“What’s UNARATO like?” They were in the Aston Martin, which was purring its way along the London streets. The sight of the car had excited Rosie, who’d spent five minutes checking it over. James would have been happy to meet someone so enthusiastic about cars if he hadn’t been so worried that she would blow up inside it. He glanced at her. She was waiting for an answer, her eyes fixed on his face, probing. They reminded him of Emma’s eyes: they were the same colour, the same shape, and had the same intensity behind their gazes.
The pain hit him from nowhere. He switched his gaze back to the road, breathing heavily. It wouldn’t do him any good to lose it; he’d end up crashing the car. But he’d never forget the feeling as he’d watched, helplessly, as the light had died in those brilliant eyes.
“It’ll be nothing like what you’re expecting,” he finally answered, somehow managing to keep his voice under control.
“Are you okay?” She was sharp, he’d give her that. He paused a minute, considering his answer.
“You remind me of someone.” Rosie snorted softly.
“Can’t think who I’d remind you of.”
James rested his eyes on her face for a few seconds. She’d sounded reflective, and her face was thoughtful, as if she was thinking about her past or, maybe, about the bomb that was inside her. James wondered what having a bomb inside you did to a person. Changed you, probably, and possibly made you very self-conscious. It seemed to have made Rosie very self-contained, but maybe she had always been like that.
A red light stopped him, and James decided it was time to act. The easiest way to get Rosie inside MI6 was if she was unconscious, and they were almost there. He dug in the pocket of the driver’s door, pulling out a syringe and slipping it into his left arm. He looked at Rosie. She was gazing at something happening on the street, so he stabbed the syringe into her right forearm, pushing down on the plunger. Her head whipped round, first gazing with horror at the syringe in her arm, and then staring accusingly into James’ face.
“Oh no,” she murmured, before sliding down in the chair, her head lolling on one side.
The traffic light was still on red, and Bond was glad of this. He could barely see through the tears in his eyes, because the way the hope had died in Rosie’s eyes had been far too similar to the way the light had left Emma’s.
****************
“2000 pounds?” A quiet rage filled M’s voice when he intercepted James in Moneypenny’s office. Tanner and Eve were both there, staring at the sleeping figure in James’ arms. Bond faced M.
“She’d better have good information, 007,” M snarled, and James treated him to an indolent smirk.
“She’s the bomb, Sir.” A dead silence greeted these words. Eve was smiling at him, enjoying the triumph he had gained over Mallory.
“Get her down to the medical bay,” barked M. “I want her scanned immediately!”
****************
Dr Jones pulled off the face mask, and began washing the blood off his latex gloves.
“Interesting job, this,” he said. “She was wearing make-up over the scar, quite an expensive brand, exactly matching her skin tone. Scar itself is a right mess. Whoever sewed her up didn’t make a very good job of it, she’s lucky she didn’t catch an infection. Bomb’s in her stomach, looks like it’s fused to her stomach lining. Q’s looked at it, and taken some pictures. Says he’ll have to study them, he’s never seen anything like it before.” Dr Jones shook his head slightly. “No experience,” he sighed.
“Have you finished?” M asked, and the doctor nodded.
“Just got to go back in and sew her back together again,” he said cheerfully. M looked thoughtful.
“Don’t just yet. I need to ask Q something. Bond, go home and get some sleep. Get back here for 10. You’ll de-brief then.” James gave a curt nod, before turning on his heel and walking towards the door. He stopped in the doorway, looking back towards Rosie.
He felt slightly uncomfortable with the way everyone was treating her, like she was an interesting animal in a zoo. She was just a kid, barely out of school, and here she was, lying on an operating table with her insides open for inspection because she had a bomb inside her. He’d love to know why she did. Had she agreed to it, or had it forced upon her? He remembered something he’d wanted to ask, and went back.
M was busy talking to Q, so Dr Jones was free to answer his question.
“The brand on her shoulder? Yes, we got Letitia up, you know, the one who speaks Chinese. Anyway, she said the seven characters form two words: powerless traitor.” The doctor gave James a knowing look. “I doubt that she chose to have the bomb inside her.”
****************
“Dr Jones said the brand meant powerless traitor.” It was later on that morning, and James and M were discussing Rosie.
“Yes,” M agreed. “He also said to me that the brand is recent, not more than one month old.” James’ eyes narrowed.
“The bomb was finished three weeks ago,” he said. “Do you think that it’s a punishment of sorts?” M looked extremely grave.
“I think that she annoyed someone superior very greatly. What I really want to know is how she became involved with them in the first place. POHK doesn’t really promote inter-racial relations.” He sighed softly.
“Q hacked into POHK’s records. There’s one Rosie on their records: Rosie Porter. Q’s tried to find out where she comes from, but there’s a minor problem. She’s only existed for the last 5 years.” James raised an eyebrow, and M gave him a grim smile.
“She changed her name, or someone changed it for her. Q’s trying to find her name before the change, but it was difficult enough to find the change. There are so many firewalls and false trails. He says it’s a very expert job.”
James digested this information.
“Someone doesn’t want us to know where she’s from,” he finally said. “Question is, does she know her past is hidden, and did she hide it herself?” M pressed a button on his desk.
“Bring her in, Moneypenny,” he spoke into the intercom. He then looked sharply at James.
“Let me do the questioning, Bond. Tanner’s coming in, too.” James nodded, as the door opened.
Rosie looked very pale, still wearing the peach dress, and was shivering slightly, though James couldn’t tell if she was cold or scared. Tanner pulled out a chair for her, and she gently sank into it, her eyes darting around the room, taking in every detail. Tanner moved to the side of the room, arms crossed across his chest. All eyes were on Rosie. Her gaze had finally settled on M, who seemed to find her penetrating blue eyes unnerving. He shifted slightly, taking a deep breath.
“Jacket, Bond.” James frowned at M, confused.
“Our guest has goose bumps. I’m sure our guest will appreciate some warmth here.” Rosie smiled faintly at the joke, gratefully accepting the jacket. She wrapped it tightly around herself, an arm resting gently on her stomach, her eyes fixed on James’ gun.
“What’s your name?” M asked. Rosie’s eyes slid round to him.
“Rosie,” she replied.
“Surname?”
“Porter.”
“Real name?”
“Rosie Porter.”
She hadn’t blinked yet. M was holding her gaze. James didn’t know how he could manage to. Maybe he had practised on cats.
“Our best technician hacked POHK’s database and, yes, he found the name Rosie Porter. He dug deeper, and found that Rosie Porter was the result of a name change. Unfortunately, someone had protected the original name with firewalls. So, you can tell us the truth, or stick to your lies. Your decision. Just remember, there’s an easy way to do this, and a hard way.”
Rosie’s eyes hardened, and she finally blinked. Her gaze dropped to the desk, and she ran a hand through her fringe, twisting it round her fingers, obviously considering her options. Eventually she sighed, and her eyes met M’s again.
“My name’s Bond. Rosie Bond.”