Pond studied the message for a few seconds, committing the information to memory, then he ate it. He now knew the three special items that ‘R’ had provided Pond for his imminent mission. He gathered two of them up and left the apartment with a caffeine-fuelled enthusiasm that was firmly controlled by his serious expression.
‘The game was afoot!’ As Sherlock would have said – Sir Arthur’s words upon his lips.
Reaching the lobby, Pond noted the Prussian spy still attempting to complete the crossword in his newspaper. Pond didn’t break his stride and leaving the hotel, turned left onto Princeton Boulevard. Bond took the pair of glasses from his inner jacket pocket and donned them – instantly, he was connected to the Comms Department; a small screen started relaying images of the spy following him straight to his visual input; and a tracking device was initialised.
Pond marvelled at R’s devices – minute and efficient, way in advance of anything that the ‘enemy’ had to hand – whoever the ‘enemy’ might be at any given time.
The glasses were updating Pond on all of their uses as he strode along Princeton and left into Charles Habsley Ave. (43rd Ave). The spy was following at a safe distance, along with a support team of another footpad and a vehicle manned with two grey-suits. ‘Four men’ thought Pond. They have scrimped on nothing to accompany a person on a short stroll around the block.
Pond popped quickly into Hermingham’s Book & News Emporium and switched with his lookie-likie, Mort Haroldson, who, with newspaper under arm, seamlessly took over Pond’s stroll around the block.
The real Pond walked swiftly through Hermingham’s and out of the fire escape – his dull battleship-grey Lincoln Continental was up and running – it fitted him like a glove. He eased away from the store’s rear and was soon heading out of the city to his rendezvous with V.
Haroldson had passed Pond a small paperback. This hollowed-out book enclosed a length of filament wire, a handy flat blade knife and a variety of small, ingenious tools and gadgets – all of which, Pond was being educated via his glasses at this very moment.
Driving with every care to be unnoticeable – along with the car’s changing numberplate to confuse plate-recognition technology – Pond left the city and headed East.
Stopping at a roadside motel. Pond swapped his dull Lincoln for a two-wheeled vehicle that would get him to his rendezvous a lot quicker. Donning the silver helmet, he quickly re-entered the flow of traffic from West to East and opened up the motorbike.