‘I realise there’s a great deal of briefing to be done, sir.’ Bond sounded more than a shade acid. ‘But one thing’s been really bugging me, to use the local parlance.’
‘Well?’
‘You had FBI surveillance on me. You’ve already told me that it’s been arranged for the local FBI people to believe I’m not strictly a good security risk. I accept that this is a necessary part of whatever’s going on. But we’ve had one agent bludgeoned to death. I watched. I saw it all. Also, I followed the poor wretch and he obviously headed into a very dangerous part of town in search of me. Why?’
‘Because he was told you might try to make contact with Brokenclaw Lee’s people. He approached the place where he imagined he might just find you.’
‘In that little square at the end of an alley?’
‘That little square, 007, lies directly behind Lee’s favourite haunt. Agent Malloney put himself in jeopardy by going into Brokenclaw Lee’s heartland. Behind enemy lines, if you like.’
Bond nodded. ‘Would you like to put me more fully in the picture about Lieutenant-Commander er, Wanda . . .’
‘Man Song Hing.’ M spoke the name flatly, sounding like a schoolteacher correcting an idle pupil. ‘No, Bond. You will meet a very brave young woman who has, literally, given everything in an attempt to discover the whereabouts of the missing people from the Lords and Lords Day trials. I mean that she’s given all a woman can give, and she lives now in the constant, and very probable, fear that she might not have much time before her cover is blown sky high. Why I doubt . . .’ He was cut off by a knock on the cabin door and Rushia went over to open it.
Four men, all in casual dress – slacks, T-shirts, jeans and the like – wheeled in a large folding table of the kind you find room service using in the better hotels.
Bond recognised two of the newcomers as members of his own organisation. They were tough, hard people used for baby-sitting important assets or minding visiting VIPs, men known in the trade as Lion Tamers. One of them acknowledged him with a broad wink as they set up the table, laying places for four people and putting out cold cuts and a variety of salads on a second table, together with several bottles of wine, baskets of bread rolls, neat triangles of buttered brown bread and a flat dish spread with thinly sliced smoked salmon. The tables gleamed with starched napery and sparkling silver.
These unaccustomed ‘waiters’ performed their tasks with the speed and deftness of well-trained servers who worked in silence and withdrew quickly once all was made ready.
Rushia busied himself with the wine while M came and sat at the table as though expecting the American officer and Bond to serve him. But before they could even begin to tackle the food there was another knock at the cabin door. This time Bond crossed the deck to open up.
He was aware, for a second, of two of the Lion Tamers standing guard, then his eyes were centred on the girl who had knocked on the door.
From behind him, Rushia called, ‘Come in, Wanda. Meet Captain Bond, Royal Navy. James, this is Lieutenant Commander Wanda Man Song Hing, US Navy.’
‘Captain Bond, sir,’ she acknowledged him as she came into the cabin and, in spite of her very obvious Chinese appearance, her voice was low, husky and totally without any of the short-tongued hesitant pronunciations of an English-speaking Chinese.
She was slender and much taller than an average Chinese girl, somewhere around five-ten, with a high waist which, in the lecherous and chauvinist corner of Bond’s mind, predicted legs that went on for ever. This, he saw, was correct as, with a smile, she walked past him into the cabin and stood smartly to attention in front of M.
‘Lieutenant-Commander Man Song Hing reporting as requested, sir.’
She wore civilian clothes – a calf-length dark pleated skirt, white shirt with a Hermes scarf knotted at the neck and a short dark jacket with grey piping. Her complexion was smooth, more cream than peaches, and her heavy black hair was swept back from her forehead, falling in a neatly shaped curve above her collar. She wore diamond clips on the tiny lobes of her exquisite ears, her almond-shaped eyes were a deep black, the mouth generous and her nose small, giving an overall impression of a face of near-perfect proportions.
‘Let me take your jacket, Wanda.’ Rushia was behind her, as though dancing attendance, and she slipped her arms out of the jacket, straightening the cuffs of her shirt as she did so. The white shirt was tight and Bond’s throat went characteristically dry at the clearly rounded shape of her breasts pressing against the thin material.
She caught his eye and immediately looked away as though in an act of modesty, a small tongue running across her lips.
M seated himself opposite the young woman while Rushia and Bond helped them to the smoked salmon and wine – a Californian Chardonnay, at which, until a year or two ago, Bond would have turned up his nose. Things had altered greatly since American wines had started to take prizes against even the best French ones.
‘My dear,’ M spoke to Wanda in an almost avuncular manner, yet his tone was not patronising. ‘I know this is going to be difficult for you, but I fear you’re going to have to repeat at least the major details of your current assignment.’
‘Everything?’ Her voice dropped almost to a whisper.
‘I’m sorry.’ M fidgeted with his tie, leaving his smoked salmon untouched. Bond felt the Old Man was exceptionally embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry, but if we’re going to deal with this matter, Captain Bond here has to know everything. In a few hours he will be facing the same risks as yourself. Though I doubt if he is going to be treated in the same manner as yourself.’
She gave a slightly self-conscious smile and began to toy with her smoked salmon. She had coloured, a pink blush spreading up both cheeks. ‘Then I had better begin.’ She glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist. ‘I must be back within two hours, or . . .’
‘Sure, Wanda,’ Rushia spoke kindly. ‘You’ll be back. We’ll see to that, though God knows I wouldn’t return if you paid me a million.’
‘If I don’t go back, he’ll certainly become suspicious, then where will Captain Bond be? And yourself, Ed, not to mention Chi-Chi . . .’
‘Would someone let me into the secret?’ Bond was beginning to be irritated by the riddles that seemed to be passing to and fro across the table.
‘Yes, James.’ There was no sign of reproach in M’s tone. ‘All in good time, and Ms Man Song Hing really doesn’t have much of that – time I mean. Nor have you. We’ve a great deal to get through before morning. You’ll hear Wanda’s story, and no doubt even you will be disgusted by it. But she is our one ace against the evil empire that Lee represents. She has penetrated his court, and become successfully closer to him than any agent who has tried before.’ He turned back to Wanda. ‘I suggest you tell the story in your own words. Now, while we eat. You need not worry, Captain Bond is also an Intelligence field officer of great experience. You will not shock him.’
‘He is cleared for the classified information?’ she asked.
‘He wouldn’t be here if he were not project cleared.’ For the first time in her presence, the old, sharp edge of M’s personality peeped from his tone of voice.
‘Very well.’ She addressed herself to Bond. ‘I am a third generation American Chinese. I was born an American citizen. My mother died when I was a child and my father was once a wealthy jeweller. From my teenage years I wanted to serve my country in some active way, so I enlisted in the United States Navy when I was eighteen years of age – I am twenty-six now. I am proud of my success, because, to use the jargon of our times, I’m a high-achiever. I studied electronics, and for the past two years I have been one of three Intelligence officers working on the project known as Lords and Lords Day. As you probably know, most of our work was carried out from the Treasure Island base, and I had permission to live ashore. I have a small apartment on Laguna, close to the Marina. I should also tell you that I love my father deeply and would do anything for him. Anything but sell out my country, which, in the end, I suppose he invited me to do, in order to save his own life. It began three weeks ago. I had a twenty-four-hour off-duty day.’ She gave a tight little smile, looked up, caught Bond’s eyes and immediately looked away again. ‘I was having my first cup of coffee when the telephone rang. It was my father, and within an hour I knew we had to use what he finally told me. I was aware that I had to become one of the primary active agents in Trojan Horse.’