John Gardner - Brokenclaw

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 who 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.’