“But how did anyone else know he had it?”
“Perhaps the British agent who tracked me to Belgium . . . ?” Harding mused.
“Oh, yes. The British agent. What’s his name? Oh, I remember now. Bond. James Bond. I think you were a bit careless leaving England, Dr. Harding. One of our first rules is to cover your tracks in such a way that no one can follow you. Unfortunately, this man did.”
“It was unavoidable, sir,” Harding said. He was beginning to sweat despite the cool temperature in the room. His heart was pounding and his stomach cramped.
“What about the RAF officer who helped you steal the formula? Could he have betrayed you?”
“I don’t think so,” Harding said. How did Le Gérant know about Roland Marquis? Harding had been given free rein to pick and choose his team. No one was privy to the information.
“How much was he paid?” the leader asked.
“Fifteen thousand pounds sterling,” Harding replied.
“Do you believe that’s enough to persuade him to keep his mouth shut?”
“Yes.”
For the first time, Le Gérant raised his voice. There was such internal animosity in it that everyone in the room felt a chill run down their spine. “Then who hijacked that plane and took potentially one of the Union’s biggest moneymaking ventures away from us?”
Harding was speechless. The meeting had taken a turn for the worse.
“Well, Dr. Harding?”
“I . . . I have no idea. Sir.” Harding was shaking now.
“Shall I tell you, Dr. Harding?”
“Sir?”
The leader took another drag on the cigarette, then snuffed it out an ashtray attached to the arm of his chair. He had lowered his voice and appeared to be calm once again. “Shall I tell you who foiled our plans to sell Skin 17 to the Chinese?”
“Please do, sir,” Harding stammered.
“It was someone trying to double-cross the Union. Someone on the inside. Someone who thought they were smarter than we. Not delivering Skin 17 as promised makes us look bad and damages our reputation. That makes me extremely unhappy. We may be losing two other prospective deals because of this mess. Do you know anyone in the Union who may be trying to outsmart us and get away with something, Dr. Harding?”
Now there was a ringing in Harding’s ears. Had he been caught? “N-no, sir. How do you know? I mean, how do you know it’s someone on the inside?”
“I know much more than anyone in this room could ever dream,” Le Gérant said. “I believe that whoever is responsible for kidnapping Lee Ming was planning to take Skin 17 for their own. Perhaps they were going to try to sell it back to us for a higher price. After all, we’re not the only ones in the extortion business. But no one can treat the Union that way.”
Le Gérant flicked a switch on the control panel in front of him and a bright photograph appeared on the back wall. It was a picture of the three Nepalese men who had abducted Lee Ming from the Everest Hotel and whisked him away in a potato sack.
“These are the three men who are responsible,” Le Gérant said.
They are Nepalese, but they do not reside in Nepal.”
He knows! Harding thought. My God, he knows!
“Now, help me understand something, Dr. Harding,” the boss said.
We know that Dr. Lindenbeek was caught in Brussels, and he probably talked a little before he was . . . uhm, put out of action. Right?”
“Possibly,” Harding said. How much did he know about the Union?” Virtually nothing. He knew that we were going to expose him if he didn’t perform the surgical procedure. He was killed so that he couldn’t identify me and Mr. Lee. I covered my tracks there.”
“Yes, you did,” Le Gérant said. “What about our operative inside SIS?”
“In London?”
“Where else?”
“The operative there knows very little about the Union. We receive reports on the movements SIS are making to track down Skin 17. We stay one step ahead of them, so to speak.”
“And this Bond fellow. He’s the one they’ve sent?”
Harding nodded. “He was in Belgium. I have no idea if they’re sending him to Nepal. I’ve been traveling.”
Le Gérant withdrew another cigarette from his case and lit it. “I have news for you, Dr. Harding. They are indeed sending him to Nepal to join a little expedition that the Ministry of Defence is organizing. They’re going to climb that mountain and retrieve the specification.”
“Well,” Harding said, faking a laugh. “That gives us another opportunity, then, doesn’t it? We can get it back!”
“Perhaps,” the leader said. He took another moment to relish his tobacco. “Dr. Harding, do you know these men on the screen behind me?”
He shook his head. “I’ve never seen them before!”
“Never?”
“No, sir.”
Le Gérant flicked another switch on the control panel and the slide changed. This time it was a shot at a pub, one that Harding recognized. When he saw who was in the picture, his heart skipped a beat.
The three Nepalese men were sitting with pints of beer talking to none other than himself.
“This photograph was taken three days before the Skin 17 operation went down,” Le Gérant said. “In the Lake and Goose public house, not far from Aldershot. You know it well, don’t you, doctor?
Harding closed his eyes. It was all over.
“You hired these men to steal the specification, didn’t you, Harding?” This time the voice was menacing, trembling with anger.
“No—I—it’s that I . . .” Harding was blubbering.
“Shut up!” Le Gérant pushed another switch on the panel and the door behind Harding opened. One of the guards came in and stood behind him. Terribly frightened now, Harding glanced over his shoulder and back at the rest of the people at the table. They were all staring at him, expressionless.
“Le Gérant,” Harding said. “Please, I didn’t know . . . I was going to—”
“You were going to betray the Union, divert the formula, and make more money than we were paying you by selling it to someone else. You got greedy. Isn’t that right, doctor?”
“No, sir. I mean yes, sir, it was! I didn’t do this! Honest to God I—”
“You’re a fool,” Le Gérant said. “And I do not suffer fools.” He gave an imperceptible nod to the guard behind Harding.
The guard roughly grabbed Harding’s hair with his left hand and pulled back his head. The man produced a long, thin dagger in his right hand and with one smooth, swift stroke, slit Harding’s throat from ear to ear. Blood splattered the table in front of him as he gurgled horribly. He writhed and struggled for a grip on life for a full minute before he finally slid out of the chair and onto the floor. The other Union members at the table were shocked, frightened, and speechless. None of the blood had splattered on them, but the memory of what they had just witnessed would stay with them for the rest of their lives.
The guard behind Harding lowered his dagger, stooped to the body, and wiped it clean on the dead man’s clothes.
“Thank you, sergeant,” Le Gérant said. “You can go. Have the cleanup crew come in five minutes. We’ll be finished then.”
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant said, saluting. He turned and left the room.
The others couldn’t tear their eyes away from Harding’s body and the mess on the table. One woman involuntarily heaved. After a moment, though, they regained their composure and looked at the Man in shadow. If there had been any doubt, he was now unquestionably their leader.