“It was rather a one-sided war, wasn’t it?” Bond asked rhetorically.
“Yes, China was ill-prepared to deal with Britain’s warships. It all came to a temporary end in 1841 with a treaty that was never signed. The treaty promised compensation for the confiscated opium, permission for British merchants to return to Guangzhou, and the cession of Hong Kong Island to Britain. Neither side was happy with this outcome and the war continued into 1842, when the Treaty of Nanjing was finally signed and reluctantly accepted by China. The result was a hefty compensation in millions of pounds, as well as the opening of several ports to British trade.”
“And Hong Kong was officially ceded to Britain.”
“ ‘In perpetuity’ the treaty said,” M added. “Hong Kong became a British Crown Colony in 1843, and trade resumed. We don’t have to cover all of the history, but I suppose you know how we acquired Kowloon and the New Territories?”
“That was a result of the Second Opium War,” Bond replied, feeling like a schoolboy.
“Well, we prefer to call it the Second Anglo-Chinese War now,” M said with a shrug. “It was a result of a ridiculous mistake made in 1856 by Chinese officials. They boarded one of our ships, the Arrow, believing it to be a pirate vessel. A battle ensued, and another war broke out. It finally ended in 1860 with the treaty signed at the Convention of Peking. We got Kowloon with that one.”
“In perpetuity, once again,” Bond chipped in.
“Of course. Opium was officially legalized in China from then on until the start of the Second World War. China ended up making a tidy profit from the filthy substance, using it as an excuse for levying taxes. The big blunder on our part came some forty years later, when the Second Convention of Peking was held and a new treaty was signed. A larger chunk of land north of Kowloon, along with 233 surrounding islands, was leased to Britain for a ninety-nine-year term. As you know, this area became known as the New Territories.”
“Why was it not ceded in perpetuity?” asked Bond.
“Carelessness on the part of the British Foreign Secretary. He had hoped for an open-ended lease to be terminated by mutual agreement, but he ultimately agreed to the ninety-nine-year lease. I suppose that seemed like forever in 1898, when the treaty was signed.”
“And now that time has run out,” Bond mused. He recalled the historic agreement made between Great Britain and China in 1984. “Why did we agree to hand over Hong Kong and Kowloon in 1997? Why didn’t we just give up the New Territories and keep what was still legally ours?”
“Because Hong Kong and Kowloon depend on the natural resources that are derived from the New Territories. Without the New Territories’ abundance of fresh water and other utilities, Hong Kong Island would be extremely difficult to support. And, I think, there was a certain amount of guilt involved as well. Looking back, both sides felt that Hong Kong rightfully belonged to China. It was ceded under circumstances which weren’t entirely ethical. It’s a shame that everyone had to wait a hundred years to come to terms with that realization. The poor people of Hong Kong are now feeling the brunt of that mistake. After over a century of western and democratic rule, they are now faced with the prospect of life controlled by the People’s Republic of China. But enough of the history lesson—let’s get back to the topic at hand.”
M pushed a button on her desk and the picture on the monitor changed. The image of a Caucasian man appeared. He had black hair with streaks of grey, dark brown eyes, and looked to be in his late forties. His face was severe and cold.
“EurAsia Enterprises was one of the trading corporations that flourished in southeast Asia after the First Opium War. It was founded by an Englishman named James Thackeray. This is Thackeray’s great-great-grandson, the current CEO of EurAsia Enterprises. His name is Guy Thackeray.”
Bond knew very little about EurAsia Enterprises. “The company has branches all over the world?”
“Yes,” said M. “Toronto, London, New York, Tokyo, Sydney—they have a significant gold-mining operation in Western Australia—but they’re based in Hong Kong. That’s where Thackeray has lived all his life.”
“Funny,” said Bond. “I’ve never heard of him.”
“Thackeray’s not a very public person,” M said. “You can count on one hand the number of times he’s been to England. He rarely leaves Hong Kong, and if he does he only goes as far as Australia. There’s really nothing particularly sinister about the man. By all accounts he’s a perfectly respectable businessman. He’s forty-eight, never married, and lives quietly and comfortably on Victoria Peak. He was the only child and sole heir of his great-great-grandfather’s legacy, which was passed down from James Thackeray to his son, then to his grandson, and so on. Guy Thackeray became CEO of the company when he was twenty-eight.”
“What did he do before that?” Bond asked.
M chuckled. “He was a magician.”
“What?”
“He had an act that he started when he was a child,” M said. “A magic act. He performed it on floating restaurants, in nightclubs, wherever … He even had a short-lived television show in Hong Kong in the early sixties. Sleight-of-hand stuff, optical illusions, sawing women in half … you know what I mean. He gave it up once he reached his twenties and entered the family business in pursuit of a ‘real’ career. Although he was independently wealthy, I suppose he felt he must live up to the family name and all that. So he learned the business and was very good at it. After his father died, he became CEO. Never bothered with show business again. And up until now, the only black mark we had against the man is that he apparently enjoys playing high stakes mahjong in illegal betting parlours.”
“So why are we interested in him?”
“Gregory Donaldson, the lawyer who was killed in the car bomb blast, was Guy Thackeray’s solicitor,” M said with raised eyebrows.
Bond nodded thoughtfully. The picture changed, revealing a photo of Guy Thackeray with Gregory Donaldson.
“On June the 10th, Donaldson arrived in Hong Kong on an urgent mission to meet Guy Thackeray. Donaldson’s partners here in London were not privy to what it was about, only that it had something to do with the privately owned EurAsia stock. Thackeray owns 59 per cent and the rest is owned by other Board members. On June the 11th, Donaldson was killed.”
“Interesting,” Bond said.
“That’s not all,” M continued. “The two visiting Chinese officials from Beijing who were shot by the alleged British army officer were shopping at a mall owned by EurAsia Enterprises. In fact, the mall is part of the huge complex that houses the company on Hong Kong Island.”
“So they were killed at EurAsia’s corporate headquarters?”
“That’s right,” M said.
“And the floating restaurant business …”
“That bomb killed the entire Board of Directors, the chairman, and all the other executive officers of EurAsia Enterprises—everyone but Guy Thackeray. It was a company party of some kind. The chairman, a fellow named Desmond, was retiring. Guy Thackeray was there, made a speech, presented Desmond with one of those distinguished service awards, then disappeared. At first, everyone thought he had been killed in the blast as well, but he was found at EurAsia headquarters working in his office two hours later, completely oblivious to what had happened. He’s been cooperating with the local authorities in their investigation into the blast, but it’s still very early. No one has any reason to suspect he might be involved. From what I can gather, most people believe the bomb might very well have been meant for him, and to hell with the other people who were killed.”