As a child, I first saw him in films like "Goldfinger" and "From
Russia with Love," outfitting James Bond with a slew of fantastic
gadgets and weapons -- the Aston Martin with the ejector seat, the
lethal briefcase with the hidden knife.

Back then, as an 8-year-old boy in suburban New Jersey, I
believed that surely, somehow, somewhere in London, Q existed. He
must be real, I told myself. Q and Bond. We needed guys like that
to fight the Cold War, didn't we?

Thirty years later, in September 1994, I found myself sitting in an
abandoned Rolls Royce jet engine factory, 30 miles north of
London, writing the last draft of the James Bond film "Goldeneye."

I'd held the legendary Bond gun, the Walther PPK. I'd taken the Aston
Martin for a spin. I'd learned -- to my great amusement -- that Q
stood for quartermaster, and that in the scripts, the gadgets and
weapons were referred to as Q-toys. But I still hadn't met him.

Then, one October afternoon, Desmond Llewelyn came to our makeshift
movie studio for lunch. And, all of a sudden, I was an 8-year-old boy again.

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