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.”
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Ian Fleming's James Bond in The Designation of Death
FanfictionA Thriller that sees 007 on a very personal mission that involves revenge, intrigue and the rise of a newly formed adversary that has echoes of a painful past. Along the way damsels in distress are rescued, old allies are called in to help and th...