Chapter Text
“I think I’m drowning, asphyxiated, I wanna break this spell, that you’ve created…”
The music is piping through a hidden speaker, somewhere in the desolate, darkened command center. He doesn’t quite have the time to look for it because he still has plenty of information to sort through… once he actually gets to it. He’s also monitoring two double – oh agents as they tear through the bunker, removing the last of the remaining henchmen that the latest threat to MI6 left behind.
They know nothing about the new elusive terrorist leader. Calling himself ‘The Riddler’, he’d sent a pipe bomb disguised as a care package to the SIS headquarters with the sole intent of shaking the sense of newfound security that MI6 had been enjoying up until that point. Riddler hadn’t seemed to care that he left telltale marks on the box that led MI6 to the underground bunker in Paris, situated neatly directly underneath the Eiffel Tower.
Then the Riddler left them a surprise in the form of TNT in the bunker. It was rigged to the computer networks; one hack in and the entire place would go up in smoke. No one knew the extent of the tunnel system, but since it was directly smack dab in the middle of a crowded civilian area, that meant it was imperative that there were no explosions.
Agent 007 had taken personal offense when M kept him off the mission, leaving the task of disarming the TNT to Agents 001 and 002.
“What is that in the background anyway?” he asks, his voice full of static in the earpiece.
“Music. I’m sorry if it offends your personal tastes, but I’m a little too busy right now to do anything about it,” he replies, not looking away from the center’s main computer as he keeps part of his attention on 001’s and 002’s progress on the laptop he’d brought with him. It sounds like the two of them are having a little too much fun, if the comm chatter is anything to go by.
“I should be there,” 007 finally grumbles over the link. “Your minions are boring.”
“They’re just exercising a fair amount of caution around you, as they should,” he replies calmly, a smile flickering across his face as he finally cracks the second – to – last layer of security around the mainframe, which had been protected by a riddle. Predictably, the answer is the password. The Riddler lives up to expectations by choosing tricky ones, but he’s still frustrated because he knows he could finish this sooner if he just hacked into the damn system. He dares not though; there’s no way to determine the exact amount of TNT down here. “But in all fairness, this is just a reverse of what we usually do,” he finally says in an attempt to soothe his companion.
“Not really, Q. Usually, you’re telling me what to do. Something I only tolerate on the field,” comes the response, laced with slight irritation.
He can’t hold a smile back this time. “So you make up for it in the bedroom?” he asks, double – checking that his link with 001 and 002 is separate from this one with 007; this would be one conversation he doesn’t want to share.
“I didn’t hear you complaining the night before you left.”
“That’s because my mouth was otherwise occupied at the time,” he replies with a faint smile that he knows 007 can’t see. “Now shush, I’m trying to work.”
“You always talk to me when I work.”
“That’s because I have to talk to you, I’m the one who keeps you out of trouble most of the time. And I have two other agents to babysit as well as ten more riddles to figure out,” he says, watching as the first of ten riddles appear on the large screen in front of him. He glances at his laptop to make sure that 001 and 002 aren’t having much trouble with disabling the TNT; he can hear the pair muttering to each other in French as they finish disabling that particular batch before leaving that storage area. Most of the Riddler’s former henchmen have either disappeared or died, so 001 and 002 are walking unchallenged through the corridors now.
It’s almost too quiet.
“Stay on your guard, gentlemen. Something doesn’t quite feel right,” he says into the headset’s microphone. Even the command center, although empty save for him and the two corpses of the previous occupants, starts to feel oppressive.
“Like what?” 002 asks, and he sees the agent pause in his tracks as 001 keeps walking.
“I don’t know exactly what yet, but I’m almost into the Riddler’s mainframe,” he says, frowning at the second riddle. Somewhere behind him, he can hear the Muse song increase in volume. “Would a riddle keep you entertained, double-oh seven? Or would you end up shooting one of my subordinates out of sheer frustration?” he asks.
“If I ever did that regularly, you wouldn’t have any subordinates left by now.”
And people out in the Real World wonder where he got his dark sense of humor. “If you’d shot all of my subordinates, M would need a break from you. But he wouldn’t be able to send you out on a mission just to get you out of London and shooting real bad guys because there would no longer be a Q – Branch to supply you. So for the sake of everyone involved, please try not to kill my subordinates. No riddles, got it. Then be quiet so I can solve the last five riddles and get into the mainframe.”
“Why not wait until 001 and 002 disable all the bombs?”
A momentary hesitation, an alien one in this environment, but his lips and hands are still moving even though his brain lags behind just a little bit – he’s not supposed to be here; he doesn’t know where ‘here’ is. “We still don’t know the full extent of the rigged TNT, and there are civilians above us,” he replies as the confusion retreats to the back of his head again.
“I’d just blow the TNT up. Be done with it.”
“And you wonder why M kept you off this mission,” he mutters under his breath, biting back a flash of frustration at the second – to – last riddle that pops up. “We also don’t know if there’s a hidden cache of bombs, just in case the TNT fails. Too many unknowns and civilians here, double – oh seven.”
“Breathe, Q. You’re doing fine, your right hand minion says you’re almost through.”
Why does he keep calling me by that letter?
He shakes his head, trying to squash the feeling of unease coiling in his gut. The sensation only gets worse though once he reaches the Riddler’s last question:
What belongs to you, but is used by others?
“I’m down to the last puzzle,” he says into the microphone, but his insides freeze when he realizes that the line is completely dead. A quick glance at his personal laptop shows that only one of the two red dots – one of the double–ohs – is still blinking and feeding him the man’s vital signs. The other light and feed is completely gone.
No, no, no…
“Agents, please –” he stops when he realizes that his link with the double – ohs is also dead, with not even just static. Only silence. The sole remaining red dot is making its way to the security command center, almost as though it had traveled these halls countless times before MI6 ever heard of the criminal known as ‘The Riddler’.
Considering the way his luck has been going, that is probably the case.
Focusing on the riddle before him, he’s half – tempted to hack into the system anyway, take the risk. But he doesn’t, he knows there are hundreds of unaware civilians right above the bunker going about their daily lives, completely unaware of the danger below them.
He briefly wonders if MI6 is aware at all, of the communications blackout and if they’re doing anything to fix it.
He doesn’t remember typing in the answer to the last riddle, doesn’t even remember what it is, but the next thing he knows, he’s finally in the Riddler’s mainframe.
It’s right about then that not only does the Muse song finally stop, but the second red dot vanishes from his screen as well. He’s not an idiot; he knows when someone is playing with him, especially since he’s now blind and mute. Forcing himself to calm down through a series of breathing exercises, he reaches for the memory drive that he’d prepared specially for this mission, pulls it out of his satchel, and plugs it into the console he’d been working on since he’d gotten there earlier that afternoon. Shutting down the laptop’s open programs, he activated the laptop’s encrypted security software before shutting down completely. Then, turning back to the Riddler’s mainframe, he began sifting through data as soon as he activated the downloading process. He’s going to save what he can and sift through it later, but there are some things that he needed to figure out in case the data is destroyed by accident or on purpose.
Such as the Riddler’s associates.
He’s scrolling through numerous files when he spots what looks like a series of recorded transcripts. Phone calls, emails, it’s all in here. There are also hard copies of these documents; he can see where someone had scribbled notes in black pen before scanning them.
The most recent transcript is only five days old. Someone had written ‘Watch this one’ in the margins, with an arrow pointing to the phone number… a phone number with a London area code. The other number is an American one, so he starts to go for the London area code first.
Hands hover above the keyboard as it occurs to him that MI6 would rather know about what kind of person Riddler is, instead of what looks like measly transcript. The problem is that the number is something tangible, a lead.
He makes the call. He doesn’t remember his reasoning behind it; he just makes the call and moves on.
Studying the transcript even more, he finds that the person in London is monitoring both the Prime Minister as well as several members of the royal family. It’s a modern, bloodless coup d’état, one that relies on the people themselves for their soldiers. Part of the plan is relying on the fact that the Riddler will be able to rile the people up enough to be willing to help. There is a disagreement as to when the first stages should proceed because MI6 is still wound up over the pipe bomb, but in the end, the American caller gets his way.
The transcript also reveals a third member of the command staff, an unnamed woman stationed in Venice. Since she’s only referred to as ‘her’ in the document, he can’t assume much about her.
Swallowing and ever so aware of the deafening silence around him, he begins tracking the London number; it’s closer to headquarters as compared to the American one. This is child’s play compared to the Riddler’s ridiculous security measures protecting his database. After what feels like hours but was most likely seconds, he finally locates a man named ‘Roan Deeler’. Possibly a pseudonym, but the face that appears in the federal database is most definitely not a fake.
He’s definitely seen that face before, less than six hours ago on the train from London to Paris. It’s a face that disappeared less than ten minutes ago on his laptop, when the final blackout occurred.
He remotely accesses the MI6 database, just double – check that he’s not jumping to conclusions.
To his dismay, the faces not only match, but also so do the names on record; one is an anagram of the other.
MI6 has a traitor in the ranks.
And a dangerous one on top of that.
And it was loose in the same bunker as him.
Damn.
Forcing himself to remain calm, he checks the status of the download – 76% complete – before he begins to wipe the already copied information off the mainframe. He doesn’t know what other plans are stored here, but the mainframe is large enough to be considered a data stronghold, and in the back of his mind, where it’s not overwhelmed with panic, he can’t wait to sift through it later. But protocol dictated that the original source must be destroyed, to cripple the enemy if nothing else.
‘If I can’t have it, then no one can’, occasionally happens to be MI6’s favorite policy sometimes regarding stolen commodities.
That done, he begins to search through the remaining transcripts, searching for anything that hints at the identity of the either the Riddler or the female conspirator and eventually lead to their arrests… or deaths. Whichever happens to come before the other.
Beep!
Reaching over, he pulls out the memory drive, and, after a moment’s thought, slips it into a hidden interior pocket of his jacket. It isn’t his usual parka, it’s not cold enough yet for that right now, but the jacket still serves its purpose. Zipping the jacket back up, he types in the commands to speed along the wiping of the entire system. At this point, it’s all a matter of getting the information back to MI6 intact so that the guilty parties can be brought in and the hunt for the Riddler can resume without any more interference. Then he stuffs his personal laptop back into its usual bag.
“System wipe complete.”
He nearly jumps out of his skin at the cool female voice. Despite this announcement however, he doesn’t quite trust the system. He makes a mental note to send a virus along later to ensure that the system is down for good.
“Neat little trick, don’t you think?”
Ah.
“Deeler. Or should I say ‘Reardon’?” he replies, turning around to face the other man, the latest traitor. He decides to go with Reardon since that’s what it says in the man’s MI6 profile.
Reardon shrugs. “The Riddler was always a paranoid bastard, he needed someone to reassure him that the system was done with whatever operation it was programmed to do. Including, being wiped completely, it seems,” he says, his bulk taking up the doorframe.
He’s pretending to pay attention to the enemy, but in reality, he’s calculating the distance between him and the door, and then how far he’d need Reardon to walk into the room before it’s ‘safe’ to escape. Loyal double – ohs are enough of a handful to begin with, but a traitorous one is unpredictable.
“You do realize that MI6 is on their way, correct?” he asks in a steady voice that doesn’t give away suppressed panic.
“Yes. I’m going to tell them how at the last minute, a pocket of the Riddler’s minions showed up, ambushing all three of us. I was so busy defending my mission partner, who unfortunately died, that I was unable to save the Quartermaster. 007’s going to be upset, understandable given his less–than-stellar track record with his lovers, but I’ll give him a target to chase. Maybe another threat to my safety or cover.”
Reardon’s specialty is that he’s a sniper. He’s more comfortable with long range attacks, but that doesn’t mean he’s a complete idiot when it comes to close – quarters combat. Usually, he has his mission partner to balance that weakness out, but if his story is true, then the other man is already dead.
“You will be caught. My successor will definitely catch you if 007 doesn’t first,” he replies, standing tall now. Maybe he’s considering, as a real possibility, the fact that he may very well not make it out of the bunker alive, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to try.
Reardon scoffs. “I think we both know that 007 will have forgotten and moved on from you in six months, that’s what he always does. I’m not terribly worried about him.”
“Your information and backup are gone, what is there left to gain?” he asks, fighting to keep the desperation out of his voice.
“Protection. You see, you may have easily wiped a good chunk of data out, but I’m still at risk because you know. So unless you memorized something else that I don’t know about, it’s all gone,” Reardon says, pulling out a pistol.
He wonders if his survival rate has just dropped down another notch. The only double – oh he’s ever faced in a combat situation is 007, and that had been in a controlled environment with a man who didn’t want to kill him.
His hesitation costs him, because Reardon sees it immediately. “You did memorize something else. I know you won’t betray MI6, so I won’t bother asking if you’d like to join me,” he says, (finally) stepping forward and into the room.
“M will be annoyed as well, that he’ll have to replace me,” he says, still trying to stall. Once he’s out the open (and unprotected) door behind Reardon, he’ll probably last a little longer out there than he will if he remains in here.
“But the fact still stands that you’re replaceable. Mission casualties happen all the time and MI6 moves on still. Hell, even when the previous M died, her successor was chosen quickly and we moved on,” Reardon adds.
Before he can come back with a response, Reardon opens fire.
Stupid, stupid, stupid…
He should have seen the gun sooner, that Reardon was just distracting him. He still ducks behind the chair and rolls to the side behind some abandoned equipment, bullets making dull thudding sounds as the rounds impact against plastic and circuitry. He starts moving toward the door, using the darkness of the room and the equipment to his advantage as Reardon empties the clip on useless targets, shooting blind. Since he’s designed the weapon, he knows how many bullets can fit in the chamber before reloading is necessary, so when he hears the familiar tell-tale click of an empty firearm, he moves swiftly from his hiding place and out of the command center, ducking a swing from the traitor and slamming the center door shut after his departure. Knowing that it won’t stop Reardon completely, he shoves as much debris as possible against the door in the hopes it will slow Reardon down before bolting down the corridor.
Well, stumbling along is a more accurate term. It’s darker out here than in the command center, and he’s tripping every two meters over some rock or pockmark in the floor. His computer keeps smacking against the leg, but the weight is reassuring, it lets him know that he still has his things. He runs a hand along the wall in an effort to guide himself, and nearly cries in relief when he spots several dim ceiling lights up ahead at the turn.
It takes him a few seconds to realize that communications are back up (when did that happen?) and there’s an eerily calm and familiar voice ordering – no, demanding, for a status report. He can’t respond though, he’s so close and his heart is pounding in his ears, masking Reardon’s efforts to break free.
He does let out an undignified squeak when he hears a crash back down the hall, signaling that Reardon’s free from the improvised prison.
He comes to an abrupt stop as he rounds the corners, slightly wheezing from running and breathing in rock dust and God knows what else.
The only door in and out of the bunker that he knows of is blocked with fallen debris from the ceiling. The betrayed double – oh lies still on the ground with his head at a twisted angle and a dark knife handle sticking out of his back, the little sliver of exposed blade stained a vibrant scarlet.
He doesn’t remember reaching for the knife, but next thing he knows, it’s in his hands. If he’s going down, he might as well go down fighting. The voice on the other end of the earpiece is still barking at him, alternating between demanding a response and ordering someone else on his end.
I’m literally bringing a knife to a gunfight. I must be mad.
Praying that he’s not going to look completely foolish, he tries to recall the self – defense that he’d received from… someone important. Just as he does however, the angered traitor rounds the corner.
He throws the knife right as the traitor fires.
Hot burning pain sears its way just below his collarbone, burning its way across his shoulder. Stars explode in his vision seconds later, when the back of his head connects with the broken concrete behind him. There’s screaming, there’s a lot of it but he can’t tell where it’s coming from: him, his attacker, or the nameless man on the other end of the earpiece…
His eyes flew open and registered the off – white ceiling above him as the soft pillow provided relief to his pounding headache. He could still hear the screaming though, the very sound of the sheer terror, making his heart claw out of his chest.
It took him a second to realize that the screaming was none other than his own.