Password: 837737
By veritygrey
Disclaimer: none of the characters, movies, or setting used in this fiction belongs to me in any way, shape or form.
M stared out the window. She'd attended the funeral that morning. There'd been few mourners and no words spoken. There hadn't really been much to say. The girl's funeral was tomorrow. M had already decided not to go. She started when the intercom buzzed, drawing her back to the present. She sighed and answered it.
"Yes?"
"Mr Mendel to see you, Ma'am."
"Send him in."
M stood as the door opened. The man who entered, though dressed soberly, was, brisk. 'Almost twitchy,' thought M, absently.
"Mr Mendel." She waved him to a chair. He sat, placing the briefcase he carried on his knees.
"Frau, my condolences on Mr Bond's passing. It was unfortunate."
"Thank you. I'm afraid it has been a very trying day, Mr Mendel. If you wouldn't mind?" M motioned toward the briefcase.
"Of course." He opened the case, turning it to face her on the desk. "First the account number…"
M leaned forward and tapped in the account the Treasury man had given her that morning. It hadn't taken much for them to cede the point. Both agents may have died, but it was hers that had won the day. With out their money.
"And now the password?"
M had thought long and hard about Bond's choice of password. Others had contributed their own thoughts, but after reading the crash report, she was as close to sure as she could be. Bond had swerved, at a speed M could only think of as reckless, to avoid hitting the girl, Lynd. Forensics were sure he'd been going to fast, had had only enough time to react, but M knew Bond better than that. He'd seen the blood, the cut throat and still turned away. She hesitated a moment before tapping out the six numbers, 8 3 7 7 3 7. VESPER.
the end.
