The Harkness Supremacy - 1 of 12
Apr. 27th, 2007 01:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fangrrl_squeesTitle: The Harkness Supremacy - Chapter 1 of 12
Total Length: 11,100 words - which is why it's been broken down into 12 parts!
Overall Rating: 15 (some violence, a tiny bit of slash, quite a bit of strong language)
Chapter Rating: PG
Disclaimer: This is an homage. The characters are not mine.
Summary: What happens when a member of MI6, an assassin and a former time agent run into each other in Hong Kong? Quite a lot.
Written as a cheer-up fic for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
moviegrrl, so some of the blame must go to her. ;)
***
James Bond hated Hong Kong. A crowded city powered by a corrupt bureaucracy was often a spy’s delight, but Chinese manners, the filthy air and the even filthier conditions on the ground simply went too far. Eight years after the handover to the Chinese, he liked it even less. The usual support network of a British possession no longer existed and the overmanned, under-trained Chinese secret service irritated Bond far more than they threatened him as he went about his business.
Bond had been very irritated of late. This mission smelled of busywork - a way for M to get him out of her hair while the double-oh section languished in a fit of the winter doldrums. Two wealthy – if not well-known - businessmen, Allan McNeal and Robert Silver, had been killed in Hong Kong in the past week. Forensic evidence suggested that the murders had been committed by the same perpetrator.
Usually, MI6 would leave such things to the local authorities but the manner of the killings had M worrying that it could be part of something larger, possibly a generalized move against British interests in the special enclave. Bond thought that M had a bee in her bonnet and nothing better for him to do. But orders were orders and so, three days after the briefing, Bond found himself trudging through a torrential downpour and grudgingly conceding that perhaps he should learn more than three shreds of Cantonese. Yes, no and fuck off only got him so far.
The second man to die, Silver, owned a penthouse apartment in a high-rise development very popular with non-Chinese tenants and so Bond didn’t have to resort to any guile to gain entry. Stealth was a useful skill but sometimes all a man had to do was look like he knew where he was going. He didn’t even have to bother with picking the lock to Silver’s apartment, as the British Embassy had obligingly acquired a copy of the keys, probably via some means that Bond didn’t want to know about.
Given the endemic corruption of the Chinese police, Bond wasn’t extremely surprised to discover someone else inside the flat. The stranger – white, fit, middle thirties was all Bond bothered to register – stood in the middle of the living area, apparently caught in transit from one room to another. Bond pulled his gun from inside his coat and slammed the door shut behind him.
“Who the hell are you?” he snapped.
The stranger held up his hands, trying to ward off anything unpleasant and compounded Bond’s surprise by smiling as if meeting a long lost friend. “Hey, hey, take it easy. I’m Captain Jack Harkness, you must be James Bond and you don’t read your email, do you?”
The gun didn’t waver. “What the fuck are you talking about? Who’s Bond?”
Jack rolled his eyes. “You’re Bond. Geeze, you really missed the latest, didn’t you? Look, I don’t have the bona fides on me, but you can take my word for it that M sent me over to help you out, once she got the incident report on the late, unlamented Mr. Silver, here.”
That didn’t reassure Bond at all. The existence of M was an increasingly well-known fact. However, he did belatedly remember that she had made some mention of the possibility of some inter-agency cooperation. Bond had been too busy seething at the time to take in the details.
Jack noticed Bond’s lack of confidence. “I’m from Torchwood.” He added.
Bond looked incredulous. “It actually exists?”
“I suppose we’re something of a joke over your way,” Jack admitted. “But our remit’s every bit as important as yours.”
Bond relaxed a fraction. “Go on” Jack was right in that Bond never bothered to check his email. He considered the Internet a significant annoyance.
“Robert Silver. Born in England, 1951, moved to Hong Kong 1988. One of those go-getter entrepreneurs with his fingers in a lot of pies, Bobby here made most of his money via investing in the goods-and-services industry. Most recent acquisition was a chain of crematoriums here and in Kowloon. He died rather abruptly last week when a seven-point-six-five NATO round found it’s way into his skull from a distance of at least a half mile. Forensics suggested that a military-grade rifle was used and, last we checked, the Chinese don’t use NATO rounds. And, oh yeah, Mr. Silver was not from this planet. At least, that’s my hypothesis.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Hello? I’m from Torchwood. You think M asked me to come out here because she thought there was too much money in her budget this month?”
“I’m still not reassured that she did send you,” Bond snapped.
Jack sighed. “I told you, the bona fides are back at my hotel, including a beautifully written note from your boss. She’s got lovely penmanship, by the way. It’s a dying art.”
Bond frowned. This glib, handsome American had set off half a dozen alarm bells whilst simultaneously divulging an equal number of facts that suggested he was, indeed, who he claimed.
“Why did you come here to the flat?”
“Same reason as you – snooping. Can I put my hands down now?”
Bond decided that he was going to have to take a chance. The less time spent in this place, the better. He re-holstered his gun and gestured to Harkness that he could relax – for now.
“Thanks. Listen, I’ve already pulled everything I could off Silver’s computers, and I’m sure we’ve both got phone logs and the like. I suggest we get out of here.”
“No.” Bond wanted to look around for himself and proceeded to do so. “Does Torchwood really look for aliens?”
“Look for them, find them and work with them on a regular basis. Long story short, I think Silver’s one, here illegally. A lot of aliens look humanoid and there’s a lot of money to be made off this planet. Cut off a finger, add a nostril, whatever, and you’re all set.”
“So what makes you think he’s an alien?” Bond asked, not really caring about the answer as he rummaged through various cabinets.
“The way the Chinese have been acting. They’ve slammed the case shut, won’t release any remains to the Embassy, or even autopsy reports, despite having cremated Silver at one of his own places, last week.”
Bond paused in his search for a moment. “Interesting.” He conceded in a tone that clearly implied he didn’t believe a word Jack was saying and then returned to the task at hand. A shame he couldn’t pull up the carpets or cut up the furniture, but he didn’t want the local authorities to know about the visit.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for anything you missed.” Not only am I saddled with a lunatic but he’s a nosy lunatic. Great. But M had mentioned something about having to work with another person and even if Bond didn’t trust this Harkness person, he trusted her.
“Oh. Okay.” Jack leaned against a doorway and enjoyed the view of a well-built man moving furniture. Jack realized he certainly could have done worse. The file that Tosh had pulled up – naturally Jack didn’t trust M to make any more than a minimal disclosure – made it plain that the hard-faced blond was one of the best M’s outfit had to offer, which made Jack wonder if she wasn’t already aware of Silver’s non-Terran origins before she asked Torchwood for assistance. Otherwise, why send in such a heavy hitter? Not that Jack minded at all. Talented and very easy on the eyes? Jack’s cup ran over.
It’s a shame we’re meeting like this... Jack shoved the thought aside. This was no time for day dreaming. Bond had finished his search of the bedroom and shoved past Jack to examine the apartment’s sole bathroom.
“I looked already.” Jack insisted.
“You did? Great. Then you can tell me what this is for.” Bond tossed a bottle from under the sink towards Jack.
“It’s tile cleaner – uh…” Jack shook the spray bottle and heard something rattle inside – something that definitely wasn’t designed for whitening grout. “Or maybe not.”
“Maybe not. Now shut up, Captain, and let me finish this. Like you said, we can’t hang about.”
Abashed, Jack fell silent and – wanting to do something – took the spray bottle apart. The source of the rattle was revealed to be a thumb-sized piece of electronics that Jack recognized as a communication device that any Earth-based company would kill for.
“Radio,” Jack announced. “Definitely alien.” He looked at it more closely “Looks like Belkon, probably” He ignored Bond’s skeptical expression. “Short-range, too. Which means there’s more than one of them in town. That’s a shame,” Jack shook his head. “They’re usually way more respectful of the process than this.”
“Process?” Bond shook his head. “Never mind. Tell me later. Let’s go.”
On To Part 2
Total Length: 11,100 words - which is why it's been broken down into 12 parts!
Overall Rating: 15 (some violence, a tiny bit of slash, quite a bit of strong language)
Chapter Rating: PG
Disclaimer: This is an homage. The characters are not mine.
Summary: What happens when a member of MI6, an assassin and a former time agent run into each other in Hong Kong? Quite a lot.
Written as a cheer-up fic for
moviegrrl, so some of the blame must go to her. ;)***
James Bond hated Hong Kong. A crowded city powered by a corrupt bureaucracy was often a spy’s delight, but Chinese manners, the filthy air and the even filthier conditions on the ground simply went too far. Eight years after the handover to the Chinese, he liked it even less. The usual support network of a British possession no longer existed and the overmanned, under-trained Chinese secret service irritated Bond far more than they threatened him as he went about his business.
Bond had been very irritated of late. This mission smelled of busywork - a way for M to get him out of her hair while the double-oh section languished in a fit of the winter doldrums. Two wealthy – if not well-known - businessmen, Allan McNeal and Robert Silver, had been killed in Hong Kong in the past week. Forensic evidence suggested that the murders had been committed by the same perpetrator.
Usually, MI6 would leave such things to the local authorities but the manner of the killings had M worrying that it could be part of something larger, possibly a generalized move against British interests in the special enclave. Bond thought that M had a bee in her bonnet and nothing better for him to do. But orders were orders and so, three days after the briefing, Bond found himself trudging through a torrential downpour and grudgingly conceding that perhaps he should learn more than three shreds of Cantonese. Yes, no and fuck off only got him so far.
The second man to die, Silver, owned a penthouse apartment in a high-rise development very popular with non-Chinese tenants and so Bond didn’t have to resort to any guile to gain entry. Stealth was a useful skill but sometimes all a man had to do was look like he knew where he was going. He didn’t even have to bother with picking the lock to Silver’s apartment, as the British Embassy had obligingly acquired a copy of the keys, probably via some means that Bond didn’t want to know about.
Given the endemic corruption of the Chinese police, Bond wasn’t extremely surprised to discover someone else inside the flat. The stranger – white, fit, middle thirties was all Bond bothered to register – stood in the middle of the living area, apparently caught in transit from one room to another. Bond pulled his gun from inside his coat and slammed the door shut behind him.
“Who the hell are you?” he snapped.
The stranger held up his hands, trying to ward off anything unpleasant and compounded Bond’s surprise by smiling as if meeting a long lost friend. “Hey, hey, take it easy. I’m Captain Jack Harkness, you must be James Bond and you don’t read your email, do you?”
The gun didn’t waver. “What the fuck are you talking about? Who’s Bond?”
Jack rolled his eyes. “You’re Bond. Geeze, you really missed the latest, didn’t you? Look, I don’t have the bona fides on me, but you can take my word for it that M sent me over to help you out, once she got the incident report on the late, unlamented Mr. Silver, here.”
That didn’t reassure Bond at all. The existence of M was an increasingly well-known fact. However, he did belatedly remember that she had made some mention of the possibility of some inter-agency cooperation. Bond had been too busy seething at the time to take in the details.
Jack noticed Bond’s lack of confidence. “I’m from Torchwood.” He added.
Bond looked incredulous. “It actually exists?”
“I suppose we’re something of a joke over your way,” Jack admitted. “But our remit’s every bit as important as yours.”
Bond relaxed a fraction. “Go on” Jack was right in that Bond never bothered to check his email. He considered the Internet a significant annoyance.
“Robert Silver. Born in England, 1951, moved to Hong Kong 1988. One of those go-getter entrepreneurs with his fingers in a lot of pies, Bobby here made most of his money via investing in the goods-and-services industry. Most recent acquisition was a chain of crematoriums here and in Kowloon. He died rather abruptly last week when a seven-point-six-five NATO round found it’s way into his skull from a distance of at least a half mile. Forensics suggested that a military-grade rifle was used and, last we checked, the Chinese don’t use NATO rounds. And, oh yeah, Mr. Silver was not from this planet. At least, that’s my hypothesis.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Hello? I’m from Torchwood. You think M asked me to come out here because she thought there was too much money in her budget this month?”
“I’m still not reassured that she did send you,” Bond snapped.
Jack sighed. “I told you, the bona fides are back at my hotel, including a beautifully written note from your boss. She’s got lovely penmanship, by the way. It’s a dying art.”
Bond frowned. This glib, handsome American had set off half a dozen alarm bells whilst simultaneously divulging an equal number of facts that suggested he was, indeed, who he claimed.
“Why did you come here to the flat?”
“Same reason as you – snooping. Can I put my hands down now?”
Bond decided that he was going to have to take a chance. The less time spent in this place, the better. He re-holstered his gun and gestured to Harkness that he could relax – for now.
“Thanks. Listen, I’ve already pulled everything I could off Silver’s computers, and I’m sure we’ve both got phone logs and the like. I suggest we get out of here.”
“No.” Bond wanted to look around for himself and proceeded to do so. “Does Torchwood really look for aliens?”
“Look for them, find them and work with them on a regular basis. Long story short, I think Silver’s one, here illegally. A lot of aliens look humanoid and there’s a lot of money to be made off this planet. Cut off a finger, add a nostril, whatever, and you’re all set.”
“So what makes you think he’s an alien?” Bond asked, not really caring about the answer as he rummaged through various cabinets.
“The way the Chinese have been acting. They’ve slammed the case shut, won’t release any remains to the Embassy, or even autopsy reports, despite having cremated Silver at one of his own places, last week.”
Bond paused in his search for a moment. “Interesting.” He conceded in a tone that clearly implied he didn’t believe a word Jack was saying and then returned to the task at hand. A shame he couldn’t pull up the carpets or cut up the furniture, but he didn’t want the local authorities to know about the visit.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for anything you missed.” Not only am I saddled with a lunatic but he’s a nosy lunatic. Great. But M had mentioned something about having to work with another person and even if Bond didn’t trust this Harkness person, he trusted her.
“Oh. Okay.” Jack leaned against a doorway and enjoyed the view of a well-built man moving furniture. Jack realized he certainly could have done worse. The file that Tosh had pulled up – naturally Jack didn’t trust M to make any more than a minimal disclosure – made it plain that the hard-faced blond was one of the best M’s outfit had to offer, which made Jack wonder if she wasn’t already aware of Silver’s non-Terran origins before she asked Torchwood for assistance. Otherwise, why send in such a heavy hitter? Not that Jack minded at all. Talented and very easy on the eyes? Jack’s cup ran over.
It’s a shame we’re meeting like this... Jack shoved the thought aside. This was no time for day dreaming. Bond had finished his search of the bedroom and shoved past Jack to examine the apartment’s sole bathroom.
“I looked already.” Jack insisted.
“You did? Great. Then you can tell me what this is for.” Bond tossed a bottle from under the sink towards Jack.
“It’s tile cleaner – uh…” Jack shook the spray bottle and heard something rattle inside – something that definitely wasn’t designed for whitening grout. “Or maybe not.”
“Maybe not. Now shut up, Captain, and let me finish this. Like you said, we can’t hang about.”
Abashed, Jack fell silent and – wanting to do something – took the spray bottle apart. The source of the rattle was revealed to be a thumb-sized piece of electronics that Jack recognized as a communication device that any Earth-based company would kill for.
“Radio,” Jack announced. “Definitely alien.” He looked at it more closely “Looks like Belkon, probably” He ignored Bond’s skeptical expression. “Short-range, too. Which means there’s more than one of them in town. That’s a shame,” Jack shook his head. “They’re usually way more respectful of the process than this.”
“Process?” Bond shook his head. “Never mind. Tell me later. Let’s go.”
On To Part 2
no subject
Date: 2007-04-30 10:19 pm (UTC)made it plain?
no subject
Date: 2007-04-30 10:51 pm (UTC)