Double Cross for a Double Agent:
TimDaltonBond
Posts: 8MI6 Agent
This is my latest fan fiction, Double Cross for a Double Agent. I'll post a chapter every few days and reviews and comments are welcomed.
Summary:
Angelica Deere, known best as 0019 to the SIS, has left the 00-department—with a videotape that could expose Garrett Sanderson, the new Chief of the British Secret Service, as a traitor. When Bond is called in to find Deere, he expects nothing more than a simple kidnapping mission. However, he soon finds out that she has arranged to sell the videotape to the highest bidder at a secret auction in a luxury Caribbean hotel. Things only get worse when the attendees of the auction attempt to kill the ex-00 for the tape. Now, forced to pursue her from the long, sandy beaches of the tropics to the ancient streets of St. Augustine, Florida while trying to dodge bullets and bombs—007 is faced with what may be his most dangerous mission yet.
__________________________________________________
1/ 0019
Finally, she had it.
Angelica Deere, known best to the SIS as 0019, ran through the dimly lit hallways of the 00-department’s new headquarters. Her high heeled shoes made no noise on the beige carpeting, and the only security camera in the hall did no good; the guard in the security room that was supposed to be watching its recordings was busy watching an action movie.
After the retirement of Barbara Mawdsley in early 2007, many in MI6 were calling for the disbandment of the 00-department. Had it not been for the newly appointed Chief, an agent of the SIS since the early stages of the Cold War, they might have gotten their way.
One of Garrett Sanderson’s top priorities was to keep the Department alive, and he had done so by throwing every application sent to him calling for disbandment in the trash. His approval rating suffered, but he felt that the 00-department existed for the good of the United Kingdom as well as much of the world.
Therefore, it was ironic that the object in the manila envelope she was carrying contained evidence that could possibly drive the man out of office. However, she had her reasons for doing this.
After passing many of the 00-agents’ offices, as well as S’s and Tanner’s, she reached the gold colored elevator at the end of the corridor. She pressed the button with the arrow pointing down more times than she could count, until the doors opened a minute later. Luckily, nobody was in the elevator.
She was safe.
The elevator descended to the first level, where the doors opened and she took no hesitation in walking out onto the white marble floor. She briskly walked through the unpopulated lobby. The 00-department’s front company was not Universal Exports as it had been before they moved into Vauxhall Cross. Now they had chosen a new one, International Trade Associates, Ltd. The title made no difference; it was the same agency with the same rules run by most of the same people.
The lobby itself was sparsely decorated save for a chair here or a picture there. The center of the room was dominated by the receptionists’ desk which was empty now. Bronze lettering on the wall behind it spelled out the name of the front company and the year it was established, 2007.
She didn’t even look around at the room, even though she knew that this would be the last time she ever saw it. Instead, she unlocked the front revolving doors and exited, not bothering to lock it from the outside.
Then she hailed a cab to Heathrow Airport.
Summary:
Angelica Deere, known best as 0019 to the SIS, has left the 00-department—with a videotape that could expose Garrett Sanderson, the new Chief of the British Secret Service, as a traitor. When Bond is called in to find Deere, he expects nothing more than a simple kidnapping mission. However, he soon finds out that she has arranged to sell the videotape to the highest bidder at a secret auction in a luxury Caribbean hotel. Things only get worse when the attendees of the auction attempt to kill the ex-00 for the tape. Now, forced to pursue her from the long, sandy beaches of the tropics to the ancient streets of St. Augustine, Florida while trying to dodge bullets and bombs—007 is faced with what may be his most dangerous mission yet.
__________________________________________________
1/ 0019
Finally, she had it.
Angelica Deere, known best to the SIS as 0019, ran through the dimly lit hallways of the 00-department’s new headquarters. Her high heeled shoes made no noise on the beige carpeting, and the only security camera in the hall did no good; the guard in the security room that was supposed to be watching its recordings was busy watching an action movie.
After the retirement of Barbara Mawdsley in early 2007, many in MI6 were calling for the disbandment of the 00-department. Had it not been for the newly appointed Chief, an agent of the SIS since the early stages of the Cold War, they might have gotten their way.
One of Garrett Sanderson’s top priorities was to keep the Department alive, and he had done so by throwing every application sent to him calling for disbandment in the trash. His approval rating suffered, but he felt that the 00-department existed for the good of the United Kingdom as well as much of the world.
Therefore, it was ironic that the object in the manila envelope she was carrying contained evidence that could possibly drive the man out of office. However, she had her reasons for doing this.
After passing many of the 00-agents’ offices, as well as S’s and Tanner’s, she reached the gold colored elevator at the end of the corridor. She pressed the button with the arrow pointing down more times than she could count, until the doors opened a minute later. Luckily, nobody was in the elevator.
She was safe.
The elevator descended to the first level, where the doors opened and she took no hesitation in walking out onto the white marble floor. She briskly walked through the unpopulated lobby. The 00-department’s front company was not Universal Exports as it had been before they moved into Vauxhall Cross. Now they had chosen a new one, International Trade Associates, Ltd. The title made no difference; it was the same agency with the same rules run by most of the same people.
The lobby itself was sparsely decorated save for a chair here or a picture there. The center of the room was dominated by the receptionists’ desk which was empty now. Bronze lettering on the wall behind it spelled out the name of the front company and the year it was established, 2007.
She didn’t even look around at the room, even though she knew that this would be the last time she ever saw it. Instead, she unlocked the front revolving doors and exited, not bothering to lock it from the outside.
Then she hailed a cab to Heathrow Airport.
Comments
I will be curious to see all the plot twists develop in this tale, as this no doubt has the seeds for it :007)
I don't think they stopped
Anyway, are there any other review or comments for the first chapter?
Bond’s cell phone had rung for the tenth time, but he did not answer.
“So, what’s your name?” he asked the beautiful blonde seated next to him. She had the prettiest blue eyes he had ever seen.
She smiled. “Carey d’Abo.”
He nodded. “Bond. James Bond,” he extended his hand which she gently shook, “pleased to meet you, Carey.”
An older bartender walked over to them. “Another martini?” He asked in a raspy voice due to smoking four packs of Larks per day since he was a teen.
“Yes,” Bond replied.
As the bartender looked over to the woman he began to smile, allowing rows of grotesque blackened teeth to become visible to Bond and her. The latter was more disgusted than the former. “And what will your girlfriend have?”
“A bourbon,” she said hesitantly.
He nodded and walked away.
“So,” Bond said as turned back towards her, “what brings you here?”
Carey was about to answer when the phone rung again.
“What were you saying?” Bond asked, trying his hardest to ignore the call.
“I’ll tell you as soon as you answer that damned thing.”
Bond smirked. “So, you’re a woman who puts business before pleasure,” he said as he took the phone out of his pocket and answered it.
“Where in the bloody hell have you been?” Shouted an angry voice.
“Oh,” Bond said as he cleared his throat, “it’s you, S.”
“You’re damned right it’s me,” he said, “get down here now!”
“Why?” Bond asked, “What’s going on?”
“Shut up and get down here.” S hung up.
As Bond put the phone back in his pocket, a puzzled Carey asked, “James, what was that all about?”
“I have no clue,” Bond replied as he stood up and gathered his raincoat from the stool next to him, “but I’m afraid that I’ll have to be leaving now.”
Carey looked disappointed. “Too bad, I was hoping we could get to know each other a little better.” She ran a tanned hand through her shoulder length hair.
Bond nodded. “Yes, so was I.” He reached into one of the pockets in his raincoat and took a small, rectangular piece of paper out and handed it to Carey. “Do you have a pen?”
She nodded as she opened her evening bag and took one out.
Bond gave her the number of his flat in Chelsea and left. As he walked out the door, the bartender came back with the drinks.
“What happened to your friend?” He asked.
Carey shook her head as she took the bourbon. “I don’t know. He had to leave.”
The taxi pulled up to the nondescript four story office building at precisely 1:34 AM. Bond paid the fare and walked out into the misty night.
As he walked up to the revolving doors, he noticed that the lights inside of the lobby were on, something unusual for this time of night, and that several uniformed security guards were walking around inside, some dusting for fingerprints and others taking pictures of the area. What the hell happened? He thought as he walked inside and to the elevator. However, he was forced to take the stairs when he found out that the elevator was closed. Apparently, it was being searched for evidence. Evidence of what? Bond thought as he climbed the stairs to the fourth level.
“I don’t give a damn what the Air America spokesman says, tell him the terminal needs to be shut down!” Shouted an older man in his mid sixties. He wore a brown jacket with a navy blue tie and white shirt. He sat behind a massive oak desk and a pipe hung over the edge of his mouth. He was too preoccupied to light it.
“Hold on, sir,” said a female voice on the other end of the line.
S mumbled angrily to himself as he waited for the news. A few minutes later, the woman spoke. “Okay, sir,” she said in a stressed tone, “the spokesman was angry, but he called their headquarters in Atlanta and everything’s okay. All flights departing Heathrow from now until ten in the morning have been cancelled.”
S nodded. “Good. Now, call France Air and tell them the same thing.”
“What?” The woman asked in bewilderment.
“And after you’re through with them, call all of the other airlines that fly out of the country. Ask for their flight records within the last two hours, get their passenger rosters and tell them to cancel all flights until 10 AM tomorrow.”
“You have to be joking.”
“No, I’m not. Now call them.” With that, he hung up.
Trying to secure all airports and seaports in the London vicinity was not easy. There would be hell to pay for this, but that wasn’t important now. S needed to be sure that bitch 0019, or as he knew her, Angelica Deere, wouldn’t make it out of the country under any circumstances. If she did and sold the tape or fed it to the media, he would be ruined. He couldn’t let that happen.
He wouldn’t let that happen.
Caribbean Airlines Flight 452 was flying at an altitude of 35,000 feet above the English Channel, heading east.
In the very back of the Business Class section, a young woman with long brown hair held back in a bun sat, visibly nervous. She had dark brown eyes and deeply tanned skin to a chestnut brown. She was a very beautiful young lady, and one that could potentially become very rich.
She was Angelica Deere.
Penelope Smallbone looked and felt tired. Her golden hair was a mess and she could barley talk. However, she did manage to mutter a hello when Bond came in.
“How are you, Penelope?” Bond responded, noticing that she was very tired.
“How do I look?” She replied, a hint of anger in her otherwise calm voice.
“Where’s Moneypenny?” He asked, trying to ease her tension.
“On vacation,” she stated flatly.
“Really? Where?” He made a last attempt to spark a conversation.
“I don’t know. All I know is that I’ve been here for twenty hours straight and I need to go home.”
Bond was surprised. “Really? Your shift should have ended twelve hours ago.”
She cast an angry glare at him. “No, really? I didn’t know that. I thought I was supposed to stay here all day, every day on a meager salary answering calls for that ******* behind the door.” She pointed at S’s office.
“I can understand what you’re saying. Ever since M left, he’s been working us all to death.”
Penelope nodded thoughtfully. “I tell you, back when I first came here, when Messervy was still in charge right before the other one came in, things were different. We had better salaries and the work hours were more flexible. Our vacations were longer and we got more benefits. God, I miss those days. Even when the other one was in office, we still had better work conditions than this. Then Mawdsley began the cutbacks back in ’95. Since then everything has been going downhill.”
Bond smirked. “Yes, I remember those days. Back in ’95, when you were a pretty, bright twenty-nine year old as opposed to an angry, tired…” He stopped when she sternly raised her index finger as a warning. Even though Bond was joking, Penelope was indeed better looking, more cheerful and all around better person to work with from the time she joined MI6 in the late eighties at the young age of twenty-two up until 1995 when the last M had placed a tight lock on the 00-department’s bank accounts and enacted new budget policies. It was a hardship on everybody.
Suddenly, a green light flashed above the mahogany door to S’s office.
“Go in,” she said.
“Sit down!” S demanded no sooner than Bond had opened the door.
Bond closed the door behind him and sat down on a leather chair in front of the desk. “What’s going on?”
S looked up from a paper that he was reading. “Where the hell have you been? I called you on your cell phone at least ten times.”
“I was at a Pub,” Bond responded nonchalantly.
S shook his head disapprovingly. “Who was she tonight, 007? A waitress, a stewardess?” His voce bled disgust.
“No, as a matter of fact, I was meeting a very nice lady when you chimed in,” Bond replied angrily. He hated it when people in his business life tried to get information about his personal life out of him.
Noticing Bond’s tone, S quickly changed the subject. Normally he would reprimand him for such a reply, but tonight Britain’s best spy was needed too much and time was of the essence. “A very disturbing matter has come up.”
“What?”
“0019 has fled.”
“Fled?”
“Yes,” S responded flatly, “we don’t know where she’s going, but we’re trying to seal off all international flights departing airports in the vicinity. We’re checking seaports as well.”
Bond didn’t understand. “Why would she flee?”
M took a deep breath before answering. “What I’m about to tell you is strictly confidential, Bond.”
“Understood.”
“I mean you can’t repeat this to anybody. Not even the other 00’s or Moneypennny. You can’t tell Tanner or Gray, either.”
Bond’s serious green eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. All of S’s operations were made known to Bill Tanner, his Chief of Staff, and Frederick Gray, the Defense Minister. He couldn’t think of a reason why whatever he was about to be told needed to be kept secret from them. “Why?”
“Because I said so!”
Bond slowly nodded. Whatever was going on, he knew that it must be important, or dangerous—probably both. “Go ahead, sir.”
S wasted no time in speaking. “Our security camera in the Computer Room caught 0019 using some video editing program. Apparently, she was using video clips of me and chroma keying them—you do know what that is, right?”
Bond nodded.
“Into a different background,” S continued, “resulting in a videotape of me shooting an unidentified man, killing him.”
“She’s trying to make you look like a murderer?” Bond asked in disbelief.
“Apparently. Even more disturbing is that I’m dressed as a colonel from the old Soviet Union in her little movie. If this thing gets out, I’ll look like a traitor—a double agent. My career will be ruined.”
“I want to see that security tape.” Bond couldn’t imagine 0019 doing a thing like this.
S nodded. “Of course.” He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a full-sized VHS videocassette. He put it into a VCR and pressed ‘PLAY’, then turning the TV so Bond could see it.
In the video, the camera panned across the room, so Bond only saw 0019 sitting at a computer for a few seconds during each pass. However, when he did see her, it was obvious that she was using a video editing program, although he couldn’t tell which one it was, and that she was using the chroma key feature. Then, just before she went out of sight, she brought up a picture of a younger S, a green background behind him. He was indeed dressed in the uniform of a Soviet colonel. Then, when the camera came back to her, he saw that a new background had been inserted.
Now, S was standing in what looked like a jail cell. Two guards, one man and one woman, stood in front of the only door in the room which was located behind him. Both were armed wit an AK-47 assault rifle. A man was now standing a few feet in front of S as well. Bond couldn’t see his face, but he was dressed in a prisoner’s uniform and his black hair was unkempt. Then, she and the computer went out of view again.
When she came back into sight, she was no longer typing or clicking the mouse. No, she was sitting back and watching the finished product. Although the video only lasted ten seconds, it would remain in Bond’s memory for the rest of his life. S was shouting at the prisoner who continuously shrugged and shook his head. Whatever S was asking him he either didn’t know the answer to or wasn’t telling. After a few more seconds of the fruitless interrogation, S motioned to the female guard. After a moment’s hesitation, she took an automatic pistol out of her waist holster and tossed it to him. He caught it in midair.
Realizing what was about to happen, the prisoner attempted to jump back in a final attempt to evade his fate.
S was too fast for him. He fired two shots in quick succession. A fraction of a second later, the prisoner’s head exploded in two quick bursts of red. Then, he fell to the floor.
The tape was over.
Bond slowly moved his eyes away from the now blank television screen. He looked disgusted.
S turned the TV back to its former place and rewound the tape. “I’m sorry you had to see that, 007,” he said in a businesslike tone. He was obviously lying.
“I have a few questions, sir,” Bond responded skeptically.
“Oh?” S sounded surprised, “What are they? You saw the tape. It was pretty self explanatory.”
“True, but there are a few inconsistencies.”
“Oh, really?” S replied in an annoyed tone, “What are these inconsistencies of which you speak?”
“Well, first off, if 0019 really wanted to do a thing like that, why didn’t she disable the security camera? If she did, there would be hardly any evidence.”
“She was in a hurry and probably didn’t think of that.”
“Highly unlikely, sir. Next question, how could she be using a video editing program on a Department computer when there are none installed? If she was in a hurry, I doubt that she decided to come here and install one when she could do that on her own computer. That brings me to my next question, why did she choose to do this here, in public place like the Computer Room? Anybody could have walked in and saw what she was doing.”
“Most everybody was out of the building at the time she did this, 007. Only the guards, Penelope, a few agents and I were in the building.”
“Do you have a list of those here tonight, at the time she ‘fled’?”
S nodded. “I just got this a few minutes ago,” he said as he opened another drawer in his desk and pulled out a piece of computer paper. He handed it to Bond. “Will that be all of your questions, 007?” He asked as Bond began to read the list.
“Wait a moment, sir,” Bond replied as he carefully read each name.
ROSTER OF ALL PERSONNEL IN-HOUSE AS OF 12:19 AM GMT
ANDERS, SARAH: LEVEL 3 SECURITY CLEARENCE, SPECIAL AGENT
ASHTON, JOHN: LEVEL 1 SECURITY CLEARENCE, SECURITY
DENTON, GUY: LEVEL 1 SECURITY CLEARENCE, SECURITY
HARRIS, PAUL: LEVEL 1 SECURITY CLEARENCE, SECURITY
KENSINGTON, LAURA: LEVEL 1 SECURITY CLEARENCE, SECURITY
LOMAX, DANIEL: LEVEL 1 SECURITY CLEARENCE, SECURITY
NATHAN, DIANA: LEVEL 1 SECURITY CLEARENCE, SECURITY
REGINALD, EDWARD: LEVEL 4 SECURITY CLEARENCE, 00-AGENT
SANDERSON, GARRETT: UNLIMITED SECURITY CLEARENCE, CHIEF
SAXON, DONOVAN: LEVEL 3 SECURITY CLEARENCE, ANALYST
SELLERS, HANNAH: LEVEL 4 SECURITY CLEARENCE, 00-AGENT
SMALLBONE, PENELOPE: LEVEL 2 SECURITY CLEARENCE, ASSISTANT
TAYLOR, BENTLEY: LEVEL 1 SECURITY CLEARENCE, SECURITY
VOYLES, ROBERT: LEVEL 3 SECURITY CLEARENCE, SPECIAL AGENT
WEXLER, DANA: LEVEL 2 SECURITY CLEARENCE, AGENT
WINDSOR, FREDERICK: LEVEL 1 SECURITY CLEARENCE, SECURITY
YANCY, GEORGE: LEVEL 2 SECURITY CLEARENCE, AGENT
YONKERS, NANCY: LEVEL 1 SECURITY CLEARENCE, SECURITY
TOTAL IN-HOUSE: 18
REPORT FILED AT 12:54 AM GMT.
Bond put the piece of paper on the desk and rubbed his eyes. It was getting late and he was getting tired. Now he was beginning to experience what Penelope felt like. “One last question, sir,” Bond said as he stifled a yawn, “why wasn’t she stopped?”
“Stopped?” S was caught off guard with the question.
“Yes, stopped. There were eighteen people here, about half of which were guards. Why wasn’t she stopped? Somebody should have seen what she was doing via the camera.”
S cleared his throat. “Oh, yes, I see what you mean. The guard in the second floor office, Lomax, wasn’t doing his job.”
“What was he doing?”
S scoffed. “Watching television. I was about to fire him, but I decided to transfer him off to one of our other stations—in Siberia.”
Bond shook his head, a look of disapproval on his face. Ever since the budget cutbacks, MI6 had let much its longstanding personnel go in favor of cheaper labor. The result was often incidents like this, fatal mistakes made due to pure incompetence. Even Major Boothroyd, who retired back in 1999, found that he could not live on his low pension alone. Because of this, he came out of retirement after only four years. Now he worked at the CIA’s London headquarters, his job no different than the one at MI6, save for the higher pay. “What do you want me to do?”
“Now we’re searching the entire building for clues—anything that could tell us where 0019 is going, what her intentions are and what she might do with the video. There are two other 00’s here this evening, you saw their names on the list, and you’ll join them in scanning 0019’s office. If you find anything, anything at all, report back to me immediately. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
With that, Bond got up and left the room.
Angelica held the manila envelope tightly in her hands, not daring to take her eyes off of it for a second.
The DVD inside would certainly sell for millions, but she wasn’t doing this for the money. No, this was for revenge and nothing else.
She looked out of her window. The sky outside was pitch black. She couldn’t tell whether they were traveling through clear sky or heavy clouds. That didn’t matter.
She just needed to get to Paris on time.
“So where are you off to this time, Bond?” Penelope asked as she looked up from an open file folder.
“Take a guess,” Bond said as he walked closer.
She laughed. “Paris?”
Bond shook his head.
“Tokyo?”
He shook his head.
“Berlin?”
He shook his head again.
“Moscow?”
He shook his head again, a grin now plastered across his face.
Penelope smiled. She was about to give up, but decided to take one last guess. “New York?”
“No,” Bond responded, “down the hall.”
Penelope looked puzzled. “Down the hall? What’s going on down there, everybody’s been running around here like its Code Red or something.”
“Sorry,” Bond said as he opened the door and stepped into the hallway, “classified information.”
Penelope couldn’t help but smile as he closed the door behind him.
“Welcome to the party, Bond,” 0011 said as he entered 0019’s office.
“How are you, Hannah?” Bond asked as he shut the door.
002 stood behind her, inspecting the contents of the vanished 00-agent’s trash can. “S called you in, too?” He asked as he put a few crumbled papers down on Deere’s polished oak desk.
“Apparently,” Bond replied as he walked towards the desk. He sat down in the leather chair behind it and turned the computer on. Instantly, the processor began to hum a mechanical tone.
0011 walked up behind him. “We already checked that. And shouldn’t you be wearing gloves?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
0011 shook her head disapprovingly. “S would probably beg to differ.”
“I doubt it; fingerprints are the least of his worries now.”
She looked puzzled. “Why do you say that?”
Bond mentally cursed himself. He ran a hand through his black hair, trying desperately to think of words to justify what he had just said without giving away his superior’s secret.
“Bond? Are you alright?” She grew even more puzzled.
“Yes,” Bond replied. “I meant that with the whole Deere situation and all, S has his hands full.”
“Oh,” 0011 replied, now becoming more at ease, “I understand.”
With that, she walked away and over to a bookcase. Bond turned his attention back to the computer.
Vladimir Bessmerkov entered the old, yellow beat up taxi and shut the door. He placed a lone suitcase on the seat beside him.
“Where to, man?” Asked the driver. He spoke with a Caribbean accent.
The Russian took off his sunglasses before answering. He had watery blue eyes. “The Lord Harris Hotel.”
“The Lord Harris Hotel?” The driver asked, confused.
“Yes,” Bessmerkov replied in an annoyed tone, “the Lord Harris Hotel. It’s in Fredericktown.”
The driver had no clue as to what the strange man was talking about. “Man, listen to me. I know St. Paul like the back of my hand, and I can tell you that there’s no Lord Harris Hotel on this island.”
Bessmerkov became angry. “Of course there’s a Lord Harris Hotel! It’s one of your country’s most famous resorts!”
The driver thought for a second. “Oh,” he said after a few moments, “you mean the Lord Harrison Hotel.”
“Yes, that’s it, now drive!”
The driver muttered a four letter word to the Russian as he drove out of the Hampton International Airport.
“Reginald,” Bond called to 004, “do you have any idea what Deere’s password might be?”
002 put down a stack of CD-ROMs he was inspecting and walked over to the computer. “Yeah, its annesuanders. Bit of a strange password, don’t you think?”
Bond nodded as he typed the password in a small, rectangular blue box in the center of the screen. He pressed ‘Enter’ and the computer hummed for a few seconds before 0019’s desktop appeared. The background was the same as that of all of the other 00-agents’—the seal of the 00-department.
Bond waited for a few moments as all of the desktop icons loaded up—which there weren’t very many of—before going into ‘My Documents’. Bond knew that if 0019 had done anything of great importance that she didn’t want her superiors or co-workers to know about, she wouldn’t have saved it on the computer’s hard drive. No, she would have saved it to a portable device; a CD-ROM, flash drive or diskette.
Still, he couldn’t leave a stone unturned.
The taxi pulled up to the silver front doors of the Lord Harrison Hotel after fifteen minutes of driving northeast on St. Paul’s only major highway. Bessmerkov collected his suitcase, paid the fare and exited the car.
“Hey, man,” the driver shouted as Bessmerkov opened one of the doors, “where’s the tip?”
Bessmerkov turned around. “Ah, yes, I forgot.” He placed his free hand in his pants pocket and took out an American quarter. He threw it towards the taxi, but it landed on the cobblestone road; mere inches from the front door.
The driver raised his middle finger at the bad-tempered Russian and drove away.
Bessmerkov turned back to the hotel and went inside. The lobby was, in a word, spectacular. The floors were made of pure white marble as were the columns on the edges of the octagonal room. On the far side was the check-in desk, where a beautiful redhead sat in an expensive leather chair behind a top of the line computer. On the left side, a set of French doors led to the pool and patio area. On the right side, a pair of gold plated doors led to the hotel casino. On either side of the check-in desk elevators rose up to the rooms.
“Welcome to the Lord Harrison Hotel, sir,” said the redhead as Bessmerkov walked up to her. “Do you have a reservation?”
“Yes,” Bessmerkov replied with a faint Russian accent, “the name is Valentin Berzov.”
The clerk quickly typed the alias into the computer. After a few moments she nodded her head approvingly. “You are staying in the Patioview Room, correct?”
Bessmerkov nodded.
“Okay,” she said as she took a key off of the rack behind her, “this is your key. The payment was already made by computer, right?”
“Yes, it was.”
She handed him the key. “Room 429, third floor. Enjoy your stay.”
Bessmerkov walked away without as much as a ‘thank you’.
After he had boarded the elevator and the doors closed, the clerk nodded in the direction of a suited man sitting on an antique sofa near the entrance to the casino. He nodded back to her and took a small radio out of a nearby briefcase. “This is Harrison squad. Bessmerkov has arrived. Repeat, Bessmerkov has arrived. He’s in room 429. Repeat, he’s in room 429.”
“Nothing,” Bond said as he logged off of 0019’s computer, “absolutely nothing.”
“I told you we already checked it,” 0011 said as she opened and closed various drawers in a steel file cabinet near the bookcase.
“True,” Bond said as he got up from the chair, “but you know I had to double check. Anyway, it looks like you two have checked this place pretty well. I guess I’ll go up to S and tell him that we haven’t found anything….you two didn’t find anything, did you?”
The two 00-agents shook their heads.
“All right,” Bond walked towards the door, “I guess I’m done….” He stopped in mid-sentence when he saw a small, crumbled piece of white paper under 0019’s desk. The other 00-agents looked on, puzzled, as Bond grabbed it. He sat back down again.
“I didn’t see that before,” 0011 mumbled as Bond unfolded the paper.
0011 and 002 came closer to the desk; trying to see what Bond was doing with the note.
After Bond had fully unfolded the paper, he found that it was blank. However, he would do one last thing to ensure that there were no hidden clues on it. He reached for a nearby electronic pencil sharpener and took out the small plastic tray from the bottom where the excess wood and lead shavings were collected from the newly sharpened pencils. He spread it all over the paper.
Sure enough, after clearing the majority of it, words could clearly be seen.
Words that told exactly where Deere was going and when.