Jeffery Deaver - Carte Blanche

She said evenly, ‘I have a feeling there’s more to your work than you’ve told me. No, don’t say anything. I don’t know how you feel but if it turns out we can keep seeing each other, if…’ She trailed off.

‘Go on,’ he whispered.

‘If it turns out we see each other again, do you think that maybe you could change just a bit? I mean, if you do go to some dark places, could you promise me not to go to the… worst?’ He felt the tension that rippled through her. ‘Oh, I don’t know what I’m saying. Ignore me, Gene.’

Although she was speaking to a security expert-cum-mercenary soldier from Durban, in a way she was also talking to him, James Bond, a 00 Section agent.

And, ironically, he took her acknowledgement that she could live with a certain degree of darkness in Theron as indication that she might accept Bond as he was.

He whispered, ‘I think that’s very possible.’

She kissed his hand. ‘Don’t say any more. That’s all I wanted to hear. Now, I have an idea. I don’t know what your plans are for this weekend…’

Neither do I, Bond thought sourly.

‘… but we’ll have finished the food shipments tomorrow night. There’s an inn I know in Franschhoek – have you been to that area?’

‘No.’

‘It’s the most beautiful spot on the Western Cape. A wine district. The restaurant has a Michelin star and the most romantic deck in the world, overlooking the hills. Come with me on Saturday?’

‘I’d love to,’ he said and kissed her hair.

‘You really mean that?’ The tough warrior who seemed so at ease fighting the world’s agropolies now sounded vulnerable and unsure.

‘Yes, I do.’

In five minutes she was asleep.

Bond, however, remained awake, staring out at the lights of the harbour. His thoughts were no longer on his father’s possible betrayal, nor on his promise to Felicity Willing to consider changing his darkest nature nor on the anticipation of the time they might spend together this weekend. No, James Bond was focusing on one thing only: the indistinct faces of those, somewhere in the world, whose lives – despite Whitehall’s belief – he knew that he alone could save.

At eight forty a.m. Bond steered his dusty, mud-spattered Subaru into the Cape Town SAPS headquarters car park. He killed the engine, climbed out and entered the building, where he found Bheka Jordaan, Gregory Lamb and Kwalene Nkosi in her office.

Bond greeted them with a nod. Lamb responded with a look that bespoke intrigue, Nkosi with an energetic smile.

Jordaan said, ‘Regarding Hydt’s newly arrived associates, we’ve identified them.’ She spun her laptop and clicked on a slide-show. The first photos depicted a large man with a round ebony face. He wore a brash gold and silver shirt, designer sunglasses and voluminous brown slacks.

‘Charles Mathebula. He’s a black diamond from Joburg.’

Lamb explained: ‘From the new wealthy class in South Africa. Some of them become rich overnight in ways that aren’t quite transparent, if you get my drift.’

‘And some,’ Jordaan added frostily, ‘became wealthy by hard work. Mathebula owns businesses that seem to be legitimate – shipping and transport. He was on the borderline with some arms deliveries a few years ago, true, but there was no evidence of wrongdoing.’ A tap of a key and another picture appeared. ‘Now, this is David Huang.’ He was slim and smiled at the camera. ‘His daughter posted the snapshot on her Facebook page. Stupid girl… though good for us.’

‘A known mobster?’

Nkosi qualified, ‘A suspected mobster. Singapore. Mostly money-laundering. Possibly human trafficking.’

Another face appeared. Jordaan tapped her computer screen. ‘The German – Hans Eberhard. He came in on Wednesday. Mining interests, diamonds primarily. Industrial grade but some jewellery.’ A good-looking blond man was pictured leaving the airport. He was wearing a well-cut light suit, a shirt without a tie. ‘He’s been suspected of various crimes but he’s technically clean.’

Bond studied the photos of the men.

Eberhard.

Huang.

Mathebula.

He memorised the names.

Frowning, Jordaan said, ‘I don’t understand why Hydt needs partners, though. He’s got money enough to fund Gehenna himself, I should think.’

Bond had already considered this. ‘Two reasons, most likely. Gehenna must be expensive. He’d want outside money so that if he’s ever audited he doesn’t have to explain huge liabilities on the books. But, more important, he doesn’t have a criminal background or network. Whatever Gehenna’s about, he’ll need the contacts that people like these three can offer.’

‘Yes,’ Jordaan allowed. ‘That makes sense.’

Bond looked at Lamb. ‘Sanu Hirani in Q Branch texted me this morning. He said you had something for me.’

‘Ah, yes – sorry.’ The Six agent handed him an envelope.

Bond peered inside and then pocketed it. ‘I’m going out to the plant now. Once I’m inside I’ll try to find out what Incident Twenty is, who’s at risk and where. I’ll get word out as soon as I can. But we need a fall-back plan.’ If they hadn’t heard from him by four p.m., Jordaan should order tactical officers to raid the plant, detain Hydt, Dunne and the partners and seize the contents of the Research and Development department. ‘This will give us – or you, if I’m no longer in the game – five or six hours to interrogate them and find out what Incident Twenty’s all about.’

‘A raid?’ Jordaan was frowning. ‘I can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’ve told you. Unless I have reasonable belief that a crime is occurring at Green Way, or a magistrate’s order, there’s nothing I can do.’

Damn the woman. ‘This isn’t about preserving his rights for a fair trial. This is about saving thousands of people – possibly many South Africans.’

‘I can do nothing without a warrant and there’s no evidence to present to the court to get one. No justification to act.’

‘If I don’t turn up by four, you can assume he’s killed me.’

‘Obviously I hope that doesn’t happen, Commander, but your absence doesn’t equal cause.’

‘I’ve told you he’s willing to dig up the graves of massacre victims and turn them into building materials. What more do you want?’

‘Evidence of a crime somewhere in the plant.’ Her jaw was set and her eyes black granite. It was clear she wouldn’t yield.

Bond said sharply, ‘Then let’s hope to God I can find the answer. For the sake of several thousand innocent people.’ He nodded to Nkosi and Lamb and, ignoring Jordaan, left the office. He strode downstairs to his car, dropped into the driver’s seat and fired up the engine.

‘James, wait!’ Turning, he saw Bheka Jordaan walking towards him. ‘Please, wait.’

Bond thought about speeding away but instead he rolled the window down.

‘Yesterday,’ she said, bending down, close to him, ‘the Serbian?’

‘Yes?’

‘I spoke to him. He told me what you’d said – that you were going to get him to a doctor.’

Bond nodded.

After a breath, the policewoman added, ‘I was making assumptions. I… sometimes I do that. I judge first. I try not to but it’s hard for me to stop. I wanted to apologise.’

‘Accepted,’ he said.

‘About a raid at Green Way, though? You must understand. Under apartheid the old police, the SAP and their Criminal Investigation Department, did terrible things. Now everyone watches us , the new police, to make sure we don’t do the same. An illegal raid, arbitrary arrests and interrogations… that’s what the old regime did. We cannot do the same. We must be better than the people who came before us.’ Her face taut with determination, she said, ‘I’ll fight side by side with you if the law permits, but without cause, without a warrant, there’s nothing I can do. I’m sorry.’