Zero Minus Ten rbb-1

by Raymond Benson

  “You are correct, Mr. Bond. The Hong Kong people are among the world’s strongest. Yes, I have made money illegally. You and I believe in opposing creeds. We are from different cultures. Yet we are dedicated to our respective tenets, the doctrines that are our articles of faith, you might say. I would never betray mine, as you would never betray yours. I have killed men. So have you, Mr. Bond. Are we not a little alike? Are we not both men of honour? I may not like you, Mr. Bond, but I trust you. It may be foolish to say this, but I would trust you with my life. I want you to know that, from this point forward, you can trust me with yours.”

  Bond shook the man’s hand. The grip was firm and strong. He said, “I appreciate what you’ve said. I can’t forget that you and I are enemies in principle, Li. That doesn’t mean, however, that you don’t have my … respect.” It was the strongest compliment Bond could manage.

  ZERO MINUS FOUR: 27 JUNE 1997, 12:01 A.M.

  Avoiding the immigration authorities once again, James Bond and Sunni Pei boarded Li Xu Nan’s private British Aerospace 125 Corporate 800B jet at Kai Tak Airport. As soon as it was in the air, a bomb exploded on one of the Star Ferries in Victoria Harbour. It had been placed in the machine room, and a hole was subsequently blown in the hull. The boat sank rapidly. Luckily, the ferry wasn’t crowded and most people made it on to life rafts or were able to grab lifebelts. Marine Police were magnificently efficient in responding to the incident in record time and saved the lives of everyone aboard. The only casualty was the boat itself. The Royal Hong Kong Police received three claims of responsibility within the hour, two of which were discounted as hoaxes. The third reportedly came from an anonymous caller in China. The message simply stated that the bombing was in retaliation for the murder of General Wong. However, the caller went on to say, since no lives were lost on the ferry, another attack somewhere in the colony was imminent.

  EIGHTEEN

  THE GOLDEN MILE

  27 JUNE 1997, 10:30 A.M., WESTERN AUSTRALIA

  Perth is the fastest-growing city in Australia, the capital of the largest and wealthiest state in the country. Western Australia, covering a third of the continent, is comprised of harsh, desolate expanses of the Great Sandy, Gibson, and Great Victoria deserts, caught between the Kimberley Plateau and the Nullarbor Plain—2 12 million square kilometres in total. Yet within all this space are a mere 1 12 million inhabitants, most of them in or around the relatively youthful city of Perth, located in the southwest coastal region.

  Li Xu Wan’s private jet flew into Perth International Airport at mid-morning. It was a pleasant, sunny day. James Bond, with Sunni Pei at his side, had no problem with their counterfeit visas and passports. They passed through Immigration as John Hunter and Mary Ling, then went straight to the Hertz Rent-a-car counter. Bond asked for their best four-wheel drive. Li had even provided Bond with an American Express credit card in the name of John Hunter.

  “It’s about a seven-hour drive to Kalgoorlie,” he said to Sunni. His backside was still sore, especially after the long flight, but the herbal treatment Li’s doctor had given him had worked wonders. Besides, Bond wanted the feel of driving on the open highway—it would do him more good than another plane flight.

  “Oh, James,” she said. “This is going to be fun. I haven’t taken a road trip since I lived in California!”

  “I imagine we’ll find a decent motel in Kalgoorlie, have a good dinner, and rest until early tomorrow. Then I’ll take a look at the EurAsia mining facility.”

  “I’m going with you,” she said. “I’m not letting you out of my sight anymore.”

  Bond wasn’t sure he wanted her along while he was working. Instead of replying, he leaned over and kissed her forehead. She looked fresh, rested, and very pretty. She was wearing a white blouse with the lower buttons undone and the bottom tied in a knot, exposing her pierced navel. Her blue-jean cutoffs were short, exposing the full length of her splendid legs. As they walked through the airport, Bond noticed other men turning their heads to look at her. He had known many beautiful women in his lifetime, but Sunni was surely one of the most striking.

  As for Bond, he had dressed for the warmer climate in a shortsleeved, light blue polo shirt, and navy blue trousers. Although sitting for long periods of time was still uncomfortable, Bond felt 100 per cent better. The mysterious concoction of herbs and ointments which Li’s Chinese doctor had used had been remarkably effective, although he had been extremely sceptical at first. He thought that when he returned to London he might seek out a doctor who practised Chinese herbal medicine.

  Hertz provided Bond with a 1995 Suzuki Vitara wagon. It wouldn’t have been his first choice, but it would do. It was a red hard-top, twodoor, short wheel base affair with a part-time four-wheel drive and a 5m/4a transmission. Bond didn’t plan on going “off-road,” as they called it in Australia, as there was a paved highway all the way to Kalgoorlie.

  It was lovely country for the first half of the trip, as the land around the vicinity of Perth was rich and fertile. Once they were past Northam, things began to dry out. Even in June, a winter month in Australia, it was quite warm. The scenery turned to golden brown, and Bond felt they had entered an entirely different country. This was the desert, and it wouldn’t do to be stranded on the highway. They had bought a supply of drinking water, and he personally checked out the tyres and running condition of the Vitara before starting out.

  As the land grew flat and expansive, traffic thinned out. They felt totally alone.

  “This is beautiful,” Sunni said. “I remember going to Las Vegas when I was a child. It was a lot like this.”

  Bond nodded. “I’ve been to Vegas myself a few times. I’ve never been here, though.”

  A large rabbit scampered across the road.

  “There’s something about the desert that is so mysterious,” she said. “It looks as if nothing could live here, yet it is full of life. I wonder if we’ll see any kangaroos?”

  They drove in silence for a while. Finally, Sunni asked, “All right. You haven’t said a word about all of this, and we were on that damn’ airplane for ten hours. When are you going to let me in on what’s going on? I know you’re some kind of cop for the British government. What are you doing in Hong Kong? Why are we in Australia now?”

  Bond had wondered when she would start asking questions. He didn’t see any reason to keep her in the dark. “You know about the terrorist acts that have been committed in Hong Kong over the last month?”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “I’m investigating them. At first I thought your Triad was involved, but it wasn’t true. There was a rather impetuous Chinese general up in Guangzhou who is no longer with us—he may have been responsible. I’m checking out one more lead in Kalgoorlie. A major British company has a gold mine there. I have a hunch I’m going to find some things there that will shed more light on the whole situation.”

  “Will we be back for the handover?”

  “Yes. We have to be. I have an appointment with the Royal Navy on the 30th.”

  “And when will we leave Hong Kong? On the 1st of July?”

  Bond hesitated. He remembered what M had said.

  “I’m not sure yet, Sunni,” he said. “I’m working on that.”

  “I can’t wait to get out. England sounds nice, but I will probably go back to America. I’d like to go back to school and study medicine. I think I know enough about the human anatomy to have a head start, what do you think?” She laughed, rubbing her hand along Bond’s leg.

  “You’d make a wonderful doctor,” Bond said, smiling. “Your bedside manner is particularly inviting.”

  She laughed, then became silent. After a moment, she said, “I’m not ashamed of what I’ve been doing. I had to do it. There are many girls who find themselves in the same situation. It supported me and my mother. I had a nice home. I had money …” Her voice choked as she attempted to hold back tears. Bond put his arm around her, keeping one hand on the wheel.

  “Sunn
i, you’re right,” he said. “You don’t have to justify anything to me. Or to yourself. You did what you had to do.”

  “I was exploited,” she said. “I’m damaged goods.”

  “No, you’re not,” he said. “You have a strong heart and a good head on your shoulders. You can leave all that behind you.”

  “I am anxious to go,” she said. “I have no family ties in Hong Kong anymore.” She was quiet for a few minutes, then wiped away a tear. Bond knew the poor girl hadn’t been able to grieve properly since her mother’s death. Finally, she said, “You’re right. I can start over. Will you help me, James?”

  “I’ll do my best, Sunni,” he said truthfully.

  By late afternoon, they had entered Australia’s gold fields and driven through the ghost town of Coolgardie, at one time the gold rush capital of Australia. Half an hour later they finally entered the frontier town of Kalgoorlie and its sister suburb Boulder. Kalgoorlie was a semi-thriving place dubbed the “Queen of the Golden Mile,” reputedly the world’s richest square mile of gold-bearing earth. The surrounding land was hot, flat, and terribly arid. If it hadn’t been for the gold rush of the 1890s, the town wouldn’t exist. At one time, there were more than one hundred working mines in the Golden Mile. Kalgoorlie’s gold fields continued to produce during the 1920s but faltered after the war. A big nickel boom in the 1960s brought renewed prosperity and tourism to the town.

  The streets were very wide. If it were not for the modern street lights and the cars, the place might have been mistaken for the set of a Hollywood western. The historic main street, Hannan Street, was lined with antiques shops, pubs, hotels, and large buildings that displayed the long-gone wealth and opulence associated with gold frenzy. The side streets were home to all manner of industrial service facilities such as gas and electric providers, bitumen and bobcat services, machinery repair shops, and drilling equipment sales. It was clearly a roughneck, hard-hatted man’s world. Bond now understood why the local law enforcement agencies quietly allowed brothels to prosper along notorious Hay Street, which ran parallel to Hannan Street.

  They stopped at the Star and Garter, a motel on Hannan and Nethercott Streets. Bond got a room which was overpriced considering the rustic “quaintness” of the place. Sunni appeared to be extremely happy with it, though.

  It had been a long drive and they were hungry. They walked along Hannan Street towards the downtown area until they found a noisy pub. Bond thought he had stepped back in time when he entered the place. It was more like a Wild West saloon than any sort of English pub. The place was full of men, the hard-drinking type, and they all looked like extras from a Crocodile Dundee movie. All conversation halted when they got a look at Sunni and her long legs. Then there was a long, loud whistle, followed by raucous laughter. A barmaid yelled, “That’s enough!”

  Bond led Sunni to a table away from the bar and whispered, “Are you all right in here?”

  She nodded confidently. “After what I’ve done for a living, nothing can faze me.”

  The men at the bar started talking to each other again. Bond overheard the words “Sheila,” “bird,” “skirt,” and “beaut,” all “Strine” words, or Australian slang, meaning an attractive woman or a tart, depending on the context.

  The barmaid, who looked as if she had been born during the gold rush, took their order. She was smiling, but her manner was such that she might have thought they were aliens from Mars.

  “She’ll be right,” the woman said. Bond took this to mean they needn’t worry. “They’ve been on the piss for a while,” she went on. “Where you from?”

  “England,” Bond said.

  “You too?” the woman asked Sunni.

  “I’m from America,” Sunni replied.

  The woman sniffed, then said, “Whadallibe?” Bond, amused, translated this as “What will it be?”

  “If you’re hungry, all we got is counter lunch.”

  A man at the bar called out a little too loudly, “It’s your shout, Skip!” The man he addressed groaned and ordered a round of drinks for his mates.

  “What’s counter lunch?” Sunni asked.

  The woman looked at her. “Steak and chips.”

  “That’s fine,” Bond said.

  The woman scribbled on a notepad. “You get a salad too.”

  “We’ll have a couple of pints of beer. I understand you brew your own here.”

  “Goodonyamate. Hannan’s—best beer in Western Australia. Two pots, then?”

  “Hold it, Mary,” one of the men said. The one that had been addressed as Skip brought over two large mugs of beer. “It was my shout, so our two guests here are included.” He plopped the two mugs down on the table and held out his hand to Bond. “I’m Skip Stewart. Welcome, mate.”

  Bond shook his hand. “Thank you. I’m James, and this is Sunni.”

  “Sun-ni! ” he said, making a slight bow to her.

  Skip Stewart was dressed for the bush, in sturdy boots, moleskins and a grimy cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He also had on an Akubra hat high on his head. Strapped to his right calf was a large knife in a sheath. “What brings you to our fair city?”

  “Just passing through,” Bond said.

  “Ya know, I can tell you a thing or two about this town,” Stewart said. “My great-grandaddy on my mother’s side was the engineer who first brought water to Kalgoorlie.”

  “Is that so?”

  “That’s right. C.Y. O’Connor was his name. It was at the turn of the century, during the gold rush …” Stewart took a chair at their table and proceeded to tell his story. Bond didn’t mind, and Sunni was grinning at the man. He was overflowing with local colour.

  “Ya see, the miners were dropping like flies what for the lack of water. Drinking water, that is. My great-grandaddy came up with an invention—a wood and pitch water pipe that stretched from Kalgoorlie all the way to Mundaring Weir, near Perth. Nobody thought he would succeed. They all called him a strop, but he kept going. Well, the pipeline was finished and turned on, and after three days—there still weren’t no water yet! My poor great-grandaddy shot himself ’cause he thought he’d failed, eh? But you know what?”

  “What?” Sunni asked.

  “He didn’t realize that the water would take two weeks to travel that distance, eh? He had solved the problem. A week and a half after he killed himself, water poured out of the pipeline and began to fill up the town’s new reservoir!”

  “That’s quite a story,” Bond said.

  “It’s true, mate.”

  The men at the bar called to Stewart and held up their empty mugs.

  “Oh, uhm, it’s your shout, mate,” Stewart said to Bond.

  That meant it was Bond’s turn to buy everyone in the bar a drink. “Sure,” he said, and nodded to the barmaid.

  Skip Stewart stood up, obviously pleased with Bond’s response to the men’s request. “Goodonyamate. I can tell you’re no two-pot screamer. Hey, if you need anything while you’re here, you don’t hesitate to call on me. I run guided tour packages into the outback. I have four by fours, utes, campers, and dirt bikes. If you need to get somewhere in a hurry, I’ve got a little plane at the airstrip for hire. Rent the plane, you get the pilot for free.”

  “Who’s the pilot?” Bond asked.

  “You’re lookin’ at him.” Stewart said. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a business card, and handed it to Bond. It was a little limp and damp from the man’s sweat. “That’s my card, mate. Like I said, call if you need anything. I’ll leave you two to your dinner now.” He took the opportunity to get another eyeful of Sunni, then sauntered back to the bar and rejoined his friends. Bond stuck the man’s card in his pocket and smiled at Sunni. She was enjoying this. The barmaid brought the counter lunch, which consisted of greasy, tough, overcooked steak, and thick, oily french fries. The salad was a couple of lettuce leaves, one piece of sliced tomato, and a slice of tinned beetroot. Bond ate it anyway. Sunni picked at hers.

  “We’ll
go to a proper restaurant next time,” he promised.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “I’m not that hungry. When are we going back to the motel?”

  When they got back to the Star and Garter, Sunni bolted the door, turned and leaned back against it. She held her arms out to Bond. Still dressed, he went to her and they embraced. He pressed her against the door with his own hard body. “Oh, darling James,” she moaned as she wrapped her long legs around his waist. He held her, suspended between the door and his torso, thrusting his pelvis between her legs and grinding into her slowly with force. They kissed deeply, forgetting their surroundings and losing themselves in each other.

  She unwrapped her legs and moved him towards the bed. They removed their clothes. Because the wounds on his backside and legs were still sensitive, she pulled him on top of her smooth, soft body. She undulated beneath him, rocking against his flesh with a rhythm not unlike the waves in Victoria Harbour. They continued to kiss, all the while exploring each other’s skin with their hands. Eventually she grasped him firmly and guided him inside. Locked together, they moved with passion and anticipation, urging each other on toward the moment of climax that they finally experienced together.

  They continued to make love for what seemed like hours. The bed squeaked and the air conditioner rumbled, but at least the room was cool.

  ZERO MINUS THREE: 28 JUNE 1997, 5:00 A.M.

  “I’m coming with you,” Sunni said, slipping on her shorts and blouse. Bond had already showered and was dressed.

  They had got a few hours of sleep after a blissful night. Bond thought he should go to the facility alone, and had hoped he could slip away without waking her.

  “Sunni, I don’t know what I’m going to find there. There could be trouble.”

  “Oh, stop treating me like a helpless bimbo. I could watch your back. You’ve seen me in action. I’m a Hong Kong girl, remember?”