Zero Minus Ten rbb-1 Read online

  “According to the law, I am a member,” she continued. “I could be arrested and jailed for simply being a Blue Lantern.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought they would allow women in Triads?”

  “It was once all-male, but in the last few years they’ve begun to admit women. Most of them stay Blue Lanterns and are never initiated.”

  “Then that should tell you what they think of you,” Bond said. “Leave them.”

  She removed the towel and poured antiseptic on to the wound, which was still bleeding badly. Bond winced at the sting.

  “Don’t you see? I can’t do anything! If I run, they’ll eventually find me and kill me, or I’ll be arrested and go to jail. My only way out of this is to kill you. Believe me, there are some other girls you could have met tonight who would have cut your hands off if you’d spoken to them about Triads.”

  “You’re not going to try and kill me, are you, Sunni?”

  She didn’t answer. “You need stitches.”

  “Look,” he said, “you need help, and I can help you. Come with me to a safe house. I can get medical treatment, and they won’t find you there. I need to make a phone call then we could be on our way in minutes.”

  She wrapped some gauze around his arm very tightly, then covered it with the towel again. “There, that should hold you for a while. It’s a good thing you had all that stuff in your shoe.”

  Bond stood up and put on his shirt. He slipped the shoulder holster back on. Extending or raising his left arm hurt like hell. He took two of the acetaminophen tablets and one antibiotic, swallowing them with water from the sink in his cupped right hand. He replaced the contents of the shoe and put it back on. Finally, he managed to put the bloody jacket back on, then walked into the living room and reached for the phone near the kitchen.

  “I’m making that call. You can come with me or you can stay behind,” he said. “If you’re coming, you’d better pack a bag. You probably won’t be coming back here.”

  “I can’t leave my mother!”

  He was dialling the number. “There’s nothing you can do for her now, Sunni. You have to think of yourself. Do you want to come or not?”

  He got a recording at the other end. He spoke into the phone: “Ling Ling Chat, need taxi immediately, repeat immediately, at …” He turned to her. “What’s the address?”

  “One forty-seven Hong Ning Road, Kwun Tong.”

  Bond repeated it into the phone, then hung up. “You have five minutes to pack,” he said. He understood what the poor girl was going through. In the space of one hour, she had suddenly been confronted with a life-or-death decision and the frightening prospect of abandoning the life she had been living.

  Finally she asked, “Can you get me out of Hong Kong?”

  He said truthfully, “I can try.”

  “Legally?”

  “I can try.”

  She hesitated another moment, then pulled out a flight bag, began to rummage through her bedroom, and threw clothing into the bag. She spent some time in the bathroom, dumping in supplies. Finally, she went to a bulletin board in the kitchen removed some snapshots that captured moments in her life. The last thing she did was to take a child’s toy from the kitchen window. It was one of those petalshaped pinwheels on a stick. She shoved it into the bag.

  “It’s for good luck,” she said. She zipped up the bag and threw it on her shoulder. “I’m ready.”

  “Good girl,” he said, then drew his gun. He moved to the front door and listened. He motioned her to follow him as he unlatched the bolt and slid the door open. The hallway was empty. They walked to the lift, and Bond noticed that it was moving up towards their floor.

  “Let’s take the stairs,” he said.

  With gun in hand, Bond led the way down, a flight at a time. At the twelfth floor, he heard footsteps hurrying up below them. He pressed Sunni back against the wall and waited. Sure enough, two more Chinese youths brandishing choppers appeared. Bond shouted “Freeze!” in Cantonese, but the thugs ignored him and charged. It left him no choice but to shoot. The gunfire reverberated loudly in the stairwell. The two Triads slammed back against the wall, then rolled down a flight of steps.

  It wouldn’t be long before the police arrived, he thought. They needed to get to the street and find Woo before that happened. His wounded arm felt as if it was on fire. Sunni was frozen in fear in a corner of the stairwell. He gestured for her to keep following him, and continued down the stairs.

  At the seventh floor they encountered four men. They rushed at Bond, attempting to overpower him. Bond got off one shot at point blank range, but had to duck to avoid the swings of the choppers. He rolled forward, through the three standing men, but couldn’t avoid losing his balance and falling down the steps. The Walther flew out of his hand and fell to the landing below. One of the men charged at Sunni, his chopper raised. Instead of screaming and cowering, however, Sunni surprised Bond by performing an expert martial arts manoeuvre. She bent forward as the man swung, blocked his arm and threw him over her back—a perfect Yaridama. The man crashed into the wall behind her. She immediately turned and delivered a crescent moon kick to the man’s chest and fast one-two spear-handed chops to his neck, breaking it.

  By now, Bond was on his feet, jumping towards the other two. They tried to swing the choppers at him, but he ducked, put his hands on the landing, and shot his legs straight out at them. The kick hit one man in the abdomen, knocking him into his partner. Sunni was behind them, and she grabbed one in a head lock, then brutally rammed him into the wall. In less than a second she was lashing out with a roundhouse kick to the other man’s kidneys, sending him flying back towards Bond who simply grabbed his shoulders as the man fell into him, then sent him sailing down the stairs. All four men were now down.

  Bond looked up at her with respect and smiled. “Nice work, Sunni.”

  She shrugged. “I grew up on the streets of Hong Kong before going to the States. I’m not totally helpless.”

  He retrieved the Walther as they continued down the stairs. Eventually they reached the ground floor and Bond stopped. “They probably have a car down here somewhere. There’ll be at least a couple more of them.”

  He peered out into the covered parking area and saw the black sedan idling near the exit. There was only a driver, and he was peering over his shoulder at the lift door, waiting for the men to return. Bond realized that he would certainly see them when they came out of the stairwell.

  “Stay here,” Bond said. He took a breath, then bolted out of the stairwell. He performed an agile body roll and ended up behind a stone column. The driver of the car shouted something in Chinese. A shot rang out and a bullet broke away a chunk of the column.

  Bond heard the car back up and turn towards him. Another shot demolished a chunk of the concrete dangerously close to his head. His left arm was throbbing with pain now, especially after the fight on the stairwell. He was thankful it wasn’t his gun-arm.

  He carefully leaned out and shot towards the car, shattering the windscreen, but the driver had opened the door and was squatting behind it for cover. It was going to be a standoff unless Bond could gain a better vantage point from which to fire.

  He could hear police sirens in the distance. They’d arrive any minute. He was about to run back to the stairwell when he heard the screeching of tyres from the parking area entrance. A red taxi zoomed in and slammed into the driver’s side of the black sedan. The driver was sandwiched between the vehicles, his body mangled like a broken doll. Chen Chen was driving the taxi, and his father was sitting beside him.

  Bond called to Sunni, and they ran to the cab and got into the back seat. The taxi’s only damage was a bent front bumper, so it manoeuvred around the smashed car and out of the parking area just as a police car entered from the other side.

  “You call for cab, mister?” said Woo, displaying his trademark grin.

  “Sunni, meet my friend T.Y. and his son Chen Chen,” Bond said. “Fellows, this is Sunni.”r />
  “Welcome and hello,” T.Y. said to her. “We take you somewhere nice, uh huh?”

  Sunni managed a smile, but she was still too shaken to speak. She was silent throughout the entire ride as Bond apprised Woo of the evening’s events.

  “There goes your cover,” Woo said. “I do not know many journalists who carry guns and shoot Triads in residential housing, uh huh?”

  “I’m just going to have to steer clear of the Dragon Wing boys while I’m here. I hope I haven’t compromised anything with Thackeray. I’ll just need to watch my back on the street.” He turned to Sunni. “Do you know a man named Guy Thackeray?”

  She shook her head. He believed her.

  “Any news from London?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” said Woo.

  “What about Australia?”

  “No one claim responsibility yet. Authorities are clueless. I got report from M. Section A’s early findings indicate device was definitely home-made, probably created in crude laboratory. Sounds like someone independent. No affiliation with particular country. It could also be some stupid research lab, illegally experimenting with nuclear power.”

  Bond thought Woo’s theories were sound. There were a lot of companies in the world that had the capability of harnessing nuclear power. The fact that no threats or extortion messages had been received by anyone now seemed to be a positive sign. Perhaps it was merely an act of careless experimentation by an irresponsible energy company, with no intent to harm.

  It was 10:00 p.m. by the time the cab arrived at Upper Lascar Row on the island. They all entered the antiques shop and went up the stairs to the safe haven. Woo showed Sunni a room where she could be alone if she wanted. Bond poured himself a glass of straight vodka on ice and drank it quickly. “T.Y., I need to do something about this arm. And quickly.”

  “I already made call. I know good doctor, he is on his way now. Works for safe house.”

  Sure enough, a few minutes later a little Chinese man named Dr Lo arrived. After half an hour, Bond’s wound had been sterilized and stitched up. It still hurt, but he could live with it.

  “I’m going to need some clothes from my hotel,” he told Woo.

  “No problem. All taken care of. Chen Chen will collect your things in morning, uh huh? Right now I fix some noodles for you and girl.”

  “T.Y., she’s going to need a foreign passport. She’s in danger and I want to get her out.”

  Woo frowned. “M will not like that.”

  “Bad luck,” Bond said. “Sunni provided some valuable information and now we need to protect her. She damned near saved my life at that building. She’s one hell of a fighter.”

  “I see what I can do,” Woo said.

  Bond finished his vodka. Shirtless, Bond knocked on Sunni’s door. She said, “Come in.”

  She was lying in a foetal position on a double bed in the sparsely furnished room. “Are you hungry, Sunni? T.Y. is making us some dinner.” She shook her head. Bond sat down on the bed beside her. “You’re going to be okay. We’re going to get you a foreign passport. You’ll be able to stay here safely until you leave.”

  “Where am I going?” she asked quietly.

  “Where would you like to go?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t really care.”

  “Well, we’ll try England for starters, all right?”

  She shrugged. The poor girl had been through a lot—the realization that she was marked for death by the Triad, the discovery of her dead mother, and the traumatic escape from her building—it was enough to make anyone a complete wreck. Sunni had a great deal of fortitude. Bond leaned over and kissed her cheek, then stood up and left her alone.

  It was later, after they had eaten a delicious meal of noodles and chicken (Sunni decided to join them but ate very little), and had all retired to their respective beds, that Sunni slipped into Bond’s room.

  He woke up when he felt her presence in the room. She was wearing a t-shirt and panties and stood barefoot by the bed, looking at him.

  Without a word, he pulled the sheet down, offering her a place beside him. She slipped into the bed and snuggled next to him. Her body was warm and soft, and her legs felt smooth against his. They kissed, slowly at first, then with more passion as their desire increased. After a few minutes, she pulled off her t-shirt and pressed her breasts against his chest. She enjoyed the feel of the hair there, as she wasn’t used to it. Most Asian men lacked hair on their chests.

  She opened up to him that night, over and over again. He filled her with strength and security, helping her achieve a release from the demons that had tormented her since the evening began. She needed the climaxes, for they allowed her to forget her troubles and lose herself in a floating world of ecstasy and passion. It was three or four hours later when, totally spent, they finally fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  ELEVEN

  ASSASSINATION

  SHOOTOUT IN KOWLOON

  Royal Hong Kong Police say that two incidents of gunfire in public yesterday may be related. The first occurred in Tsim Sha Tsui East near the nightclub Zipper, where a twenty-two-year-old man was shot by an unknown assassin. A little over an hour later, at a residential building in Kwun Tong, seven men were found dead and two seriously injured. Two of the men were found shot in a flat owned by Sunni Pei, who is reported missing. Her mother, Pui-Leng Pei, was also found dead in the flat, but it is believed she died of natural causes. Police suspect Triad activity is behind the two incidents …”

  ZERO MINUS SEVEN: 24 JUNE 1997, 3:55 P.M.

  The papers were full of yesterday’s news, for shootouts on the streets of Hong Kong were surprisingly uncommon. James Bond had made a point of examining SIS reports on the colony’s crime status before leaving England. According to these, Hong Kong was perhaps the most crime-free city in Asia. Gun control was very tight, and obtaining arms was difficult even for criminal organizations. The Royal Hong Kong Police was one of the most efficient forces in the world.

  It was unfortunate that Sunni’s name and picture were prominently displayed in the paper. Now she would definitely be a target. It would be even more problematic getting her out of Hong Kong. At least Bond hadn’t been identified. Otherwise he would have had to listen to M blame it on him getting involved with “a tart.”

  Bond put the news behind him and concentrated on the new task at hand. It was time for Guy Thackeray’s mysterious press conference.

  EurAsia Enterprises’ corporate headquarters was located in a thirty-four-storey building in the heart of Hong Kong’s busy Central district. Nearby were such landmarks as the Bank of China Building, the Hongkong and Shanghai Bank Building, Jardine House, Government House, and Statue Square.

  James Bond arrived for the press conference early, just in time to learn that the event had been moved to nearby Statue Square for reasons unknown. It was a beautiful day, if a bit hot and humid. Perhaps Thackeray thought an outdoor setting would be more pleasant. The square was nondescript for the most part, save for the statue of Sir Thomas Jackson, a former manager of the Hongkong Bank. There was a time when it had held several statues of British monarchs, but these had been removed long ago. A neoclassical domed building next to it housed the Legislative Council Chambers, the future of which would become uncertain in six days’ time. Folding chairs had been set up in a roped-off area, and security guards were checking the identification of reporters desiring a seat.

  Bond showed his journalistic credentials to the security guard who found his name on a list and let him through. He sat in the second row, near the outside end. There was a microphone stand on a small platform in front of the seats. A table had been set up along the side and complimentary glasses of wine were available. Looking around him, Bond remembered that the transition ceremony between the British and the Chinese was to take place here at midnight on 30 June, in a little less than a week’s time.

  About forty journalists were there, mostly from Hong Kong. There were a few Westerners present. One section o
f the audience was made up of EurAsia employees. From the look of them, they were the executives in charge of the company since the tragedy on the floating restaurant. They all looked apprehensive, not knowing what their CEO was about to announce to the world.

  While waiting, Bond glanced up and admired the adjacent Hongkong and Shanghai Bank Building, popularly known simply as Hongkong Bank. It was one of the most striking pieces of architecture Bond had ever seen. Designed by the British architect Sir Norman Foster, its structure was based on the principles of bridge technology. Huge steel trusses were slung between two core towers, and the internal floors were suspended from these. Conventional support columns and concrete coverings had been avoided by using a special cladding of super-quality aluminum. The see-through walls thus revealed all the inner workings of the lifts, escalators, and offices. The entrance to the bank was from a large open plaza underneath the first floor of the building. Standing guard in the plaza were two bronze Imperial Chinese lions similar to those flanking most important Hong Kong doorways. Dubbed Stephen and Stitt after two former chief managers, the lions served as mascots for all Hong Kong.

  At precisely 4:00 p.m., Guy Thackeray entered the square followed by two other men, who were obviously bodyguards. They stood to either side of him as he approached the microphone.

  Thackeray looked even more haggard than he had in Macau. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept for days. He was dressed in a sharp Armani business suit, though, and managed to exude an air of authority.

  “Hello and welcome,” he began. Bond again noted the lack of humour. There was no trace of a smile. “I have called this press conference to make an important announcement about EurAsia Enterprises. As you know, our entire Board of Directors was killed recently. There have been a couple of recent attempts on my life as well. I have no idea why we became targets. Unfortunately, it’s all had an effect on the company. Our privately held stock is at an all-time low. The future is uncertain, and I have no reason to believe that things will improve. Therefore, I am selling my family’s 59 per cent holding to the People’s Republic of China, effective July the first, 1997.”