‘Stratospheric, though I’d hoped to keep the darker side out of the way. You think it’s gone too far for that now?’
‘I think within forty-eight hours we’ll know exactly how what you call the “darker side” is going to fall.’
Tanner was quite used to being educated further and given classified information long after an operation had begun to run. It was known in the trade as ‘need-to-know’. ‘There’s more than just Lords and Lords Day?’ he asked.
‘Possibly, Tanner. Quite possibly. Though the Lords device is about as classified as anyone can get, because the whole safety of the United States’ and our own fleets depends on it. I fear there’s a lot of woolly-headed thinking going on about the world’s future. The Forces of the Western Alliance have a long way to go yet. But, be that as it may, there is the possibility of a further threat connected with this man Brokenclaw Lee.’
Tanner steepled his fingers and waited. It was the old interrogator’s technique, waiting things out until the suspect became talkative, uneasy with the silence.
At last, both M and Grant talked. When they had finished, Bill Tanner wished that his old friend Bond knew what he could be getting himself into. Calmly he put his thoughts into words.
‘Oh, he knows.’ M sounded like a man whose stocks had just fallen to an all-time low. ‘Bond knows.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘Ahemm, but . . . well, the girl has no idea.’ He tapped the desk with his fingertips, then spoke to Grant. ‘The other girl, whatsername? Bradshaw?’
‘Myra Bradshaw, yes. Our people are holding her in a place we keep for that purpose in Virginia. High up, overlooking the Shenandoah Valley. She’ll be safe enough and we can dry her out slowly. Just a pawn, I think.’
‘And the attempted murder?’
‘We have those guys – well, the FBI has them. Straight contract killers. Both known. Unlikely to talk. Come to that I doubt if they know who ordered the killing, and the thing that does surprise me is that it went ahead at all. You’d have thought Lee would’ve had surveillance on that apartment building.’
‘Maybe he did,’ Tanner mused. ‘It’s always possible that either he couldn’t stop the attempted hit or he wanted it to go ahead simply to discourage others.’
‘Mmmm,’ Grant grunted.
Tanner still thought he would not like to be in Bond’s shoes when there were so many imponderables.
The interior of the Grumman Gulfstream was luxurious even for a corporate jet. The passenger area was lined with a light-blue watered silk, and, while the normal configuration for a Gulfstream called for nineteen passengers, the interior of this particular aircraft had been drastically altered to take only eight. The seats were covered in soft grey leather and were on swivels which could be locked for take-off and landing. They were also high-backed with built-in headrests containing personal stereo headphones. On the right arm of these extravagant chairs was a bank of controls so that the seat could be adjusted to conform to any position, allowing the user maximum comfort.
Ding and Fox had shown nothing but courtesy to their charges who were asked to choose whatever seats they liked, while a young uniformed Chinese girl offered them drinks. There was no hint of threats, no indication of menace. ‘Mr Lee wishes you to have the best he can offer,’ the ugly-looking Bone Bender Ding smiled, nodding like a Buddha.
Bond and Chi-Chi chose seats together towards the back of the cabin. The stewardess brought a martini for Bond and a white wine spritzer for Chi-Chi. The martini was just as he had ordered it and prepared to his usual formula. ‘Three measures of Gordons, one of vodka, half of Kina Lillet, shaken not stirred, until it’s very cold. Then add a thin slice of lemon peel.’ The Chinese girl merely smiled and bowed and he thought the chances of getting the real thing were pretty remote, but sure enough, when served, the martini passed even Bond’s most exacting standards.
It was almost three-quarters of an hour later that they reached the threshold of the active runway and the captain announced that they should prepare for take-off. Already, Ding had come back from his seat in the forward part of the cabin and apologised for the hold up. ‘Even Mr Lee cannot override the airport handling delays, I fear,’ he said with a look which bade Bond not to be too irritated.
Finally the little executive jet hustled off the runway, pulled back into a rather extreme angle of climb and levelled off at somewhere in the vicinity of thirty-thousand feet, at which time the captain turned off the discreet ‘seat belt’ sign and the stewardess came back with a large menu.
‘Please order anything,’ she smiled and bowed her head. ‘We have excellent chef on board.’
‘Mr Lee certainly knows how to enjoy himself.’ Bond leaned over and spoke softly to Chi-Chi, who looked at him and shrugged, ‘Eat, drink and be merry for . . .’
‘Don’t finish it,’ he said a little sharply. ‘I’m not superstitious except for that little phrase and any quotations from William Shakespeare’s Scottish play.’
‘Scottish? Oh, you mean Mac . . .’
‘No!’ He laid a hand on her arm. ‘Humour me, Jenny. These are my only superstitions.’
‘You’ll have to hear mine, one day,’ she said. ‘They outnumber yours a hundred to one. But this menu is splendid.’
‘Let’s hope the food’s as good as the menu. While I was still at school, which was not for all that long, I made a vow that I would one day only allow the best food in the world to pass my lips.’
‘Was it that bad? School, I mean.’
‘On Fridays we had fish. It was known as the piece of cod that passeth all understanding.’
She gave a wan smile and buried her nose in the menu.
Chi-Chi ordered caviar followed by grilled rognon de veau with new potatoes and petits pois. ‘I shall also make a pig of myself and have the fraises des bois with a great deal of cream,’ she added with a cat-like smile.
Bond said he would join the lady with the caviar. ‘But make certain there is a lot of toast.’ He glanced at Chi-Chi. ‘Good caviar is easy to come by. The trick is to get enough toast.’ He then ordered lamb cutlets with the same vegetables as Chi-Chi. ‘And while Madame is enjoying the strawberries, I’ll have an avocado with a lot of French dressing – vinaigrette that is, not the pink stuff that sometimes passes for French dressing in this part of the world.’
The stewardess looked shocked. ‘But, certainly, sir. It will be vinaigrette. There is no other kind of French dressing.’
The meal was extraordinarily good, Bond’s cutlets being tender enough for him to cut with a fork alone, while the wines served with each course were, as he said later to Chi-Chi, ‘Quite remarkable. There can’t be many bottles of the Lafitte-Rothschild ’47 left in the world.’
After dinner, Ding came back again to ask if there was anything else they needed. ‘They’re being a little overly solicitous, aren’t they?’ Chi-Chi whispered.
‘Just a bit.’ He hardly moved towards her, yet he spoke in almost a whisper. ‘Don’t worry, Jenny, I’m sure everything’s going to be fine.’ He looked down the cabin. Both Fox and the large Chinese seemed to be settling down to sleep.
Turning his head back to Chi-Chi, he suggested that they should also get some rest. ‘We don’t really know when we’ll have a chance to sleep again.’
She merely nodded, not looking at him, and closed her eyes.
As he tried to catnap, Bond was aware of the aircraft doing a series of long, steady turns, as though it was under ATC instructions.