The Death of James Bond, 007

He doesn’t see it coming but it does. The van hurtles from Sandringham, just before exiting onto Molynes Road, slamming into the back of his Aston Martin, crushing the alloyed steel. He bucks, throwing his head forward and back. On cue airbags deploy with a massive bang and the smell of compressed gas mingles with the truck’s punctured motor stench tainting his nose as he jerks, the seatbelt digging into his flesh. Excruciating pain stabs him in the neck and dazed he’s unable to see, blood pouring from a cut above his left eye, a result of his head smacking against the steering wheel. The redness spoils his once white cotton shirt and with the back of one sleeve he wipes at it, leaving an ugly streak, staining the white material. His car rolls onto Molynes, fortunately the other vehicles halt hastily, their drivers staring curiously at the scene. He thinks: Helluva way to be heading home. A balmy, slow evening can’t be the cause for an accident. N...

She plucks the tinkling Samsung phone from her black Michael Kors handbag and glances at the text on the screen. A smile plays on her firm lips. The last time they were together they were in Belize, Belize City to be exact, completing a dangerous assignment, one of the most challenging she ever had and if wasn’t for James, she’d still be at the bottom of the Caribbean Sea. It'd been awhile and now he was here, in London, outside Claridges. Slipping on her Jimmy Choo wedges, she ghosts to the front of the upscale eaterie. A doorman dressed in a long black coat with gold piping and black tophat, slides her blue designer coat over her slim shoulders. Shrugging into it, she smiles charmingly and winks at the man. He nods and blushes while touching the hat’s brim. The day is grey and traffic is heavy as always in Central London and sauntering to Brook Street's pavement edge, she waits patiently. It’ll take her co-worker a few more minutes to be with her. A warm...