Gemini, Part One

(Theme music plays, and a gun barrel follows James Bond as he steps onto the screen. He pauses, then turns and fires, blood leaking down. Flashbacks to Spectre appear on screen, including Bond's discovery of the Spectre ring, the death of Mr. White, Madeleine Swann's seduction, the death of C at M's hands, and Bond's choice to spare Ernst Stavro Blofeld before fading to black. A wide shot of London slowly zooms in before cutting to the interior of a small office, where Bill Tanner enters just in time to catch the last few seconds of M's phone conversation.)

M: (hanging up) Make it quick, Tanner. The Prime Minister's just been so far up my ass I won't sit properly for a week.

Tanner: You're feeling pressure from above?

M: That's putting it mildly. The Crown is growing rather impatient with the Franz Overhauser situation, and I'm running out of ways to stall them.

Tanner: You mean Ernst Stavro Blofeld, sir.

M: What bloody difference does it make?

Tanner: It's what he prefers, and all he'll answer to.

M: He's a kook in charge of the largest and most dangerous criminal syndicate on Earth. I frankly don't give a damn what he prefers.

(M rises from his desk and paces over to the far wall, peeling open the blinds to gaze out the window.)

M: We need workable intel on Spectre, or he's likely to be temporarily placed in the custody of someone who will get answers. There's a list about a mile long of countries begging to take a stab at it...

Tanner: (shrugging) Perhaps we should transfer him to somewhere a little more under the radar, so to speak, for enhanced interrogation...

M: Too risky...Blofeld's got friends and enemies in high places, and deeper pockets than all of the Western powers combined. Taking him out in public will lead to either his assassination or escape. I'm sure of it.

Tanner: (chuckling) Sir, with all due respect, you don't have a lot of other options.

M: ...Bring me Hawthorne.

(Through the halls a tall, older man strides with firm purpose, and stops outside the door to M's office, stepping inside as Tanner opens it and shaking the hands of both men.)

Hawthorne: (nodding) Sir. Mr. Tanner.

M: A pleasure as always, Agent Hawthorne. Can I offer you a drink?

Hawthorne: Most generous of you, but I must decline. In fact, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like things to stay strictly business.

M: Fair enough. Mr. Tanner, a moment alone, if we may...

Tanner: Certainly.

(Tanner steps out, shutting the door behind him, and M and Hawthorne settle down on opposite sides of the desk.)

Hawthorne: Now then...What's all the fuss about, sir?

(M produces a small remote and presses a button, and a projector screen descends from the ceiling and settles against one wall. He taps another button, and a high-resolution image of a scarred man appears on screen.)

M: Franz Oberhauser, or as he likes to be called now, Ernst Stavro Blofeld.

Hawthorne: The leader of Spectre. The man 007 arrested.

M: Quite right. He's clammed up in recent interrogations, and the Crown and Prime Minister are growing impatient with the lack of progress in the Spectre investigation.

Hawthorne: Sounds problematic.

(M presses a third button on the remote, and a map of the city pops up with a number of roads partially highlighted, ending at a dot just outside London.)

M: Our plan is to transfer him to this facility (points to dot), just outside London, for further interrogation with advanced techniques...

Hawthorne: You're going to torture him.

M: Do you have a problem with that, Agent Hawthorne?

Hawthorne: No, sir. My immediate concern is what any of this has to do with me.

M: I want you to personally escort him there.

Hawthorne: (incredulously) Me? Sir, with all due respect, this honestly seems like a task for 007.

M: Haven't you heard? His retirement goes into effect next month.

Hawthorne: With the past few years he's had? I don't blame him. (sighs) I'm assuming I won't be alone on this little escort mission...

M: Of course not. You'll be accompanied by a police convoy and fully armed security detail. Roads will be cleared and closed to the public along your route.

Hawthorne: (chuckling) How thoughtful of you to allow us a break from the London traffic.

M: So you'll do it?

(Hawthorne glances down, thinking it over, then nods.)

M: Excellent.

(Hawthorne rises, shakes M's hand, and strides out of the office, the door slamming shut behind him. The screen goes black, and the camera slowly begins to move down a long, dark hallway. A guard is posted on either side of a heavy metal door, and one of them opens it for the camera as it progresses inside, revealing Ernst Stavro Blofeld sitting in a cell under the light of a single wan bulb.)

Blofeld: ...

(Soft classical music wafts through the room as Blofeld sits sketching at a small desk in the corner of the cell, and after a few seconds he freezes, turning around to address the new arrival.)

Blofeld: Now here's an unfamiliar face...

(Out of the shadows and into the light Hawthorne steps forward with his hands clasped together behind his back.)

Hawthorne: Ernst Stavro Blofeld...You're shorter in person.

Blofeld: (smiling) I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met...

Hawthorne: Duncan Hawthorne, MI6. It would appear, my friend, that you and I are going on a little trip together.