Ian Fleming's James Bond in The Designation of Death

Ian Fleming's James Bond in

The Designation Of Death

A Sunday – Paris, Autumn 2004

The vehicle charged through the gap between the curb and the coach full of school

children on their trip to France’s bustling capital, water sprayed up from the gutter

covering the elderly man walking along the pavement, whose thoughts moments

before the event, had been about which café he should visit, so as to enjoy his

breakfast that wet autumn morning. The Seine was on the right and the Eiffel Tower

stood sentinel like, watching all that unfolded beneath it, in the not too far distance.

The sky was that greyish white that heralded the oncoming winter, and the rain fell

diagonally soaking everything in its way. The silver bullet that was James Bond’s

Aston Martin swerved again to avoid a cyclist that was ahead. Bond eased up through

the gears making calculated racing changes. The clock was ticking and if he didn’t

make the next stage –he knew that her life would be forfeit.

It had all started a fortnight ago. M had summoned him into her office first thing on a

Monday morning. He’d been surprised, and a little intrigued. M had rang him

personally, and had addressed him as James, rather than as 007 –which usually meant

she was after something, something not work related.

M’s office had been decorated again; it must have been the fifth time in as little as six

years. Apparently it was to do with the new updated technology that the “powers that

be” kept installing. Now the office was more homely than the last décor that it had

endured, which had been more akin to Ikea’s Swedish designs. Gone was the chrome

and pine furniture that had seemed so sterile and impersonal. Now the room had a

much more opulent feel to it in an almost palatial style that was a little bit too

overpowering for Bond’s tastes. The Grecian urns on pedestals, and mock Louis XIV

furniture was so not what he expected M to choose. “The Queen of Numbers” was not

into frivolous and non functional items. So this baroque interior was a surprise to 007

as he walked in.

It’s disgusting isn’t it.” Said M before Bond had even had a chance to greet his boss.

“Apparently the minimalist look is so last year. Or so I’ve been told. Consequently a

memo from Downing Street has recommended that all executive offices are to be

refurbished in such a fashion so that visiting dignitaries feel and see the ‘power’ of the

nation. Why we can’t just have normal offices is beyond me. But there you are. Even

I can’t always have what I like.”

Well Ma’am, I agree it is a bit OTT. But at least we know that in another twelve to

eighteen months they will probably change it again.” Bond said smirking.

Quite. Drink?”

Er, a black coffee please. It’s a bit early for anything stronger.”