Meeting Ian Fleming

The familiar whirr of the clock in Ms. Marlowe's classroom signaled the start of another adventure. The students gathered around, a mixture of excitement and anticipation on their faces, eager to discover what new historical mystery awaited them.

Ben shuffled in last, his usual bright demeanor dulled by a noticeable black eye. The other students exchanged worried glances but said nothing as he slumped into his seat.

Ms. Marlowe, noticing the tension, decided to address it directly. "Benjamin, what happened?" she asked gently.

Ben shrugged, trying to make light of it. "Just a little accident, that's all."

Jake wasn't convinced. He felt an inner rage that someone would hurt him, "Come on Ben! That doesn't look like just a little accident."

Ben's face hardened, unusual from his upbeat personality, avoiding eye contact. "I said it's nothing.”

“Bro! I’ve tried to talk to you about this,” Sam, sensing something more serious, pressed a bit further. "If someone’s hurting you…than tell us. We can do something about it.”

“It’s not like that!” Ben looked up, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and fear. "I just... I got in a fight, okay? Can we drop it?"

“I call bull shit!” Jake added, seeming to take his condition personally. For some reason. "You don't do fights."

Ms. Marlowe had seen students like Ben before, and she knew that pushing too hard could cause him to retreat further. She decided to change the subject, for now, to give Ben some space.

"Alright, Time Sleuths," she said, addressing the class. "Today, we're heading to Jamaica in 1953. Ian Fleming is hosting a party celebrating his first James Bond book, Casino Royale.”

The mood in the room changed. There was excitement brewing in the air. Ben had even perked up, "You mean, spies, gadgets, and tropical beaches? Sweet! Count me in!"

Emma pulled a face, “You know, ducks, not all of us are excited to meet someone who stereotypes female characters as the damsel in distress, the femme fatale, or the loyal companion while describing these women in terms of their physical attractiveness. They are treated as prizes or rewards for Bond's success.”

“You may have a point,” Ben took up the challenge. “But he does portray them as strong, intelligent, and capable. For example, Vesper Lynd in "Casino Royale" is a complex character with her own motivations and agency, though her story ultimately ties back to Bond's narrative, yet it is his name up in lights after all.”

Emma scowled at him, "Ducks! You sound like an excerpt from a Wikipedia page."

"I do my research."

“Come along everyone,” Ms. Marlowe smiled, clapping her hand to pull focus back to her. "There are truths to both your arguments, but we cannot share such ideas with the man,” She glanced at the girls, “Should we be tempted to correct his observations about female characters as that could interfere with established history of his works.” She looked at them all in turn, “And what must we never ever do?” They all groaned as if in pain, “Never ever change the past. Not one word.” Ms. Marlowe unlocks a cupboard at the back of the room, “Now, it is time to prepare. I thought a dress up box was needed due to mingling in the past.”

The cupboard was brimming with clothes that would not look out of place in a thrift shop. They also smelt of moth balls and age. It was time for them to dress for the party. Ms. Marlowe was the only one who stuck with her own garment which was a little Edwardian yet still would pass at a party in 1953.

Jake wore slim, black, high-waisted trousers, he found in the back of the immense wardrobe, paired with a short-sleeve button-down shirt in a bold turquoise. Over it, he donned a second-hand leather vest. His shoes were well-worn but polished Oxfords, and Lily had slicked his hair into a pompadour.

The final touch was a silk scarf that Ben had found and tied loosely around Jake's neck. Ben smiled at him, touched that he had been so concerned earlier, "You'll need to fend the boys of with a stick."

A moment seemed to pass between the two boys that was confusing to both. They broke the tension by repelling instantly away from each other seeming to end up on opposite sides of the room.

Ben embraced his love for eccentricity with a pair of high-waisted trousers in deep green. He paired them with a shirt featuring a mix of patterns, from polka dots to stripes. Over his shirt, he wore a mismatched vest, adding layers of whimsy to his outfit. Ben's socks, intentionally mismatched, peeked out from under his cuffed trousers, and his slightly worn brogues added a touch of character. His hair was styled in a wild, untamed manner, and he added a quirky bow tie and suspenders to complete his delightfully unpredictable look.

Jake could not help giving him a second glance. This boy could certainly sell an outfit that would look awful on someone else. And that excitable smile...if only?

Emma opted for a classic tea dress in a soft pastel floral print. The dress featured a fitted bodice and a full skirt, giving her a sweet, vintage charm. She paired it with simple white gloves and Mary Jane shoes. Lily had styled her hair in soft curls, held back by a dainty headband, and added a string of faux pearls around her neck to complete her timeless look.

Emma glanced over at Sam who was looking so handsome in his outfit. Her stomach was all butterflies just looking at him. If only life was easier for them.

Sam found a pair of tailored gray trousers and a crisp white dress shirt. Over this, he wore a slim-fitting blazer with a vibrant, geometric pattern, adding a modern twist to his outfit. His polished loafers, a skinny tie and a pocket square finished off his ensemble.

Once she had sorted everyone else out, Lily found a stunning cocktail dress in deep emerald, green. The dress featured a fitted bodice with a sweetheart neckline and a flared, knee-length skirt. She styled her hair into soft, cascading waves adorned with a delicate hairpin. She wore classic black patent leather pumps. Her makeup was impeccably highlighting her natural beauty.

Ben gave her a compliment that instantly rouged her cheeks. She was starting to feel some butterflies too. Things were beginning to get messy for the friendship circle.

When they stepped from vortex, the sound of crashing waves greeted them. The estate was alive with the sounds of a lively party, a mix of local and international guests, artists, writers, and even some intelligence agents.

Fleming himself, a tall, charismatic man with a sharp wit, welcomed them. "You must be the enchanting, Ms. Marlowe, and her curious students. I've heard whispers about you. And you’ve arrived just in time for one of my gatherings. Please, make yourselves at home."

Ms. Marlowe was taken aback for once, “You know me! Us!” Her usual confident air having been shaken, “How is that even possible?”

“Oh yes! But I wasn’t sure when,” The man ushered the party over to his den. They ventured inside to escape the hubbub. There were copies of his book upon the desk next to a letter, “I have a message for you.” He picked up the envelope turning to face the group eyeing each student in term until he rested on Jake, “I believe this is for you.”

In shock, Jake nervously took the offered letter. His name was indeed written on the front. He felt a chill run up his back. He opened it and a smile burst from his face, “Oh my! If I didn’t know any better, I’d be calling bull shit right now.” He turned to the others, “It’s from Tom Sullivan. He just wanted me to know that he made it to safety.” His cheeks immediately radiated with heat, “And…thanking me for his awakening.”

Ms. Marlowe took the situation in her stride. She smiled knowingly, “I had an intuition he would make it.” She looked to Ian Fleming, “How did he know we would arrive here?”

“He wasn’t sure,” The famous writer said, “He just had a hunch I would encounter you at some point. I guess a little birdy told him.”

"Or bug-eyed alien powers," Ben muttered.

“My party awaits.” Fleming's eyes twinkled with curiosity. "Come, let me show you, my world."

As they toured the estate and mingled at the party, Fleming shared stories of his time in British naval intelligence and discussed his inspiration for Casino Royale. The students were captivated by him even the two girls had been won over by his charm.

Ben, however, seemed distracted. He kept touching his black eye absentmindedly, lost in thought.

While the group was engrossed in Fleming's tales and the lively party atmosphere, Ben needed some air. He was feeling a little out of sorts. He wandered off, exploring the nooks and crannies on the grounds. It wasn't long before he stumbled upon a shadowy figure lurking near Fleming's study.

A party guest emerged from a side door engaging with the shadowy figure. This didn’t look suspicious at all! Not!

Ben eavesdropped into their conversation. He heard snippets about a plan to kidnap, Fleming, making sure everything was ready. Ben's eyes widened. This was serious. He accidently knocked over a pot plant disturbing the men.

He ducked back into the shadows. Emma tapped him on the shoulder. He almost jumped out of his skin. He tried hard to keep himself quiet. He put a finger to his lips, as they both peered around the edge of the house.

The men were once more engaged in conversation. Then the lurking figure slipped away, and so did the guest.

Ben turned to Emma, “Go get Ms. Marlowe! I think someone wants to kidnap Ian Fleming.” He looked to see where the man had gone, “I gotta go after him before he gets away.”

“Ducks! It could be dangerous!”

“So what!” Ben didn’t wait. "Life can be like that some days."

He hurried off after the lurking figure while Emma returned to the party to tell Ms. Marlowe what had happened.

Ben silently followed the lurking figure through the lush, moonlit Jamaican landscape. The figure moved with a predatory grace, slipping through the shadows cast by the swaying palms. Ben kept a distance, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement. The path weaved through dense foliage until reaching a secluded cliffside villa; its modernist architecture incongruously blending with the tropical environment. The villa, illuminated by the dim glow of lanterns, exuded an air of both opulence and menace.

The lurking figure, a tall man with a lean, athletic build, steps into the villa's courtyard. Ben could now make out his features in the faint light: a sharply angled face with high cheekbones, piercing cold blue eyes, and a burn mark to the side of his face. His dark hair was slicked back, and he wore a tailored black suit, giving him the appearance of a quintessential Bond villain.

Ben crouches behind a large, flowering hibiscus bush, his mind racing. Just as he was about to retreating to inform the others, a rough hand grabbed his shoulder, yanking him backward. He struggled, but it was futile. Within moments, he was dragged into the villa and thrust into a dimly lit room. The figure from the shadows stands before him, flanked by two burly henchmen.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" the man sneers, his voice dripping with condescension and the hint of a German inflection. "A little spy, perhaps?"

“Just call me, Justin Thyme.”

Ben's eyes dart around the room, taking in the luxurious yet sinister decor: dark wood paneling, heavy velvet drapes, and an ornate desk cluttered with documents and gadgets. The man, clearly the mastermind, leans in close, his scarred face twisted into a malevolent grin.

"Who sent you?" he demands, his voice low and threatening, "And what do you know about our operation?"

Ben decided to employ his unique take on life to bamboozle his captors. He launches into an elaborate, nonsensical tale to confuse him. "You see," he begins, "I was sent by the League of Extraordinary Time Sleuths to retrieve the sacred mango of Tenochtitlan, which, as legend has it, holds the key to eternal youth."

The man frowns, clearly baffled by Ben's story. "What are you talking about?" he snaps, his accent getting thicker due to his irritation.

Ben continues, undeterred. "So, why do you want to kidnap, Ian Fleming? He just writes books. Maybe not the best to some but will be blockbusters of the future.”

“He is a spy,” The man’s eyes narrow as he begins to speak, his voice laced with bitterness and a hint of twisted pride. "Ian Fleming is more than just a budding author. He was deeply involved in British Intelligence, orchestrating missions that crippled our operations and cost us everything. He must pay for his past deeds.”

Ian Fleming, exuding his usual calm yet commanding presence, casually strolled through the buzzing crowd of his party. His sharp eyes scanned the room. He moved with a purpose, his mind piecing together the fragments of information from Emma. The guest she described—a man with a suspicious air and furtive glances—had to be found.

Emma, staying close to Fleming, pointed discreetly to a man near the bar. The man, tall and lean with a neatly trimmed beard and a nervous manner, was nursing a drink, his eyes darting around the room. Fleming nodded and approached him with an air of casual indifference.

"Good evening," Fleming said smoothly, his voice betraying no hint of suspicion. "Enjoying the party?"

The man looked up, startled for a moment before forcing a smile. "Ah, most splendid. It's a wonderful gathering."

"I know most of these faces yet yours is a mystery." Fleming smiled, but his eyes were cold and calculating. "So, what were you and your friend doing out on my patio? You know the tall man with a German accent."

"I came with the Cavendish set," The man's face paled slightly, and he glanced around nervously. "He was just an old acquaintance. We were merely catching up."

"Is that so?" Fleming's tone remained pleasant, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. "You see, I'm quite interested in meeting this acquaintance of yours. He seemed... intriguing."

The guest went to run but Emma stuck out her foot and tripped him up. There were gasps from onlookers as Fleming helped the man up pretending to dust him off while gripping his left hand, digging between finger and thumb, causing the man excruciating pain. A pinched nerve will do that.

"I, um, I'm not sure where he went. He tends to come and go as he pleases."

Fleming leaned in slightly, his smile disappearing. "I suggest you think very carefully about where he might have gone. You see, I'm not one to be trifled with, and neither are my friends." He glanced at Emma who had fronted up beside them giving the man a threatened look, “Private Sullivan was not wrong about your class.”

“Well, ducks, women are not simpered idiots,” Emma glared, “Maybe you should remember that.”

The dark room in the cliffside villa was filled with an oppressive silence, broken only by the dripping of water from a distant pipe. Ben was tied to a sturdy wooden chair, his arms bound tightly behind him. The lurking figure, now revealing his true malevolent nature, stood before him, a cruel smile playing on his lips.

"Comfortable, boy?" he sneered, his German accent adding a sinister edge to his words.

Ben met his gaze with defiant eyes. "I've had better seats."

The villain chuckled, a low, menacing sound. "We shall see how long your bravado lasts." He snapped his fingers, and one of the henchmen brought forward a tray filled with an assortment of cruel-looking instruments. “I need to make certain you’re not some cunningly new operative recruited by the British empire to thwart our future efforts. Why else would you involve yourself,” The villain asked, picking up a pair of pliers and examining them with a twisted fascination. “Do you know what these are?”

Ben swallowed hard but refused to look away. "Torture tools. Seen them in movies. You think that's going to scare me?"

The villain's smile widened. "Oh, I don't need to scare you, boy. I just need to make you talk. And believe me, everyone talks eventually." He selected a thin, sharp knife from the tray and approached Ben, holding it up to catch the light. "Let's start with something simple, shall we?"

As the knife lightly traced a line down Ben's cheek, he flinched but kept his eyes locked on the villain's. "Do your worst. Nothing you can do will make me talk."

The villain paused, intrigued. "Such defiance. Tell me, what makes you so certain?"

Ben took a deep breath, his voice steady but filled with an underlying pain. "Because I've been through worse. My old man... he has a temper. I've learned to take a hit and keep quiet. So whatever you think you can do, it won't be enough."

The villain's eyes narrowed, and he pressed the knife a little harder, drawing a thin line of blood. "A brave front, but everyone has their breaking point."

Ben's jaw clenched, but he refused to cry out. "Not me. You won't break me."

“I must know why you followed us,” The villain stepped back, frustrated but oddly impressed. "Perhaps we need a different approach." He motioned to his henchmen, who stepped forward with a cloth and a bucket of water.

As they prepared for the next round of interrogation, Ben closed his eyes, mentally steeling himself. He thought of his friends, of Ms. Marlowe, and of the adventures they had shared. He wouldn't let this villain win, no matter the cost.

As the interrogation continued, Ben's mind wandered back to the moments that had brought him here. Despite the pain, he found strength in his memories, in the bonds he had formed with his friends, and in the knowledge that he was not alone. He could endure this, and take that, because he was stronger than they knew.

Ms. Marlowe, Ian Fleming and her students approached the cliffside villa cautiously, their hearts pounding with urgency. Sam had tracked Ben’s movements to the villa with his mash up I-phone/motion detector gadget. He was now using it to determine how many people where in that residence.

“I can only pick up four people in the villa.”

"Remember," Fleming instructed, his voice low but firm, "We need to act fast. The lad is in there, and we don’t know what state he’s in. Sam, you know the layout—lead the way."

Sam led them down the side of the villa, where a narrow window provided a glimpse into the dimly lit room where Ben was held. Sam pulled out his makeshift lock picking tool and got to work on the door.

Ian Fleming just watched on in wonder planning on including such marvelous ideas in his books but would have to reimagined them for copy right purposes. And believability, he wrote action and adventure spy stories not science fiction.

Meanwhile, inside the villa, Ben was slumped in the chair, his face pale. He was drenched from the water torture. He coughed and spluttered up gunk. The villain loomed over him,

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Fleming burst inside, followed closely by Ms. Marlowe and the students. The trio moved quickly, their eyes scanning the room for Ben. They spotted him immediately, tied up and showing the strain of the ordeal.

The villain, hearing the sound, turned abruptly. "What is this?" he barked; his German accent thick with anger.

He reached for a nearby weapon, but before he could react, Ms. Marlowe sprang into action. She used her elegant boot to dead leg the villain sending him to the ground, in pain.

Fleming fired his handgun taking out one of the henchmen while Jake used a half pipe back flip to kick the other one in the face, sending him flying.

Emma and Lily freed Ben and bustled him out through the door to safety. He lent against them, breathing erratically.

The villain tried to reach for his fallen gun, but Ms. Marlowe stomped on his hand, “No one touches my students without retribution.”

Ian Fleming made arrangements for a cleanup operation of the would-be kidnappers while Ms. Marlowe and her students returned to his estate. She found Emma and Lily with Ben in the den. He had a band aid covering the cut to the side of his face. He was awake but still shaking uncontrollably.

“You were right. Somone is hurting me.” Ben looked to his teacher, “I don’t want to go home anymore.”

Ms. Marlowe nodded her head in understanding. She didn’t need any words to explain what he meant. She had seen it all before.

Ben collapsed into their embrace and let out all his tears. It was time to go home to deal with their real issues, not other people’s. Though, he did eye off a first edition copy of Casino Royale lying on the desk that would make a mint when they got back home.

#TimeTravelTales #HistoricalFigures #QuickReads #LGBTIQAFiction #YAFiction.