by John Gardner
‘The house has appeared during TV interviews; it’s even been raided by the police – that was before Mr Halman moved in. It is secluded, though within easy reach of San Francisco. Why, we even moved out the unrepentant Wanda to Sausalito in the early hours of this morning.’
‘But we came in through a great iron-bound door into that magnificent hall,’ Bond protested. Already he had some inkling of what Brokenclaw was telling them, but he would play the naive, amazed member of the audience if only to humour the magician.
‘And if you went to find that door, you would merely see part of Mr Halman’s end wall, with no windows, just the gable end. Of course, the door is there, and I can make it appear at the press of a button, but it is covered by steel and brick. A great slab of steel with a brick façade. A press of the button and the slab moves outwards and upwards. Rarely do we open that entrance during the daytime. We have other exits at the end of each of the long corridors underground.’
‘But the hallway, and . . .’ Bond continued to play being baffled.
‘The hallway exists, but the stairs lead to nowhere. The hallway and my study both exist, but they are as Chinese boxes within the strongly built house where Mr Halman resides. In other words, they are surrounded by quite a large portion of the building you saw last night. The main house is a great deal larger than our false hallway and my study. In fact, by the use of great construction skills, it is almost impossible to detect that our hallway and my study are within the house at all. They are bounded by corridors of their own, even moderately sized servants quarters, and, with some cleverly placed false windows, it would take even a very experienced architect a great deal of time to discover there is “missing space”, as we call it, within the main house.
‘The rest of my building is underground. The views from the windows are achieved with great technical skill. Within the box, that is part of the house, there is a cyclorama, and our somewhat large and expensive home underground is also surrounded by a similar cyclorama. You know what a cyclorama is, Peter?’
‘Yes. A device usually found in theatres.’
‘A curved screen. A large structure. In this case a very large, long curved screen made of cement and covered with the same material used for making wide screens in movie houses.’
‘So those incredible views are somehow projected on . . . ?’ Bond began.
‘In simple, laymen’s terms, yes.’ Now Brokenclaw was smiling like an indulgent parent. ‘But there’s a great deal more to it than that. The detail and movement are recorded by what is a further step in laser technology. You know of the laserdisk principle, I presume?’
They both nodded, Bond thinking that this set-up alone must have cost millions.
‘Well, what you see when you look from the windows and the system is running is really a super, three-dimensionalised laserdisk throwing the images, in great clarity, and in three dimensions on to the cyclorama. If you bothered to stand there for a long time, possibly with a stopwatch, you would see almost the same cycle repeated – car movements, cattle and horses grazing – about once every two hours. However, there are further enhancements. The projections at dusk and dawn can be changed to conform to fifty-nine different patterns, while we can pick random sequences which will alter the weather over a twenty-four hour period. The whole is, naturally, computer controlled.’
‘Naturally,’ Bond murmured.
‘It is all very effective, and I do have some specialised tricks – like the one you saw of seventeenth-century London, Peter.’
‘Oh, I’d like to see that.’ Chi-Chi was as fascinated as Bond by the idea of a house underground, below two areas that were virtually Chinese boxes within the main structure. Brokenclaw could, of course, come and go as he pleased if this place was his central headquarters.
‘Well, I’ll show it to you, Jenny.’ Brokenclaw rose, obviously enjoying the display. But, as he stood, there was a brisk knocking at the door.
‘Come,’ he called, as pleasantly as ever.
Bone Bender Ding stood in the doorway. ‘We have the spy bitch’s father here, sir.’ His face was wreathed in the most unpleasant gold-toothed grin that Bond had seen for a long time.
Brokenclaw turned to Bond and Chi-Chi, ‘Please excuse me, this will not take long. Just eat your breakfast and I’ll show you how we discourage people from turning against us. Bring him in,’ he ordered, his voice giving no sign of anger.
Tony Man Song Hing, for they knew immediately who this man must be, was almost hurled into the room, falling in front of Brokenclaw sprawling on his knees. He was out of breath and there was a fresh, bloody bruise on the right side of his cheek. He was a small man and next to Brokenclaw he seemed even smaller.
‘Tony, I am very disappointed with you.’ It could not have been a more pleasant tone.
‘What . . . ? I don’t understand . . . Why . . . ? What have I done . . . ?’ the words tumbled from the little man, his voice rising in panic.
‘What have you done? You’re trying to tell me you don’t know?’
‘Of course I don’t know. I don’t owe you money any more; we settled that ten days after . . .’
‘Ten days after you so kindly presented me with your beautiful daughter, yes. I thanked you then, Tony Man Song Hing. Now, it is time to curse you.’
‘If she has not pleased you . . .’
‘Oh, she pleased me for a time. Then we discovered that she had a small, short-wave transmitter hidden in this house. In my house, Tony. I knew she was a United States Naval officer. I did not know she was an intelligence officer and that she was spying. Your precious daughter was spying on me, Tony . . .’
‘I had no idea . . . What . . . ?’
‘Tony.’ He shook his great head and his voice took on the same soft and mellow tone he would doubtless use when making love. ‘Tony, how can I believe you?’
‘You must! You must believe me!’
‘I’m sorry, but I cannot take that risk. She is a spy. We will deal with her. You introduced her to me, so you must pay also.’ His eyes lifted to look at Ding standing in the doorway. Behind Ding, Bond could make out the figure of Frozen Stalk Pu.
Very softly, Brokenclaw Lee said, ‘Throw him to the wolves.’
Tony Man Song Hing began to blubber and scream as Ding, assisted by Pu, grabbed him, pulling him from the floor and dragging him from the room. The cries and screams echoed from outside for almost thirty seconds.
In the silence that followed, Bond felt he had to make some remark gauged to show his contempt for anyone like Man Song Hing. ‘That is a good description, sir. Throw him to the wolves. Your men are undoubtedly as ferocious as that poor dying breed of animals.’
‘My men?’ Lee looked at him with a blankness which was almost bone-chilling. ‘A description? That wasn’t a description, Peter Abelard. That was reality. I have a pack of seven wolves. As you say, they are a dying breed, a threatened species. I meant what I said. My wolves are hungry. My men will strip Mr Man Song Hing then cover his body with various animal fats which attract my little pack. After that, they will throw him to my wolves. You’d like to watch?’
‘No, I think not. Not this time anyway.’ Bond thought Chi-Chi was going to vomit.
‘Well, now. I suppose Ms Mo – Jenny – here should get dressed, so that we can start you off, looking through the intelligence I’ve gathered for you.’
There was a slight pause, then Chi-Chi took the cue, ‘Yes, if it’s as good as you say – and I don’t doubt that it is – I’ll have my time cut out getting it made into microdots for the transference back to Beijing Hsia. They will be pleased to see it there.’
‘Yes, I set great store by the analysts at Beijing Hsia. I meant to ask, how was old One-Eye H’ang when you last saw him?’
‘In excellent spirits,’ Bond filled in, as Chi-Chi left the table and began to make her excuses.
‘Yes, it will be good to see him again.’ Brokenclaw had gone to stand near the empty fireplace. ‘I presume that it will
be you, Peter, who will be smuggling the microdots out of here; I mean, Jenny is so good with numbers and the computers that I imagine she will be the one who stays to assist with the real work, with what old One-Eye has so humorously called Operation Jericho.’
‘Yes. Yes,’ Bond said hurriedly, hoping that Chi-Chi would remain calm.
‘So, you will want to get away by late tonight I shouldn’t doubt?’
‘If we can complete the work.’
‘And if you can get the promised payment, which, of course, you will. What a pity, Peter. You’ll miss old One-Eye H’ang. He doesn’t arrive here until tomorrow night.’
James Bond felt that the earth was about to swallow him up. Chi-Chi just went chalk white, swaying slightly in the doorway.
Brokenclaw was not even looking at them. ‘Yes, it will be very good to talk again with One-Eye. It has been a long time.’
13
BLACK MAGIC
James Bond did not dare to follow Chi-Chi back to the guest suite. She was good, but the sudden knowledge of the imminence of Hung Chow H’ang’s arrival and of another operation on the boil might just throw her into speaking questions aloud. He simply hoped that he could give her some comfort as they went through the farce of examining the Lords and Lords Day intelligence. Neither Chi-Chi nor Bond were in any way qualified to judge the importance of the technology.
When M and Franks had spoken to him about the further possibility of Brokenclaw being involved in Jericho, he had suggested that Chi-Chi should be briefed, but time was pressing and the likelihood of the matter arising seemed so remote that M had actually said, ‘If, by any unhappy chance, it does come up, you’ll have to busk it, 007.’
Franks had commented that, for the Chinese, the operation was so remote and vague that he would put hard cash down on Brokenclaw having no knowledge whatsoever. ‘Mind you,’ Franks had said towards the end of the briefing, ‘if it were the Japanese, the picture would be different. There’s already been a leak from the Japs. A complete document, circulated on the Hill and under analysis at Langley, seems to suggest a covert operation against the economy of the United States.’
There it had been left, and Bond cursed himself for not having at least given her the sketchy improbabilities during their journey. What he had to do now was give his imprimatur to the material Brokenclaw had produced, and so force the question of money which appeared to be Brokenclaw’s obsession. There was little doubt in his mind that Mr Brokenclaw Lee was, like so many wealthy men, preoccupied with the acquisition of more money. A Biblical text ran, unbidden, through his head. ‘Unto every one that hath shall be given . . . but from him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath.’ He always remembered that text. It was the kind of thing he imagined tax inspectors the world over had embroidered on samplers and hung over their desks.
Brokenclaw, who had excused himself at the same time as Chi-Chi, now returned, carrying a large leather file which he held up proudly. ‘Here is the information asked for by Beijing Hsia. It’s coded Black Magic, around two hundred pages in all, but I should imagine Jenny and yourself will authenticate it quite quickly.’
‘I should imagine so. We know what to look for.’
‘Good. Now, Peter, what are the actual arrangements for you regarding the money? You said that you had the means to collect it. What does this entail?’
‘Nothing difficult, if we are as close to San Francisco as you say we are.’
‘We are between Big Sur and Monterey, well back from the PCH, in pretty barren country, though we have some trees which afford protection for transport. You have to go to San Francisco to lay your hands on the money?’
‘We have an arrangement with a bank. They will pay me, and me alone, with a banker’s draft made out to whoever you like.’
‘Where in the Bay area?’
‘I need to get near to Fisherman’s Wharf. It’s not far from there.’
Brokenclaw smiled as though supremely happy. ‘Then there is no problem. One of our vehicles is a helicopter and Ding can accompany you. We have a working arrangement with a firm called Chopper Views. They maintain two helipads near the Wharf.’
‘Then, it’s only a fifteen-minute walk, maybe half-an-hour.’ Bond shrugged, giving the impression that the whole business was of no consequence. ‘If we don’t get all this stuff dealt with today, I can go down in the morning.’
‘No! No!’ Lee shook his head, his voice, as ever, betraying no sign of agitation. ‘No. I’m certain you’ll get it all done today.’
The heartening thing, Bond reflected, was that Lee gave no indication of suspicion. He had completely accepted both Bond and Chi-Chi on trust through the passwords and codes. And why should he not? They had seemingly arrived by the correct route, called the designated numbers and established their bona fides correctly. The crunch could only come when H’ang, the unsuspected insect in the liniment, turned up and saw either one of them. He was also cheered by the thought that he had still managed to remain armed, another indication that he was completely trusted.
‘You can go through these at the table here or in my study. I forgot to mention that the soundproofing throughout is remarkably good.’
‘Then, I think it should be the study.’ Bond was already heading for the door and Lee was behind him, moving with the great agility one often sees in very big men.
As they reached the study, Chi-Chi appeared, dressed very simply in faded jeans, a white T-shirt and a short denim jacket. Every garment was well worn and anyone could believe that this was just the kind of thing she would wear at the offices inside the old French Legation in Beijing.
‘Jenny,’ Brokenclaw glowed with pleasure. ‘Peter has suggested that you work in here. It should not take long.’ He placed the leather folder on the table.
Chi-Chi glanced at Bond. ‘I think we should have some clean paper and maybe a calculator. I have been remiss. My own very specialised calculator was left in the Beijing office.’
Bond was almost elated to see that she had regained her composure.
‘What kind was it exactly?’ Brokenclaw’s soft and soothing voice had taken on the unmistakable tones of lechery.
So, Bond thought, that is only one of the reasons he wants me out of the way for an hour or so.
‘It was an HP-28S, an advanced scientific calculator. Very difficult to get hold of. I feel most annoyed with myself,’ Chi-Chi answered Lee’s question.
‘I’m sure one of the Jericho operators’ll have one, or something similar. Come, we can be quick, but you’ll see how ready we are to put Jericho into action.’ He turned back to the door that led down to the dining room and Bond saw the tiny shadow of concern cross Chi-Chi’s face.
‘Though it is most apt,’ Brokenclaw hovered by the door, ‘do you not think it amazing that old One-Eye H’ang has used what could either be a Jewish or a Christian symbol for this incredible operation?’
Chi-Chi did not pause in her stride. ‘Didn’t you know, sir? When General H’ang was very young, before he joined the Red Army and fought in the Revolution, he was raised by Christian missionaries, and it was also a pair of Christians who nursed him when he was wounded before the taking of Beijing.’
‘So? Yes. Yes, of course. The unfortunate girl in New York, Myra, was daughter to the couple who nursed him so long ago. I had forgotten. But come.’
He led the way back down the stairs and past the door to the dining room. At one point Bond gave Chi-Chi a little nod, meant to reassure her, but she returned a clear signal of anxiety and perplexity.
They were now in an even deeper level underground, though there was no hint of dampness or even of being below what was in all probability rock strata. The walls were hung with thick paper and this had been covered with white emulsion. Lights set into the ceiling kept the corridor as bright as day.
Finally, Brokenclaw stopped at a door in which there was a thick glass viewing panel. He peered through the glass and they saw him nod to someone within.
; ‘Here we are.’ He turned to Bond and Chi-Chi. ‘Our Jericho laboratory.’ He held back the door to allow them to enter.
They were in a brilliantly lit operations room watched over by four white-coated technicians – two women, one of them Chinese, one Caucasian, and two men, one black and one white.
Facing them was a bank of electronics gear at which the black man was sitting; the other members of the team sat at a leather-covered table which had computer VDUs embedded and angled below the table line. Bond also caught a glimpse of keyboards tucked away on sliding trays below the table level.
This monitoring position faced a wall of clear thick glass, and from it you could look down on a long, sterile room in which up to forty men and women sat at computer terminals, each with its modem and telephone. Around the periphery of the room ran a perpetual electronic tape printing out stocks and shares prices. It was very like the interior of a major stockbroker firm’s main office, the only difference being that these people sat calmly at their terminals. There was none of the usual chaotic shouting, bustling and confusion. Only occasionally one of the people in the monitoring room would flick a switch and say a few words into a microphone.