buy online, isn’t it, Commander Bond?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘If we buy nine machine guns, we can get one for free,’ he joked to Sergeant Mbalula, the relentless two-finger typist.
‘Thanks for that fast thinking about the LRA, Warrant Officer,’ Bond said. He hadn’t recognised the abbreviation for the Lord’s Resistance Army – a group that any mercenary in Africa would have been familiar with. The operation might have ended there and then in disaster.
Bond’s ‘secretary’, Bheka Jordaan, peered out of the window. ‘They’re heading away. I don’t see any other security people.’
‘We fooled them, I think,’ said Sergeant Mbalula.
The trick indeed seemed to have been successful. Bond had been convinced that one of the men – the quick-minded Dunne, most likely – would want to see his branch in Cape Town. He believed that a good, solid set – a cover location – would be critical in seducing Hydt into believing he was an Afrikaner troubleshooter with a great many bodies to dispose of.
While Bond had telephoned Hydt to talk his way into Green Way, Jordaan had found a small government office leased by the Ministry of Culture but presently unused. Nkosi had printed some business cards with the address, and before Bond had gone to meet Hydt and Dunne, the SAPS officers had moved in.
‘You’ll be my partner,’ Bond had told Jordaan, with a smile. ‘It’ll be a good cover for me to have a clever – and attractive – associate.’
She had bristled. ‘To be credible, an office like this needs a secretary and she must be a woman.’
‘If you like.’
‘I don’t,’ she had said stiffly. ‘But that’s how it must be.’
Bond had anticipated the men’s visit but not that Hydt would want to see pictures of the killing fields, though he supposed he should have. The minute he’d left Hydt’s office, he’d called Jordaan and told her to find photos of mass graves in Africa from military and law enforcement archives. Sadly, it had been all too easy and she’d downloaded a dozen by the time he’d returned from Hydt’s office.
‘Can you keep some people here for a day or two?’ Bond asked. ‘In case Dunne comes back.’
‘I can spare one officer,’ she said. ‘Sergeant Mbalula, you will stay for the time being.’
‘Yes, Captain.’
‘I’ll brief a patrolman on the situation and he will replace you.’ She turned back to Bond. ‘Do you think Dunne will return?’
‘No, but it’s possible. Hydt’s the boss but he gets distracted. Dunne is more focused and suspicious. To my mind, that makes him more dangerous.’
‘Commander.’ Nkosi opened a battered briefcase. ‘This came for you at Headquarters.’ He produced a thick envelope. Bond ripped it open. Inside he found ten thousand rand in used banknotes, a fake South African passport, credit cards and a debit card, all in the name of Eugene J. Theron. I Branch had worked its magic once more.
There was also a note:
Bond pocketed everything. ‘Now, the Lodge Club, where I’m meeting Hydt tonight. What’s it like?’
‘Too expensive for me,’ Nkosi said.
‘It’s a restaurant and venue for events,’ Jordaan told him. ‘I’ve never been either. It used to be a private hunting club. White men only. Then after the elections in ’ninety-four, when the ANC came to power, the owners chose to dissolve the club and sell the building rather than open up membership. The board wasn’t concerned about admitting black or coloured men but they didn’t want women. I’m sure you have no clubs like that at home, James, do you?’
He didn’t admit that there were indeed such establishments in the UK. ‘At my favourite club in London, you’ll see pure democracy at work. Anyone at all is free to join… and lose money at the gaming tables. Just like I do. With some frequency, I might add.’
Nkosi laughed.
‘If you’re ever in London, I’d be delighted to show it to you,’ he added to Jordaan.
She seemed to view this as yet more shameless flirting because she icily ignored the comment.
‘I will drive you to your hotel.’ The tall police officer’s face wore a serious look. ‘I think I shall quit the SAPS and see if you can get me a job in England, Commander.’
To work for the ODG or MI6, you had to be a British citizen and the child of at least one citizen or someone with substantial ties to the UK. There was also a residency requirement.
‘After my great undercover work’ – Nkosi’s arm swept around the room – ‘I now know I am quite the actor. I will come to London and work in the West End. That’s where the famous theatres are – correct?’
‘Well, yes.’ Though Bond had not been to one voluntarily in years.
The young man said, ‘I’m sure I will be quite successful. I’m partial to Shakespeare. David Mamet is quite good too. Without doubt.’
Bond supposed that, working for a boss like Bheka Jordaan, Nkosi did not get much of a chance to exercise his sense of humour.
37
The hotel was near Table Bay in the fashionable Green Point area of Cape Town. It was an older building, six storeys, in classic Cape style, and could not quite disguise its colonial roots – though it didn’t try very hard; you could see them clearly in the meticulous landscaping presently being tended by a number of diligent workers, the delicate but firm reminder on placards about the dining-room dress code, the spotless white uniforms of the demure, ever-present staff, the rattan furniture on the sweeping veranda overlooking the bay.
Another clue was the enquiry as to whether Mr Theron would like a personal butler for his stay. He politely declined.
The Table Mountain Hotel – referred to everywhere as ‘TM’ in scrolling letters, from the marble floor to embossed napkins – was just the place where a well-heeled Afrikaner businessman from Durban would stay, whether a legitimate computer salesman or a mercenary with ten thousand bodies to hide.
After checking in, Bond started towards the lift, but something outside caught his eye. He popped into the gift shop for shaving foam he didn’t need. Then he circled back to Reception to help himself to some complimentary fruit juice from a large glass tank surrounded by an arrangement of purple jacaranda and red and white roses.
He wasn’t certain but someone might have been conducting surveillance. When he’d turned abruptly to get the juice, a shadow had vanished equally abruptly.
Bond waited for a moment but the apparition didn’t reappear.
Of course, operational life sows the seeds of paranoia and sometimes a passer-by is just a passer-by, a curious gaze signifies nothing more than a curious mind. Besides, you can’t protect yourself from every risk in this business; if somebody wants you dead badly enough, they’ll get their wish. Mentally Bond shrugged off the tail and took the lift to the first floor, where the rooms were accessed from an open balcony that overlooked the lobby. He stepped inside, closed and chained the door.
He tossed the suitcase on to one of the beds, strode to the window and closed the curtains. He slipped everything that identified him as James Bond into a large carbon-fibre envelope with an
