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Her ankles were tied together by a wide length of black silk. Her feet were flat on the floor. Her knees bent in front of her breasts. Her back agains... the wall. Her arms disappeared behind her back, where I assumed they were also bound. Another length of black silk around the lower part of her face and over her mouth as a gag drew attention to her frightened doelike eyes, which followed me. I started to speak, but realized that that was what he wanted. And what was I going to say? Ask if she. She wondered if a big desk, like a big gun, was a macho spy’s way of compensating for certain, um, physical inadequacies. M was definitely from the old school. Not only did he not have a desktop computer, like practically everyone else at the agency, but his telephone was still the old plain, black rotary-dial type. No modern innovations for this top British spy. M was such a relic that he had even been reluctant to admit female spies like Jane into The Service. The walls of M’s office were of. More

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