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Despite the concussion, she is up the following morning at dawn, in the Barracks before any of the senior staff surface. Naomi is waiting at her desk, steaming latte and fresh croissant already provided, and Ronni wants to hug the woman for her thoughtfulness, and so does.
‘I must admit I was concerned for a while, that maybe they’d finally break you. I only managed a session in hand-to-hand, but a great deal has changed since my day.’
‘It was my own fault in the end. You live and learn.’
‘You know we’re all looking out for you, how much this means for everybody, and I can’t help but think that maybe that’s pressure you don’t really need. I don’t think we should be pinning our hopes on you like the Department is.’
‘In the end, I’m not doing this for anyone else other than myself. I’m still determined to get to the end, whatever else might get thrown at me. I think… having such inspiring role models here to encourage me is definitely helping. I know it sounds trite, but you women are a reminder to me that people have done this and made a difference.’
Naomi’s eyes sparkle, slight shift in body language that means the compliment has hit the target.
‘I think it’s us that ought to be inspired by you. None of us took VB. We’re all casualties of war, in our own ways.’
‘You’ve seen my file, you can read between the lines. I’d far rather be you.’
‘The other field agent’s assignment is always easier. Yes, I know that feeling. We have fresh surveillance for you from yesterday, I’ve uploaded it to your terminal. Good luck this morning.’
The woman walks away as her superior appears, engrossed on his tablet, giving neither of them more attention than is necessary. Ronni takes a bite of pastry and begins her assessment of the new material, pleased with what Naomi has found. Today is a chance to show progress in surveillance analysis: no more dummy targets to consider, only living, breathing killers. This one makes her feel distinctly uncomfortable, and the new information will be useful to prove a point. She’s still working an hour later when Bond and Q appear, deep in conversation.
She could try and lip read: it’s a decent certainty the discussion is about her and there’s enough of a headache with the responsibility of the data and its consequences without overloading herself further. They’d spent three days between them reducing her to mush, no doubt that whatever’s coming next will have a similar effect; however this time she’s not going to just soak the pressure.
If they want to push, she’ll push back. She has an ace in her pocket to play.
Eventually her teachers appear by the terminal. Bond’s in what probably passes as vintage matching everything in pale grey: Ronni wishes to look a tenth as good in anything she possessed. Q makes her wait, clearly gauging patience, before finally nodding to her his assent.
‘I think we are both ready after our regulation Service breakfast. So then, Special Agent Ashby, you have permission to impress us.’
Ronni needs no further prompting to proceed. The screen above her springs to life, details filling in above her head as accompaniment to the commentary.
‘Louis Marco Kendrick, born September 1960. Illegitimate son of a noted US Ambassador, educated in a series of private boarding schools across the United States. Instigated an affair with his nanny when he was 15: she was 33, and when the woman threatened to blackmail the family she promptly vanished, turning up dead six months later face down in the Hudson River. He was convicted of her murder and spent the next decade of his life bouncing between Juvenile Hall and East Coast Penitentiaries.’
She feels awkward in green skirt and cream blouse, focus on 007 to whom most of this should be news. Bond in turn watches her, bruise on his cheek the only visible acknowledgement to recent events. She’s had to do hair differently this morning to avoid a dressing high on her forehead, and the change is acceptable, so he’ll be staring in an attempt to phase. Ronni’s having none of it: if he wants a reaction it is time to move away from the physical. There won’t need to be much to push for a response, if he feels as bad as she does.
‘He was one of six men involved in the Hudson Jailbreak in 1980 and quietly vanished from public life. The next time he appeared was four years later, in the Soviet Union, where he was linked to the procurement of under-age girls to work in a number of brothels in Moscow.’
‘Clearly his love affair with older women was over.’
Ronni is irritated by Bond’s provocation but holds her tongue, continuing the story of a boy who became a drug dealer, gun-runner but in the end would always return to women. Tens, hundreds of innocent victims whom he exploited, degraded and murdered for pleasure at every possible opportunity.
‘We believe he’s running over a dozen brothels across Europe, using them as fronts to traffic both young women and men to the highest bidders: you’ll be pleased to know, 007 that since we began surveillance of him last week his choice of female escort has very much reverted to his boyhood tastes.’
The feed Ronni gained from Naomi’s team is accessed: illuminated on the screen in front of them, the footage shows Kendrick sitting on the veranda of his East London riverside apartment with a woman who covers every base of voluptuous with flesh to spare, seated on a bench that looks as if it’s about to give under her weight. She’s wearing virtually nothing either, and Ronni just can’t look as a result.
‘This certainly gives you something to hold onto.’
‘Is that really necessary?’
‘If it irritates you, then absolutely it’s necessary, Special Agent Ashby. Bond is here to be a provocateur. Your job is not to rise to that, head injury or not. Your personal feelings on this man’s actions are not a subject for the briefing either, unless I specifically ask for them. Which I haven’t.’
‘I’m sorry Q, some days the urge overtakes my obvious good sense and judgement.’
‘If it wasn’t Bond who made the comment, would it bother you?’
‘No, I’d just swallow it and keep my disgust and disappointment to myself.’
007 stays silent, waiting for the moment. He understands only too well what Ronni will be feeling: irritation, annoyance and disgust that a man like Kendrick can be allowed to live on their front door, with a Visa that Whitehall sanctioned. Sometimes left and right hands seemed to belong to completely different people, not simply in this Department. They’d spoken about injustice whilst being treated by the Facility Doctor the previous afternoon, except she’d not named Kendrick directly as the focus of her ire. He’d gone and done some digging as a result, subsequently pushing Q before they began this exercise to check some work she’d been doing on the quiet, using the Department’s software suite for threat assessment.
He hopes for an opportunity to force her hand, because if he can, it will be glorious.
‘So if that is the case, why do you feel the need-‘
‘Because, with respect, Q, this banter is a waste of valuable time. What we should be concentrating on is gathering sufficient evidence to pin down the centres of this guy’s trafficking operation and shutting them down. Not in the lab, but right now across Europe. I am aware of due process, but this man’s flagrancy needs to be stopped in its tracks. Whatever any of us may think, these women and men are victims, and we have an obligation to help those that can’t help themselves. If all else fails, you should give me free rein to put a bullet through his frontal lobe where he sits.’
Assassinating Kendrick in his flat had already been discussed at senior level by several people and dismissed because of the total impracticality of his location. 007 knows full well Ronni’s picked up something the modelling analysts missed. This time, the last thing he wants is to upstage her moment. All he has to do is doubt the assertion, and then stand back.
‘It can’t be done.’
‘Yes it can’.
‘He picked this location for an extremely good reason, there’s nowhere to be targeted.’
Ronni’s eyes narrow, utter confidence in the statement, and Bond knows the look. It is given with the belief of a 00 agent who’s about to suggest the impossible to get the job done.
‘Not by you, certainly. Absolutely by me.’
‘Bond is correct, Veronica. Kendrick picked this spot knowing we were unable to eliminate him even if we wanted to. There’s no decent vantage for a sniper at that level.’
‘Then you both need better intelligence, gentlemen, because I found a spot where you can.’
Ronni’s rifle scores, with small arms close behind are the one part of her training that has never wavered, even when placed under extremely trying circumstances. This was her particular skill, in the same way Bond would know when to make a jump or turn a vehicle, she gets the shot. Q’s indignation is obvious: if he’s missed this, there needs to be evidence to support it.
Ronni fires up the 3D model viewer, scenario that places Kendrick’s apartment in a position where, it does appear there is no obvious place for a sniper. Then she draws the lines, sights back to the edge of a large abandoned warehouse, on the corner of which is a precarious outcropping: tower used to haul foodstuffs up and down the side of the building. Q’s mouth actually opens and closes in disbelief before he can find a response.
‘How did the simulations miss this?’
‘Because you’d have to be insane to consider the shot to begin with.’
For the first time in a while he regrets the comment as it leaves him, until Bond senses Ronni’s regard with a smile that does things to both brain and body he’s temporarily unable to ignore.
‘Why, thank you 007, that’s the nicest thing you’ve said about me all week.’
Bond is beyond impressed, entire set-up planned pretty much alone, able to back up research in the way she’d be expected to as an active agent. He’s not surprised either, in fact is beginning to expect nothing less. Ronni should be rewarded for both persistence and foresight as a result.