Quantum Of Solace: Pc - 007-
“No. The man who held the leash. A man named Greene. Environmental front. Quantum’s purse strings. He’s meeting in Port-au-Prince tomorrow. I’m going to burn him out.”
She stood beneath the arched colonnade of the San Giorgio Maggiore, her trench coat collar turned against the damp. In her gloved hand, she held a single file, stamped in crimson: .
Static. Then his voice. Flat. Devoid of the old charm. “I found him.”
“God help him,” she whispered. “Because he’s stopped helping himself.” PC - 007- Quantum of Solace
She looked at the phone. Bond had just thrown his away.
She closed the file as a water taxi sloshed to a halt at the stone steps. A man stepped out. Not Bond. A younger man, raw-boned, with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Bill Tanner’s man. A courier.
“Ma’am,” he said, handing her a burner phone. “He made contact.” Environmental front
007 went rogue following the death of Vesper Lynd. Tracked Mr. White to Austria, Italy, and ultimately Haiti. Used unauthorized lethal force. Compromised three safe houses. Emotional state: compromised. Conclusion: The asset known as James Bond is currently operating with zero margin for error. He has traded the Queen’s license for a personal vendetta. The Quantum of Solace—the measure of human decency and emotional resilience required for sustained field work—has dropped to nil.
The rain over Venice had not stopped for seventy-two hours. It fell in sheets, washing the centuries of grime from the marble and depositing it into the swollen canals. For most, it was a nuisance. For M, it was a funeral shroud.
A long pause. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, but no less final. “Vesper is dead. What she wanted died with her. What’s left is only what I do now.” I’m going to burn him out
“Come home, James,” she said quietly. “Vesper wouldn’t want this.”
The mission would succeed. Bond would see to that. But PC-007 would remain open, a permanent stain on his file. A reminder that even 00-agents have a breaking point. And when they cross it, the only solace left is the one they refuse to take.
The second: a woman. Blonde, pale, with eyes the color of a winter sea. Vesper Lynd. Treasury liaison. Deceased.
It was not a mission. It was an obituary.