Carte Blanche

alone. He now swung her door closed. “I’m hoping you can help me. There aren’t many people in Cape Town I can trust.”
    “Of course.” They sat on her cheap sofa. In black jeans and a white shirt, Felicity moved closer to Bond. Their knees touched. She seemed even more tired than yesterday. He recalled she’d left his room before dawn.
    “First, I have to confess something to you. And, well, it may affect our plans for Franschhoek—it may affect a lot of plans.”
    Frowning, she nodded.
    “And I have to ask you to keep this to yourself. That’s very important.”
    Her keen eyes probed his face. “Of course. But tell me, please. You’re making me nervous.”
    “I’m not who I said I was. From time to time I do some work for the British government.”
    A whisper: “You’re a . . . spy?”
    He laughed. “No, nothing as grand as that. The title is security and integrity analyst. Usually it’s as boring as can be.”
    “But you’re one of the good guys?”
    “You could put it like that.”
    Felicity lowered her head to his shoulder. “When you said you were a security consultant, in Africa that usually means a mercenary. You said you weren’t but I didn’t quite believe it.”
    “It was a cover. I was investigating Hydt.”
    Her face flooded with relief. “And I was asking if you could change a little bit. And . . . now you’ve changed completely from who I thought you were. A hundred and eighty degrees.”
    Bond said wryly, “How often does a man do that?”
    She smiled briefly. “That means . . . you’re not Gene? And you’re not from Durban?”
    “No. I live in London.” And discarding the faint Afrikaans accent, he extended his hand. “My name’s James. It’s good to meet you, Miss Willing. Are you going to throw me out?”
    She hesitated only briefly, then flung her arms around him, laughing. She sat back. “But you said you needed my help.”
    “I wouldn’t involve you if there was any other way but I’ve run out of time. Thousands of lives are at stake.”
    “My God! What can I do?”
    “Do you know anything about Gregory Lamb?”
    “Lamb?” Felicity’s thin eyebrows drew together. “He comes over as a rather high roller so I’ve approached him for donations several times. He always said he’d give us something but he never did. He’s rather a queer man. A boor.” She laughed. “B-O-O-R. Not Afrikaner.”
    “I have to tell you he’s a bit more than that.”
    “We heard rumors that he was in the pay of somebody. Though I can’t imagine anybody taking him seriously as a spy.”
    “I think that’s an act. He plays the fool to put people at ease around him so they don’t suspect he’s up to some pretty rough business. Now, you’ve been down at the docks for the past few days, right?”
    “Yes, quite a bit.”
    “Did you hear anything about a big ship charter that Lamb’s putting together tonight?”
    “I did, yes, but I don’t know anything about it. I’m sorry.”
    Bond was silent for a moment. Then: “Have you ever heard anyone refer to Lamb as Noah?”
    Felicity thought about it. “I can’t say for certain but . . . wait, yes, I think so. A nickname somebody once used for him. Because of the shipping business. But what did you mean when you said, ‘Thousands of lives are at stake’?”
    “I’m not sure exactly what he has in mind. My guess is he’s going to use the cargo ship to sink a cruise liner, a British one.”
    “My God, no! But why on earth would he do that?”
    “With Lamb, it has to be money. Hired by Islamists, warlords or pirates. I’ll know more soon. We’ve tapped his phone. He’s meeting somebody in an hour or so at a deserted hotel south of town, the Sixth Apostle Inn. I’ll be there to find out what he’s up to.”
    Felicity said, “But . . . James, why do you have to go? Why not call the police and have him arrested?”
    Bond hesitated. “I can’t really use the police for this.”
    “Because of your job,” she asked evenly, “as a ‘security analyst’?”
    He paused. “Yes.”
    “I see.” Felicity Willing nodded. Then she leaned forward fast and kissed him full on the lips. “In answer to your question, whatever you do, James, whatever you’re going to do, it won’t affect our plans for Franschhoek one bit. Or our plans for anything else, as far as I’m concerned.”

Chapter 66
    In May the sun sets in Cape Town around half past five. As Bond sped south on Victoria Road, the scenery grew