Interlude: The Road to Solace
Chapter 2: Post-Mortem
"Mr. Terrence Hodge. James Bond", M said, performing the introductions.
"Mr. Hodge", Bond said politely but briskly, giving the older man a perfunctory handshake. Mr. Hodge, senior Treasury supervisor, looked every bit as shaken as a man whose late employee had recently been exposed as a traitor could be expected to be.
For around fifteen minutes, Bond gave a detailed report to both M and Hodge about what had transpired in Venice; starting from the moment when he'd seen Vesper's anxious face in the gondola as she stared at a man in the street, to the moment he'd discovered the incriminating text message in her cellphone, up until the moment of her suicide, and his discovery that the briefcase full of his money, the Treasury's money, had been stolen.
"150 million dollars", Hodge said mournfully, almost as though it had been stolen from his own pocket. "Good God!"
"We do have a lead on the member of the organization who stole the briefcase, Mr. Hodge", said M.
"Who?" Hodge asked.
"That intelligence must remain confidential for the time being, Mr. Hodge. I'm sure you understand", said M calmly but firmly.
"Yes, yes of course", said Hodge.
"Rest assured, if all goes well, the money will be returned to the Treasury before long", said M.
A few minutes later, the Treasury man had left, and Bond and M were alone.
Bond realised that this was the first time he'd been alone with her, in person, since their meeting in the Bahamas, the day she'd first assigned him to the Casino Royale mission.
"How are you?" M asked, in a more personal tone.
"I'm fine", he said briskly.
M silently stared at him for a few minutes. She looked like she was on the verge of saying something more, but then seemed to think better of it. Bond could guess she had been about to offer additional condolences about Vesper.
"How'd the post-mortem go?" he asked, deciding to end the tense silence. He was referring to the post-operational analysis of the Casino Royale mission, and its aftermath.
"Officially, we're classifying it as a failure", said M. "No reflection on you of course, 007", he added to reassure him. "Our analysts were most impressed with your skill at the poker tables. But the primary objective of the operation was to gather valuable intelligence about this unknown organization by taking Le Chiffre into custody. But Le Chiffre ended up dead, and what's worse, we ended up with a mole".
"We do have a lead though. This 'Mr. White'" said Bond.
"We're checking up on him", said M. "Retired businessman and investment banker. Respectable on the surface".
"They always are", Bond said cynically.
"True enough", said M. "Further investigation reveals that there is a possibility he has been involved in negotiating financial arrangements for terrorist and revolutionary groups in Latin America and Africa".
"He might have been the intermediary between Le Chiffre and his clients", said Bond.
"That's the working hypothesis. We believe White may have been the one to kill Le Chiffre himself. Immigration records show he was in Montenegro the night you were abducted. He was also spotted in Venice the day of the theft", said M.
"Taking care of the rotten apple", muttered Bond.
"We believe this Mr. White may be a high-ranking member of this unknown organization. If we get our hands on him, we may well have everything we need", said M.
They both remained silent for a few more minutes. M offered Bond a drink and he accepted.
"When do I go?" Bond asked, simply.
M sighed. "James", she said. "Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?"
"Of course. I want to see this through", he said plainly.
M hesitated before continuing, "Our analysts have put forward a suggestion to the effect that I assign this case to another 00. Temporarily take you off the field, give you time to recover".
What the hell, Bond thought angrily. Damn analysts! He spent years working towards that 00 number, and now, just one mission in, they wanted him benched. All because he had the misfortune of jumping into bed with a traitorous bitch.
"My place is in the field", he said firmly. Then he added in a lower tone, "The other agents have more experience in the field, but none with regards to this particular organization. I feel I'm the best man for the job".
"I'm not disputing that", said M. "In any case, however, it will be a while before we're able to successfully trace Mr. White, and investigate him completely. Until then, I am pulling you off active duty." He opened his mouth to argue, but M cut him off, "You will be a part of this operation when the time comes, 007. But right now, it's time to get yourself back into shape".
Bond could hardly argue with that. "Yes, ma'am", he said.
As he was about to leave, M interrupted him.
"There is one other thing I had to discuss with you", said M.
"Yes?" Bond asked, without turning back.
"Vesper's funeral", M said. "It's scheduled next week."
Bond froze. He turned around slowly to look at M.
"I was wondering if-you know-", M began, looking at him concernedly.
Every instinct in Bond told him to say 'No'. It was as simple as that. The job's done...the bitch is dead, he'd said, and he'd meant it. It was time to move forward, not to dwell on the past.
And yet as always, he was reminded of her warmth, her temperament, above all, the time they'd spent together in Montenegro and Venice. A time when a golden ray of light had briefly dawned upon his life, only to be drowned out. Literally.
And he thought perhaps, there would be some closure. Perhaps, this would be the ideal opportunity to bury the past...
"I'll be there", he said, and left the room.
