Work Text:
Felix doesn’t know what the hell is going on. First his boss is working out shady deals with shadier people. Then, he’s asking Felix to identify Bond to said shady people, and then identifying Bond himself when Felix refuses. And now Felix has orders to neutralize Bond.
Felix thought that Britain was their ally.
How quickly these things change.
It’s a shame; Felix quite likes Bond. He’s charismatic in a way that federal agents aren’t always, even-keeled and calm.
“You should just answer, ‘CIA,’ Felix. A taxi driver told me where the office was.”
“Well, if we’re so easy to find, James—” Beam’s head snaps up “—you really should come visit,” Felix answers easily.
“Or maybe you should come out and see more of the city.”
Beam explains the plan. He’s got it all figured out: there’s no way Bond can weasel his way out of the trap they’ve laid.
Felix will believe it when he sees it.
He stands at the bar, sipping his drink. He feels Bond approach more than hears it: soft footfalls and gentle fabric. “I heard a rumour you’d gone native,” Felix says.
“Felix.”
“You know,” Bond says, “I was just wondering what South America would look like if nobody gave a damn about coke or communism. It always impressed me the way you boys would carve this place up.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, coming from a Brit.”
“Are you sure you’re playing with the right side?” Bond asks.
How naive. There is no right side. “Regimes change once a week down here. Medrano will be no dirtier than the next guy.”
“That’s what I like about US intelligence. You’ll lie down with anybody.”
Bond takes a long drink of his beer. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Including you, brother,” Felix says, because he can play this game, too. “Including you.”
“Do you know you're being played? Dominic Greene's going to suck this place dry, and then he's going to move on, and you're going to be left picking up the broken crockery.”
“What can I tell you?” Felix asks, voice thick with innuendo. “There's no such thing as a free lunch.”
But Bond is not to be outdone. He’s fluent in double-speak, too. “Well, you see, Felix. I don't think you're half as cynical as you make out to be.”
“You don't know me.”
“Why? Just because you didn't come alone?”
Felix smiles. Attaboy.
“How long have I got?” Bond asks.
Felix considers. “Thirty seconds.”
Pity, Bond’s eyes say. “Well, that doesn't give us a lot of time, does it?”
Felix gives Bond the information that he wants. “Medrano can't move until he pays off the army and the police chief. Greene's bringing him his money now. A hotel called La Perla de las Dunas in the desert.”
Bond holds eye contact. “Thank you, Felix.”
Felix can practically hear the boots hitting the ground. Time’s up. “James, move your ass.”