My name is Bond, James Bond

 

My name is Bond, James Bond

 

He walked up to the bar and ordered his favorite martini - shaken, not stirred. He winked seductively at the beautiful red-haired woman in a pale blue shimmering dress standing next to him.

“Can I order something for you too, beautiful lady?” he asked her.

“Of course, Jessica Morris,” she agreed.

“Bond, James Bond,” he introduced himself and the redhead giggled.

“Like the famous spy from the movies? No, I don't believe you,” she shook her head.

“Yes, just like him. My parents had a sense of humor.” That was a lie.

He didn't recognize his parents; he had no idea, if they were pranksters. He only knew how Ian behaved and acted. His uncle practically had no idea what humor was. However, that didn't change the fact that it was actually a joke. A comedy piece now of gigantic proportions. But it was all Mrs. Jones' fault for coming up with that damn last name. She should have known that, if his last name is Bond, he will want his first name to be James.

“Be sensible, our best agent can't have that name, it's absurd, provocative, obvious and...” she enumerated before he interrupted her.

“No, it's perfect and actually extremely unobtrusive. I will be well hidden in plain sight. Everyone will laugh at the absurd idea that James Bond is real and seriously working for MI6, and they will stop searching. No one will believe it,” he pointed out, and the chief of the Secret Intelligence Service unwrapped another mint.

“Okay, it's your choice,” she finally agreed.

And so now he stood in the bar after almost another fifteen years of active duty with a name that no longer protected him as well as it once did, because under it he had managed to anger most terrorist organizations, hitmen, and rich lunatics over the years. Bond now had the same target on his back as the Rider once did. Still, he felt much better as James. He was exactly as the movies described him: a capable agent, a strong, independent, mentally stable, charming man who had everything firmly in his hands. Alex didn't formally work as an agent, he was a helpless child who was thrown into the cruel, violent reality of the world. He just tried desperately to survive, which he eventually succeeded in, but at a terrible cost. He lost everyone he loved, the only companions he had left were death and constant fear. He still has nightmares to this day. Yes, playing the role of a living legend was still safe and reassuring, at least for him.

“Oh well, and you continued their joke? Do you work for MI6?” the charming redhead wanted to know.

“No, I'm a banker. Which is very boring. On the other hand, if I were really a spy, I would probably tell you the same thing, right?” He smiled mischievously at her.

***

A few blocks away, Ben Daniels sat in van, listening to the entire conversation through his earpiece, wondering if it would be a good idea to bang his head on the steering wheel. Maybe it would make him faint and he wouldn't have to listen to Alex's bad flirting. Seriously, does this actually work? Well, nice guys can probably get away with anything, and it wasn't like his colleague was trying too hard. Playing a womanizer was part of his current identity, but that was all. Just one more lie of many.