Solo

whistle us up an aeroplane?’

·12·
     

ZANZARIM REVISITED
     
    Bond felt very strange being back in Port Dunbar. It was as if the events between his last visit and this one had taken place in a malign parallel universe. Here he was standing in the cemetery that ringed the small cathedral almost exactly in the same location – at the back, the modest spire of the cathedral to his left – as when he had witnessed Brigadier Solomon Adeka’s funeral. Except that this time he was alongside Felix Leiter and the guard of honour had been replaced by a magistrate and his clerk, some officials from the interim government of Zanzarim and a small, tracked, orange excavator that was manoeuvring into position in front of Solomon Adeka’s grave.
    Twenty-four hours after the events at Rowanoak Hall, Felix and Bond had been flown out of Andrews Field on a USAF Boeing 707 transport. They had been met at Sinsikrou airport by the American ambassador to Zanzarim and then, in a small convoy of embassy cars, they had been driven down the transnational highway to Port Dunbar, where government officials received them at the cathedral and informed them that all relevant permissions and waivers from the ecclesiastical authorities for the disinterment of Solomon Adeka’s body had been granted. Bond had been impressed by the level of power and influence such despatch had displayed. It seemed that Felix Leiter just had to snap his fingers and all his demands were met. Why such efficient haste? Bond wondered.Why were they being treated like visiting dignitaries? Once again he felt there were other agendas beside his own that were for the moment invisible to him. He was also aware – because he knew Felix so well – that he was not telling him everything. No matter: he could bide his time because Felix would indeed tell him if he insisted – they were too good and too old a pair of friends to hold anything back if total honesty was demanded. But Bond decided it might be more interesting to watch and wait.
    Driving through the city towards the cathedral, Bond could see from the windows of their limousine that Port Dunbar had reclaimed its usual bustle and energy. The journey south had also demonstrated that almost every sign of the civil war was being swiftly erased. There were some temporary Bailey bridges across rivers; here and there a few burnt-out vehicles waited to be carried away for scrap. And there were many more Zanza Force soldiers on the streets – manning checkpoints, directing traffic – than was normal for a peaceful country. All the same, Bond thought, you would hardly believe a bitter civil war had raged here for two years, remembering the time he’d spent in the beleaguered Republic of Dahum as it entered its final days and hours. Once again he thought it was as if he’d existed in a parallel universe or a dream of some kind. A bad dream, Bond corrected himself, because it featured Kobus Breed.
    There was a call from the graveside and Bond and Felix made their way towards the small crowd that had gathered now that the key moment was at hand.
    The tracks of the digger clattered noisily as it lined itself up and its lobster claw delicately began to scrape away the packed earth in front of the gravestone.
    ‘I remember this funeral well,’ Bond said. ‘It was all very elaborate and formal. Very cleverly planned – orations, rifle salutes, grieving populace . . . How is Adeka anyway, have you heard?’
    ‘They say he’s doing very well,’ Felix said. ‘Getting the best possible help. Should make a full recovery.’
    ‘Must be strange coming back from the dead.’
    ‘Ha-ha,’ Felix said, drily. He was still highly sceptical, but he knew this was the one and only way of proving or disproving Bond’s claim.
    The lid of the coffin was revealed and six gravediggers stepped forward. After some diligent spadework the whole of the coffin was uncovered and heavy strapping was tied to its brass handles and attached to the digger’s boom. Slowly, easily, the coffin was raised, lifted clear of the earth and lowered to the ground. Two of the gravediggers prised open the lid with jemmies.
    The gasp of astonishment from those peering in was almost comic. Three sacks of cement were removed and laid beside each other on the parched turf.
    Felix looked serious and prodded a sack with his foot as if it might suddenly become corporeal. He looked at Bond.
    ‘Looks like three sacks of cement to me,’ Bond said.
    ‘Well,