For Tomorrow I Die : [A James Bond Short Story]

Act II

Bond arrived at Q's apartment building, though he drove past and parked the Aston a block away. The November night brought a chill and he slid on his navy pea coat checking he had easy access to his pistol. He climbed the stairs to room 221 and knocked at the door. No answer. Locked. He glanced back and forth down the hallway, then removed a lock pick and tension wrench from his wallet. In a moment the door was open.

Bond fumbled for a light switch. "Q? You in here?"

The flat was full of computer gadgets all over the living room, couch and dining room table. The room smelled of burnt wiring and...pizza. An open box with half a pie was left out on his counter. His flat panel TV was muted on BBC. Then, he saw what he feared most—an overturned chair at the young man's personal computer. A coffee cup with the Scrabble letter Q was dumped over onto the keyboard. His mobile phone lay shattered on the carpet. Bond made his way to Q's bedroom. A queen size bed was disheveled. Paperback novels littered the shelves and stacks of books on coding, mechanical engineering and robotics covered his dresser. An autographed picture of the New Zealand All Blacks Rugby team was framed on the wall next to the window.

Bond dialed Moneypenny.

"James? Where are you?" asked the familiar voice.

"Moneypenny, Q's been compromised," stated Bond. "Let M know."

"Right, give me a moment."

007 walked briskly to his Aston looking for possible tails. Perhaps in one of the parked cars, he thought. Waiting in case someone checked on him. He made his way to the Aston when, sure enough, a set of headlights pulled out into the street.

Bond's phone rang. "What do you have, Moneypenny?"

"M's getting hold of Tanner. We're up and running."

"Good. I may have a lead here in a moment. I'll call you back."

Bond hung up his mobile and punched the accelerator, shifting the gearbox from first, to second, to third. The Aston lurched and growled in desire as it went through its paces. He cornered right onto Hartford Street heading for Queen Mary University. In his rear view, the trailing car skid around the corner and caught up to him. It pulled up along side revealing the make and model to be a new, black BMW M5. The passenger rolled down the window where a hand extended a black semi automatic pistol. Bond spun the wheel and pulled the E brake into a bootlegger turn. Gunshots echoed through the night air. The BMW came back around toward him with the pistol still barking.

Bond flipped open the center console of his Aston Martin revealing a panel of switches and buttons. He flipped the bottom center switch and a bulletproof steel panel raised from the boot giving him some cover for his next move. As more shots rang out and deflected from the bullet screen, he let them get closer. Then, into his next left hand turn, he pushed the upper left hand button. A spray of slick oil sprayed from rear mounted jets covering the road. As soon as the BMW entered the turn, it went sliding into a stone embankment and smashed the right side of the car.

007 slammed on his brakes and exited the DB5 with pistol in hand. The BMW wasn't running and steam bellowed from the bonnet. The driver was out cold, but the passenger managed to come to. The man fumbled for his gun. Bond was quicker. He pulled the passenger through the open window and slammed him to the cement head first.

"Where is he?" Bond demanded, shoving the pistol in his face.

"I, I don't know anything," groaned the man. His mouth was bleeding and a front tooth now lay in a small pool of blood before him. His accent...Russian? Southern...trace of Ukrainian.

Bond pointed his pistol at the man's knee and pulled the trigger. A crack broke the cold winter air. The Russian's scream was even louder.

"Where?" Bond yelled.

"They don't' tell me," the Russian managed.

"Who do you work for? SPECTRE?" A global crime syndicate. Special Executive for Counter-intelligence, Terrorism, Revenge and Extortion

The man said nothing, his face writhing in pain.

"FSB?" Bond pushed. Russia's Federal Security Service. Still the man gave no sign except pain.

Bond dug deep "SMERSH?" An old Soviet Counter Intelligence group. When translated, the acronym meant "Death to Spies."

With that, the man flinched, "No. No, I don't work for anyone. I'm private security hired for this job only."

It was SMERSH. The organization had not been around for decades, but now it reared its ugly head.

"Thank you for your time." Bond fired his Walther twice into the man's chest. He stood and fired one round into the head of the driver. Seeing a leaking fuel tank, he stood clear and fired at the pool of petrol and oil. The BMW erupted into a fireball as Bond walked lazily back to his car. He drove off in the Aston and noticed he had two missed calls. It was Tanner. James dialed him.

"Tanner? Bond."

"007. Did you dig up any leads?" Tanner asked.

Bond paused for a moment, "Nothing...just a dead end. The man was probably spouting nonsense. What do you have?"

"We've activated Q's Smartblood tracker," said Tanner. The Smartblood program was Q's way for MI6 to track agents in the field using Nanobot technology in the bloodstream for a constant satellite GPS location.

"Where is he?"

"Walden Marina. It's a private wharf. I'll send you his signal to your mobile phone in a moment," Tanner replied.

"Bond?" It was Mallory on speaker.

"Yes, M."

"Do bring our boy home," said M.

"Will do, sir," Bond promised.

"Where am I going, Tanner?" Bond demanded.

"Check your mobile screen. The blue dot is him, the red triangle is you."

Bond charted the best path and had no need to look back to the phone. He attached his earpiece for a makeshift communication device.

"I see it. Have you alerted London Police?"

"SCO19 is responding to an active shooter." The Specialist Crime and Operations unit is London's special response team trained in the use of firearms and tactical operations, as opposed to the normally unarmed officers. If Bond ran into trouble he wanted their backup.

"Damn. Reconnaissance?"

"We have an unarmed surveillance drone in the air. Incoming time: nine minutes."

"Q may not have nine minutes, Tanner."

007 turned off his headlights as the Aston approached the marina. He crossed the bridge over the Thames and killed the inline 6 motor on the outskirts of the wharf. Bond opened his glove box. Inside were two spare magazines and the suppressor for his Walther. He pocketed the mags, twisted the cylindrical suppressor onto the barrel of his pistol, then approached the wharf on foot.

The damp smell of the river Thames engulfed him. An inlet off the Thames berthed more than forty boats ranging from houseboats to cabin cruisers. The docks wrapped around the inlet, while built near the river was a white building with a blue roof and trim where one could buy supplies and rent boats. Here, the marina was poorly lit by a single light post. Part of the docks ran from the road straight to the Thames and intersected with a boardwalk along the river. Off to the right running parallel was a wooden fence with large trees growing up and over the side offering shadowy concealment and soft quiet grass. Bond had found his entrance. He checked his phone's screen and Q's location on the GPS—he was in the white building near the east wall.