“Right, Miss Case”, said Bill Tanner, “so embassy staff came to speak with you”.
They were sitting in Bond’s flat, with May eager to hear what Tiffany was doing there but grudgingly restricted to coffee duties.
“Not just once, Colonel. Three times they came back to ask the same questions. Different people, same questions. They just didn’t seem to believe that I didn’t know where the package was”.
“Which of course you did, and they would want to search your flat”.
“Yes, but they couldn’t do that without a warrant. Then one day I came back from shopping to find a man already inside. A man with a hook in place of his right hand”.
Bond and Tanner glanced at each other.
“A hook for his right hand?” said Bond, “Tiffany, I –“
She gave a miserable sort of laugh.
“No, it wasn’t Felix. I know him, remember? From back when I was a diamond smuggler. This man was huge, maybe six foot five, and built like a bear. He did have fair hair like Felix, but a lot less of it. He didn’t even have the grace to look surprised when I came home to find him going through my cabinets and tossing everything on the floor. I started to talk, to ask him what did he think he was doing, but he just snarled, threw me up against a wall with his good hand, then stormed out. I found out later that his name was Scobie, or at least that’s what I was told – I don’t know what to believe any more”.
“How did you find out his name?” asked Bond.
“The next day a man came to my door. I was still trying to straighten the place up. He had a big smile and his hair was silver although he was still quite young- a bit like you, Colonel Tanner”.
Tanner unconsciously ran a hand through his prematurely grey hair.
“Just call me Bill, would you? What did this man have to say?”
“He said he was from the embassy and wasn’t there to ask me any more questions. I was to call him Derek. He just wanted to make sure I was all right and ask if I wanted to go home to the States. He would arrange travel for me”.
Bond said “And did you let him in?”
“No, not after what had happened. I kept him at the door and told him about the big man with the hook. He nodded and said that was Scobie, and I should stay clear of him. Well, I certainly wasn’t going to see him deliberately! Anyway, I could sense this Derek looking over my shoulder into the flat and being very keen to be invited in”.
“Which, of course, you didn’t”, said Tanner.
“Of course not. Later on I could see him hanging around in the street outside trying to look inconspicuous by stopping to light a cigarette with some weird sort of lighter, and once I think I saw him sitting behind the wheel of a car while I was walking. I was very scared by now and thought I had to see you at once, James. You’re the only person I can think of who could help me”.
There was a moment’s silence before Bond said, “You realise you’re going to have to show us this package Albert gave you. Have you brought it with you?”
Tiffany nodded and reached into her bag, bringing out an item rather less than a foot square, wrapped carefully in white paper and then sealed. She handed it over to Bond who looked at her enquiringly and waited for her nod before bringing out a knife and opening it up to reveal a box, again sealed. He opened that in turn to bring out a roll of film. There was no label on the roll.
“I don’t suppose you have the right kind of equipment here, James”, said Tanner.
“No, I don’t. We both know a man who has, though. You call him, Bill, and make an appointment”.
“No, I’m not sure at all. You’re the Chief of Staff, Bill, it has to be your decision. Do we let a civilian into our offices or not? She has proven useful to our department in the past, you know”.
“You mean she’s proven useful to you in the past, don’t you?” sighed Tanner.
“Her help was invaluable during the diamond smuggling business, you read my report. And you’d have had her checked out when I moved her in with me – don’t deny it, I would have done that in your shoes”.
“Of course we did. She’s clean, or at least she was then. I don’t know what her CIA record was once she took up with this Albert chap”.
“I doubt that there’d be anything there”.
There was an impatient knock on the kitchen door.
“Holy mackerel you two, what the hell're you doing in there?” Tiffany’s voice came through to them, mock angry. Tanner and Bond shrugged and silently decided in for a penny, in for a pound before opening the door.
“Ready, Tiffany?” asked Bond. “We have an appointment”.
For all their worry, Tiffany didn’t learn anything from her visit to MI6. Their opposite numbers would already have known exactly where the headquarters were situated and once inside she quickly got lost in the corridors before they ended up at a door marked “Q Branch”. Tanner knocked and entered.
Major Boothroyd looked up from the engine compartment of an Aston Martin as they approached.
“Ah there you are, 007”, he said, “and hello Chief of Staff. Have a look at this”.
He handed Bond a tennis racquet.
“You know that golf’s more my game, don’t you, Major Boothroyd?” said Bond, raising one eyebrow.
“Of course, but pay attention, 007 - when I press this button on the handle the strings on the racket become electric and it can be used to kill flies".
Tanner said, “I’m sure that’s very useful but – “
The Major continued as if Tanner hadn’t spoken. “This version conducts a lot more electricity making it into a taser that can stun within medium distances, say about ten feet, or kill within four. We call it the McEnroe”.
Bond pointed at a sandwich lying close by. “And I suppose that would be your lunch, would it?”
“Of course it is, but we’ve had a lot of trouble with staff members helping themselves to others’ food. That one has been electrified”.
Bond hastily withdrew his hand and idly picked up a black bowler hat sitting on a workbench.
“I wouldn’t have thought this to be quite your style”, he said.
Wordlessly the Major threw the hat, without even seeming to aim carefully, at one of the many dummies lining the walls decapitating it instantly.
“It’s steel-rimmed, you see”, he said.
“It’s old hat, you know, Major. I’ve seen that before”.
As Boothroyd retrieved the hat Tiffany whispered to Bond, “What’s with this ‘007’ shtick? Do you guys all have numbers or something?”
“Something like that. Major, this is Miss Case. She has been of invaluable help to us in the past and we’re helping her out with a situation right now”.
The head of Q Branch didn’t know about that situation, but he took in the situation between Bond and Tiffany at a glance. “I was told you would be bringing in a film you’d like to have a look at, Colonel Tanner”.
Bond handed over the reel. Major Boothroyd examined it quickly, then asked them to follow him. They went into a side room set up for viewing films and sat down. It wasn’t long before the film was ready to show.
“Lights out, please, 007”.
Bond put the lights out and the film began. It was a very familiar scene, quite literally world famous, and the sound was no less familiar but they had never witnessed it quite like this before. All of them watched in something close to shock. The film wasn’t long, but it didn’t have to be. When it ended, Bond and Tanner both asked Boothroyd to run it again. When it finished the second time, Boothroyd spoke first.
“I’ve never seen it in that quality before”.
“I would say very few people have”, said Bond, “and now I think we know why”.
“I don’t think we have any other choice but to bring this to M’s attention”, said Tanner. “The implications are ….”
“Astronomical?” said Bond.
“Yes, indeed” said Major Boothroyd, “with no exaggeration. I concur. We have to inform M”.
It was not often that M was asked to leave his office. He might have refused, had not Bill Tanner’s tone of voice made it clear that this was important. Miss Moneypenny looked up in surprise as he emerged from his sanctum.
“Miss Moneypenny, I will be in Q Branch if I am needed. Just try and make sure that I’m not”.
“Yes, sir”, she replied, startled, as he went out. She could only imagine the reactions of whatever members of staff he might encounter as he made his way down to the lower regions of the building. M was almost never seen anywhere but his office. To see him elsewhere was as if one met a tram-car coming down a country lane. M had his rails and he ran on them. His home, Blades, Whitehall—that was his cycle. What upheaval could possibly have derailed him? This would be the thought in the mind of anyone unlucky enough to meet him. There must have been a curious incident in the night-time.
He was met at the door of Q Branch by an uncharacteristically sombre Chief of Staff, who led him to the screening room. His eyes swept past Boothroyd and Bond to land on the unfamiliar young woman sitting with them. In answer to the unspoken but clearly imminent question, Bond quickly said “This is Tiffany Case, sir. You’ll remember her name in my reports – I had to pose as a diamond smuggler named Peter Franks and – “
“I remember, 007. What is she doing here?”
Bond gave M a quick precis of the circumstances. “That is all background, sir, to explain how we happen to have this film. Can I ask you to take a seat, please, and I’ll turn the lights out? And Major Boothroyd will run the film”.
M sat, somewhat resembling a kettle waiting to boil, and the film began again.
It was an eerie scene, losing nothing through familiarity. A man in a bulky silvered suit was carefully descending a ladder from a structure that could only partially be seen. A voice could be heard through some form of radio.
“That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind”.
They watched as Armstrong was joined by Aldrin and the film continued. When it came to an end, Bond put the lights back on.
“I am of course familiar with this sequence of events”, said M carefully.
“But not to this degree of quality, sir”, said Boothroyd, “you must have noticed how crisp and clear the image was”.
“Well, yes”, said M, “what of it? Along with most of the world I’ve only watched this on television”.
“This is the original film, sir”, said Tanner. “This was somehow lost by NASA shortly after the landing and we’ve all been watching a kinescope”.
“Say what now?” asked Tiffany. M glared at her, but she ignored him.
“A kinescope – they point a film camera towards a television monitor and use the result” said Bond. “That’s why the picture’s so bad whenever we see it on television or wherever. But there had to have been a master film. The original”.
“And it went missing almost immediately. There has never been an official explanation of how such a valuable artifact could be mislaid, misfiled or downright stolen”, said Boothroyd.
“But now it’s here. We have it”, said M.
“And there is something more important than that”, said Boothroyd.
Bond had been dreading this moment. Once he had realised what this film was and exactly what it showed, his mind had flown back to a job he had undertaken in Las Vegas about three years earlier. What he had learned on that mission he had never disclosed, not even to M.
“And what is that?” asked M.
“I’ll have to show you the film again. Bond, the lights, please”.
Bond turned out the lights and sat alone with his thoughts while the others studied the film. He was one of only a handful of people who knew what this film would inevitably show.
“There! Look!” said Boothroyd as he stopped the film just as Armstrong set foot on the surface.
“What are we looking for?” asked M.
“In the background. See there, behind Armstrong”.
M said, “Well? What is it?”
“Keep looking, sir”, said Tanner.
“It’s a man”, M said in astonishment, “a man and he’s not wearing a spacesuit”.
“He’s aiming a floodlight”, said Boothroyd, “pointing it at the landing module. It’s lighting up Aldrin as he follows Armstrong down the ladder”.
“But that can’t be”, said M.
“It can be and it is”, said Major Boothroyd. “The Apollo 11 moon landing was faked. That’s why they had to lose the original high-quality film, because watching it you can see this man with a light and I’ve noticed there are other tell-tale signs. That’s why they have deliberately been showing us low-quality images and film, to hide details. The whole thing was faked”.
Bond sat in his usual place opposite M, who had retired to his office and was smoking his pipe furiously. M’s hand had recovered from his abortive attempt to take a quick bite from the sandwich he had spotted earlier. Major Boothroyd was happy in his workshop and Tanner sat beside Bond. Tiffany had been seated in Miss Moneypenny’s office. M drew the line at having her involved in the planning and decision making that would now have to follow, although he had grudgingly accepted Bond’s firm insistence that she would not be safe anywhere else.
“This explains why the Americans were so keen to get that film back”, said Bond.
“Oh, yes”, said M, “and if it were us we would be wanting it back too. I’m afraid your Miss Case is going to be at risk until it has been returned”.
“So you think we will have to return it then, sir”, said Tanner.
“I don’t believe there is any other solution, Chief of Staff”, said M, “although I do think there is a way we can profit by this”.
Bond and Tanner sat waiting, while M went through the ritual of filling and lighting his pipe again.
“I am about to tell you two something which is beyond your security level. After all our time together I consider that you can be trusted with this although it can never be spoken about outside this office. Are you agreed?”
Both men said “Yes, sir” almost simultaneously, though Bond silently wondered if he needed any more secrets to keep.
“You will know that our present Queen married the Duke of Edinburgh after the War, in 1947. During the War she was a teenager and like other teenage girls she had a crush on a film star. Unlike other teenage girls, she was living in places like Balmoral and Windsor Castles and unable to pop down to the local post office and send fan letters. Also unlike other girls of her age, she was able to actually meet her idol when two films of his in a row were selected for the Royal Film Performance”.
“Who was it, sir?” asked Bond.
“A favourite actor of yours – David Niven”.
“Surely he’d be rather old for her”, said a doubtful Tanner.
“I’m hardly an expert on the subject of teenage girls”, said M, “that being more in your line, 007, but I believe that the age of the subject being, er, ‘crushed’ I think is the word is not too material to the one doing the crushing”.
“And in this case that person is the very opposite of a ‘subject’, sir” said Bond. “Are we to infer that the then Princess Elizabeth wrote fan letters to David Niven?”
“You are indeed. And, as I said earlier, she wouldn’t be posting them like anyone else would. For one thing there was a war on and tight security was in place around both her and her sister and she could hardly sneak away. Nevertheless, a smart girl would find ways around that and some of her letters did in fact get through”.
“I imagine Niven would be surprised, to say the least, assuming that the letters were signed”, said Tanner.
“They were signed. And on crested notepaper. And they were very, shall we say, frank about her feelings”.
M was looking down by this point, very embarrassed. Tanner was rubbing his forehead. Bond took a deep breath and asked, “But I’ve always had the impression that David Niven was a gentleman in real life as well as in his films. Surely he wouldn’t have held on to these letters once he realised who they were from?”
“I have no doubt about that”, said M. “Niven was one of the few who came back over here once war was declared and re-activated his commission when he could easily have stayed in Hollywood and played make-believe soldiers like some of his contemporaries. His record speaks his loyalty. However, these letters did not reach him”.
“What?” asked Tanner.
“The Queen, I mean Princess, was naïve enough to think that a letter addressed simply to “David Niven, Hollywood” would reach him. As I’ve just said, he wasn’t even there at the time but fighting for our country. The letters instead went to a representative who opened them, realised what they were, and promptly sold them to the OSS”.
The OSS, or Office of Strategic Services, was the predecessor to the CIA. It had been formed during World War Two and afterwards became the basis for the more permanent Central Intelligence Agency. A member of Britain’s Naval Intelligence had been involved in setting this up.
“So they ended up in the hands of the CIA”, said Bond slowly, “and what did they do with them?”
“Nothing”, said M. “They did let us know that they had them, but promised their security and that everything would be confidential”.
“Oh wonderful”, said Tanner, “the CIA leaks like a sieve. There can’t be anyone in Washington or Moscow who hasn’t heard about this”.
“On the contrary, Chief of Staff”, said M, “a surprisingly high level of security has been maintained. These letters have been kept in a safe in the Director’s office all these years, and only the various Directors have known about their existence. Me too, of course. And now, you two”.
The implications did not escape Bond. “So, we have something the Americans would want very badly, and they have something of ours. Would you be thinking about some form of a trade, sir?”
“I am indeed. Chief of Staff, I’ll leave you to contact the CIA and make some arrangements. 007, you will be the one to carry out the trade”.
The light drizzle had become a downpour by the time Bond and Tiffany reached Heathrow. His diplomatic passport plus a few words from his friend Ronnie Vallance had ensured their quick processing and they were seated in no time, Bond drinking his customary vodka martini while Tiffany nursed a bourbon.
“You’re really not going to tell me, are you?” murmured Tiffany, nuzzling herself as cosily against him as the seating allowed.
“Tell you what? You already know we’re heading to Washington”.
“Yes, I know that, but you still haven’t told me why”. She threatened a sulk, and he immediately wanted to bring her out of it. Seeing her again had revived his feelings of not so long ago, and here there was no May to bang doors, announce meals, or otherwise just happen to interrupt romantic moments.
“Tiffany, my love, all you need to know for now is that you’re going to give that package of yours –“
“The one about the moon – “
“Yes”, said Bond quickly, “that one. We are going to hand it over to the proper authorities and one of the main reasons for doing that is to ensure your safety. If you don’t have it, there’s no need for you to be pursued”.
“And that’s all I’m going to get out of you, I guess. Mind if I fall asleep?”
“I would expect it. Nothing much else to do here”.
Behind them a curtain twitched and an eye that had been observing them disappeared as its owner went back to his seat. A big man with a steel hook for a right hand, he sat beside a younger man with silvery hair.
“They're both aboard” said the hook-handed man. “I must say, Miss Case seems quite attractive. For a lady”.
He laughed at the other’s look.
It didn’t take long at Washington to arrange a hired car. Bond had carried their hand luggage both on and off their plane, and once in the car he carefully handed it to Tiffany.
“You look after this until we get to our hotel”, he said.
“I’m just the baggage handler, I get it”, she said, looking at him out of the corner of her eye to make sure he laughed.
One hotel is very much like another, reflected Bond, only varying in the amount of comfort and luxury the guests were prepared to subsidise. In this case, he had picked the best in the already rather expensive area, knowing that he could charge it to expenses with only minimal grumbling from M on his return. A porter assisted them to their room on the seventh floor, mildly unhappy that Bond had insisted on carrying the hand luggage by himself but mollified by a generous tip.
“Would you like something from the bar, Tiffany?” Bond asked.
“Hell no, I drank enough on the plane to keep me going for a week”, she said. “Come here, you Bond person”.
Bond was in her arms instantly. How quickly the memories came back. Meeting her and wondering how her lips tasted, then finding out for himself, and then their mutual pleasure in coming together in bed. As they kissed she struggled out of her clothes and he his.
Bond had drifted into sleep when he thought he heard the knock on the door. His eyes opened and by the time the knock came again he was out of bed and reaching for one of the hotel’s robes.
“James?” Tiffany said drowsily.
“Go back to sleep, Tiffany”, he said, “I’ll see to whatever it is”.
He reached the door and opened it. Two waiters quickly entered, pushing a trolley full of covered dishes.
“There must be some mistake”, said Bond, “I didn’t order anything”.
“No mistake, sir”, said one of the waiters, flashing a big toothy smile. His hair was silver although the face looked too young. The other, a much larger man, stopped pushing the trolley and Bond could now see that he had a hook for a right hand.
“James!” yelled Tiffany from the bedroom door but Bond had already realised the situation. He cannoned into the trolley, sending the dishes flying into Scobie’s face while the other drew a gun and aimed it at Bond, who was now crouching and kicking out, catching Derek firmly in the groin. Bond didn’t wait to see him double up and drop the gun but grabbed a knife from the cutlery now lying everywhere and barely took aim before throwing it at the big man.
Scobie yelled in agony as the knife hit his right eye. He grasped for it with his one good hand but not before Bond charged into his mid-section, sending him flying backwards and into the windowpane which shattered. The bulky body went straight through and headed down to the ground, seven floors below. Derek had recovered his breath but was still doubled up as he fumbled on the floor for his gun. Bond landed on the searching hand with his left knee and brought his right fist straight upwards into Derek’s chin. The man stopped struggling instantly and hit the floor unconscious.
Bond got to his feet as Tiffany came rushing over to him, babbling hysterically.
“It was them! That’s the men I told you about!” She was in his arms, her face pressed to his chest.
“Yes, it’s all right, Tiffany, I know”, he said, stroking her hair. “Now listen to me. Listen, please. We have to get out of here quickly. You go and get our bags ready and put some clothes on. I have to make a phone call”.
“Yes, James, but why do we have to go now?”
“Because whoever sent these two knows where we are and most probably knows why we’re here. Now, please, do as I say. I’ll be in with you to get dressed once I’ve made my phone call”.
Tiffany headed to the bedroom, looking back once at the unconscious man on the floor and the broken glass at the window. Bond lifted the phone and asked for an international number.
“Hello, Universal Exports? I need to speak with the managing director, please, this is his nephew James. It’s urgent ….”
I’m loving the mix of fact and fiction (novels and film), superbly melded into a captivating story. I think you have surpassed your already stratospheric level of storytelling with this one, Barbel 👏🍸🥇I cannot wait until the next instalment, and I’m hoping this runs for a long, long time.
Yeah, well, sometimes nothin' can be a real cool hand.
I'm very flattered, CHB, but I have bad news for you - the next instalment in this story will be the last. The good news is that I already know what the story after that will be.
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 31,113Chief of Staff
I can only echo @CoolHandBond - this is marvellous stuff…lots of ‘old’ names appearing 🍸
Two hours later Bond and Tiffany had been accommodated at the British embassy, and very well accommodated at that. M had decided that hotels were vulnerable, too vulnerable and too easily penetrated. Bond realised the folly of arguing. M had also been in contact with the appropriate people to pick up the dead and wounded assailants Bond had left in his trail.
“I think we had better move our schedule forward, 007” he had said on the secure line in the embassy. “I’ll ask our cousins if we can manage to carry out the handovers tonight rather than tomorrow”.
“If you think that’s best, sir”, said a dubious Bond.
“Well, I would think you and your package are safe where you are, but you have to come out soon and I don’t see the sense in waiting another twenty-four hours if we can avoid it. I’ll tell Moneypenny to move your flight back forward. Now, wait there and I’ll call back once I’ve spoken with our colleagues”.
Bond went to talk with Tiffany, but she had endured enough stress for the moment and had fallen into a deep sleep. With nothing else to do until M phoned, Bond made sure his Walther was in full working order and that the precious package was in his briefcase where it should be.
A car park is one of the most anonymous places to meet a contact or carry out a handover, or in this case an exchange. Bond knew all this but still couldn’t shake a feeling of unease. It’s the lighting, he thought. It’s two in the morning and the lights are at their dimmest setting. He parked on the second floor and took the stairs down three floors to the basement area.
His contact was standing to the left, about halfway along. He had picked one of the more shadowed areas, of course. Bond was obliged to walk towards him in alternate patches of light and darkness, a perfect target if anyone wanted to take a shot. No-one did, and he slowed as he reached the contact. A grey-haired man of about sixty, he could see nothing else.
“Bond?” said the man.
“Yes”.
“Let me see the package”.
“And you let me see the letters”.
The man’s chin came up. He was clearly not used to having his orders questioned, but he complied and both men showed their items for trade. Bond opened the package to let his contact see that it was indeed a film, and the other showed that he was certainly holding a small collection of old-fashioned letters. Impossible to tell in this lighting, but Bond got the impression that they were pink.
“All right?” said the man.
“All right”.
They exchanged their consignments. There was no shaking of hands. Bond turned and walked away, leaving the other man still standing in the same place giving Bond the curious feeling that he was not the only caller expected that night. He started to return upstairs when the sound of feet approaching sent him into the hollow at the foot of the stairs.
Two men were walking down, as stealthily as they could manage though it was clear that they were not accustomed to this kind of business.
“I’m not so sure about this, Bob” said one, “what if he isn’t here?”
“Quiet, Carl”, said the other, “he’ll be there”.
Bond waited until the sound of their steps had faded away before making his way back upstairs, his cargo of hope and heartbreak tucked inside his jacket.
That last story being longer than normal, I’d like to make some comments.
(1) Many thanks to @Number24 , @CoolHandBond , and Bride of Barbel. By now I’ve written more Q scenes than Richard Maibaum and Purvis & Wade put together, so I had to ask for help in coming up with silly gadgets to be seen in the background as Bond & co walk past.
(2) NASA really did lose or mislay or misfile or have stolen (take your pick) the original film of Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin landing on the moon. Conspiracy theorists have had a whale of a time with this.
(3) David Niven really did leave Hollywood to re-activate his commission and fight in WW2.
(4) A member of Britain’s Naval Intelligence was indeed involved in the setting up of the OSS which evolved into the CIA. His name was Ian Fleming.
Comments
Nicely, nicely 👏🏻
Thanks, Sir M.
Just as an aside: if anything seems familiar as this story develops, it's entirely deliberate.
Part Two
“Right, Miss Case”, said Bill Tanner, “so embassy staff came to speak with you”.
They were sitting in Bond’s flat, with May eager to hear what Tiffany was doing there but grudgingly restricted to coffee duties.
“Not just once, Colonel. Three times they came back to ask the same questions. Different people, same questions. They just didn’t seem to believe that I didn’t know where the package was”.
“Which of course you did, and they would want to search your flat”.
“Yes, but they couldn’t do that without a warrant. Then one day I came back from shopping to find a man already inside. A man with a hook in place of his right hand”.
Bond and Tanner glanced at each other.
“A hook for his right hand?” said Bond, “Tiffany, I –“
She gave a miserable sort of laugh.
“No, it wasn’t Felix. I know him, remember? From back when I was a diamond smuggler. This man was huge, maybe six foot five, and built like a bear. He did have fair hair like Felix, but a lot less of it. He didn’t even have the grace to look surprised when I came home to find him going through my cabinets and tossing everything on the floor. I started to talk, to ask him what did he think he was doing, but he just snarled, threw me up against a wall with his good hand, then stormed out. I found out later that his name was Scobie, or at least that’s what I was told – I don’t know what to believe any more”.
“How did you find out his name?” asked Bond.
“The next day a man came to my door. I was still trying to straighten the place up. He had a big smile and his hair was silver although he was still quite young- a bit like you, Colonel Tanner”.
Tanner unconsciously ran a hand through his prematurely grey hair.
“Just call me Bill, would you? What did this man have to say?”
“He said he was from the embassy and wasn’t there to ask me any more questions. I was to call him Derek. He just wanted to make sure I was all right and ask if I wanted to go home to the States. He would arrange travel for me”.
Bond said “And did you let him in?”
“No, not after what had happened. I kept him at the door and told him about the big man with the hook. He nodded and said that was Scobie, and I should stay clear of him. Well, I certainly wasn’t going to see him deliberately! Anyway, I could sense this Derek looking over my shoulder into the flat and being very keen to be invited in”.
“Which, of course, you didn’t”, said Tanner.
“Of course not. Later on I could see him hanging around in the street outside trying to look inconspicuous by stopping to light a cigarette with some weird sort of lighter, and once I think I saw him sitting behind the wheel of a car while I was walking. I was very scared by now and thought I had to see you at once, James. You’re the only person I can think of who could help me”.
There was a moment’s silence before Bond said, “You realise you’re going to have to show us this package Albert gave you. Have you brought it with you?”
Tiffany nodded and reached into her bag, bringing out an item rather less than a foot square, wrapped carefully in white paper and then sealed. She handed it over to Bond who looked at her enquiringly and waited for her nod before bringing out a knife and opening it up to reveal a box, again sealed. He opened that in turn to bring out a roll of film. There was no label on the roll.
“I don’t suppose you have the right kind of equipment here, James”, said Tanner.
“No, I don’t. We both know a man who has, though. You call him, Bill, and make an appointment”.
To Be Continued
Excellent…more, please! 👏
This is excellent stuff 😃
Thank you very much, gentlemen.
I have some credits to hand out for today's instalment but will wait until the end.
Part Three
“Are you sure about this, James?” asked Tanner.
“No, I’m not sure at all. You’re the Chief of Staff, Bill, it has to be your decision. Do we let a civilian into our offices or not? She has proven useful to our department in the past, you know”.
“You mean she’s proven useful to you in the past, don’t you?” sighed Tanner.
“Her help was invaluable during the diamond smuggling business, you read my report. And you’d have had her checked out when I moved her in with me – don’t deny it, I would have done that in your shoes”.
“Of course we did. She’s clean, or at least she was then. I don’t know what her CIA record was once she took up with this Albert chap”.
“I doubt that there’d be anything there”.
There was an impatient knock on the kitchen door.
“Holy mackerel you two, what the hell're you doing in there?” Tiffany’s voice came through to them, mock angry. Tanner and Bond shrugged and silently decided in for a penny, in for a pound before opening the door.
“Ready, Tiffany?” asked Bond. “We have an appointment”.
For all their worry, Tiffany didn’t learn anything from her visit to MI6. Their opposite numbers would already have known exactly where the headquarters were situated and once inside she quickly got lost in the corridors before they ended up at a door marked “Q Branch”. Tanner knocked and entered.
Major Boothroyd looked up from the engine compartment of an Aston Martin as they approached.
“Ah there you are, 007”, he said, “and hello Chief of Staff. Have a look at this”.
He handed Bond a tennis racquet.
“You know that golf’s more my game, don’t you, Major Boothroyd?” said Bond, raising one eyebrow.
“Of course, but pay attention, 007 - when I press this button on the handle the strings on the racket become electric and it can be used to kill flies".
Tanner said, “I’m sure that’s very useful but – “
The Major continued as if Tanner hadn’t spoken. “This version conducts a lot more electricity making it into a taser that can stun within medium distances, say about ten feet, or kill within four. We call it the McEnroe”.
Bond pointed at a sandwich lying close by. “And I suppose that would be your lunch, would it?”
“Of course it is, but we’ve had a lot of trouble with staff members helping themselves to others’ food. That one has been electrified”.
Bond hastily withdrew his hand and idly picked up a black bowler hat sitting on a workbench.
“I wouldn’t have thought this to be quite your style”, he said.
Wordlessly the Major threw the hat, without even seeming to aim carefully, at one of the many dummies lining the walls decapitating it instantly.
“It’s steel-rimmed, you see”, he said.
“It’s old hat, you know, Major. I’ve seen that before”.
As Boothroyd retrieved the hat Tiffany whispered to Bond, “What’s with this ‘007’ shtick? Do you guys all have numbers or something?”
“Something like that. Major, this is Miss Case. She has been of invaluable help to us in the past and we’re helping her out with a situation right now”.
The head of Q Branch didn’t know about that situation, but he took in the situation between Bond and Tiffany at a glance. “I was told you would be bringing in a film you’d like to have a look at, Colonel Tanner”.
Bond handed over the reel. Major Boothroyd examined it quickly, then asked them to follow him. They went into a side room set up for viewing films and sat down. It wasn’t long before the film was ready to show.
“Lights out, please, 007”.
Bond put the lights out and the film began. It was a very familiar scene, quite literally world famous, and the sound was no less familiar but they had never witnessed it quite like this before. All of them watched in something close to shock. The film wasn’t long, but it didn’t have to be. When it ended, Bond and Tanner both asked Boothroyd to run it again. When it finished the second time, Boothroyd spoke first.
“I’ve never seen it in that quality before”.
“I would say very few people have”, said Bond, “and now I think we know why”.
“I don’t think we have any other choice but to bring this to M’s attention”, said Tanner. “The implications are ….”
“Astronomical?” said Bond.
“Yes, indeed” said Major Boothroyd, “with no exaggeration. I concur. We have to inform M”.
To Be Continued
Hmmm…several scenarios are running through my mind - I wonder if one of them is correct 🤔
Really good, Barbel, just impatient for more 😁
Yes, I’m wondering just which avenue this will take 🤔
It's all good though 😁
Thanks, guys.
Part Four
It was not often that M was asked to leave his office. He might have refused, had not Bill Tanner’s tone of voice made it clear that this was important. Miss Moneypenny looked up in surprise as he emerged from his sanctum.
“Miss Moneypenny, I will be in Q Branch if I am needed. Just try and make sure that I’m not”.
“Yes, sir”, she replied, startled, as he went out. She could only imagine the reactions of whatever members of staff he might encounter as he made his way down to the lower regions of the building. M was almost never seen anywhere but his office. To see him elsewhere was as if one met a tram-car coming down a country lane. M had his rails and he ran on them. His home, Blades, Whitehall—that was his cycle. What upheaval could possibly have derailed him? This would be the thought in the mind of anyone unlucky enough to meet him. There must have been a curious incident in the night-time.
He was met at the door of Q Branch by an uncharacteristically sombre Chief of Staff, who led him to the screening room. His eyes swept past Boothroyd and Bond to land on the unfamiliar young woman sitting with them. In answer to the unspoken but clearly imminent question, Bond quickly said “This is Tiffany Case, sir. You’ll remember her name in my reports – I had to pose as a diamond smuggler named Peter Franks and – “
“I remember, 007. What is she doing here?”
Bond gave M a quick precis of the circumstances. “That is all background, sir, to explain how we happen to have this film. Can I ask you to take a seat, please, and I’ll turn the lights out? And Major Boothroyd will run the film”.
M sat, somewhat resembling a kettle waiting to boil, and the film began again.
It was an eerie scene, losing nothing through familiarity. A man in a bulky silvered suit was carefully descending a ladder from a structure that could only partially be seen. A voice could be heard through some form of radio.
“That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind”.
They watched as Armstrong was joined by Aldrin and the film continued. When it came to an end, Bond put the lights back on.
“I am of course familiar with this sequence of events”, said M carefully.
“But not to this degree of quality, sir”, said Boothroyd, “you must have noticed how crisp and clear the image was”.
“Well, yes”, said M, “what of it? Along with most of the world I’ve only watched this on television”.
“This is the original film, sir”, said Tanner. “This was somehow lost by NASA shortly after the landing and we’ve all been watching a kinescope”.
“Say what now?” asked Tiffany. M glared at her, but she ignored him.
“A kinescope – they point a film camera towards a television monitor and use the result” said Bond. “That’s why the picture’s so bad whenever we see it on television or wherever. But there had to have been a master film. The original”.
“And it went missing almost immediately. There has never been an official explanation of how such a valuable artifact could be mislaid, misfiled or downright stolen”, said Boothroyd.
“But now it’s here. We have it”, said M.
“And there is something more important than that”, said Boothroyd.
Bond had been dreading this moment. Once he had realised what this film was and exactly what it showed, his mind had flown back to a job he had undertaken in Las Vegas about three years earlier. What he had learned on that mission he had never disclosed, not even to M.
“And what is that?” asked M.
“I’ll have to show you the film again. Bond, the lights, please”.
Bond turned out the lights and sat alone with his thoughts while the others studied the film. He was one of only a handful of people who knew what this film would inevitably show.
“There! Look!” said Boothroyd as he stopped the film just as Armstrong set foot on the surface.
“What are we looking for?” asked M.
“In the background. See there, behind Armstrong”.
M said, “Well? What is it?”
“Keep looking, sir”, said Tanner.
“It’s a man”, M said in astonishment, “a man and he’s not wearing a spacesuit”.
“He’s aiming a floodlight”, said Boothroyd, “pointing it at the landing module. It’s lighting up Aldrin as he follows Armstrong down the ladder”.
“But that can’t be”, said M.
“It can be and it is”, said Major Boothroyd. “The Apollo 11 moon landing was faked. That’s why they had to lose the original high-quality film, because watching it you can see this man with a light and I’ve noticed there are other tell-tale signs. That’s why they have deliberately been showing us low-quality images and film, to hide details. The whole thing was faked”.
To Be Continued
Q Branch meets The Department of Truth 😁
I’m loving this 👏🍸
Ahh…so this was the path…this is really excellent and well written 👏🏻😁
I'm glad you like this story, gents, but Sir M that isn't the path ....
Hmmm 🤔🥸
Part Five
Bond sat in his usual place opposite M, who had retired to his office and was smoking his pipe furiously. M’s hand had recovered from his abortive attempt to take a quick bite from the sandwich he had spotted earlier. Major Boothroyd was happy in his workshop and Tanner sat beside Bond. Tiffany had been seated in Miss Moneypenny’s office. M drew the line at having her involved in the planning and decision making that would now have to follow, although he had grudgingly accepted Bond’s firm insistence that she would not be safe anywhere else.
“This explains why the Americans were so keen to get that film back”, said Bond.
“Oh, yes”, said M, “and if it were us we would be wanting it back too. I’m afraid your Miss Case is going to be at risk until it has been returned”.
“So you think we will have to return it then, sir”, said Tanner.
“I don’t believe there is any other solution, Chief of Staff”, said M, “although I do think there is a way we can profit by this”.
Bond and Tanner sat waiting, while M went through the ritual of filling and lighting his pipe again.
“I am about to tell you two something which is beyond your security level. After all our time together I consider that you can be trusted with this although it can never be spoken about outside this office. Are you agreed?”
Both men said “Yes, sir” almost simultaneously, though Bond silently wondered if he needed any more secrets to keep.
“You will know that our present Queen married the Duke of Edinburgh after the War, in 1947. During the War she was a teenager and like other teenage girls she had a crush on a film star. Unlike other teenage girls, she was living in places like Balmoral and Windsor Castles and unable to pop down to the local post office and send fan letters. Also unlike other girls of her age, she was able to actually meet her idol when two films of his in a row were selected for the Royal Film Performance”.
“Who was it, sir?” asked Bond.
“A favourite actor of yours – David Niven”.
“Surely he’d be rather old for her”, said a doubtful Tanner.
“I’m hardly an expert on the subject of teenage girls”, said M, “that being more in your line, 007, but I believe that the age of the subject being, er, ‘crushed’ I think is the word is not too material to the one doing the crushing”.
“And in this case that person is the very opposite of a ‘subject’, sir” said Bond. “Are we to infer that the then Princess Elizabeth wrote fan letters to David Niven?”
“You are indeed. And, as I said earlier, she wouldn’t be posting them like anyone else would. For one thing there was a war on and tight security was in place around both her and her sister and she could hardly sneak away. Nevertheless, a smart girl would find ways around that and some of her letters did in fact get through”.
“I imagine Niven would be surprised, to say the least, assuming that the letters were signed”, said Tanner.
“They were signed. And on crested notepaper. And they were very, shall we say, frank about her feelings”.
M was looking down by this point, very embarrassed. Tanner was rubbing his forehead. Bond took a deep breath and asked, “But I’ve always had the impression that David Niven was a gentleman in real life as well as in his films. Surely he wouldn’t have held on to these letters once he realised who they were from?”
“I have no doubt about that”, said M. “Niven was one of the few who came back over here once war was declared and re-activated his commission when he could easily have stayed in Hollywood and played make-believe soldiers like some of his contemporaries. His record speaks his loyalty. However, these letters did not reach him”.
“What?” asked Tanner.
“The Queen, I mean Princess, was naïve enough to think that a letter addressed simply to “David Niven, Hollywood” would reach him. As I’ve just said, he wasn’t even there at the time but fighting for our country. The letters instead went to a representative who opened them, realised what they were, and promptly sold them to the OSS”.
The OSS, or Office of Strategic Services, was the predecessor to the CIA. It had been formed during World War Two and afterwards became the basis for the more permanent Central Intelligence Agency. A member of Britain’s Naval Intelligence had been involved in setting this up.
“So they ended up in the hands of the CIA”, said Bond slowly, “and what did they do with them?”
“Nothing”, said M. “They did let us know that they had them, but promised their security and that everything would be confidential”.
“Oh wonderful”, said Tanner, “the CIA leaks like a sieve. There can’t be anyone in Washington or Moscow who hasn’t heard about this”.
“On the contrary, Chief of Staff”, said M, “a surprisingly high level of security has been maintained. These letters have been kept in a safe in the Director’s office all these years, and only the various Directors have known about their existence. Me too, of course. And now, you two”.
The implications did not escape Bond. “So, we have something the Americans would want very badly, and they have something of ours. Would you be thinking about some form of a trade, sir?”
“I am indeed. Chief of Staff, I’ll leave you to contact the CIA and make some arrangements. 007, you will be the one to carry out the trade”.
To Be Continued
Wonderful is just one of the words to describe this story 👏 and it’s going down a route that I didn’t think of!
A member of Britain’s Naval Intelligence had been involved in setting this up.
I wonder who that could be? 🤔🤭
Roll on tomorrow 👏🏻
Much appreciated, guys.
Sir Miles, I knew you'd like that. 😊
Part Six
The light drizzle had become a downpour by the time Bond and Tiffany reached Heathrow. His diplomatic passport plus a few words from his friend Ronnie Vallance had ensured their quick processing and they were seated in no time, Bond drinking his customary vodka martini while Tiffany nursed a bourbon.
“You’re really not going to tell me, are you?” murmured Tiffany, nuzzling herself as cosily against him as the seating allowed.
“Tell you what? You already know we’re heading to Washington”.
“Yes, I know that, but you still haven’t told me why”. She threatened a sulk, and he immediately wanted to bring her out of it. Seeing her again had revived his feelings of not so long ago, and here there was no May to bang doors, announce meals, or otherwise just happen to interrupt romantic moments.
“Tiffany, my love, all you need to know for now is that you’re going to give that package of yours –“
“The one about the moon – “
“Yes”, said Bond quickly, “that one. We are going to hand it over to the proper authorities and one of the main reasons for doing that is to ensure your safety. If you don’t have it, there’s no need for you to be pursued”.
“And that’s all I’m going to get out of you, I guess. Mind if I fall asleep?”
“I would expect it. Nothing much else to do here”.
Behind them a curtain twitched and an eye that had been observing them disappeared as its owner went back to his seat. A big man with a steel hook for a right hand, he sat beside a younger man with silvery hair.
“They're both aboard” said the hook-handed man. “I must say, Miss Case seems quite attractive. For a lady”.
He laughed at the other’s look.
It didn’t take long at Washington to arrange a hired car. Bond had carried their hand luggage both on and off their plane, and once in the car he carefully handed it to Tiffany.
“You look after this until we get to our hotel”, he said.
“I’m just the baggage handler, I get it”, she said, looking at him out of the corner of her eye to make sure he laughed.
One hotel is very much like another, reflected Bond, only varying in the amount of comfort and luxury the guests were prepared to subsidise. In this case, he had picked the best in the already rather expensive area, knowing that he could charge it to expenses with only minimal grumbling from M on his return. A porter assisted them to their room on the seventh floor, mildly unhappy that Bond had insisted on carrying the hand luggage by himself but mollified by a generous tip.
“Would you like something from the bar, Tiffany?” Bond asked.
“Hell no, I drank enough on the plane to keep me going for a week”, she said. “Come here, you Bond person”.
Bond was in her arms instantly. How quickly the memories came back. Meeting her and wondering how her lips tasted, then finding out for himself, and then their mutual pleasure in coming together in bed. As they kissed she struggled out of her clothes and he his.
Bond had drifted into sleep when he thought he heard the knock on the door. His eyes opened and by the time the knock came again he was out of bed and reaching for one of the hotel’s robes.
“James?” Tiffany said drowsily.
“Go back to sleep, Tiffany”, he said, “I’ll see to whatever it is”.
He reached the door and opened it. Two waiters quickly entered, pushing a trolley full of covered dishes.
“There must be some mistake”, said Bond, “I didn’t order anything”.
“No mistake, sir”, said one of the waiters, flashing a big toothy smile. His hair was silver although the face looked too young. The other, a much larger man, stopped pushing the trolley and Bond could now see that he had a hook for a right hand.
“James!” yelled Tiffany from the bedroom door but Bond had already realised the situation. He cannoned into the trolley, sending the dishes flying into Scobie’s face while the other drew a gun and aimed it at Bond, who was now crouching and kicking out, catching Derek firmly in the groin. Bond didn’t wait to see him double up and drop the gun but grabbed a knife from the cutlery now lying everywhere and barely took aim before throwing it at the big man.
Scobie yelled in agony as the knife hit his right eye. He grasped for it with his one good hand but not before Bond charged into his mid-section, sending him flying backwards and into the windowpane which shattered. The bulky body went straight through and headed down to the ground, seven floors below. Derek had recovered his breath but was still doubled up as he fumbled on the floor for his gun. Bond landed on the searching hand with his left knee and brought his right fist straight upwards into Derek’s chin. The man stopped struggling instantly and hit the floor unconscious.
Bond got to his feet as Tiffany came rushing over to him, babbling hysterically.
“It was them! That’s the men I told you about!” She was in his arms, her face pressed to his chest.
“Yes, it’s all right, Tiffany, I know”, he said, stroking her hair. “Now listen to me. Listen, please. We have to get out of here quickly. You go and get our bags ready and put some clothes on. I have to make a phone call”.
“Yes, James, but why do we have to go now?”
“Because whoever sent these two knows where we are and most probably knows why we’re here. Now, please, do as I say. I’ll be in with you to get dressed once I’ve made my phone call”.
Tiffany headed to the bedroom, looking back once at the unconscious man on the floor and the broken glass at the window. Bond lifted the phone and asked for an international number.
“Hello, Universal Exports? I need to speak with the managing director, please, this is his nephew James. It’s urgent ….”
To Be Continued
I’m loving the mix of fact and fiction (novels and film), superbly melded into a captivating story. I think you have surpassed your already stratospheric level of storytelling with this one, Barbel 👏🍸🥇I cannot wait until the next instalment, and I’m hoping this runs for a long, long time.
I'm very flattered, CHB, but I have bad news for you - the next instalment in this story will be the last. The good news is that I already know what the story after that will be.
I can only echo @CoolHandBond - this is marvellous stuff…lots of ‘old’ names appearing 🍸
And thanks to you, Sir Miles.
Part Seven
Two hours later Bond and Tiffany had been accommodated at the British embassy, and very well accommodated at that. M had decided that hotels were vulnerable, too vulnerable and too easily penetrated. Bond realised the folly of arguing. M had also been in contact with the appropriate people to pick up the dead and wounded assailants Bond had left in his trail.
“I think we had better move our schedule forward, 007” he had said on the secure line in the embassy. “I’ll ask our cousins if we can manage to carry out the handovers tonight rather than tomorrow”.
“If you think that’s best, sir”, said a dubious Bond.
“Well, I would think you and your package are safe where you are, but you have to come out soon and I don’t see the sense in waiting another twenty-four hours if we can avoid it. I’ll tell Moneypenny to move your flight back forward. Now, wait there and I’ll call back once I’ve spoken with our colleagues”.
Bond went to talk with Tiffany, but she had endured enough stress for the moment and had fallen into a deep sleep. With nothing else to do until M phoned, Bond made sure his Walther was in full working order and that the precious package was in his briefcase where it should be.
A car park is one of the most anonymous places to meet a contact or carry out a handover, or in this case an exchange. Bond knew all this but still couldn’t shake a feeling of unease. It’s the lighting, he thought. It’s two in the morning and the lights are at their dimmest setting. He parked on the second floor and took the stairs down three floors to the basement area.
His contact was standing to the left, about halfway along. He had picked one of the more shadowed areas, of course. Bond was obliged to walk towards him in alternate patches of light and darkness, a perfect target if anyone wanted to take a shot. No-one did, and he slowed as he reached the contact. A grey-haired man of about sixty, he could see nothing else.
“Bond?” said the man.
“Yes”.
“Let me see the package”.
“And you let me see the letters”.
The man’s chin came up. He was clearly not used to having his orders questioned, but he complied and both men showed their items for trade. Bond opened the package to let his contact see that it was indeed a film, and the other showed that he was certainly holding a small collection of old-fashioned letters. Impossible to tell in this lighting, but Bond got the impression that they were pink.
“All right?” said the man.
“All right”.
They exchanged their consignments. There was no shaking of hands. Bond turned and walked away, leaving the other man still standing in the same place giving Bond the curious feeling that he was not the only caller expected that night. He started to return upstairs when the sound of feet approaching sent him into the hollow at the foot of the stairs.
Two men were walking down, as stealthily as they could manage though it was clear that they were not accustomed to this kind of business.
“I’m not so sure about this, Bob” said one, “what if he isn’t here?”
“Quiet, Carl”, said the other, “he’ll be there”.
Bond waited until the sound of their steps had faded away before making his way back upstairs, his cargo of hope and heartbreak tucked inside his jacket.
THE END
Only one thing to say - I’m sorry this has ended. Thank you, Barbel 👏🍸
That was immensely enjoyable 😁
Will we read about it in The Washington Post? 😮
I should be so lucky! But I'm glad you both enjoyed that.
That last story being longer than normal, I’d like to make some comments.
(1) Many thanks to @Number24 , @CoolHandBond , and Bride of Barbel. By now I’ve written more Q scenes than Richard Maibaum and Purvis & Wade put together, so I had to ask for help in coming up with silly gadgets to be seen in the background as Bond & co walk past.
(2) NASA really did lose or mislay or misfile or have stolen (take your pick) the original film of Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin landing on the moon. Conspiracy theorists have had a whale of a time with this.
(3) David Niven really did leave Hollywood to re-activate his commission and fight in WW2.
(4) A member of Britain’s Naval Intelligence was indeed involved in the setting up of the OSS which evolved into the CIA. His name was Ian Fleming.
(4) so he's to blame !