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[JCRendle]

Licences to Kill:
The Unknown 00s
 
1. Michael Halt

• Name: Halt, Michael
• Height: 175 cm, 
• weight: 67 kg; 
• Muscular build; 
• Eyes: Dark Brown; 
• Hair: black; 
• Possible scarring, locations unknown; 
• all-round athlete; expert pistol shot, boxer, knife-thrower; 
• Master of disguises and vocal manipulation. 
• Languages: English, Spanish, French, Italian, German and Yiddish. 
• Non-smoker

-- --
 
Moneypenny looked up from her typewriter expecting, and half hoping, that the figure who walked into the room was James Bond. 
 
“Hello Moneypenny, is M available? I need to speak to him pretty urgently”
 
Michael Halt, an agent in the 00 section for 4 years, stood in the doorway. Moneypenny gave him a look that took in his disheveled clothes, dusty and unshaven face and unkempt hair. He would have passed for one of the vagrants that were commonplace on the streets of London.
 
Moneypenny sniffed unapprovingly.
 
“He is in a conference at the Cabinet Office with the Prime Minister, though he is expected back within the hour. May I suggest, 
Michael, that if you wish to speak to him, that you use the time to improve your appearance? You look like you spent the night on 
the streets, and the smell does little to dispel this observation”
 
A smile crept to the corner of Michaels mouth, he knew what others in the department thought of him, he was the antithesis of 
James Bond, the 00 sections golden boy. He cared little for expensive living, luxury cars or savile row tailors - he was as at home 
in the rags the he now wore as he was in a suit and knitted tie. What mattered to him was that he went unnoticed and was quickly
forgotten.
 
His face was plain, he bore no tattoos or distinguishing features, save the large scar that ran the length of his back - but he was 
careful that this was always covered. He could pass for multiple nationalities, and had the skills to radically change his appearance, 
learnt from an early career in the theatre. The perfect spy.
 
“Moneypenny, I am not dressed like this for my own enjoyment, I believe that M will understand my unsavoury state when I explain
 to him exactly how I’ve spent my morning and that the raising of current hygiene levels would adversely effect the plans that I 
have following our proposed meeting. Would you be so kind as to send a message to my office when M arrives, and please let him
 know the urgency of my request”
 
Without waiting for a reply, he nodded civilly and left the office.
 
--
 
Ceri Jones, Halt’s Welsh secretary, flipped through the expenses report that lay on the desk in front of her. It always amazed her 
how little Halt spent when he was acting on behalf of Her Majesty’s Secret Service, opting for unremarkable and cheap hostels and
 motels, rather than the 5 star accommodation that some agent’s felt obliged to charge to the treasury.
 
Friends with, and neighbour to, fellow secretary Mary Goodnight, they had often compared notes and a giggle over their agent’s 
obvious differences. But, as Jones often pointed out, they both managed to get the job done effectively, though in Halt’s case with
out long stretches in the infirmary.
 
The door opened and Halt walked in. Unlike Moneypenny, Jones had no need to comment on his appearance. She understood his
 methods and knew how effective they could be. Though the obvious bags under his eyes gave her cause for concern, fatigue 
easily could get an agent killed.
 
“I feel fine, Ceri, don’t worry about me. I’m not as tired as I look, so take that concerned look off your face. It’s putty and a touch of
 make up, nothing more. Though, if it’ll make you feel any better, a nice strong coffee may be in order”
 
She smiled and turned back the the paperwork in front of her. Any other secretary would have jumped up and headed for a kettle
 at these words, but she’d been working with Michael Halt for too long to take this as an order.
 
Sure enough, 5 minutes later a hot, steaming cup of tea was placed in front of her by a smiling Halt, whilst he poured the boiling 
water into his own cup of black coffee, no sugar. 
 
“You have these to sign, Michael, though I don’t know why they bother sending them down to us, the only expenses you create 
are your travel and M takes care of that, and even then you insist on travelling third class.”
 
“I am a man of simple pleasures, you know that. And don’t forget, people who throw money about often stand out, how Bond has 
survived this long, I’ll never know”
Draining his coffee, he looked up as a messenger knocked on the door with a sealed message, which he took with a nod of thanks.
 
M will see you now. Moneypenny
 
Signing the expenses, Halt smiled at Jones and went to the door.
 
“I have to see the Admiral. I will drop in after the meeting, but I expect to be leaving the country on an early flight tomorrow 
morning, if all goes well. Please have a passport ready. I will be flying under the Hammersmith alias, I believe all his paperwork is
 up to date in the right hand cabinet - along with the disguise. I will send details whilst I am in the field, but I will be requiring the 
Blacksmith alias to be sent out to me as soon as I find appropriate accommodation”
 
He left the room and headed to M’s office. He already knew what he was going to say and it wouldn’t be easy.

[JCRendle]

The Brief

“Sit down, 001 - Miss. Moneypenny tells me that you have some vital information that can not wait”

Vice Admiral Sir Miles Messervy KCMG, known to those in government circles and the intelligence community as M, was exhausted.

He had spent the last few hours with the Prime Minister, the Chancellor, select members of the Cabinet and the Treasury and the head of MI5,Lt Gen Sir Harold Kingsley, or K. They had discussed business ranging from local affairs, crime syndicates that the major crime units of the British Police Force had escalated to the intelligence services to international incidents, censored accounts of what MI6 agents were currently investigating and recent 00 activities.

He always hated having to account for his agents activities, as did K. They both agreed that, barring major international incident, what their agents were involved in should stay confidential and that included from the government.

Governments came and went, the Prime Minister could be voted out next year, and a new man could take his place. The Official Secrets Act had worked so far, but M knew that it was still a major risk. K agreed, he had agents in several high profile protest groups, anti-royalists, domestic terror cells as well as major businesses.

Suffice it to say, they always gave a severely watered down account.

M looked up at the agent in front of him, subconsciously he shifted in his seat, he felt like a man passing a beggar on the street and wished he could cross the road to avoid passing too close. Realising his lapse, M turned to the cabinet behind him and took out a decanter and a couple of crystal glasses.

“Drink, 001? It’s a very good vintage, I picked it out myself”

“I don’t drink, Sir, I find it dampens the senses and I’d rather be in control of any situation that may arise, however unexpectedly. I thank you for the offer though, I’m sure that it is excellent, knowing your exquisite tastes”

M smiled and returned both glasses, M had a lot of respect for Michael, despite his appearance, and he approved of his methods. Despite the Licence to Kill that he had held for several years, he was very careful to only kill when all other options had been exhausted.

Not that he couldn’t kill, the man was on the team for the Dewar Trophy, and the Instructor had confided in him that, after Bond, Halt was probably the deadliest shot in the division.

“Thank you, 001, now let’s get down to business. You have information that can’t wait and is of vital importance. Enlighten me”

“Harrows, sir. Edward Harrows. He’s on the move. I believe he’s headed to the Netherlands to meet with associates and I have a feeling this is part of something much bigger than they’ve been involved with before. I have been trailing him for several weeks, under a number of aliases, and I’ve learnt that he’s been in contact with several different organisations - organisations, sir, that usually have no contact at all and are usually at odds with each others dealings. Something big is happening, and we need to find out what”

M pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“You were meant to be on leave, Halt, I expected you to spend some time in the country, or on the golf course, not conducting your own investigation into Harrows. Why him, 001? Why Harrows in particular?”

“After the Press Gang incident in Egypt, with Blackfield, I told you that there had to be a contact in London? I believed that it was Harrows. I’d heard that he had been active again, but I had to make sure before I escalated it to you. I think it goes much further than them rounding up homeless for slavery. I need to follow this up, I can’t leave a job undone. He’s leaving from Heathrow tomorrow morning, I need to be on that plane. Miss Jones has my passport ready, all I need are the tickets”

M leaned forward and pressed the intercom on his desk.

“Moneypenny? Please send up a representative from Q-Branch, let them know that this is a travel one priory”

[JCRendle]

Netherlands and beyond

 

Het Paradijs was anything but a paradise, rowdy laughter could be heard through the thin and damp encrusted walls and the constant drip, drip, drip from the bathroom was both infuriating and relaxing in equal measures. It was perfect.

 

Halt took out his medical bag and started sorting through the contents, modelling putty, make up, liquid latex, spirit gum and crepe hair as well as documents relating to Stuart Blacksmith. He had "portrayed" Stuart on several occasions, and could likely apply his face in the dark - which was lucky, because the dingy bulb that hung from the ceiling barely gave off enough light to warrant switching on.

 

A crash of breaking glass made Halt look up, but the laughter that followed it told him that the drunks next door had broken another bottle against the wall. Smiling to himself, he broke the seal on the bottled water that lay on the table in front of him and toasted them, silently.

 

The next morning, a slightly overweight, bearded man stepped from the entrance of the hotel and joined the flow of people headed towards the stadscentrum.  He carried a battered leather suitcase with Universal Exports printed in cracked gold lettering above the top. He bought a copy of De Telegraaf from a street vendor and made his way to the Gouden Standaard Hotel to wait.

 

Halt clocked Edward Harrows as soon as the man stepped from the double doors of the luxury hotel, he couldn't have looked more out of place if he tried. He had tried to pass himself off as a tourist, a large camera hung around his neck and he wore a shirt that felt more at home in Hawaii. He was, Halt thought to himself, a walking cliché, and he thanked him for it. He would be the easier to follow, even if he was lost in the crowd.

 

The paper he had been reading was soon folded and placed in his bag and he was off. He knew the area well, and he moved easily down the street, keeping a safe distance and hanging back when needed.

 

The hand off was completed in the blink of an eye, Halt would have missed it if he hadn't of had Harrows in direct eyesight at the time. To the untrained eye, it would have appeared that one man accidentally bumped into another as they passed each other, one entering a building, the other exiting.

 

What Halt saw was the exiting man's hand slipping something into his pocked as he walked towards him. He smiled, two could play at that game. Maneuvering himself so that he was in the path of the unknown man, he bumped into him as he passed, expertly swapping the package in his pocket for a tiny tracking device. An agent from Station N would soon pick up the signal and he would be watched where ever he went.

 

"Het spijt me" he muttered, as he passed "Sorry"