The Name Isn't Bond: Part One

I cautiously pushed open the apartment door, not for the first time cursing my left-handedness. Swinging round the door I swept the room, not the mess it appeared to be, and bought my right hand up to my ear-piece.
"I've reached Agent Hanson's apartment. Looks like someone else has been here already."
The voice of my support agent, safely tucked away in our hotel room, came from the ear-piece.
"I trust that I don't have to tell you to do a thorough check. Don't make me remind you of Oslo."
I could imagine the smirk on Melody's face, despite the knee pain her words summoned, and glanced down at the floor as I took a step forward.

The apartment had been trashed, the contents of every container strewn about. Going into the bedroom I nudged the heap of clothes near the doorway, sifting through them with the tip of a foot. Nothing stood out to me and I walked away from the heap, glancing at the rest of the room. Hanson had been on assignment in Turkey, the longest-serving member of a five-person monitoring team, but I don't think you'd know it. His disappearance was why I'd been sent, his and his team-mates', but there had been nothing in the previous three apartments to suggest who was responsible or why.

Stepping over to one of the bedside tables I began going through the fragments of paper atop it. After managing to piece together enough fragments to make a complete whole I made the assumption, despite how dangerous that was in my profession, that they were business cards for various properties around Istanbul. The card I'd remade was for somewhere called the Passionate Knight and after taking a photo of the business card I tapped my ear-piece again.
"Mel, I want you to find out as much as you can about a location called the Passionate Knight."
I heard her barely hold back a snort of amusement and then there was silence for a moment.
"The Passionate Knight is a gentleman's club, catering mainly to Westerners. Hang on… The photos you took in the apartments of Logan, Fisher and Moran. The same business card is in them too."
I trusted Melody's words, her memory and analytical skills were what made her a good support agent, and opened the photo I'd just taken, making a mental note of the Passionate Knight's address.
"OK. Hanson isn't here and we have something linking four so far. I'm moving on to Agent Judge's apartment."

---

Michael Judge's listed place of residence was just a pair of small rooms on the ground floor of an old tower-block. A stench of decay seemed to be everywhere, although it got stronger as I neared Michael's apartment. The door was slightly ajar and as I'd done when at the other apartments I cautiously entered, gun out and held down at my side. Two male bodies were on the floor and Michael himself was slumped in a ratty chair, blood staining his shirt in several places.
"Melody! Contact the local emergency services. Get me an ambulance!"
Michael had turned to face me upon hearing my voice, flickers of pain on his sallow features, and I hurriedly crossed to his side, leaning in as he began trying to speak.
"Air so thick, air so potent."
"Hold on Michael."
I'd known him for several years, long before a serious leg injury had forced him to transfer from the field division, and glanced back towards the apartment's front door, hoping to see paramedics turning up.
"Benjamin! Listen!" Michael's clenched fist dragged me closer to him and I gently extracted myself from his grip. "The air was so thick, so potent. You're not supposed to know when they come for you."
I half-turned to look at the dead men and used a foot to flip the nearest onto his back. His face looked like he'd repeatedly headbutted brick walls but it was what was on his clothing that got my attention. The insignia of a hospital called the Recep Memorial was emblazoned on the left breast of his shirt and I straightened.
"Melody, what do we know about the Recep Memorial Hospital? And where's that ambulance?"
"The ambulance is on its way. But what's this about a memorial hospital?"
"I'll explain more when I get back." I'd been going through Michael's apartment whilst talking, searching for any medical supplies, and returned to his side after locating some bandages. "Stay awake Michael. Who are they?"
Michael seemed to sink further into his chair before summoning the strength to look at me.
"Don't trust the Knight."
I let myself get shoved aside by a paramedic, moving to one side so that I could observe both him and his companion.

I left shortly after, when it was apparent that little could be done for Michael. A quick stroll along the street let me locate the ambulance from the Recep Memorial, which contained nothing to suggest that it was anything but an ordinary ambulance, and then I returned to the hotel we'd been booked into. Melody was seated in the center of her bed, one laptop in front of her and another at her side.
"What'd you find out about the Recep Memorial?"
Melody looked up from her computers and thrust a page of notes at me.
"Legitimately operating private hospital. Very select list of clients, none of them being Agent Judge or anyone else from the team." I went to speak but Melody waved a finger at me. "Ah! Not finished. Their list of donors however include the owner of the Passionate Knight, a Mr Altan Solak."
I flipped the page over, grabbing Melody's pen, and made a diagram linking Recep Memorial, the Passionate Knight and Altan Solak together.
"Michael said that the air was thick and potent. Could he have been talking about the Passionate Knight?"
Now that I appeared calm Melody also slowed down, lightly tapping her fingers on the keys of her main laptop as she contemplated my question.
"It's possible. Some sort of airborne drug, or even pheromones, to make the clientele suggestable. Long-term effects could be anything, depending on what's used."
I let the page drop to the bed, stepping over my own, and went through the contents of my suitcase until finding a relatively posh suit.
"The Passionate Knight seems to be an important location in all of this. I'll have a nose around and see what I can find."
"Do you want me to continue looking into Recep Memorial?"
I nodded whilst moving towards the en-suite bathroom.
"If they tried to snatch one agent then they likely went after the others."

---

The bouncer on the door of the Passionate Knight barely glanced at me as I walked past, the sneer on his face seemingly a permanent one. The gentleman's club was in a building that looked centuries old, a stone construction richly decorated and entirely lacking in any electronic signage. It was clear that some kind of sound-proofing had been installed, waves of sound bouncing around the small lobby, although as I headed deeper into the club it became easier to separate that noise from others.

The main room was laid out like an amphitheatre of the ancient world, two bars flanking the archway used to gain entry. A trio of women were performing on the stage and I could tell that everything had been planned to be overwhelming, even before adding the hypothetical airborne agent to the mix. Stepping down to an empty seat I curiously glanced around the hall. Most of the audience looked either West European or American while the bar staff were Turkish. It was a calculated choice, putting the clientele into a false sense of dominance, but it was likely only effective if you weren't trying to deconstruct the layers within the club. Two of the women on stage looked to be of European descent, albeit from different places, while the third was a dark-skinned African. All three had dancer's bodies, being of lithe build with nicely-toned muscles, and I let myself relax minutely, settling into the padded chair.

It wasn't long before a server approached, a menu in hand, and he quickly vanished again once I'd chosen a beverage from the selection. Upon his return he must have noticed that I wasn't as engaged as everyone else, gesturing towards the stage and its occupants.
"Not to sir's liking?" They were but, as I wanted to see more of the interior, I made a show of studying the dancers before shaking my head. "We have others. On the house sir"
I followed the server through a curtain to the left of the stage, stepping into the long corridor on the other side, and glanced at the multiple doorways lining the passage.
"Is there someone behind each door?"
The server nodded and opened the nearest, ushering me into the room beyond.

Its inhabitant was a tall woman clad only in silk scarves, easily the length of the chaise longue she was reclining on, and she stirred at our presence.
"Beyza, customer for you."
The woman gracefully rose, her movement almost boneless, and the server began to back from the room, his task done. Beyza was blatantly not her real name, I suspected that no woman in the club still had her real name, but it was easy to see why she had been given her new one. The luxurious crimson hair and pale skin indicated Irish ancestry, confirmed by the fading accent I could pick out when she spoke.
"Shall I dance for you sir?"
I looked around the rectangular room and dropped into the only chair.
"Please. I imagine that things will go badly for you otherwise."
Beyza padded over to a waist-high box in the one corner, activating a portable music player and lighting an incense stick, before stepping back into the center of the room.

Her dance began subtly, the rippling of her belly the only initial movement. It soon progressed, Beyza dropping to a knee and extending her hands towards me in a supplication, and then she was standing, turned away from me and utterly still. I admired her well-formed back for the moment she let me before my vision was briefly obscured, one of Beyza's scarves fluttering into my lap. Her breasts seemed perfect, full and round without a hint of sag, and she had a coy smile on her face. I'll admit that I looked away at that point, suddenly uncharacteristically uncomfortable, and when I looked back Beyza was slinkily crawling towards me, light blue eyes peeking up at me through her fringe. The moment she felt my gaze Beyza quickly drew back, rearing up to give me another unrestricted view of her torso, and spun, hauling herself onto the chaise longue in a flurry of limbs.

During the spin Beyza had removed the scarf wrapped around her waist and had moved a pillow so that she could straddle it. The music had now changed to a rhythmic beat, Beyza riding the pillow as though it were a lover, and on every tenth beat she glanced over her shoulder at me. It dawned on me that the dancing had been telling the story of a woman torn between two men, one she wanted and one who wanted her. The customer seemed to be cast as the object of Beyza's affections and she noticeably slowed her gyrating when I stood. A yearning look appeared on her face and I stepped over to the chaise longue, Beyza leaning forward to rest on the arm. She nearly purred when I ran a hand down her spine, sticking her ass up as much as possible, and let out a sensuous moan when my other hand cupped her mound. Her moan became a constant one when I climbed onto the chaise longue behind her, a sharp gasp marking the moment I sank my length into her depth.

---

I left Beyza's room after an hour without interruption, the woman a twitching mess sprawled out on the chaise longue. A different group of dancers were on the stage, although the audience seemed the same, and I nimbly side-stepped the server who'd introduced me to Beyza, instead gesturing towards her room before hurrying for the exit. The Passionate Knight was an industrial-scale honey trap, although if all the women there were at the same standard as Beyza not a very good one. She'd been clumsy in her attempts at starting conversation, too easily distracted by her own pleasure. It had been a double-edged sword though as while she had failed to extract anything from me so too had I failed to learn anything from her.

Slipping into my car I retrieved my ear-piece from within the glove compartment, slipping the device into its usual spot and tapping it.
"Mel, I've just left the club. I expect to be followed so I'll find an alley to park up in for the night. Are you in the safe-room?"
"Yes. I moved just after you left."
I relaxed at that, the safe-room was a second room we'd reserved in case we had to vacate our actual suite for any reason.
"I'll check in with you in the morning then. Night Melody."
"Night Ben. Find a nice alley."

---

Come the morning I was still alive and, somewhat more importantly, still in the car. The traffic on the roads was light, it seemed that I'd slept through rush hour, and so I made good time getting back to the hotel. Melody was presumably still in the safe-room as our suite was empty and I tapped my ear-piece.
"Mel, I've returned to the hotel suite. You can come back up now."
I must have woken her as when she responded her voice sounded sleepy.
"I'll be up soon."
I used the time to work out the kinks I'd accrued during the night. Agency cars are made to be generally comfortable but not for an extended period and the old injury in my leg had decided to play up.

Melody entered the suite just after I'd withdrawn a syringe loaded with painkiller, lowering her laptop to her bed and moving to plug its charger into the mains.
"Rough night?"
"Could've been. I think I slept like a baby."
Melody grinned and woke her laptop, surfing through a half-dozen windows before stopping.
"So while you were out and then sleeping I was going through the stuff I recovered from the Passionate Knight after I hacked their system."
The crackling of a cheap microphone set-up filled the hotel room, soon being replaced by the sounds of men talking.
"There's a new one. You see how he's looking at everything."
"Do you have an identity for him?"
"No. Send in Kerim. And who's in Cell 1?"
"Beyza. Is she the best choice though?"
"We need DNA, not intelligence. Beyza will be fine."
The recording came to an end and I was aware of Melody smirking at me.
"Was Beyza fine?"
"That isn't important. What is though is that whoever is behind the abductions of the monitor team potentially knows who I am." I walked over to my suitcase and pulled a handful of items from it. "We need to investigate the Recep today, and then be gone."
Melody sighed, going through her own suitcase, and we began placing the stuff we truly wanted to keep inside a fold-away carryall. I glanced at her as she held up what could be mistaken for a lab coat and reached over when she went to put it back in the suitcase.
"Ben?"
"Keep it out. Wear it when we're at Recep Memorial."
"I'm coming with you?"
She was surprised but I wasn't sure why as she must have grasped that we had to leave.
"Aside from the risks of staying here I think going round taking photos of everything will attract problems. I'll need your eyes and brain."

We put our suitcases in the boot of the car, slipping the valuable carryall behind the driver's seat for easier access. The Recep Memorial was on the outskirts of Istanbul, the journey would take at least an hour, and Melody used the time to get into the character of a W.H.O. scientist. It was the usual cover I employed, the W.H.O. having gained extraordinary powers after a pandemic scare a couple of decades before, and as we were investigating a hospital our cover was ideal.

---

Recep Memorial was essentially a country estate, somewhere that wouldn't have looked out of place in the countrysides of Europe. A decently-sized mansion sat near the center of the estate, a few smaller buildings dotted about in its shadow. The Recep clearly took its clients' privacy seriously, armed guards had greeted us at the main gates and as I bought the car to a halt in front of the mansion I spotted additional guards standing on either side of its doors.
"Take care here Mel. I want you to follow my orders precisely when I give them." When she nodded I got out of the car, striding purposefully towards the mansion. "Gentlemen! I was told by your colleagues at the gates that you'd be expecting me."
A man in a lab coat similar to Melody's emerged from within the mansion-hospital, skipping down the steps.
"Dr Charles! I'm sure that you'll find our facility to be supremely competent!"
"Yes I'm sure. But I seemed to have missed the part where you told me who you are."
The man blanched and hastily extended a hand for me to shake.
"Apologies. I am Dr Aydin Bey, senior director of the surgical department."
I tipped my head, ignoring the outstretched hand, and gestured at Melody.
"My assistant, Dr Edwards."
Standing next to me Melody also tipped her head, no doubt hiding her frustration when Bey ignored her, and I stepped past the Turk and up to the front doors.

What followed was a three-hour tour of the mansion-hospital and the wider estate. One of the smaller buildings was the ambulance maintenance shed, the others being used as long-term patient accommodation, and upon our return to the mansion-hospital we were invited to watch an operation, a procedure to remove cancerous tissue from within the lungs of a film star I vaguely recognized. Melody made ample notes, we both asked enough questions to sound convincing, but it was as the tour seemed to be nearing its end that I realized what had been bothering me.

The elevator used for the transportation of stretchers had a button for a basement level, despite the fact that no flight of stairs seemed to exist going below the ground floor. I gestured at the button as we rode the elevator down from the wards on the third floor.
"I need to see your basement facilities Dr Bey. Otherwise my report will likely reflect poorly on this hospital."
The other man paused, glancing at me with slight concern, and nervously interlaced his fingers.
"Only the chief executive can authorize access to the morgue chambers."
"Dr Bey, we have been everywhere, even the vehicle maintenance, on your authority. And in any case the morgues are on the ground floor, at the back by the ambulance arrival bays." Bey still looked indecisive and I reached inside my jacket for my pistol, pulling it out enough for him to see it. "The basement Doctor."
I think it was the sight of the gun that decided the matter as Bey, now seeming diminished, produced a key and inserted it into a slot on the elevator control panel, pressing the button for the basement when it lit up.

A quick peek once the elevator stopped revealed a long corridor, presumably making the basement half the size of the building above. Melody led the way, Bey sandwiched between us, and she carefully entered the first room we came across. A control booth was directly to the left and a chair was in the middle of the room, an unfamiliar array of mechanical arms aimed at it from a variety of directions.
"What are we looking at Dr Bey?"
"It's called a Conditioner." I glanced over at Melody. "You put someone, usually drugged or otherwise suggestable, in the chair. Between the ultrasonic emitters in the arms and subliminal messaging broadcast through a screen…"
"Brainwashing."
Melody nodded and I glanced at Bey. The doctor was still cowed but seemed to have gained enough courage to actively defy me, standing by the control booth door with his mouth firmly closed.
"Ben, if this… thing… works then they could have been put through it. We need to find a security office."

It took us three tries, each door being opened revealing a dimly-lit operating theatre, before encountering the security office. The room was empty and I forced Bey into a seat before both Melody and I investigated the bank of computer screens and the console beneath it.
"There must be a storage space for recorded footage."
Melody reached under the console and grinned at me as she slid aside a cupboard door to reveal racks of labelled discs.
"Found them. And they're considerate enough to have been arranged to match the screens."
I turned my attention back to the screens as Melody began going through the discs and my gaze was drawn to one in particular, the image rotating between the camera feeds of what seemed to be a dozen small rooms. I was struck by their similarity to the backstage rooms at the Passionate Knight, remembering that those had been referred to as cells, and gestured at that screen whilst turning towards Bey.
"These rooms. Where are they?"
"I don't know."
Bey*s indifferent shrug almost made me hit him and I was ashamedly pleased to see some fear in his eyes when I grabbed his shirt.
"Speak bull a third time and you won't be speaking again."
"I am a dead man either way then. There is no benefit in speaking with you."
Melody's subdued 'aha!' turned me away from Bey and I blinked as she held up four discs, the name 'Fisher' visible on the foremost.
"That's it then. Our report will indeed look poorly upon the Recep Memorial. I expect this place will soon be shut down."
Bey shrugged again before, with a sudden surge of speed, he rose and crossed to the console, slamming a fist down on a button isolated from the others.

Alarms began ringing out and I swung at Bey with a fist of my own, catching him on the left cheek and sending him to the floor. The moment he was off his feet I grabbed Melody and we sprinted back to the elevator, constantly looking over our shoulders for any pursuit. I checked my pistol, making sure that Melody had her own in hand, whilst travelling up to the ground floor and had my pistol out in front of me when exiting the confines of the elevator.

The wide corridors were empty, very different to earlier, and we hurried through to the lobby. A lone guard had replaced the receptionist and I put a bullet in him when he started to rise. The sound of the gunshot bought one of the door guards inside and my second shot struck him in the biceps of his dominant arm, spinning him round and forcing him to drop the rifle he was carrying. We kept running and I shoulder-barged the other door guard, using the sudden shift in momentum to thrust Melody towards the car.
"Get in! Start the engine!"
While Melody scampered down the steps I turned to the guard, quickly eliminating him as a threat with a headshot. The injured door guard hadn't turned up yet and so I completed my turn, hurrying after Melody towards the car.

---

We left the estate at speed, conscious that the people running the hospital could easily send vehicles after us. After a few minutes though I lightly touched the brakes, glancing at Melody.
"Start writing a report of what's happened. Copy over the contents of the discs as well."
She reached behind me to retrieve one of her laptops, balancing the device on her thighs, and I turned my attention to the GPS in the car's dashboard, checking the programmed route back into Istanbul.
"How detailed?"
"What?" I was thrown by Melody's question and only just managed to get onto the road we needed. "Put down what we know but don't go into the minutiae."
I caught her nod in the corner of my eye, her fingers starting to fly across the laptop keyboard, and she briefly looked up when the car was rocked by another racing past. I'd gotten a glimpse of the other car's occupants, something in the back of my mind registering that they seemed surprised to come across us, and then the car was behind us and getting closer.

The next we knew a bullet hit the car's rear window, cracks spreading out from the point of impact. Turning in her seat Melody looked with concern at the window.
"I know it's bullet-proof but surely..."
"Melody. Please let me worry about the car. You focus on that report."
My tone was brisk, I wanted Melody to be calm, not stressing about the people chasing us, and risked glancing at her as I took a sharp corner.

The road ahead was clear and I pressed the accelerator pedal down as far as possible, the car racing forward. I could hear bullets pinging off the bodywork, trusting that the Armoury had done their job properly, and used a hand to flip open the arm-rest between me and Melody. Flicking a switch in the compartment tucked away within the arm-rest I glanced into the rear-view mirror in time to see dozens of caltrops tumble across the road.

The pursuing car drove into the caltrops, its tires exploding. The vehicle uncontrollably spun across the road and disappeared from view, only the fading sounds of its end marking its existence. Eventually they also disappeared and I glanced at Melody.
"Put a pause on the report for now. Find us a way out of Turkey."
There was a relative silence until Melody let out a triumphant little cry, my left eyebrow almost subconsciously quirking in an unspoken question.
"British-registered freighter currently docked at Istanbul. They're due to leave within a couple hours."
I eased off the accelerator, the outside world passing by a fraction slower than before, and glanced again at the GPS.
"Get in contact with that freighter. Book us passage if you can."