Brokenclaw

by John Gardner

  Leaning back in his seat, Bond had to fight down the desire to pull the ASP and force Ding and the pilot to take them out towards Treasure Island and the moored carrier, but that would have served no purpose. They were over the water now and could clearly see Fisherman’s Wharf, crowded with tourists and eating places. He even caught a glimpse of Ghirardelli Square, one of the main points of reference that he was now about to use.

  They descended over the sea, coming down on to another white H, and Bond saw that there was a little Bell helicopter waiting to take on joy-riding passengers. Then, with a start of surprise, he saw, pulled up near their landing place, the long stretch limo in which they had travelled from Salinas. Frozen Stalk Pu leaned against the hood, smoking as he watched them land.

  Once the helicopter had settled on its pad, the pilot indicated he would stay with the machine until they were ready to leave. ‘How long this all going to take?’ the pilot asked Ding in a slow effort at pidgin English.

  ‘How long?’ Ding flexed his hard muscles. ‘You ask how long Mr Abelard, Ai?’

  ‘It depends. Shouldn’t be more than fifteen to thirty minutes.’ Bond made it as casual as possible. Then Ding nudged him.

  ‘In car,’ the large hoodlum ordered.

  ‘You do know the instructions?’ Bond asked quietly.

  ‘ ’Course I know. We no come into bank. Just wait. That what the Brokenclaw one tell me.’

  They had arrived at the limo and Frozen Stalk was holding the passenger door open in an exaggerated manner. ‘I take wherever you wan’ go, sir.’ He gave a toothy grin as he spoke.

  Bond reasoned that these two were on their real home turf now and were out to show him who could give the orders. He took one pace back from the car.

  ‘Okay, I want to be certain neither of you even try to get into the bank with me. If you do try, then I fear your master is going to be extremely angry. There might even be broken heads. It’s essential you don’t show yourselves, so I think I’ll walk and you can follow me in the car.’

  Ding and Pu looked at each other, and then at Bond.

  ‘Suggest you get in car.’ Ding pushed hard against Bond who had to turn his body slightly to avoid the Chinese coming in contact with his back and therefore feeling the hard lump of the pistol.

  ‘I warn you, if you make any mistake, it will not go well for you. Particularly if I do not return with the money.’

  Ding nodded his understanding. ‘We watch, that is all. Now, where you wish go?’

  ‘You drop me off at Beach and Hyde, near the Cannery. And, even if the cops try to move you on, you stay parked on Beach. Got it?’

  ‘Not going to financial district?’ Pu chimed in.

  ‘No, there’s a small bank very close to Beach on Hyde. If you stay at the corner on Beach, you’ll see me go in and you’ll be ready when I come out.’ Bond wondered if his instructions would allow him to come out at all. ‘This is a small private bank. Understand?’

  Ding shrugged then spoke rapidly to Pu. Bond climbed into the car and they drove slowly up to Beach Street, pulling in exactly where he directed them.

  ‘How long?’ Ding asked.

  ‘Fifteen minutes at the most,’ Bond lied.

  ‘If you not out fifteen minutes, then we come.’

  ‘You come, and you’re dead,’ Bond spat, climbing from the car, slamming the door on a fuming Ding and marching off up Hyde Street, crossing the road and heading for the small branch of the Sino-Republican Bank which had only set up for business during the past forty-eight hours and where three of Grant’s men waited for him.

  The office was obviously closed for a complete interior overhaul and refurbishing. He pressed the security buzzer.

  A tinny voice said, ‘Who goes?’

  ‘Custodian.’

  The lock buzzer sounded and Bond pushed the door open.

  The front area was quite bare, but one of the CIA men stood in a doorway at the back leading to a very ordinary-looking utilitarian office.

  ‘The phone’s over there.’ The welcoming party remained very low-key, the one man staying by the door while the other two sat watching silently as Bond came in and went straight to the phone.

  Before picking up the instrument he told them the bank draft was to be made out to Black & Black, Inc. One of them nodded and began to work while the other started tapping at the keys of a computer. ‘And much good will it do the noble house of Black & Black,’ the computer operator muttered. ‘I’ve got it here. Hong Kong based, subsidiary of Trivex which is in turn owned by Cummings Technology and I can’t figure out who owns them.’

  As the computer man spoke, Bond tapped in the number that would get him directly to M. The distant end purred twice, then M was on the line, ‘Curve One.’

  ‘Custodian, sir.’

  ‘Yes, where?’

  ‘At the bank. Checklist’s still with our friend. You want directions?’

  ‘No. We know where you are.’

  ‘Where?’ Bond was near to that operational point where he questioned the facts and trusted nobody, not even his old chief.

  ‘The house is five miles or so off the PCH, hemmed in by rock, a massive bunker running under the ground from the house, both north and south.’

  ‘How? How do you know that?’

  ‘Rushia picked up your homers from a chopper.’

  ‘Right, sir.’

  ‘We’re getting together an assault team. One moment . . .’ M was obviously being spoken to by some other person. Bond assumed it was either Grant, Franks or Tanner. Then M said, ‘Can you give us details of numbers inside?’

  ‘I have only seen a few people close to Lee, sir. But there are forty or so technicians in the Jericho laboratory, as they call it. Jericho’s on, sir. There’s nothing vague about it. They have it all set up.’

  ‘Good luck to them.’ M seemed hardly ruffled. ‘There seems to be quite a gaggle of people in the northern wing.’ M paused once more for someone else to ask him a question. Bond thought he detected Grant’s voice. ‘We believe they’re holding the kidnapped personnel there. No idea of firepower?’

  ‘None, sir.’

  ‘We also need to know the strength of the exits – the one close to the trees and the other one at the far end, the northern end.’

  ‘The first thing is, do not, repeat not, attempt to enter the house itself. You’ve obviously pinpointed the exits from the underground sections.’

  ‘We did a low fly recce. Pictures here, infra-red, the full business. Now what about those exits?’

  ‘I’ve only been out through the southern one, sir.’ Bond told him exactly what to expect and where the tunnels went, including the Jericho laboratory. ‘If the other entrance is the same, a pair of well-organised charges should take them out; I have no idea of firepower, but the copse is a camouflaged helicopter hangar. They’re waiting to take me back as soon as I get the draft.’

  M was silent for a second, and Bond caught the sound of someone else talking. ‘There’s another thing,’ the chief was back on the line, ‘a kind of dog pen. Wired off area south of the copse?’

  ‘It’s probably the wolf pen. Our man keeps a small pack of wolves there; uses them for killing purposes. I have to go, sir.’

  ‘You’re not to go back.’ The order was as crisp as if the old admiral had given it during a battle at sea.

  ‘If I don’t go back, Lord knows what they’ll do to Checklist, sir. I have to go back.’

  ‘We’ll have a Special Forces assault set up for late afternoon, maybe sooner. You’ll obey my orders and come straight out to the carrier. There’s a car heading for the other side of Ghirardelli Square now. It’ll pick you up and bring you back here so that you can make it in with the assault team.’

  ‘With respect, it’s a terrible risk, sir. You should also know that they’re expecting General Hung Chow H’ang in person, tonight. He’s going to oversee the Jericho business. They are all set up for it – another reason I should go back.’

  T
here was a long sigh at the other end of the line. Then M replied, ‘Take the draft in case of trouble, but make it out through the back of the building you’re in now. Go through into Ghirardelli Square and meet the car on the far side. Go straight through under the Indian restaurant and out on to Polk Street. Ten minutes. Move, Custodian!’

  ‘Sir,’ Bond acknowledged unhappily, ‘there is another thing you should know,’ he added quickly. ‘They’re holding the girl, Wanda, somewhere in Sausalito, and they’ve killed her father, Tony. They threw him to the wolves.’

  ‘Got it. Now move! Out! Now!’

  ‘Sir.’ As he cradled the telephone, Bond knew he would be leaving Chi-Chi to almost certain death.

  ‘I have to take the draft, but it’s a just-in-case deal.’ The agent who had been working on the bank draft handed him an envelope, and Bond had the good sense to remove the little package of notes exchanged between Chi-Chi and himself during their Black Magic analysis. ‘Shred those,’ he ordered, ‘and tell me how I get out of the back of this place and into Ghirardelli Square.’

  The agent at the door did not move and the one working the computer was still tapping away, muttering that it would take an army of accountants to unravel Black & Black. The agent who had given him the bank draft inclined his head to a small door on the other side of the room. ‘Through there, along the passage and out the back door. That’ll take you to Larkin Street. Cross the road and go into Ghirardelli through the entrance between the Clock Tower and Sharper Image.’

  Bond moved.

  Ghirardelli Square is a colourful little shopping mall named after Domingo Ghirardelli, an enterprising Italian merchant who came to San Francisco and prospered in 1849. It is not unlike a smaller version of London’s Covent Garden shopping area. Basically the mall is made of renovated old buildings, the largest standing on the site of what had been a woollen mill during the Civil War. Most of the buildings are of red brick and were built in the early 1900s to house Ghirardelli Chocolate Manufactory, some of the original vats and ovens still being in operation. There are pleasant walks, a striking ornamental fountain and several speciality shops, like Bears ’R Us, and a Mickey Mouse store as well as a branch of the famous Sharper Image chain which sells expensive executive toys and other items that people can easily live without. In plain language, a lucrative business.

  He crossed Larkin, dodging the traffic, and entered the square, walking quickly round Fountain Plaza with its pond spraying jets of water into the air and the mermaid statue. In seconds he was heading rapidly towards West Plaza which would take him nearer the furthest end and Polk Street.

  ‘Ai! Abelar! You stop, Abelar!’ It was Ding’s voice, shouting from behind. Bond glanced back and saw the big Chinese moving through Fountain Plaza. People were scattering, and as he reached for the ASP, two bullets ricocheted from the brickwork to his right.

  Dodging behind the nearest wall, round the side of the Woollen Mill building, Bond took a deep breath. He held the automatic in the two-handed grip, muzzle upwards, hands tucked into his right shoulder. Another breath and he swung out into the open again.

  Ding was moving fast towards him, his gun raised, and as he saw Bond take up a firing stance, he slid to a halt, lifting his hands to fire.

  Bond had him cold, but at that moment his only desire was to cripple and stop Ding. He fired twice, low, and saw the large Chinese jump sideways as concrete splintered between his feet.

  At least, Bond thought, it would hold him for a few seconds. Turning, he weaved through the walkways, heading for the exit into Polk Street, praying M’s car had arrived by this time. As he reached the street, he saw that the traffic had stalled. He glanced to left and right, deciding to make a run for it away from the Beach Street front, but as he began to move, the words, ‘Stop! FBI! Drop the weapon!’ came from nearby.

  Though he was a set-up for the FBI, he knew this was at least his one way out. A call from the FBI to the carrier would put him in the clear.

  There was a clatter as he dropped the 9mm, turned, and placed his hands on his head.

  ‘Well, well. Captain Bond. We thought your own people had taken care of you. But it’ll be a pleasure to fix you once and for all.’

  The taller of the two men had spoken, but both were slowly coming towards him, and he recognised the agents who had called on him at the Fairmont after he had seen Agent Malloney bludgeoned to death. Even their names came back readily to him. Wood and Nolan.

  It was Wood who was speaking while Nolan dispersed the small knot of people who had gathered with the usual morbidity of people who watch arrests being made, happy in the thought that ‘There, but for the grace of God, go I.’

  ‘I’ll come with you gladly, gentlemen. I need to make a phone call. I am allowed one, aren’t I?’ Then he saw that Wood was looking past him, talking to someone near the building. ‘You want this guy, Ding?’

  ‘Want him bad, Mr Wood. The broken clawed one requires him,’ Ding hissed.

  ‘Dead or alive?’ Wood asked.

  ‘Oh, we take him back alive, I think. Much vengeance to be reaped.’

  Nolan had joined the party. ‘Where you want him, Ding?’

  ‘Our car. On corner. I take him, okay?’

  ‘By all means.’ Wood gave Bond a little push.

  ‘Just tell Mr Lee to keep those little envelopes coming, Ding. We’ll need extra for this.’ Then, to Bond, ‘Act natural, Captain. I guess where you’re going there won’t be much chance to act natural for a long time.’

  Ding grinned and stooped to pick up the fallen ASP which he jabbed into the right side of his belt.

  ‘If ever.’ Wood gave him another push, straight into the arms of Bone Bender Ding, who embraced him like a bear, put an armlock on him and prodded his back with his own handgun. ‘You move now. Our way this time. The wolves will not go hungry tonight, I think. Ai?’

  15

  TO DIE LIKE A GENTLEMAN

  ‘Golly, and you let him go back there, sir?’ Ed Rushia stood in M’s cabin, while both Tanner and Franks spoke on telephones. John Grant had shouldered past Rushia as the tall Naval Intelligence man was coming in. He appeared to be in a great hurry. Now Rushia stared at M with horror.

  ‘No, Commander Rushia, I did not let him go back. I expressly ordered him to come in. We even had a car less than a hundred yards away when he was taken. There were shots fired, it seems, and two FBI men recognised Bond – they want him as much as they want you, Rushia. That’s the way we set it up – to give you both extra protection if the FBI decided to tail you.’

  ‘Well, if the FBI guys . . .’

  ‘The FBI gu . . . men, lost him. So he’s back to square one.’

  Rushia rubbed a hand over his chin. ‘Guess he hasn’t got much of a chance. Jiminy, I feel terrible about this.’

  ‘Commander Rushia,’ M barked, ‘stop playing the dolt with me. I know you’re not a country bumpkin. It might work with interrogations, but it cuts no ice here.’

  ‘No. Guess it doesn’t, sir. But the ice man cometh, as the playwright sayeth.’

  M raised his eyes to heaven, as though in a silent prayer for strength. ‘There’s a team of US Marines at Alameda. Mr Grant’s gone to try and procure their use for an assault . . .’

  ‘Request I go in with them, sir.’ Rushia had lost his homespun manner.

  M frowned. ‘If there’s any special duties you can perform, then I suppose . . .’

  Grant crashed through the cabin door without even knocking. ‘We’ve got a problem, sir. The Marines over at Alameda; they’re all rookies on a training exercise.’

  M, not a man to use profane language under normal circumstances, spat out a single four-letter word.

  ‘It means a delay,’ Grant looked flushed, ‘but I do have good news as well. We’re authorised to use a First Special Forces Operational Detachment.’

  ‘Delta?’ M asked.

  ‘I don’t know; there are four of those elements. Delta was the first. It doesn’t matter which on
e they send, because they’re as good as your own Special Air Service boys, Admiral. Problem is they have to get up here from Fort Bragg. That’s North Carolina – say four hours if they get a move on. They’re good and we can brief them very quickly.’

  M sighed. ‘Better than nothing. I wouldn’t want to send in any old force. That place needs specialists. Even Bond doesn’t seem to know what their strength is.’

  Ed Rushia, the tallest man in the room, cleared his throat. ‘Would someone put me in the picture, the entire picture. James has become a friend and colleague. Mightn’t there be some way I can help until the Special Forces people get here?’

  Everyone looked at him, in silence. Then Grant spoke, ‘I’m second guessing this Brokenclaw bastard. But maybe there is one thing you might do. It’s not one hundred per cent certain, but it’s worth doing. As a long shot, it just might save Captain Bond.’ He then outlined what he had in mind.

  The risks, Ed Rushia thought, were higher than a kite on the Fourth of July.

  Bone Bender Ding frog-marched Bond down to Beach Street. The FBI men, in Brokenclaw’s pay, had chased away any lingering tourists, and it was surprisingly easy for Ding to get Bond into the limo.

  The whole business took less than a minute, and all his instincts told him that any attempt to break free would end in disaster. There had to be a moment, a fraction of a second, during which he would be able to act.

  Frozen Stalk drove carefully and well while Ding still held his captive in the armlock, his own pistol well back in his left hand, ready to use. It was being done by the book. These people certainly knew what they were about. There was no sloppiness.

  When they reached the helipad, the rotors were already idling and there was a quick exchange between Ding and Pu, from which Bond gathered that Pu had to return in the limo while Ding took his prisoner back to Brokenclaw.