Bond raised his hands, feeling like an idiot. He was so wrapped up in thoughts of victory he had taken no notice of his surroundings, hadn't checked for any danger. And now this whole bloody mission could turn out to be for nothing.

"Put the gun down, Schaal. You kill me and you've got no chance of getting that account number – how will SPECTRE react then?"

"The gun is only for if you absolutely refuse to tell me – at least I can take some small amount of personal solace in knowing I killed the man who condemned me." Schaal's voice was breathy and shaking. He was at the end of his rope, desperately trying to avoid death at the hand of his officials. "Tell me, Mr Bond, would you honestly rather die for some misplaced sense of honour and patriotism than live and say you failed one mission."

"You might as well shoot me now." said Bond, unflinching.

"Very well." The gun was trembling on the back of Bond's neck. Schaal drew a few unsteady breaths in. "Take one step forward and turn to face me, Mr Bond – I want to look into your eyes as you die."

"That's the problem with personal vendettas," said Bond, stepping forwards. "They do fill you with such stupid ideas."

He turned, quickly, bringing his hands down on the gun and pulling it from Schaal's grip. Bond backed away quickly, keeping the gun trained on Schaal.

"Go ahead, then, 007. Shoot me down. It will be a much less painful death than anything SPECTRE would do. And when the CCTV footage is reviewed, you'll be seen killing an unarmed prisoner. So go on, shoot and see what good does it you."

Bond hesitated. He had no need to kill him. He had completed his mission, the money was safe and Schaal had been reduced to mad desperation – he was no longer a threat. Bond lowered the gun and threw it aside.

"SPECTRE will deal with you." he said flatly, looking at Schaal with disgust. "I'm sure there's nowhere on Earth you can hide from them now."

There was silence for a second. Then one single gunshot blared out. Schaal fell down like a rag doll, his eyes suddenly vacant and staring into nothing. A small trail of thick dark red blood trickled from a neat hole in the side of his head.

Bond looked up from the body. Stood a short distance away was Katrina Luxure, a gun held in her outstretched hand.

"Katrina?" Bond murmured.

"He was a dead man anyway." She said in a quiet, but strong, voice. "If he had to die, I wanted to do it – for everything he did to me."

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

"Whoever it is you work for, James – can they help me? Did you mean that?"

"Yes." said Bond. "And I should imagine they'll be able to help you out of doing any prison time for this too. But even so, we should make sure you're as far away from here as possible before they start checking the CCTV."

"I – I – I don't know where to go…"

"I'm sure I can help you with that." said Bond and he led her to the Bentley. Tomorrow he would wake up back in England with his mission complete and Katrina in his arms. He was the winner and he had taken all he could have wanted.