THE SPIDER’S WEB Ch 4

THE SPIDER’S WEB Chapter 4

By Bob French 

CHAPTER FOUR - LONDON, ENGLAND

Bond paused, straightened his tie, then knocked and eased open the door.  His nostrils quickly took in the smell of Channel Number 5, Moneypenny’s favourite perfume and smiled.

          “James, it’s so nice to see you.  How was Oman?”  He leant forward and took her hand and gently kissed it.  He saw the pleasure in her eyes, then the squawk box on her desk shattered the moment.

          “When you’ve finished Miss Moneypenny, tell Bond we are waiting.”  Bond shrugged his shoulders, kissed her hand again, turned and vanished through the secret door where the Head of MI6 kept the United Kingdom safe.

          “007, I want you to meet Sir Michael Scavandish of Lloyds.”  A tall lean man with a pale face and soft female hands stood and shook Bond’s hand.

          “Nice to meet you, Bond.”

          M, dispensed with the formalities and went straight to the point.“

          We have been aware for a few days now that a virus is causing some countries a bit of a headache.  It would appear its source is China again.”  M shook his head in disbelief. “This virus is starting to cause the stock markets around the world to fall.  Now Sir Michael’s head of intelligence has advised him that someone is buying up all the shares once they’ve reached rock bottom, so when they rise again, this someone is going to be a very wealthy person, more to the point, they may have enough financial clout to control things.”

          The briefing lasted just over an hour with Bond asking several questions.  When the briefing seemed to come to an end, Bond asked if Llyods knew what route the funds were taking.

          “God, your guess is as good as mine.  My intelligence staff thinks that someone out in the middle east or somewhere and is using the Swiss as their bankers.”

          “Would it be possible to meet with your Intelligence Chief Sir Michael?”

          Sir Michael handed Bond his business card.  “Call that number after three and ask for Alison Wentworth.  She’ll brief you.”

          Bond arrived early and was ushered to the foyer lift, that rose quickly to the tenth floor and as the lift doors opened a young woman with flaming red hair, pale complexion and deep green eyes stepped forward.

          “Mr Bond?”  Her eyes smiled as she took in Bond’s tall, well-built frame and tanned face.

          Bond noticed her surprise. “Don’t tell me, you were expecting a balding, fat and out of shape man from the Treasury?”

          He took and felt the firmness of her hand as she laughed.

          “As a matter of fact, I was. Please follow me.” She ushered him along the corridor and into a plush outer office and invited him to sit, then offered him a coffee.

          He was just about to say yes when the inner door opened.  A plain looking, grey-haired women stood in the doorway of the inner-office.

          “Mr Bond, do come in.  I have been expecting you.”  With that, she turned her back on him and vanished into the office. Bond felt the snub, rose and followed her.

          “Please sit,” she nodded towards the spare seat at the small conference table where three other people sat.  She didn’t introduce him or them.

          “Sir Michael has asked me to fill you in on what we have discovered about this latest situation regarding the world’s stock markets and the consequences if things continue.” They talked for over three hours, then broke.  As her team members were leaving Alison Wentworth’s phone rang and she broke away from her farewells to take the call.  Bond wanted to thank her so waited behind and as he did, a picture on her wall caught his eye. It was of a group of people standing outside the Bank of England.  In the back row was Vesper Lynd, the woman he had loved and lost and suddenly felt sorrow. Her voice cut into his mind like a sharp knife.

          “I see that you have recognised a very good friend of mine.”  Bond turned and stared into her cold eyes.  Then nodded, instantly clearing his mind of any feelings he had for Vesper.  She guided him to her office door, but then held his elbow and spoke quietly.

          “I don’t know what you do Mr Bond, but I would be grateful if you would kill the person who took away such a dear friend.”

          It was late when Bond arrived at Blades, his club, just off St James’s Street and ordered a thick rare steak with a Raspberry vinegarette salad with a half bottle of Chateau Mouton Rothschild 1947.  As he ate, he mulled over his plans for the morning.

          By ten the following day, he had telephoned Felix Leiter of the CIA, then asked Moneypenny to book him on the midday flight to St John’s, Antigua.

          Bond smiled as he caught sight of his old CIA friend at the arrivals gate.

          “James, you old son of a gun.”  Before Bond could respond, Felix ushered him straight out of the terminal and into a clapped-out dirty Honda Civic.   The car swiftly filtered into the evening traffic.

          “James, this is Winston.  I think he’s the man to get you started.”

          Felix could see the apprehension on Bond’s face.  “Don’t worry James, Winston works for me and has done for several years.  He’s probably the best hacker I have ever known.”

          Darkness had fallen by the time Winston pulled up outside a bungalow on the outskirts of St John’s.  “This is it, gents.  Grab your gear man and follow me.” That evening Winston cooked Fungie, the local delicatessen and served several bottles of Wadadli beer, the local brew.

          Bond briefly went over the gist of the Lloyds meeting and explained that he wanted to track down the buyers, where they operated from and who was bank-rolling the operation.  Winston stared at him in disbelief. “Man, that is some heavy shit.  You for real?”

          Early the following morning Winston crept down into his basement and spent several hours manoeuvring his way past firewalls and security systems, then yelled up to Felix that he was ready.

          “Bond listened to him as Winston explained what he had achieved.  “Thank you Winston.  This is a list of Blue Chip companies that trade on the major stock markets around the world. Is it possible to find out when their shares were bought, for how much and by who?”

          Winston looked at the list and quietly whistled.  “Take me a day or two man.” Bond nodded his thanks and followed Leiter up the stairs to the sitting room.

          “What’s your plan, James?”

          “The money is coming from somewhere.  Once I know who is doing the buying I can trace them back and interrupt their operations and then intercept the bankers cash flow.”

          Two days later, a jubilant, but tired Winston sat down with Bond and Leiter.

          “You were right, there seems to be three buyers operating out of Cuba, The Yemen and Madagascar.  They’re clever man.  They receive their instruction about which stocks to buy in a coded e-mail.  Not sure where from.  I’ll get back to you once I know.  Then using international telex, they contact a designated trader, somewhere in Europe, who makes the purchase.  The trader then e-mails back the banking details in code to the buyers who go down to their local banks and make the payment. If you ask me, someone doesn’t want to be found man.”

          Felix nodded towards Bond.  “I can help you with Cuba.  I understand you Brits still have a little influence in Yemen and I know a good agent, Adrien Benoit, an ex-paratrooper from the Foreign Legion, he can take on the Madagascar end for you.  Do you want me to contact him?”

          Bond shook his head. “I think I met him last year on the Moroccan job.  A very handy chap by all accounts.  No, I’ll get Moneypenny to arrange things with the DGSE.”

          Bond and Leiter talked most of the night on how to go about the plan. By three in the morning Bond had contacted Moneypenny, who had confirmed that Benoit would meet him at Heathrow at 2pm on the following afternoon.

          They met at the coffee shop in Terminal 3, and after a cup of coffee, they took a casual walk through the hundreds of passengers rushing to their various gates.

          “It is good to see you again James.  Have you been busy?”  Bond smiled and nodded. 

          “As have you. I read the transcript you acquired at the meeting at the Le Richemond.  If these political nutcases get their way and purchase this virus and introduce a cull of some sort, then God help us.  I understand that your DGSE and the German MAD are tracking down those who attended the meeting?”

          “Yes. They will be silenced.” 

          After nearly forty-five minutes of aimlessly walking around the terminal and chatting as though they were waiting for their flights, they arrived at two questions: Why would a Triad War Lord hold the world to ransom with this virus knowing that it would make him an international target. Secondly; The Triads are well known for their particular type of racketeering. Dabbling in the stock markets isn’t one of them.  They shook hands, fully briefed on what they and the CIA had to do, then caught their flights to Madagascar and Yemen...

          Bramavitch strolled up to his Directors office and was instantly permitted to enter.

          “What news?”  The gruff voice of his Director always put Bramavitch on edge.   The Director snatched the messages from him and read them, then called through to Nikki and asked her to get the Deputy Director of the SVR and the Section Chief of Section 7.

          Within minutes the three of them sat in the conference room.

          “Just an update Comrades. He nodded to the Deputy Director of the SVR  I’m pleased that your agents in Beijing have managed to get an American woman,” he glanced down at the messages, “Emily Michaels, probably CIA, arrested by the Chinese State Police.  We, as yet, have not been able to confirm if this virus was man-made or simply an accident, but you will have seen the numbers of deaths related to this virus around the world is catastrophic.  I shall keep you informed.  We have set up a network of buyers and agents to take control of the world’s stock markets.  We have already seen some very favourable results.  In addition, we have asked the NYK Shipping Company of Japan, probably the largest in the world, to offer their services as our ghost agents, to the Americans as a storage facility for the oil they can’t sell or store.” The Director of the SVR raised his eyebrows.       

          “We have reached a deal with the Japanese Comrade, 60% to us 40% to them.  They are more than pleased.  The Deputy Director of the SVR nodded.

          “And their military?”

          “As you know Comrade, European armies continue to squabble between themselves and the need for NATO.  The British, now outside the EU, are still a threat, but once they start to impose their austerity measures, their military will be the first to suffer….they will probably disappear.”

          “What about the American’s?”

          “We flew our four routine sorties of three Tu95’s Bear around the West.  The Norwegian’s, Canadian’s, the British and the French sent up their usual interceptor aircraft, but the  Americans…. nothing. No one came up to shadow us.”  The Director nodded again.  He was pleased that the gradual destruction of the west had begun.

Copyright Bob French

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.