In 1983, at the airport in Nice, France, a seven-year-old boy named Mark Haynes had an encounter so magical it stayed with him for life. He was traveling with his grandfather when he spotted a familiar face — smooth, charming, unmistakable. It was James Bond.

At least, that’s what young Mark believed. The man in the airport lounge was Roger Moore, the actor then portraying the legendary 007 on the big screen. Filled with excitement, Mark asked his grandfather if he could approach him for an autograph. Encouraged, he nervously made his way over.

Moore, as kind and gracious as his on-screen charm suggested, smiled warmly, asked Mark’s name, and wrote a lovely note on the back of his plane ticket. But as Mark walked away, beaming, he glanced down at the signature and felt confusion take hold.

It didn’t say “James Bond.” It said “Roger Moore.”

Disheartened, Mark showed the autograph to his grandfather. The elder man studied it and concluded that it did indeed say “Roger Moore” — but that meant nothing to young Mark. His heart sank. The actor had signed the wrong name.

So, back went his grandfather, ticket in hand, to correct the mistake.

As Mark recalled years later, “I remember staying by our seats and my grandad saying to him, ‘He says you’ve signed the wrong name. He says your name is James Bond.’”

And that’s when Moore’s eyes twinkled with understanding. He motioned the boy back over, leaned down so only Mark could hear, glanced left and right, and with a perfectly arched eyebrow said softly:

“I have to sign my name as ‘Roger Moore’ because otherwise… Blofeld might find out I was here.”

He thanked Mark for keeping his secret — and asked him not to tell a soul. The boy returned to his seat, his mind racing, his heart pounding. James Bond had just let him in on a top-secret mission. When his grandfather asked if the actor had signed it correctly this time, Mark simply whispered, “No… I was wrong. I’m working with James Bond now.”

That moment would have been enough. But the story doesn’t end there.

Years passed. Mark grew up, became a writer, and eventually found himself working on a UNICEF project. One day on set, Roger Moore — now a UNICEF ambassador — was scheduled to film a piece to camera. And there he was again. The man, the legend, the secret agent himself.

During setup, Mark mentioned the airport story in passing, expecting perhaps a polite laugh or nod. Moore chuckled and replied, “Well, I don’t remember, but I’m glad you got to meet James Bond.” A lovely response, fitting and kind.

But then came the moment that cemented Roger Moore’s place in Mark’s heart forever.

As the shoot wrapped and Moore was heading to his car, he passed Mark in the corridor. Without breaking stride, he paused, looked both ways, raised that famous eyebrow once again, and said in a hushed voice:

“Of course I remember our meeting in Nice. But I didn’t say anything in there, because those cameramen — any one of them could be working for Blofeld.”

Mark was stunned. At 30, he felt exactly as he had at seven — caught up in the thrill, in the illusion, in the joy that someone had cared enough to keep a small bit of magic alive for decades.

What a man. What a tremendous man.

Not just because he played a hero, but because in the quiet, unscripted moments — in an airport, in a hallway, in a boy’s wide-eyed wonder — Roger Moore chose to be one.