Carte Blanche

small of his back, kneading hard. Felicity shuddered and inhaled sharply and he understood that, for whatever reason, she liked touching him there. He knew too that she wanted his hands to curl firmly behind her waist. Such is the way in which lovers communicate, and he would remember that place, the delicate bones of her spine.
    For his part, Bond found rapture throughout her body, all its aspects: her hungry lips, her strong, flawless thighs, breasts encased in taut black silk, her delicate neck and throat, from which a whispered moan issued, the dense hair framing her face, the softer strands elsewhere.
    They kissed endlessly and then she broke away and locked onto his fierce eyes with her own, whose lids, dusted with faint green luminescence, halfway lowered. Mutual surrender, mutual victory.
    Bond lifted her easily. Their lips met once more, briefly, and he carried her to the bed.

Chapter 44
    He awoke with a start from a nightmare he could not remember. Curiously James Bond’s first thought was of Philly Maidenstone. He felt—absurdly—that he’d been unfaithful, yet his most intimate contact with her had been a brief brush of cheeks that had lasted half a second.
    He rolled over. The other side of the bed was empty. He looked at the clock. It was half past seven. He could smell Felicity’s perfume on the sheets and pillows.
    The previous evening had begun as an exercise in learning more about his enemy and his enemy’s purpose but had become something more. He had felt a strong empathy with Felicity Willing, a tough woman who’d conquered the City and was now turning her resources to a nobler battle. He reflected that, in their own ways, they were both knights errant.
    And he wanted to see her again.
    But first things first. He got out of bed and pulled on a toweling dressing gown. He hesitated for a moment then told himself: Has to be done.
    He went to his laptop in the suite’s living area. The device had been modified by Q Branch to incorporate a motion-activated, low-light camera. Bond booted up the machine and looked over the replay. It had been pointed only at the front door and the chair, where Bond had tossed his jacket and trousers, containing his wallet, passport and mobile. At around 5:30 A.M ., according to the time stamp, Felicity, dressed, had walked past his clothing, showing no interest in his phone, pockets or the laptop. She paused and looked back toward the bed. With a smile? He believed so but couldn’t be sure. She put something on the table by the door and let herself out.
    He stood up and strode to the table. Her business card lay next to a lamp. She had penned a mobile number underneath her organization’s main phone line. He slipped the card into his wallet.
    He cleaned his teeth, showered and shaved, then dressed in blue jeans and a loose black Lacoste shirt, chosen to conceal his Walther. Laughing to himself, he donned the gaudy bracelet and watch and slipped on his finger the initial ring, EJT .
    Checking his texts and e-mails, he found one from Percy Osborne-Smith. The man was staying true to his reformed ways and gave a succinct update on the investigation in Britain, though little headway had been made. He concluded:
    Our friends in Whitehall are positively obsessed with Afghanistan. I say, all the better for us, James. Looking forward to sharing a George Cross with you when we see Hydt in shackles.
    While he had breakfast in his room, he considered his impending trip to Hydt’s Green Way plant, thinking back to last night, to all he’d seen and heard, especially about the supertight security. When he finished, he called Q Branch and got through to Sanu Hirani. He could hear children’s voices in the background and supposed he had been patched through to the branch director’s mobile at home. Hirani had six children. They all played cricket, and his eldest daughter was a star batswoman.
    Bond told him of his communications and weapons needs. Hirani had some ideas but was uncertain that he could come up quickly with a solution. “What’s your time frame, James?”
    “Two hours.”
    There followed a thoughtful exhalation from down the line seven thousand miles away. Then: “I’ll need a cutout in Cape Town. Somebody with knowledge of the area and top clearance. Oh, and a solid NOC. Do you know anybody who fits the bill?”
    “I’m afraid I do.”
    At 10:30 A.M . Bond, in a gray windbreaker, made his way to the central police station and was escorted to the