winner of the 'Humanitarian of The Year' award, annual local beauty pageant sponsor... But flip the coin and we're talking links to the Cartel, money laundering, sex trafficking... it's like, Jekyll and Hyde on crack!"

"Aren't they all? And the details?"

"Your cover will be; Miss Indie Pendant... see what I did there?"

"I'm in awe of your greatness."

"Whatever. You're attending a private function, posing as an exotic wannabe model. A stretch, I know, but I think you'll be ok. Alright, adding you to the guest list... now! Should be live on their PDA systems. Once you're in, you need to make your way to the 4th room, on the 4th floor, that's room number 4-4..."

"4?"

"3! Close."

"Then I crack the safe, bag the goods, and make like a leaf! Got it."

"Tree. Holly, it's 'make like a tree... and leaf'!"

"You still there? Oh, I'm sorry, I thought I requested radio silence!"

"What? Now hang on there, you can't-" Oh, but I can, Nerd. And I just did. Best thing about the two-way radio is I have control of the on/off switch. Ah Q, annoying as heck, but still the smartest guy in the room. Even when he's not actually in the room. Makes the task of 'living up to your father's legacy', a simple stroll in the park. I, on the other hand, am having no such luck.

I get my head back into the game and set off towards my objective. Time to go to work. The air is warm, the gentle breeze soothing and the sun setting in the distance over the sea, hypnotic. What I'd give to be able to call in sick.

Eventually, I arrive at the location in question. As I look up at the magnificent architecture on display, I cant help but wonder, for the briefest of moments, wether I'm in the right paying job. This guy obviously has more money than blood cells, and probably a fraction of the beaurocratic crap i have to deal with on a day to day, to boot. The car park alone is half the size of a football field, and the cars it plays host to, the best that money can't buy. Haven't seen a selection like this since I last ran a circuit on Forza 5.

Creative credit to the two slabs of hired muscle guarding the main gate up ahead who, combined, manage to pull off the perfect visual representation of Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber. But even they should have no problem succumbing to the classic 'damsel in this dress'. See what I did there? I'm wasted.

I attach a small transmitter to the undercarriage of the first vehicle I come across, a back-up plan, then make my way over to the main gate. Up close, the two human road blocks are no less intimidating. Just the kind of bloke I love to slam through a brick wall on an ordinary day. But this mission's a snatch & run, low profile affair, so I make small talk with the smaller of the two in my best 'ditzy blonde' impersonation.

"Evening fellas" I beam. "Hope I haven't missed the entertainment?"

"Honey," he tells me. "from where I'm standing, looks to me like you are the entertainment." I'm sure there's a compliment in there somewhere.

"To who do I owe the pleasure, Miss...?"

"Pendant. Indie Pendant." Sounds worse coming out of my mouth, than it did swimming around my head.

"That's a nice name. And an even nicer dress. But I'm afraid you'll be needing a whole lot more if you're planning on getting into there." he warns.

"You don't say, Humpty. Would an invite do? I'm sure you'll see I have one."

"No need for hostility. I'm sure I'd remember seeing a 'Miss Pendant' somewhere on the guest list, if I'd seen it." He then whips out from behind his back... a clipboard. A fricking clipboard. Like, who uses those things these days? Really?

"Bit old school, isn't it?" I ask nervously, weighing up my options. "People still use those?"

"Had some weird electronic power surge trigger off earlier." he explains. "Played havoc with a lot of our systems, electronic devices... Good thing I'm such an old fashioned soul. Always back-up my back-up with a paper trail." he announces proudly, continuing to rifle through the list with his index finger.

"Nope." he summarises bluntly. "Seems to me the only place your name is written, is in my heart."

I throw up a little in my mouth, in response to Romeo's comment. If only I had a knife, I'd happily enjoy making that line of his a brutal reality.

Meanwhile, guy number two, sensing some action, shifts the weight in his stance and unfolds his arms. Standard 'bouncer school' procedure, I'm guessing.

Time for plan B Holly. And pray Q hasn't screwed that one up too.

To be continued...