The Spook Who Loved Me (continued)
Craig (ignoring him): Moore and Brosnan – you guys are running surveillance. All Hussain’s known contacts must be watched. We have rigged up a state-of-the-art satellite tracking system you’ll be able to operate from one central vehicle allowing you to report back anything out of the ordinary to the team here…
Moore (suddenly worried): One vehicle? At least tell me it’s an Aston Martin DB5?
Craig: Er, ‘fraid not.
Moore: Submersible Lotus Esprit??
Craig: Ford Transit.
Moore (broken): Sweet Jesus! Throw me a bone here! How the hell am I supposed to pull the dusky Muslim babes in one of those?
Dalton: Perhaps not having your mind in your pants for once will allow you to stay focussed on the job in hand.
Moore: Timmy, PLEASE! You know I can’t concentrate on a mission unless I’m sexually slaked. The only loaded gun I need when I’m jumping out of a plane into a jungle full of tooled-up mercenaries is my trusty revolver. Believe me. Blowing away an evil nemesis and delivering a pithy one-liner is a lot trickier when you’ve got a semi lob on.
Craig: OK, OK. Moving on. Dalton – you’re to stay here and co-ordinate the operation – you’ll act as back up to the others and keep them up to speed.
Dalton: Oh, that’s right – Double O status for twenty years – over a hundred confirmed kills and a snappy theme tune by A-Ha, and you’re reducing me to desk monitor. I’d didn’t sign up for this mission to be the next Colin or Malcom. It’s because I’m Welsh, isn’t it?
Craig: It’s not the Welshness – more the dullness. Which just leaves Lazenby. Where the hell did he get to?
Moore: Just texted him - I thought I’d send him off for some Starbucks and Krispy Kremes before he could regale us with more of his dubious theories on modern terrorism.
Connery: Shplendid - I could murder a donut. If we're done here, Shonny Jim, I've got Mish Monneypenny in a bathful champersh to attend to, show if you'll excuse me, I'll have my coffee to go.
Nods disdainfully at Craig and exits
Harry: I don't much care what pathetically prehistoric spying stereotypes you men subscribe to - just make sure you get the job done. Right - get out of my sight.
Lazenby returns laden with coffee and snacks just as the other agents exit noisily, leaving Harry alone - head in his hands
Lazenby: Right - what did I miss? Hey where's everyone going?
Looks up at image on the wall.
Lazenby: Oh, we're still on old Mustapha, are we? Just bumped into him outside Starbucks. Nasty piece of work. Popped a cap in his ass, as I believe the modern parlance goes. Cappuccino, Harry?
