Solo

can tell.’
    ‘No, it’s just that I’ve decided to stay on, no matter what, and see things out to the bitter end. I expect you and the others will fly out on a Constellation when the end is nigh. I can’t afford the fare, so I thought if I witness the fall of Port Dunbar then that’ll be my scoop. You know – the sole eyewitness.’
    ‘It would make your reputation, Digby,’ Bond said, his face straight. ‘You’d be famous.’
    ‘I suppose I would, wouldn’t I?’ Breadalbane said, liking the idea.
    ‘And if you could get slightly wounded, even better.’
    Bond saw Sunday poke his head around the door and beckon to him.
    Bond stood and dropped a few notes on the table.
    ‘I bet you’d get a salaried job out of it as well,’ he said. ‘Have another on me.’
    He crossed the room to Sunday leaving Breadalbane to his dreams of journalistic glory.
    ‘Please to come with me, sir,’ Sunday said. ‘We have to leave now.’
    ‘Where are we going?’
    ‘I’m not permitted to say.’
    Sunday drove Bond out of Port Dunbar, heading south towards the harbour. Then they turned off into a high-walled compound containing three private houses all linked by covered walkways. As they parked, Bond noticed that Sunday seemed cowed and oddly apprehensive.
    ‘I wait here for you, Mr Bond.’
    Bond stepped out of the car and, at the door to the main building, was met by a young bespectacled man in a white coat.
    ‘Mr Bond? I am Dr Masind. Please follow me.’
    He sounded Indian or Pakistani to Bond, who obediently followed him through the house – that had clearly been converted into some kind of clinic: clean, brightly lit, nurses hurrying to and fro – and out on to a walkway, leading to a separate house, guarded by two armed soldiers and with, Bond noticed, a tall thin radio mast towering above it.
    They went upstairs and Bond was asked to wait in a corridor. After about five minutes, a young officer, a colonel, emerged and introduced himself. He was smart, slim and dapper, his dark green fatigues neatly pressed. He had a small pencil moustache, like a matinee idol.
    ‘I’m Colonel Denga,’ he said, speaking with the slightest accent. ‘I want to thank you for what you did for us today.’
    ‘It was very spur-of-the-moment. As you know I’m just an APL journalist – but the situation did call for fairly drastic action,’ Bond said. He was aware that his self-effacingness could be counterproductive and he was conscious of Denga looking at him shrewdly.
    ‘Not every journalist can dictate and control a battle on the spur of the moment . . .’
    Bond smiled. ‘I didn’t say I was inexperienced. I’m older than you, Colonel. I served with British commandos in World War Two. You learn a lot, and fast.’
    ‘Well, wherever your expertise originates – we’re very grateful. Please – go in.’
    He opened a door and Bond stepped through into a dark room, with only one light burning. A man was lying on a hospital bed with a saline drip attached to his neck. He was terribly gaunt and thin, his hair patchy and grey. He gestured to Bond to come closer and spoke in a weak, semi-whispering voice.
    ‘Mr Bond – I am Brigadier Solomon Adeka. I wanted to thank you personally for what you achieved at the Kololo Causeway.’
    Bond stared, astonished, taking in every detail. Adeka was obviously gravely, terminally ill – that fact apparent from his drawn face and his dead eyes. Some kind of aggressive cancer, Bond supposed. Adeka reached out a quivering hand, all bones, and Bond shook it briefly. There was no grip at all.
    Adeka signalled to Colonel Denga – who had slipped into the room behind Bond – and the colonel stepped forward, reached into his pocket and drew out a slim leather case.
    ‘You’ll probably laugh,’ Adeka said, ‘but I wanted you to have some symbolic evidence of our gratitude. The Republic of Dahum salutes you.’
    Bond took the case from Denga and opened it. Inside, on a bed of moulded black velvet, was an eight-pointed gold star hanging from a red, white and black silk ribbon.
    ‘The Gold Star of Dahum – our highest military honour.’
    Bond was both surprised and oddly touched. ‘Well . . . I’m very grateful,’ he said slowly. ‘Very flattered. But I don’t feel I’m really—’
    But then Adeka began to cough, drily, and Bond saw how his frail body was wracked with the effort as it quivered and shook beneath the blankets.
    ‘We should go,’ Denga said,