Carte Blanche

You’re to stay in place. And you’ll be interested to know there was a witness for the defense—in your support.”
    “Who?”
    “Your new friend Percy.”
    “Osborne-Smith?” Bond nearly laughed.
    “He said if you had a lead you ought to be allowed to follow it up.”
    “Did he now? I’ll buy him a pint when all this is over. You too.”
    “Well, things aren’t as rosy as they seem,” Tanner said glumly. “The old man put the ODG’s reputation on the line to keep you there. Your reputation too. If it turns out Hydt is a diversion, there’ll be repercussions. Serious ones.”
    Was the very future of the ODG riding on his success?
    Politics, Bond reflected cynically. He said, “I’m sure Hydt’s behind it.”
    “And M’s going with that judgment.” Tanner asked what his next steps would be.
    “I’ll be at Hydt’s plant tomorrow morning. Depending on what I find, I’m going to have to move fast and communications could be a problem. If I can’t learn anything by late afternoon, I’ll get Bheka Jordaan to raid the place, interrogate the hell out of Hydt and Dunne and find out what’s planned for tomorrow night.”
    “All right, James. Keep me informed. I’ll brief M. He’ll be in that security meeting all day.”
    “’Night, Bill. And thank him for me.”
    After they had rung off, Bond poured a generous amount of Crown Royal into a crystal glass, added two ice cubes and turned off the lights. He flung wide the curtains, sat on the sofa and gazed out over the snowflake lights on the harbor. A massive British-flag cruise ship was easing up to the dock. It seemed even larger than his hotel.
    His phone trilled and he glanced at the screen.
    “Philly.” He took another sip of the fragrant whisky.
    “Are you in the middle of dinner?”
    “It’s après -cocktail cocktail hour here.”
    “You are a man after my own heart.” As she said this, Bond’s eyes happened to be on the bed he’d shared last night with Felicity Willing. Philly continued, “I didn’t know if you wanted more updates on the Steel Cartridge operation. . . .”
    He sat forward. “Yes, please. What’ve you found?”
    “Something interesting, I think. Seems the whole point of the operation wasn’t to kill just any of our agents and contractors. The Russians were killing their moles within MI6 and the CIA.”
    Bond felt something detonate inside him. He put his glass down.
    “With the fall of the Soviet Union, the Kremlin wanted to solidify ties with the West. It would’ve been awkward politically if their doubles were exposed. So active KGB agents killed the most successful moles in Six and the CIA and made the murders look like accidents—but left a steel cartridge at the scene as a warning to the others to keep quiet. That’s all I know at this point.”
    My God, Bond thought. His father . . . his father had been a double—a traitor ?
    “Are you still there?”
    “Yes—just a bit distracted by what’s going on here. But that’s good work, Philly. I’ll be incommunicado for most of tomorrow but text me or e-mail what you find.”
    “I will. Take care of yourself, James. I worry.”
    They rang off.
    Bond lifted the cold crystal glass, wet with condensation, and pressed it against his forehead. He now scrolled mentally through his family’s past, trying to find clues about Andrew Bond that might shed light on this appalling theory. Bond had been quite fond of his father, who was a collector of stamps and photographs of cars. He’d owned several vehicles but took more pleasure in repairing and cleaning them than in fast driving. When older, Bond had asked his aunt about the man. Charmian had thought for a moment and said, “He was a good man, of course. Solid, dependable. A rock. But quiet. Andrew was never one to stand out.”
    Qualities of the best covert intelligence agents.
    Could he have been a mole for the Russians?
    Another jarring thought: His father’s duplicity—if the story were true—had resulted in the death of his wife, Bond’s mother, too.
    Not just the Russians but his father’s betrayal had orphaned young Bond.
    He started as his phone buzzed with an incoming text.
    Late night getting ready for food shipments. Just left office. Interested in some company? Felicity.
    James Bond hesitated a moment. Then he typed Yes .
    Ten minutes later, after slipping his Walther under the bed beneath a towel, he heard a soft knock. He opened the door and let in Felicity Willing. Any doubt he