Carte Blanche

‘I’m afraid I do.’

At ten thirty a.m. Bond, in a grey windcheater, made his way to the central police station and was escorted to the Crime Combating and Investigation Division office.

‘Morning, Commander,’ Kwalene Nkosi said, smiling.

‘Warrant Officer.’ Bond nodded. Their eyes met conspiratorially.

‘You see the news this morning?’ Nkosi asked, tapping the Cape Times. ‘Tragic story. A family was killed in a firebombing in Primrose Gardens township last night.’ He frowned rather obviously.

‘How terrible,’ Bond said, reflecting that, despite his West End ambitions, Nkosi was not a very good actor.

‘Without doubt.’

He glanced into Bheka Jordaan’s office and she waved him inside. ‘Morning,’ he said, spotting a pair of well-worn trainers in the corner of the office. He hadn’t noticed them yesterday. ‘You run much?’

‘Now and then. It’s important to stay in shape for my job.’

When he was in London, Bond spent at least an hour a day exercising and running, using the ODG’s gym and jogging along the paths in Regent’s Park. ‘I enjoy it too. Maybe if time permits you could show me some running trails. There must be some beautiful ones in town.’

‘I’m sure the hotel will have a map,’ she said dismissively. ‘Was your meeting at the Lodge Club successful?’

Bond gave her a rundown of what had happened at the fundraiser.

Jordaan then asked, ‘And afterwards? Ms Willing proved… useful to you?’

Bond lifted an eyebrow. ‘I thought you didn’t believe in unlawful surveillance.’

‘Making certain someone is safe on the public sidewalks and streets is hardly illegal. Warrant Officer Nkosi told you of our CCTV cameras in the centre of town.’

‘Well, in answer to your question, yes, she washelpful. She gave me some information about the enhanced security at Green Way.’ He added stiffly, ‘I was lucky she did. No one else seemed to be aware of it. Otherwise my trip there today might have been disastrous.’

‘That’s fortunate, then,’ Jordaan said.

Bond told her the names of the three donors Felicity had mentioned last night – the men Hydt had introduced her to.

Jordaan knew of two as successful legitimate businessmen. Nkosi conducted a search and learnt that neither they nor the third had any criminal record. In any event, all three were out of town. Bond assessed they would not be of any immediate help.

Bond was looking at the policewoman. ‘You don’t like Felicity Willing?’

‘You think I’m jealous?’ Her face said: just what a man would believe.

Nkosi turned away. Bond glanced toward him but he was offering no allegiance to Britain in this international dispute.

‘That idea couldn’t have been further from my mind. Your eyes told me you don’t like her. Why?’

‘I’ve never met her. She’s probably a perfectly nice woman – I don’t like what she represents.’

‘Which is?’

‘A foreigner who comes here to pat us on the head and dispense alms. It’s twenty-first- century imperialism. People used to exploit Africa for diamonds and slaves. Now it’s exploited for its ability to purge the guilt of wealthy Westerners.’

‘It seems to me,’ Bond said evenly, ‘that no one can progress when they’re hungry. It doesn’t matter where the food comes from, does it?’

‘Charity undermines. You need to fight your way out of oppression and deprivation. We can do it ourselves. Perhaps more slowly but we will do it.’

‘You have no problem when Britain or America imposes arms embargoes on warlords. Hunger’s as dangerous as rocket-propelled grenades and land mines. Why shouldn’t we help stop that too?’

‘It’s different. Obviously.’

‘I don’t see how,’ he said coolly. ‘Besides, Felicity might be more on your side than you give her credit for. She’s made some enemies among the big corporations in Europe, America and Asia. She thinks they’re meddling in African affairs and that more should be left to the people here.’ He remembered her ill ease on the short walk to the restaurant last night. ‘My take is that she’s put herself at quite some risk saying so. If you’re interested.’

But Jordaan clearly wasn’t. How completelyirritating this woman was.

Bond looked at his huge Breitling watch. ‘I should leave for Green Way soon. I need a car. Can someone arrange a hire in Theron’s name?’

Nkosi nodded enthusiastically. ‘Without doubt. You like to drive, Commander.’

‘I do,’ Bond said. ‘How did you know?’

‘On the way from the airport yesterday you looked with some interest at a Maserati, a Moto Guzzi and a left-hand-drive Mustang from America.’

‘You notice things, Warrant Officer.’

‘I try to. That Ford – it was a very nice set of wheels. Some day I will own a Jaguar. It is my goal.’

Then a loud voice was calling a greeting from the corridor. ‘Hallo, hallo!’

Bond wasn’t surprised it belonged to Gregory Lamb. The MI6 agent strode into the office, waving to everyone. It was obvious that Bheka Jordaan didn’t care for him, as Lamb had admitted yesterday, though he and Nkosi seemed to get on well. They had a brief conversation about a recent football match.

Casting a cautious glance at Jordaan, the big, ruddy man turned to Bond. ‘Came through for you, my friend. Got a signal from Vauxhall Cross to help you out.’

Lamb was the cut-out whom Bond had reluctantly mentioned to Hirani earlier that morning. He couldn’t think of anybody else to use on such short notice and at least the man had been vetted.

‘Leapt into the fray, even missed breakfast, my friend, I’ll have you know. Talked to that chap in your office’s Q Branch. Is he always so bloody cheerful that early in the morning?’

‘Actually he is,’ said Bond.

‘Got talking to him. I’m having some navigation problems on my ship charters. Pirates’ve been jamming signals. Whatever happened to the eye patches and peg legs, hmm? Well, this Hirani says there are devices that will jam the jammers. He wouldn’t ship me any, though. Any chance you could put in a word?’

‘You know our outfit doesn’t officially exist, Lamb.’

‘We’re all part of the same team,’ he said huffily. ‘I’ve got a huge charter coming up in a day or so. Massive.’

Helping Lamb’s lucrative cover career was the last thing on Bond’s mind at the moment. He asked sternly, ‘And your assignment today?’

‘Ah, yes.’ Lamb handed Bond the black satchel he was carrying as if it contained the Crown Jewels. ‘Must say in all modesty the morning’s been a smashing success. Positively brilliant. I’ve been running hither and yon. Had to tip rather heavily. You’ll reimburse me, of course?’

‘I’m sure it’ll get sorted.’ Bond opened the satchel and regarded the contents. He examined one item closely. It was a small plastic tube labelled, ‘Re-Leef. For Congestion Problems Caused by Asthma’.

Hirani was a genius.

‘An inhaler. You have lung problems?’ Nkosi asked. ‘My brother too. He is a gold miner.’

‘Not really.’ Bond pocketed it, along with the other items Lamb had delivered.