London Heathrow has never been busier and Bond was not looking forward to standing in the security and ticketing lines. With an upgraded security system now, Bond usually had trouble getting his usual Beretta or Walther PPK through security unless he threw it into the cargo bag. Q had let himself into Bond's apartment two days ago, just like Bond had let himself into M's apartment  more than once, but the agent was not happy about the Quartermaster snooping into his flat without his permission. It was nevertheless his private home.

 That night, Q had dropped off an arsenal of his newest inventions. The cologne flamethrower was nicely secured in the Tom Ford bottle, a new Omega watch had been given to him, after blowing up the other one in Morocco, his new set of pens had explosive ink if inflamed, his sunglasses now had a built-in waterproof camera which was invisible to the naked eye, and he was given a new Sony Xperia cellular which had all of the tools Bond would be prone to use. The trusty small radio was also included, as well as the customized  PPK/S with the grip detector and a new feature Bond was overexcited to hear about; it was unrecognizable to sensors, rays, and cameras. He was also handed a new set of keys to the Aston Martin he used in Spain for his last mission but he noticed a rectangular key that was quite different from the rest. He would later find out that it was a universal key that unlocked 97 percent of the world's locks. 

So for the first time in years, Bond gladly walked through the monitors without having the gun show up on the screen or any metal on that account, and he happily proceeded to the inner restaurants where he happily ordered himself a nice breakfast. He ate in peace and passed as a regular businessman in his marine blue suit and polished oxfords, his tie nicely hanging from his neck, and the small suitcase and briefcase standing at his feet. He made sure he was clean shaven, wanting to make a nice impression on the Italian woman, and that his cologne was nice and fresh. He drank his black coffee with no sugar or milk, and indulged in his eggs and sauteed mushrooms over rye toast. His breakfast was full of flavour, which made his day better already since breakfast was his favourite meal of the common day. But as he looked at his food more intently, especially at the sauteed mushrooms, he couldn't help but remember the time when he cooked his tomato pie at the villa for Vesper and how she had quite an appetite for mushrooms. It made him rather melancholic but he couldn't help the sudden flow of memories. He could see her smile while she relished the dinner he made, the flash of the aubergine coloured dress she wore that one night, and her particular love for evening strolls. 

He quickly stopped the flow of the memories and turned into stone like he taught himself for the past eleven years but even then it was sometimes hard to forget. He focused on his coffee and how it wasn't too roasted, but just the way he liked it and even managed a small grin in satisfaction. After he payed, he grabbed his belongings and walked over to the gate he would be boarding from and he already saw the familiar British Airways plane waiting to fly off to Milan. He was rather calm about the situation, even though he should be worried about a whole station of the Service being kidnapped but he remembered one thing; one person escaped. That would mean she would know where they are being held or who the people are more or less. Bond didn't want to rely on her for all of the information since he wanted to show her how good he is at his job and just how fit he is for such a profession. 

As he was boarding, Bond gave a nice hello to the welcoming flight attendant and took his seat at the front of the plane in the first class section next to a window. He always enjoyed window seats because of his fascination for flying but also because he liked to see distant cities and landscapes from the air. The flight attendant instantly offered him champagne, which he happily appreciated and sipped on the bubbly wine before reaching for his newspaper. Sitting in the window seat meant that he would sit alone and undisturbed by other passengers who would often annoy him by squeezing themselves out or trying to make conversation with the knowledgeable face of James Bond. 

Bond slept during the two hour flight, even though he had two cups of dark coffee just before getting on board. The announcements woke him up and he put away his newspaper and took out the pin he was told to wear on his suit so that Marino could recognize him. He pulled out his file that M gave him and analyzed his briefing. He was to pose as Marcus Hamilton, owner of the Aston Martin dealership in Manchester, and was now on holiday in Milan to visit the city. His coworker would pose as Francesca Baccarini, owner of a boutique in the city whom he met once in Manchester. He couldn't help but remember the time where he read Vesper's cover, Stephanie Broadchest, and it still got him to this day how her last name was self-describing of her real chest. He remembered every single word he exchanged with her but he knew it was the end. His mind flew to when he was with Miss Fields and lied about their cover as lottery winning educators and he managed a smile at the thought but his lips went down as he remembered her tragic end.

Bond walked out of the airplane, thanking the crew before he left, and made his way to the baggage claim where he had to pick up his bulletproof suitcase, another courtesy of Q branch. He saw a crowd of people waiting behind the glass doors and knew the woman was somewhere there waiting for him. He kept a straight face as he walked out of the baggage claim and searched for a woman who would look interesting. This time, he wouldn't have a beautiful woman walk up to him and sit across before saying 'I'm the money', but someone less striking. He noticed a woman leaning against the phone booth, a newspaper in hand and a small cloud of smoke forming next to her, and he decided that it must be her. He walked up to her and she folded the newspaper before looking up at him. She had green eyes and long almost black hair pinned to the side, defined cheekbones, a rather wide mouth with natural pink lips, and a toned elegant body which wasn't as tall as he expected, being only around 1.68 meters. Bond found her attractive but there was a certain violence in her beauty so he decided to keep professional for the most part.

"Bond?" she asked, an Italian accent climbing through her English.

"Marino?" he asked in return, knowing he found the right person.

"Welcome to Milan, let's go get the lift." she said and started walking to the exit door.

The ride was long but Bond admired the beauty of Italy while his coworker was typing away at her cellular. He was curious about her and was going to ask her questions but he knew they would have to be in private to do so. She wasn't stupid and he knew it very well. She had a smart look and walk but he also saw the professionalism in her tone of voice. She would be a hard catch, he thought but he turned his attention back on what had to be done.

The moment the car pulled up to the doors of the Hotel Spadari, Artemisia got out of the car and picked up Bond's smaller suitcase, taking it with her. He was rather confused but decided to move along and he took his larger suitcase and briefcase with him and headed for the door. The receptionist greeted them in Italian, to which Bond improvised a sentence and check himself in.

"Hamilton, Marcus Hamilton." he said and the lady checked him in and gave him a key.

Artemisia stayed in the room next to his and they quickly unpacked before they headed downstairs to meet for a nice coffee. Bond changed out of his suit into looser clothing, seeing that the Italian air was still hot and opted for a marine blue blouse and dark jeans paired with his leather casual shoes. He took out his sunglasses and propped them up on his head before taking his new car keys and documents.

He saw her sitting in the lobby, her white summer dress flowing nicely against her skin, and he walked up to her with a friendlier face and offered her a hand.

"A nice coffee, maybe?" he asked.

"Sounds like a great idea. I know a good place just down the street." she said and they headed down to the cafe. 

As they sat under the parasols, Artemisia and Bond talked about the assignment. He found out many things about her and Station I but he still wondered how it all happened.

"How the bloody hell did it happen?" he asked her.

"Very casually. I was out in the market to bring back some fresh fruit to the office and when I came back there were some men making a commotion with guns. So I decided to play innocent and I pretended to be just a girl who brought fruit from the market in the mornings. They took me hostage for a while but then they turned to the agents and took them into these two large cars and then they wanted to get me but I was already gone and on the roof of the building." she answered, intriguing Bond more than ever. She was smart, just like he thought.

"Do you know where they are?" asked Bond with urgency.

"No. I know in which direction they went but I have no idea where exactly." she answered as she sipped on her coffee.

"Well we have a start at least. Let's get to work tomorrow and today we plan out what we are going to do." he replied and started thinking.

"Sounds like a plan Mister Bond, or should I say Hamilton?" she asked, making an opening joke. 

Bond already liked her attitude, professional yet friendly. She had the Italian character of a warm woman with a bright smile and a fragile build, but she was surrounded with an aura of determination. Her skin glowed in the sun and showed off her toned arms and legs, due to the training she probably went through in the field. Her dark hair shone in the light and matched her dark eye makeup which gave her a violent aesthetic and screamed of mystery. 

She pulled out a map and circled the building in which Station I was located and then drew an arrow in the direction the cars went. She knew the men wouldn't take them out of the country because they had no way of doing so. She was awaiting cryptic messages to come through the network and Bond was awaiting news from M since they were still agents belonging to the SIS and if the organization wanted to taunt them, they would contact London. 

Bond ordered himself and the girl some tiramisu, a dessert he fancied whenever he found himself in Italy. He enjoyed the heavily caffeinated cake with bitter cacao powder along with a fresh and strong cappuccino. His taste for Italian food was quite remarkable, being fond of the Mediterranean cuisine and its many flavours and colours, therefore he relished every dish he tried when he was in the country. 

"I see you like our cake and coffee?" she said as she set her cappuccino down on the table.

"I prefer Italian and Mediterranean over British when I am on a job." he replied and took a mouthful of the cake.

"Oh really? I see you are quite fond of this, as if you have had it quite a bit before." she said, raising an eyebrow. "There is nothing to be ashamed of, Mister Bond. It is quite natural that our food is better than yours, having access to the sun whenever we want. I sometimes do feel sorry for you British, the lack of sun must be responsible for your cold attitude or grumpy expressions." she said and gave a small smirk.

"I see. You have something against us, do you? Italians, I should have known that behind those smiles of yours there is a sense of superiority." he said and played her game.

"And you British are not stuck up? Oh, we have a Queen, castles, palaces, we are the symbol of business in Europe, our history is remarkable, and we love to talk about the weather since it is so rare that there is sun in our country!" she mimicked a London accent and went on teasing Bond.

"I really have nothing to say. Oh Italianos! You have your fancy cakes and food, Venice, the Colosseum, Ferrari, Lamborghini, fashion gurus of the world, Leonardo Da Vinci, other artists, operas, gelato, macaroni, mamma mia!" he said in a stereotypical Italian rhythm with larger hand gestures. 

Artemisia couldn't reserve her laugh and she gave a genuine one to which Bond responded with his own, thinking about how immature they were being. That's what Bond loved to do, have some sort of pleasure in taking a job. For instance he loved getting women into bed with him but he was doing less of that as time flew, trying not to break his oath. He found happiness in driving his Aston Martins or visiting nice cafes and restaurants, playing a few rounds of Baccarat or standard poker before heading down to the bar and getting himself a dry martini. He found pleasure in the simple things such as food and drink, but he always searched for one to keep him company. As much as he loved being with women, he never searched for a wife. Ten years ago, he had his mind set on being married and resigning from the job, to be with Vesper until death did them part, but soon enough even that fantasy of his was burned to ashes by the very woman herself.

Later that night, Bond and Artemisia met and pulled up maps, codes, computers, and profiles to start planning out their search. They circled cities that had decent numbers of gangs and organizations and Artemisia gave him clues to notable abandoned buildings in Milan and Turin and they looked up addresses which they noted down. 

Bond's laptop gave a sound of an email and he checked it, being sure it was from M himself. As he opened it, he found out he was right but M sounded concerned in his words as he spoke of threats in London.

They are threatening us just like they did four years ago. They want to execute them and they say that you will find them only if we pass them the key to the station. They gave a first clue: 'Of the Salassi we are and from no province we come, figure out the first clue or the job will be done.' Try and figure it out, we are counting on both of you.

-M

Bond frowned as he thought upon the clue. This organization seemed to be luring them into a trap but he didn't see what they were after. They were obviously blackmailing them but with a guessing game? Bond always hated being involved with Italian organizations since they weren't stupid and were rather cruel when it came to it. He knew he had to figure out what the clue meant but he had a feeling he couldn't do it by himself. 

By that time, Artemisia was sitting next to him and looked at the bright screen. She analyzed every word of the riddle but she too had a hard time figuring it out. Bond couldn't help but look at the woman sitting so close to him, her face concentrated on the screen, her green eyes piercing the light, her hair in the light curls shining bright, the elegant body curved towards the laptop, her golden necklace hanging down her shirt, intriguing him. 

"Sorry London, but if you think for one second that you will get me into bed with you, then you are quite mistaken. Keep thinking of the riddle and not of the necklace down my shirt." she said, not even turning her head towards the Englishman.

"Oh, as if I would have any desire to do so." he smirked, secretly defeated.

"It has to be in Italy. They have them in Italy." she said definitely, "Just which city?" 

"Or cities?" added Bond and their eyes met in a discovery of solutions.

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HE-LLO!

Sorry for the timely update but here you go! Another chapter of The London File has been completed! I have finally found the solution to whom I should cast as Artemisia Marino: it's Lena Headey! (up above if you're curious) 

Please tell me what you think and leave a vote which will be greatly appreciated :) If you can, please share with any Bond fan out there!

IF YOU KNOW THE ANSWER TO THE RIDDLE, PLEASE DROP IT IN THE COMMENTS!

With Uni starting soon, I am worried about being able to update as I should and I hope not to lose any of you! 

xIng