“Get in, Mr. Bond!” he said in English. “Hurry!”
Bond dived into the back seat, and the car squealed out into the busy street. There were two of them—a driver and the man who had spoken. Bond thought they looked familiar. He had seen them at the initiation ceremony in Kowloon City.
The one in the passenger seat looked back at Bond. His brow was creased.
“What happened to you?”
Bond was not sitting down. He was on his knees, facing out of the rear window.
“They gave me a beating,” Bond said. “Where are we going?”
“Back to Kowloon, of course. Try to relax. It’s a three-hour drive.”
He didn’t know how he could possibly relax in this position, but had to admit he felt a hundred times better just being out of the hellhole from which he had escaped.
Bond watched the traffic behind the sedan and saw no signs of pursuit. It was curious that there hadn’t been many soldiers at Wong’s building. He counted himself extremely lucky. If an entire regiment had been there, he would probably be dead by now.
The man in the passenger seat used a cellular phone and spoke Cantonese into it. Bond heard him say that they had picked up the
“Mr. Li wants to know if you got it?”
Bond said, “Tell him I’ve got what he wants.”
The car spent the next half-hour navigating the crowded roads of Guangzhou and finally made it out onto the open highway southeast towards Dongguan and Shekou.
Bond thought of his friend T.Y. The man’s death couldn’t have been prevented, and Bond had merely done his duty and played by the rules.
He thought of the ironic parallel of the situation. England, by agreeing to hand over Hong Kong to China, had also acted honourably and dutifully. By doing so, however, she had turned her back on the people of Hong Kong.
SEVENTEEN
By the time the hovercraft from Shekou arrived at the China Ferry Terminal in Tsim Sha Tsui, the world’s governments had learned of Bond’s actions that day. The story relayed over hotlines all around the globe was that General Wong Tsu Kam had been murdered by a “mysterious” Brit. There was speculation that it was the same “Brit” who had killed the two visiting officials in Hong Kong on 13 June. China was accusing England of espionage and murder. At least four witnesses in the Chinese military force testified that they had been forced by an armed but wounded Caucasian to let him leave the governmental building located in the heart of Guangzhou. Several soldiers had been killed inside the building. For the time being, China was keeping the news from the press, but there was no telling when it might be leaked.
The Prime Minister attempted to assure China that no British “hit man” was operating on their soil. The idea was absurd—England didn’t want a confrontation with China. China refused to listen.
Adding fuel to the fire was the release of James Pickard, Esquire, at 6:00 p.m. He had been blindfolded and taken from an undisclosed location in Kowloon to Kai Tak Airport to be left standing on the Departure level. He was unharmed, but immediately went to the police and reported what had happened to him. An hour later, he was surrounded by reporters and photographers. He would receive fifteen minutes of fame, and then would be shipped back to London in the morning. This bit of public spectacle only added to the series of mysteries that had plagued Hong Kong over the past month.
Government officials in Hong Kong were seriously alarmed. What if the allegations were true? The Chinese troops lining the border were under new command within the hour, and word had it that tanks were now moving up to the line. An early takeover was a frightening possibility. It was important to keep the people in the dark, but it was entirely likely that some reporter would stumble across the news at any time and splash it across the papers. A colony-wide panic had to be avoided at all costs.
The Royal Navy was due to move in to Victoria Harbour within twenty-four hours, joining the Hong Kong naval forces. Britain had sent a destroyer and two Duke Class Type 23 frigates to join the three RN Peacock Class patrol craft permanently deployed in Hong Kong. The colony’s own naval force was operated by the Marine Region of the Royal Hong Kong Police, mostly a Coast Guard Force responsible for the territorial waters of Hong Kong and all of the surrounding islands. As far as the public was concerned, the Royal Navy’s presence was simply to be on hand for the transition, but in reality they were on full alert. The Royal Marines had been dispatched and would be forming a line south of the Chinese border. The United States issued a private statement urging restraint, but her nearby fleets were watching and waiting. The Japanese government offered to mediate, but China refused to acknowledge the gesture.
As for James Bond, getting out of China had been relatively simple. The car had driven to Dongguan, where they stopped at a small hotel so James Bond could shower, dress his wounds, and change clothes. Li had sent yet another Armani suit for 007 to wear. After a stand-up meal at a food stall, the group continued along the superhighway to the rapidly expanding Shekou. There, they boarded a hovercraft to Kowloon. A new passport had been prepared for Bond (complete with a false exit stamp from Hong Kong Immigration), this time in the name of John Hunter. The presence of the other ethnic Chinese deflected any suspicions on the part of Chinese Immigration that Bond might be the man wanted for General Wong’s murder.
A car drove Bond from the hovercraft terminal to Li’s office building in Kowloon City. The Cho Kun greeted him as an old friend. He smiled broadly and clasped Bond’s hand.
Bond handed over the document without saying a word. He was tired and in pain, and didn’t relish the idea that he had done something to help a Triad. He was angry with himself.
“Here it is,” Bond said. “I can’t imagine it’s worth much now.”
Li inspected the document with awe and wonder. He held it gingerly, as if it was a new-born baby. Bond could swear that tears came to the man’s eyes.
“Thank you, Mr. Bond,” he said. He meant it.
Bond didn’t wait for Li to offer to make him a drink. He went to the cabinet and poured himself a glass of vodka.
“You know, Mr. Li, the Hong Kong Police will catch up with you sooner than you think,” Bond said in Cantonese.
“I have taken action to avoid that. I have not been passive while you were in China sticking your neck out for me. At approximately 8:30 this evening, the EurAsia Enterprises warehouse at Kwai Chung Container Terminal was destroyed.”
“What?”
Li shrugged. “There was a fire … or something. It blew up. There is nothing left there. No evidence at all.”
“I see.”
“The police were already on to something. One of the shipping employees talked after learning he would be laid off after the handover. A story was already due to hit the papers tomorrow. EurAsia Enterprises will be accused of participating in drug-smuggling. If our friend Guy Thackeray were still alive, he would probably be under investigation. It is lucky I have friends in the press. I thought it best to obliterate any incriminating evidence.”
“So your little drug-running operation is dead?”
“That one is, certainly. It is all right, I do not mind. To tell the truth, I have been searching for a way to end that vicious circle. It was very profitable, but I have other means of income. I can find another method.”
“You mean, you’ll just find another way to prey on the weaknesses of the human condition.”
Li ignored the insult. Instead he grinned broadly. “Oh, have you heard the latest news from China? I have a source who works at Government House. Beijing has issued a demand! If the British government does not turn over the so-called murderer, there will be … trouble.” Li looked like a Cheshire cat.
