Brokenclaw

by John Gardner

  ‘Fu-Chu Lee, commonly known as Brokenclaw Lee, a local gangster of supposed American Indian and Chinese descent, is known to have arranged the abductions, and appears to have added to his many nefarious operations that of espionage for CELD, the Intelligence Service of the People’s Republic of China. With the help of United States’ agencies and a penetration agent ferreting close to Mr Lee, we were alerted to the fact that two couriers were about to enter the United States with a view to contacting Mr Lee, evaluating the product he has on offer and taking it back to the People’s Republic. My brief was to interrogate the two persons identified by our own Service’s China watchers. We have had them here for a matter of forty-eight hours, and it is my understanding that you, Captain Bond, together with you, Miss Chi-Ho, are to take their places.

  ‘It has not been an easy interrogation, and Doctor Orr here will bear me out in this. I tried straightforward methods and found that the two subjects were well prepared. The Chinese have evolved very clever anti-interrogation techniques as you all know. The truth is buried deep in the unconscious of both these people, but I believe we have finally managed to drag it out – with the use of the latest derivatives of the sodium pentathol family. Even then it was like peeling the skin from an onion. Like surgeons we went through five major cover stories before we hit the real thing. Agreed, Bill?’

  The Witchdoctor nodded, frowning slightly.

  ‘Captain Bond and Miss Chi-Ho, I would like you to take a good look at the subjects before you embark on the operation. They will sleep now for at least twenty-four hours. I need not remind anyone that we are flagrantly breaking United States’ law here by holding them and refusing them access to their respective consulates or ambassadors.’ He looked up, sweeping his eyes around the assembled company. ‘I just felt everyone should be aware of what we’re doing in case we have to account for our actions at a later date.’

  Franks glanced at his notes again. ‘The two subjects are, first a Caucasian male about your age, Captain Bond, carrying what appears from the information we have managed to get from the UK, his own British passport. He is known to us and has worked in the Far East for various countries. His allegiance now seems to be to the People’s Republic of China. His name is Peter Argentbright, which proves that all that glisters is not silver, and he was born the son of a perfectly respectable doctor and his wife, now deceased, and brought up in his place of birth, Lymington, in the county of Hampshire, England.

  ‘The woman is, like yourself, Miss Chi-Ho, in her late twenties. Her name is given as Jenny Mo and she is travelling under United States papers, which, though good, we believe to be forgeries. Their immediate superior is a General Hung Chow H’ang. We know of him, do we not, sir?’ glancing towards M.

  ‘Indeed we do.’ M dropped his voice. ‘Hung Chow H’ang is general officer in charge of illegals and works out of the former French Embassy, on Tai ji chang Street, east of Tien-an-Men Square. It’s in the old Legation Quarter. There is, and I am speaking from memory, an ornate high red gate with a pair of stone lions. The buildings are pleasant enough and until quite recently it was believed they were used to house special guests of the Party. In 1986 we discovered, through one of our few Chinese defectors, that the former French Embassy is, in fact, one of the main training and organisational houses of CELD. Hung Chow H’ang is an old Party man, skilful, cunning and very good at his job. Lost an eye in the battles around Peking in ’48, or ’49.’

  ‘Yes, he is.’ Franks stopped, looked down and then up again, straight at Bond and Chi-Chi. ‘I understand that you are both aware that the man Lee set the conditions for meeting the couriers.’

  ‘A kind of treasure hunt, yes,’ Bond answered for them both.

  ‘Indeed, a kind of treasure hunt to establish the couriers’ bona fides. There is a telephone number here in San Francisco that you have to call on arrival in New York, and a set form of identification . . .’

  ‘Followed by a merry dance, I should imagine.’ As he spoke, Bond realised he was being too flippant.

  ‘A very merry dance, Captain Bond.’ Franks was tightlipped, his eyes narrow and his look one of bleakness. ‘I have no doubt that the quest for Brokenclaw Lee will be an arduous one and you will both be tested to the full. We can supply you with all you need to begin the jig. The end, however, might prove more than you bargained for. You see General Hung Chow H’ang’s orders are specific. When the Lords and Lords Day information is in your hands, you are required to hand over five million dollars to Brokenclaw. Now, we can arrange that. It’s no problem, but our China Desk has had a hint that something else may be going down with Brokenclaw and it’s possible only one of you will be allowed to leave. This in turn means that one of you is going to be in greater danger, because there are also hints that a third person is making the trip from China. Any scruples about that, Captain Bond, Miss Chi-Ho?’

  Neither of them could afford scruples. They were both already committed, so Franks dismissed Chi-Chi and spent a further hour talking to Bond. ‘There are things only one of you should know at this stage,’ he began, and as he talked, Bond became more concerned about the outcome of the operation which appeared to be loaded with traps and unspeakable dangers.

  8

  ABELARD AND HÉLOÏSE

  It took almost exactly twenty-four hours from the moment Franks stopped speaking for the process to be completed. Bond, Rushia and Chi-Chi were first shown into the operating room, where the two sleeping couriers were laid out on tables, both covered only with hospital gowns. While neither Bond nor Chi-Chi bore any facial resemblance to Peter Argentbright and Jenny Mo, there were some physical similarities. Argentbright and Bond were roughly the same height and build, while Jenny Mo, though a little taller than Chi-Chi, had the same delicate bone structure and their hair was almost identical.

  They were taken back into one of the other hospital rooms and the two principals were handed over to the Scrivener, Brian Cogger, who began by taking their photographs, noting down identifying marks, hair and eye colour, complexion and all the other bits and pieces required for official documentation.

  Leaving the Scrivener to get on with his work, they rejoined Ed Rushia and settled down to a lengthy briefing with Bill Tanner, the Grand Inquisitor, Franks, Bill Orr and M, plus two of their American counterparts. This took the bulk of their time, starting with a digest of all known facts concerning Peter Argentbright and Jenny Mo. The minutiae on Argentbright was comprehensive, for, as M put it, ‘He’s been on our books for some time now.’ The details regarding Jenny Mo were more sketchy. ‘When I talked to you first, we were under the impression that her papers consisted of good forgeries. I was wrong; the details have been run through the magic machines, and the passport, social security and other stuff appears to be genuine,’ Franks told them. ‘However, I’d best let Mr Grant, here – our adviser from Langley – make some comments.’

  Grant was a soft-spoken young man with a thin moustache which gave him a wimpish look, but was not really meant to fool anybody. He was as sharp as a sliver of glass and wasted no time on any preamble.

  ‘There is the possibility, of course, that the young woman we have in the other room, might not be the real Jenny Mo. But if she is, she was born a US citizen and seems to have lived and worked in New York until a couple of years ago, then she turned up in the San Francisco area. There is evidence that she is a whizz with figures and dealt with various club and restaurant accounts which, in some cases, have traces of Brokenclaw Lee’s ownership. I have people checking on all of this, because if she is genuine it is quite possible that you’ll come up against people who knew her here, and none of us consider this an amusing prospect. Make no mistake about it, Lee is totally ruthless. If she is the real Jenny Mo, you’ll be blown in about ten seconds flat.’

  ‘Yes, that could make things a trifle risky,’ Bond understated. ‘Might I ask if we’re to carry any protection?’

  ‘Depends on what instructions you get.’ M was in his most uncompromising play-
it-by-the-book mode. He turned to Grant, “How long will your teams take to whittle down the possibilities?’

  ‘On whether Jenny Mo is Jenny Mo? Difficult to say. Twenty-four hours probably.’

  ‘Then it could be too late.’ M looked towards his Chief of Staff. ‘You’re running this operation, Tanner. What’s our deadline on Captain Bond and Ms Chi-Ho?’

  ‘I want them apparently coming off JAL 06 at Kennedy tomorrow night, sir, which means eleven thirty Eastern time, eight thirty to us. It’s not safe to leave it any later than that.’

  ‘Do we maintain contact with Commander Rushia?’

  ‘We’re working on some kind of link, sir, but it could be tenuous. Q Branch’ve provided homers for James and Ms Chi-Ho, with a receiving unit for Commander Rushia. We have to work out details of direct contact between Rushia and us.’ He paused, his brow furrowed. ‘I’d really like some kind of doomsday link between James and/or Chi-Chi and Rushia as well.’

  ‘See that girl – what’s-her-name? The one the Armourer sent over.’

  Bill Tanner suppressed a smile, knowing that M always put on his crusty act where Ann Reilly was concerned. In fact they all knew that he had a very tender spot for the girl. ‘I’ll see to it now, sir.’ He excused himself and hurried away to wheel and deal with Q’ute.

  M nodded towards Franks, indicating he should continue with the briefing.

  ‘I want to keep this simple.’ Franks glanced at Bill Orr, who nodded. ‘As I’ve already told you, we think that we’ve got the full strength out of these two jokers, but nothing on this earth is certain.’

  ‘We took both of them very deep indeed,’ Orr added. ‘I believe we have the truth. Mr Franks is not so sure.’

  ‘I’d say around ninety-eight/ninety-nine per cent,’ Franks commented. ‘The set-up appears to be that Argentbright is to call a San Francisco number on arrival at JFK and use a simple ID sequence. We can give you all that stuff; there appear to be several identification exchanges and I just hope we’ve got them right, and in the correct order of use. The deal is that when Lee’s people are satisfied it’s really Argentbright and confirmed that Jenny Mo’s with him, they’ll give you instructions, and they could be anything from hopping a flight back here to . . .’

  Bond coughed. ‘I’m not clear how we’re supposed to get on to a flight that goes direct from Tokyo to JFK. Particularly as it seems we’re required there tomorrow night . . .’

  ‘If you’ll just allow me to continue.’ Franks was never happy about being interrupted while he held the floor, and Bond noticed that his mood changes were accompanied by the odd movement of rubbing his chin against his shoulder. It was just one fast, odd tic, but Bond recalled that he had read something about that particular twitch and it was not good. The thought flickered through his mind, but Franks had continued to speak. ‘If you’ll let me finish, I will explain, and what I don’t tell you, the Chief of Staff will, once he returns.’

  The briefing broke up at two in the morning, when Bond was taken to a cabin and told to get some sleep. His head reeled from the input received from Franks and Orr, which moved from details of the real Peter Argentbright’s life to the various options he would have once the operation, now dubbed Curve, began to run.

  Chi-Chi had been taken away to another part of the carrier, and Bond reflected that he would need some time with the girl before the starting gun which was scheduled for two o’clock that afternoon, some twelve hours from now. Facts paced around his mind, but almost as soon as his head hit the pillow he was asleep.

  He dreamed that he was at sea, in a violent thunderstorm which eventually brought him to consciousness again and to the sounds that were thunder in his dream. The carrier appeared to be making way, and the noise that had penetrated his unconscious was that of jet aircraft coming aboard. It was dawn, and a glance at his Rolex showed it was a little after five in the morning.

  A few moments later there was a knock at the door and one of the Lion Tamers, who had served the cold dinner in M’s cabin the night before, came in with a breezy smile and a breakfast tray.

  ‘M’s compliments, sir. He’d be obliged if you would report to his cabin at six o’clock sharp. I’ll be around to escort you. Lovely day out there.’

  ‘Are we at sea?’ Bond asked, sitting up.

  ‘Not what you’d call sea, sir. We’ve just moved out of the bay a little. They’re taking aircraft on board.’

  ‘I thought the ship only had a skeleton crew?’

  ‘Fleshed it out a mite while you were sleeping, sir. See you soon.’

  Breakfasted, showered, shaved and dressed, Bond was taken up to M’s cabin – the one they had used the night before – arriving at exactly two minutes past six. Chi-Chi, Bill Tanner, the Scrivener and M were already gathered.

  ‘So glad you could join us.’ M looked sarcastically at his watch, being a martinet concerning time.

  ‘Delayed by the crowds, sir,’ Bond threw back. ‘Like Piccadilly Circus this morning. I thought we had the run of the ship.’

  ‘Only this area,’ M said sharply. ‘We have taken aboard the minimum personnel to carry out phase one of Curve. In other words, enough officers and enlisted men to take us fifty miles out to sea, plus three F-14s and one helicopter to ensure your trip to New York. You leave at two this afternoon. On the dot, Bond, otherwise the whole business’ll be compromised.’

  First they went through the paperwork with the Scrivener who had provided passports identical to those carried by Argentbright and Mo, plus all the other bits and pieces – credit cards, which they had to sign, an International driving licence for Bond and a Californian one in Jenny Mo’s name for Chi-Chi, together with her social security and Blue Cross/Blue Shield cards. Cogger was a painstaking craftsman and there was a whole bagful of pocket litter ranging from cinema stubs and restaurant bills from Hong Kong to Amex receipts from hotels. If the real Jenny Mo was truly out of the picture, they would, Bond thought, be home and dry.

  Later, they were separated and taken through their covers during an hour’s furious questioning. There was a very early lunch followed by a short session with Q’ute, who explained the homers they were to carry – Chi-Chi’s inserted into a belt buckle, Bond’s in the heel of his right shoe. Ed Rushia had joined them by this time, and they had what was to be the final run-through, just to make sure everyone was letter perfect.

  Their luggage was basically the same as that which had been carried by the original couriers; only some of the items had been changed to make certain they were the correct fit. Bond managed to spend half-an-hour with Chi-Chi, talking, getting to know exactly how she felt about the operation, and, incidentally, finding out how well-trained she was. This short one-on-one period allowed them just enough time to establish the kind of rapport two field agents required at a basic level. Bond led her, rather as a dancing partner, through a brief series of hand and eye contact signals with some one-line codes. ‘If I use the American phrase “real soon”,’ he told her, ‘it means that we have a problem and I’m looking for a way out.’ There were three or four more of these quick verbal tips, but the conversation proved, to Bond, that under the slim-waisted fragility and the pretty face, there lay a well-trained, very tough young woman.

  ‘If it were a them-or-you situation, would you hesitate before actually taking someone out?’ he asked casually.

  ‘You’re joking.’ She gave him a raised left eyebrow that seemed to have a will of its own. ‘I would rather ask the questions afterwards.’

  ‘Okay. If you were armed and told someone to freeze, could you kill if they made even an innocent gesture?’

  ‘You bet your life on it, James. If I tell someone to freeze and have the drop on him, I kill if he even scratches his backside instead of doing what I tell him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Like you, I have been trained in anti-terrorist tactics. People have been killed for not acting when some jughead touches the button on his jacket.’

  ‘You’re right. He wh
o hesitates is lost.’

  She gave a sensual throaty chuckle. ‘You know the real quotation? It is “The man who hesitates is lost; so is the woman who doesn’t.” ’

  Bond smiled. ‘I think we’re going to make an unbeatable team.’

  ‘Like peas in a pod.’ She paused. ‘The only thing that worries me is this trip to New York.’

  ‘You don’t like flying?’

  ‘I don’t know if I’m going to like it in a jet fighter.’

  ‘Only difference between that and airlines is you don’t get a movie.’ He reached out and gently squeezed her shoulder. ‘And that, Chi-Chi Sue, is a blessing. You also don’t get those little packets of nuts.’

  ‘Thank heaven for that. I thought it was the full coach class business. I feel much better now.’

  Just after one fifteen in the afternoon, they were both taken to an empty crew room and given blue coveralls with yellow patches on the back, identifying them as baggage handlers. Grant had joined them, and Ed Rushia was already kitted out in a G-suit, having no need for the coveralls. They had a quick final word with the American, who was to leave a little in advance of Bond and Chi-Chi. As he walked from the crew room, Rushia turned and gave them a broad smile. ‘Break a leg, you two,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that the correct way to address actors about to go on stage?’

  ‘I believe so.’ Bond frowned. ‘But we’re not actors, Ed.’

  ‘You wanna bet on that, James?’ He raised a hand and made a sweeping, theatrical departure.

  A technician came in and helped them into their G-suits, then left them alone.

  ‘I feel like an astronaut in this stuff.’ Chi-Chi had gone undeniably pale.

  ‘You look like a pretty desirable astronaut then. You can park your shuttle next to mine any time.’