“I’ve heard worse threats.”
Li said, “Very well, I will offer you another incentive—the life of that girl, the traitor. She can leave with you, and I will cancel the death warrant on her head.”
Bond closed his eyes. The man had played the trump card.
FIFTEEN
The British Airways flight that carried James Pickard, Esquire, of Fitch, Donaldson and Patrick, arrived on time at Kai Tak Airport. “Representatives” from EurAsia Enterprises were waiting, not in the gate area or in the Greeting Hall beyond Immigration, but right in the movable airbridge that attached to the door of the aircraft.
Two Chinese men in business suits stopped Pickard as he stepped off the aircraft.
“Mr. Pickard?”
“Yes?”
“Come with us, please. We take you to hotel.”
The men opened a service door in the airbridge and gestured towards a set of metal steps leading down to the tarmac. Pickard was confused.
“Don’t I have to go through Immigration?” he asked.
“That already taken care of,” one of the men said in broken English.
Pickard shrugged, chalked it up to Chinese efficiency, and was pleased he was getting the VIP treatment. He happily walked down the steps and into a waiting limousine. As soon as the car was away, James Bond ascended the same set of steps and entered the jetbridge. He walked through it and into the terminal. As he had not got much sleep the night before anyway, he looked and felt as if he really had just flown the long haul from London. He was dressed in an Armani suit borrowed from Li Xu Nan, and carried a briefcase full of law books. He was unarmed, having reluctantly left his Walther PPK with Li.
The passport and travel documents with which Li’s people provided him were top-notch forgeries. As James Pickard, British citizen, he sailed through Immigration and Customs, and was met in the Greeting Hall by an attractive blonde woman and a Chinese man, both in their thirties.
“Mr. Pickard?” the woman said. She was English.
“Yes?”
“I’m Corinne Bates from the Public Relations office at EurAsia Enterprises.” She held out her hand.
Bond shook it. “Hello. James Pickard.”
“How was your flight?”
“Long.”
“Isn’t it though? I find it dreadful. This is Johnny Leung, assistant to the interim General Manager.”
“How do you do?” Bond said, and shook the man’s hand.
“Fine, thank you,” Leung said. “We have a car waiting.”
Bond allowed himself to be guided outside and into a Rolls-Royce. So far, the operation was going smoothly.
“All the hotels were booked because of the July the first transition,” Corinne Bates said. “We’re putting you up for the night in a corporate flat in the Mid-Levels. Is that all right?”
“Sounds fine,” Bond said.
The car drove through the Cross-Harbour Tunnel to the island, made its way through Central and up into the Mid-Levels, an area of some social prominence but just a step down from the elite Victoria Peak. It finally entered a complex on Po Shan Road, just off Conduit Road.
They let him into the flat, a lovely two-bedroomed affair with a parquet floor and a view of Central.
“We’ll pick you up at 6:30 in the morning, Mr. Pickard. The train leaves from Kowloon at 7:50,” Ms. Bates said.
“We’re taking the train?” Bond asked.
“It’s the easiest way,” she said. “And that way you can see a bit of the Chinese countryside. It’s about a two-and-a-half hour ride to Guangzhou.”
Bond nodded. After the couple had made sure he had everything he needed, they left him alone. He picked up the phone and dialled a number that Li had given him. Li himself answered.
“How is the view from Po Shan Road?” Li asked.
His men must have followed them from the airport. They were very efficient. Bond thought that for a criminal outfit they were as wellorganized and effective as any major intelligence outfit in the world.
“It’s fine, Li. Just make sure your men watch my back, all right?”
“Don’t you worry, Mr. Bond. Just bring back my document in one piece.”
“Mr. Li?”
“Yes, Mr. Bond?”
“I’d like to know what happened to T.Y. Woo and his son. Can you find them?”
“As a matter of fact, we found the boy safe and sound at one of Mr. Woo’s private flats. We did not bother him. Mr. Woo is probably attempting to find you, so we left word with the boy that you are safe. I would hate for Mr. Woo to blow the whistle to your government before your job for me is completed. Do not worry about him, Mr. Bond. Have a nice trip tomorrow. Enjoy southern China.”
Li hung up before Bond could say anything else. Bond stood in the centre of the living room and stared out of the window at the postcard view. He could easily get away from this place, but it would jeopardize Sunni. At times, Bond wanted to kick himself. Why did he have such a soft spot for women? Sunni meant nothing to him, really. She was just another in a long line of affairs which provided a few fireworks for a while and eventually fizzled out. His pattern with women was so predictable that he could chart the liaison’s progress on a blackboard. He intentionally stayed as far away as possible from any kind of commitment to a woman. It seemed that whenever he allowed himself to get seriously involved, something terrible happened. He would never forget Vesper Lynd, the first woman he had ever really loved. She had tried to accept his love for her, but that affair ended in guilt and tragedy. There were others he had lost in recent years because of their association with him, including fellow agents and companions Fredericka von Grusse, Harriet Horner, and Easy St. John. By far the worst disaster was when his lovely wife of fifteen minutes, Tracy di Vicenzo, was gunned down by bullets meant for him. Now here was Sunni Pei, a condemned Triad member looking for a way out of her wretched life. Bond could easily walk away from this job and from her.
“Bloody hell,” he said aloud. He knew he wouldn’t do that. He had already put himself on the line for Sunni. Bond stubbornly justified his actions by telling himself that this little visit to General Wong in Guangzhou was an essential part of his mission. After all, he had learned that Wong was involved with Thackeray and Li. Wong was the number one suspect in Thackeray’s murder. Wong was now calling the shots with regard to the EurAsia/Triad connection. It
Bond searched the kitchen and found a bottle of vodka. Pouring a double helped him accept the fact that he was
The Kowloon-Guangzhou Express left precisely on time. Corinne Bates and Johnny Leung saw “James Pickard” to the station and made sure Bond got through Immigration and aboard the right train. Apparently General Wong had insisted that the new solicitor from Fitch, Donaldson and Patrick come to China alone. The train was surprisingly comfortable, with plenty of room in the aisles. Bond sat by the window and watched as the several stops within the New Territories came and went, and they finally crossed the border into southern China.
Shenzhen was the first major city just beyond the border, and at first glance appeared to be just another part of Hong Kong. Something was different, though, and Bond couldn’t put his finger on it until the train had travelled a few minutes into the country: there was a lack of English signs. Throughout most of Hong Kong, public signs were
