“No. The man who held the leash. A man named Greene. Environmental front. Quantum’s purse strings. He’s meeting in Port-au-Prince tomorrow. I’m going to burn him out.”
“007,” she said. Not a question.
She looked at the phone. Bond had just thrown his away. PC - 007- Quantum of Solace
She stood beneath the arched colonnade of the San Giorgio Maggiore, her trench coat collar turned against the damp. In her gloved hand, she held a single file, stamped in crimson: .
“Come home, James,” she said quietly. “Vesper wouldn’t want this.” Environmental front
She took the phone. The line was already open.
“God help him,” she whispered. “Because he’s stopped helping himself.” I’m going to burn him out
M closed her eyes. She had seen this before. Agents hollowed out by grief, turned into precision instruments of revenge. They always broke. Sometimes they took others with them.
“Ma’am,” he said, handing her a burner phone. “He made contact.”
He hung up.