Eve laid the paper on the desk. She had no idea what to say, or indeed how she may say it. She looked up at M. Her boss had put her jacket back on, and was tapping her fingers off the desk. Eve saw that M had plugged her laptop back in, and had started typing something into an email.
"Agent Raoul Silva (birth name Javier Bardem) is missing, presumed dead after a mission in Dandong, China.../" M had accidentally leaned on the full stop key, and then the forward slash, but had clearly lost the heart to continue. Eve noticed the tears in M's icy blue eyes.
"I know I cut off at a bit of a cliffhanger, but I couldn't bring myself to remember any more of it in that much detail. Still, it near destroyed me that day, when my predecessor told me what had happened to me..." M's voice tailed off, and she put her head on her desk, her entire body shuddering with silent sobs. When she looked up again, there were tears streaking her face. "And the thought that my M had tried to save me, and managed it at that. But it's impossible now for me to do that for Silva. He could be god knows where and have had god knows what done to him, and I can't do anything at all. I feel awful..."
Eve put her hand on M's shoulder. "You did what you could. And if he's got half a brain then he'll know what the best thing to do is. And not meaning to be nosy or anything, but you said that the mission put an end to your fieldwork career. I have my suspicions, but what really made you quit?"
"Well, I suppose I should tell you. But what happens in this room stays in this room, do I make myself totally clear?"
"Crystal, ma'am."
"Well, the assumptions that people make are generally wrong. Most people think, well, that is if you count Gareth Mallory as a person, that the ligament damage I suffered was too severe to continue doing what I did best, but that's utter rubbish. What really happened was...well, I don't know. I couldn't walk at all for almost six months, and I was on crutches for four after that, but when I could eventually do all the fitness tests and debriefings and all that malarkey, I turned out pretty well. Save for one thing. I was in a surprisingly good physical state considering what I'd been through. I was okay psychologically as well. But maybe it was simply a phobia brought on by my experience. Maybe I was afraid that I would do to someone what the three French gangsters did to me. But whatever the reason, I had to give up work as an active agent. Why? I couldn't shoot..."