Zero Minus Ten

by Raymond Benson

  “What do you mean?”

  “Hong Kong is very capitalist. That goes against the very nature of China’s doctrines. At the same time, Hong Kong offers a tremendous opportunity for China. If they allow Hong Kong to continue in its ways, it could be the first step towards democracy in China. China has promised to keep the structure in place for fifty years. What happens after that? Who knows … If they are happy with the wealth that Hong Kong will undoubtedly bring them, I imagine that nothing will change. On the other hand, China may feel that having a westernized, capitalist port is hypocritical. They might think they have lost face and are selling out to the West. They may crush Hong Kong’s capitalism. That would be a terrible thing.”

  “But that’s what would cause China to lose face with the rest of the world, don’t you think?” Bond asked.

  “Yes, but they may not care. China has not cared much in the past what the rest of the world thought. As for those of us in Hong Kong … Mr. Bond, do you smell the fear outside? It is there if you sniff hard enough. The people of Hong Kong may be going about their business. They may have accepted the inevitable. What happens on July the first cannot be changed. But they are afraid. We all are. We can only hope that China will keep her promise and allow us to continue as we are.”

  “Why don’t you leave?”

  “My business is here, Mr. Bond. I cannot take my business with me. I must stay and adjust to whatever happens. I am resigned to do that.”

  “Do you believe your businesses will be affected?”

  “Not at first, certainly. Whether China allows establishments like this to flourish in Hong Kong remains to be seen. If hostess clubs are banned, then I will turn it into a restaurant. But I also believe that China will find it difficult to institute too many changes within the first fifty years.”

  “How so?”

  “China will learn that societies exist in Hong Kong that go back centuries. They go back much further than communist China. I would imagine there might be new revolutions, more resistance, and more violence. Tienanmen Square was only the first of what might be many pro-democracy demonstrations.”

  Bond decided to get to the heart of the matter. “You’re talking about Triads, aren’t you?”

  Li Xu Nan smiled slightly. He spoke softly in Chinese to his bodyguard. The Cantonese went very quickly, but Bond caught the word “girl” in the sentence. Had he got Sunni in trouble? The bodyguard got up and went to the bar. “I have ordered you a fresh drink, Mr. Bond, and one for myself.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Chiang Kai-shek was a Triad member, did you know that?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I do not know much about Triads, Mr. Bond. I do know that the government of Taiwan was built on the backs of Triads resisting communist rule. Triads came into existence resisting an oppressive regime in China, many, many years ago.”

  “So it’s your contention, then, that Triads will become more powerful after the takeover? Aren’t Triads outlawed in China, just as they are in Hong Kong? Don’t you think they will crack down on organized crime?”

  The bodyguard came back with the drinks. Li Xu Nan looked uncomfortable. He didn’t like the way the conversation was going. “Organized crime, Mr. Bond? I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Li said.

  “Come on, Mr. Li. You know that Triads today are not involved in patriotic activities. They’re criminals.”

  “There are some Triads that have lost the honour of their ancestors, that is true, I suppose.”

  A strange answer, Bond thought. “I understand that Triads are instrumental in illegally getting people out of Hong Kong.”

  “That is probably true,” Li said. “But is that really so bad? The British government has made it virtually impossible for a Hong Kong national to live anywhere else. Britain turned her back on the people who have lived under her rule for a hundred and fifty years. That is outright betrayal. If people want to leave, they should be able to. You speak of losing face. England has lost face with us. What was done may have been honourable towards China—handing back a territory that was rightfully theirs. But not allowing the Hong Kong people an escape route was most dishonourable.”

  “Triads are involved with prostitution, too, aren’t they?”

  “I wouldn’t know about that.” The man was becoming angry.

  “Come come, Mr. Li. I know what goes on here in this very club.”

  Li slammed his hand down hard on the table, startling his men. The force of the blow knocked over all the drinks. Bond remained calm.

  “What is this?” Li demanded. “Did you come to talk about me and my businesses or about Triads? I know nothing about Triads! Go and talk to the police if you want to know about Triads! I resent the inference that what goes on here in my club has anything to do with a Triad. You have insulted me!”

  “Forgive me, Mr. Li,” Bond said. “Please accept my apologies. I merely thought you would have some insight into how these organizations have infiltrated the entertainment industry. I shan’t take up any more of your time.” Bond stood and bowed slightly, with respect. “Mr. Li, I would like to ask you one more question, if I may.”

  The Cho Kun of the Dragon Wing Society stared hard at Bond in disbelief. The gweilo had the audacity to continue speaking!

  Through his pretence of humility, Bond stared back at Li. Both men knew that their façades had been torn away. The bodyguards were unsure what to do.

  Bond finally spoke. “Mr. Li, recently there has been some violence in Hong Kong. Terrorist acts have been committed against British citizens, and one on some visiting officials from Beijing. What is your opinion of the nature of these attacks?”

  Li stood slowly, his face flushed with anger. “I know nothing about those attacks. They were unfortunate and tragic. I hesitate to speculate on who might be involved with those incidents. This interview is over. You are lucky that I do not take away that notebook. Mr. Bond, my name had better not appear anywhere in your story.”

  “Are you threatening me, Mr. Li?”

  Li leaned forward and whispered in English, his voice laced with menace. “Mr. Bond, I allow you to leave with your life. You are now in my debt. You have your story. Now leave!”

  Bond gave a slight bow of his head. “Thank you, Mr. Li.” He stood up and walked away from the table. He walked around the dance floor to the club’s exit. Sunni Pei was walking towards him, carrying a small tray of drinks to a trio of Chinese businessmen. She held out her hand and said a little too loudly, “Thank you for coming. We hope to see you again soon!”

  Bond shook her hand and felt a small piece of paper. He palmed it and said, “Thank you, Veronica. I’ll be back.” She smiled nervously, then went on to serve the drinks as Bond left the Zipper. The neon lights from the street were blinding at first after the darkness of the club.

  He unfolded the note and read: “Help me! Meet me on the street behind the club in five minutes! Please!”

  Bond looked around to see if anyone was watching. He ripped the note into bits and let them scatter on the street, then walked round to the back of the large building. He waited in a small nook in the wall near an employee entrance. In precisely five minutes, Sunni came out of the door. She saw him and rushed to him, her eyes full of fear.

  “James!” she said. “They think I told you that Li Xu Nan is Cho Kun of a Triad. This is considered a betrayal.”

  “So you are a member of the Triad?”

  She nodded. “They will kill me. You don’t understand.”

  “No, Sunni, I do understand.”

  “Please, can you hide me in your hotel until I can figure out what to do? I beg you!” She was truly frightened.

  “Come on,” he said, taking her hand. They rushed out of the alleyway and into the street.

  TEN

  MARKED FOR DEATH

  WHEN THEY WERE CLEAR OF THE CLUB, SUNNI SAID, “WE NEED TO GO TO Kwun Tong.”

  “I know a safer place,” Bond said. He wanted to call Woo at
the antiques shop. They could get a car just by speaking a code word and an address into the phone.

  “My mother,” Sunni said. “They’ll come to hurt my mother. We have to get her out of there.”

  “Can you phone her?” Bond asked.

  “She never answers. She’s not well.”

  Bond wanted to wash his hands of the woman right then and there. She was going to drag him into a situation with the Triad that he couldn’t afford to be in. The mission could be compromised.

  “Look,” Bond said, “I’ll help you. I’ll get you to a place of safety. But we do it now, and we go where I say.”

  Sunni suddenly looked at him with a mixture of fear and anger. She swore at him. “Fine, I’ll go alone. I should have known. You just want to get into bed with me.” She started to run up the street. Bond let her go. She would only complicate things. He’d turned around and begun to walk the other way when a black sedan tore up the street and screeched to a halt in front of the girl. Two young Chinese men jumped out of the car and grabbed her. Sunni screamed.

  Bond immediately ran back to her. She was putting up a great struggle as they attempted to push her into the back seat of the car. “Leave her alone!” Bond shouted at them. The men looked at him.

  “James, help!” Sunni cried.

  One man reached inside his jacket. Bond was a second ahead of him, drawing the Walther and drawing a bead on the man’s head.

  “Let her go!” he shouted. “Keep your hands where I can see them!”

  The other man must have had a pistol behind Sunni’s back, for he rolled away from her and shot at Bond, just missing him.

  Bond swung his aim to the shooter and fired. The bullet caught the gunman in the chest, knocking him to the pavement. The other man suddenly let Sunni go and got in the car. Sunni fell to the ground, terrified. The sedan’s wheels squealed as it sped away, leaving the dead man for all to see.

  Bond ran to Sunni and helped her up. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded, visibly shaken.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you to your mother. Is it close?”

  “It’s northeast, near the airport.”

  “Right, let’s go.”

  They heard sirens in the distance and Bond knew they needed to disappear before the police arrived. He grabbed her hand and ran into a side street, thinking they might be safer for the moment mixing with the crowds. After they had sprinted a couple of blocks, he pushed her into a shop selling a variety of handmade bamboo birdcages. The screeches and whistles of the parakeets and budgerigars were completely disorienting.

  “We’ll rest here. Catch your breath,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “It’s all right,” Bond said, but he was angry with himself. He shouldn’t have got involved. Now he was in it up to his neck.

  “Who are you really?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Are you a policeman? A detective?” she asked.

  “Something like that,” Bond said. “I work for the British government.”

  “Drug enforcement?”

  He shook his head. “Just a troubleshooter, you might say.”

  “Right,” she said. “Your shooting is certainly going to get us into trouble!”

  “It was either him or me. Now, where’s your flat?”

  “Kwun Tong. We can take the MTR, that might be safe.” The Mass Transit Railway was Hong Kong’s efficient underground system.

  Bond knew it was a risk taking her home, but he had already promised. “All right, show me.”

  She led him outside and down an MTR stairway.

  The underground was impeccably clean. Bond was surprised by the shiny, unmarked surfaces of the trains and the lack of litter anywhere in the station. Unlike London, Hong Kong had no problems with graffiti and vandalism.

  Sunni bought two tickets from a machine and led Bond through the turnstiles to the Tsuen Wan line. They had to wait only a few minutes for a train heading north. The rush hour was practically over, so it wasn’t as crowded as it could have been. They left the train at Yaumatei station and changed to the Kwun Tong line, which would take them east.

  Finally reaching their destination, Sunni and Bond got off at the Kwun Tong station. The area was a little different here, Bond thought. Kwun Tong was near the airport, so there was a mixture of industrial and residential streets. They walked to Hong Ning Road and into a housing complex called Connie Towers. It was a twenty-one-storey structure that was modern, clean, and secure. The windows were “decorated” with laundry hanging on flagpoles, as is so often the case in Hong Kong tenement buildings.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, how much does a flat in a building like this cost in Hong Kong?”

  “About 3 million Hong Kong dollars,” she replied. Apparently she made good money working as a hostess.

  They walked through an underground parking area to a lift. Chinese characters were painted above the doors, which Bond translated as: “Come and go in peace.” They got into the lift and they stood there silently as they travelled to the eighteenth floor. Bond noted that she was apprehensive, a bit short of breath. The girl was truly beautiful, though, and if his better judgement told him he should mind his own business, that damnable chivalrous trait that had got him into trouble many times in the past prevailed.

  Once they were on the eighteenth floor, Sunni moved to a door protected by a large, locked, metal sliding gate. She stood staring at it in fear. The lock mechanism had been scratched and obviously tampered with. She looked up at Bond and his eyes told her to be quiet. He nodded to go ahead, so she used her key and opened the door. Bond drew his Walther PPK and preceded her into the flat.

  It was a modest place, but tastefully decorated. The living room contained a sectional sofa, coffee table, a stereo, and a few other pieces of furniture. A framed plaque on the table displayed a Chinese character meaning “Tolerance.” There was a crucifix on the wall, indicating that Sunni was not Buddhist, but one of the minority Chinese Catholics. A tiny kitchen was adjacent to the living room.

  It was far too quiet. “Mother?” Sunni called out in Cantonese. She moved along a small hallway which led to the two little bedrooms and a bathroom.

  An elderly woman was lying on the bed in one of the bedrooms, seemingly asleep. Sunni approached and called to her again. The woman didn’t move. Sunni touched her and gasped. She recoiled and turned away. Bond knew immediately what was wrong. He felt the woman’s forehead and grasped her wrist in search of a pulse. She was cold and lifeless.

  “I’m sorry, Sunni,” he said.

  Sunni was sobbing, her back to Bond. “She … she had a bad heart,” she managed to say.

  Bond wondered if something had happened that might have frightened the woman. There was also the possibility that she had simply died in her sleep. As he examined her further, he realized that rigor mortis had set in, indicating that she had been dead for some hours.

  It was an awkward moment and he wasn’t sure how to comfort her. Bond put away his gun and reached out to her shoulders. She shrugged him off and said, “Please don’t touch me.” She turned to him, her eyes full of tears. “It’s all your fault! They came here and scared her to death!” She pushed away from him and went into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

  Bond spoke to her through the door. “Sunni, we don’t know that for sure,” he said gently. “She’s been dead several hours. Her body is already stiff. When did you leave the flat today?”

  “Around noon,” she sniffed.

  He nodded and said, “She’s been dead more than two or three hours. Trust me.” He opened the door slowly. She stood looking out of her window. Her bedroom was as small as her mother’s. Space was at a premium in Hong Kong.

  Though tiny, the room was decidedly feminine. Bond noticed a small round charcoal burner plugged into the wall next to her bed. A red light was burning brightly on top of it. Sunni turned, wiping away her tears and saw him lookin
g at the contraption.

  She managed a short laugh. “That’s a little stove my mother gave me. It’s a Chinese tradition … the red light means ‘fire,’ and it’s supposed to bring me marriage … a husband. My mother was quite concerned that I’m nearly thirty and wasn’t married.” She started to cry again.

  Bond held his arms out to her, and this time she allowed him to hold her. She sobbed quietly against his shoulder.

  Then he heard a creaking noise. Damn! He hadn’t closed and locked the front door! How could he have been so careless? He drew his gun. “Stay here,” he commanded, then moved back into the living room.

  As he entered the room, the front door slid open, revealing two young Chinese thugs in dark clothes. They were brandishing long, crude machetes. It all happened very quickly. The men rushed Bond and he shot them. They were both hit in the chest, but one of the men struck 007 hard on the left arm with his chopper. Bond yelped in pain but managed to fire at the man a second time at point blank range.

  He became aware that Sunni was screaming. He rushed to her and held his hand over her mouth. “Shhhhh, it’s all right now,” he said, as calmly as he could. A few seconds passed and she started to calm down, but then she noticed Bond’s shoulder. He was bleeding profusely through his jacket. He had a huge gash across his upper arm. He needed medical attention immediately.

  “Lock the door, Sunni, quickly,” he said sternly to jolt her out of her panic. She snapped out of it and ran to the door. Bond went into the bathroom and removed his jacket, shoulder holster, and shirt.

  The cut was three inches long and half an inch deep. Luckily, the muscle had not been severed, but blood was pouring from the wound. He quickly removed his right shoe and pulled the prying tool from under the tongue. He snapped off the heel and tipped the contents into the sink.

  “Sunni, I need your help,” Bond called. She hesitated at the door to the bathroom, not wanting to look. “Please,” he said, “I need you to apply this antiseptic to the cut.” He took the bottle and held it out in the palm of his right hand.

  She looked at him. The same thought passed through both of their heads.