The World Is Not Enough

03 - Elektra

The memorial service was held at Sir Robert King’s massive country estate near the shores of Loch Lomond, the largest freshwater lake in Britain. Located eighteen miles north of Glasgow and the River Clyde and straddling the geological fault that separates the Highlands from the Lowlands, the lake’s beauty has attracted celebrated writers down the centuries.

On this sad occasion mourners from all over the world were drawn to Loch Lomond. They were the mighty and the powerful, the rich and famous ... all dressed in black.

A nineteenth-century chapel in the grounds of the estate was the site of the service. The funeral was a grand, solemn affair, complete with bagpipe lament, sincere tributes by friends and associates, and even a message from the Queen.

James Bond, his left arm in a sling, was slightly late arriving. He had driven his Aston Martin DB5 to Scotland at breakneck speed, was waved through the heavily guarded checkpoint at the front of the estate, and arrived just as the mourners were filing out of the chapel. He slipped into the throng and moved a few steps behind Miss Moneypenny, who was with Bill Tanner and Charles Robinson, M’s Chief of Staff and top analyst, respectively.

When the breathtakingly beautiful young woman appeared in the doorway of the chapel, all eyes were drawn to her. She

was tall and shapely, had shoulder-length brown hair, piercing brown eyes, and a pouty, soft mouth. Bond was immediately mesmerised by her. although he had seen photographs, he had never viewed the girl in person. She walked through the crowd, head high, like a young Jacqueline Kennedy, dispensing solace and consolation to those around her. She was clearly the centre of attention.

Robinson, a young black man who had joined MI6 only two years ago, whispered to Moneypenny, ‘I couldn’t help but notice that young woman during the service.’

Bond moved next to him. ‘King’s daughter. Elektra.’

Robinson’s expression said it all. She was indeed beautiful.

Elektra King was in her late twenties, but she had the manner of a woman who was ten years older. Behind the brown eyes was a sense that she had been to hell and back and lived to tell about it. There was a profound sadness there, and Bond knew that this was not just because she had lost her father.

He couldn't keep his eyes off her as she went from person to person, kissing a cheek, accepting a hug . . . and when she embraced M, Bond felt a sense of responsibility and pain.

M put her arm around Elektra and began walking with her, just the two of them. As M had been close to Sir Robert, it seemed only natural that she was protective and something of a maternal figure to the girl, who had lost her own mother years ago to cancer.

Bond watched them move toward the shore of the lake. Inexplicably, the feeling of guilt gave way to one of apprehension, and he didn’t know why.

That afternoon, the entourage from MI6 drove to Castle Thane, SIS’s remote operations centre in Scotland. Originally built in 1220 by Alexander II as a defence against the Vikings, the castle subsequently became a stronghold of the Mackenzies of Kintail (later the Earls of Seaforth) who installed the

MacRaes as hereditary keepers. It had been destroyed in 1719 whilst acting as a garrison for Spanish troops fighting for the Jacobite cause on behalf of the 5th Earl of Seaforth, and restoration work wasn't performed until two hundred years later. Shortly after the old M’s retirement SIS purchased a wing that was now off limits to tourists, complete with a private, heavily guarded entrance. The current M felt a certain kinship with Scotland and had spearheaded the deal with the government. As she had settled in to her job as head of MI6 over the last few years, M exerted more and more authority over the way things were done at headquarters. One of the recent changes she had made was establishing the ability to be mobile. She had grown weary of London and had on many occasions looked for excuses to be elsewhere. Now, with the remote operations centre in Scotland, she was free to come and go as she pleased, dragging her staff with her.

M had called the briefing for the afternoon of the funeral, knowing full well that if SIS were going to act on Sir Robert’s assassination, they had to do it quickly. Every available Double-0 agent was present, including Bond, as well as Tanner, Robinson, Moneypenny, and other important members of staff. They sat in a vast stone room that was dominated by a huge, sparkling chandelier, as well as electronic equipment that looked decidedly out of place in the historic building. Every agent in the room, save for Bond, had a briefing packet on the desk in front of them.

Tanner’s voice echoed in the chamber. ‘Our analysts have worked round the clock to determine exactly what happened in London. There was very little for MI5 to work with after the explosion. Their forensics team found traces of the bag of money, and performed tests to determine that the cash had been dipped in urea, dried and packed tight. In effect, a highly compacted fertiliser bomb.’ Tanner registered a nod at Bond. ‘Having handled the money, the water on Double-0 Seven’s hands - when he touched the ice in M’s office — started a chemical reaction. That’s what tipped him off to the bomb’s composition.’

Bond reflected on the bizarre moment when he had felt the sizzling sensation and saw the whisky boiling in the tumbler. If only he had noticed it a minute or two earlier . . .

Tanner continued, ‘How the explosive was set off was a matter of speculation until we found a transmitter in the woman’s boat. What we think happened was that the metal anti-counterfeiting strip on one of the notes had been replaced with magnesium, which acted as the detonator.’

He picked up King’s lapel pin, which was now blackened, fused and melted to expose electronics beneath. ‘King wore a lapel pin like this. He called it the “Eye of the Glens”, and it’s apparently some kind of heirloom. He had had it forever. A good luck charm of some sort. Obviously, it’s not the original. Kings real Eye of the Glens had been switched for this copy. We were very lucky that MI5 were able to find this piece of evidence amidst the . . . mess. It contained a radio receiver/ transmitter that triggered the blast. In other words, the girl set off the bomb that killed him with the counterpart to the transmitter that we found in the boat she left behind on the Thames. All she had to do was turn it on and point the antenna at the SIS building. The signal activated the receiver in King’s lapel pin. The pin then transmitted an electronic signal to the magnesium strip in the money’

A photograph of Giulietta the cigar girl appeared on the screen.

‘She was identified as Giulietta da Vinci, an Italian national who was on Interpol’s list of known terrorists operating in the Mediterranean. We have no further information on the woman. We don’t know who she was working for.’

Robinson stood beside Tanner and said, ‘We know it was someone close to King who switched his pin. Our only lead committed suicide in that balloon. Given the size of King’s organisation, it could be anyone. Anywhere.’ He turned to M and nodded, indicating that he and Tanner were finished.

M stood and took a moment to look at her people. Everyone in the room felt the coming harsh words even before she spoke.

‘This will not stand,’ she said firmly. She allowed this to sink in, then continued. ‘We will not be terrorised ... by cowards who would murder an innocent man . . . and use us as a tool.’

Her eyes scanned the room. ‘You each have an assignment. We will find the people who committed this atrocity. We will hunt them, we will track them, we will follow them — to the far corners of the earth if need be — and we will bring them to justice’

She waited a beat, held her head high, then turned on her heels and left the room.

The other agents opened their briefing packets. Bond looked around him, realising that he was the odd man out. As Tanner walked past, Bond stopped him.

‘Bill . . .?’

Tanner motioned to the sling. ‘Sorry, James. M says you’re off the active duty list until you’re cleared by medical.’

Bond made an expression that questioned the wisdom of the decision. Tanner held up his hands as if to say that there was nothing he could do about it, then followed M out of the room.

Bond sat there a moment, watching his peers reading the material intently. Well! he thought. He would just have to get medical to clear him. And he knew just how to do it.

Bond refused to tease Doctor Molly Warmflash about her name, but the attractive young SIS medical officer certainly lived up to it. Ever since the firm hired her three months ago, she had become the butt of coundess jokes among the male population at headquarters. The problem was that she encouraged them. She was a flirt and enjoyed it. She had specifically chatted up Bond on several occasions, making it clear that she would like to examine him in much more detail than was appropriate in a professional environment. Bond wondered how long a girl like her would last in the organisation, but so far she had also proven herself to be quite capable when it came to medical matters.

Doctor Warmflash was blonde, petite and curvy. Her stethoscope didn’t merely hang around her neck - it jutted straight out and then dangled like a medal she might have won for an athletic event. Her blue eyes were full of life, confident and bewitching.

Bond concentrated on all of these attributes as he sat on the examination table with his shirt off while she poked and prodded his left shoulder. He tried his best not to flinch, but it hurt like hell.

‘Dislocated collar bones take time, James,’ she said. ‘It’s no better than the last time I looked at it. If any more tendons slip . . ’

She knew he was resisting showing the pain. To prove a point, she thrust a finger into a particularly sensitive area.

‘Ow,’ Bond said, giving in to the discomfort.

Doctor Warmflash shook her head. ‘I'm afraid you’re going to be out of action for weeks.’

‘Molly,’ he said, ‘I need a clean bill of health. You have to clear me for duty.’

This time she placed her fingers gently on the scarred and bruised bone. ‘James, it wouldn’t really be . .

Bond laid a hand on her waist. ‘Ethical?’

She gave him a look.

‘Can’t we just skirt the issue?’ he asked with a smile.

She glanced down at his hand, then returned the smile. Her eyes gave away the temptation. ‘You’d have to promise to call me,’ she said after thinking about it — for a couple of seconds. She jabbed him in the shoulder again, causing him to wince. ‘This time’

Bond said. ‘Whatever the doctor orders . .

She moved closer to him. He could smell her perfume. ‘ - And I suppose if you stayed in constant contact -’

Taking that as an invitation, Bond pulled at the zipper on her skirt. He expertly flicked the clasp and the garment fell to the floor. She was wearing white silk panties, a garter belt and white stockings. The creamy flesh of her exposed thighs was begging to be caressed. He reached up and began to unbutton her blouse from the bottom. She helped him, working down from the top.

‘ -If you showed sufficient . . . stamina -’ she said, breathlessly.

The blouse was off, revealing magnificent breasts in a white, lace Wonderbra that seemed to be a size too small. Now the passion was insurmountable.

‘ -And cut out all kinds of-’ she said, but by then he had pulled her toward him. Their mouths met for twenty seconds.

When their lips parted, he whispered, ‘ - Strenuous activity?’

She pushed him back on the examination table and climbed on top. She kissed him again . . . and again . . . and again . . .

‘I might be -’ she gasped as his right hand stroked her backbone, finding the clasp to the bra and unsnapping it, ‘ -open to that -’

They kissed again.

‘Good,’ Bond said, feeling her hand at his trousers. ‘I’d want you to stay on top of things.'

An hour later, Bond left the doctor’s office, pausing long enough to remove the sling and casually drape it on a suit of armour that stood silently guarding a corridor.

‘The things we do for England,’ he said to it. ‘Carry on.’

The distant sound of bagpipes caught Bond’s attention. He had a good idea where it was coming from.

He quietly moved along the ancient corridors and down a flight of stone stairs. He came upon a man in full Scottish regalia, blaring away, rather badly.

‘Get on with it’ a familiar voice commanded.

The man in the kilt dropped the pipe from his mouth and simultaneously fired bullets from one pipe and a jet of flame from another. The target was a realistic dummy twenty feet away, which quickly became a molten, bullet-ridden mess.

‘I suppose we all have to pay the piper sometime, right, Q?’ Bond quipped.

‘Pipe down, Double-0 Seven,’ Major Boothroyd said, more annoyed than usual.

‘Was it something I said?’

‘No.’Boothroyd folded his arms. ‘Something you destroyed.’ It was then that Bond noticed the mangled Q Boat sitting in the middle of the laboratory.

‘My fishing boat,’ Boothroyd said. ‘For my retirement. Away from you.'

‘Had I known, I would have returned it in. . . what do you say . . . ‘pristine condition’?’

Boothroyd shuddered. ‘Grow up, Double-0 Seven.’

Q Branch never slept. There were always technicians working round the clock. Major Boothroyd, who was looking forward to the day he would finally retire, loathed leaving London for the remote Castle Thane. Nevertheless, when M called, naturally he came. He was tired and irritated.

‘Come over here. Let’s get this over with. It’s past my bedtime,’ he said. ‘I want you to meet the young man I'm grooming to follow me.’

He led Bond to a pool table which, with the press of a button, parted. The floor opened to reveal a rising platform and on it was a brand new battleship-grey BMW Z8 with a black convertible top. A man was loading a missile into one of the side grilles, but he didn’t notice that the tail of his white lab coat was caught in the door. When he realised it, he turned the wrong way to get out.

Bond and Boothroyd exchanged a look.

‘It helps if you open the door,’ Bond suggested, reaching for the handle and releasing the man.

The man turned to Bond and asked, imperiously, ‘And you might be . . .?’

‘This is Double-0 Seven,’ Boothroyd said.

‘If you’re Q,’ Bond said to Boothroyd, facetiously, ‘does that make him “R”?’ He knew full well, of course, that ‘Q’ stood for ‘Quartermaster’.

The Deputy controlled himself and said, ‘Ahh, yes. The legendary Double-0 Seven wit. I, of course, am laughing inside. But I dare say you’ve met your match in this machine.’ The man was very tall, had a high forehead and a moustache. Bond noticed the sunglasses in his pocket and took the liberty of examining them.

‘New model? Improved specs?’ he asked.

‘I thought you were on the inactive roster. Some kind of injury,’ the Deputy said.

Bond picked up the glasses and shrugged. ‘We’ll see about that.’ He motioned to the car. ‘Do go on.’

‘As I was saying. . ’ the Deputy said as he stepped around the car. ‘The absolute latest in intercepts and countermeasures. Titanium armour, a multi-tasking heads-up display, six beverage cup holders . . . All in all, rather stocked’

‘ “Fully loaded” I think is the term,’ Q said. ‘Why don’t you try on that coat for Double-0 Seven?’

The Deputy hesitated, then walked over to a table and began to put on a sleek, black jacket.

Boothroyd gestured to the sunglasses and said, ‘You’re right. New refinement. Sort of X-ray vision. For checking concealed weapons.’ He then led Bond to another table and handed him an Omega watch. ‘Your nineteenth, I believe? Try not to lose this one, all right? It has dual lasers and a miniature grappling hook with fifty feet of high-tensile filament, able to support eight hundred pounds’

Bond was impressed, slipping it on his wrist. They turned back to the Deputy, when he said, That’s odd.’

He was looking down at something on the jacket. ‘Somebody forgot to remove this tag . . .’ He yanked on it, and the jacket snapped abruptly to become an airbag. It enveloped him, impossibly ensnaring the man.

‘He seems well suited for the job,’ Bond said to Boothroyd. They moved out of the laboratory. Bond asked, ‘You’re not retiring anytime soon, are you, major?’

‘Pay attention, Double-0 Seven,’ Boothroyd said, looking at Bond with a hint of mischief in his eyes. ‘There are two things I’ve always tried to teach you. First: never let them see you bleed. ’

‘And second?’ Bond asked.

‘Always have an escape plan, the major said. A sudden whoosh of smoke enveloped Boothroyd as an ancient trap door in the wall opened behind him. When the smoke cleared, Q was gone.

The Research Department was a remote version of the recendy installed Visual Library at the London headquarters, a computerised encyclopedia on a grand scale. One merely had to punch in a topic and the Visual Library would find every file available on the subject and organise it into a cohesive multimedia presentation.

Bond wanted to look into the story of Elektra King’s kidnapping. As M had said, the story had disappeared from the news remarkably quickly. All he knew was that she had escaped and the kidnappers had been killed — except for the leader, who somehow got away.

He began by going over the history of Robert King’s rise to fame and fortune. The monitor displayed photographs, newspaper clippings, magazine articles and television snippets - all to do with King’s life and times. King Industries seemed to be always in the news, especially in the financial sections of the papers. The knighthood was covered extensively. The press had made a big deal out of his second marriage. The birth of their daughter, Elektra, had also been big news.

Bond turned his attention to information relating to Elektra. While her early life was not too detailed, there were the occasional reports of her growth into adulthood — a photo from her sixteenth birthday, a brief article on her going up to university and a small piece in The Tunes when she joined King Industries in hopes of following in her father’s footsteps in the family business. She had grown up all over the world, apparently - a boarding school in Paris, university in Scotland, summers and holidays in the Middle East with her mother’s family and later, at her father’s villa in A2erbaijan.

The next story, though, was the dominant one. It started with a newspaper headline that screamed, ‘ELEKTRA KING KIDNAPPED!’

Bond clicked on the ‘Police Files’ icon and found a Polaroid that had been sent to Robert King by the captors. It showed Elektra, savagely beaten, bruised, her ear bandaged. She was holding the newspaper with the ‘KIDNAPPED!’ headline. Beneath the photo, someone had scrawled the ransom figure - $5,000,000.

According to Elektra’s statement to the police, she had decided early on that she would risk her life to escape. At one point during the ordeal, she had kicked one of the kidnappers in the groin. While he was doubled up on the floor, she took his gun and shot him with it. She killed another captor and literally blasted her way out of the country cottage in Dorset where they had kept her hidden. Unfortunately, the leader of the team was not present at the time and had got away. Elektra had stumbled blindly to the main road, where a lorry driver had picked her up and taken her to a police station.

Bond clicked on the ‘Police Interview’ icon. Elektra appeared on the monitor, shaken, emotional, near hysterics. Her wounds had been treated, but she looked terrible. Tears ran down her face.

‘Tell me again how you got the gun’ the interrogator probed gently.

‘How many bloody times do I have to tell you?’ Elektra cried. ‘There was one guy who was trying to molest me . . . he came into my room . . . my cell. . . and tried to touch me.’

‘And this was at night?’

‘Early morning. The sun was just coming up, I think. It was up when I got out of the house’

‘And what happened?’

‘Like I said before . . ’ she took a deep breath and began the story again. ‘I let him go just so far . . . so he would be over-confident. Then I kicked him hard in the crotch. When he doubled over on the floor, I pulled the gun away from him and shot him’

‘And then . . .’

‘I heard shouts and running. The others were coming to see what had happened. I aimed the gun at the door. As soon as it opened, I pulled the trigger’

‘And how many men were there?’

‘Two. I shot them both.’

‘What about the leader?’ the interrogator asked. ‘The one who escaped. Can you describe him?’

‘Bald. Dark eyes. He shouted,’ Elektra sobbed. ‘He shouted all the time . .

Touched, Bond froze the screen and lightly ran his fingers over Elektra’s still face, attempting to will the tears away. Such a beautiful girl ... it was a horrible . . .

Then a thought occurred to Bond. He flipped back to the Polaroid with the ransom figure. $5,000,000.

He reached into his pocket and removed his wallet. He took out the statement that the cigar girl had given to him in Bilbao. In all of the confusion after the explosion, Bond had completely forgotten about it. There it was, that strange number - $3,030,003.03. Something bristled at the back of his neck.

Bond tapped some keys, and the words EXCHANGE RATE - POUNDS TO DOLLARS appeared on the screen. He entered ‘3,030.003.03 POUNDS STERLING’ and hit RETURN.

The result was ‘5,000,000 US DOLLARS'. He stared at it a moment, contemplating what this might mean. He typed some more, and an MI6 screen appeared that read - ‘ELEKTRA KING. FILE 7634733’. He pressed RETURN and the monitor filled with the words ‘ACCESS DENIED'.

Bond frowned. He repeated the entire action and got the same result.

He sat back in the chair, perplexed. He fingered the Statement in his hands and came to the only conclusion that was possible.

Bond paced the floor outside the Briefing Room, debating with hiimself if he should do what he felt he must. She must know the complete story. Would she agree to share it with him?

Throwing caution to the wind, he rushed past Moneypenny without saying a word, opened the door and found M huddled with Tanner, Robinson and two other government officials.

She looked up. ‘Yes, Double-0 Seven?’

‘Tell me more about the kidnapping of Elektra King,’ he said.

M straightened, trying not to appear defensive. ‘I wasn’t aware you had an assignment on this case

‘I brought the money in that killed King.’

‘Don’t make this personal.’

‘I’m not. Are you?’ He paused a moment, then added, ‘You’re the only one who could seal her file. MI5 is handling the case? I think not.’

She hesitated a moment, then turned to Tanner and the others. ‘Would you excuse us?’

After they had left, she stared Bond down. ‘I will not tolerate insubordination, Double-0 Seven’

He shrugged, acknowledging that he had stepped over the line. He took a softer line, asking, ‘What happened?’

M looked away, obviously troubled. Then, she came out with it. ‘When Elektra King was kidnapped, her father tried to deal with it on his own. With no success’

Bond waited.

‘So he came to me,’ she said. ‘As you are aware, we do not negotiate with terrorists. And against every instinct in my heart - every emotion I have as a mother - I told him not to pay the ransom. I thought we had time on our side’

‘You used the girl as bait’

‘Yes’

‘You thought you could smoke out the kidnappers’

‘Once we learned who was behind it, yes’

Bond let the penny drop, and then said, ‘The amount of money in King’s case was the same as the ransom demand for his daughter.’ He handed her the statement and watched as she studied it. ‘It was a set up. Giving the money back. The sniper in Spain made sure I got out of that office alive because he wanted MI6 to deliver a bomb to King. It’s a message to MI6, M. Your terrorist is back’

She looked up at him, concern deep in her eyes. ‘Then we know who killed Double-0 Twelve . . . and Robert King.’

It was nearly midnight by the time they had re-assembled in the Briefing Room. Tanner and Robinson had rushed to put together the necessary audio/visual aids so that M could shift directions on the case.

The wall screen filled with the face of a slight, thin and wiry man. He was bald and had dark, cold eyes.

‘Victor Zokas,’ M said, ‘aka . . ’

‘Renard the Fox,’ Bond said. ‘The anarchist.’

Tanner picked up the briefing. ‘He was operating in Moscow in 1996, Pyongyang, North Korea before that, and he’s been spotted in Afghanistan, Bosnia, Iraq, Iran, Beirut and Cambodia.’

‘All the romantic vacation spots,’ Bond noted.

‘His only goal is chaos,’ the Chief of Staff continued. ‘Works as a freelancer. Has ties with the Russian Mafia.’ ‘He was the mastermind behind Elektra King’s kidnapping. After Sir Robert came to me,' M said, ‘I sent Double-0 Nine to kill Renard. Before he completed the mission, Elektra had escaped. A week later, our man caught up with the target in Syria. Put a bullet in his head.’ She paused for effect. ‘Apparently. the bullet is still there’

‘How did he survive?’ Bond asked.

Tanner punched a button on the control panel and a huge, transparent, holographic 3-D image of Renard’s skull appeared, floating in the centre of the room.

‘We thought he was dead,’ Tanner said. ‘We had closed the file on Renard and had mistakenly ignored two reports claiming that he had been seen in Afghanistan and Azerbaijan. Just an hour ago we received confirmation from our station in Turkey that Renard is indeed alive’

M nodded to Doctor Molly Warmflash who was standing nearby. She stepped out of the shadows to explain. ‘The Syrian doctor who saved Renard couldn’t get the bullet out, so Renard killed him’

Doctor Warmflash took over the controls and rotated the hologram. The bullet could be seen in the X-ray, just inside the right temple.

‘We got hold of the doctor’s X-rays of Renard’s skull. The bullet is moving through the medulla oblongata, killing off his senses. Touch, smell — I would imagine that he feels no pain. I would bet that many of his facial muscles are paralysed with Bell’s Palsy. But he can also probably push himself harder, longer than any normal man. The bullet will eventually kill him - but he’ll get stronger every day, until the moment he dies.’

M took over. ‘Robert is dead. MI6 is humiliated. Surely he has his revenge.’

‘Not quite,’ Bond said. ‘Renard had three enemies in that kidnapping. Sir Robert King, MI6 . . . and the one he hasn’t touched. Elektra. ’

M flinched at Bond’s frightening, but obviously correct, assumption. There’s another aspect to all this that I’m just beginning to realise,’ she said.

‘What is that?’

‘As heir to her father’s vast global oil empire - Elektra King is arguably the most powerful woman in the world.’

M let the enormity of that remark sink in as Miss Moneypenny handed her a file. M glanced at it, and then at Bond.

‘I see the good doctor lias cleared you,’ she said. ‘Notes you have “exceptional stamina”.’

Moneypenny threw a look to Doctor Warmflash’s skirt and saw that her slip was showing, slightly askew.

‘I’m sure she was moved by his dedication,’ Moneypenny said, brightly. To the job at hand.’

Doctor Warmflash picked up Moneypenny’s gaze and quickly adjusted her skirt. Bond noted this and looked away.

Thank you, Miss Moncypenny, doctor,’ M said.

After the two ladies left the room, Bond asked, ‘Where is Double-0 Nine? I’d like a word with him’

‘He’s in the Far East, on assignment. I assure you that anything he could tell you is in Renard’s file. If only his aim had been a little better’

‘And what about Double-0 Twelve?’

‘As the case now appears to be related to Sir Robert’s murder, I’ll see that you get the file on that, too. Double-0 Seven, I want you to go to Elektra. She’s taken over the construction of her father’s oil pipeline from the Caspian Sea.

Find out who switched that pin. If your instincts arc right, Renard will be back — and Elektra is the next target.’

‘The worm on the hook again,’ Bond said. ‘Protect the girl, but kill Renard?’

M gave Bond a silent acknowledgement with her eyes that the latter deed was understood.

‘Elektra doesn’t need to know the same man may be after her. Don’t frighten her.’

A shadow operation’

M narrowed her eyes at Bond. ‘Remember - shadows stay behind - or in front - but never on top.’

She knew him all too well.