“No, it was once, though,” Bond said. “I was using an ASP for a few years, and I just recently got an urge to use the old one again. I don’t know, it feels very … familiar, and I’ve decided to use the Walther again from now on. Old habits die hard.”
Stephanie picked up the gun and pointed it at him.
“So if I shoot you now, I will achieve my Primary Objective after all,” she said with no trace of humour.
Bond squinted at her. There was silence. His cold stare dared her to fire.
She pulled the trigger. It clicked empty. Her mouth dropped open.
Bond held out the clip in his hand. “You don’t think I’d put a loaded pistol down with a stranger in the room, do you? Sorry, 05. You flunked this one.” Bond walked into the bedroom. “I’m going to take a shower. Make yourself comfortable. But before you get too relaxed, turn on the transmitter and see if there’s anything from London.”
Did Stephanie detect a hint of flirtation in his voice? She smiled. When she heard the shower running, she opened an attache case she had left in the house earlier. Inside was a small black device that looked like an ordinary beeper. She flicked a switch and the code “33” appeared on an illuminated display. Bond would want to know this.
She stepped into the bedroom and called to him: “It says 33!”
Bond shouted back from the shower, “Damn! That means I have to go back to London as soon as possible. Some kind of emergency …”
Stephanie was disappointed. Well, she thought, she had to take what she could get. She unzipped her wet suit, peeled it off, and stepped into the bathroom.
She had failed in accomplishing her Primary Objective that evening … but if she acted now she would have a little time. It was a shame that the night of pleasure she had anticipated earlier would not last until dawn. If she was lucky, though, she still had an hour or two.
At least she had got the right man. Secondary Objective accomplished! Naked, she pushed back the shower curtain, and got in with him.
TWO
Approximately seventy-two hours earlier, a large cargo vessel called the
When word of the
“She’s here, sir,” Marsh said when the DCI answered. Marsh listened closely to his instructions and nodded. “Consider it done, sir.” He rang off and dialled a new number. If the tip they had received was correct, there could be trouble.
A lighter had already begun to deliver cargo from the
The two token Hampshire Police officers on duty that night, Charles Thorn and Gary Mitchell, walked along the dock area, noting that the weather was unusually pleasant for a June night. Unfortunately, due to a breakdown in communications, they were not apprised of the message that was received by TFU Police Sergeant David Marsh. Even more calamitous was the fact that neither of them was armed.
Thorn suddenly stopped in mid-stride and asked his partner, “Do you hear anything?” In the distance was the whirr of a hydraulic crane used to unload cargo.
Mitchell nodded. “Sounds like someone’s unloading. I wasn’t aware of a scheduled docking tonight, were you?”
Thorn shook his head. “Customs and Excise didn’t tell me about it. Let’s have a look, shall we?”
The two men hurried around a corner past a warehouse where they could get an unobstructed view of the harbour. Sure enough, four men were loading crates on to a lorry.
“Where are Customs and Excise? They should be supervising the unloading, shouldn’t they?” Mitchell asked.
“Unless this is an unscheduled unloading,” Thorn said. He quickly radioed his office to request additional officers. The Communication Centre Dispatcher informed them that the Hampshire Constabulary TFU was on the way and to stay put.
The Chinese were finished with the lighter and it was already pulling away. The lorry was nearly full—only two crates remained on the ground. They would be gone in minutes.
“We have to stop them,” Thorn said. “Come on.”
The two men stepped into view of the Chinese men. “Good evening,” Thorn called out to them. “Like to tell us what you’re doing?”
One of the Chinese stepped out of the truck and produced some papers. Thorn glanced at them. “You know this is highly irregular, sir. Customs and Excise are supposed to clear your unloading. What have you got in those crates?” The Chinese man, who apparently spoke little English, pointed to the papers.
“Right,” said Sergeant Thorn, looking closely at the shipping numbers and comparing them to the crates. One was still on the ground, the other on the forklift. “That one has half a ton of tea, and the other one is what?”
The Chinese man smiled. “Toys. Made in Hong Kong.”
Mitchell whispered to Thorn, “Imports from the Far East generally come into Southampton.”
Thorn nodded and said aloud, “Let’s open ’em up now, all right?”
Mitchell took a crowbar from the side of the hydraulic crane and prised the lid off the wooden crate. It was filled with straw, styrofoam, and large bags labelled with Chinese characters. Mitchell opened one of the bags and found dozens of smaller bags inside marked with similar characters. He tossed one of the small bags to Thorn, who promptly used a pocket knife to open it. It was full of tea.
“Fine,” Thorn said. “Let’s open the other one.”
As the forklift was pulled in front of the officers, a fully marked TFU jeep containing four men, including Sergeant Marsh, sped quickly into the cargo area of the dock and stopped.
“Sergeant Marsh,” Thorn said. “Good to see you. It seems these chaps aren’t aware of Customs and Excise standard operating procedures.”
“A word with you, Sergeant?” Marsh said, gesturing towards the jeep. Mitchell watched Marsh whisper to Thorn, then glanced over to the four Chinese men who had gathered near the fork-lift. They were all young, probably in their late teens or early-twenties.
The conference was over. Marsh took the crowbar from Thorn and slammed it into the side of the crate containing the tea, cracking one of the side panels. He then worked the panel off, exposing a mess of straw packing. Marsh dug into the packing with the crowbar, pulling it out.
“We have reason to believe you’ve got something hidden in here,” Marsh said to one of the Chinese. The sharp end of the crowbar struck a large canvas bag, bursting it. A white, crystalline powder oozed out of the tear. Having just completed a two-year tour of duty in the Hampshire Constabulary’s Drug Squad, Marsh hadn’t shaken the habit of carrying a drug test kit with him. He quickly retrieved a plastic vial from the kit, opened it, and scooped a bit of the white powder into the vial with his finger. He replaced the cap and shook the vial vigorously, mixing the white powder with a reagent. The clear liquid changed colour.
Marsh turned to the Chinese men. “I have reason to believe this is heroin. Now I’m going to have to place you
