‘Have this checked. See what you can get off it,’ he said.
‘Yes, sir’
The money would be thoroughly checked for fingerprints and clues to its origins before it was handed over to Sir Robert. As there was a lot of it, the process could take some time.
Bond took the lift to his floor, nodded at his temporary personal assistant, and entered his private office. He quickly perused his post and messages, then made his way back to the lift. Upstairs, he found Miss Moneypenny standing at one of the large filing cabinets in her outer office. Bond walked in with a smile, his arm hiding something behind his back.
She brightened at the sight of him. ‘James. Brought me a souvenir from your trip? Chocolates? An engagement ring?’
Bond revealed his hand, producing the cigar he had taken from the bank office in Bilbao. It was now inside a rather large, phallic tube. He stood it up on her desk.
‘Thought you might enjoy one of these,' he said.
‘How romantic,’ she said, shoving the filing drawer closed. ‘I know exactly where to put it’
With a flourish, she tossed the cigar into the dustbin. Bond sighed. ‘Ah, Moneypenny. That’s the story of our relationship. Close, but no cigar.’
She scowled at him as M’s voice boomed through the intercom box on the desk.
‘I hate to tear you away from affairs of state, Double-0 Seven. Would you mind coming in?’
Bond cleared his throat and replied, ‘Right away, ma'am.’ As he walked toward the padded door, Moneypenny whispered, ‘Sure you don’t want to give her the cigar, James?’ He shot her a look as he opened the door and entered the inner sanctum.
Bond was surprised to find that M was not alone. A distinguished-looking gentleman was with her, and Bond recognised him immediately.
M sat behind the desk, laughing at something he had just said. Two glasses and an open bottle of malt whisky were between them. She regained her composure and gestured to them both. ‘James Bond, Sir Robert King’
King moved to shake hands with an easy, patrician smile. He was handsome, immaculately groomed, and appeared to be in his sixties.
‘Ah!’ he said. ‘The man who retrieved my money. Excellent job. Can’t thank you enough.’
The man’s grip was warm and dry. Bond couldn’t help but notice the shiny lapel pin King was wearing. It looked like the glass eye of a snake and was possibly very valuable.
King turned to M and teased, ‘Be careful, my dear. I might try to steal him from you.’
Bond was put off by the man’s presumptuousness. ‘Construction’s not exactly my specialty,’ he said with little humour.
‘Quite the opposite, in fact,’ M couldn’t resist quipping. King smiled at Bond. ‘Oh, it’s the oil business that makes our world go round now, Mister Bond.’ He then turned
and moved behind the desk in order to kiss M on the cheek.
‘Give my best to your family,’ he said.
‘We’ll speak soon,’ M said.
He then bowed slightly to them both and left the room.
‘Old friend, you say?’ Bond asked.
‘We read law at Oxford together,’ she explained as she stood and gathered the empty glasses and bottle of whisky. ‘Always knew he’d conquer the world.’ Before putting the glasses away, she had second thoughts. ‘Care for a drink?’
‘Thank you’
She took a clean glass from a shelf behind the desk and poured whisky into it, handed it to Bond, then refilled her own glass.
‘He’s a man of great integrity,’ M said, raising her glass to Bond.
‘Who buys stolen reports for three million pounds.’
She frowned. ‘Contrary to what you may believe, Double-
0 Seven, the world is not populated by madmen who can hollow out volcanoes, fill them with big-breasted women, and threaten the world with nuclear annihilation’
Bond grinned at the irony of her remark as he stepped over to the ice bucket. He picked up two cubes and plopped them into his tumbler.
‘It only takes one,'he said.
M ignored the quip and walked around her desk and assumed a relaxed position on the edge of it. ‘Any leads on the sniper?’
‘No. The hotel room was clean. Professional job.’
M pondered this as she took a sip from her drink.
Bond noticed a report on the desk that was stamped with a strange seal. He took a closer look and saw that it was from the Russian Atomic Energy agency.
‘Is that the stolen report?’ he asked.
M nodded and handed it to him. Bond set down his tumbler and began to thumb dirough the document.
‘Yes. Classified, from the Russian Atomic Energy Department. All it does is assess the computer bug threat on the nuclear arsenal in the former Soviet Republics’
Neither of them noticed that the ice in Bond’s tumbler was beginning to fizz.
‘What would King want this for?’ he asked.
‘As I told you before, it wasn’t what he thought it was. He was led to believe the document was a secret report that identified the terrorists who’ve attacked a new oil pipeline he’s building in the region. Kazakhstan . . . Azerbaijan . . . that part of the world. He's had quite a bit of trouble with bands of local tribesmen who get hold of explosives and vandalise his operations. He thought the report would pinpoint who the real culprits are and he could go to the proper authorities with it. But when he discovered the report concerned nuclear weapons, he turned it over to me, immediately. It turns out the thing’s worthless. It’s nothing new to us.’
The ice continued to fizz, unnoticed.
‘Interesting,’ Bond said. ‘So Sir Robert gave this worthless report to MI6, and then we received a call about the money?’ ‘That’s right,’ M said, a bit perturbed that Bond was going back over details. ‘We received a message that Sir Robert could have his money back. All we had to do was send someone to Spain to pick it up from a Swiss banker. We sent you.’
‘It’s all a bit of a mystery, isn't it? Everyone in that bank office died, except the girl. And me’
‘Remember, you’re the one who drew a weapon first. You might have come out of there with the money and without an incident. I’ve already lost one Double-0 this month, I don’t need to lose another.’
Bond ignored the reprimand. ‘But why give back the money in the first place? It doesn’t explain why someone wanted me to get out of that office in Bilbao alive . . . with the cash . . .’ He paused for a moment, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. It was then that he felt the strange bubbling where he had touched the ice. His eyes darted to the tumbler. The ice was boiling!
What the hell? he thought. He sniffed his fingers, identified the smell, then dropped the report on the desk. ‘King! The money! M, it’s a bomb!’
Bond was halfway out of the door when M stabbed at the intercom. ‘Moneypenny! Stop King!’
Sir Robert and an MI6 aide were unaware of the sudden alarm as they walked toward the security area of the building. King’s only thoughts were on the money, which was still lying on the tray, wrapped in plastic. Security bars were between him and the cash. An official produced a bag and moved toward it, saying, ‘We haven’t finished checking it yet, sir.’