Prologue
European Space Agency Launch Facility, Kourou, French Guiana
"So, what's special about this launch?"
Professor Gail Jordan looked carefully at the man before her. He was handsome, elegant and certainly arrogant. He held himself with a confident air, as if nothing the world could throw at him would ruffle his composure in the slightest. She wondered if all agents of the British Secret Service were like this.
"The weather satellite we're putting up today has a revolutionary new predictive software package installed. If it runs to specification, it could change the face of weather forecasting forever."
"No more unexpected hurricanes off the Southern coast of England?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and smiling.
She shook her head. "The new software will also make seaweed and old wives tales a thing of the past," she stated firmly.
He yawned and stretched. She thought again about how handsome he was, then pushed the thought from her mind.
"If you don't want to be here, why not request another assignment from your boss?" she suggested.
"What makes you think I don't want to be here?" he asked. "How could I wish to be anywhere else after the warm and friendly reception you've given me?"
She nodded. "Touché. But when we requested increased security after receiving the tip off from the FBI that this launch might be a target for Arab fundamentalists, we were expected more than just one man."
"Sometimes one man can make a difference," he replied coolly.
"Well, pardon me Mr Band, but I was hoping for a squad of armed anti-terrorist troops at the very least."
"Bond," he said.
"Excuse me?"
"The name is Bond. James Bond. Not Band."
She looked away. "Sorry. Was only half listening when you introduced yourself." Damn, she thought, why did he have to be so handsome?
"That's alright," Bond said, smiling easily. "I'll accept a drink as an apology. Martini, shaken not stirred."
Gail Jordan smiled too. "I can't promise that, but I'll see what we can find."
***
"Not exactly what I had in mind," Bond said, staring into the mug of tea she had brought him.
"We only have a canteen here, not a fully stocked bar," she told him with a smile.
"Where did you study Meteorology?" Bond asked over his canteen tea.
"Oxford," replied Professor Jordan, running a hand through her short blonde hair. "I teach there too sometimes."
Bond nodded. "I was at Oxford."
She seemed interested. "Really? What did you study?"
Before he could reply there was a commotion from the kitchen area. Shouting and the smashing of plates and cups could be heard.
Bond was on his feet in an instant, his hand reaching for the Walther PPK strapped under his jacket.
"Don't worry," Gail told him, her hand on his arm. "It's only a dispute over the menu. It happens from time to time."
Bond had almost relaxed when a gunshot sounded from the kitchen.
He was through the swing doors, gun in hand and feet braced apart, ready for action. But all that greeted him was the site of a uniformed man, face down on the floor, with a pool of red spreading over the white tiles beneath him.
A side door creaked open and Bond whirled towards the sound, but it was a young local woman. She dashed over to the body and fell to her knees, crying.
"What happened?" Bond snapped.
"The man...gun...I...I..." the young woman stammered. Bond moved towards her, but Gail Jordan passed him, kneeling beside her.
"What happened here Michelle?" she asked soothingly.
The young woman made an effort to pull herself together. "Henri had stopped by for some coffee, when a delivery arrived. It wasn't the usual man, and when Henri challenged him, the man drew a gun and shot him!" She began crying again.
"Ask her what happened to the man," Bond prompted, keeping a watch on all the doors, just in case.
Professor Jordan relayed the question to the distraught Michelle.
"He went through the other door, towards the launch pad," the young woman replied.
Bond nodded. "Stay here," he told Gail. "I'll follow him."
As he made for the door, Gail spoke. "James, be careful."
He turned in the doorway and favoured her with a charming smile. "Always."
***
Out in the late afternoon sunshine, Bond scanned the rocket on the launch pad. Near the bottom of the support tower was a lift car. The car was moving slowly towards the top of the rocket.
There's my man, Bond thought grimly. Tucking his gun back into its holster, he set off across the space between him and the tower.
When he arrived at the bottom, the lift was stationary at the level of the fuel input. Knowing that calling the lift back to the ground would call attention to himself, Bond began to climb the scaffolding.
Good job I brought a light suit, he thought as he climbed, reaching the underside of the lift car. Set into the base was a hatch, which he cautiously raised.
The gunman had his back to the hatch. So far so good. Carefully, Bond opened the hatch fully and pulled himself noiselessly into the lift car.
The man seemed to be attaching a device to the exterior of the rocket around the main fuel tank area. An explosive device.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Bond said loudly.
The man turned, to see himself covered by a man in a suit holding a gun. He smiled slightly.
"You cannot risk shooting me, not this close to the fuel tank. If you miss, Boom! We all go to meet Allah together."
"Hmm," Bond mused. "Seems you got me there." He lowered his gun slightly.
Which was when the man dived forwards, taking Bond down in a classic Rugby tackle. His Walther PPK spun away, towards the edge of the lift platform.
Quickly, Bond put his hands together and brought them down strongly on his opponent's neck. But the man was strong and a moment later Bond's head was rocked back by a solid punch to the jaw.
Rolling with the punch, he managed to break free from his attacker. But he also found himself on the edge of the lift platform.
Seeing a possible advantage, the terrorist rushed over, intent on pushing Bond over the edge to his certain death.
But at the last minute Bond rolled again, away from the edge. Unable to halt his forward momentum, the terrorist stepped over the edge.
At the last moment, his hand caught part of the support tower, saving him from the fall. But now the advantage was with Bond.
The Englishman looked quickly around, seeing where his gun lay. He grasped it with some relief, turning back to the terrorist.
Who had recovered his balance enough to swing a wild kick towards Bond's head. Moving at the last possible moment, the shoe caught Bond a glancing blow to his left temple.
Pain exploded behind his eyes. A wave of nausea passed over him and all he wanted to do was lie down until it passed. But one moment of weakness now and he would be dead. Calling on all his reserves of strength, he focused and shot in one smooth motion.
For a trained marksman it wasn't a perfect shot, but under the circumstances he would probably have been forgiven. As it was, the shot caught the terrorist in the left shoulder, spinning the man bodily around.
For a long moment the man remained right there, teetering on the edge of the platform with the ground far below. Then Bond's foot in his back sent him to meet that ground.
The man's piercing cry was cut off quickly and a dull thud from below signalled that he wouldn't be any more trouble.
Bond peered over the edge anyway, just to make sure. "He should have taken the stairs," he muttered.
Taking a moment to calm his still spinning head, he was about to start down in the lift when he remembered something he hadn't taken care of. The bomb.
It was a fat lozenge shape, attached to the outer hull of the rocket by a magnetic clamp that would probably detonate the bomb instantly if removed. A timer set into the outer casing counted down the time until detonation.
00:01:49
Just under two minutes until it went off. Enough time to stop the explosion somehow.
As quickly as his still foggy brain would go, he ran through the latest gimmicks Q had given him before he set out on this mission. The ballpoint pen grenade wouldn't be much use right now. Neither would the garrotting wire in his cufflinks or the poison darts built into his cigarette lighter.
00:01:32
Reaching into the top pocket of his jacket, he found his sunglasses and slipped them on.
An x-ray picture of the bomb formed on the inside of the lenses. He blessed Q for his inventiveness and scanned the device.
He was surprised to find it very unsophisticated. No rocker switches, tremblers or other booby traps. It was safe just to remove and throw away.
00:00:58
Bond reached out and grasped the bomb, intent on pulling it free from its position stuck to the hull. But the device stubbornly refused to budge!
Readjusting his grip, Bond tried again. The heat and the recent fight had caused him to perspire, making his hands damp. They slipped of the bomb.
00:00:42
Quickly he tried drying his hands on his suit jacket. But the light material was shiny and not very absorbant. Cursing softly, he reached for his handkerchief.
00:00:29
His hands now dry, Bond got a good grip on the bomb and pulled.
After aggonising seconds the device came free in his hands, causing him to stagger back slightly. Retaining his balance, he looked at the digital timer one last time.
00:00:08
Putting his arm back over his head, Bond took the very short run up that the lift platform allowed him and flung the bomb as far away from the rocket as possible, before dropping to the floor and covering his head.
The bomb described a graceful arc over the grounds of the launch site. As the countdown clock reached zero, a brilliant fireball erupted in the sky.
Shrapnel rained around Bond for a few seconds. He looked up to see the dying smoke clear from the blue sky.
Rising to his feet, he dusted down his trousers and set the lift control into the down position. "Time to finish that tea, I think," he said to himself.
Part One - Happenstance
Room 212, The Hotel de Paris, Kourou, French Guiana
"Anti-cyclone." Kiss. "Scattered rain showers." Kiss. "Gale force ten, imminent." Kiss.
"Oh, James," whispered Gail Jordan. "I love it when you talk technical to me."
An insistent beeping from the pocket of Bond's trousers cut across any reply.
"Don't answer it," Gail pleaded softly.
From the look on his face, Bond seriously considered her request. For about two seconds. Then he sighed.
"I'll have to answer, it's the office," he replied sadly. Rolling off the bed, he searched around for his trousers.
He finally located them half under the bed and pulled the mobile phone clear. Activating it, he heard the voice he was expecting on the other end.
"Moneypenny, what a pleasant surprise."
"James, where are you?"
Bond looked around, at the hotel room, the bed, Gail, and decided on the vague approach. "I'm still in Kourou."
"Well, M wants you back here right away. There's a flight leaving in an hour and she wants you on it."
"Must you go, James?" Gail Jordan asked, running a smooth hand down his back.
"I must," he said regretfully, holding his hand over the phone.
But it seemed Moneypenny had still heard. "Who are you with James?"
"Erm, Professor Jordan, the meteorologist."
"Ah, yes, why doesn't that surprise me?" Moneypenny said. "I've seen her file photo. Are you experiencing a warm front?"
Bond faked a shocked expression. "Moneypenny, I'm surprised at you. You know there's only one girl for me."
"Only one girl at a time," she shot back. "And if office gossip is to be believed, that's not always the limit! Now, the clock is ticking James. I'll see you in a few hours."
The phone clicked as the receiver at the other end was replaced. Bond looked at the phone in disbelief. "She didn't even say goodbye."
He looked over at Gail Jordan, who was pouting back at him.
"I suppose this is where you say you'll call me," she said with obvious regret.
"I will call you," Bond replied firmly, hunting around the floor for his socks. Pulling his jacket over, he reached inside for his wallet and produced a card. "Here's my mobile number. You won't be staying out here forever. When you get back to England, call me."
She brightened visibly. "Thank you, James. I'll do that."
He smiled as he buttoned his shirt. "Good. I look forward to it." He shrugged his jacket on and headed for the door. "See you back home."
"Goodbye, James," she called as the door swung closed behind him.
The Time/Space Vortex
The Doctor rested his hands on the oak panel of the TARDIS and smiled across at his companion. "Where to, Charley?"
The young woman gave the impression of deep thought. "Well, we've done deep space, future Earth and alien civilisation." A pause. "I know! Why not try and get me to my rendezvous at the Singapore Hilton? You know, the one you promise every time we're going to."
The Doctor sighed. "Yes, we do seem to have got a little side-tracked, don't we? Very well, Singapore it is!" He began turning the wooden blocks on the console, muttering to himself as he did so. "Earth. Humanian Era. October 1930." He moved to another panel, refining the destination further. "Southern Hemisphere. Eastern Seaboard. Singapore." With a flourish like a concert pianist, he pushed home a big brass lever and the note of the engines changed slightly.
"We're on our way?" Charley asked. She had been aboard the time vessel for a while now, but was still getting used to the fact that something that looked like a cross between a Jules Verne submarine and a H.G. Wells rocket ship, was in fact a time and space craft from a fantastically advanced culture. And that the Doctor, for all his human appearance, was an alien.
The Doctor consulted his gold pocket watch. "We should be there in ten minutes," he replied confidently.
Charley grinned. "Good. Just enough time to change." She dashed from the room, heading for her own quarters.
British Intelligence Headquarters, London
Bond pushed open the door casually, hanging his umbrella on the hatstand.
"James, what kept you? M is going up the wall!"
"Hello, Moneypenny, it's nice to see you as well."
Moneypenny flushed slightly. "Welcome home, James. We got your report from Kourou. M was very pleased with your actions."
"I was quite satisfied with the operation myself," Bond replied with a half smile.
"Oh yes, your friendly meteorologist. I suppose you lifted her depression?"
Bond held up his hands in mock surrender. "Moneypenny, it was a high pressure situation!"
"I thought you looked like you had been under the weather!"
"Ahem."
They both turned at the sound of a throat being cleared. M stood in the doorway of her office, her expression not a happy one.
"If you two have finished with the weather report, I would like to see Commander Bond in my office now."
"Of course," Moneypenny said, looking down at her desk in embarrassment.
"You're late," M told Bond as he walked towards her door. "Why?"
Bond's lips twitched upwards. "Takeoff was delayed. Unexpected bad weather!"
He heard Moneypenny snigger as he stepped through into the lion's den.
M settled herself behind the large desk in her office. She waited a few moments before inviting Bond to take a seat opposite her.
"What do you remember of the Goldfinger affair?" she asked.
Bond considered for a moment. "It was a long time ago," he commented. "Seems like lifetimes." He smiled, as if at a joke.
"Did you know that Auric Goldfinger left a family behind?"
"No, but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Are they significant?"
"We didn't think so, until now. Obviously, after Fort Knox, we looked closer into his background. We watched the remaining members of his family. His son took over what was left of the business empire, tried to stabilise it before it crumbled away to nothing. And he had a small degree of success. He died nine years ago and his son took over what had once again become a thriving group of companies. Since then Goldfinger Holdings have gone from strength to strength, becoming world leaders in numerous technology led fields."
"I assume this is leading somewhere?"
"I'm coming to that," M replied. She pushed a brown manila folder across the desk to Bond. "Michael Auric Goldfinger, grandson of the man you killed at Fort Knox in the mid sixties. Doesn't show his grandfather's obsession with all things gold, but in recent years he has purchased a number of business concerns linked to the manufacture and distribution of gold. Security companies that transport it, banks that purchase it, mines that produce it."
Bond was studying the folder, which gave a list of the companies owned by Goldfinger Holdings. There was also a profile of Michael Auric Goldfinger, along with a photo.
He was in his early thirties, with short blond hair and a ready smile. He seemed to possess an athletic build in the picture Bond was looking at.
"Still doesn't seem that suspicious," Bond said, closing the file and handing it back.
"A week ago a gold shipment was being transferred from a Swiss bank to The Bank of England. The company charged with carrying the shipment was Security Express, a firm belonging to Goldfinger Holdings. The gold was checked out by an official of the bank in Switzerland, a trusted employee of twenty years standing. When it arrived here it was similarly checked and everything was thought to be in order."
"I'll take a guess that everything wasn't in order."
"You would guess correctly, Commander. Within a day of the shipment arriving, it had been replaced by ingots of a dull, grey metal."
"What type of metal?" Bond asked.
"Government scientists have been unable to determine that at this time," M told him.
Bond frowned. "You think Goldfinger Junior is picking up where Grandad left off?"
"It seems that way," M admitted. "I want you to watch him, make contact, see what you can learn about him and his operations."
Bond steepled his fingers. "Where is he now?"
"Singapore. He has a smelting works over there, as well as a warehousing and distribution business in Hong Kong."
"I suppose you've booked me on the next flight to Singapore then?"
"Again, you suppose correctly." M handed him an envelope. "Your air ticket and passport. The plane leaves in two hours from Heathrow. You're booked into the Singapore Hilton, three floors below Goldfinger's penthouse suite. He also owns the hotel."
Bond smiled. "Why am I not surprised?" He rose from his chair. "I'll keep you informed of anything I find."
"Good. Oh, and one more thing, though I suppose it's little use me saying it."
"Be careful?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I hate losing agents. Even those who can, shall we say, be easily replaced?"
Bond smile widened. "I'm rather enjoying this body. I have no intention of trading it in just yet."
The Doctor's TARDIS, Singapore
The Doctor consulted his pocket watch once again as the noise of materialisation filled the console room. "Hmm. Seems you're slowing up a little, old girl," he murmured, patting the wooden console affectionately.
Charley entered the room, grinning from ear to ear. She was wearing a pale blue ankle length dress and matching shoes.
"Well, what do you think?" she asked, turning a full circle for him.
"Very nice," he replied with a smile. He operated the door control and offered her his arm. "Shall we?"
They stepped out of the time machine, onto a busy and smog filled street. Charley coughed at the unexpected pollution.
"Looks like you've got it wrong again, Doctor!" she said accusingly.
The Doctor was looking around them, taking in their surroundings. "No, not exactly," he replied.
"What do you mean, not exactly? This doesn't look much like Singapore 1930."
"It isn't, but it is Singapore in the early 21st Century," he explained. "No wonder the TARDIS took almost twelve minutes for the journey!"
"Ah. So we're in the right place, just the wrong time. You missed by about seventy years."
"That's right," he said with a smile. "A simple mistake anybody could make."
"No, Doctor, it's a mistake only you could make," Charley replied, matching his smile.
The Doctor was still looking around. "Look, there's the Hilton. Do you want to see what it looks like seventy plus years after your time?"
"Why not? It's not many people who get a glimpse of their own future."
The two of them set off walking still arm in arm, towards the Singapore Hilton.
The Singapore Hilton Casino
Bond looked over his spectacles at his quarry. The young man was sitting at the blackjack table, slowly but steadily increasing the size of the pile of chips in front of him. Two younger women were standing at his shoulders, watching the action on the table with expressions of pleasure.
The opponent threw in his cards and got up from the table, his funds drained. Bond saw his chance and approached the table, sliding into the vacated seat.
The young man looked up. Bond studied him across the table. There was a slight resemblance to his Grandfather, Bond thought. But not too much. Goldfinger Junior was very much his own man and his confident bearing confirmed that.
"I should warn you, I'm on a pretty hot streak," Michael Goldfinger informed his new opponent.
"That's fine. I've been told I've got a lucky face."
Goldfinger smiled. "Then I guess we'll see whose luck holds the strongest."
Bond slid his spectacles back up his nose, but didn't reply.
The cards were dealt, one face up, one face down. Goldfinger was showing the Queen of Diamonds, Bond the Jack of Hearts.
But through his x-ray glasses, courtesy of Q and using the same technology as the sunglasses he had used at Kourou, Bond could also see that Goldfinger's remaining card was the seven of clubs, while Bond had the Ace of Spades up his sleeve.
"I'll stay with what I have and bet one thousand," Bond decided.
Goldfinger nodded. "I'll see you thousand." He flipped over the seven of clubs.
Bond revealed his Ace of Spades, smiling slightly as he accepted his winnings.
"Beginners luck?" Goldfinger wondered aloud.
"Possibly," Bond replied. "We'll have to see whose luck holds the strongest."
Two more cards each. This time Goldfinger had the advantage, holding the King of Hearts and the ten of Diamonds, while Bond had the nine of Diamonds and the seven of Spades.
But Bond's glasses could also show him the next card in the dealing shoe. It was the five of Diamonds.
"Hit me," he commanded the dealer, who gave him the card he needed.
Bond arched an eyebrow at his opponent. "I'll stick and bet two thousand."
Goldfinger whistled. "You are a confident man, Mister..."
"Smith," Bond replied, giving him the alias on his passport. "James Smith."
"Well, Mr Smith, I'll see your two thousand and raise you two thousand."
Bond nodded, seeming to contemplate his next move. He reached for his stack of chips. "I'll match your two thousand and raise you a further thousand."
"Confident or foolish, I wonder?" Goldfinger said. "I'll see your thousand. Now, what have you got?"
Bond flipped over his nine of Diamonds, to add to his five and seven. Goldfinger frowned as he turned over his ten.
"Seems you have more then beginners luck, Mr Smith."
"Like I said, I have a lucky face, Mister..."
"Goldfinger. Michael Auric Goldfinger."
"Unusual name, Auric," Bond commented, accepting his next two cards.
"It was my Grandfather's name," Goldfinger replied, checking his own cards.
He had the nine of Clubs and the ten of Hearts showing. Bond had the six of Spades and the Jack of Clubs showing.
And the next card in the shoe was the four of Spades.
"Hit me," Bond said to the dealer, who obliged.
Bond studied the remaining chips beside him. He pushed them all into the centre of the table. "I'll bet twenty three thousand." He smiled.
Goldfinger frowned deeply. He counted his chips. "Would you accept a cheque for the balance?"
Bond considered for a moment. "That would be perfectly fine."
Goldfinger reached into the pocket of his jacket and produced a chequebook. Swiftly he wrote a cheque for the amount he was short and pushed that, along with his remaining chips, into the centre of the table.
"I'll see your twenty three thousand. What have you got?"
Bond reached out lazily and turned his hidden card, as Goldfinger did the same. Smiling, Bond claimed the chips and the cheque.
"You play well, Mr Smith," Goldfinger said. But under his calm exterior, Bond could see he was seething anger. And that was without using his x-ray glasses.
As much a bad loser as his Grandfather, Bond decided. Better quit now, unless I want to blow my cover completely.
"I like to win gracefully," he replied. "Thank you for the game, Mr Goldfinger."
"Any time, Mr Smith," Goldfinger said, watching as Bond left the table and went to the counter to cash in his chips. "Any time."
***
Bond was walking out of the casino, crossing the foyer as he headed for his room, when he felt the hand land on his shoulder.
He spun quickly, catching the arm and forcing it up behind the back of its owner. The green velvet clad back.
"Now, now, Yames, I'm beginning to think you're not pleased to see me."
Bond looked closer at the man he had by the arm. He was as tall as Bond, with collar length wavy chestnut hair and piercing green eyes. He looked to be in his mid thirties, though Bond had a feeling that could be very deceiving. Then he recognised the aspect of the man, if not the face.
"Doctor! You've changed again."
The Doctor smiled easily as Bond released him. He shook the agent firmly by the hand.
"Its good to see you again, old chap. I was a little worried last time I saw you. You were very quiet after I dropped you off."
Bond frowned slightly. "We all move on, Doctor," he replied evasively.
"Oh, where are my manners? This is my friend and travelling companion, Charley Pollard. Charley, this is Yamesbohbnd."
"Actually, I prefer Bond," he said, taking Charley's hand. "James Bond."
"Pleased to meet you," Charley responded. "Are you one of the Doctor's lot?"
Bond smiled. "You're very perceptive."
"James was a trained Time Lord assassin. He was sent on a mission to take out the leader of a rebel faction on a distant planet. But the wrong leader was killed, plunging the world and its neighbours into violent chaos. James took the blame and accepted exile on Earth as punishment. He works for British Intelligence."
Bond frowned. "Thank you for the reminder, Doctor."
"Sorry," the Doctor replied, realising he had made a social gaff. "I should have let you explain all that."
"No harm done," Bond said with a smile. "Its good to see you again, Doctor."
"I see you've been visiting your favourite haunt," the Doctor commented lightly, nodding towards the casino. "Fancy a game of whist?"
Bond laughed shortly. "I have no desire to lose to you at cards again, Doctor. You are far too lucky for my liking."
"Are you working on a mission now?" Charley asked the agent.
Bond considered saying no for a moment, but decided that it couldn't hurt to tell the truth. After all, these two were just passing through.
"Actually, I am. I've been watching and making contact with a potentially dangerous individual."
"Sounds very exciting," Charley said.
"Not really. Surveillance is probably the most boring aspect of the job. Now I will have to report my findings back to my boss."
"How is M these days?" the Doctor inquired.
"She's fine, thank you."
"She?" the Doctor said, surprised. "Well, we're not doing much at the moment. We could give you a lift back to London, if you like."
"Your TARDIS is nearby?"
"Just across the street. Whenever you're ready, Yames."
Bond nodded. "I just need to collect my luggage and pay the bill. I'll see you back here in ten minutes."
The Doctor's TARDIS, London
"You know, Doctor, you really should get this junkheap traded in for a more up to date model. I hear the Type 70's are quite sleek and impressive."
"The old girl has served me well all these years," the Doctor protested. "I have no need for fancy technology."
"That's certainly true!" Charley said with feeling.
The Doctor pushed the level that opened the main doors. "Well, she got us here, didn't she?"
"I should be thankful for that," Bond said, picking up the small case he had brought from Singapore. "M will be grateful for the saving of the fare home. She's taken the penny-pinching nature of the current administration to her hearts."
The Doctor turned to Charley. "She's another one of us," he told his companion.
"Gosh! How many Time Lords are there in British Intelligence?"
"Just the two," Bond replied as they left the TARDIS. "She's here to keep an eye on me. A kind of self imposed exile, you might say."
"I think she saw it rather more as retirement," the Doctor replied as he locked the door of the craft.
"Maybe so," Bond admitted. "Her office is this way." He led them across the car park where the TARDIS had materialised. He showed a pass card to a guard on the double doors and told him that the Doctor and Charley were with him. They still had to sign a register and undergo a scan, which they cleared.
Bond pushed open the door of a non-descript third floor office, placing his case underneath a hatstand.
"James! I wasn't expecting you back for at least another couple of days!"
"I managed to get a lift," Bond explained. "Hello Moneypenny. Did you miss me?"
"Do you think I spend all my time here worrying about you, pining for your return? Well I hate to disappoint you but I do have a life of my own."
The Doctor stepped through the door after Bond. "I'm very pleased to hear that, young lady. Are you going to introduce us, James?"
"Of course," Bond replied with a smile. "Moneypenny, this is the Doctor. Doctor, this is Moneypenny, M's secretary."
"Sorry, Doctor," she said, looking down. "I didn't know you were there."
"That's fine, don't worry about it," he told her. "By the way, this is my friend Charley Pollard."
"Hello," Charley said cheerfully, shaking Moneypenny's hand.
Moneypenny looked inquiringly at Bond. "Is M expecting visitors?"
"Not exactly, but she does know the Doctor," he replied. "Is she in?"
"Yes, though she has had a number of callers from the Bank of England over the last two days. I think the situation is getting worse."
Bond frowned. "I think you should let her know we're here."
Moneypenny pressed the intercom. "007 is here to see you, and he's got a couple of friends with him."
"Send them straight through," came the firm female voice from the speaker.
Moneypenny nodded to Bond, who knocked lightly on the inner door and pushed it open, letting the Doctor and Charley through.
Behind the desk was a stern looking woman with close cropped white hair. She looked up at the Doctor and Charley, squinting slightly as she scrutinised the Time Lord.
"Doctor?"
"Hello M, long time no see," the Doctor said, grinning and stepping forward, hand extended.
She accepted the hand and shook it. "I thought 007 was rather swift in his return home. You brought him in your TARDIS?"
"We met by chance in Singapore," the Doctor confirmed. "This is my current travelling companion, Charley Pollard."
"Hello," Charley said, stepping forward to have her hand shaken as well.
M settled back behind her desk. "Your arrival could be very timely, Doctor," she said.
"Really? You're having problems?"
"It's something I would be happy to have your advice on," she replied. She turned to Bond. "There have been more incidents."
"Moneypenny hinted that there had been," he admitted. "More gold switches?"
"Not switches exactly. There was another delivery of gold to the vaults under the Bank of England. An official checked the consignment over and left it in a locked vault. An hour later the same official came back, having left his pen behind, to find that the gold had turned into ingots of a plain, grey metal."
"Sounds like an alchemists nightmare," the Doctor commented.
M raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I get the connection, Doctor."
"Turning gold into base metal," the Doctor explained. "It goes against everything the alchemist stands for."
"And there was no way anybody could have switched the gold?" Bond asked.
"No way at all. The vault was locked, there were motion sensors set into the floor. Nobody could have got in or out without setting off some kind of alarm. And we are getting rumours from around the World that these incidents are not isolated to Britain."
"Can we take a look at the vault?" the Doctor asked.
"Of course, I'll arrange it at once."
Vault 37, The Bank of England, London
The Doctor picked up one of the ingots, weighing it in his hand. He frowned slightly, then brought the metal up to his face, sniffing the bar. Finally he tapped the bar with his finger.
"Well, Doctor?" M inquired.
"It weighs the same as gold, but the smell and the texture are all wrong," he replied. "I did detect a trace of chemical scent, but I will need a fully equipped laboratory to check it further."
"Any facilities you need are at your disposal," M promised.
The Doctor nodded. "Can I take this with me?"
M looked over at the Bank official standing in the doorway of the vault. He nodded.
The Doctor grinned. "I'll return it, of course. I have little need for gold myself."
They left the vault, heading for the lift to take them up to ground level.
"What do you want me to do next?" Bond asked as they stepped into the lift.
"Well, Goldfinger has left Singapore, on his way to Switzerland, presumably to visit either the bank or the pharmaceutical company he owns there. After you've visited Q Branch to draw some new equipment, you're to take the tunnel and head for Zurich."
"My cover?"
"You're a businessman, looking to invest in the bank. I'll see to it that you have some gold to deposit. Traceable gold, obviously."
"Obviously," Bond replied. "Any back-up?"
"Well, I was hoping to set you up with a secretary, but there's nobody available right now."
"I'll go," Charley said suddenly.
Everybody in the lift, including the Doctor, looked at her.
"It could be dangerous," M said.
"No more dangerous than travelling with the Doctor," she replied. She turned to her friend. "If you're going to be doing scientific stuff, I'll just be in the way. I'd rather be doing something useful."
"Well, if it's alright with M and Yames," the Doctor said hesitantly.
"Fine by me," Bond said with a smile.
"So long as you're aware of the risks involved," M told her.
"I'll be careful," she assured them all.
"Then that's settled," said M. "You'll accompany 007 to Q Branch, and then to Switzerland. Doctor, you're with me."
British Intelligence Headquarters, Q Branch
"So what is Q Branch?" Charley asked as she followed Bond through the heavy-duty door into the underground test area.
"It's where we develop equipment to help agents in the field. Hidden weaponry, miniaturised radios and homing devices. All those kinds of thing."
"Wow," Charley said, taking in the large chamber around them, filled with people in white coats testing a variety of weapons and other mechanisms.
Over to one side stood a tailor's dummy in a pin stripped suit. A man in a white coat placed a bowler hat on the head of the dummy. Moments later the band of the bowler started on contract and shortly after the top of the dummy's head fell off.
Charley grimaced, then noticed that James had moved on. She hurried to catch up with him.
Bond was standing beside a workbench, examining what appeared to be an umbrella. Unseen by the agent, a white haired man walked up behind him.
"Do be careful with that 007," the man said.
Bond spun on his heel, the umbrella still in his hands. "Q!" he exclaimed, genuine pleasure in his voice. "I thought you had retired!"
"You should know better than that," the older man scolded mildly. "We of British Intelligence never fully retire. There is always some crisis that needs sorting out."
Bond was still grinning from ear to ear. "So, what does this thing do?" he asked, brandishing the umbrella.
"It keeps the rain off my head," Q snapped, taking the umbrella from Bond. "It's mine."
"Ah. Well, what have you got for me this time?"
"Aren't you going to introduce me to the young lady first?"
"I was beginning to think I was invisible," Charley said, hands on hips.
Bond smiled slightly. "Q, this is Charley Pollard. She's a friend of..."
"The Doctor," Q finished, extending his hand to Charley. "A pleasure, my dear. I met the Doctor earlier. Very nice young man. He's borrowing a science lab on the next floor, plus a couple of my technicians."
"Well, now we've sorted that out, maybe we can get back to the lecture," Bond suggested.
"No need to be like that," Q said, leading them across the chamber. "I assume from the fact you've not returned them in a dozen pieces that the x-ray glasses are still intact."
"You assume correctly," Bond said, patting his pocket. "I don't break everything you give me." He winked at Charley.
"No, just ninety percent of the equipment you draw gets returned in bits. The other ten percent doesn't come back at all!"
"That is a little unfair Q," Bond protested.
"Not at all," Q responded. "Now pay attention 007." They had reached a table covered in devices of all kinds.
"This looks interesting," Bond commented, picking up what appeared to be an ordinary lighter.
"It is interesting," Q told him, snatching the lighter away from the agent. He showed them a small switch underneath. "Flick this and it becomes a portable flame thrower. Short range, obviously, ten feet maximum. Also it doesn't have much capacity. It's good for about a ten second burst before exhausting the fuel completely."
"Handy," Bond commented as Q handed the lighter back. He slipped it into his pocket.
"Then there are these," Q said, handing Bond three flat metal discs the size of a drink's coaster. "Magnetic mines. Simply place them onto a metal surface and they are self-activating. Five seconds later, boom!"
"A must for any party," Bond quipped.
"And this," Q said, holding up a mobile phone, "is a miracle of modern engineering. It's a homing tracker, radar and detonator. It's also a remote control device for your car."
"Very good," Bond said with a smile. "On the same principle as the one you gave me once before?"
"It is indeed," Q replied. "Though it would be nice to get this one back."
Bond smiled. "Talking of my car..."
"This way," Q sighed, directing them through to the garage area.
As they arrived, they watched a yellow vintage car being rolled off a car transporter.
"I really hope you're not going to tell me that's my new car," Bond said to Q.
"Relax, 007. That's the Doctor's car, sent over directly from the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce. Your car is over here."
They walked over to a sleek, silver sports car, which Q patted on the roof with some affection.
"The Aston Martin DB5. Outfitted with all the usual extras. Machine guns hidden behind the headlights, oilslick and smoke ejectors behind the rear lights. Satellite navigation and tracking systems as standard. The indicator switch doubles as the launch control for the driver and passenger ejector seats, so be careful when you signal to turn left or right."
"I always am, Q," Bond said with a smile.
"That's a matter of opinion," the older man replied with a sigh. He moved over to a cabinet near the car. "And finally, a couple of items for the lady." He picked up what appeared to be a perfume bottle and handed it to Charley. "If you twist the spray through ninety degrees, it will deliver a potent sleeping gas at short range."
"Wow! Thanks, Mr Q," Charley exclaimed. She turned the bottle over in her hands. They had even put her name on it. Pity they hadn't spelt it right, but she was too polite to correct them.
"And there's this," Q continued, handing her a slim cigarette case.
"Oh, I don't smoke," she told him. "I believe it's bad for the health."
"And you would be right, especially if you're holding this case. The inside lid folds down, thus." He demonstrated, revealing a tiny control panel. "Press the red button in the centre and it arms a small but effective bomb. You then have twenty seconds to deliver it to its target and get yourself out of the blast range."
"Which is?" Bond inquired.
"About thirty feet, for the sake of safety," Q said.
"You're very kind, Mr Q," Charley commented, reaching over and kissing the older man lightly on the cheek.
"Yes, well, its all in a days work," he replied, slightly flustered.
Bond opened the passenger door for Charley, then when she was seated he went round and got into the drivers side.
"One more thing 007," Q said, leaning on the roof of the car and speaking through the open window. "M asked me to put ten thousand pounds worth of Krugerands around the inside of the spare tyre. Try not to have a flat on the way to Zurich."
"I'll try," Bond responded with a smile. He turned the ignition, gunned the engine and, with a final wave to Q, shot out of the underground garage.
"And be careful, James," Q said quietly as the car disappeared from view.
