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[Binyamin]

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James Bond's legs burned. Pain surged up through his calves. His muscles screamed. The pain was hot but he could not stop, could not give in. Too much was at stake.

The tip had come from a girl. He shook his head at the absurdity of it all as he ran. He had never met her but knew she was only eighteen, maybe nineteen years old. A girl. What did she look like? For a moment he tried to picture her, tried to remember how she had looked in the photograph. He had to

[Binyamin]

6 Hours Previous
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The ice was gone.

Marina stared into the glass, and then past it. The cubes of ice where there a second ago... or had it been hours ago? She couldn't remember. It didn't matter. The ice was gone, and that's the way it was.

She reached for the bottle of Canadian whiskey again, and poured it carelessly. It flowed over the edge, spilling over the desk. The edges of her vision were beginning to spin, gently. She was drunk.

She poured more.

Marina's eyes turned back to her keyboard and she typed. The punctuation was all wrong -- her fingers grasped for the keys as her vision blurred. It didn't matter. He'd get the message, dammit. Who cared if she was drunk -- he'd get the message.

"LEVEL RED, EYES ONLY.

SEVEN -

I'M DEAD. BY THE TIME YOU READ THIS, I AM NOTHING BUT DUST. SUCH IS LIFE, NO? I SIGN MY DEATH SENTENCE AS I WRITE... BUT QUEEN AND COUNTRY. THE GADGET IS IN PLAY.

I TELL YOU ALL I KNOW. SUBWAY LINE BLUE, THIRD CAR, 2300 GMT. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, BE THERE. I LOVE YOU BUT WHO GIVES A F@CK."

Marina stared at the screen. Somehow it didn't seem real. Was it a dream, or was the whiskey finally taking over? She had just committed suicide. They would find it - she knew they would find the message and trace it to her, and so she was dead. Why all of the sudden did it seem so unreal?

SEND. She pressed the key without a second thought and went back to her whiskey.