Carte Blanche

new and M’s windows in the corner office bore witness to this. To the west Marylebone High Street’s period buildings contrasted sharply with Euston Road’s skyscrapers of glass and metal, sculptures of high concept and questionable aesthetics and lift systems cleverer than you were.
    These scenes, however, remained dim, even on sunny days, since the window glass was both bomb- and bulletproof and mirrored to prevent spying by any ingenious enemy hanging from a hot-air balloon over Regent’s Park.
    M looked up from his notes and scanned Bond. “No medical report, I gather.”
    Nothing escaped him. Ever.
    “A scratch or two. Not serious.”
    The man’s desk held a yellow pad, a complicated console phone, his mobile, an Edwardian brass lamp and a humidor stocked with the narrow black cheroots M sometimes allowed himself on drives to and from Whitehall or during his brief walks through Regent’s Park, when he was accompanied by his thoughts and two P Branch guards. Bond knew very little of M’s personal life, only that he lived in a Regency manor house on the edge of Windsor Forest and was a bridge player, a fisherman and a rather accomplished watercolorist of flowers. A personable and talented navy corporal named Andy Smith drove him about in a well-polished ten-year-old Rolls-Royce.
    “Give me your report, 007.”
    Bond organized his thoughts. M did not tolerate a muddled narrative or padding. “Ums” and “ers” were as unacceptable as stating the obvious. He reiterated what had happened in Novi Sad, then added, “I found a few things in Serbia that might give us some details. Philly’s sorting them now and finding out about the hazmat on the train.”
    “Philly?”
    Bond recalled that M disliked the use of nicknames, even though he was referred to exclusively by one throughout the organization. “Ophelia Maidenstone,” he explained. “Our liaison from Six. If there’s anything to be found, she’ll sniff it out.”
    “Your cover in Serbia?”
    “I was working false flag. The senior people at BIA in Belgrade know I’m with the ODG and what my mission was but we told their two field agents I was with a fictional UN peacekeeping outfit. I had to mention Noah and the incident on Friday in case the BIA agents stumbled across something referring to them. But whatever the Irishman got out of the younger man, it wasn’t compromising.”
    “The Yard and Five are wondering—with the train in Novi Sad, do you think Incident Twenty’s about sabotaging a railway line here? Serbia was a dry run?”
    “I wondered that too, sir. But it wouldn’t be the sort of operation that’d need much rehearsal. Besides, the Irishman’s partner rigged the derailment in about three minutes. Our rail systems here must be more sophisticated than a freight line in rural Serbia.”
    A bushy eyebrow rose, perhaps disputing that assumption. But M said, “You’re right. It doesn’t seem like a prelude to Incident Twenty.”
    “Now.” Bond sat forward. “What I’d like to do, sir, is get back to Station Y immediately. Enter through Hungary and set up a rendition op to track down the Irishman. I’ll take a couple of our double-one agents with me. We can trace the lorry he stole. It’ll be tricky but—”
    M was shaking his head, rocking back in his well-worn throne. “It seems there’s a bit of a flap, 007. It involves you.”
    “Whatever Belgrade’s saying, the young agent who died—”
    M waved a hand impatiently. “Yes, yes, of course what happened was their fault. There was never any question about that. Explanation is a sign of weakness, 007. Don’t know why you’re doing it now.”
    “Sorry, sir.”
    “I’m speaking of something else. Last night, Cheltenham managed to get a satellite image of the lorry the Irishman escaped in.”
    “Very good, sir.” So, his tracking tactic had apparently succeeded.
    But M’s scowl suggested Bond’s satisfaction was premature. “About fifteen miles south of Novi Sad the lorry pulled over and the Irishman got into a helicopter. No registration or ID but GCHQ got a MASINT profile of it.”
    Material and Signature Intelligence was the latest in high-tech espionage. If information came from electronic sources like microwave transmissions or radio, it was ELINT; from photographs and satellite images, IMINT; from mobile phones and e-mails, SIGINT; and from human sources, HUMINT. With MASINT, instruments collected and profiled data such as thermal energy; sound