Carte Blanche

told the Serbian agent he was with the European Peacekeeping and Monitoring Group.
    Hydt frowned. “It’s—”
    “There is no such group,” Dunne said calmly. “It had to be a private operation. There was no backup, no central communications, no medics. The Westerner probably bribed the intelligence officers to help him. It is the Balkans, after all. May have been a competitor.” He added, “Maybe one of your partners or a worker here let slip something about the plan.”
    He was referring to Gehenna, of course. They did everything they could to keep the project secret but a number of people around the world were involved; it wasn’t impossible that there’d been a leak and some crime syndicate was interested in learning more about it.
    Dunne continued: “I don’t want to minimize the risk—they were pretty clever. But it wasn’t a major coordinated effort. I’m confident we can go forward.”
    Dunne handed Hydt a mobile phone. “Use this one for our conversations. Better encryption.”
    Hydt examined it. “Did you get a look at the Westerner?”
    “No. There was a lot of smoke.”
    “And Karic?”
    “I killed him.” The blank face registered the same emotion as if he’d said, “Yes, it’s cool outside today.”
    Hydt considered what the man had told him. No one was more precise or cautious when it came to analysis than Niall Dunne. If he was convinced this was no problem, then Hydt would accept his judgment.
    Dunne continued: “I’m going up to the facility now. Once I get the last materials up there the team say they can finish in a few hours.”
    A fire flared within Hydt, ignited by an image of the woman’s body in the skip—and the thought of what awaited up north. “I’ll come with you.”
    Dunne said nothing. Finally he asked in a monotone, “You think that’s a good idea? Might be risky.” He offered this as if he’d detected the eagerness in Hydt’s voice—Dunne seemed to feel that nothing good could come out of a decision based on emotion.
    “I’ll chance it.” Hydt tapped his pocket to make certain his phone was there. He hoped there’d be an opportunity to take some more photographs.

Chapter 10
    After leaving M’s lair, Bond walked up the corridor. He greeted a smartly dressed Asian woman keyboarding deftly at a large computer and stepped into the doorway behind her.
    “You’ve bought the duty,” he said to the man hunched over a desk as loaded with papers and files as M’s was empty.
    “I have indeed.” Bill Tanner looked up. “I’m now grand overlord of Incident Twenty. Take a pew, James.” He nodded to an empty chair—or, rather, the empty chair. The office boasted a number of seats but the rest were serving as outposts for more files. As Bond sat, the ODG’s chief of staff asked, “So, most important, did you get some decent wine and a gourmet meal on SAS Air last night?”
    An Apache helicopter, courtesy of the Special Air Service, had plucked Bond from a field south of the Danube and whisked him to a NATO base in Germany, where a Hercules loaded with van parts completed his journey to London. He said, “Apparently they forgot to stock the galley.”
    Tanner laughed. The retired army officer, a former lieutenant colonel, was a solid man in his fifties, ruddy of complexion and upright—in all senses of the word. He was in his usual uniform: dark trousers and light blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Tanner had a tough job, running the ODG’s day-to-day operations, and by rights he should have had little sense of humor, though in fact, he had a fine one. He’d been Bond’s mentor when the young agent had joined and was now his closest friend within the organization. Tanner was a devout golfer and every few weeks he and Bond would try to get out to one of the more challenging courses, like Royal Cinque Ports or Royal St George’s or, if time was tight, Sunningdale, near Windsor.
    Tanner was, of course, generally familiar with Incident Twenty and the hunt for Noah but Bond now updated him—and explained about his own downsized role in the UK operation.
    The chief of staff gave a sympathetic laugh. “Carte grise, eh? Must say, you’re taking it rather well.”
    “Hardly have much choice,” Bond allowed. “Is Whitehall still convinced that the threat’s out of Afghanistan?”
    “Let’s just say they hope it’s based there,” Tanner said, his voice low. “For several reasons. You can probably work them out for yourself.”
    He meant