Crouching, Bond began to make his way there. Any minute now, the man would make a run for the brush, protected by Dunne and perhaps other loyal guards.
And James Bond was not going to let that happen.
He heard Gregory Lamb whisper, ‘Is it safe?’ but couldn’t see him. He realised the man had dived into a full skip.
Bond had to move. Even if it meant exposing himself to Dunne’s fine marksmanship, he wouldn’t let Hydt escape. Bheka Jordaan would not have died in vain.
He sprinted into the shadowy space between the tall pallets of oil drums to secure Hydt, his gun raised.
And froze. Severan Hydt was not about to escape anywhere. The Rag-and-bone Man, the visionary king of decay, the lord of entropy, lay on his back, two bullet wounds in his chest, a third in his forehead. A significant part of the back of his skull was missing.
Bond slipped his gun away. Around him the tactical forces began to rise. One called that the sniper had left his shooting position and vanished into the bush.
Then a harsh sound behind him, a woman’s voice: ‘
Bond spun around to see Bheka Jordaan crawling from the ditch, wiping her face and spitting blood. She was unharmed.
Either Dunne had missed completely or his boss had been his intended target. The gore on Jordaan was Hydt’s – it had spattered her as she stood beside him.
Bond pulled her to cover behind the oil drums, smelling the sickly copper scent of blood. ‘Dunne’s still out there somewhere.’
Nkosi called, ‘You are okay, Captain?’
‘Yes, yes,’ she said dismissively. ‘What about Hydt?’
‘He’s dead,’ Bond said.
‘
This brought a smile to Nkosi’s face.
Jordaan tugged her shirt off – underneath she wore body armour over a black cotton vest – and wiped her face, neck and hair with it.
A call came in from officers on the ridge that the perimeter was clear. Dunne, of course, would have had no interest in staying; he’d accomplished what he needed to.
Bond regarded the body once more. He decided that the tight grouping of the shots meant that Hydt had indeed been the intended target. Of course, this made sense; Dunne had had to kill the man to make sure he told the police nothing about him. Now he recalled several glances that Dunne had cast towards Hydt over the past few days, dark looks, hinting at… what? Irritation, resentment? Almost jealousy, it seemed. Perhaps there was something else behind the murder of the Rag-and-bone Man, something personal.
Whatever the reason, he’d certainly done a typically proficient job.
Jordaan hurried into the office building. Ten minutes later she emerged. She’d found a shower or tap somewhere; her face and hair were damp but more or less blood-free. She was furious at herself. ‘I lost my prisoner. I should have guarded him better. I never thought-’
A ghastly wail interrupted her. Someone was speeding forward, ‘No, no, no…’
Jessica Barnes was running towards Hydt’s body. She flung herself to the ground, oblivious to the grotesque wounds, and cradled her dead lover.
Bond stepped forward, gripped her narrow, quivering shoulders and helped her up. ‘No, Jessica. Come over here with me.’ Bond led her to cover behind a bulldozer. Bheka Jordaan joined them.
‘He’s dead, he’s dead…’ Jessica pressed her head against Bond’s shoulder.
Bheka Jordaan lifted her handcuffs out of their holster. ‘She tried to help me,’ Bond reminded her. ‘She didn’t know what Hydt was doing. I’m sure of it.’
Jordaan put the cuffs away. ‘We’ll drive her down to the station, take a statement. I don’t think we’ll have to pursue it beyond that.’
Bond detached himself from Jessica. He took her by the shoulders. ‘Thank you for helping me. I know it was hard.’
She breathed in deeply. Then, calmer, she asked, ‘Who did it? Who shot him?’
‘Dunne.’
She didn’t seem surprised. ‘I never liked him. Severan was passionate, impulsive. He never thought things through. Niall realised that and seduced him with all his planning and his intelligence. I didn’t think he could be trusted. But I never had the courage to say anything.’ She closed her eyes momentarily.
‘You did a good job with the praying,’ Bond told her.
‘Too good,’ she whispered.
On Jessica’s cheek and neck were stark patches of Hydt’s blood. It was the first time, Bond realised, that he’d seen any colour on her. He looked her in the eye. ‘I know some people who can help you when you get back to London. They’ll be in touch. I’ll see to it.’
‘Thank you,’ Jessica murmured.
A policewoman led her away.
Bond was startled by a man’s voice nearby: ‘Is it clear?’
He frowned, unable to see the speaker. Then he understood. Gregory Lamb was still in the skip. ‘It’s clear.’
The agent scrambled out of his hiding-place.
‘Mind the blood,’ Bond told Lamb, as he nearly stepped in some.
‘Oh, my God!’ he muttered and looked as if he was going to be sick.
Ignoring him, Bond said to Jordaan, ‘I need to know how extensive Gehenna is. Can you get your officers to collect all the files and computers in Research and Development? And I’ll need your computer- crimes outfit to crack the passwords.’
‘Yes, of course. We’ll have them brought to the SAPS office. You can review them there.’
Nkosi said, ‘I’ll do it, Commander.’
Bond thanked him. The man’s round face seemed less wry and irrepressible than earlier. Bond supposed this had been his first firefight. He’d be changed forever by the incident but, from what Bond was seeing, the change would not diminish but rather would enhance the young officer. Nkosi gestured toward some SAPS Forensic Science Service officers and led them inside the building.
Bond glanced at Jordaan. ‘Can I ask you a question?’
She turned to him.
‘What did you say? After you climbed out of the ditch, you said something.’
With her particular complexion, she might or might not have been blushing. ‘Don’t tell Ugogo.’
‘I won’t.’
‘The first was Zulu for… I guess you’d say, in English, “crap”.’
‘I have some variations on that myself. And the other word?’
She squinted. ‘That, I think, I will not tell you, James.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it refers to a certain part of the male anatomy… and I do not think it wise to encourage you in that regard.’
63
Late afternoon, the sun beginning to dip in the north-west, James Bond drove from the Table Mountain Hotel, where he’d showered and changed, to Cape Town’s central police station.
