Carte Blanche

girl? We’ve got to find her if we can.”
    “They’re probably on their way out to the desert. If we’re lucky, Yusuf’s following them. Probably tried to call when I was out.” With Bond helping, the agent struggled to his feet. He took his phone and hit speed dial.
    And from nearby came the chirp of a ringtone, a cheerful electronic tune. But muted.
    Both men looked around.
    Then Leiter turned to Bond. “Oh no,” the American whispered, closing his eyes briefly. They hurried to the back of the compactor. The sound was coming from inside a large, filled bin liner, which the machine had automatically sealed with wire and then disgorged on to the loading-bay platform to be carted off for disposal.
    Bond, too, had realized what had happened. “I’ll look,” he said.
    “No,” Leiter said firmly. “It’s my job.” He unwound the wire, took a deep breath and looked inside the bag. Bond joined him.
    The dense jigsaw of sharp metal pieces, wires and nuts, bolts and screws were entwined with a mass of gore and bloody cloth, bits of human organs, bone.
    The glazed eyes in Yusuf Nasad’s crushed, distorted face stared directly between the two men.
    Without a word, they returned to the Alfa and checked the satellite tracking system, which reported that Hydt’s limo had returned to the Intercontinental. It had made two brief stops on the way—presumably to transfer the girl to another car, for her last trip out to the desert, and to collect Hydt from the museum.
    Fifteen minutes later Bond piloted the Alfa past the hotel and into the car park.
    “Do you want to get a room?” Bond asked. “Take care of that?” He gestured at Leiter’s head.
    “Naw, I need a goddamn drink. I’ll just wash up. Meet you in the bar.”
    They parked and Bond opened the boot. He collected his laptop bag, leaving the suitcase inside. Leiter pulled his own small bag over his shoulder and found a cap—branded, so to speak, with the logo of the University of Texas Longhorns gridiron team. He pulled it gingerly over his wound and stuffed his straw-colored hair underneath. They took the side entrance into the hotel.
    Inside, Leiter went to wash and Bond, making sure none of the Hydt entourage was in the lobby, passed through it and stepped outside. He assessed a group of limo drivers standing in a cluster and talking busily. Bond saw that none of them was Hydt’s driver. He gestured to the smallest of the lot and the man walked over eagerly.
    “You have a card?” Bond asked.
    “Indeed, yes, I do, sir.” And offered one. Bond glanced at and pocketed it. “What would like, sir? A dune-bashing trip? No, I know, the gold souk! For your lady. You will bring her something from Dubai and be her hero.”
    “The man who hired that limo?” Bond’s gaze swept quickly over Hydt’s Lincoln.
    The driver’s eyes went still. Bond wasn’t worried; he knew when somebody was for sale. He tried once more. “You know him, don’t you?”
    “Not especially, sir.”
    “But you drivers always talk among yourselves. You know everything that goes on here. Especially regarding a curious fellow like Mr. Hydt.”
    He slipped the man five hundred dirhams.
    “Yes, sir, yes, sir. I may have heard something. . . . Let me think. Yes, perhaps.”
    “And what might that have been?”
    “I believe he and his friends have gone to the restaurant. They will be there for two hours or so. It’s a very good restaurant. Meals are leisurely.”
    “Any idea where they’re going from here?”
    A nod. But no accompanying words.
    Another five hundred dirhams joined their friends.
    The man laughed softly and cynically. “People are careless around us. We are simply people to shepherd folks around. We are camels. Beasts of burden. I’m referring to the fact that people think we don’t exist. Therefore whatever they say in front of us they believe we do not hear, however sensitive it might be. However valuable .”
    Bond held up more cash, then returned it to his pocket.
    The driver glanced about briefly, then said, “He’s flying to Cape Town tonight. A private jet, leaving in about three hours. As I told you, the restaurant downstairs is known for its sumptuous and leisurely dining experience.” A fake pout. “But your questions tell me you probably do not want me to have an associate book a table. I understand. Perhaps on your next trip to Dubai.”
    Now Bond handed over the rest of the money. He then withdrew the man’s business card and, flicking