Carte Blanche

stillness indicated he wasn’t happy. He disconnected. “I’m sorry. A problem in Paris. Inspectors. Trade unions. It’s a Green Way issue, nothing to do with tomorrow’s project.”
    Bond didn’t want to make the man suspicious so he backed off. “All right. What time do you want me?”
    “Ten A.M .”
    Recalling the original intercept that GCHQ had decrypted and the clues he’d found up in March about the time the attack would take place, Bond understood he would have about twelve hours to find out what Gehenna was about and stop it.
    A figure appeared in the doorway. It was Jessica Barnes, wearing what seemed to be her typical garb: a black skirt and modest white shirt. Bond had never liked women to wear excessive makeup but he wondered again why she didn’t use even the minimum.
    “Jessica, this is Gene Theron,” Hydt said absently. He’d forgotten they’d met last night.
    The woman didn’t remind him.
    Bond took her hand. She returned a timid nod. Then she said to Hydt, “The ad proofs didn’t come in. They won’t be here till tomorrow.”
    “You can review them then, can’t you?”
    “Yes, but there’s nothing more to do here. I was thinking I’d like to go back to Cape Town.”
    “Something’s come up. I’ll be a few hours, maybe more. You can wait. . . .” His eyes strayed to the door behind which Bond had seen the bed.
    She hesitated. “All right.” A sigh.
    Bond said, “I’m going back into town. I can drive you if you like.”
    “Really? It’s not too much trouble?” Her question, however, was not directed toward Bond but to Hydt.
    The man was scrolling through his mobile. He looked up. “Good of you, Theron. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    They shook hands.
    “ Totsiens .” Bond gave the Afrikaans farewell, which he knew courtesy of the Captain Bheka Jordaan School of Language.
    “What time will you be home, Severan?” Jessica asked Hydt.
    “When I get there,” he responded absently, punching a number into his phone.
    Five minutes later Jessica and Bond were at the front security post, where he again passed through the metal detector. But before he was reunited with his gun and mobile, a guard walked up and said, “What is that, sir? I see something in your pocket.”
    The inhaler. How the hell had he spotted the slight bulge in the windbreaker? “It’s nothing.”
    “I’ll see it, please.”
    “I’m not stealing anything from a junkyard,” he snapped, “if that’s what you’re thinking.”
    Patiently the man said, “Our rules are very clear, sir. I’ll see it or I have to call Mr. Dunne or Mr. Hydt.”
    Follow your cover to the grave. . . .
    With a steady hand Bond withdrew the black plastic tube and displayed it. “It’s medicine.”
    “Is it now?” The man took the device and examined it closely. The camera lens was recessed but, to Bond, seemed all too obvious. The guard was about to hand it back but then changed his mind. He lifted the hinged cap, exposed the plunger and put his thumb on it.
    Bond eyed his Walther, sitting in one of the cubbyholes. It was ten feet away and separated from him by the two other guards, both armed.
    The guard pressed the plunger . . . and released a fine mist of denatured alcohol into the air near his face.
    Sanu Hirani, of course, had created the toy with typical forethought. The spray mechanism was real, even if the chemical inside was not; the camera was located in the lower part of the base. The smell of the alcohol was strong. The guard wrinkled his nose and his eyes were watering as he handed back the device. “Thank you, sir. I hope you need not take that medicine often. It seems quite unpleasant.”
    Without replying, Bond pocketed the inhaler and received his weapon and phone.
    He headed toward the front door, which opened on to the no man’s land between the two fences. He was almost outside when an alarm klaxon blared fiercely and lights began to flash.

Chapter 48
    Bond was a split second away from spinning around, dropping into a combat shooting stance and drawing down on priority targets.
    But instinct told him to hold back.
    It was a good thing he did. The guards weren’t even looking at him. They had gone back to watching the TV.
    Bond glanced casually around. The alarm had gone off because Jessica, exempt from security procedures, had come through the metal detector with her handbag and jewelry. A guard casually flicked a switch to reset the unit.
    His heartbeat returning to normal, Bond