Later, they were separated and taken through their covers during an hour’s furious questioning. There was a very early lunch followed by a short session with Q’ute, who explained the homers they were to carry – Chi-Chi’s inserted into a belt buckle, Bond’s in the heel of his right shoe. Ed Rushia had joined them by this time, and they had what was to be the final run-through, just to make sure everyone was letter perfect.
Their luggage was basically the same as that which had been carried by the original couriers; only some of the items had been changed to make certain they were the correct fit. Bond managed to spend half-an-hour with Chi-Chi, talking, getting to know exactly how she felt about the operation, and, incidentally, finding out how well- trained she was. This short one-on-one period allowed them just enough time to establish the kind of rapport two field agents required at a basic level. Bond led her, rather as a dancing partner, through a brief series of hand and eye contact signals with some one-line codes. ‘If I use the American phrase “real soon”,’ he told her, ‘it means that we have a problem and I’m looking for a way out.’ There were three or four more of these quick verbal tips, but the conversation proved, to Bond, that under the slim-waisted fragility and the pretty face, there lay a well-trained, very tough young woman.
‘If it were a them-or-you situation, would you hesitate before actually taking someone out?’ he asked casually.
‘You’re joking.’ She gave him a raised left eyebrow that seemed to have a will of its own. ‘I would rather ask the questions afterwards.’
‘Okay. If you were armed and told someone to freeze, could you kill if they made even an innocent gesture?’
‘You bet your life on it, James. If I tell someone to freeze and have the drop on him, I kill if he even scratches his backside instead of doing what I tell him.’
‘Why?’
‘Like you, I have been trained in anti-terrorist tactics. People have been killed for not acting when some jughead touches the button on his jacket.’
‘You’re right. He who hesitates is lost.’
She gave a sensual throaty chuckle. ‘You know the real quotation? It is “The man who hesitates is lost; so is the woman who doesn’t.” ’
Bond smiled. ‘I think we’re going to make an unbeatable team.’
‘Like peas in a pod.’ She paused. ‘The only thing that worries me is this trip to New York.’
‘You don’t like flying?’
‘I don’t know if I’m going to like it in a jet fighter.’
‘Only difference between that and airlines is you don’t get a movie.’ He reached out and gently squeezed her shoulder. ‘And that, Chi-Chi Sue, is a blessing. You also don’t get those little packets of nuts.’
‘Thank heaven for that. I thought it was the full coach class business. I feel
Just after one fifteen in the afternoon, they were both taken to an empty crew room and given blue coveralls with yellow patches on the back, identifying them as baggage handlers. Grant had joined them, and Ed Rushia was already kitted out in a G-suit, having no need for the coveralls. They had a quick final word with the American, who was to leave a little in advance of Bond and Chi-Chi. As he walked from the crew room, Rushia turned and gave them a broad smile. ‘Break a leg, you two,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that the correct way to address actors about to go on stage?’
‘I believe so.’ Bond frowned. ‘But we’re not actors, Ed.’
‘You wanna bet on that, James?’ He raised a hand and made a sweeping, theatrical departure.
A technician came in and helped them into their G-suits, then left them alone.
‘I feel like an astronaut in this stuff.’ Chi-Chi had gone undeniably pale.
‘You look like a pretty desirable astronaut then. You can park your shuttle next to mine any time.’
‘I might just take you up on that. I was . . .’
She was cut off by the CIA man, Grant, coming into the room. ‘Others are on their way down,’ he said, not looking either of them in the eyes. ‘I have to tell you that we still haven’t got a real handle on Jenny Mo yet.’
‘Not even an indication?’
‘Not a sniff.’
‘We’ll just have to pray.’ Bond glanced at Chi-Chi.
‘No.’ Grant sounded hard and concerned. ‘No, until we get a definite fix that the Jenny Mo we have on this ship is not the real Jenny Mo, you’ll both have to assume the worst. I have to tell you, Ms Chi-Ho, that the risk
She shook her head. ‘Don’t worry, Mr Grant. I just don’t want to talk about it any Mo’.’
Bond was amused at the look of pain that passed across Grant’s face. Then the others were in the room.
They all shook hands rather soberly, and Bond was reminded of all those stiff-upper-lip, ludicrous scenes from old war movies where the suicide mission volunteers were told what a good thing they were doing for their country and for the world.
‘Any new information’ll be passed on as best we can, via Indexer.’ M looked as solemn as a funeral director. Indexer was their crypto for Ed Rushia. Chi-Chi was Checklist, and Bond, who always wondered how they came up with cryptos, found himself cast as Custodian.
Grant made the final remark. ‘Don’t forget, all the baggage handlers will be my people. Don’t be worried about that, it’s been set up and should go like clockwork.’ They nodded and passed through to the aircrew briefing room, where two young pilots were waiting for them, checking their route and refuelling points for the last time.
‘Okay,’ the senior of the US Navy pilots said after handshakes and no introductions. ‘Either of you ever fly in a jet warplane before?’
‘I’m fully operational with Harriers.’ Bond tried not to sound patronising.
Chi-Chi answered with a ‘No’ at very low volume.
‘Right.’ The senior man stepped towards Chi-Chi. ‘I’ll drive you, ma’am. My buddy’ll take you, sir.’
They separated in pairs. Bond’s aviator looked about nineteen, and the G-suit apart, could well have just graduated from High School. ‘You’re in the GIB’s seat,’ he began, then, seeing the quizzical look on Bond’s face, interpreted – ‘The GIB, sir, Guy In Back, the REO’s station.’
‘Let me guess. Radio Electronics Officer, right?’
‘Near ’nuff, sir. You’ll hear all the traffic through the headset, and you’ll hear me. With respect, sir, please don’t mess with any of the gizmos back there.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘Great. The tech who’ll strap you in and make sure you’re connected up’ll show you the ejector lever. Get
‘I’ll do it. You’re the boss.’
‘Okay, sir. Any questions?’
‘Let’s just get on with the whole business. I have a job to do.’
The young man nodded, and they followed the senior pilot, still talking in a soothing voice to Chi-Chi, out and up the metal steps to the flight deck where a helicopter hovered off on the port side and two F-14 Tomcats, looking wicked and dangerous, were standing close to the starboard catapult area. The catapult crew swarmed around the lead aircraft, mixed with technicians, while the second Tomcat stood back and staggered well out of the way of the first aircraft’s engine nozzles.
Chi-Chi and her pilot made for the first F-14 while Bond’s man pointed at the second machine.
The REO’s cockpit, behind the pilot, was cramped and, once he was strapped and plugged in, Bond realised that it was not the most comfortable of crew positions, though he had little time to think about that. The lead aircraft had started its two Pratt & Whitney turbofans and was manoeuvred into place on the launch ramp.
Everything happened very quickly. The flurry of men fitting the catapult moved expertly to one side, the great metal baffles rose from the deck to take the full blast from the jets which rose to a deafening roar even within the waiting airplane, then, with a suddenness, the F-14 was hurled forward, leaving a trail of steam along the catapult, dropping slightly then nosing up, gear rising, before it rocketed into the sky.
