Zero Minus Ten

survived. With their leader dead as well, he thought that the Dragon Wing Society would most likely fade into obscurity, or be absorbed by some other secret criminal society.

The sampan had not drifted far. Bond reached it in minutes, cut the motor, and leaped aboard. Sunni was tied and gagged, her eyes wide with fear and surprise. Bond removed the gag.

“James! Oh, God, James!” she cried.

“It’s all right! Hold on,” he said, untying her. Once she was free, he gave her a quick hug and kiss. She didn’t want to let him go, but he broke away.

“Sunni, the bomb!” he said, then turned his attention to the large metal object fastened to the deck of the sampan.

The cone was screwed to the main casing. Bond removed his left shoe and opened it up. He took out the metal file, which was just the appropriate size to use on the screws. He removed the cone, revealing a digital clock face, its mechanism, and wires connecting it to the main casing and the conventional explosives surrounding the U-235 within. The clock read 11:55.

Before Bond could progress any further, the sampan lurched hard to one side. Someone was pulling himself on to the boat! Sunni screamed. It was Tom, the largest and strongest of the albino henchmen! Bond had forgotten about him after the man had fallen off the Glory.

“Stay with the bomb, James, I’ll take care of this creep!” Sunni shouted.

Fine, Bond thought. Do it, girl. He had to concentrate. What would be the quickest way to disarm the damned thing? Maybe he could simply stop the clock.

Sunni, who once displayed a knack for street fighting, used the frustration and pent-up energy from being tied up to attack the big man like a dynamo. She hit him hard in the face with a Mae-geri front kick, swung around and kicked him again, then leaned in and struck him hard in the solar plexus with a stiff spear- hand. Surprised by the girl’s ability, Tom was momentarily stunned. He swung at her, but she deftly dodged the blow, ducked, then brought herself up with a leap nearly as high as his head. In mid-air, Sunni kicked out hard at the man, knocking him on his back.

Bond remembered what Thackeray had said about the clock. It was run by a small battery: “the kind used in wristwatches.” Bond used the file to pry off the clock face, revealing the circuitry. A small, round lithium battery was encased in metal connectors. The file was too large a tool to pop it out. Bond tried using his fingers, but that was too awkward.

Sunni continued attacking the albino henchman as if she was making up for years of abuse, exploitation, and pain. She wouldn’t let up. The big man couldn’t get a manoeuvre in to save his life. With one great lurch, though, he managed to get to his feet. He was standing with his back to the side of the sampan, dazed and confused. Sunni, with one final dynamic leap in the air, double-kicked the man hard on the breastplate. It was enough to force him overboard and into the water. By that time, a Royal Navy RIB had arrived. A naval officer trained his gun on the albino and was prepared to arrest him, but it wasn’t necessary. Sunni had broken the man’s sternum and stopped his heart.

The digital numbers read 11:58. Once again, Bond looked at the contents of the shoe that Major Boothroyd had given him. Was there another tool … ? Of course! The tweezers! Bond plucked them from their position in the shoe and used them carefully to extract the lithium battery. The digital clock blinked out at 11:59. The crisis was over. Thackeray’s bomb was a dud.

Bond and Sunni climbed into the RIB, which took them over to the Peacock. Captain Plante met them on deck.

“Commander Bond?”

Bond nodded. “The bomb’s defused. Your men can salvage it off that sampan.”

“Excellent, Commander. Your chief is on the line there on the bridge,” he said. “Just up those steps. I’ve orders to deliver you back to England.”

What about Sunni? Bond thought. What were they going to do with her?

Bond got on the line, and after a few pips, heard M’s strained voice.

“Well, 007, I see that you persist in disobeying my orders.” she said.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I assure you it won’t become a habit. It’s just that …”

“Never mind, 007. I understand you stopped that man Thackeray from doing whatever it was he was planning.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I imagine the handover ceremony is in progress as we speak.”

“It’s midnight here, ma’am,” Bond said. “I suppose so.”

“Good. You’re to accompany Captain Plante back to England. I’m putting you on three months’ suspension for insubordination.”

Bond closed his eyes. Fine, if that’s the way she wants to play it.

Then M added, “With pay.”

“Ma’am?” He wasn’t sure he heard her correctly.

“As for the girl, I’ve arranged for a passport in her name. Just give the details to Chief of Staff. We’ll need to know which country she prefers. She can choose between England, America and Canada.”

Bond couldn’t believe it. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll ask her. I’m sure she’ll be very appreciative.”

They rang off and Bond joined Sunni on the deck of the ship. It began to pull away, heading east out of the harbour.

He put his arm around her. “England, America or Canada?” he asked.

“What?”

“You have your foreign passport.”

“Oh, James!” She kissed him. “Do I have to decide this second?”

“No.”

They looked out at the magnificent skyline of Hong Kong Island. At that moment, its sovereignty was changing hands. The future of the fabled city-state was now in the hands of the People’s Republic of China.

Bond thought about T.Y. Woo and his brother, and the lives they’d given for the colony which was now lost. He made a mental note to contact Woo’s son in England and offer to provide any assistance that Chen Chen might need. As for himself, he would have to live with the guilt he felt for being forced to turn his back on T.Y. that fateful day in Guangzhou. He knew he could eventually bury it, for it was no different from what he’d felt when his friend Felix Leiter lost a leg at the hands of Mr. Big’s men in Florida, or when his colleague Darko Kerim was killed by Russian agents on the Orient Express, or when his companion Quarrel was burned alive on that island in the Caribbean. James Bond had lost many friends during his career with the Secret Service. He had learned long ago how to deal with it and turn the pain into an asset that contributed to his self-made shell—the hardened, tough armour that protected him from the inevitably maddening, and conceivably fatal, aspects of consciousness called human emotions.

He looked over at Sunni and saw that tears were streaming down her cheeks. Bond gently used his finger to wipe them away.

“You miss your mother, don’t you …” he said tenderly.

She nodded. “That’s not why I’m crying, though,” she said. “I’m crying for Hong Kong. I fear for its people.”

“No,” Bond said, kissing her softly. “The people will manage. Don’t worry about them. They are strong, and they are determined. So don’t cry.”

“All right.” Sunni smiled and wiped her face. “No tears for Hong Kong.”

She allowed him to encircle her with his arms as they looked towards the skyline to watch the fireworks.

ZERO: 1 JULY 1997, 12:01 A.M.

In Statue Square, the handover of the British Crown Colony known as Hong Kong was executed peacefully and smoothly. Formal statements were read by both sides, and the representatives from China shook hands with the representatives from Great Britain. As soon as the transition was declared official, there were tumultuous cries from the people standing in the congested streets. Some were cries of joy, and others were cries of sadness. The fireworks began, filling the sky with colours, noise, and celebration.

Over at Government House, a few blocks away, the Union Jack was lowered for the last time, and the red