Thackeray was fiddling with the controls of the hoist that would drop the speedboat thirty feet down to the water. His attention was not on Bond for a few precious seconds. 007 leaped out of the hatch just as the cables released the boat. As the speedboat dropped, Bond was falling just a few feet above it.
The boat hit the water hard, knocking Thackeray to its deck. A second later, Bond landed in the boat with force. He might have broken his legs if the recoil from the boat hitting the water hadn’t caused it to bounce and somewhat cushion Bond’s fall. Even so, his right leg was injured badly. His knee hurt like hell.
“You!” Thackeray shouted. He leaped on top of Bond, and the two men locked their hands around each other’s throats. Temporarily dazed by the fall into the boat, Bond was at a disadvantage. Thackeray squeezed hard, attempting to crush Bond’s windpipe. 007 almost passed out but managed to bring his knee up hard into Thackeray’s side. The man’s years of alcohol abuse probably saved Bond, for the blow hit Thackeray hard in the liver. Thackeray jerked in pain, then released his grip on Bond’s neck. He rolled off, clutching his side.
Bond sat up to catch his breath. Thackeray was doubled up in pain.
“All right, Thackeray, let’s go and disarm that bomb,” Bond said.
Thackeray, with a grimace on his face, simply nodded. Bond turned the ignition and got the outboard engine started, then something hard hit him in the head. The next thing he knew, half of his body was hanging over the side of the motorboat.
Thackeray had taken an oar from the bottom of the boat. He had hit Bond with it, attempting to knock him overboard. Thackeray hit him again across the back, sending a jolt of pain up Bond’s spine. 007 willed himself to turn the pain into energy. He swung around and rolled just in time to avoid another direct hit from the oar. Now it was his turn. He lunged for Thackeray’s legs and tackled him. They both fell overboard into the harbour.
It was murky, smelly water, but at least it wasn’t freezing. In fact, it was rather warm. They clung to each other and thrashed around. Thackeray was struggling to get to the surface. Now Bond had the advantage, for he was an excellent swimmer. Despite his injuries and the pain in his knee, he was able to turn the water into his element.
Their heads broke the surface. Thackeray had a look of rage and terror on his face. He tried to reach for the motorboat, but Bond struck out and latched on to his adversary’s waist. Thackeray clutched Bond’s hair and pulled it as hard as he could. He squirmed and kicked, hoping Bond would loosen his grip. Bond swam away from the motorboat with Thackeray, lifeguard-style. Thackeray was yelling something, but Bond paid no attention. They submerged again, and this time Thackeray broke away from Bond. He reached for 007’s neck and locked his fingers around it. Bond tried to pry the man’s fingers away, but Thackeray’s adrenalin was pumping hard. If it was going to be a test of stamina, Bond thought, then so be it. He locked his own fingers around Thackeray’s neck and started to squeeze. It was now a matter of who would give out first.
The bodies rolled and twirled in the dark water, performing a grotesque underwater ballet as they tried to choke the life out of each other. For nearly a full minute, which to Bond seemed like an hour, they were locked together, somersaulting like a single jellyfish. Finally, Thackeray’s face changed. His eyes bulged, and bubbles began to escape from his mouth. The eyes rolled up into his head, and his grip on Bond’s neck relaxed. Because of his years of training and experience, Bond was able to hold his own breath for an uncanny amount of time. He kept his grip tight on Thackeray’s neck until he was sure that the man was unconscious. The taipan of EurAsia Enterprises, heir to a fortune won and then lost, drowned in Victoria Harbour at the hands of James Bond.
Bond let Thackeray’s body drift away, then he swam to the motorboat and climbed aboard. He looked at his watch. It was 11:45. Bond quickly got the boat going and sped around the sinking Glory to the other side.
The Peacock was broadside of the damaged cargo ship, and the RIBs were busy overtaking the enemy lifeboats and arresting Thackeray’s remaining men. Bond guessed that none of the Triads survived. With their leader dead as well, he thought that the Dragon Wing Society would most likely fade into obscurity, or be absorbed by some other secret criminal society.
The sampan had not drifted far. Bond reached it in minutes, cut the motor, and leaped aboard. Sunni was tied and gagged, her eyes wide with fear and surprise. Bond removed the gag.
“James! Oh, God, James!” she cried.
“It’s all right! Hold on,” he said, untying her. Once she was free, he gave her a quick hug and kiss. She didn’t want to let him go, but he broke away.
“Sunni, the bomb!” he said, then turned his attention to the large metal object fastened to the deck of the sampan.
The cone was screwed to the main casing. Bond removed his left shoe and opened it up. He took out the metal file, which was just the appropriate size to use on the screws. He removed the cone, revealing a digital clock face, its mechanism, and wires connecting it to the main casing and the conventional explosives surrounding the U-235 within. The clock read 11:55.
Before Bond could progress any further, the sampan lurched hard to one side. Someone was pulling himself on to the boat! Sunni screamed. It was Tom, the largest and strongest of the albino henchmen! Bond had forgotten about him after the man had fallen off the Glory.
“Stay with the bomb, James, I’ll take care of this creep!” Sunni shouted.
Fine, Bond thought. Do it, girl. He had to concentrate. What would be the quickest way to disarm the damned thing? Maybe he could simply stop the clock.
Sunni, who once displayed a knack for street fighting, used the frustration and pent-up energy from being tied up to attack the big man like a dynamo. She hit him hard in the face with a Mae-geri front kick, swung around and kicked him again, then leaned in and struck him hard in the solar plexus with a stiff spear-hand. Surprised by the girl’s ability, Tom was momentarily stunned. He swung at her, but she deftly dodged the blow, ducked, then brought herself up with a leap nearly as high as his head. In mid-air, Sunni kicked out hard at the man, knocking him on his back.
Bond remembered what Thackeray had said about the clock. It was run by a small battery: “the kind used in wristwatches.” Bond used the file to pry off the clock face, revealing the circuitry. A small, round lithium battery was encased in metal connectors. The file was too large a tool to pop it out. Bond tried using his fingers, but that was too awkward.
Sunni continued attacking the albino henchman as if she was making up for years of abuse, exploitation, and pain. She wouldn’t let up. The big man couldn’t get a manoeuvre in to save his life. With one great lurch, though, he managed to get to his feet. He was standing with his back to the side of the sampan, dazed and confused. Sunni, with one final dynamic leap in the air, double-kicked the man hard on the breastplate. It was enough to force him overboard and into the water. By that time, a Royal Navy RIB had arrived. A naval officer trained his gun on the albino and was prepared to arrest him, but it wasn’t necessary. Sunni had broken the man’s sternum and stopped his heart.