After that comprehensive explanation @Barbel you really ought to write maison. I too dislike explaining my weiting [esp poems - come on guys, read it and think...]
Don't worry, I don't plan to do that again (except in PMs). The closest I've come to writing poetry is song lyrics, which is superficially similar but quite a different thing.
She made a show of checking her paperwork, although even from the other side of the desk Bond could see that his was the only name on it.
“Bond”, she said again, “James Bond. Yes, you are expected. One moment, please”.
The small red-haired woman lifted a telephone and spoke some rapid French into it, no doubt convinced that Bond would be unable to follow what she said even although it was innocuous and predictable. She hung up briskly.
“Please take a seat, Monsieur Bond. You will not be kept waiting for long”.
Bond said a thank you and sat in one of the modernist and uncomfortable seats in the foyer. From here he could see his Aston Martin in the car park and some trees beyond, separating the Aérospatiale establishment from the main road. An attractive woman came in and nodded to the receptionist before walking up to Bond. No-one else was there, it wasn’t difficult to pick him out.
“I thought it might be you”, she smiled as she came towards him.
“Gala!” said Bond, rising. “Gala Brand”.
“It’s Gala Vivian now, remember?”
“Yes, I remember. You were getting married soon the last time I met you. And how is your husband?”
She gave a shrug, clearly one born of much practice in hiding pain.
“I have no idea”, she said, “we’ve been apart for two years”.
“Ah. I’m sorry to hear that” said Bond, who was not sorry in the least.
“Let’s not talk about it”, she said, “let me show you around Aérospatiale”.
They left the gloomy receptionist and walked through a set of double doors.
“Have you been working here long?” asked Bond.
“No, only a few months. I’m basically public relations and publicity co-ordination, which is why I’m here. None of the more technical people could have been spared”.
Bond remembered well her auburn hair and blue eyes, as well as the desirable and outright seductive figure. There was still an air of coolness about her which he saw as an intriguing challenge, though he doubted if there would be enough time and opportunity to follow up on that.
She led him down a corridor with no external windows and an overhead light running its length, stopping at the second door and knocking. At a “Oui?” from within she opened the door and ushered Bond inside.
“Mr Bond, may I introduce Dr Bonnetete? She is in charge of fuel maximisation”. Bond noted that she spoke in English.
A blonde woman of perhaps thirty rose from one of the laboratory tables furnishing the room each with a selection of autoclaves, test tubes, and the like. A staff of six earnest young men and women, all dressed like their head in white lab coats, were working diligently.
“Bonjour, M Bond”, said the doctor, “how is it that I can help you?” Her accent was strong.
“I’m over from London as an observer, doctor”, said Bond, “and far from being a scientist. Could you perhaps explain your work to this layman?”
She smiled. “But of course. You will be aware that the weight of all air or space vehicles is of prime importance. Much of that weight is taken up, at least on take-off, by the fuel which is being used. It is the task of my department to ensure that every milligram of fuel is used in the most efficient fashion and that there is no wastage”.
“I see”, said Bond, “a most important job. Thank you very much for explaining it so clearly to me”.
“It is not a problem. Is there anything else we can do to help you, M Bond?”
The look was unmistakable. Bond returned it, aware that Gala Vivian was watching everything carefully.
“Perhaps later, thank you” said Bond as Gala moved him towards the door.
“Fuel maximisation”, said Bond, “an obviously important job which I would never have thought of”.
“No reason for you to know about it. Now, next is Dr Dreyfuss”.
Through the next door, she indicated a lean man of perhaps forty or so with closely-cropped prematurely grey hair. Behind rimless glasses his sharp eyes stared at Bond.
“Dr Dreyfuss, this is a Mr Bond from London”, said Gala.
“Good morning, Mr Bond”, said the doctor.
“Dreyfuss”, said Bond as they shook hands, “I’ve heard that name before”.
“No doubt you are recollecting the case of Captain Dreyfus, who was unjustly send to Devil’s Island many years ago”, said Dreyfuss.
“Hmmm, no”, said Bond, “I was thinking more of Inspector Clouseau’s boss”.
Dreyfuss shot him a sharp look. Gala quickly intervened.
“Perhaps, Dr Dreyfuss, you could tell Mr Bond a little about your work here”.
The urge to talk about his own work kept the doctor’s temper down. “In this department we are concerned with finding alternative sources of fuel. Diesel, petrol, and such fuels all weigh a considerable amount. My team and I are looking for sources which are more weight-efficient, thus enabling either more fuel to be carried and longer journeys therefore possible, or more economical shorter journeys to be made”.
“Thank you, doctor, clearly very important work. Thank you for taking the time to explain it to me”.
Outside in the corridor Gala said, “Are you going to tell everyone you meet how important their work is, James?”
“But of course. You never know when you might need their help. Now, who’s next?”
“Let me show you something first”.
She opened a door which led to some stairs. They climbed two floors then she opened another door which led to a corridor with a huge window at the end.
“Come this way”, she said.
Bond was led to the window and looked out at the scene below. It was an airport runway, perhaps longer and wider than normal, and in the middle of it stood a long, thin plane with elegantly swept back delta wings. At the front was a pointed nose which was drooping down toward the ground. He had seen photographs, of course, but wasn’t prepared for the effect of actually seeing the beautiful Concorde like a gigantic white bird before him.
To Be Continued
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 31,112Chief of Staff
What an interesting start…very much looking forward to more 😁
The day at Aérospatiale had continued in a similar manner. Bond had a good memory, but by the time he was heading out the various heads of department and their specialities had all begun to whirl inside his head. He headed for his car and was pleasantly surprised to find the luscious Dr Bonnetete at hers, next to where he had parked, in her civilian clothes with a generous déchirement.
“A pleasure to see you again, Mme le docteur”, he said, reaching for his keys.
She laughed. “So formal, the British. My name is Houx”.
“Unusual but it seems to suit you. My name is James”.
“And will you be in Toulouse long, James?”
“Oh, that depends”, he said, “I really can’t say just now. I’m staying at a hotel in the centre of Toulouse”.
“That sounds very nice”, she said, lowering her eyes.
“You can judge for yourself, if you like”, he said, “why not come and have dinner there with me this evening?”
“This evening…?”
“Take this card”. He scribbled the name of the hotel and its phone number on the back. “Give me a call”.
Bond entered his car and sped off, leaving Houx Bonnetete tapping the card against her lips.
The meal had been superb, and Houx had been very keen to accept the offer of a drink in Bond’s room. Their foreplay began in the lift, each desperate to touch the other as their passions rose.
Bond led her swiftly to his room, key in hand, only to freeze suddenly as he realised the door was unlocked. Lust evaporated instantly, and he flattened a confused Houx against the wall as he kicked the door open and knelt, Walther in hand.
“Hello again, Mr Bond”, said Gala Vivian, sitting casually on the side of his double bed. Houx forced her way past Bond and stared at the other woman.
“Gala! What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Perhaps the same thing as you are, Mme le docteur”, came the cool reply.
Dr Bonnetete very clearly thought about giving Gala a slap, then changed her mind and gave one to Bond since he was nearer, before stomping off as firmly as her stiletto heels would allow.
Bond got back to his feet, putting the gun away and ruefully rubbing his cheek.
“I hate to ask the obvious, but what are you doing here?” he asked.
“Not what Dr Bonnetete instantly assumed, James. Please, have a seat”.
“A drink first, I’d think. What’ll you have?”
“Just straight whisky”.
Bond poured two, a larger measure for himself, then handed them over.
“I reported back to my boss yesterday. No, my real boss”. She sighed. “I’ve been sent by Interpol. I’m their inside agent, keeping an eye on the place. Being bilingual in French they thought I would be able to get a job there easily enough”.
“And before Interpol?”
“Scotland Yard. You’ll remember my boss there, Mr Vallance”.
“That’s all fine, but it doesn’t explain why you’re here, or why they thought there would be something worth keeping an eye on”.
“I don’t know myself, but I’ve been keeping my eyes open. Sometimes documents go missing for a day or two before re-appearing. Sometimes plans get changed for no real reason – yes, I know that happens with all government projects, but this feels different, somehow”.
“And your boss thought it would be better if we were to work together and pool our resources?”
“A call from France, sir”, said Miss Moneypenny. “It’s your nephew, James”.
“Put him through”, said M. “Hello, James?”
“Good morning, sir. I’ve been making contact with the locals, as you said”.
“So I’ve been hearing”, M growled, “very close contact apparently”.
“Ah, you’ve had other reports, then?” asked Bond abashedly.
M ignored him. “Have you seen anything that might concern us?”
“Not yet, sir, but it’s early days. I’m thinking of taking a closer look at one or two matters that might be of interest”.
“All right, but keep it discreet”.
“Of course, sir”.
Gala and Bond had lain in bed, each sated and enjoying the contact of the other. A few kisses broke the silence. Finally she propped herself up on one elbow and looked into his grey-blue eyes.
“James”, she said, “as I told you I’ve been here for a few months and I haven’t seen anything out of order. Do you have any idea what you’re here looking for?”
“I can’t tell you, but I’ll know when I see it. I’d like to have a look around with no-one there, if you take my meaning, if that can be arranged”.
She smiled. “You’ll find that very easy tonight. There’s an event in the main meeting area, all department heads are expected to attend, to attract new sponsors. This whole enterprise is costing God knows how much money, and the governments are desperate to bring in outside investors. You and I will be expected to attend”.
“So the departments will be empty?” asked Bond.
“That’s right. And before you ask, I have the keys we’ll need”.
“We?”
“Of course. You’re not doing this yourself”.
He laughed, then kissed her waiting lips. Their eyes met, and he kissed her again, hard. Her body shifted on the bed, and he moved towards her.
The meeting area would have seemed quite large, but tonight it was full of elegantly dressed people crowded close together. Bond walked around, managing to avoid eating any of the amuse-bouche presented regularly by smiling waiting staff and only sipping at the awful wine he had been handed on entry.
“Another drink, sir?” said a handsome young waiter.
Bond declined, politely. His eye caught that of Dr Bonnetete who huffily turned away, and he sighed before catching sight of a familiar face. Their eyes met, they smiled, and Bond walked over.
“Good evening, Ambassador”, he said, “not the sort of event I would have expected to see you attend”.
Frederick Gray humphed. “All part of the job. It’s Bond, isn’t it? James Bond.”
“That’s right, sir, you might remember –“
“Oh I remember, all right. Sir Miles brought you to Blades one night for a game of bridge. I lost five thousand pounds to you two!”
It had been closer to four thousand, but even Bond knew that there are times not to correct one’s secular superiors.
“We must do it again sometime, Ambassador”, smiled Bond.
“Oh, call me Freddie when it's only the two of us. It’s not as if we don’t know each other. And once this ambassadorship is finished I’m intending, all things being equal, to be the next Minister of Defence – your boss’s boss, as you well know – so I expect we’ll be seeing a lot of each other”.
Bond kept his face straight. He had heard rumours. “However, you still haven’t told me why you’re here tonight, Freddie”.
“Oh, quite simple, really. See that fellow over there?” He indicated a short man with jet black hair. “That’s the French Minister of the Interior, same as our Home Secretary. Well, he and I will be on board Concorde tomorrow morning. Reporters and paparazzi, big publicity. It’s still billed as a test flight, but really it’s a fund raiser. Any of the right people here, by which I mean anyone who donates the right amount of money, can join us. See their faces in the papers”.
“I see, sir”.
The “sir” was automatic.
“Anyway, must do the rounds. Nice talking to you, James”.
Gala wandered over to him, elaborately casual in her approach.
“Time to chat to some of the staff, I think”, he said.
“Yes, we must make it as obvious as we can that we are actually attending this boring charade”.
Gala took him over to chat with some of the other department heads he had met the day before and some pleasant nothings were exchanged. He wandered over to Dr Dreyfuss, nursing a white wine in a corner.
“You’re not enjoying the evening, then, doctor?” Bond asked.
“A waste of time. I would be better working”, Dreyfuss grudgingly replied, barely glancing at him.
“I don’t enjoy these sorts of things either”, said Bond, “but sometimes they just have to be done”.
“I should be doing important work”.
“Tell me, I know this project is important, but why?” Bond asked innocently.
“Why? What do you mean, why?”
“Well, if I wanted to travel to the south of France I could take a plane – not as fast as your Concorde, naturally, but for most people that would simply mean getting to the airport earlier. Or I could drive, taking a ferry from Dover. Or indeed, take a hovercraft – yes, I think I’d like to do that sometime”.
Dreyfuss spluttered. “It is not all about speed! This is about science!”
Bond said, “Well, of course it is but –“
Dreyfuss stomped off angrily, muttering something about Bond being a Philistine. Gala was soon at Bond’s side.
“Well, you seem to have upset someone, James”, she said.
“It’s all tactics, you know. Now he will definitely remember me being here – just as I’m sure Houx will remember you. Time for us to depart?”
Gala nodded. “Separately. Meet me in the foyer in five minutes and we’ll start”.
To Be Continued
Sir MilesThe Wrong Side Of The WardrobePosts: 31,112Chief of Staff
Oohhh, very good…looking forward to tomorrow’s episode 😁
Nothing of any interest was found in any of the offices. They opened drawers and desks, quickly leafing through the contents by the light of pencil torches. Eventually they found themselves in Dr Bonnetete’s laboratory where again nothing incriminating was in evidence. They were just about to leave when the sound of footsteps approaching the door forced them to crouch down and hide behind the first desk.
The door opened and closed quickly, allowing two people to step inside.
“I don’t know”, said a hesitant voice which Bond identified as that of the young waiter he had spoken briefly with earlier. “Are you sure it’s all right here?”
The voice of Houx Bonnetete was stronger and coaxing. “It’ll be fine”, she said, “just come here and hold me”.
Gala and Bond stared at each other with wide eyes as the sounds of impassioned kisses came to their ears, interspersed with clothes being unzipped, an occasional ripping sound as seams were stretched beyond what they had been meant to bear, and the moans and groans familiar to them from their own lovemaking not too long before.
Bond tried to stay as silent as possible, not daring to face Dr Bonnetete’s interrupted wrath for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, but something about the situation seemed to stimulate Gala. With a wicked look, she wriggled her way down his body knowing he either wouldn’t or couldn’t prevent her. She unfastened his trousers and moved her face close to his groin, pulling his clothing out of the way. He bit his lip as she took him in her mouth and began silently moving rhythmically. The sounds from Houx and her partner began to reach their climax as Bond felt his own approaching, desperately trying to keep silent. It seemed like an eternity until the other two had concluded their mutual aims, got dressed again, and left. Gala rested her head against his thigh until the sound of footsteps had disappeared before both of them began laughing out loud.
“Oh dear God!” said Gala, “if she had caught us this time it would have been more than a slap!”
“You’re right”, smiled Bond, “but come on, let’s go”.
“Only Dr Dreyfuss to go and we’re finished”.
As well as the workplaces, there was also a locked filing cabinet in that office. Bond knew about filing cabinets. He tilted it against the wall, reached underneath, and found the bottom end of the bar-lock which protrudes downwards when the top section has been locked. Upwards pressure released the drawers one by one and he softly lowered the edge of the cabinet back on to the floor.
“Where did you learn about that?” asked Gala admiringly.
“Oh, in a book from a long time ago”, he said casually. The top drawer contained a scale map of the site and its component buildings. He examined the map carefully, and pointed out to Gala two minute furrows in the paper which seemed to cross at a point somewhere down the runway.
“What do you think it is?” she asked.
“I don’t know, but I think we’d better –“
“James!” Gala yelled, a fraction too late. A blaze of pain shattered his head, and he felt himself go down … down …
Comments
After that comprehensive explanation @Barbel you really ought to write maison. I too dislike explaining my weiting [esp poems - come on guys, read it and think...]
Don't worry, I don't plan to do that again (except in PMs). The closest I've come to writing poetry is song lyrics, which is superficially similar but quite a different thing.
@Barbel
What a wonderful James Bond story!
Keep up the great work.
Thank you, @Sonero, and thank you for the beautiful illustration.
Thank you for the kind appreciation Barbel.
THE WHITE BIRD
1968
Toulouse
Chapter One
“Bond”, repeated the receptionist. “First name?”
“James”.
She made a show of checking her paperwork, although even from the other side of the desk Bond could see that his was the only name on it.
“Bond”, she said again, “James Bond. Yes, you are expected. One moment, please”.
The small red-haired woman lifted a telephone and spoke some rapid French into it, no doubt convinced that Bond would be unable to follow what she said even although it was innocuous and predictable. She hung up briskly.
“Please take a seat, Monsieur Bond. You will not be kept waiting for long”.
Bond said a thank you and sat in one of the modernist and uncomfortable seats in the foyer. From here he could see his Aston Martin in the car park and some trees beyond, separating the Aérospatiale establishment from the main road. An attractive woman came in and nodded to the receptionist before walking up to Bond. No-one else was there, it wasn’t difficult to pick him out.
“I thought it might be you”, she smiled as she came towards him.
“Gala!” said Bond, rising. “Gala Brand”.
“It’s Gala Vivian now, remember?”
“Yes, I remember. You were getting married soon the last time I met you. And how is your husband?”
She gave a shrug, clearly one born of much practice in hiding pain.
“I have no idea”, she said, “we’ve been apart for two years”.
“Ah. I’m sorry to hear that” said Bond, who was not sorry in the least.
“Let’s not talk about it”, she said, “let me show you around Aérospatiale”.
They left the gloomy receptionist and walked through a set of double doors.
“Have you been working here long?” asked Bond.
“No, only a few months. I’m basically public relations and publicity co-ordination, which is why I’m here. None of the more technical people could have been spared”.
Bond remembered well her auburn hair and blue eyes, as well as the desirable and outright seductive figure. There was still an air of coolness about her which he saw as an intriguing challenge, though he doubted if there would be enough time and opportunity to follow up on that.
She led him down a corridor with no external windows and an overhead light running its length, stopping at the second door and knocking. At a “Oui?” from within she opened the door and ushered Bond inside.
“Mr Bond, may I introduce Dr Bonnetete? She is in charge of fuel maximisation”. Bond noted that she spoke in English.
A blonde woman of perhaps thirty rose from one of the laboratory tables furnishing the room each with a selection of autoclaves, test tubes, and the like. A staff of six earnest young men and women, all dressed like their head in white lab coats, were working diligently.
“Bonjour, M Bond”, said the doctor, “how is it that I can help you?” Her accent was strong.
“I’m over from London as an observer, doctor”, said Bond, “and far from being a scientist. Could you perhaps explain your work to this layman?”
She smiled. “But of course. You will be aware that the weight of all air or space vehicles is of prime importance. Much of that weight is taken up, at least on take-off, by the fuel which is being used. It is the task of my department to ensure that every milligram of fuel is used in the most efficient fashion and that there is no wastage”.
“I see”, said Bond, “a most important job. Thank you very much for explaining it so clearly to me”.
“It is not a problem. Is there anything else we can do to help you, M Bond?”
The look was unmistakable. Bond returned it, aware that Gala Vivian was watching everything carefully.
“Perhaps later, thank you” said Bond as Gala moved him towards the door.
“Fuel maximisation”, said Bond, “an obviously important job which I would never have thought of”.
“No reason for you to know about it. Now, next is Dr Dreyfuss”.
Through the next door, she indicated a lean man of perhaps forty or so with closely-cropped prematurely grey hair. Behind rimless glasses his sharp eyes stared at Bond.
“Dr Dreyfuss, this is a Mr Bond from London”, said Gala.
“Good morning, Mr Bond”, said the doctor.
“Dreyfuss”, said Bond as they shook hands, “I’ve heard that name before”.
“No doubt you are recollecting the case of Captain Dreyfus, who was unjustly send to Devil’s Island many years ago”, said Dreyfuss.
“Hmmm, no”, said Bond, “I was thinking more of Inspector Clouseau’s boss”.
Dreyfuss shot him a sharp look. Gala quickly intervened.
“Perhaps, Dr Dreyfuss, you could tell Mr Bond a little about your work here”.
The urge to talk about his own work kept the doctor’s temper down. “In this department we are concerned with finding alternative sources of fuel. Diesel, petrol, and such fuels all weigh a considerable amount. My team and I are looking for sources which are more weight-efficient, thus enabling either more fuel to be carried and longer journeys therefore possible, or more economical shorter journeys to be made”.
“Thank you, doctor, clearly very important work. Thank you for taking the time to explain it to me”.
Outside in the corridor Gala said, “Are you going to tell everyone you meet how important their work is, James?”
“But of course. You never know when you might need their help. Now, who’s next?”
“Let me show you something first”.
She opened a door which led to some stairs. They climbed two floors then she opened another door which led to a corridor with a huge window at the end.
“Come this way”, she said.
Bond was led to the window and looked out at the scene below. It was an airport runway, perhaps longer and wider than normal, and in the middle of it stood a long, thin plane with elegantly swept back delta wings. At the front was a pointed nose which was drooping down toward the ground. He had seen photographs, of course, but wasn’t prepared for the effect of actually seeing the beautiful Concorde like a gigantic white bird before him.
To Be Continued
What an interesting start…very much looking forward to more 😁
More tomorrow, Sir Miles. Glad you're enjoying this!
I like this. First thought for the title was a play on The Maltese Falcon - changing black bird to white bird.
Gala Brand is back 😁
Dr. Bonnetete 😂 given name Houx?
Excellent start 👏
What a great start Barbel.
And Ms. Gala Brand...
(Ahem!)
I mean Gala Vivian...
This one is going to be another treat.
Bravo!
Wow, that's a fine image. If ever these stories get collected into a book (and that's very unlikely) you can do the cover, @Sonero.
Thank you for the kind words Barbel.
Aaaaah, you're way ahead of me @CoolHandBond! "Houx" comes up in the next part.
...which is ...
Chapter Two
The day at Aérospatiale had continued in a similar manner. Bond had a good memory, but by the time he was heading out the various heads of department and their specialities had all begun to whirl inside his head. He headed for his car and was pleasantly surprised to find the luscious Dr Bonnetete at hers, next to where he had parked, in her civilian clothes with a generous déchirement.
“A pleasure to see you again, Mme le docteur”, he said, reaching for his keys.
She laughed. “So formal, the British. My name is Houx”.
“Unusual but it seems to suit you. My name is James”.
“And will you be in Toulouse long, James?”
“Oh, that depends”, he said, “I really can’t say just now. I’m staying at a hotel in the centre of Toulouse”.
“That sounds very nice”, she said, lowering her eyes.
“You can judge for yourself, if you like”, he said, “why not come and have dinner there with me this evening?”
“This evening…?”
“Take this card”. He scribbled the name of the hotel and its phone number on the back. “Give me a call”.
Bond entered his car and sped off, leaving Houx Bonnetete tapping the card against her lips.
The meal had been superb, and Houx had been very keen to accept the offer of a drink in Bond’s room. Their foreplay began in the lift, each desperate to touch the other as their passions rose.
Bond led her swiftly to his room, key in hand, only to freeze suddenly as he realised the door was unlocked. Lust evaporated instantly, and he flattened a confused Houx against the wall as he kicked the door open and knelt, Walther in hand.
“Hello again, Mr Bond”, said Gala Vivian, sitting casually on the side of his double bed. Houx forced her way past Bond and stared at the other woman.
“Gala! What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Perhaps the same thing as you are, Mme le docteur”, came the cool reply.
Dr Bonnetete very clearly thought about giving Gala a slap, then changed her mind and gave one to Bond since he was nearer, before stomping off as firmly as her stiletto heels would allow.
Bond got back to his feet, putting the gun away and ruefully rubbing his cheek.
“I hate to ask the obvious, but what are you doing here?” he asked.
“Not what Dr Bonnetete instantly assumed, James. Please, have a seat”.
“A drink first, I’d think. What’ll you have?”
“Just straight whisky”.
Bond poured two, a larger measure for himself, then handed them over.
“I reported back to my boss yesterday. No, my real boss”. She sighed. “I’ve been sent by Interpol. I’m their inside agent, keeping an eye on the place. Being bilingual in French they thought I would be able to get a job there easily enough”.
“And before Interpol?”
“Scotland Yard. You’ll remember my boss there, Mr Vallance”.
“That’s all fine, but it doesn’t explain why you’re here, or why they thought there would be something worth keeping an eye on”.
“I don’t know myself, but I’ve been keeping my eyes open. Sometimes documents go missing for a day or two before re-appearing. Sometimes plans get changed for no real reason – yes, I know that happens with all government projects, but this feels different, somehow”.
“And your boss thought it would be better if we were to work together and pool our resources?”
“That’s right. Détente, understanding, co-operation”.
“Trust?” asked Bond, moving closer to her.
“Out of the question”, she said, her lips seeking his.
To Be Continued
Nice nods and winks 😄 and another great instalment 🍸
hmm, I sense this is based on actual fact - the supersonic race was notorious for secret swapping between East and West, as it were.
Any resemblance to actual facts is purely coincidental! Any resemblance to existing Bond stories is completely deliberate!
Thanks, Sir M, more nods and winks coming up shortly.
Another good chapter…roll on part 3 😀
Glad you liked it, next part will roll along soon.
Chapter Three
“A call from France, sir”, said Miss Moneypenny. “It’s your nephew, James”.
“Put him through”, said M. “Hello, James?”
“Good morning, sir. I’ve been making contact with the locals, as you said”.
“So I’ve been hearing”, M growled, “very close contact apparently”.
“Ah, you’ve had other reports, then?” asked Bond abashedly.
M ignored him. “Have you seen anything that might concern us?”
“Not yet, sir, but it’s early days. I’m thinking of taking a closer look at one or two matters that might be of interest”.
“All right, but keep it discreet”.
“Of course, sir”.
Gala and Bond had lain in bed, each sated and enjoying the contact of the other. A few kisses broke the silence. Finally she propped herself up on one elbow and looked into his grey-blue eyes.
“James”, she said, “as I told you I’ve been here for a few months and I haven’t seen anything out of order. Do you have any idea what you’re here looking for?”
“I can’t tell you, but I’ll know when I see it. I’d like to have a look around with no-one there, if you take my meaning, if that can be arranged”.
She smiled. “You’ll find that very easy tonight. There’s an event in the main meeting area, all department heads are expected to attend, to attract new sponsors. This whole enterprise is costing God knows how much money, and the governments are desperate to bring in outside investors. You and I will be expected to attend”.
“So the departments will be empty?” asked Bond.
“That’s right. And before you ask, I have the keys we’ll need”.
“We?”
“Of course. You’re not doing this yourself”.
He laughed, then kissed her waiting lips. Their eyes met, and he kissed her again, hard. Her body shifted on the bed, and he moved towards her.
The meeting area would have seemed quite large, but tonight it was full of elegantly dressed people crowded close together. Bond walked around, managing to avoid eating any of the amuse-bouche presented regularly by smiling waiting staff and only sipping at the awful wine he had been handed on entry.
“Another drink, sir?” said a handsome young waiter.
Bond declined, politely. His eye caught that of Dr Bonnetete who huffily turned away, and he sighed before catching sight of a familiar face. Their eyes met, they smiled, and Bond walked over.
“Good evening, Ambassador”, he said, “not the sort of event I would have expected to see you attend”.
Frederick Gray humphed. “All part of the job. It’s Bond, isn’t it? James Bond.”
“That’s right, sir, you might remember –“
“Oh I remember, all right. Sir Miles brought you to Blades one night for a game of bridge. I lost five thousand pounds to you two!”
It had been closer to four thousand, but even Bond knew that there are times not to correct one’s secular superiors.
“We must do it again sometime, Ambassador”, smiled Bond.
“Oh, call me Freddie when it's only the two of us. It’s not as if we don’t know each other. And once this ambassadorship is finished I’m intending, all things being equal, to be the next Minister of Defence – your boss’s boss, as you well know – so I expect we’ll be seeing a lot of each other”.
Bond kept his face straight. He had heard rumours. “However, you still haven’t told me why you’re here tonight, Freddie”.
“Oh, quite simple, really. See that fellow over there?” He indicated a short man with jet black hair. “That’s the French Minister of the Interior, same as our Home Secretary. Well, he and I will be on board Concorde tomorrow morning. Reporters and paparazzi, big publicity. It’s still billed as a test flight, but really it’s a fund raiser. Any of the right people here, by which I mean anyone who donates the right amount of money, can join us. See their faces in the papers”.
“I see, sir”.
The “sir” was automatic.
“Anyway, must do the rounds. Nice talking to you, James”.
Gala wandered over to him, elaborately casual in her approach.
“Time to chat to some of the staff, I think”, he said.
“Yes, we must make it as obvious as we can that we are actually attending this boring charade”.
Gala took him over to chat with some of the other department heads he had met the day before and some pleasant nothings were exchanged. He wandered over to Dr Dreyfuss, nursing a white wine in a corner.
“You’re not enjoying the evening, then, doctor?” Bond asked.
“A waste of time. I would be better working”, Dreyfuss grudgingly replied, barely glancing at him.
“I don’t enjoy these sorts of things either”, said Bond, “but sometimes they just have to be done”.
“I should be doing important work”.
“Tell me, I know this project is important, but why?” Bond asked innocently.
“Why? What do you mean, why?”
“Well, if I wanted to travel to the south of France I could take a plane – not as fast as your Concorde, naturally, but for most people that would simply mean getting to the airport earlier. Or I could drive, taking a ferry from Dover. Or indeed, take a hovercraft – yes, I think I’d like to do that sometime”.
Dreyfuss spluttered. “It is not all about speed! This is about science!”
Bond said, “Well, of course it is but –“
Dreyfuss stomped off angrily, muttering something about Bond being a Philistine. Gala was soon at Bond’s side.
“Well, you seem to have upset someone, James”, she said.
“It’s all tactics, you know. Now he will definitely remember me being here – just as I’m sure Houx will remember you. Time for us to depart?”
Gala nodded. “Separately. Meet me in the foyer in five minutes and we’ll start”.
To Be Continued
Oohhh, very good…looking forward to tomorrow’s episode 😁
Thanks, and I hope you enjoy tomorrow's! 😈
Very good 👏
😀
This next chapter is dedicated to Sir Miles, and his love of the book covers we regularly enjoy. Well, his love of some of them, anyway....
Chapter Four
Nothing of any interest was found in any of the offices. They opened drawers and desks, quickly leafing through the contents by the light of pencil torches. Eventually they found themselves in Dr Bonnetete’s laboratory where again nothing incriminating was in evidence. They were just about to leave when the sound of footsteps approaching the door forced them to crouch down and hide behind the first desk.
The door opened and closed quickly, allowing two people to step inside.
“I don’t know”, said a hesitant voice which Bond identified as that of the young waiter he had spoken briefly with earlier. “Are you sure it’s all right here?”
The voice of Houx Bonnetete was stronger and coaxing. “It’ll be fine”, she said, “just come here and hold me”.
Gala and Bond stared at each other with wide eyes as the sounds of impassioned kisses came to their ears, interspersed with clothes being unzipped, an occasional ripping sound as seams were stretched beyond what they had been meant to bear, and the moans and groans familiar to them from their own lovemaking not too long before.
Bond tried to stay as silent as possible, not daring to face Dr Bonnetete’s interrupted wrath for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, but something about the situation seemed to stimulate Gala. With a wicked look, she wriggled her way down his body knowing he either wouldn’t or couldn’t prevent her. She unfastened his trousers and moved her face close to his groin, pulling his clothing out of the way. He bit his lip as she took him in her mouth and began silently moving rhythmically. The sounds from Houx and her partner began to reach their climax as Bond felt his own approaching, desperately trying to keep silent. It seemed like an eternity until the other two had concluded their mutual aims, got dressed again, and left. Gala rested her head against his thigh until the sound of footsteps had disappeared before both of them began laughing out loud.
“Oh dear God!” said Gala, “if she had caught us this time it would have been more than a slap!”
“You’re right”, smiled Bond, “but come on, let’s go”.
“Only Dr Dreyfuss to go and we’re finished”.
As well as the workplaces, there was also a locked filing cabinet in that office. Bond knew about filing cabinets. He tilted it against the wall, reached underneath, and found the bottom end of the bar-lock which protrudes downwards when the top section has been locked. Upwards pressure released the drawers one by one and he softly lowered the edge of the cabinet back on to the floor.
“Where did you learn about that?” asked Gala admiringly.
“Oh, in a book from a long time ago”, he said casually. The top drawer contained a scale map of the site and its component buildings. He examined the map carefully, and pointed out to Gala two minute furrows in the paper which seemed to cross at a point somewhere down the runway.
“What do you think it is?” she asked.
“I don’t know, but I think we’d better –“
“James!” Gala yelled, a fraction too late. A blaze of pain shattered his head, and he felt himself go down … down …
To Be Continued
007! Really!
Loving this 🍸
😳😮🤪🤣
Fabulous 😊
(Any excuse to show pictures of the grandkids 💕)