Solo

Washington DC. He’ll become a wealthy man once the leases are renegotiated with the government of Zanzarim. We can keep an eye on him – and Colonel Denga and this Dr Masind, if necessary. The drug-smuggling issues give us a little leverage. I’m sure they’ll behave.’
    ‘Will Adeka be Gabriel or Solomon?’ Bond asked.
    ‘I don’t think we really give a damn, to be honest. Now everything’s sorted out to our satisfaction.’ Felix looked serious and placed his glass down on the table.
    ‘I think we just figured it all out, didn’t we?’ Felix said.
    ‘Yes,’ Bond said. ‘How would you express it? We picked the gnat’s shit out of the pepper.’
    Bond sat back and drained his glass. They looked at each other: two men who knew all too well how the world worked. Bond thought to himself about what had happened – he called it the Thomas à Becket solution. Henry II had understood this in 1170 as clearly as those who had wanted Hulbert Linck eliminated 800 years later. ‘Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?’ – so Henry II had asked his leading question. And Thomas à Becket had been duly assassinated. Will no one rid me of Hulbert Linck . . . ? Step forward Agent Massinette. Sometimes the easiest way to solve a problem is to make it go away.
    Bond shrugged and smiled. ‘At root, most problems are very straightforward. And the solution is usually very straightforward as well. Though sometimes brutal.’
    ‘Except that often it doesn’t
seem
straightforward.’
    ‘Ah, but we like that,’ Bond said. ‘The more smoke and mirrors the better.’
    Felix looked at him, closely.
    ‘In the midst of all this smoke, there’s just one thing that strikes me, James.’
    ‘What’s that?’
    ‘There are very few people in the world who know about Gabriel and Solomon Adeka. Denga must know. Linck did, but he’s dead. This Indian doctor, Masind, does. And Kobus Breed – he’s probably dead, or out of action anyway. It just strikes me that you – you – are maybe the only person around who’s actually ever been face to face with both the brothers.’
    ‘What’re you saying, Felix?’
    ‘That you’re a man with a very, very privileged piece of information indeed. I would keep it to yourself, James. I certainly won’t mention anything of what you told me to any of my people. You know as well as I do that knowledge is power – but owning this kind of knowledge can be as dangerous as owning an unexploded bomb . . . Just be careful, OK?’
    ‘I’ll try,’ Bond said, and smiled.

PART FIVE
     

CODA IN RICHMOND
     

·1·
     

UN PAYSAN ÉCOSSAIS
     
    M’s office was bluey-grey with hanging strata of pipe smoke and Bond’s eyes began stinging within two minutes of their meeting commencing. He must have been smoking all day, Bond thought, and usually that was a sign of trouble.
    But M seemed genial – or at least the impenetrable mask he wore was genial. He had sat there without a word, attending to Bond’s narrative of events, puffing away on his pipe, with a nod and a smile from time to time, almost like an uncle patiently listening to his nephew recount the details of his school’s sports day.
    ‘And there you have it, sir,’ Bond said. ‘The scramble for Zanzarim’s oil is in full enthusiastic swing. I saw it with my own eyes – every oil company in the world wanting a piece of the action.’
    ‘And we’re at the head of the queue,’ M said, putting his pipe down and smoothing back his thinning hair with the palm of one hand. ‘Excellent,’ he said thoughtfully to himself, pursing his lips and tugging at an ear lobe. Bond knew the signs, it was not a moment to interject. M would speak in his own good time.
    ‘I should probably discipline you in some way, 007,’ M said finally. ‘For going solo in such a dramatic and headstrong manner – for vanishing like that. But I’ve decided that would be perverse.’
    ‘May I ask why, sir?’
    ‘Because – paradoxically, even astonishingly – you achieved everything that was asked of you. The war is over and Zanzarim is reunited. A little corner of Africa is at peace and has a bright, prosperous future. Thanks to your efforts.’
    ‘And we can acquire all the oil we need.’
    M’s eyes sharpened.
    ‘Cynicism doesn’t suit you, 007,’ he said. ‘Oil has nothing to do with us. We – you and I – are just naval ratings on the ship of state. We were given a task and we carried it out. Or rather you did all the