Carte Blanche

tight—we have to make them believe you didn’t try to help me.”
    She held her hands behind her back and he bound her wrists. “I’m sorry. I tried.”
    “Sssh,” Bond whispered. “I know you did. If someone comes in, tell them you don’t know where I went. Just act scared.”
    “I won’t have to act,” she said. Then: “Gene . . .”
    He glanced at her.
    “My mother and I prayed before every one of my beauty contests. I won a lot. We must’ve prayed pretty well. I’ll pray for you now.”

Chapter 57
    Bond was hurrying down the dim corridor, passing photographs of the reclaimed land that Hydt’s workers had turned into Elysian Fields, the beautiful gardens covering Green Way’s landfills to the east.
    It was nine fifty-five in York. The detonation would take place in thirty-five minutes.
    He had to get out of the plant immediately. He was sure there’d be an armory of some kind, probably near the front security post. That was where he was headed now, walking steadily, head down, carrying the maps and the yellow pad. He was about fifty yards from the entrance, thinking tactically. Three men at the security post in front. Was the rear door guarded too? Presumably it was; although there were no employees in the business office, Bond had seen workers throughout the grounds. Three guards had been there yesterday. How many other security personnel would be present? Had any of the visitors handed weapons in or had they all been told to leave them in their cars? Maybe—
    “There you are, sir!”
    The voice startled him. Two beefy guards appeared and walked in front of him, barring his way. Their faces revealed no emotion. Bond wondered if they’d discovered Jessica and the man he’d trussed up. Apparently not. “Mr. Theron, Mr. Hydt is looking for you. You were not in your office so he sent us to bring you to the conference room.”
    The smaller one regarded him with eyes as hard as a black beetle’s carapace.
    There was nothing for it but to go with them. They arrived at the conference room a few minutes later. The larger guard knocked on the door. Dunne opened it, examined Bond with a neutral face and beckoned the men inside. Hydt’s three partners sat around a table. The huge, dark-suited security man who’d escorted Bond into the plant yesterday stood near the door, arms crossed.
    Hydt called, with the excitement he’d exhibited earlier, “Theron! How have you been getting on?”
    “Very well. But I’ve not quite finished. I’d say I need another fifteen or twenty minutes.” He glanced at the door.
    But Hydt was like a child. “Yes, yes, but first let me introduce you to the people you’ll be working with. I’ve told them about you and they’re eager to meet you. I have about ten investors altogether but these are the three main ones.”
    As introductions were made, Bond wondered if any one of the three would be suspicious that they had not heard of Mr. Theron. But Mathebula, Eberhard and Huang were distracted by the day’s business and, contrary to Hydt’s comment, apart from brief nods, they ignored him.
    The clock read 12:05. It was 10:05 in York.
    Bond tried to leave. But Hydt said, “No, stay.” He nodded at the TV, which Dunne had turned on to Sky News in London. He lowered the volume.
    “You’ll want to see this, our first project. Let me tell you what’s going on.” Hydt sat down and explained to Bond what he already knew: that Gehenna was about the reconstruction or scanning of classified material, for sale, extortion and blackmail.
    Bond lifted an eyebrow, pretending to be impressed. Another glance at the exits. He decided he could hardly bolt for the door; the huge security man in the black suit was inches from it.
    “So you see, Theron, I was not quite honest with you the other day when I described the Green Way document-shredding operation. But that was before we had our little test with the Winchester rifle. I apologize.”
    Bond shrugged it off and measured distances and assessed the strength of his enemy. The conclusions were not encouraging.
    With his long, yellowing nails, Hydt raked at his beard. “I’m sure you’re curious about what’s happening today. I started Gehenna merely to steal and sell classified information. But then I grasped there was a more lucrative . . . and, for me, more satisfying use for resurrected secrets. They could be used as weapons. To kill, to destroy.
    “Some months ago I met with the head of a drug company I’d been