back of the building, a door opened. Ebbie was the first to return.
‘And how’s life been treating you, Emilie? I’m sorry, I should say Ebbie,’ said Swift.
‘As always, dangerously. I feel that the Soviets have a revenge with me. Is that right, a revenge?’
‘A vengeance,’ said Bond.
At that moment Big Thumb Chang came back into the room carrying several items wrapped in oilskin, which Bond immediately began to transfer to the holdall.
‘You not examine the weapons, never mind?’ Chang looked momentarily shocked.
Bond tossed several packets of notes on to the table. Cash had been only a small part of the shopping list he had given Q’ute. He gave the Chinese a twisted, cruel smile.
‘Between trusted friends it is not necessary to count the money. Very old Chinese proverb, as you well know, Big Thumb Chang. Now, please leave us in peace.’
The Chinese cackled, scooped up the notes and backed into the inner room.
‘When we leave, I suggest you and Ebbie go first.’
Swift’s voice had been very soft throughout his conversation with Bond. Now it became almost soporifically calm. It was recognisable from the description on the file, which Bond had studied carefully (‘Always calm and usually speaks quietly’). Bond moved to the beaded curtain. He glanced into the inner room to make sure that Chang had retreated through the rear exit, leaving them alone. Satisfied, he spoke rapidly.
‘Ten-thirty, then?’
‘Count on it.’ With an almost imperious nod Swift sent them on their way, back down the steep steps flanked by the stalls of street traders and
‘Swift,’ said Ebbie, pronouncing it ‘Svift’. She was almost running to keep up with Bond.
‘Yes?’
‘That is where Heather and I got the idea for using fishes and birds as names.’
‘From Swift?’ Bond turned his head away from a
‘
Bond grunted, quickening his pace. Ebbie clung to his arm, struggling to keep up with his long, purposeful strides. They took no detours but went straight back to the Mandarin along Pedder Street, dodging the traffic into Ice House Street. All the time, Bond scanned the crush of Chinese in the streets, feeling a million watchers around them, a thousand imperceptible signals passing between them. Back in the hotel, he went straight to the elevators, almost dragging Ebbie with him.
‘Wait by the door,’ he told her when they reached their room.
It took less than four minutes for him to transfer the main items provided by Q’ute from his suitcase to the canvas holdall. Then they returned to the hotel foyer. He strode to the main desk, Ebbie in his wake. A pretty Chinese girl no more than fifteen years old, glanced up from a computer keyboard and asked if she could help him.
‘I hope so. Is there a ferry to Cheung Chau?’ Bond asked.
‘Each hour, sir. Yaumati Ferry Company. From Outlying Districts Services Pier.’ She gestured in the direction of the pier.
Bond nodded and thanked her. ‘We must go now,’ he said, turning to Ebbie.
‘Why? We are to meet Swift. You arranged . . .’
‘I’m sorry. Yes I did arrange. But just come now. You should know that I’ve stopped trusting anybody, Ebbie: even Swift, and even you.’
He became aware of police sirens close by and as they reached the main doors of the hotel, a knot of people was already gathering across the road in the gardens that surrounded the Connaught Centre. Dodging traffic, they dashed towards the crowd just as two police cars and an ambulance drew up.
Bond managed to get sight of the trouble through the throng. A man lay spreadeagled on his back, blood seeping on to the paving stones. There was a terrible stillness about him and the grey eyes looked steady and sightless into the sky above. The cause of Swift’s death was not immediately apparent, but the killers could not be far away. Backing away from the crowd, Bond caught Ebbie by the forearm, and propelled her away to the left, in the direction of the Outlying Districts Pier.
17
LETTER FROM THE DEAD
The sampan smelled strongly of dried fish and human sweat. Lying close together in the bows, looking back towards the toothless old lady who sprawled across the tiller and the twinkling lights of Hong Kong behind her, Bond and Ebbie could feel the fatigue and tension emanating from one another. The afternoon with its sudden changes of moods and events seemed far away, as did the sight of Swift’s body in front of the portholed windows of the Connaught Centre building. After the shock of seeing the man lying dead, Bond’s thoughts had been unusually imprecise and jumbled. He was certain of only one thing, that unless Chernov had shown monstrous cunning, Swift had been straight. There were moments during the conversation at Big Thumb Chang’s when he had doubted that. Now he was on his own and the only chance of fingering the Cream Cake double and getting Chernov alive lay in putting himself on offer, as a living lure.
His first instinct had been to give chase, to head for the island by the quickest possible means. He was in fact half way towards the ferry terminal when he realised that this was just what Chernov might want. He slowed his pace, keeping the holdall close to his left side, and holding Ebbie fast by his right. She had not seen the body and asked continually what was wrong and where were they going. Angrily, Bond dragged her along until the moment when his fragmented thoughts came together and he could think logically again.
‘Swift,’ he said, surprised at the calmness of his own voice, ‘It was Swift. He looked very dead.’
Ebbie gave a little gasp and asked in a small voice if he was sure. He described what he had seen without sparing her. In a way he wanted the picture to be shocking. Her reaction had been unexpectedly restrained. After a lengthy silence, as they almost strolled along the picturesque waterfront, she merely muttered, ‘Poor Swift. He was so good to us – all of us.’ Then, as though the full implication had struck her, ‘And poor James. You needed his help, didn’t you?’
‘We all needed his help.’
‘Will they come for us too?’
‘They’ll come for me, Ebbie, but I don’t know about you. It depends which side you’re working for.’
‘You know which side I’m on. Were they not trying to kill me at the hotel, the Ashford Castle Hotel, when I was lending my coat and scarf to that poor girl?’
She had a point. Even Chernov would not be so stupid as to kill an innocent bystander in the Irish Republic. Bond had to put trust in at least one other human being. Ebbie was apparently straight and had been from the outset. With some reluctance, he decided he would have to accept her.
‘All right. I believe you, Ebbie.’ He swallowed, and then went on to give her the briefest details, that Chernov was on the island with his men; that he was holding Heather and Maxim Smolin prisoner, and almost certainly Jungle and Susanne Dietrich as well. ‘We’re probably under some form of surveillance now. They might even expect us to go charging over to Cheung Chau straight away. I’ll say this for the KGB, they’ve become quite classy lately when it comes to psychological pressure. They are putting us under stress at our weakest moment. We’re both tired, disoriented, jet-lagged. They’ll expect us to make moves automatically. We need time to rest and work out some more effective plan.’
But where should they go? In this place, even though the crowds were constant, you could not hide, for a thousand eyes were watching. He had no safe house at his disposal, only his own experience and the weapons in the holdall, and Ebbie Heritage whose form in the field he did not know. His one chance would be to go through the complex business of throwing a tail – even though he could not spot one. After that, well, it would be a matter of luck; they could try going to another hotel.
