The file contained photographs. The first: a man, mid-thirties, handsome in a ruinous way. Dark hair plastered to a forehead, a scar on his right cheek that pulled his smile into something sardonic. Commander James Bond, RN. 00-status active.
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.” PC - 007- Quantum of Solace
M looked out over the lagoon. The rain was finally letting up. A thin, gray light pierced the clouds. She thought of the file’s title. Quantum of Solace. An old term from a story she’d once read—not about revenge, but about the tiny, irreducible amount of humanity that remains after catastrophe. The spark that keeps a person from becoming a monster. The file contained photographs
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. Commander James Bond, RN
The third: Mr. White. A ghost in a tailored suit. The organization behind the ghost: Quantum.
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.
He hung up.