shipment of food ever to arrive on the African continent were daunting, to say the least.
‘Here.’ A wine bottle appeared from her shoulder bag – vintage Three Cape Ladies, a red blend from Muldersvlei on the Cape. Bond knew its reputation. He took out the cork and poured. They sat on the sofa and sipped.
‘Wonderful,’ he said.
She worked her boots off. Bond slipped his arm around her shoulders and struggled to put aside thoughts of his father.
Felicity slumped, and rested her head against him. On the horizon there were even more ships than there had been last night. ‘Our food ships. Look at them all,’ she said. ‘You hear so many bad things about people but that’s not the complete truth. There’s a lot of good out there. You can’t always count on it, it’s never certain, but at least-’
Bond interrupted, ‘At least someone’s…
She laughed. ‘You nearly made me spill my wine, Gene. I could’ve ruined my shirt.’
‘I have a solution.’
‘Stop drinking the wine?’ She pouted playfully. ‘But it’s so nice.’
‘Another solution, a better one.’ He kissed her and slowly began to undo the buttons of the garment.
An hour later, they lay in bed, on their sides, Bond behind Felicity. His arm was curled around her and his hand cupped her breast. Her fingers were entwined in his.
Unlike last night, however, in the after-moment, Bond was wholly awake.
His mind was racing furiously, past all assortment of topics. Exactly how much was the future of the ODG resting on him? What secrets did the Research and Development department of Green Way hold? What exactly was Hydt’s goal with Gehenna and how could Bond craft a suitable countermeasure?
Purpose… response.
And what of his father?
‘You’re thinking about something serious,’ Felicity said drowsily.
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Women know.’
‘I’m thinking how beautiful you are.’
She lifted his hand to her face and gently bit his finger. ‘The first lie you’ve told me.’
‘My job,’ he said.
‘Then I’ll forgive you. It’s the same with me. Co-ordinating the help on the docks, paying the pilots’ fees, working on the ship charters and lorry leases, the trade unions.’ Her voice took on the edge he’d heard before, as she said, ‘And then
Bond knew something significant was coming. He grew alert and receptive. The intimacy of bodies comes prepacked with an intimacy of mind and spirit, and you ought not seek the first if you’re unwilling to take delivery of the second. ‘Yes?’
She said evenly, ‘I have a feeling there’s more to your work than you’ve told me. No, don’t say anything. I don’t know how you feel but if it turns out we can keep seeing each other, if…’ She trailed off.
‘Go on,’ he whispered.
‘If it turns out we see each other again, do you think that maybe you could change just a bit? I mean, if you do go to some dark places, could you promise me not to go to the… worst?’ He felt the tension that rippled through her. ‘Oh, I don’t know what I’m saying. Ignore me, Gene.’
Although she was speaking to a security expert-cum-mercenary soldier from Durban, in a way she was also talking to him, James Bond, a 00 Section agent.
And, ironically, he took her acknowledgement that she could live with a certain degree of darkness in Theron as indication that she might accept Bond as he was.
He whispered, ‘I think that’s very possible.’
She kissed his hand. ‘Don’t say any more. That’s all I wanted to hear. Now, I have an idea. I don’t know what your plans are for this weekend…’
Neither do I, Bond thought sourly.
‘… but we’ll have finished the food shipments tomorrow night. There’s an inn I know in Franschhoek – have you been to that area?’
‘No.’
‘It’s the most beautiful spot on the Western Cape. A wine district. The restaurant has a Michelin star and the most romantic deck in the world, overlooking the hills. Come with me on Saturday?’
‘I’d love to,’ he said and kissed her hair.
‘You really mean that?’ The tough warrior who seemed so at ease fighting the world’s agropolies now sounded vulnerable and unsure.
‘Yes, I do.’
In five minutes she was asleep.
Bond, however, remained awake, staring out at the lights of the harbour. His thoughts were no longer on his father’s possible betrayal, nor on his promise to Felicity Willing to consider changing his darkest nature nor on the anticipation of the time they might spend together this weekend. No, James Bond was focusing on one thing only: the indistinct faces of those, somewhere in the world, whose lives – despite Whitehall’s belief – he knew that he alone could save.
Friday – DOWN TO GEHENNA
53
At eight forty a.m. Bond steered his dusty, mud-spattered Subaru into the Cape Town SAPS headquarters car park. He killed the engine, climbed out and entered the building, where he found Bheka Jordaan, Gregory Lamb and Kwalene Nkosi in her office.
Bond greeted them with a nod. Lamb responded with a look that bespoke intrigue, Nkosi with an energetic smile.
Jordaan said, ‘Regarding Hydt’s newly arrived associates, we’ve identified them.’ She spun her laptop and clicked on a slide-show. The first photos depicted a large man with a round ebony face. He wore a brash gold and silver shirt, designer sunglasses and voluminous brown slacks.
‘Charles Mathebula. He’s a black diamond from Joburg.’
Lamb explained: ‘From the new wealthy class in South Africa. Some of them become rich overnight in ways that aren’t quite transparent, if you get my drift.’
‘And some,’ Jordaan added frostily, ‘became wealthy by hard work. Mathebula owns businesses that seem to be legitimate – shipping and transport. He was on the borderline with some arms deliveries a few years ago, true, but there was no evidence of wrongdoing.’ A tap of a key and another picture appeared. ‘Now, this is David Huang.’ He was slim and smiled at the camera. ‘His daughter posted the snapshot on her Facebook page. Stupid girl… though good for us.’
‘A known mobster?’
Nkosi qualified, ‘A
Another face appeared. Jordaan tapped her computer screen. ‘The German – Hans
