Carte Blanche

possible.”
    She kissed his hand. “Don’t say any more. That’s all I wanted to hear. Now, I have an idea. I don’t know what your plans are for this weekend . . .”
    Neither do I, Bond thought sourly.
    “. . . but we’ll have finished the food shipments tomorrow night. There’s an inn I know in Franschhoek—have you been to that area?”
    “No.”
    “It’s the most beautiful spot on the Western Cape. A wine district. The restaurant has a Michelin star and the most romantic deck in the world, overlooking the hills. Come with me on Saturday?”
    “I’d love to,” he said and kissed her hair.
    “You really mean that?” The tough warrior who seemed so at ease fighing the world’s agropolies now sounded vulnerable and unsure.
    “Yes,” he whispered. “I do.”
    In five minutes she was asleep.
    Bond, however, remained awake, staring out at the lights of the harbor. His thoughts were no longer on his father’s possible betrayal, nor on his promise to Felicity Willing to consider changing his darkest nature, nor on the anticipation of the time they might spend together this week-end. No, James Bond was focusing on one thing only: the indistinct faces of those, somewhere in the world, whose lives—despite Whitehall’s belief—he knew that he alone could save.

Chapter 53
    At 8:40 A.M . Bond steered his dusty, mud-spattered Subaru into the Cape Town SAPS headquarters car park. He killed the engine, climbed out and entered the building, where he found Bheka Jordaan, Gregory Lamb and Kwalene Nkosi in her office.
    Bond greeted them with a nod. Lamb responded with a look that bespoke intrigue, Nkosi with an energetic smile.
    Jordaan said, “Regarding Hydt’s newly arrived associates, we’ve identified them.” She spun her laptop and clicked on a slide show. The first photos depicted a large man with a round ebony face. He wore a brash gold and silver shirt, designer sunglasses and voluminous brown slacks.
    “Charles Mathebula. He’s a black diamond from Joburg.”
    Lamb explained: “From the new wealthy class in South Africa. Some of them become rich overnight in ways that aren’t quite transparent, if you get my drift.”
    “And some,” Jordaan added frostily, “became wealthy by hard work. Mathebula owns businesses that seem to be legitimate—shipping and transport. He was on the borderline with some arms deliveries a few years ago, true, but there was no evidence of wrongdoing.” A tap of a key and another picture appeared. “Now, this is David Huang.” He was slim and smiled at the camera. “His daughter posted the snapshot on her Facebook page. Stupid girl . . . though good for us.”
    “A known mobster?”
    Nkosi qualified, “A suspected mobster. Singapore. Mostly money-laundering. Possibly human trafficking.”
    Another face appeared. Jordaan tapped her computer screen. “The German—Hans Eberhard. He came in on Wednesday. Mining interests, diamonds primarily. Industrial grade but some jewelry.” A good-looking blond man was pictured leaving the airport. He was wearing a well-cut light suit, a shirt without a tie. “He’s been suspected of various crimes but he’s technically clean.”
    Bond studied the photos of the men.
    Eberhard.
    Huang.
    Mathebula.
    He memorized the names.
    Frowning, Jordaan said, “I don’t understand why Hydt needs partners, though. He’s got money enough to fund Gehenna himself, I should think.”
    Bond had already considered this. “Two reasons, most likely. Gehenna must be expensive. He’d want outside money so that if he’s ever audited he doesn’t have to explain huge liabilities on the books. But, more important, he doesn’t have a criminal background or network. Whatever Gehenna’s about, he’ll need the contacts that people like these three can offer.”
    “Yes,” Jordaan allowed. “That makes sense.”
    Bond looked at Lamb. “Sanu Hirani in Q Branch texted me this morning. He said you had something for me.”
    “Ah, yes—sorry.” The Six agent handed him an envelope.
    Bond peered inside and then pocketed it. “I’m going out to the plant now. Once I’m inside I’ll try to find out what Incident Twenty is, who’s at risk and where. I’ll get word out as soon as I can. But we need a fallback plan.” If they hadn’t heard from him by 4 P.M ., Jordaan should order tactical officers to raid the plant, detain Hydt, Dunne and the partners and seize the contents of the Research and Development department. “This will