He parked in front of the building and looked around. The blue van was nowhere in sight. He got out and went inside the building-
Ignoring the elderly woman at the reception desk, Bond rushed through the small lobby as a feeling of dread poured over him,
He took the stairs two at a time to the second floor, drew the Walther, and peered carefully around the landing. The hallway was clear. He quietly moved to the correct room and listened at the door. A radio inside was broadcasting the second movement of Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony. Bond raised his hand to knock but realized it was slightly ajar. He slowly pushed it open, his gun ready.
Helena Marksbury was lying in the middle of the floor in a pool of blood.
Bond entered and shut the door behind him. He quickly checked the bedroom to make sure he was alone with the corpse, then kneeled down beside her.
The Union had gotten to her first. Her throat was completely severed.
He took a moment to collect his thoughts, then picked up the phone and dialed the emergency number at headquarters. After ordering a cleanup crew, he sat down in a chair and stared at the body of the beautiful girl he had once made passionate love to.
The music filled the room as the orchestra on the radio reached an emotionally charged climax.
He was sorry for her, but he no longer felt any affection for the girl who had been a wonderful part of his life for some time. Just as he had always shut his heart to other women who had betrayed him in the past, Bond forced Helena out of his life then and there.
As he took out a cigarette and lit it, Bond wondered what was colder—the cruel realm of espionage that had victimized and ultimately destroyed Helena Marksbury, the icy summit of Kangchenjunga, or his own hardened heart.
The End