Zero Minus Ten rbb-1 Page 23

  “Balls!” Thackeray shouted. “Don’t speak to me about opium traders! My great-great-grandfather was a pioneer, and if it weren’t for men like him there wouldn’t be a Hong Kong! Do you think the territory would have flourished the way it did if it had been under Chinese rule all this time? It might never have been developed at all! No, Bond, I don’t buy that argument. You think Britain is selling out because she feels guilty? If that is the truth, then it’s a stupid reason to hand over a gold mine to a country full of ignorant people who will most likely run it into the ground!”

  “Mr. Thackeray,” Bond said evenly, “China is full of people who have worked and sweated all their lives just to have a piece of land on which to build a home. They have a heritage of defending themselves against all manner of threats. Their country has been conquered and restructured countless times over the centuries. They have learned that not everything in life is about wealth. You know as well as anyone how important maijiang is in the East. If Britain decided to hand over Hong Kong, it was because she felt it was the honourable thing to do. She had to save face.”

  “Don’t talk to me of honour, Bond. It was a business transaction. Nothing more.”

  “I’m afraid there are a lot of people who don’t see it that way.”

  “And after July the first, will those people still see it as an act of honour? When six million people suddenly find themselves living under communist rule, they will come to the realization that they were the pawns in a business transaction gone wrong. They were betrayed. I think they’d rather be dead.”

  “What are you saying, Thackeray?” Bond was now beginning to lose his temper, too. “What is it you’re planning to do? I know you have a bomb down there in your mine. It was you who tested a device in the outback a few weeks ago, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, that was me. I had to make sure my little home-made toy worked before I exacted my revenge on those who have done me wrong.”

  “And who might they be?”

  “Don’t you see?” Thackeray pounded the table. “If I can’t have my company, no one is going to have it! If Britain can’t have Hong Kong, then no one is going to inhabit it! The world has to be taught a lesson.”

  The magnitude of what Thackeray was implying hit Bond with great force. “You were responsible for all those terrorist acts, weren’t you! You’ve been intentionally trying to start a conflict between Britain and China!”

  “Bravo, Mr. Bond, bravo!” he said with sarcasm. “Yes, I was behind it all. I decided that if my plan was going to be a success, I had to build up to it. I had to plant the seeds in everyone’s minds that China and Britain were at each other’s throats.”

  “What the hell is your plan?”

  “Why, the culmination of a hundred and fifty years of lies, betrayal, and pretension,” Thackeray said. “No more kowtowing on either side. No more speculation about what will happen to Hong Kong in the future. At exactly one minute after midnight on July the first, that bomb will detonate somewhere in the Hong Kong territory—successfully wiping out the entire legacy.”

  This time it was Sunni who cried out. “No! You’re a madman! Why do you want to kill six million innocent people? You’re a child having a tantrum! Someone’s taken away your toy and now you want to get even! You’re pathetic!”

  There was silence for a moment as Thackeray stared at her. Bond finally said, “I couldn’t have said it better.”

  Thackeray stood again and began to pace the room. He was trembling with rage. The alcohol was starting to get to him, too. He was displaying the same signs of recklessness he had shown in Macau. It was not even mid-morning, and already the man was drunk on his feet. “You don’t know the half of it. Starting about a month ago, I slowly began to transfer EurAsia holdings into a private Swiss bank account, a little at a time. I had to be careful, for there were many people in the organization who could have found me out. First I had to get rid of my solicitor, Gregory Donaldson. He knew too much. At the same time, I could get at that bastard General Wong. I was going to make sure he wouldn’t get EurAsia! I made Donaldson’s death look like Wong’s work. Once that was done, I thought that Britain would reciprocate. When nothing happened, I had my aide Simon Sinclair assassinate the two officials from Beijing. I later got rid of him for that very reason. You were present at his demise, Bond.”

  “The massacre in Macau? You staged that?”

  “Of course I staged it! I wanted it to look like a Triad hit. The Chang brothers here hired some men to do the dirty work. You and your friend Woo should have been killed that night, too, but it didn’t work out that way.”

  “What about the floating restaurant? You killed your entire Board of Directors?”

  Thackeray nodded, his eyes wide. As he stared into space, he involuntarily brought his hand up and pulled on the left side of his face. Bond thought he resembled the famous detail in Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel painting in which a condemned sinner suddenly realizes that his soul is damned forever.

  “Yes, I did that,” he whispered, almost to himself. “They all had to go. They would have found out what I was doing.” Thackeray was talking to himself like a child, as if he was defending his actions to an adult who had caught him doing something wrong.

  For a moment he seemed lost, his mind in a faraway place. Then he quickly snapped out of it and turned to Bond. He became his vindictive, angry self once again.

  “I blamed that on General Wong, too, of course. For a while, it was working,” he said. “Britain sent a Royal Navy fleet to Southeast Asia. Chinese troops lined the border. The fuse had been lit. You, Mr. Bond, helped it along without any prompting on my part. You assassinated General Wong, didn’t you? I have my sources. I know all about it. It was you, was it not? You did it for that gangster Li. Tell me I’m right?”

  Bond lied. “It wasn’t me.”

  “I don’t believe you, but it doesn’t matter. Wong is dead, and I can’t tell you how happy that makes me. I suppose Li has that document now? Well, if he thinks he’s going to take over EurAsia Enterprises, then he needs to throw the chim again. He’s not going to be so lucky. Anyway, Wong’s murder only made China that much more suspicious and confrontational. My little surprise the other night was the penultimate move.”

  “What was that?” Bond asked.

  “Oh, you probably haven’t heard. One of the Star Ferries sank. Someone put a bomb on board.”

  “You bastard,” Sunni whispered.

  “And now the stage is set for the big transition,” Thackeray said. “Just as Hong Kong changes hands, my bomb will explode. No one will know who to blame. China will blame Britain. Britain will blame China. There are sure to be some … misunderstandings.” He laughed. “It will be wonderful!”

  “You’re going to start what might be World War III!” Bond said. “Why? What do you get out of it? Just revenge? You think that destroying one of the wonders of modern civilization will make you happy? I don’t think so, Thackeray. I think you’re going to remain the miserable drunken wretch you are for the rest of your life, no matter what you do.”

  “Oh, I intend to be perfectly happy, Mr. Bond. As I said, I’ve been slowly transferring my assets to a Swiss bank account. The company’s coffers are almost dry. I liquidated my entire stock the morning of my press conference, the day of my ‘death.’ It’s a good thing I died when I did, too! I probably would be under arrest for drug smuggling, wouldn’t I? I heard about the warehouse. You were probably responsible for that, too, weren’t you, Bond? Never mind. To answer your question, I think I will be very happy to see Hong Kong go up in flames. I plan to live anonymously here in Australia for the rest of my life. The Chang brothers will look after me. They are very loyal. I pay them well, too.”

  Bond knew he had to stop the man. He needed to find out more about the bomb, so that in case he got away he could alert SIS. “How did you make an atomic bomb, Thackeray? It’s not something you learn out of a textbook.”

  Thackeray laughed. “No, not a textb
ook. It was the Internet, actually. I found a most peculiar website called ‘How to Make an Atomic Bomb.’ That gave me the idea, and I hired the right people to help me. I had discovered uranium in my gold mine several years ago, but never reported it. I hired a nuclear physicist named VanBlaricum to work on it and design the machines you saw down below to extract U-235 from the U-238. That’s the difficult part. It’s not a sophisticated bomb. It’s really quite crude. But it’s big enough. It will be the best trick I’ve ever performed!”

  “Where will you plant it? How will it be detonated?”

  “You ask too many questions, Bond. I’m certainly not going to tell you where it’s going to be, even though you won’t be alive to witness it. Detonating it is easy. A small digital clock will be inside the cone. You know, it runs off of one of those small round batteries you find in wristwatches. It will be set as a timer to explode at 12:01 on July the first. When the time comes, the detonator will set off some conventional explosive inside the cone, thrusting a small portion of U-235 into the main chamber, thereby achieving Super Critical Mass. In an instant … farewell to Hong Kong! It will destroy forever China’s hopes of regaining the colony, and it will teach Queen and Country a lesson they will never forget. I have nothing for which to thank England. I have lived in Hong Kong and Australia all my life. England can go hang, for all I care.”

  Thackeray seemed to be in a better mood now. He was quite drunk, but he was no longer in a rage. He moved behind Sunni and put his hand on her long, soft hair. She recoiled, but he grasped her neck and held her firmly. “You’re full of fight, you know that, my dear? I think you’ll make a nice figurehead for my little firecracker. I’ll see to it that you make it back to Hong Kong safely, and you can witness the event from a front-row seat! My ship is docked in Singapore, and it’s got a lot of nooks and crannies where we can hide you. I have a cargo seaplane in Perth waiting to take us to meet her. It’s a rather long voyage, so we must get started.”

  He released her, then nodded to Tom and Dick. The two albinos grabbed Sunni and pulled her from the table. She screamed, “No!” and started to struggle. Bond rose to come to her aid, but Harry aimed an AK-47 at him and gestured for him to be still. Sunni attempted to use karate, but the two men held her fast and removed her from the room. The sound of her struggles became fainter as they took her to another part of the building.

  Thackeray produced a pistol from thin air—another sleight-of-hand trick. It was Bond’s own Walther PPK. “Now, what shall we do with you, Mr. Bond? I can’t let you live, that much is certain. I should probably just shoot you here and now and get it over with. I’ve always wondered why the bad guys never do that to the heroes in action movies. Instead, they have to use some elaborate method of torture or execution. The hero ultimately uses the delay to his advantage and escapes. So I should just shoot you now, right?”

  For a second Bond thought the sight of the madman pointing his own gun at him would be the last thing he would ever see. Thackeray only smiled.

  “No,” he said. “Not yet. I don’t want anyone from your service coming to look for you. The Australian police and INTERPOL have already done a thorough search of our facility here a couple of weeks ago. As you can imagine, every mining company in Kalgoorlie was investigated over my little nuclear test in the outback. One of the area’s many side industries is explosives. Luckily, my uranium lode was adequately hidden, and EurAsia Enterprises Australia was given an all-clear. But one can’t be too careful. I don’t want anyone finding your body, or any remains of it.”

  He gestured to Harry. “My friend Mr. Chang will take you for a ride in my private airplane. We’ll take you to a part of the country you’ve probably never seen. For that matter, it’s a part of the country you’d probably never want to see. We’ll shoot you there and dump your body. If anyone other than an Aborigine ever finds it, it will have been completely eaten by predators. I think that is best.” He then nodded to Harry, giving him a signal.

  Harry slammed the butt of the AK-47 into the back of Bond’s head. He saw a flash of light, felt a moment of extreme pain, and then plunged into total darkness.

  TWENTY

  WALKABOUT

  28 JUNE 1997, 6:00 P.M.

  The white and red Cessna Grand Caravan was the largest singleengine utility multi-use turboprop, widely used by mail carriers and cargo-delivering companies. Its overall length was 41.6 feet, with a wingspan of 52.1 feet. Its engine was a PT6A-114A with 675 SHP, and could take the plane on a cruising speed of 341 kilometres per hour. The Grand Caravan was exceptional because up to five distinctive interiors could be customized. At the moment, it was fitted out with a 10-seat commuter interior—ideal for carrying passengers in firstclass comfort.

  Cruising at 182 knots at an altitude of 20,000 feet, James Bond was anything but comfortable. He awoke from a deep sleep, strapped into the last seat on the right of the cabin. His head was pounding, and he felt drugged. They must have given him some kind of sedative after the head injury. The unmistakable hum told him where he was and what was happening. The plane’s cabin had two rows of five seats each, the front two in the cockpit. One man he hadn’t seen before was piloting the aircraft, while Harry, the smallest but wiriest of the three albinos, was sitting two seats up from Bond in the opposite row. They were the only passengers in the plane.

  Bond squinted out of the window. The sun was setting, and the ground below looked golden brown. They were flying over what seemed to be an infinite desert.

  He tried to move, but he was strapped in tightly with duct tape wrapped around his body and the chair. They were probably going to land somewhere very soon, kill him, dump his body, then take off back to Kalgoorlie. Guy Thackeray and his bomb were most likely already on their way back to Hong Kong … with Sunni in tow.

  Bond groaned, indicating to his captor that he was just waking up. Harry turned around to look at him. The man got out of his seat and moved back. He was carrying an AK-47. There seemed to be an awful lot of AK-47s in this part of the world!

  Harry grunted at Bond as if to say, “Oh, you’re awake. Having fun?”

  “Untie me, you bastard,” Bond moaned. “This is uncomfortable.”

  Harry said something in Cantonese that Bond couldn’t understand. He only caught the words “almost there.”

  “Come on,” Bond said in Cantonese. “I have to stand up and stretch. My head is killing me.”

  The albino thought about it. Finally he said in English, “No tricks.”

  “You’re the one with the gun, my friend,” Bond said.

  Harry produced a pocket knife with his left hand, and sliced through the duct tape. Bond pulled his hands free and ripped the tape away from his body. Harry resumed pointing the gun at his prisoner. Bond stood up and held his hands high. The cabin’s ceiling was low, so he couldn’t stand up perfectly straight. In fact, he had to lean over to stretch.

  “I’m unarmed, see?” he said. “No need to point that at me yet.” He squatted on his haunches and twisted his body backwards and forwards, working out the kinks.

  “What did you shoot me up with?” he asked. “I feel as if I’m in a recovery room. Where are we, anyway?”

  He started to move into the aisle and towards the cockpit, but Harry stopped him. He gestured towards the seat. “Down,” was all he said.

  “Oh, come on, now,” Bond said. “You just let me up. Can’t I move around a bit?” Harry fired a single shot from the AK-47 at the seat next to Bond, blowing a hole right through it. “All right, all right, you made your point,” Bond said. “Does your boss always allow you to shoot up his plane like that? You know, it’s not a smart thing to do, firing guns in a pressurized cabin. There was a Korean fellow I knew once …”

  Then Bond used the oldest trick in the book and it actually worked. He looked towards the cockpit and feigned an expression of alarm. “Christ, what the hell is your pilot doing?” he said.

  Harry turned toward the cockpit and Bond jumped him. It was vital to get the
machine gun away from the man, so he used both hands to grab it and Harry’s right arm. He threw the full weight of his body against Harry’s smaller frame, knocking them both to the cabin floor in the middle of the aisle. Harry was on his back, Bond on top of him, both of them struggling for control of the gun. A blast of gunfire ripped across the ceiling of the plane and all hell broke loose inside the cabin. Every unsecured object flew towards the holes, disorienting the two fighting men. The noise of the escaping pressure was deafening. The pilot shouted something, but no one could hear him.

  Harry was firing the gun wildly. Bond could barely hold on to the man’s arm, for the recoil was intense and Harry was agile. He didn’t want any of the windows blown, or they all might be sucked out into the sky. The pilot reached for a pistol hidden in a compartment by his side, but the plane lurched and forced the pilot to stay with the controls of the aircraft.

  Bond repeatedly slammed his elbow into Harry’s face, but the albino still clutched the AK-47. Finally, in an attempt to pull the gun up and away from Bond, he swung his arms above his head. Unfortunately, this action aimed the gun towards the cockpit. Another blast of gunfire riddled the control panel and the pilot, who slumped forward in his seat.

  The plane immediately swerved and started to dive. Bond and Harry were slammed against a seat, and Harry dropped the gun. They continued to roll as the plane spun upside down. The cabin’s ceiling was now the floor as they rolled over the seats. The little man suddenly delivered some severely painful karate blows to Bond’s sides, then squirmed away from him. He was trying to find the gun again, but it had fallen out of sight.