When committed in the name of revenge, even the vilest deeds may seem almost forgivable, but are they?
Bond had certainly not forgiven the Algerian. For weeks he had been falling asleep every night envisioning in detail how he would slowly kill the man. He'd rehearsed in is mind's eye every gory and painful detail of his revenge on the man who manipulated Vesper to betray him so deeply, to use his love for her against him, and to ultimately drown to death in Venice.
He didn't forgive him, but he had let him live. He had his P99 pointed between the man's biddy eyes, saw the anticipation of death on the man's face, began to squeeze his finger on the trigger, and then he had let him live.
As a professional it was the right choice, since the Algerian was a major source of information on the Quantum organization, but as a human being, albeit an emotionally cold one who had been meticulously trained to become a "blunt instrument" of her Majesty's secret service, Bond still felt an emptiness inside that he interpreted as the need for revenge, though the MI6 Psychiatrist insisted was the need for "closure."
Bond tightened his grip on the Aston Martin's wheel, dropped a gear and took off a straight stretch of country road. The car, a 1963 DB5 he had won in a poker game, was the closest thing to a "hobby" for him. On this Sunday morning he had taken her out for a drive outside London, hoping that the roar of the engine will drown out his thoughts about Vesper. It only partially did, the way the double-Bourbons or the rolls in the hay with a lover du jour did.
Rounding a hairpin curve at 100 Km/h he decided that he needed to get her out of his head (or is it his heart) permanently if he is to fully function again.
"Well, this should help" Bond said to himself having spotted the disabled Porsche at the side of the road, convertible top down and a young woman with black shoulder length hair behind the wheel.
Bond pulled over in front of the Porsche, and walked over to the driver.
"Well good morning" he smiled.
The driver looked up at him. She was strikingly beautiful and seemed to be half-white and half-Asian. "Thank you for stopping, but I've already rang for help and my boyfriend will be along any moment."
" Certainly. I…" Bond froze mid sentence, his eyes fixating on the necklace around her long, delicate neck. The woman was wearing an Algerian love knot!
"What's the matter?" she asked, her hand instinctively reaching to her necklace.
"That's an interesting necklace, " Bond said quietly, studying her facial expression for clues. Was this a trap? It certainly couldn't be a coincidence that this woman was wearing the same necklace that was given to Vesper by the Algerian who seduced her… The same necklace worn by Corrine, the Canadian agent the Algerian was seducing when Bond caught up to him in Russia… And now this woman.
A Mercedes slowly pulling over behind them interrupted them.
A well-dressed man stepped out and hurried over. His hands were in plain sight and he didn't seem to be hiding any weapons. "Are you alright Penelope?" he asked the girl, his eyes moving from her to Bond.
"I'm fine Simon, this man was kind enough to stop and offer me assistance" she gestured towards Bond.
Simon, a handsome, though somewhat nerdy guy, stuck his hand out to shale Bond's hand, mumbling some thanks.
Bond shook his hand firmly, than tightened the grip, stared in to Simon's eyes coldly and in a slow, cruel voice asked, "Did you give her this necklace?"
Bond sensed Simon beginning to panic as he squeezed his hand tighter.
"Ummm… errr.. Yyyes…." Simon stuttered.
"Where did you get it?" Bond demanded. Simon, now visibly shaken, looked at Penelope and shrieked "Who IS this mental person?" Penelope was now terrified too, looking at Bond wide-eyed and speechless.
Still squeezing the man's hand with his right, Bond grabbed Simon's throat and began to squeeze his Adam's apple, never releasing his gaze.
"I'm going to ask you just once more. Where did you get this necklace?"
Simon squirmed and somehow managed to mumble something that sounded like "Let me show you."
Bond released the man from his grip, and followed him to the Mercedes. Simon slowly opened the door and, under Bond's watchful eye, reached for a Dunhill briefcase that was on the passenger seat.
"Open it slowly" Bond ordered.
Inside were a laptop computer, and several magazines. Simon fingered through them, then pulled out a mail order catalog titled "Exotic Gifts."
He turned the catalog over, and there it was, on the back cover.
"One of our most popular items! The Moravian Love Charm! Only 19.97 Euros"
Bond stared at the page for another moment, then looked at Simon with a bewildered look that almost seemed apologetic.
Could it really be? Could the "Algerian Love Knot" be just a cheap prop from a mail order catalog?
Bond started walking back towards his car.
"Wait!" whispered Simon.
"Bond turned and looked at him."
"She… she doesn't know… She thinks it's a rare one-of-a-kind, please don't…"
Bond continued to his Aston Martin.