Carte Blanche Part 31

She lifted his hand to her face and gently bit his finger. 'The first lie you've told me.'

'My job,' he said.

'Then I'll forgive you. It's the same with me. Co-ordinating the help on the docks, paying the pilots' fees, working on the s.h.i.+p charters and lorry leases, the trade unions.' Her voice took on the edge he'd heard before, as she said, 'And then your speciality. We've already had two attempted break-ins at the dock. And no food has even been offloaded yet. Odd.' Silence for a moment. Then: 'Gene?'

Bond knew something significant was coming. He grew alert and receptive. The intimacy of bodies comes prepacked with an intimacy of mind and spirit, and you ought not seek the first if you're unwilling to take delivery of the second. 'Yes?'

She said evenly, 'I have a feeling there's more to your work than you've told me. No, don't say anything. I don't know how you feel but if it turns out we can keep seeing each other, if . . .' She trailed off.

'Go on,' he whispered.

'If it turns out we see each other again, do you think that maybe you could change just a bit? I mean, if you do go to some dark places, could you promise me not to go to the . . . worst?' He felt the tension that rippled through her. 'Oh, I don't know what I'm saying. Ignore me, Gene.'

Although she was speaking to a security expert-c.u.m-mercenary soldier from Durban, in a way she was also talking to him, James Bond, a 00 Section agent.

And, ironically, he took her acknowledgement that she could live with a certain degree of darkness in Theron as indication that she might accept Bond as he was.

He whispered, 'I think that's very possible.'

She kissed his hand. 'Don't say any more. That's all I wanted to hear. Now, I have an idea. I don't know what your plans are for this weekend . . .'

Neither do I, Bond thought sourly.

'. . . but we'll have finished the food s.h.i.+pments tomorrow night. There's an inn I know in Franschhoek have you been to that area?'

'No.'

'It's the most beautiful spot on the Western Cape. A wine district. The restaurant has a Michelin star and the most romantic deck in the world, overlooking the hills. Come with me on Sat.u.r.day?'

'I'd love to,' he said and kissed her hair.

'You really mean that?' The tough warrior who seemed so at ease fighting the world's agropolies now sounded vulnerable and unsure.

'Yes, I do.'

In five minutes she was asleep.

Bond, however, remained awake, staring out at the lights of the harbour. His thoughts were no longer on his father's possible betrayal, nor on his promise to Felicity Willing to consider changing his darkest nature nor on the antic.i.p.ation of the time they might spend together this weekend. No, James Bond was focusing on one thing only: the indistinct faces of those, somewhere in the world, whose lives despite Whitehall's belief he knew that he alone could save.

Friday DOWN TO GEHENNA.

53.

At eight forty a.m. Bond steered his dusty, mud-spattered Subaru into the Cape Town SAPS headquarters car park. He killed the engine, climbed out and entered the building, where he found Bheka Jordaan, Gregory Lamb and Kwalene Nkosi in her office.

Bond greeted them with a nod. Lamb responded with a look that bespoke intrigue, Nkosi with an energetic smile.

Jordaan said, 'Regarding Hydt's newly arrived a.s.sociates, we've identified them.' She spun her laptop and clicked on a slide-show. The first photos depicted a large man with a round ebony face. He wore a brash gold and silver s.h.i.+rt, designer sungla.s.ses and voluminous brown slacks.

'Charles Mathebula. He's a black diamond from Joburg.'

Lamb explained: 'From the new wealthy cla.s.s in South Africa. Some of them become rich overnight in ways that aren't quite transparent, if you get my drift.'

'And some,' Jordaan added frostily, 'became wealthy by hard work. Mathebula owns businesses that seem to be legitimate s.h.i.+pping and transport. He was on the borderline with some arms deliveries a few years ago, true, but there was no evidence of wrongdoing.' A tap of a key and another picture appeared. 'Now, this is David Huang.' He was slim and smiled at the camera. 'His daughter posted the snapshot on her Facebook page. Stupid girl . . . though good for us.'

'A known mobster?'

Nkosi qualified, 'A suspected mobster. Singapore. Mostly money-laundering. Possibly human trafficking.'

Another face appeared. Jordaan tapped her computer screen. 'The German Hans Eberhard. He came in on Wednesday. Mining interests, diamonds primarily. Industrial grade but some jewellery.' A good-looking blond man was pictured leaving the airport. He was wearing a well-cut light suit, a s.h.i.+rt without a tie. 'He's been suspected of various crimes but he's technically clean.'

Bond studied the photos of the men.

Eberhard.

Huang.

Mathebula.

He memorised the names.

Frowning, Jordaan said, 'I don't understand why Hydt needs partners, though. He's got money enough to fund Gehenna himself, I should think.'

Bond had already considered this. 'Two reasons, most likely. Gehenna must be expensive. He'd want outside money so that if he's ever audited he doesn't have to explain huge liabilities on the books. But, more important, he doesn't have a criminal background or network. Whatever Gehenna's about, he'll need the contacts that people like these three can offer.'

'Yes,' Jordaan allowed. 'That makes sense.'

Bond looked at Lamb. 'Sanu Hirani in Q Branch texted me this morning. He said you had something for me.'

'Ah, yes sorry.' The Six agent handed him an envelope.

Bond peered inside and then pocketed it. 'I'm going out to the plant now. Once I'm inside I'll try to find out what Incident Twenty is, who's at risk and where. I'll get word out as soon as I can. But we need a fall-back plan.' If they hadn't heard from him by four p.m., Jordaan should order tactical officers to raid the plant, detain Hydt, Dunne and the partners and seize the contents of the Research and Development department. 'This will give us or you, if I'm no longer in the game five or six hours to interrogate them and find out what Incident Twenty's all about.'

'A raid?' Jordaan was frowning. 'I can't do that.'

'Why not?'

'I've told you. Unless I have reasonable belief that a crime is occurring at Green Way, or a magistrate's order, there's nothing I can do.'

d.a.m.n the woman. 'This isn't about preserving his rights for a fair trial. This is about saving thousands of people possibly many South Africans.'

'I can do nothing without a warrant and there's no evidence to present to the court to get one. No justification to act.'

'If I don't turn up by four, you can a.s.sume he's killed me.'

'Obviously I hope that doesn't happen, Commander, but your absence doesn't equal cause.'

'I've told you he's willing to dig up the graves of ma.s.sacre victims and turn them into building materials. What more do you want?'

'Evidence of a crime somewhere in the plant.' Her jaw was set and her eyes black granite. It was clear she wouldn't yield.

Bond said sharply, 'Then let's hope to G.o.d I can find the answer. For the sake of several thousand innocent people.' He nodded to Nkosi and Lamb and, ignoring Jordaan, left the office. He strode downstairs to his car, dropped into the driver's seat and fired up the engine.

'James, wait!' Turning, he saw Bheka Jordaan walking towards him. 'Please, wait.'

Bond thought about speeding away but instead he rolled the window down.

'Yesterday,' she said, bending down, close to him, 'the Serbian?'

'Yes?'

'I spoke to him. He told me what you'd said that you were going to get him to a doctor.'

Bond nodded.

After a breath, the policewoman added, 'I was making a.s.sumptions. I . . . sometimes I do that. I judge first. I try not to but it's hard for me to stop. I wanted to apologise.'

'Accepted,' he said.

'About a raid at Green Way, though? You must understand. Under apartheid the old police, the SAP and their Criminal Investigation Department, did terrible things. Now everyone watches us, the new police, to make sure we don't do the same. An illegal raid, arbitrary arrests and interrogations . . . that's what the old regime did. We cannot do the same. We must be better than the people who came before us.' Her face taut with determination, she said, 'I'll fight side by side with you if the law permits, but without cause, without a warrant, there's nothing I can do. I'm sorry.'

Much of the training of 00 Section agents in the Group was psychological and part of that arduous instruction was to instil within them the belief that they were different, that they were allowed to no, required to operate outside the law. A Level 1 project order, authorising a.s.sa.s.sination, had to be, to James Bond, just another aspect of his job, no different from taking pictures of secret installations or planting misinformation in the press.

As M had put it, Bond had to have carte blanche to do whatever was required to fulfil his mission.

We protect the Realm . . . by any means necessary.

That was part of Bond's fabric indeed, he couldn't do his job without it and he had to remind himself continually that Bheka Jordaan and the other hard-working law enforcers of the world were one hundred per cent right in respecting the rules. It was he who was the outlier.

He said, not unkindly, 'I do understand, Captain. And whatever happens, it's been quite an experience working with you.'

Her response was a smile, faint and fleeting but, Bond judged, honest the first time that such an expression had warmed her beautiful face in his presence.

54.

Bond skidded the Subaru into the car park outside the fortress of Green Way International and braked to a stop.

Several limousines were lined up close to the gate.

REDUCE, REUSE, RECYCLE.

A few people were milling about. Bond recognised the German businessman, Hans Eberhard, in a beige suit and white shoes. He was talking to Niall Dunne, who stood still as a j.a.panese fighting fish. The breeze ruffled his blond fringe. Eberhard was finis.h.i.+ng a cigarette. Perhaps Hydt didn't allow anyone to smoke inside the plant, which seemed ironic; the outside air was bleached with haze and vapours from the power plant and the methane that was being burnt.

Bond waved to Dunne, who acknowledged him with a blank nod and continued his conversation with the German. Then Dunne pulled his phone off his belt and read a text or email. He whispered something to Eberhard, then stepped away to make a call. On the pretence of using his own phone, Bond loaded the eavesdropping app and lifted it to his ear, rolling down the pa.s.senger window of his car and aiming it in the direction of the Irishman. He stared ahead and mouthed to himself so that Dunne would not guess a microphone was pointed his way.

The Irishman's conversation was one-sided but Bond heard him say, '. . . outside with Hans. He wanted a smoke . . . I know.'

He was probably speaking to Hydt.

Dunne continued, 'We're on schedule. I just had an email. The lorry left March for York. Should be there any minute. The device is already armed.'

So, this was Incident Twenty! The attack would take place in York.

'The target's confirmed. Detonation's still scheduled for ten thirty, their time.'

Dismayed, Bond noted the time of the attack. They'd a.s.sumed ten thirty at night but every time Dunne had referred to a time he'd used the twenty-four-hour clock. Had it been half past ten in the evening he would have said, 'Twenty-two thirty.'

Dunne looked at Bond's car and said into the phone, 'Theron's here . . . Right, then.' He disconnected and called to Eberhard that the meeting would start soon. Then he turned to Bond. He seemed impatient.

Bond dialled a number. Please, he whispered silently. Answer.

Then: 'Osborne-Smith.'

Thank G.o.d. 'Percy. It's James Bond. Listen carefully. I have about sixty seconds. I've got the answer to Incident Twenty. You'll have to move fast. Mobilise a team. SOCA, Five, local police. The bomb's in York.'

'York?'

'Hydt's people're driving the device in a lorry from March to York. It's going to detonate later this morning. I don't know where they'll plant it. Maybe a sporting event there was that reference to "course", so try the racecourse. Or somewhere there's a big crowd. Check all the CCTVs in and around March, get the number plates of as many lorries as you can. Then compare them to the plates of any lorries arriving in York about now. You need to-'

'Hold on there, Bond,' Osborne-Smith said coolly. 'It has nothing to do with March or Yorks.h.i.+re.'

Bond noted the use of his last name and the imperious tone in Osborne-Smith's voice. 'What are you talking about?'

Dunne gestured to him. Bond nodded, struggling to smile amiably.

'Did you know Hydt's companies reclaim dangerous materials?'

'Well, yes. But-'

'Remember I told you he was digging tunnels for some fancy new rubbish collection system under London, including around Whitehall?' Osborne-Smith sounded like a barrister before a witness.

Bond was sweating now. 'But that's not what this is about.'

Dunne was acting increasingly impatient, his eyes focusing on Bond.

'I beg to differ,' Osborne-Smith said prissily. 'One of the tunnels isn't far from the security meeting today in Richmond Terrace. Your boss, mine, senior CIA, Six, Joint Intelligence Committee it's a veritable Who's Who of the security world. Hydt was going to release something nasty that his hazardous-materials operation had recovered. Kill everybody. His people have been hauling bins in and out of the tunnels and buildings near Whitehall for the past several days. n.o.body's thought to check them out.'