Chapter Text
Willoughby Holmes has always been obsessive. That's not completely true; it would be more true to say that when something catches him, hooks something deep inside of himself, he gets obsessive. Forever. Once caught, he never lets go.
Computers, for instance. He discovered the wonder of computing when he was three and his fingers have never been far from a keyboard in twenty years. He'd had a dog he'd loved. A mutt Sherlock had brought home to experiment on that Willoughby rescued by means of a fierce fight with chopsticks. He still has a scar on his face, just below his left ear, but he wears it proudly because it got him Terry, whom he loved obsessively every day until the dog died.
By the way, only the fact that the vet swore the dog died of cancer kept Willoughby from running Sherlock through with the very same set of chopsticks, the idea his brother had done something to the dog very easy to believe.
He has one friend, a girl named Isabel, whom he has obsessively hung on to even though they met when he was four and she was five, and she moved away when she was seven. He refused to let her go, though, and today they are still friends. She currently lives in Cardiff and is engaged to be married to some boring and essentially kind bloke--and Willoughby would know, as he researched him exhaustively. He has the invitation to the wedding at home on his kitchen table and has every intention of going.
So his list includes computers, his dog, now dead, his friend Isabel, and now James Bond. Willoughby is obsessed with him and will always be obsessed with him, even though James Bond doesn't even know he's alive. After all, Willoughby holds a minor position at MI6, a lowly technician, someone Bond would rarely, if ever, even speak to. But Willoughby knows him.
He reads all of Bond's mission reports, even listens in on most of them as they're actually happening. He's watched him on security tape when he's been recovering in Medical for the brief amount of time they manage to keep him there. He knows where Bond lives, really lives, knows who Bond's tailor is, and where he buys his alcohol. Some might call him a stalker. Willoughby just likes to be thorough.
*****
Mycroft stared at the satellite feeds, at the small village of Istapanul which was, apparently, no more. It had been there earlier today, but now it was a large sink hole. Simply gone. Vanished into the earth from which it had come. He reached for his phone.
"Hello, Mycroft," Willoughby said.
"Did you destroy a village today?"
"I may or may not have. Why?"
"You cannot just destroy villages on a whim," Mycroft said pointedly.
"Please. It was on your target list so it was just a matter of time until you destroyed it. You're just angry because I may or may not have got there first."
Mycroft let out a long sigh. His brothers. Why? "Hypothetically," Mycroft said, "if someone like you chose to destroy a village like this one used to be, what might be the reason?"
"Hypothetically," Willoughby said with a touch of heat, "it might be because they tortured James Bond."
"007 is an agent who understands that he might be tortured if he is caught whilst carrying out his duties."
"They were exceptionally unkind to him. It vexed me." There was a pause. "Hypothetically."
"Just out of curiosity," Mycroft asked, "if the village had not been on my list?"
"I would have put it on your list, of course."
Of course, Mycroft thought. "Remember, dear brother, all it would take is one word from me to Mallory, and they would know your identity. Why you persist in staying in that ridiculous position when you should be running the tech branch is beyond me. You and Sherlock insist on living absurdly beneath your actual potential."
"Sherlock's happy now that he has John with him."
"And do you believe that you will one day be living the dream with James Bond?" Mycroft asked sarcastically. There was a long pause and Mycroft sighed. "He won't appreciate it, what you've done. In fact, he'd be honor bound to hunt you down and turn you in."
"You didn't see the shape he was in," Willoughby protested. "He's been in Medical for two days. Two days! He's never there for more than a few hours."
"I will not always be able to protect you," Mycroft said finally.
"I'm not asking you to protect me," Willoughby said indignantly. "I can take care of myself."
Mycroft almost had to agree. At least his youngest brother hadn't turned to cocaine like Sherlock, and some of the lessons of polite society had trickled into his consciousness, village destruction notwithstanding. "Be careful."
"Always."
"Dinner with Mummy on Sunday?" Mycroft asked.
"Pick me up?"
And, Mycroft thought, at least he still came home for Sunday dinner, something Sherlock hadn't done for years. Mycroft still had hope that John would work him around. "I'll be there at half past five."
"See you then," and Willoughby hung up.
Mycroft replaced the receiver on the hand set and leaned back in his chair. He did his best to fight it off, but there was a hint of a smile around his lips when he went back to his paperwork. Willoughby had, after all, got rid of one of his targets, and it hadn't cost the government a penny.
*****
"Someone destroyed Istapanul," Alec told James.
James' eyebrows went up. "What do you mean?"
Alec handed over some photos. "As in it's gone. Wiped off the face of the planet."
James stared at the pictures. "And you think someone did this?"
"Or something. They're calling it a sink hole, some freak of nature thing. I just think it's a bit of a coincidence that you get ripped to pieces there by some arseholes and now it, and everyone in that hell hole, is gone."
James considered the picture again. "Hell of a courting gift."
Alec laughed. "I thought you'd appreciate it."
"You did this?" James asked in some horror. He liked Alec, hell, he even loved the guy, but there was no courting allowed between them.
"You wound me," Alec said, clutching his chest. "And no, it wasn't me."
"Hmm," James said, holding out one picture he particularly liked, with a single brick of a building sticking out of the sand, the rest of it deep underneath. "I think I'll keep this one." He handed the rest back to Alec.
"Better than a dozen roses?"
"Hell, yes," James said. Somehow none of his wounds hurt quite so much now. After all, he was still alive to feel them, while all those fuckers were dead.
*****
Two weeks later, Willoughby was listening into an imbecilic attempt to extricate James from his latest mission. James had already been grazed once and had almost taken more fire due to the ineptitude of the tech person's ability to properly read a blueprint online. He had no idea what they were taught in the tech branch that serviced the double-0s, but it couldn't possibly be anything more useful than serving tea. They probably missed the mark on that as well and let the tea bags steep too long.
Willoughby intercepted the bumbling idiot upstairs just as he was about to send James back the way he'd come.
"007, turn left immediately," Willoughby directed.
There was a second's hesitation, but then James obeyed. Willoughby liked to think it was because his voice was so commanding, but it was possible James had planned to go left anyway. Willoughby had already determined where the extraction would take place, and it should have been easy enough for a primary school child to get James there without the need for any more unneeded holes being placed in his body. Willoughby had the blueprints, he had the satellite feeds, and he had every camera, smart phone, computer, and server in the building feeding him information.
"Right in ten meters," Willoughby said. "And then duck and roll. There are two infrared beams, one at one point five meters and one at four centimeters." He watched James run for the next right and, at the exact moment, said, "Now."
James took the right, ducked and rolled, and was running down the corridor heading for the exit.
"Don't go out that way," Willoughby warned him. "Take the last door on the right. Go through the adjoining door, I suspect you'll need to pick it open, and then you can go out the window."
"It's a long drop on that side," James said a little breathlessly. He had been running for a long time due to the idiot who'd been mishandling him before.
"Oh ye of little faith," Willoughby said. He'd already seen the ladder that was leaning against the outside wall. He didn't know why it was there, but there it was, and Willoughby was glad to take advantage of it.
James entered the room as commanded, picked the lock to the adjoining door and in seconds was pushing open the window and leaning out. "I'll be damned." In another moment, he was swinging himself through the window and rapidly descending the conveniently placed ladder.
"There are two men approaching from the front, they'll be in sight in four, three, two, one…"
James shot them both.
"Expedient," Willoughby said, approving.
"I thought so," James said smugly. "Where am I going?"
It was then that Willoughby realized James was bleeding from two places, not just the initial graze on his left arm. It appeared as if his left side was bleeding as well. "How badly are you hurt? Are you able to travel on foot for two point one kilometers?"
"Yes," James said, although his face didn't agree for a brief moment before he got it under control.
Willoughby rapidly assimilated all the information in front of him and sent commands for the retrieval helicopter to change positions, bringing it point eight kilometers closer.
"I've adjusted that to one point three kilometers. Head south southeast, and if you have no idea where that is, head for the temple behind you and I'll direct you from there."
James didn't move for a long moment and Willoughby began to search the area to see what held his attention. Just to play it safe, he said, "No."
He got a snort for that. "No, what?"
"I can only imagine that you're looking at either a car you'd like to steal, or a beautiful woman you'd like to…yes, well, you don't have time for either. The car will end you up at a blockade."
"And the woman?" James asked, his voice full of humor. "Where will that end me up?"
"With me taking all my toys and going home," Willoughby said sternly. He knew James had copious amounts of sex but he had no intention of enabling the man.
"South southeast it is," James said. "By the way, who are you? And what happened to the fool I was talking to?"
"I may or may not be an ally." Willoughby noted that frantic attempts had begun to trace his IP address, although he knew no one would discover he was right here under their noses. Right now they were so far off the mark as to be laughable. He had at least fifteen point two minutes before he'd have to run interference.
James was running at a steady pace, even if his gait was a little uneven. Willoughby continued to dictate his movements, helping him avoid two more men who could have been part of the group James was on the run from. Better safe than sorry, as far as Willoughby was concerned. In nine minutes, thirty-one seconds, James was at the helicopter being assisted to safety. Willoughby pushed a few keys to put the original bumbler back on. James was safe and that was all that mattered.
"Thanks," James said. "And I'll choose ally from your may or may not menu, if it's all the same to you."
"007?" the bumbler asked in surprise. "Where did you go? We lost contact with you. Where are you?"
There was a long pause. "I'm on the retrieval helicopter."
There was a longer pause, coming from the MI6 staffer. "I don't understand."
Willoughby grinned. Understatement.
"I want to talk to the other guy," James said again. "Put him back on."
"Who was he?" the staffer asked sharply. "Do you know his identity? He commandeered our lines."
James snickered. "Good for him. He did a hell of a better job than you were doing. So I'm done talking to you, but if the other guy is still on the line, thanks for your help."
"You're welcome," Willoughby said, mimicking a Welsh accent as he inserted himself one last time into the conversation, and then shut the communication down with minutes to spare.
*****
"They still haven't worked out who it was?" Alec asked him.
James shook his head. "Somebody just hacked the line and got me home, and without getting me shot again." He'd been shot twice when the original handler on the line had directed him into a room with three men with a grudge. He was fortunate it had surprised all of them equally, so they'd just had time to get lucky with two hits and neither of them serious. James had done considerably more damage with the few shots he'd made before exiting the room.
"Maybe you have a silent admirer who destroys your enemies and hacks MI6 for a lark to get you home safe."
"Maybe I do," he told Alec with a small grin. The grin stayed on his face for the rest of the day.
*****
The next time James got into trouble he also lost his earwig and had somehow lost his phone, so he didn't even have the dubious assistance of the tech branch's advice. Willoughby noted that he'd already stolen one phone only to find it didn't have a global connection and he'd ditched it before Willoughby could have addressed that shortcoming. The next phone had been low on power and again he'd ditched it. Stupid man. Just one more in the vast legions of ignorant people who still had no idea what you could do with a computer and intent.
James was currently blending into a crowded street in Casablanca, surrounded by colorful kiosks of locals selling their wares. He'd stopped at a street-side vendor to buy what looked like beef in a pita, deciding that eating was more important than getting connected to MI6. Willoughby sincerely hoped he didn't get food poisoning.
Willoughby knew what the agent's mission was and knew James had to get connected to be successful. The problem was that James didn't know that. He already had his instructions, knew who to meet and where to meet, but what he didn't know was that this had all changed in the last thirty minutes. The scuffle he'd just had in an alleyway, in addition to him losing his earwig, had set off a chain of events that would result in James being dead in a short period of time if he didn't check in.
Willoughby's fingers flew over his keyboards, looking for the perfect opportunity to step in. No pay phones, and while Mycroft, and perhaps even Sherlock, no doubt knew someone in the area, Willoughby wasn't nearly at the point where he wanted to call in those kind of favors, as asking his brothers for assistance generally came at a very steep price.
A man stepped up next to James, laying his phone down as he reached for his wallet.
"Ah ha!" Willoughby said with a grin. It was the work of a few seconds to find the phone, turn it on and text a message. "007! NEW ORDERS! OLD ORDERS WILL GET YOU KILLED!"
Willoughby was counting on James never missing a trick, and James, indeed, looked down and saw the phone, his eyebrows rising comically high on his forehead before he palmed the phone so quickly Willoughby almost missed it. James walked away, getting lost in the crowd, until he called MI6 to get his new instructions. It didn't take much time for James to realize they hadn't been the ones to get in touch.
As James headed toward his new location, he texted, "ARE YOU MY MYSTERIOUS BENEFACTOR?"
"I AM," Willoughby texted back.
"WHO ARE YOU?"
"I NEVER KISS AND TELL."
"SO THERE COULD BE KISSING?" James asked.
Willoughby felt himself blush just at the thought. He very much wished there would be kissing, but Mycroft hadn't been wrong about the fact that Willoughby's interference could be misconstrued as criminal activity. "YOU'RE TOO OLD FOR ME," Willoughby teased.
"PLEASE TELL ME YOU'RE NOT A TEENAGER WITH SPOTS," James wrote. "I'LL FEEL LIKE A PAEDOPHILE."
"I'M OLD ENOUGH."
"OLD ENOUGH FOR…" The text dropped off suggestively.
"HONESTLY, JAMES, YOU EVEN FLIRT WHEN YOU TEXT. ARE YOU CAPABLE OF ANY KIND OF COMMUNICATION WITHOUT SEXUAL INNUENDO?"
"NOT REALLY," James responded.
Willoughby zoomed in on James' face as he headed to his destination, stopping occasionally to text. Currently he had a wide grin on his face.
"STOP SMILING," Willoughby wrote. "YOU'LL BE NOTICED." He was entirely too attractive when he smiled.
"YOU CAN SEE ME?"
"I CAN."
"ARE YOU HERE?" James began to glance around, up at windows, and at the people around him.
"NO. I'M EVERYWHERE," Willoughby wrote truthfully. There were only a few places on Earth he couldn't be at a few touches of his keyboard, and those last few places were areas James was unlikely to be. "YOUR CONTACT IS AROUND THE CORNER. THERE ARE FIVE OTHER PEOPLE WITHIN TEN METERS OF WHERE HE IS WAITING. THEY MAY OR MAY NOT BE TROUBLE."
James nodded, stopping for a moment, pulling his gun out unobtrusively, keeping it tucked close to his side. He sent off one more text. "STAY CLOSE."
Fortunately no one even knew Willoughby was communicating with James, so he could easily stay close, digitally close. He should have told James to buy a headset so they could be talking directly. James would likely not have time to text if he got into trouble. Thinking it might not be too late, Willoughby texted, "GET A HEADSET."
James frowned, but stopped his approach, and it was the work of only a couple of minutes to pickpocket a headset that he plugged into the phone, slipping the phone into his pocket. Willoughby called him. "Better," he said.
"Like I said," James responded, "stay close." He walked around the corner.
That was when Willoughby saw the shooter. "Get back!" he yelled. "Shooter to your right."
James darted back around the corner just in time to avoid being shot.
"I apologize, James," Willoughby said, "clearly I should have taken over this mission even earlier."
"Clearly. What the fuck?"
"I don't know. Can you find somewhere to wait while I work things out?"
James was moving quickly, evading the men who were now following him, but again, James being an accomplished agent, he lost them quickly. "I'm going back to my hotel unless it's been compromised. Can you tell?"
"Hold on." Willoughby began to check the hotel computers and security cameras to see if there was anything suspicious.
"Should I be finding it odd you apparently know what hotel?"
"That depends on your stance on stalkers," Willoughby said.
James laughed softly into the phone. "I've always been against them, but I might be changing my mind."
Willoughby grinned. "Good to know. The hotel looks clean. I need to make a phone call; I'll get back to you."
"How do I get in touch with you?"
"Text me. But don't worry, I'll be watching you."
"I'm not sure if I should be annoyed or turned on," James said dryly.
Willoughby blushed again and hung up. His next call was to Mycroft.
"Yes, dear brother?" Mycroft said.
"There's been a complete cock-up on James' current mission. Could you figure out what he's supposed to be doing?"
"Where is he?"
"Casablanca." Willoughby filled him in on the original orders and then the corrected orders. "They were waiting for him, and not for a drop."
While this was a favor, it wasn't a huge favor. After all, any mission a double-0 was on was a mission for queen and country and no one wanted them to fail.
"I'll see what I can find out," Mycroft said and hung up.
At least this time his brother hadn't scolded him for his knowledge of confidential mission particulars.
A text came in. "ARE YOU WATCHING ME NOW?" And then, "WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?"
Willoughby was almost afraid to look at what James might be wearing, or possibly not wearing, but in the end he couldn't resist. All the rooms had hidden cameras in them and he could see James, stripped to his waist, lying on the bed. He took a moment to look his fill, knowing James expected him to be looking. He wished he'd take all his clothes off. He wished he was in the bed with him. He wished he wasn't a virgin so he'd have a better idea what to do with the man if he ever was in bed with him. Sighing, he opened the response window and tried to think of something suave to text back. His mind was a blank.
In the meantime, there was another text. "DO YOU LIKE WHAT YOU SEE?"
"I'D LIKE TO SEE MORE," Willoughby daringly texted back, then let out an "eep" when his phone went off.
"Really, Willoughby? Sexting with a double O?"
Willoughby could feel his face going frightfully red. "Never mind about that. What did you find out?"
"I'm going to send James his new mission parameters. Of course, it's highly confidential and I am advising you to keep out of it."
"Of course," Willoughby said, acknowledging the verbal ballet for what it was.
Mycroft sighed, as he always did, and hung up. A large file was sent to James over the phone, and Willoughby moved it to his iPad and opened it up, reading along with James. He rolled his eyes. How was it any agent made it back alive? None of this information had been in the initial package James had received.
"THIS IS INCREDIBLY HELPFUL," James texted when it was done. "WHY DIDN'T I KNOW THIS BEFORE?"
"GOOD QUESTION," Willoughby texted.
Mycroft sent his own text. "THIS PHONE NUMBER WILL NO LONGER BE AVAILABLE FOR USE IN THIRTY SECONDS, SO WRAP UP YOUR ROMANTIC INTERLUDE."
"WAS THAT SOMEONE ELSE?" James texted.
"YES. HE'S BOTH VERY HELPFUL AND VERY BOTHERSOME," Willoughby responded. "GOOD LUCK." The connection died courtesy of his older brother.
He watched as James rubbed the screen with his thumb, a lopsided smirk on his face. "Thanks," he said out loud to the room.
"You're welcome," Willoughby said quietly in his small space in MI6.
*****
"Happy birthday," Eve said to him, giving him a kiss on the cheek. She sat down to join James and Alec, as they gathered to help him celebrate James' birthday.
It was odd to think that he had two friends like this now. Having Alec had already felt like risking fate; people in their business didn't keep friends for long. But somehow Alec had stayed alive, and now there was Eve. And that wasn't even mentioning his odd invisible friend who kept him alive and seemed to have resources far beyond what the normal channels at MI6 could provide.
"Did James tell you that he's being courted?" Alec asked Eve.
James shot him a disgruntled look. He liked Eve, yes, but he wasn't sure he could trust her yet with all his secrets.
"Tell me more," Eve purred.
A waiter appeared at his table holding a wrapped box. "One of you James Bond?"
"I am," James said.
"This is for you," and he handed over the heavy box and walked away.
Alec frowned at the box. "Are you sure you should have taken that? It could be a bomb."
It was the perfect size for something explosive, but James stared down at the wrapping paper covered with tiny computer components and grinned. "No, I think it's okay."
"Is this from your suitor?" Eve asked.
"I think it is," James said, checking the box again for any hidden messages. Disappointed to find none, he ripped off the paper, finding a large wooden box inside. He unlatched and opened it, shutting it again and glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention.
"Is it sex toys?" Eve demanded, eyes sparking with devilish humor.
He opened it again and pulled out the small piece of paper sitting on top of the gun inside. He read: 'This is a Walther PPK/S nine-millimeter short with a micro sensor in the grip. It's been coded to your palm print, so only you can fire it. Happy birthday.' He handed the paper to Alec who then handed it to Eve. Alec turned the box his way and peeked inside, looking impressed. "Totally a sex toy," Alec said to Eve.
James laughed delightedly, glancing around, wishing he knew who this man was, what he looked like, how he knew everything to do with James, how he seemed able to know or have access to anything James needed to complete his missions. For instance, the fact that James had been shot by his own gun not that long ago when someone had taken it away from him.
"Who is this person?" Eve asked. "I'm assuming it's a woman?"
James shook his head. "No, it's a man."
"You like men that way?" Eve asked, eyebrows up.
"He likes everyone that way," Alec said.
James rolled his eyes, but he did grin, "Why limit yourself?"
"Does this suitor of yours know what a slut you are?" Alec asked with a smirk.
"I am not a slut, I just like sex. And yes, I suspect he does," James said. After all, he seemed to know everything else about him. Although any time he'd tried to flirt, he hadn't gotten very far. He really, really hoped he wasn't underage, regardless of his assurances. And while it was true that James liked sex, he found himself very attracted to the idea of being with someone who knew him so well, who had made it his business to know everything as if it was his right. As if he worshipped James. James found, oddly enough, that he was okay with that. Comforted. Aroused.
"What's his name?"
"I have no idea," James said.
That got Eve's eyebrows up again. She grimaced. "How do you know it's not someone really creepy like Silva?"
"It isn't." It could be, but James didn't think so. They hadn't talked a lot on the phone, but James was pretty good at hearing tones of crazy and there was none in this man's voice the way there had been in Silva's. Other than the stalker-type crazy.
Alec grinned at him. "I think you're smitten."
"He could be sixty years old, fat, and bald," James said. That would be a deterrent. James did like men, but he liked them hot and fit, and usually someone willing to fuck for a night and then walk away.
"Is this for real?" Eve asked. "Are you really being pursued by someone you don't know? This could be a security risk."
Alec and James both laughed at that. "Too late," Alec said.
At Eve's concerned look, James shook his head. "He's plugged in and he's got connections. The good kind. The information he's given me has come straight out of MI6 or higher."
"What do you mean? What information?" She gasped. "Is this the same person who keeps hacking into MI6 and taking over your missions?"
"The very same," Alec said. "He keeps bringing James home alive, so that makes him okay in my book. Not to mention he helped me out of a tough situation last week."
James had deeply appreciated that. He'd known Alec's cover had been blown but had been a continent away and unable to do anything except hang around the tech branch, hoping his new and very odd friend would intercede, which he finally had. He was leaps ahead of anyone they had on staff. James had watched and listened carefully in hopes of discovering his identity, to no avail.
"He keeps the tech branch on their toes," Alec said. "He embarrasses them with their utter lack of skills."
"Does M know you know him?" Eve asked.
"I don't know him," James argued. "I've never seen him and I don't know his name. I know he's British, but his accent changes whenever it's convenient, so I'm not sure where he's from. He's very clever." He lifted his glass to make an imaginary toast. "Very clever."
"And you're not concerned about this?" Eve asked Alec. "Even after Silva?"
"I'm not," Alec told her. "And you shouldn't be either. If either of us thought he was a threat, we'd be hunting him down."
That shut Eve up because it was true. "Well, then," Eve said, lifting her glass, "let's toast that he keeps bringing back both of you alive and in one piece."
Alec and James clinked their glasses against hers.
*****
Willoughby, methodically, was setting up a string of coincidences at the end of which four men would be dead, the same four men who had spent hours torturing James before Willoughby could get a lock on his position.
His phone rang. "They deserve to die," was all he said to Mycroft.
"You terrify me sometimes," Mycroft said. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were the sociopath in the family instead of Sherlock."
Willoughby snorted. "We both know Sherlock is nothing of the sort, especially since John Watson."
"True enough."
"Are you calling to talk me out of this?"
"No, I'm calling you to tell you that your emotions have clouded your judgment. M's team almost found you this time."
Willoughby's eyes opened in alarm and he checked his computer systems. Mycroft was right, and if not for his brother's assistance his location might have been breached. M must be hopping mad to have gotten so close and the thought made Willoughby grin.
"In addition," Mycroft said, "one of your targets has slipped through your net. I have assisted in getting him back where you wish him to be. Please pay more attention in the future." Mycroft hung up.
Willoughby wondered what other families were like. Not that he really wished for another, most of the time, but it wasn't every big brother who helped his youngest brother commit cold-blooded murder. Of course, three of those men were on Mycroft's list, so his brother would benefit.
Paying much closer attention, Willoughby waited until all four men were in the building he'd chosen for this purpose, well out of the way of innocent civilians. When they'd arrived as prodded, Willoughby blew the building up.
*****
James looked down at the report Tanner had just handed him coupled with a query about what he knew about it.
There were pictures of four men, men he'd spent several hours with while they did their best to work out their aggression on his person. Apparently they were all dead.
"They're the ones who tortured me for hours. But they were alive when I left. Killing them wasn't in my mission parameters and the need didn't arise." Unfortunately, he added to himself.
"So you didn't arrange for them to die?"
James shook his head. "I wish I had, though." He flipped through the report again. "It seems odd they were all in the same place together. Their MO has always been to scatter."
"I'm aware."
"And you already knew I didn't do it," James stated flatly.
"Yes."
James wasn't going to start this conversation. He leaned back in his chair, crossed one foot over to rest on his knee and stared blankly at Tanner.
"Fine, you bastard," Tanner said after a long minute. "Do you know who your helper is?"
"No idea, but I've been grateful for his assistance multiple times now, and will continue to be glad to have it, no matter who he is. It's put all the double-0s on alert that your tech branch staff are seriously lacking. Why don't we have someone with his skill set working here?"
"If I knew who he was, perhaps I could offer him a job," Tanner said.
"Or throw him in a deep hole," James countered. "Which I would object to, by the way. I'm only alive because of him, and if he's killed these four men, you should be grateful. If I'd had more time, I would have killed them."
"You have a license to kill."
"I think he did it for me, does that count?" James said with a smirk.
"Bond."
"I'm serious. If he worked for you, you'd be turning a blind eye to this. So pretend he does." He handed the file back to Tanner. "You'll get no help from me on this, not that I know anything. But if I did, I wouldn't tell you. Sorry."
Tanner let out an exasperated sigh.
James snorted at him. "Oh, you really do want to offer him a job, don't you?"
"M wants to offer him a job. I think he wants to make him quartermaster, but no one has been able to figure out who he is."
"If I get the chance, I'll ask him if he wants to go legit. That's the best I can do. I can show you something, though," James added. He had his new gun with him, as he had been using it earlier for target practice. "He made me this."
Tanner took it, noticing at once the different hand grip.
"Try to shoot me," James suggested. At Tanner's look, he amended his suggestion, "Okay, don't try to shoot me, just try to shoot the gun."
Tanner made his attempt but the gun refused to cooperate.
James took it back. "He set it up with some sort of micro-sensor set only to me. No one else can fire it."
Grumbling, Tanner muttered, "We really need to find this guy."
James holstered his gun and stood, grinning. "I sort of like knowing he's just mine."
"And Treveylan's," Tanner pointed out. "And 003. He helped her through a mission early this morning. Word's getting out, and they keep asking for him through the normal channels as we're attempting to assist them. Sometimes it gets his attention. We know he's in London; we've figured out that much."
"That narrows it down," James said. "Good work."
"Get out of here," Tanner groused.
Snickering, James left Tanner's office.