The Harkness Supremacy - 3 of 12
Apr. 27th, 2007 01:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fangrrl_squeesTitle: The Harkness Supremacy - Chapter 3 of 12
Overall Rating: 15 (some violence, a tiny bit of slash, strong language)
Total Length: 11,100 words - which is why it's been broken down into 12 parts!
Chapter Rating: PG-13 (language)
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.
Part 1 - James Bond hated Hong Kong...
Part 2 - 'You're not about to win any awards for safe driving.'
Part 3 - ***
Twenty minutes later, Bond dropped a manila folder to the floor and declared, “I need a drink.”
Thinking ahead, Jack had already cracked open some startlingly expensive scotch from the room’s minibar and slid it along the table in Bond’s direction. He regarded the small bottle with contempt before grudgingly pouring it into a glass and swallowing it in a single gulp. A second bottle followed the first.
Involuntarily, Bond glanced at the documents falling out from the folder he’d just discarded. As promised, Jack’s bona fides seemed to be in order and Bond wasn’t in a position to argue any further. M’s orders were clear and unequivocal: cooperate or face the consequences.
“Jesus Christ. I must have really pissed M off.”
“Come again?” Jack asked, his attention divided between checking email on his laptop computer and the quietly seething secret agent. Smolderingly hot when angry. Check.
“She’s sent me to the other side of the fucking planet on a mission that, strictly, belongs to the local authorities and now I’ve got to babysit someone who deals with little green men, too?” Bond muttered something about disciplinary measures and looked in the minibar for something else to drink.
“You’re a cynic.” Jack wasn’t surprised – nor was he condemnatory, which was a change in James’ experience.
“A cynic is what an idealist calls a realist.” Bond announced, abandoning the minibar in disgust and reaching for the phone. “I’ve heard that Torchwood’s a place to send agents that have cracked up but aren’t well-suited for retirement. Let them chase geese and build castles in the air, out of everyone’s way. Room service?” Bond spoke into the phone. “I want a bottle of Macallan and a bucket of ice. Fifty dollars for you if you get it here in less than ten minutes. More than twenty and I’ll break the bellhop’s arms.” He dropped the phone back into the cradle.
“Temper.” Jack chided. “Okay, so clearly you’ve heard the cover story. Of course we’re going to make a point of looking like a joke to the other agencies. It’s not like you guys would take us seriously, anyway. But if you don’t trust me, trust your boss.” Jack pointed at the folder.
And there, Harkness had him. Bond might not trust Captain Harkness or even particularly like him at this point – fast-talking and good-looking was always a dangerous combination and James preferred being the only dangerous man in the room at any given moment – but Bond did trust his boss. Implicitly.
“Alright. Fine.” Bond conceded without grace. “So Silver’s an alien?” he choked a little on the last word.
“I’m pretty certain. This thing,” Jack held up the transmitter. “Certainly suggests it. A human would have sold it to some jerk like Van Statten the minute they got their hands on it.” Bond wondered who this Van Statten was but decided he’d probably be happier not knowing. “If only I could get my hands on the autopsy report but the Chinese have slammed the door on that real hard. Suspiciously hard, in fact.”
Bond nodded. “They did the same for the other guy, too. McNeal.” Even greasing the wheels at headquarters with fistfuls of yuan hadn’t done any good and that was extremely unusual, in Bond’s experience.
Jack looked thoughtful. “Those two hung out, didn’t they? The phone logs said as much.” Bond nodded. “Maybe he answered Silver’s calls.” Jack mused. “He had to be talking to someone with this thing.”
“Put a trace on the radio signal?”
“Can’t do it here. I don’t have the equipment for it. Besides, what’s the point if it’s McNeal and he’s dead already? However – oh, yes!”
“Good news from home?” Bond asked, only slightly sarcastic.
“Extremely. Tosh’s been crunching information on her end and, look at that, McNeal and two more of Silver’s frequent callers weaseled their way into town without submitting to the mandated physical exam.”
“Little green men don’t want to give blood samples.”
“Exactly.”
Bond frowned. “Who’s Tosh?”
“The most wonderful girl on the planet – and I should know. I hired her a few months ago as a general tech advisor and she’s worth her weight in gold.” Harkness darted a sidelong look at his companion. “No, you guys can’t have her. For a start, you can’t afford her. I’ve got a huge… budget.”
“Is conversation with you always like this?”
“Yep.” Jack nodded, unabashed. “Refreshing, isn’t it?”
“It’s something, all right.” Bond held his tongue. Jack could be useful, even if only in a human-shield sort of way. Although if this information of his panned out… “You said McNeal and two others. Who’s that?”
“A guy called Wallace Keenan - another one of those overreaching entrepreneur types – and one Stuart Bell. He’s a teacher.” Jack frowned at that. It didn’t seem to fit.
Bond thought for a moment. The first name sounded familiar. “Keenan? Keenan Holdings?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Know him?”
“I know of him. He’s a person of interest back home. The Met thinks he’s smuggling stuff through his company – mostly people. Shoving peasants into fifty-five gallon drums on container ships, that sort of thing. And not particularly caring if half of them turn up dead in Dover.”
“Nice guy.”
Bond shrugged. “He’s in it for the money. But that could be useful.”
“Yeah?” Jack realized he needed to pay attention to what the Brit said. Besides, he was much nicer to look at than his computer.
“Greedy bastards with little regard for human life are surprisingly accessible, usually because they want to keep making money. I’ll chase this Keenan person down and have a word with him. Can your wonderful tech person dig up his details?”
“She already has. He’s hunkered down at the Savoy Tower. But, uh, don’t you mean we should talk to this guy? Safety in numbers?”
Bond shook his head. “No. You’ll slow me down. And besides, if Keenan’s scum, he’s going to feel ganged up on if the meeting’s more than one-on-one.”
“You’re trying to cut me out.” Jack accused, irritated.
Bond didn’t mince words. “I’m not trying to, I have. I’m not kidding. You’ll slow me down and if that happens, either the other side’ll kill you, or I will.”
Jack decided not to mention how unlikely that possibility was and, instead, made the best of a bad situation. “Fine.” He snapped. “I’ll check out the other guy, Bell – figure out what ties him in with the others.”
“Good idea.” Bond agreed that it was a viable course of action and it carried the bonus of keeping Harkness out of his way in the meantime.
“Shall I break the bellhop’s arms for you, too?” Jack asked, still irritated but also cautious of anyone who routinely went armed like a one-man commando squad.
“Only if he’s more than twenty minutes late.” A half-smile softened Bond’s dour expression for a moment. “I’ll see you back here in a couple of hours.”
On To Part 4
Overall Rating: 15 (some violence, a tiny bit of slash, strong language)
Total Length: 11,100 words - which is why it's been broken down into 12 parts!
Chapter Rating: PG-13 (language)
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.
Part 1 - James Bond hated Hong Kong...
Part 2 - 'You're not about to win any awards for safe driving.'
Part 3 - ***
Twenty minutes later, Bond dropped a manila folder to the floor and declared, “I need a drink.”
Thinking ahead, Jack had already cracked open some startlingly expensive scotch from the room’s minibar and slid it along the table in Bond’s direction. He regarded the small bottle with contempt before grudgingly pouring it into a glass and swallowing it in a single gulp. A second bottle followed the first.
Involuntarily, Bond glanced at the documents falling out from the folder he’d just discarded. As promised, Jack’s bona fides seemed to be in order and Bond wasn’t in a position to argue any further. M’s orders were clear and unequivocal: cooperate or face the consequences.
“Jesus Christ. I must have really pissed M off.”
“Come again?” Jack asked, his attention divided between checking email on his laptop computer and the quietly seething secret agent. Smolderingly hot when angry. Check.
“She’s sent me to the other side of the fucking planet on a mission that, strictly, belongs to the local authorities and now I’ve got to babysit someone who deals with little green men, too?” Bond muttered something about disciplinary measures and looked in the minibar for something else to drink.
“You’re a cynic.” Jack wasn’t surprised – nor was he condemnatory, which was a change in James’ experience.
“A cynic is what an idealist calls a realist.” Bond announced, abandoning the minibar in disgust and reaching for the phone. “I’ve heard that Torchwood’s a place to send agents that have cracked up but aren’t well-suited for retirement. Let them chase geese and build castles in the air, out of everyone’s way. Room service?” Bond spoke into the phone. “I want a bottle of Macallan and a bucket of ice. Fifty dollars for you if you get it here in less than ten minutes. More than twenty and I’ll break the bellhop’s arms.” He dropped the phone back into the cradle.
“Temper.” Jack chided. “Okay, so clearly you’ve heard the cover story. Of course we’re going to make a point of looking like a joke to the other agencies. It’s not like you guys would take us seriously, anyway. But if you don’t trust me, trust your boss.” Jack pointed at the folder.
And there, Harkness had him. Bond might not trust Captain Harkness or even particularly like him at this point – fast-talking and good-looking was always a dangerous combination and James preferred being the only dangerous man in the room at any given moment – but Bond did trust his boss. Implicitly.
“Alright. Fine.” Bond conceded without grace. “So Silver’s an alien?” he choked a little on the last word.
“I’m pretty certain. This thing,” Jack held up the transmitter. “Certainly suggests it. A human would have sold it to some jerk like Van Statten the minute they got their hands on it.” Bond wondered who this Van Statten was but decided he’d probably be happier not knowing. “If only I could get my hands on the autopsy report but the Chinese have slammed the door on that real hard. Suspiciously hard, in fact.”
Bond nodded. “They did the same for the other guy, too. McNeal.” Even greasing the wheels at headquarters with fistfuls of yuan hadn’t done any good and that was extremely unusual, in Bond’s experience.
Jack looked thoughtful. “Those two hung out, didn’t they? The phone logs said as much.” Bond nodded. “Maybe he answered Silver’s calls.” Jack mused. “He had to be talking to someone with this thing.”
“Put a trace on the radio signal?”
“Can’t do it here. I don’t have the equipment for it. Besides, what’s the point if it’s McNeal and he’s dead already? However – oh, yes!”
“Good news from home?” Bond asked, only slightly sarcastic.
“Extremely. Tosh’s been crunching information on her end and, look at that, McNeal and two more of Silver’s frequent callers weaseled their way into town without submitting to the mandated physical exam.”
“Little green men don’t want to give blood samples.”
“Exactly.”
Bond frowned. “Who’s Tosh?”
“The most wonderful girl on the planet – and I should know. I hired her a few months ago as a general tech advisor and she’s worth her weight in gold.” Harkness darted a sidelong look at his companion. “No, you guys can’t have her. For a start, you can’t afford her. I’ve got a huge… budget.”
“Is conversation with you always like this?”
“Yep.” Jack nodded, unabashed. “Refreshing, isn’t it?”
“It’s something, all right.” Bond held his tongue. Jack could be useful, even if only in a human-shield sort of way. Although if this information of his panned out… “You said McNeal and two others. Who’s that?”
“A guy called Wallace Keenan - another one of those overreaching entrepreneur types – and one Stuart Bell. He’s a teacher.” Jack frowned at that. It didn’t seem to fit.
Bond thought for a moment. The first name sounded familiar. “Keenan? Keenan Holdings?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Know him?”
“I know of him. He’s a person of interest back home. The Met thinks he’s smuggling stuff through his company – mostly people. Shoving peasants into fifty-five gallon drums on container ships, that sort of thing. And not particularly caring if half of them turn up dead in Dover.”
“Nice guy.”
Bond shrugged. “He’s in it for the money. But that could be useful.”
“Yeah?” Jack realized he needed to pay attention to what the Brit said. Besides, he was much nicer to look at than his computer.
“Greedy bastards with little regard for human life are surprisingly accessible, usually because they want to keep making money. I’ll chase this Keenan person down and have a word with him. Can your wonderful tech person dig up his details?”
“She already has. He’s hunkered down at the Savoy Tower. But, uh, don’t you mean we should talk to this guy? Safety in numbers?”
Bond shook his head. “No. You’ll slow me down. And besides, if Keenan’s scum, he’s going to feel ganged up on if the meeting’s more than one-on-one.”
“You’re trying to cut me out.” Jack accused, irritated.
Bond didn’t mince words. “I’m not trying to, I have. I’m not kidding. You’ll slow me down and if that happens, either the other side’ll kill you, or I will.”
Jack decided not to mention how unlikely that possibility was and, instead, made the best of a bad situation. “Fine.” He snapped. “I’ll check out the other guy, Bell – figure out what ties him in with the others.”
“Good idea.” Bond agreed that it was a viable course of action and it carried the bonus of keeping Harkness out of his way in the meantime.
“Shall I break the bellhop’s arms for you, too?” Jack asked, still irritated but also cautious of anyone who routinely went armed like a one-man commando squad.
“Only if he’s more than twenty minutes late.” A half-smile softened Bond’s dour expression for a moment. “I’ll see you back here in a couple of hours.”
On To Part 4
