thought it could very well be coincidence that all the events in Hong Kong were connected with this otherwise very respectable company. But when the raid in Portsmouth occurred and we learned that the company’s ship was smuggling heroin to Triad members, that’s when we became alarmed.
“If you can, 007, I want you to find out who is behind these terrorist acts and stop them. All Britain needs is a war with China on the eve of giving back Hong Kong! And that’s what we’re going to get if the pattern keeps up. You’re to fly to Hong Kong this afternoon—there’s a flight leaving at 2:30 and it arrives tomorrow morning. They’re eight hours ahead of us, as you know. Our man in Station H will meet you at the airport, a fellow by the name of Woo. I understand he’s been with the service for years.”
“I know of him, ma’am,” said Bond. “Never met him, though.”
“He’ll be your guide and contact. How’s your Chinese?”
“I speak Cantonese pretty well, ma’am, but I’m not so fluent in Mandarin.”
“Well, I hope you won’t need it. Although I dare say that we’ll be hearing more Mandarin in Hong Kong next year.”
“Will Guy Thackeray be accessible?”
“I have no idea,” M said. “You’ll have to find a way to meet him. Size him up. You are to determine if we have any reason to be suspicious of the man. I trust you won’t fail. You have got ten days. The countdown to July the first is already in progress.”
“Zero minus ten,” Bond said. “Plenty of time. No pressure at all.”
She ignored his flippancy. “That’s all, 007. Be sure to stop by at Q Branch on your way out. I believe the Armourer has something for you.”
Bond stood as M shut off the monitor and returned the lighting to normal. He cleared his throat and said, “Ma’am, I’m very concerned about the Australian thing …”
“We all are, 007. I’ll keep you informed, but for the moment it’s not our brief. You’ve got your assignment, and that’s where I want you to concentrate.”
With that, M looked down at the document she had been reading when Bond first entered. It was a signal that the meeting was over.
“Very well, ma’am,” Bond said and started out of the room.
“James.” Bond stopped, surprised that she had called him by his Christian name.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Those Triads can be vicious. They’ll cut off your hand with a butcher’s knife as soon as look at you. Be careful.”
Bond nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you,” he said, and walked out of the inner sanctum.
Seven minutes later, Bond punched in the keypad code and entered the unmarked grey metal door in the basement. He was immediately assaulted by the smell of chemicals and the noise of machinery. Q Branch was a virtual Santa’s Workshop for grownups, and not very nice grownups at that.
In one corner, behind a wall of glass, technicians were spraypainting a BMW. Against a far wall was a line of cardboard human cutouts with bull’s eyes painted on various portions of their anatomy. Two technicians stood twenty-five feet away from the wall and fired propellants at the targets from what appeared to be crude prototypes of 35mm cameras.
“Oh, please, can I get just one shot of you, 007?”
Bond turned to see a tall, thin man with grey hair. He was holding one of the cameras.
“Major,” said Bond, “I wouldn’t have taken you for a
Major Boothroyd, the Armourer and head of Q Branch, replied, “It’s for the wife and kids, actually. Come on, say cheese.
“Major, I never photograph well,” Bond said, chuckling. “I’m a bit camera-shy.”
Boothroyd placed the camera on a table. “I shutter to think what this camera would do for you!”
Bond winced at the pun.
“Follow me, 007. What size shoe do you wear?”
He followed Boothroyd into a room containing a bench and a shoe salesman’s stool with an inclined side. On a rack against the wall were a number of pairs of leather shoes in brown and black. Boothroyd gestured to the bench and sat on the stool. Bond sat, shaking his head. “Major, why do I feel like I’m in Harrod’s? I wear a nine and a half.”
Boothroyd turned to the shoes on the wall. “Nine and a half … nine and a half … do you prefer black or brown?”
“Black, please. Is this a joke?”
Boothroyd placed a pair of black shoes in front of Bond. “You know better than to ask that. Well, take off your shoes and try them on!”
Feeling ridiculous, Bond did as he was told. “Now I suppose you want me to walk around the room and see if they feel all right?”
“I want to make sure they’re comfortable, 007,” said Boothroyd. “There’s nothing worse than sore feet.”
Bond walked back and forth twice. “They’re fine. Now, what’s the point?”
“Take a look at the bottom of the tongue on the left shoe. You’ll find a small prying tool. Remove it.”
Bond did so. “Right,” the Armourer continued. “Now use the tool to pry open the heel.” The heel snapped off, revealing several items fitted neatly within. “As you’ve probably guessed by now, these are upgrades of our standard issue field shoes, model F, which all Double-O operatives are required to wear when on assignment.”
“Then you’ve made quite an improvement. I never could get the old ones open.”
Boothroyd ignored him. “As usual, they contain a variety of helpful items. In the left heel you’ll find not only the plastic, X-rayproof wire cutter and file, but also our new plastic dagger. It’s very sharp, so be careful.”
Bond picked out a round object with a lens on either side.
“Ah, that’s a microfilm reader. Press the little button on top to activate the light. Look through it as you would a child’s kaleidoscope. There’s a small compartment there in the heel to store strips of microfilm maps. We have an extensive library of microfilm maps detailing every square mile on the face of the planet. Before you go abroad, simply put in a request for microfilm covering the areas you may be visiting. With that handy contraption, you’ll never get lost, 007.”
“Thank God for that,” Bond commented.
“Right. Now pay attention, 007. These shoes could save your life.”
“Major, I do believe you’ve found your second calling.”
Boothroyd went on: “The shoelaces are now easily inflammable, generating enough heat to melt a half-inch iron bar. There’s a spare shoelace in the heel.”
“Good thing, too,” Bond said. “Shoelaces break at the damnedest times.”
“There are pieces of flint and steel in there as well to start fires. Now take a look at the other shoe. You’ll find the same prying tool under the tongue. Open up the heel on that one, if you would.” Bond did as he was told and found yet another cache of objects.
“As you know, this one’s geared more towards first aid. In the heel you’ll find some vital medicines and supplies. There’s a bottle of antiseptic, a pair of tweezers, acetaminophen tablets, generic amoxicyllin, and some bandages that are folded neatly in the sole of the shoe. We’ve added small tubes of sunblock and petroleum jelly.”
“That’s great,” said Bond. “I can dispense with my sponge bag altogether and travel light for a change. What about an electric razor and toothbrush?”
“Why is it you never appreciate the things I do for you, 007? I work my fingers to the bone, put in extra hours at weekends, and what do I get for it? You think my salary is anything to write home about? Why can’t you ever say ‘thank you’ for once?”
Bond stood and patted Boothroyd on the shoulder. “Thank you, Major, but you’re beginning to sound like my dear old Aunt Charmian did back when I was in my teens.”
“Hmph. I imagine you were just as disrespectful to her.”
“Never. She had a temper worthy of SMERSH.”
Boothroyd stood. “Do you have any questions about the shoes, 007?”
“Only one,” Bond said.
“What’s that?”
