Carte Blanche

or up to the Throne, / He travels the fastest who travels alone.’”
    He liked that and repeated it to himself.
    She said, “Now, for my other assignment, Steel Cartridge.”
    Relax, Bond told himself. He raised an eyebrow nonchalantly.
    Philly said, “I couldn’t see any connection between the Gehenna plan and Steel Cartridge.”
    “No, I understand that. I don’t think they’re related. This is something else—from before I joined the ODG.”
    The hazel eyes scanned his face, pausing momentarily on the scar. “You were Defense Intelligence, weren’t you? And before that you were in Afghanistan with the Naval Reserve.”
    “That’s right.”
    “Afghanistan . . . The Russians were there, of course, before we and the Americans decided to pop in for tea. Does it have to do with your assignments there?”
    “Could very well. I don’t know.”
    Philly realized she was asking questions he might not want to answer. “I got the original Russian data file that our Station R hacked and I went through the metadata. It sent me to other sources and I found out that Steel Cartridge was a targeted killing operation, sanctioned at a high level. That’s what the phrase ‘some deaths’ referred to. I can’t find out whether it was KGB or SVR, so we don’t know the date yet.”
    In 1991 the KGB, the infamous Soviet security and spy apparatus, was redesigned as Russia’s FSB, with domestic jurisdiction, and the SVR , with foreign. The consensus among those following the espionage world was that the change was cosmetic only.
    Bond considered this. “Targeted killing.”
    “That’s right. And one of our clandestine operators—an agent with Six—was in some way involved but I don’t know who or how yet. Maybe our man was tracking the Russian assassin. Maybe he wanted to turn him and run him as a double. Or our agent might even have been the target himself. I’m getting more soon—I’ve opened channels.”
    He noticed that he was staring at the tablecloth, brow furrowed. He gave her a fast smile. “Brilliant, Philly. Thanks.”
    On his mobile, Bond typed a synopsis of what Philly had told him about Hydt, Incident 20 and Green Way International, omitting the information on Operation Steel Cartridge. He sent the message to M and Bill Tanner. Then he said, “Right. Now it’s time for sustenance, after all our hard work. First, wine. Red or white?”
    “I’m a girl who doesn’t play by the rules.” Philly let that linger—teasingly, it seemed to Bond. Then she explained: “I’ll do a big red—a Margaux or St. Julien—with a mild-mannered fish like sole. And I’ll have a pinot gris or Albariño with a nice juicy steak.” She relented. “I’m saying whatever you’re in the mood for, James, is fine with me.” She buttered a piece of her roll and ate it, with obvious pleasure, then snatched up the menu and examined the sheet like a little girl trying to decide which Christmas present to open first. Bond was charmed.
    A moment later Aaron, the waiter, was beside them. Philly said to Bond, “You first. I need seven seconds more.”
    “I’ll start with the pâté . Then I’ll have the grilled turbot.”
    Philly ordered a rocket and Parmesan salad with pear and, to follow, the poached lobster, with haricots verts and new potatoes.
    Bond picked a bottle of unoaked chardonnay from Napa, California.
    “Good,” she said. “The Americans have the best chardonnay grapes outside Burgundy but they really must have the courage to throw out some of their damned oak casks.”
    Bond’s opinion exactly.
    The wine arrived and then the food, which proved excellent. He complimented her on her choice of restaurant.
    Casual conversation ensued. She asked about his life in London, recent travels, where he’d grown up. Instinctively, he gave her only the broad brush of information that was already in the public domain—his parents’ death, his childhood with his aunt Charmian in idyllic Pett Bottom, Kent, his brief tenure at Eton and subsequent attendance at his father’s old school in Edinburgh, Fettes.
    “Yes, I heard that at Eton you got into a spot of bother—something about a maid?” She let those words linger a bit too. Then smiled. “I heard the official story—a touch scandalous. But there were other rumors too. That you’d been defending the girl’s honor.”
    “I think my lips must remain sealed on that.” He offered a smile. “I’ll plead the Official Secrets Act. Un