“Do you have any socks to go with them?”
FIVE
There was once a pilot who described the flight to Hong Kong as “hours of ennui, followed by a few minutes of sheer terror!” Kai Tak, or Hong Kong International Airport, consists of a single runway yet there are an average of 360 movements a day, scheduled at twominute intervals in peak periods. Pilots consider it among the more challenging landings on the globe; for passengers, it’s one of the most nerve-wracking.
Though no stranger to daredevil aerial manoeuvres, James Bond nevertheless felt a surge of excitement as he looked out of the window of the British Airways 747 on its approach to the fabled city. Down below was a harbour littered with boats and surrounded by layered levels of skyscrapers. It seemed that the plane would fly straight into the buildings; but it quickly descended to make a steep, forty-seven-degree turn and touched down on the narrow strip of land on the Kowloon peninsula.
If India was once known as the “Jewel in the Crown,” then Hong Kong was perhaps the “Pearl in the Crown.” Its mere existence was one of the wonders of the modern world. It began as a barren island with very little population, and now ranked among the world’s fifteen largest trading entities and was Asia’s busiest tourist destination. The mix of British management and Chinese entrepreneurial enthusiasm made Hong Kong a cosmopolitan mixture of East and West. It was a commercial, manufacturing, and financial dynamo; and it was the communication and transportation intersection for all Asia.
In nine days, Hong Kong would no longer be Britain’s Pearl in the Crown. People had speculated for years what would happen when the colony was handed back to China. One school of thought was that Hong Kong was finally being returned to the China it had economically and culturally always belonged to. Britain had only borrowed it long enough to allow it to blossom. Bond had heard people ask, “What will China do to Hong Kong?” He thought the more intriguing question might be, “What will Hong Kong do to China?”
The airport terminal was noisy, crowded, and chaotic. Bond moved with the crowd into the Buffer Hall. The office had provided him with plenty of Hong Kong currency, so he didn’t have to bother with foreign exchange queues. Immigration went smoothly and quickly. Bond’s cover was that of a
Bond took the third exit out of Buffer Hall into the Greeting Area, which was packed with the families and friends of incoming passengers. He spotted the yellow baseball cap, and beneath it the friendly smile of a Chinese man.
“No charge for ride to hotel,” the man said to Bond.
“But I have the correct change,” Bond replied.
“No problem,” the man said, turning his r’s into l’s the way Chinese often do. “I even take you on scenic route, uh huh?” His English was slightly broken but his vocabulary was very good.
“That would be lovely then,” Bond said and smiled. These code exchanges, though necessary, were sometimes ridiculous.
The man held out his hand. “T.Y. Woo at your service. How was flight?”
“Too long.” Bond shook his hand. “I’m Bond. Call me James.”
“You call me T.Y. You are hungry, uh huh?” He had an endearing habit of adding “uh huh?” to his sentences.
“Famished.”
“Your hotel has excellent restaurant. I take you, okay?” Woo reached for Bond’s carry-on bag, which Bond gladly allowed him to take. Bond held on to the attache case which contained documentation of his cover identity and other assorted personal items. His Walther PPK was stored in an X-ray-proof compartment in the case.
When the men reached the street, a red Toyota Crown Motors taxi cab with a silver roof screeched to a halt on the double yellow line edging the road.
“Quick, get in,” Woo said. He opened the back door and gestured for Bond to jump inside.
A policeman on the street blew his whistle and shouted something in Chinese. The driver, a young teenage boy, shouted something back. By then, both men were inside and the cab sped away.
“That was restricted zone. Cabs not supposed to stop,” Woo explained, smiling.
Bond noticed the meter wasn’t running. “Is this a company car?”
“Yes, James,” Woo said. Bond noticed that his new friend rarely relaxed his broad smile. “Meet my son Woo Chen—you call him Chen Chen, uh huh?” The boy grinned at Bond in the rear-view mirror. Bond nodded at him and smiled.
“Relax, we go for ride!” Chen Chen exclaimed enthusiastically.
The cab pulled in front of a Rolls-Royce, making room for itself in the congested traffic. Although the flow moved slowly, Chen Chen managed to swerve in and around vehicles to maintain a significantly faster speed. Bond held his breath a couple of times during the first few minutes of the journey until he assured himself that the boy knew what he was doing.
“Chen Chen too young to drive,” T.Y. said, still grinning. “I pull strings to get him licence!”
Bond cleared his throat and said, “He drives very well. How old are you, Chen Chen?”
“Fifteen,” the boy said, grinning just like his father. “Sixteen next month!”
The cab moved through the traffic and finally entered the Cross-Harbour Tunnel. It was a congested two-lane thoroughfare two kilometres long.
“Your hotel on Hong Kong side. Airport is on Kowloon side,” T.Y. explained. Bond knew that, but nodded as if he was learning something. “Very nice hotel,” T.Y. continued. “Expensive. They have good restaurant at top. Private. We can talk, uh huh?”
The cab pushed its way through the tunnel and emerged into the light of Hong Kong Island. Throngs of people cluttered the pavements. At intersections, there were queues eight people deep waiting to cross the street. Bond had studied the latest intelligence and census reports on the city-state during the flight. Between five and six million people now resided in the relatively small area that comprised the territory. It was essentially a Cantonese city, most of the population being ethnic Chinese. The other small percentage were known as “expats,” or foreigners, who had taken residence in the colony. These expats were of many nationalities—Filipinos, Americans, Canadians, British, Thai, Japanese and Indians being the most prominent. Bond thought it was a cultural melting pot like no other.
“If you get tired of hotel, you come to safe house,” T.Y. said. “Near Hollywood Road, east end of Western District.”
The cab zigzagged through Connaught Road in the Central District of the island, and screeched to a halt beside a white block building over twenty storeys tall. The Mandarin Oriental’s unimpressive exterior did a fine job of hiding one of the world’s most sophisticated hotels. While most English businessmen might have stayed at the more Colonial-style Peninsula Hotel in Kowloon, Bond always preferred the Mandarin Oriental whenever he was in Hong Kong. Hotel rooms were hard to come by this week, as many had been booked as much as a year in advance of the first of July transition. Luckily, SIS had made a reservation long ago in anticipation of sending someone just to be present on the fateful night.
Woo said, “You check in. I meet you in Chinnery Bar at noon, uh huh?”
“Fine,” Bond said, taking his bag and opening the door. “Thank you, Chen Chen.”
“No problem,” said the grinning youth.
The hotel lobby was discreetly elegant and surprisingly subdued. Bond checked in and was ushered to his room on the twenty-first floor by a cheerful bellhop. It was the “Lotus Suite,” consisting of two large rooms and a terrace overlooking the harbour. The hotel even provided a pair of binoculars for sight-seeing. The sitting room included a writing desk, bar, television/stereo system, and a bathroom for guests. The bedroom contained a king- sized bed, and there was a large private bathroom. Once he was alone, Bond immediately opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of vodka. He put two ice cubes into a glass and poured a large measure. It was early, but
