Category: Bond Fiction

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The Merlin’s going through the last of its pre-flight checks as Ronni emerges into the hanger, dressed in attire she hopes Tanner will consider low key yet smart enough to announce e-mail has been read, understanding this summons from M is to be taken seriously. No jacket, dark blue silk blouse, black trousers and high top trainers she’s pushed hard to get London to accept as better footwear than the Bally boots they’d given her after Stage Two of training. It was certainly easier to run in the Merrells, plus eight hours in these wouldn’t give blisters. The small things were changing the landscape, a step at a time, and that made this worth the trauma that came with the potential upgrade in number.

It would be that which pulled her here, quite apart from saying goodbye to LaCroix and Moneypenny. They were fit for duty: she wouldn’t get that stamp until Q emerged from his extended downtime with Alex, and the French doctor stopped shaking her head at Flemmings’ blood work. As for Bond…

‘Where’s 007?’

Tanner’s casual too this morning, suit trousers, shirt and no tie, and there’s a second to consider lying about her presence alone that Ronni decides is probably best ignored.

‘He’s asleep, Will. I think I may have worn him out.’

The Chief of Staff almost keeps a straight face: Ronni’s eyeroll is enough to tip them both over into laughter. M is by the helipad, talking to 003 and 009, obvious pep talk before they depart for Amsterdam. Nobody has asked what she’s been doing away from official business for three days because everybody accepts that an inter-agent relationship can be acceptable as part of this job.

‘Under the circumstances I may well tell the old man the truth. Knowing him I’ll get some comment on Bond’s fitness needing re-assessment and that we can’t have him failing on existing operational parameters.’

‘He’s off the books, Will.’

‘No, just no longer part of the Section. He may have resigned but you don’t leave this job, as you well know. Right now he’s languishing in administrative limbo.’

‘Well, wherever he is I think he deserves the sleep. As his turnaround times have dropped, I suggested he take the afternoon off.’

‘The man’s not getting any younger, after all.’

Something is being held in Tanner’s hand, cream envelope passed over without ceremony, and now it’s very much not about being called here to wish people goodbye and more around what happens next.

‘He was however asked to inform you that the senior field 00 position is officially open. I’m assuming this was overlooked, with good reason. You are expected to apply.’

‘I’m assuming I wouldn’t be required to take the name, because that could make things more confusing than they need to be.’

‘Thanks to LaCroix and Moneypenny, Whitehall is officially relaxing the requirement to inherit your predecessor’s name. You just get the senior officer’s number instead. There’s more to it than that, but we’re already planning details to be discussed on your return to London.’

Their conversation is interrupted as Moneypenny appears, all smiles, Charlie not far behind.

‘You’ve exhausted him, haven’t you?’

Ronni can’t help but blush, especially considering the last private conversation over coffee, when the details of Bangkok had been revealed. However now it’s more to do with M’s arrival, and his clear satisfaction that Tanner’s begun her recruitment process.

‘I’m not sure I should comment further on the inability to show with the Boss here.’

‘Do I need to reprimand the ex-007 for failing to consistently do his duty, 004?’

M’s comment isn’t embarrassment but more laughter, sense that somewhere between London and here everything changed forever, not simply for her and James. This is family, like it or not: a group of people who care about them both as a unit and alone above the need to be entirely professional. They are stronger together, as Moneypenny and Charlie are alone. The choices made do not need to be held or imposed any more: this isn’t about being right, rather more around getting the best from disparate individuals.

‘Bond’s made Ronni happier than at any point I’ve known her. I think maybe he’s earned some downtime. Perhaps after ten years of being the best there was, we should all cut the guy a break.’

Charlie’s wisdom, undoubtedly, wins the day and closes this discussion, and then it is hugs and smiles as 004 watches her compatriots walk back to the waiting Merlin, ready to complete a mission they’d begun several months previously. She’s expecting management to stay but both are already walking away, back to the Control Centre, no more comment to be made. Ronni stands and watches the chopper lift off under LaCroix’s control and vanish from view, camouflage dome opening and closing, and stands for some time in silence, before opening the envelope that signals her transition.

The paper inside is blank, and Veronica Flemmings understands why.

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OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER:

Everything related to James Bond (007) belongs to Eon Productions and Danjaq LLC, except the bits in here that are mine and I made up. I get how this works.

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Everybody else is enjoying the moment, but Ronni just wants to run.

Changed into sweats, she’s on her second circuit around what the French call ‘La Grande Tour’: at night, this place has an almost unworldly quality, something most definitely out of a big budget science fiction spectacular. She wanted to climb up the structure but was quietly but firmly dissuaded by Alex, which said in her mind that there’s probably a way if there were time to do the homework. Everybody else is at the reception put on to officially celebrate the Tour’s fully operational status, despite large sections of the structure remaining a combination of bare girders and construction. The success in eliminating Spectre’s leadership from the landscape will be front page news for every newspaper, already trending worldwide across the Internet. Ronni doesn’t care she was the heroine, and just wants to imagine this is the run home to a warm flat and green tea. Even caffeine has lost its allure, because inside she’s dead.

This is how it feels to kill someone and relish achievement at the time.

Guilt begins to shift on the third lap, fatigue in legs ignored: endorphins rush, brain releasing the truths taught but only now accepted. Your license to kill is not carte blanche to become inhuman, judge and jury. Each fatality must be weighed and considered, their passing reasoned and reflected, relevant despite the action. She’d watched a man murder his own sister because of the threat sanity presented to his actions. Capturing him would simply have perpetuated the myth, that MI6 entertained this pursuit as acceptable. With his demise at her hands, again the board is cleared and pieces placed back.

Except there is no idea what game to play next.

Exhausted yet relaxed, sitting in the main hanger after a fourth circuit, Ronni listens to the night shift at work, maintenance and continued construction. These are soothing sounds far more acceptable than being forced into other people’s conversations. She doesn’t want to drink either, because losing control isn’t a state that holds any kind of interest. Mostly solitude beats everything and, with a stab of revelation, comes the understanding that this is how the job should work. If she’s going to deal with fallout for the rest of her career, then listening to a focussed mind is important in grasping how to cope with pressure.

Sitting crossed legged on a large pile of crates, the surroundings of La Grande Tour help soothe remaining stresses. Closing tired eyes, she breathes in calm and expels the drama. Bond had kept his promise. He’d protected Madeline until the end, and they’d ripped out the heart from an organisation which was dead in all but name. It was no surprise he’d consider leaving now, never returning to the number. Considering the toll it had taken on his life, 007 should have been more than done a long time ago.

As eyes open, James stands opposite, genie finally without a bottle for comfort. Staring with concern, approaching with distinct lack of theatrics, the inevitable can no longer be ignored.

‘You want to be disturbed?’

‘By anybody else? No. Always by you.’

Coming to sit beside her, still in mission gear, Bond appears far less comfortable than she remembers, as if the uniform suddenly stopped being appropriate or acceptable. He pauses to consider, taking in the space, obviously troubled for a lead in.

‘I did leave this job, once before, but the previous M never processed the paperwork. That was also because of a woman: I’m depressingly predictable if you do enough research.’

He turns to stare into her soul, memory of Vesper still as bright as ever, yet comfortable with the admission. Lynd’s significance has never dimmed in James’ heart, as it was with her and Scott. Their substance moulds both, in different ways; without this trauma they’d not exist as close as they do to the other. Then he can’t look at her any more and has to stare somewhere, anywhere else and Ronni grasps that there’s still work to do in setting all the demons to rest. For a long time he remains, no need for any more explanations. What matters most, at least now, is simply the presence.

‘Remember how I told you I struggle with conversation when I’m not working?’

‘You may have mentioned it, yes.’

‘I’m woeful when it comes to discussing emotional issues. Mostly because I just pretend they don’t exist and carry on regardless.’

‘There was that time in the Barracks when you told me about how you coped with the pressure.’

‘After which I almost ran out of the changing area.’

‘That’s happened to me too. I can sympathise.’

The silence that follows is beyond telling, and 004 knows why. To complete her transition, one act remains… except Bond’s not willing. That had been apparent since they returned from Paris, before she’d left the celebration reception… and now, unable to even meet her gaze, 007 knows what’s coming next. The juxtaposition of their roles in theatre was complete, but life afterwards appeared in flux. This was the moment she took charge here too, like it or not. The power was hers to wield as she saw fit.

With an almost theatrical deep breath, it is time to redefine two existences.

‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but when a mission is successfully completed, as the senior 00 in the field I’d be expected to celebrate with the individual that assisted me. I’m afraid that if I do, it could destroy the most important relationship I’ve ever had.’

Ronni exhales, unassuming acquiescence, comfortable grasping the significance of her statement. James’ shaking hand slips across her leg, resting without movement: fingers wrap around his and remain, reassurance in a simple action that’s needed. All the symbolism in the world didn’t matter one iota: this is what they have become.

‘Do you mean that, Veronica?’

‘I’ve never been more sure of anything since the day I decided I was born to be a spy.’

‘Doesn’t that cause something of a conflict of interests?’

‘Amongst other things, yes, but however far I run I’m never going to escape the inevitable, so I may as well accept it and see what happens.’

‘That sounds like an appropriately considered response. That’s very you.’

It is painfully awkward, two of them sitting together, that passion has effectively evaporated under the undoubted weight of vocational expectation. When she looks to him Bond is fixated on fingers, still won’t meet her gaze and only then is Ronni aware that she isn’t the problem. In the time before they’d slept together he’d kept distance through professionalism, but this is different. If she didn’t know better… and so it has to be his move.

‘What would you like to do tonight, James?’

‘Not screw this up.’

‘You think that’s a possibility?’

‘I have no idea. It is probably significant at least three people told me to come and find you, none of them considered it a test and not once were the words ‘assessment’ or ‘metrics’ used. I knew you’d want the time alone, the last thing you need now is to play the 00 endgame. After that, let’s be honest, I don’t have a fucking clue.’

Ronni has to smile because that’s what he generates inside, capacity to be so much more than possible alone. What happens now however is briefly beyond her understanding, as this is never a situation she’s experienced as an adult. She stares at the faded face of a Poster Boy who lost everything he was for an ideal still worth dying for, and wants to hold him, and so does. Both arms wrap around torso as head leans into his shoulder. Ronni closes eyes and tries to send him some of her calm, in the hope he’ll relax. The tension within his frame is inescapable, and then comes enlightenment. He doesn’t want to touch me.

He’s afraid he’ll ruin this too.

Ronni finally lets go, staring off into the Hanger, desperate for inspiration. Having someone else to consider is suddenly welcome distraction from everything else, surprise that then rocks brain with force. They’d used each other as physical relaxants in the main, and it had never occurred that the same could be considered for the emotional. He was lost, stuck and unable to feel confident that he could interact successfully. This was the job you promised to maintain for him before you became 004, one person who doesn’t destroy his emotional frailty.

This job now presents an unexpected bonus: you get to present terms going forward.

‘As this is unknown territory… perhaps I could resolve both our issues, whilst defining some new metrics as I go. That’s part of the remit as senior, 00, isn’t it?’

Bond’s head turns, interest obviously piqued as Ronni uses the job to solve their impasse.

‘You intend to make this complicated or can I do one word answers?’

‘Yes or no works just fine.’

There’s the first hint of a smile, that concerns are being assuaged. Before Ronni feels confident enough to vocalise thoughts previously kept very much private, Bond shifts suddenly, up and off the crates, standing next to where she remains sitting.

‘If I told you tonight I just wanted to sleep with you and nothing else, no sex, would you be able to accommodate that, 004?’

The smile this action creates inside Ronni causes stomach to flutter: having offered an easy route, simplicity of a one word answer, James took the responsibility instead. If the depth of his care wasn’t abundantly apparent already, this could be understood as the benchmark to end them all. They don’t need the job to define each other, just themselves.

‘Yes. A thousand times.’

Relief in his whole body is palpable, this was the desire all along. He’s not expected to perform or hit a target, not with her, never with her. The next question however is a little more problematic, because since Ronni’s been here she’s not existed anywhere except the Infirmary, this hanger or the control centre.

‘So, how do we make this happen?’

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OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER:

Everything related to James Bond (007) belongs to Eon Productions and Danjaq LLC, except the bits in here that are mine and I made up. I get how this works.

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‘If I wanted to make sure the World was watching, this is where I’d pick for a final showdown.’

The rotors of the EC-135 come to a stop, next to the low brick building that is the most recent construction on this part of the site. Ronni nods at Bond’s comment, before looking up to Versailles, beautiful in early afternoon sunshine. Tourists are being evacuated away and back towards the French town that gave the palace its name, no attempt by MI6 or Gendamerie to cover this very public entrance. Joint British and French operations were in full swing: because Spectre never did anything by halves, this was the plain sight Swann had been hiding in for the last 36 hours, Marie Antoinette’s favourite Summer House buried away on one of the many adjuncts to the main estate. Beneath the modest 16^th century building was a bunker, and intelligence was confident that’s where Christian remained, with only minimal staff as accompaniment. He‘d been expecting Ronni to arrive alone.

Except 004 wasn’t in the mood for games.

The French Government had only okayed the operation because London had promised there’d be no damage to any historical building. That’s why the chopper was parked here, and would be left open. Nobody was going anywhere near Christian either, and that was why the recently completed and opened Visitor’s Centre was their only destination. Ronni had suggested during the briefing that this wouldn’t just be about Swann’s final stand, he’d want to reinforce the point that was wasn’t sufficiently made back in Monte Carlo. The satellite footage taken the previous evening had backed this up, showing the building being ransacked after the public had left site, that something had been set for 004 to find. As the four man team step inside the now wrecked modern lobby, that piece of theatre is apparent: the entire wall of the building has been stripped bare so that Swann can create a new mural to greet his nemesis.

The montage this time, is of Bond.

The words are messy, almost an afterthought: just images are meant to disturb and Ronni shuts down emotion immediately. There are pictures taken by Christian at the London warehouse where it is apparent Bond is under a considerable amount of duress, then pain, mixed with footage from his flat. However there is a third location, which 004 assumes is the Monte Carlo safe house, and it is these that are the most brutal of all. She switches off at intimacy presented as torture, taking everything in with dispassionate strength. James was a Pawn, Fool, and perhaps even a Liar when all was said and done, but that was part of the job and accepted as such. The word Unprofessional however causes pause, print-out of an e-mail buried in pictures from his flat that piques curiosity. Bond had resigned from the 00 section, early in his career. This isn’t a flag on his file, because Ronni knows that even better than she can recite her own history. When all is done, the Ops people need to pick over this collage as they did with the others and ensure nothing has been compromised at London’s end.

Christian’s public violation of 007 is meant to make her angry, deflecting from the path. Intent is obvious: she’ll react, lose professionalism in the face of such abhorrent revilement, but it won’t happen. Instead, the spray can of paint she’d bought from the Tour is taken from her mission bag, anticipating such a scenario would play out in the field. Without thinking she goes across to the pictures, blocking out images with her own word written across the wall. This is not a game Swann will ever win, because Ronni is stronger; intimidation and abuse never acceptable as weapons.

‘Liberation, very apt. How totally European of you, 004.’

Swann’s voice echoes around the Visitor Centre but nobody is phased, especially Bond who remains staring at the wall with total relaxation. Vibration from Ronni’s wrist confirms Charlie’s now in position, point man to call incoming; only when he does will there then be need to move.

‘I’m disappointed the World has changed, Ms Flemmings. Progress is seldom a good thing. I had hoped you and I might be able to discuss our concerns in more intimate surroundings, but as you brought your friends? I suspect not.’

‘I didn’t come here to negotiate with terrorists.’

He’s expecting her to talk, she’s ready for him to die, and there need be no more words of acknowledgement, especially as that’s what’s expected. Instead the spray can is dropped and from the mission bag comes her Walther, which is pointed at each security camera in turn before destroying them with a bullet. She shoots the PA not simply for good measure, but to ensure he doesn’t get the last word, and that’s all the closure that is required.

‘We have inbound, 6 and 9 o’clock, be ready.’

Charlie’s in her ear, and the scenario is perfect. Intelligence from Rachel, watching from the French Security HQ, has played exactly as she’d read. Knowing this wasn’t a fight he could win, Christian would now attempt to escape using his goons as distraction, chopper conveniently provided by the British as his exit. What he wouldn’t be expecting or anticipating was that the 00 section had flown here in a massive bomb. Bond’s already slipped the detonator into her hand, weapons from the mission bag handed to Moneypenny and loaded himself. They’ll provide cover, all 004 has to do is make it back to the landing site.

‘You know we’ve got this.’

003’s smile is enough, no more confirmation needed, and Ronni is out of the Visitor Centre as two Spectre guards appear from the Summer House’s front doorway. Both have bullets in them before she reaches the large privet fence, gunfire behind easily recognisable by type. It was probably unhealthy she could recognise weaponry by sound, perhaps time to get some more interests apart from munitions and explosive types, but it’s a moot point. Focus is set, sprint back up to the storage building almost effortless, where their trap has captured not one, but two rodents. Christian’s already in the chopper, woman she recognises from the East London warehouse climbing into the pilot’s seat.

Then comes an unexpected moment of regret: not that Swann’s life is about to end but that this woman should know better. Ronni can never judge on sex or race, only via loyalty. The people that matter will be with you whatever happens, good or bad, strength and dedication until their last breath. That’s what this woman was for Swann, last person he could trust, and by eliminating them both the bonds of control and dominance would finally be destroyed for good. This time they’ve absolutely left Spectre with the back door, and there won’t be time for the soon to be ex-Number One to do anything other than get airborne, and by then it will be too late. The best theatre, after all, was that which was meticulously planned to the last detail, where audience thought they knew the plot but in the end, it was a lie. Now he’s inside, accomplice powering up his own death sentence, and nothing else matters because as soon as they’re airborne, it’s checkmate.

Swann looks across from his seat and their eyes meet, and that’s all Ronni needs.

There’s no need for a pithy one-liner or another blow to his face: detonator is depressed on instinct, no time for anyone to think. She however, has three seconds to take cover, and runs as the fireball consumes helicopter and passengers with utter destructive force. Everything is noise, heat and the smell of fuel plus burning flesh: nothing else matters except lying still until everything stops. As dust settles, the sirens begin; one after the other, pre-primed emergency services swinging into terrorism alert. Ronni carefully picks herself up, brushing dust off fatigues, realising that given a choice you should always eliminate the people in charge if all they ever do is sacrifice others to save themselves.

Staring at the inferno both chopper and building have become, 004 feels nothing at all.

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OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER:

Everything related to James Bond (007) belongs to Eon Productions and Danjaq LLC, except the bits in here that are mine and I made up. I get how this works.