The Harkness Supremacy - 8 of 12
Apr. 27th, 2007 02:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Title: The Harkness Supremacy - Chapter 8 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, innuendo)
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 - 'I must have *really* pissed M off.'
Part 4 - 'One man's trash is another man's treasure'
Part 5 - It was only human to have a few drinks after hearing bad news...
Part 6 - Dr. Stuart Bell seemed to be pushing research along some very specific paths
Part 7 - It didn’t help that whoever designed the place apparently didn’t like sports, or America – or possibly both.
***
Later that evening, Jack watched a slightly-damp MI6 agent slam his way into Jack’s hotel room and, by some unknown talent, immediately home in on the unopened bottle of Macallan that had been left by a terrified staffer. Given the black temper that he seemed to be in, Jack thought it best to let James get whatever it was off his chest, first. Jack had arrived well enough in advance of Bond to change his shirt and think about how to explain what had happened. Clearly, right now was not the opportune moment.
In a concession to company, Bond poured his drink into a glass – a half tumbler full of scotch, topped off with half-melted ice from the adjacent bucket – but didn’t waste any time knocking it back.
“Little. Green. Men.” He winced at the alcohol. “You were right.”
Jack blinked in surprise. “I’m glad you believe me. What brought about this sudden conversion?”
“I found Keenan. We talked. Things were going pretty well until someone blew his brains out all over his living room. Green brains. Bloody awful.
Jack looked pained. That wasn’t the way he would have introduced Bond to the wonders of extra-terrestrial life. In fact, in the past couple of hours, Jack had quite a few ideas as to how he’d like to introduce Bond to the fact that the universe was much bigger than he knew, starting with a certain misplaced time-traveler but, unfortunately, business before pleasure.
“Bright neon green or more like an emerald green?” Jack asked, quite serious.
“Emerald.” Bond’s attention was taken up by finding a towel and roughly drying his hair. Jack resisted the urge to suggest that he change shirts. He doubted the suggestion would be well-received.
“Belkon, then.” Jack nodded. “That sounds right. They only have to lose a finger, get their skin dyed and wear concealing clothes to pass as human. There’s usually one or two hanging around Earth.”
“But these ones don’t have visas, I take it?”
“I know of two and they’re both in New York,” Jack nodded. “They’re usually merchants, so I guess these fellas are independent businessmen.” He took a deep breath. “I’m afraid things didn’t go much better at my end.”
“Oh?” Bond asked, voice icy.
“Does the name Jason Bourne mean anything to you?”
Bond choked on his drink, eyes wide. “What?”
“Jason Bourne. Heard of him?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. And I know I’m going to regret asking this but how did you hear of him?”
Jack tried for an airy tone. “The guy rolled me for my wallet, broke into my car, stole my computer. And, uh, left me for dead.” He concluded quickly, hoping Bond wouldn’t want much detail beyond that.
“Jason Bourne? Jason fucking Bourne?”
Jack couldn’t help saying it. “We didn’t get quite that far.”
Bond froze, clearly counting to ten inside his head and then said, very quietly. “What happened?”
Jack summarized the incident, being careful not to mention that Bourne had, indeed, done a very efficient job of killing Jack – there was no need to explain to Bond why a knife in the ribs didn’t slow him down all that much – even when it was poisoned – and instead emphasized his excellent skill for dissimulation.
“You seem remarkably well, given the circumstances.” Bond shifted slightly in his chair and Jack realized that the Brit was getting ready for action – unpleasant action.
“You don’t believe me.” Jack said. “I don’t blame you.”
“I’m so glad to have your approval.” Bond said icily, wondering if he should cut his losses and walk out.
“Don’t go.” Bond started back at that, not liking the coincidental timing of his thoughts and Jack’s words. Something was going on here, something he didn’t understand – and that made things that much worse.
Inwardly, Jack winced. This one’s more perceptive than most. “I told you. I’m with Torchwood. We have… resources.”
“That enable you to recover from a well-honed assault in record time?”
“Amongst other things, yes.”
Bond stared at Jack for almost a minute, clearly contemplating his options. Finally, he sagged, apparently giving in to circumstance and poured another drink. “No more than you deserve, chasing totty on a mission.” He grunted.
“I’m only human.” Jack quipped with one of his best smiles, which faded quickly as Bond’s visage remained unchanged. “In fact, I was playing bait. Not my favorite sport, I’ll admit.”
James shook his head. “Don’t try to put spin control on this, Jack.”
“I’m not. As soon as he claimed to be Bell, I knew he was lying – I’ve seen Bell’s passport photo. You thought someone followed us on the way back to the hotel. And you weren’t sure that you’d lost him. You didn’t.” Jack braced himself for some sort of angry denial but none came. Bond just looked irritated, which might have been worse.
“Bourne could have followed me to the campus from the hotel. Maybe he saw me coming out of Bell’s office – or he’s tied in with him other way. Maybe Bell’s next on his list. He’s certainly not squeamish.” Jack almost smiled at the memory, until he caught a glimpse of Bond’s expression. “Given your reaction to his name, I’m guessing that’s no surprise.”
“No, it’s not. Jesus.” Bond contemplated switching back to scotch but realized he was going to need all his wits about him. “And he took your computer? Fuck.”
Jack shifted uneasily. “What am I missing?”
“Nothing much,” Bond said, contempt dripping from his words. “Only that you’ve tangled with one of the most-wanted mercenaries on the planet. Bourne’s upstaged Carlos the Jackal, for Christ’s sake.” Bond noticed Jack’s blank expression and sighed. “Alright, there’s not a lot of information shared between our agencies. Fair enough.”
“Big bad killer? For big bucks?” Jack summarized, starting to think that he might like some of that scotch, himself.
“That’s oversimplifying it but yes.”
“So he’s a sniper?”
“He can be. He does whatever it takes and he’s good at it. And if you make a dirty joke of that, as God is my witness, I’ll shoot you.”
Jack couldn’t help a smile but he stopped short of laughter “Okay. So he could have whacked Keenan, right?”
Bond nodded as his mind raced. Even the possibility of Bourne being involved pushed matters to a new level. He’d never met the man, face-to-face, but they had had several peripheral entanglements in the past. Men like Bond and Bourne could barely stand being in the same time zone together – nor was it good for the immediate environment. Bond winced at the memory of the disaster that was Berlin. He’d laid that at Bourne’s feet, no mistake. But that was then and probably didn’t matter any more. Probably.
“When did this happen?”
Jack glanced at the clock. “I got back about twenty minutes ago.”
James nodded. “Timing’s right. He can probably get across the city faster than I can. Trying to chase him is like trying to catch an eel bare-handed – don’t say it!” James snapped as he noticed the gleam in Jack’s eye.
Jack watched Bond. The secret agent’s manner had changed, back to the reserved, hard-faced man he’d seen in Silver’s apartment. Very quietly, Jack hoped that he never really annoyed this individual. Just because he couldn’t die didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt and Bond probably knew far too much about how to make people regret bad decisions.
“Keenan said something,” James admitted, realizing that Jack should be told what little he learned. “About moving parts of people – him and Silver – in addition to trucking migrants.”
Jack looked surprised and then thoughtful. “I really hope they’re not up to that again.” He pondered.
“What’s that?”
Jack actually looked a little embarrassed. “Terrans are -” he tried to find the right words. “A commodity, out there.”
“Why do I think you don’t mean in the terms of a workforce.” James asked warily.
“No, I don’t. The fact is humans are kind of… tasty. And some races, they don’t feel squeamish about consuming sentient species.”
Bond’s reaction was surprisingly nonchalant. “Delightful.” He deadpanned. “Just when I thought it couldn’t get any stranger.” At this point, he was ready to believe Harkness.
“But I could be wrong.” Jack added quickly. “I hope I am.”
“I do too. In the meantime,” Bond poured himself another drink at looked out at the night sky. “What next?”
“Get my computer back. It really can’t stay in Bourne’s hands.”
“And how do you propose that we do that?”
“It’s got a GPS chip embedded in it.”
Bond froze with his glass halfway to his mouth. “It has what, now?”
“GPS chip. In my laptop. For occasions just like this.”
“And just when the bloody hell were you going to mention that?”
Jack realized he’d almost blown it again. “Uh. Right now?”
Bond put his glass down with unnecessary firmness and wondered how much trouble he’d be in if he hogtied the American and left him in the closet for the duration. Quite a bit, he realized. M insisted on his involvement. Fine. Plan B.
“How are we going to track this chip, then?”
Jack smiled, relieved at having just missed what was probably a sound drubbing. “By phone. Thank god I left it in the hotel to recharge.”
“All right. I’ll drive, you navigate.”
It was a start. Although Bond wasn’t sure what he’d do if they caught up with Jason Bourne. The fact was, Bond half-hoped that Bourne had tossed Jack’s computer as soon as he’d acquired it but he doubted that would be the case…
On To Part 9
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, innuendo)
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 - 'I must have *really* pissed M off.'
Part 4 - 'One man's trash is another man's treasure'
Part 5 - It was only human to have a few drinks after hearing bad news...
Part 6 - Dr. Stuart Bell seemed to be pushing research along some very specific paths
Part 7 - It didn’t help that whoever designed the place apparently didn’t like sports, or America – or possibly both.
***
Later that evening, Jack watched a slightly-damp MI6 agent slam his way into Jack’s hotel room and, by some unknown talent, immediately home in on the unopened bottle of Macallan that had been left by a terrified staffer. Given the black temper that he seemed to be in, Jack thought it best to let James get whatever it was off his chest, first. Jack had arrived well enough in advance of Bond to change his shirt and think about how to explain what had happened. Clearly, right now was not the opportune moment.
In a concession to company, Bond poured his drink into a glass – a half tumbler full of scotch, topped off with half-melted ice from the adjacent bucket – but didn’t waste any time knocking it back.
“Little. Green. Men.” He winced at the alcohol. “You were right.”
Jack blinked in surprise. “I’m glad you believe me. What brought about this sudden conversion?”
“I found Keenan. We talked. Things were going pretty well until someone blew his brains out all over his living room. Green brains. Bloody awful.
Jack looked pained. That wasn’t the way he would have introduced Bond to the wonders of extra-terrestrial life. In fact, in the past couple of hours, Jack had quite a few ideas as to how he’d like to introduce Bond to the fact that the universe was much bigger than he knew, starting with a certain misplaced time-traveler but, unfortunately, business before pleasure.
“Bright neon green or more like an emerald green?” Jack asked, quite serious.
“Emerald.” Bond’s attention was taken up by finding a towel and roughly drying his hair. Jack resisted the urge to suggest that he change shirts. He doubted the suggestion would be well-received.
“Belkon, then.” Jack nodded. “That sounds right. They only have to lose a finger, get their skin dyed and wear concealing clothes to pass as human. There’s usually one or two hanging around Earth.”
“But these ones don’t have visas, I take it?”
“I know of two and they’re both in New York,” Jack nodded. “They’re usually merchants, so I guess these fellas are independent businessmen.” He took a deep breath. “I’m afraid things didn’t go much better at my end.”
“Oh?” Bond asked, voice icy.
“Does the name Jason Bourne mean anything to you?”
Bond choked on his drink, eyes wide. “What?”
“Jason Bourne. Heard of him?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. And I know I’m going to regret asking this but how did you hear of him?”
Jack tried for an airy tone. “The guy rolled me for my wallet, broke into my car, stole my computer. And, uh, left me for dead.” He concluded quickly, hoping Bond wouldn’t want much detail beyond that.
“Jason Bourne? Jason fucking Bourne?”
Jack couldn’t help saying it. “We didn’t get quite that far.”
Bond froze, clearly counting to ten inside his head and then said, very quietly. “What happened?”
Jack summarized the incident, being careful not to mention that Bourne had, indeed, done a very efficient job of killing Jack – there was no need to explain to Bond why a knife in the ribs didn’t slow him down all that much – even when it was poisoned – and instead emphasized his excellent skill for dissimulation.
“You seem remarkably well, given the circumstances.” Bond shifted slightly in his chair and Jack realized that the Brit was getting ready for action – unpleasant action.
“You don’t believe me.” Jack said. “I don’t blame you.”
“I’m so glad to have your approval.” Bond said icily, wondering if he should cut his losses and walk out.
“Don’t go.” Bond started back at that, not liking the coincidental timing of his thoughts and Jack’s words. Something was going on here, something he didn’t understand – and that made things that much worse.
Inwardly, Jack winced. This one’s more perceptive than most. “I told you. I’m with Torchwood. We have… resources.”
“That enable you to recover from a well-honed assault in record time?”
“Amongst other things, yes.”
Bond stared at Jack for almost a minute, clearly contemplating his options. Finally, he sagged, apparently giving in to circumstance and poured another drink. “No more than you deserve, chasing totty on a mission.” He grunted.
“I’m only human.” Jack quipped with one of his best smiles, which faded quickly as Bond’s visage remained unchanged. “In fact, I was playing bait. Not my favorite sport, I’ll admit.”
James shook his head. “Don’t try to put spin control on this, Jack.”
“I’m not. As soon as he claimed to be Bell, I knew he was lying – I’ve seen Bell’s passport photo. You thought someone followed us on the way back to the hotel. And you weren’t sure that you’d lost him. You didn’t.” Jack braced himself for some sort of angry denial but none came. Bond just looked irritated, which might have been worse.
“Bourne could have followed me to the campus from the hotel. Maybe he saw me coming out of Bell’s office – or he’s tied in with him other way. Maybe Bell’s next on his list. He’s certainly not squeamish.” Jack almost smiled at the memory, until he caught a glimpse of Bond’s expression. “Given your reaction to his name, I’m guessing that’s no surprise.”
“No, it’s not. Jesus.” Bond contemplated switching back to scotch but realized he was going to need all his wits about him. “And he took your computer? Fuck.”
Jack shifted uneasily. “What am I missing?”
“Nothing much,” Bond said, contempt dripping from his words. “Only that you’ve tangled with one of the most-wanted mercenaries on the planet. Bourne’s upstaged Carlos the Jackal, for Christ’s sake.” Bond noticed Jack’s blank expression and sighed. “Alright, there’s not a lot of information shared between our agencies. Fair enough.”
“Big bad killer? For big bucks?” Jack summarized, starting to think that he might like some of that scotch, himself.
“That’s oversimplifying it but yes.”
“So he’s a sniper?”
“He can be. He does whatever it takes and he’s good at it. And if you make a dirty joke of that, as God is my witness, I’ll shoot you.”
Jack couldn’t help a smile but he stopped short of laughter “Okay. So he could have whacked Keenan, right?”
Bond nodded as his mind raced. Even the possibility of Bourne being involved pushed matters to a new level. He’d never met the man, face-to-face, but they had had several peripheral entanglements in the past. Men like Bond and Bourne could barely stand being in the same time zone together – nor was it good for the immediate environment. Bond winced at the memory of the disaster that was Berlin. He’d laid that at Bourne’s feet, no mistake. But that was then and probably didn’t matter any more. Probably.
“When did this happen?”
Jack glanced at the clock. “I got back about twenty minutes ago.”
James nodded. “Timing’s right. He can probably get across the city faster than I can. Trying to chase him is like trying to catch an eel bare-handed – don’t say it!” James snapped as he noticed the gleam in Jack’s eye.
Jack watched Bond. The secret agent’s manner had changed, back to the reserved, hard-faced man he’d seen in Silver’s apartment. Very quietly, Jack hoped that he never really annoyed this individual. Just because he couldn’t die didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt and Bond probably knew far too much about how to make people regret bad decisions.
“Keenan said something,” James admitted, realizing that Jack should be told what little he learned. “About moving parts of people – him and Silver – in addition to trucking migrants.”
Jack looked surprised and then thoughtful. “I really hope they’re not up to that again.” He pondered.
“What’s that?”
Jack actually looked a little embarrassed. “Terrans are -” he tried to find the right words. “A commodity, out there.”
“Why do I think you don’t mean in the terms of a workforce.” James asked warily.
“No, I don’t. The fact is humans are kind of… tasty. And some races, they don’t feel squeamish about consuming sentient species.”
Bond’s reaction was surprisingly nonchalant. “Delightful.” He deadpanned. “Just when I thought it couldn’t get any stranger.” At this point, he was ready to believe Harkness.
“But I could be wrong.” Jack added quickly. “I hope I am.”
“I do too. In the meantime,” Bond poured himself another drink at looked out at the night sky. “What next?”
“Get my computer back. It really can’t stay in Bourne’s hands.”
“And how do you propose that we do that?”
“It’s got a GPS chip embedded in it.”
Bond froze with his glass halfway to his mouth. “It has what, now?”
“GPS chip. In my laptop. For occasions just like this.”
“And just when the bloody hell were you going to mention that?”
Jack realized he’d almost blown it again. “Uh. Right now?”
Bond put his glass down with unnecessary firmness and wondered how much trouble he’d be in if he hogtied the American and left him in the closet for the duration. Quite a bit, he realized. M insisted on his involvement. Fine. Plan B.
“How are we going to track this chip, then?”
Jack smiled, relieved at having just missed what was probably a sound drubbing. “By phone. Thank god I left it in the hotel to recharge.”
“All right. I’ll drive, you navigate.”
It was a start. Although Bond wasn’t sure what he’d do if they caught up with Jason Bourne. The fact was, Bond half-hoped that Bourne had tossed Jack’s computer as soon as he’d acquired it but he doubted that would be the case…
On To Part 9