Leaving Olympus
Though at home on Mount Olympus, the Greek gods and goddesses often traveled to earth to intervene in the lives of humans.
Sophia follows her father out of the building, and her senses perk up when she feels the chilly night air. She wraps her arms around her for warmth, but in a moment she smells the light scent of cologne and feels thick wool encircle her shoulders. Bond's jacket is too big for her, but she wraps it around herself gratefully.
To her surprise, a car is waiting for them at the curb. She and Bond both get in the back seat, but there's a third passenger. The Quartermaster smiles brightly as if it's 9 a.m. "Good morning," he says.
"Morning," says Bond, "or whatever it is."
"Hi," says Sophia, not wanting to be impolite, but still trying to wrap her head around what's going on.
"You'll be taking a train. An airplane would be overly conspicuous and probably what they'll expect; same with your car. I have fake passports for both of you. You'll be able to blend in," the Quartermaster continues.
Sophia takes the passport Q holds out to her and looks inside. To her surprise, she finds her most recent university ID photo, with the name "Louise Brant" next to it. She turns the object over, but she can't find anything that looks suspicious about it.
"I'll leave the use of covers to your discretion, Bond. I'm simply trying to cover all possibilities. Here's the rest of your equipment." Sophia watches while the smaller man gives her father a silver box that contains a gun, a knife, a radio, and two grenades. She's never seen a collection like it.
"The gun is the usual, and the other things are there in case you find yourself needing to get creative," Q finishes, patting the top of the box as if he's sending his child away to school for the first time. Bond only nods, as if he's used to it.
London traffic isn't quite as bad in the middle of the night as it is during the day, and the car reaches the train station within a few minutes. "Good luck," says Q, as the silent driver pulls up to let the travelers out.
Sophia scrapes up enough courage to say "Thanks for everything" to the Quartermaster as she gets out of the car, and she thinks she hears him say something—perhaps "my pleasure"—as she walks away.
Bond has been on many early-morning trains with many different women, but none of them has ever belonged to him the way Sophia does. It's a strange feeling and not a particularly sentimental one. It's just a fact. Now that he knows who she is, there's no going back. Thankfully, the girl is as taciturn as he is, and she simply stares out the window as the early morning sun begins to rise.
"If you're tired, you can use my shoulder," says Bond after a while, noticing that her eyes are beginning to droop, no doubt a result of her aborted night's sleep. He wishes Q hadn't thought First Class would be too conspicuous, since it's far more comfortable.
Sophia pulls his jacket tighter around her and looks at him for a long moment, as if she's weighing his offer. Finally, she moves a little closer and leans on him. It doesn't take long for her to fall asleep, and when her breathing is measured and regular, Bond finds himself thinking about the last woman who leaned on him.
The irony of the fact that he's going back to Scotland isn't lost on him, and he doubts it's lost on Carlisle, either. No doubt he's being led there on purpose; all the better to pour salt on his recent wound.
But the girl is far from an old woman losing lifeblood in his arms. She's young and alive and brilliant, a reminder of the young man he was when he first joined MI6. His life was taken from him—he doesn't regret it. But that will not happen to her. He realizes with surprise at himself that he's already decided. Whatever happens, Sophia will have a chance.