the flight had been long and he needed to unwind.
Bond stood and watched a small section of the harbour as
Bond changed from his business suit into a light blue cotton shortsleeved polo shirt and navy blue cotton twill trousers. He put on a light, grey silk basketweave jacket, under which he kept his Walther PPK in a chamois shoulder holster.
At noon, he went down to The Chinnery, a bar decorated much like an English gentlemen’s club with masculine brown and red deep leather-upholstered armchairs; in fact, Bond remembered that it used to be exclusively all-male. It was only in 1990 that the bar began to admit women. It was adorned with original paintings by British artist George Chinnery, whose drawings and paintings of the landscapes and people of Macau, Canton, and Hong Kong made him the undisputed doyen of foreign artists of the China coast in the mid-1800s. The room was already filling with smoke from businessmen’s pipes, cigars, and cigarettes. Bond noted that the collection of seemingly countless bottles of Scotch whisky was still behind the bar.
T.Y. Woo was already there and Bond joined him.
“Welcome to Hong Kong,
Bond ordered a vodka martini, but he had to explain twice to the waiter that he wanted the drink shaken and not stirred. Woo shrugged and had the same. “We drink mostly cognac here,” he said.
“Hmm,” Bond said. “That’s more of a nightcap for me.”
Over their cocktails the two men began to get to know each other. T.Y. Woo had been with the Secret Service for twenty-five years. His family had come from southern China several decades ago and had made a fortune in the antiques and curios business. Woo and his brother ran a shop on Upper Lascar Row, otherwise known as “Cat Street,” and this provided a perfect front for the Hong Kong headquarters of the British Secret Service. SIS, then called MI6, had recruited him in the sixties. A British agent on self-imposed R & R had wandered into the Woos’ shop during the Vietnam War. He was an elite Double-O operative who had been assigned to assist American GIs deep in the jungle. Impressed with Woo’s cheerful disposition and willingness to “do something exciting,” the agent brought him to London. After several months of training, he could get by with what he had learned of the English language and make succinct intelligence reports. Woo’s double life as a shop keeper and an intelligence officer took its toll on his wife, who left him ten years ago. He had raised Chen Chen on his own.
At 12:30 the men took the lift to the twenty-fifth floor and entered the Man Wah Restaurant, one of the finest in the colony. A lovely Chinese woman wearing a slinky
The menu specialized in Cantonese-style cooking, the distinctive cuisine of Guangdong Province. It was considered the most varied and interesting in all China. This was due partly to south China’s subtropical climate, which produced a huge range of fruits and vegetables and all kinds of seafood. The style of cooking used steaming and quick stir-frying to enhance the qualities of food. An experienced cook knew when a dish was done by the sizzling sound that emanated from the wok. It was the lightest and least oily of all the regional cooking styles, seasoned by a wide variety of sauces rather than spices. Vegetables, seafood, pork, and chicken were the main ingredients.
“Mr. Bond! Welcome to Hong Kong!”
He knew the voice at once. It belonged to Henry Ho, General Manager of the Man Wah, whom Bond had known for years. Ho was a most pleasant gentleman, and an expert in the culinary delights. The soft-spoken man had dark hair and smiling eyes. Never hesitating to join a party at their table, Ho always had a story to tell about the food he served. Today was no exception.
“Hello, Henry,” Bond said, shaking his hand. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Yes, yes, it is very good to see you, too,” Ho said. “Mr. Woo called yesterday to say an important guest was coming. He didn’t say it was you! I have prepared some special dishes!”
The meal began with an appetizer of cucumber and what Ho called “black fungus”—ginger covered in a dark red crust. The first course was Chili Prawns, a Szechuan-style dish. Bond liked Szechuan cuisine, which was infinitely spicier than Cantonese. It was said that China’s leader, Deng Xiaopeng, preferred Szechuan food. Ho explained that the food from Szechuan Province was hotter because of the humid climate—the people ate spicy food to help release moisture from their bodies. The large prawns were cooked in garlic, chili, and sesame oil, and were simply delicious.
A rich plum wine called “yellow wine,” served warm, was brought to the table between courses. Bond thought it tasted like sake.
A second course was an elaborate serving of sauteed filet of sole with green vegetables in a black bean sauce. The presentation was spectacular—several large carrots had been carved to resemble a dragon boat, the kind used in the famous Dragon Boat Festival that occurs every summer, and the food was placed inside the boat. The sole was quite tender and flavourful because in Hong Kong the sole can swim in both fresh and salt water.
The main course was called Beggar’s Chicken, which was Chef Lao’s creation of chicken baked in clay with black mushrooms, barbecued pork, ginger, and Chinese spices. This dish had to be ordered at least a day in advance, as it was cooked many hours before serving. The chicken was cleaned and stuffed with the various ingredients, then wrapped in lotus leaves. Then the package is packed in clay and baked until the clay was hard.
When the dish was brought to Bond and Woo, all the waiters and staff stood around and applauded as the diners took turns whacking and breaking the clay with a mallet. A waiter then picked out the large bones from the extremely tender chicken, mixed in a special sauce, and served it in shreds on small plates. Bond thought it was one of the tastiest meals he had ever had in his life.
Ho brought them tea after Bond and Woo had stuffed themselves and, joining them at the table, said, “There is a region in southeast China called Fook Tien Province, and there the largest variety of tea is produced. There is one leaf that is very intriguing. Its name is Monkey-Pick-Tea.
“According to legend,” Ho continued, “the tea leaves were collected by monkeys because they were positioned on high cliff-tops. But the monkeys were not very obedient, and needed to be disciplined. Whenever a monkey disobeyed, a part of his tail was cut off—a half-inch or so! This would continue until the monkey learned to do as he was instructed. Monkey-Pick-Tea is very highly regarded because it is difficult to come by, and also because it is rich in both aroma and taste. Therefore its qualities are compared to those of a fine wine. We drink it after a meal, not only because it is enjoyable, but because it also helps one to digest.”
After the meal, Bond and Woo were left alone to discuss business.
“So, T.Y., what’s going on? What do you know?” Bond asked.
“The solicitor who was killed—that bomb was not act of China, uh huh?” Woo said.
“That’s what M thinks, too,” Bond replied. “Who do you think is behind it?”
“There is a general in Guangzhou. His name is Wong. Very militant. He is violently opposed to any kind of democratic rule in Hong Kong after takeover. He has been in favour of taking over colony by force for years. He is biting his nails on other side of border, just waiting for chance to move in his troops and take control. Beijing keeps him on short leash. Someone trying to put blame on him. Not sure he is responsible.”
“Why do you say that?” Bond asked.
“It is stupid! Why would he do such a thing weeks before Hong Kong goes back to China? What would he gain by starting war between China and Britain? On second thought, he just might be that stupid. Not a rational man, uh huh?”
“Those are his troops lining the border?”
“Yes. Mostly his. He would march into New Territories tomorrow if Beijing gave him okay.” Woo shrugged. “It is possible that he is trying to provoke confrontation between Britain and China. He wants excuse to move in. And from looks of things, he is succeeding.”
