He smiled to himself, disposed of the note, then went back into the bedroom and took off the robe, placing it on the bed so that the pocket with the automatic was close, then slid between the covers.
Chi-Chi had placed three pillows down the centre of the bed, separating them. He wondered where she had read about bundling. As he recalled, it was an old custom in Wales and, he thought, New England. In houses where a courting couple could find no corner to be alone to discuss their future, their families would allow them to use the one large bed for an hour or two – fully dressed – with the bed divided by a long, and usually solid, bolster to prevent matters from going too far.
He fell asleep almost immediately. Chi-Chi woke him gently after what appeared to have been about five minutes. He lay in the dark, glancing at the illuminated face of his watch from time to time, but – unusual for him – sleep had overtaken him. But now he was awake and alert, not knowing what might have happened during the hours of darkness.
His mind roved around the previous day’s experiences, in particular the virtuoso manner in which Brokenclaw had outsmarted any possible surveillance on them by switching to the corporate jet and the ‘emergency’ landing at Salinas. Had his companions controlling the operation from the carrier been able to keep watchers on them the whole time? He suspected not, and wondered where they had now placed Ed Rushia, the closest backup. Then there was Wanda and the interrogation which might easily have taken place overnight. Bond was convinced that Brokenclaw had no idea that his guests were not Peter Argentbright and Jenny Mo, straight out of Beijing Hsia. He knew that Hsia, the way they pronounced it, stood for ‘cage’. Other pronunciations turned the word into ‘control’ or ‘to govern’. Further variations meant ‘artful’ or ‘clever’. He could only presume that the term meant CEDL headquarters in Beijing, just as the facilities in and around Moscow, used by KGB, were known as Moscow Centre.
So Brokenclaw had welcomed them as the real thing on their arrival, but Bond was concerned. It might not take very long to break Wanda. Then the dragon would be truly out of the cave. The way Brokenclaw Lee had spoken could mean only one thing – deep interrogation, and the Chinese were past masters at that. Indeed, the Chinese had written the book on Thought Reform as they liked to call the techniques of control. Interrogation was simply an extension of Thought Reform, now honed to a fine art, with the use of drugs and other chemicals.
He stared up at the ceiling, gradually getting more clear as a new day came over the Eastern horizon, and, unbidden, another of Brokenclaw’s lines from the night before came back with stunning suddenness. ‘Tomorrow,’ the big Chinese Indian had said, ‘we will go over the information and make arrangements for its safe transference back to Beijing Hsia, before we begin the real work.’
M and Franks had warned him of the possibility of this real work, but he was certain Chi-Chi had no knowledge of it. The thing had been one of the imponderables.
After another ten minutes’ thought, Bond decided he should make a reconnaissance – find out where they really were.
Quietly he got out of bed, picked up the robe which contained the automatic, collected a clean shirt, socks and underwear from his case and went into the bathroom.
He shaved, showered, vigorously towelled himself and dressed, using clothing, as before, to effect the transfer of his pistol to its normal position behind his right hip.
In the main room he wrote a short note in full view of any cameras that might be watching. It was addressed to Jenny and merely said he had gone out to find their generous host.
She still slept peacefully, and he placed the note on the side table, where she would see it as soon as she woke.
Back in the main room, he was walking towards the door when another thought struck him. Turning, he retraced his steps, going to the high main windows, feeling around under the drapes for a tassel, then pulling. They swept silently back, and the sunlight of a beautiful morning stabbed into the room. He turned and peered out, then took a couple of paces back, not believing what he could see.
They had landed at Salinas and driven for an hour and a half, two hours maximum, therefore they had to be in California and quite close to San Francisco. Yet he was looking out on a formal garden laid out with conifers and roses. At the limit of the garden, a meadow sloped away. There were horses grazing peacefully, and the ground dipped to a densely wooded area, where the lush trees rose to a skyline that could not possibly be in California. For he recognised it, both from photographs and from the memory of seeing it at close quarters himself some years ago.
How could he be in California when he was looking out at the unmistakable Blue Ridge Mountains of Central Virginia?
12
CHINESE BOXES
Bond just stood at the window, actually rubbing his eyes, not believing the unexpected view. It was unmistakable, even to the distinctive blue haze which gives that particular chain of mountains its name. He frowned, trying to think logically. They had entered the house at the front directly into the ground floor, and gone into Lee’s study. From there they had been taken down to the guest suite. He remembered counting the stairs, and worked out that they were at least fourteen feet below the ground. So, unless the house was built on the split-level principle, there should be no view at all from these windows.
Turning, Bond walked quickly to the door, opening it to find his clean laundry, carefully wrapped, reposing on a small folding stool. He paused to pick it up, leaving it in the bedroom before returning to the corridor to retrace their footsteps up the stairs and into Brokenclaw’s study.
The sunlight streamed into this room also, and there was the same view. The Blue Ridge. No argument. Yet something worried him. Either his eyesight was playing tricks or the glass in the windows did something to the peripheral vision. He stepped back to take a look from well inside the room.
‘So you’re an early riser also. A lovely morning, Peter, eh? You like the view we have from here? Spectacular, isn’t it?’ Lee had emerged from a door to his left.
‘Incredible!’ Bond heard the note of surprise and bafflement in his own voice.
Brokenclaw gave a low chuckle. ‘I did not expect to find you about yet. You should have slept, rested.’
‘Jenny is still asleep.’
‘Well, come and breakfast with me. You hail from an old British family, I understand, so you’ll enjoy my breakfast ritual here.’
Bond was ushered through the door to his left, conscious that it also stood between bookcases and was directly opposite the door which led down to the guest suite and its many corridors.
This door also led to a similar short passageway, then down a long flight of steps. He was convinced that they were going below ground. Then Brokenclaw opened a door at the foot of the stairs on the right, and Bond found himself in a long, low dining room. The floor was made up of polished boards which looked very old, the walls were panelled, and the ceiling appeared to be held in place by great beams, again old and irregular. The furniture was Jacobean, Bond would have staked money on it. A polished table with at least thirty matching chairs took up the centre of the room, while along one wall stood a tall, elaborately carved chest, which served as a sideboard. On the chest were silver chafing dishes, and the table was laid for three.
In the wall opposite the long tall chest gaped an open fireplace, complete with its iron basket and a set of fire tongs, poker and shovel. Above the fireplace hung the only picture in the room – a large engraving showing, as it said in lettering inside an ornamental oval at the top of the picture, the Great Frost Fair on the Thames in London, 1683–4.
Two mullioned windows, leaded, with diamond-shaped panes, gave light from the far end of the room, and even from just inside the doorway, Bond could see the view was of the same Blue Ridge Virginian mountains.
Brokenclaw stood by the makeshift sideboard, plate in hand. ‘Come, Peter Abelard, there are good things here – bacon, sausage, eggs, kedgeree. All you would expect in an old English country house
.’
There was a knock at the door and an emaciated-looking Chinese entered, carrying a large tray loaded with two silver coffee pots, sugar basin and cream jug.
‘Ah, Peter, this is one of the few trusted men I allow to come here. He is known as Frozen Stalk Pu – a reference, I believe, to his amazing virility. He does not look much, but I do assure you he can do things to men that would turn your hair grey. This is Mr Abelard, Pu.’
Frozen Stalk Pu gave a little bow, placed the tray on the table and retired.
At Brokenclaw’s pressing invitation, Bond helped himself to bacon and two eggs. It was not his usual, or indeed favourite breakfast, but eating with the man might solve some of the puzzles.
Brokenclaw had seated himself at the head of the table, and as Bond took the place to his right, Frozen Stalk Pu entered silently, placing two large racks of toast in front of each of them.
‘You are quite a legend at Beijing Hsia,’ Bond began. ‘They say that you are half Chinese and half Blackfoot Indian. Can this be true?’
Lee swallowed a mouthful of food, nodding. ‘It is true. What some people do not realise is that my ancestry is almost royal, on both sides – Chinese and Blackfoot.’ He continued, telling the same story that Bond had heard in the museum of British Columbia.
As Bond had experienced at the first hearing of the story, there was something almost hypnotic about the way Brokenclaw spoke. Then he noticed two other things – when he sat close, watching Lee eat, the strange twisted hand became more apparent, also the tale of his mixed ancestry was repeated as though learned by heart. He recalled a remark Lee had made in Victoria – ‘I have heard it said,’ Bond clearly recalled the almost conspiratorial smile which had crossed his face, ‘I have heard it said that I am a fraud, that I have invented these stories, that I am nothing more than the child of some itinerant Chinese tailor and a Blackfoot girl who sold her body in Fort Benton. None of this is true.’
As he remembered this, Brokenclaw repeated those same words, as though they were a ritual part of his story, learned and programmed into his mind.
Bond nodded. ‘You are, obviously, rightly proud of your heritage, Mr Lee. You’ve certainly proved that to those of us who work in Beijing Hsia. But what of your Blackfoot ancestors? Do you still maintain contact?’
Lee nodded. ‘Most certainly. I doubt if I could live with myself if I did not spend time among my other people. I need to recharge my batteries like the next man. There are members of the old Blackfoot Confederacy who live apart. High in the Chelan Mountains, in Washington State, there is a peaceful camp where they live out their lives in the old way. I go there often. I like to breathe the smoke from my teepee, reflect on life, talk to my ancestors. Few people know I visit this camp, but I can tell you that those quiet tranquil people would fight to the death for me because I am one of them and I have relatives among them.’
He stopped abruptly and went on eating until Bond, changing the conversation, asked if there were any worries about the girl, Wanda.
He shook his head. ‘Not exactly worries. But I have to admit we did not get very far with her. She is well trained. I’ve had her taken away so that we can work on her at our leisure. But it is clear they know certain things. For instance, they know I have precious information regarding this new piece of technology which can detect any kind of submarine over vast distances and at great depths. They know that you and Jenny are either coming, or have come, to this country as couriers. This is why, my dear Peter, we really have to get all that business cleared away quickly. Today if possible.’
‘Hung Chow H’ang briefed us about this amazing coup you have pulled off. How did you manage to infiltrate their scientific team?’
Lee’s smile was the sly look of one who has been very clever. ‘I did not infiltrate. Setting up and putting in penetration agents is too time-consuming, too drawn out. I preferred the more simple approach.’
‘Oh?’ He knew his query sounded genuine enough.
‘I merely kidnapped some of their key people and had them interrogated. Those men – US Navy personnel – are not brave, nor do they have the mental defences like, say, the clever Wanda. It was like stealing candy from a baby.’
‘Kidnapped them?’
‘A very simple business. Yes.’
‘Kidnapped, interrogated and then disposed of?’
‘No, Peter.’ He sounded quite shocked. ‘You only dispose of people who cannot be recycled. Remember? I have these officers here, in this place, just in case we have further need of them. Mind you, there might well come a point when we have to think seriously about their futures. But we have everything, even though our final ploy – an attempt to bring their leading scientist here – did not quite work out. He was required for corroboration only. We have the goods, Peter. Incidentally, have you brought the money?’
‘I have the means to collect it.’
The smile faded on Brokenclaw’s face. ‘The means? I understood from Beijing Hsia that you would bring it with you.’
Bond slowly shook his head. ‘That is not quite how we work. My instructions are to let Jenny check over the information and, providing she is satisfied, turn it into microdots which I shall personally return to Beijing Hsia. While she does the complicated photography, I go and collect the money. Or, at least I hope I can collect the money. You see, sir, I understood we were to operate with you in the San Francisco area. Looking from the windows this morning, I’m not certain that I know where we are.’
Brokenclaw Lee threw back his head and gave a huge laugh, his burly shoulders shaking with mirth. ‘Ah, it works,’ he still chuckled. ‘It always works on strangers, and it is all part of my methods for avoiding detection. They say that Brokenclaw Lee can come and go as he pleases, he can make himself invisible and fly away like an eagle. Yes, Peter Abelard, or Argentbright, come with me and let me show you. Come to these windows here.’ He rose and led the way across to the leaded mullion windows at the end of the room.
Bond joined him and looked out on the sweeping expanse of the Virginian Blue Ridge. Occasionally he detected movement, a car’s windshield reflecting sunlight. Also the sun had begun to shift, moving higher.
‘You see Virginia, yes?’ He could feel Brokenclaw’s smile.
‘Of course.’
‘Let me show you something else.’
Bond was aware of the big man’s hand moving to a point in the panelling between the two windows. There was a click and he glanced down to see that a small console with knobs, buttons and switches had slid from the wall. ‘Keep looking,’ said Brokenclaw.
Outside, there was a sudden darkening of the day, as though the sun had gone behind thick cloud, then he saw the clouds themselves, drawing in, covering the landscape until it was as black as night. Lights twinkled in the far distance, then there was complete darkness. It was an eerie experience.
Then, just as the night had come quickly across the view so there were streaks of pink on the horizon, washing the sky with light. A new dawn was coming up, but with unusual speed, and, as the daylight returned, Bond realised that they were not looking at the Blue Ridge Mountains any more.
He gasped audibly, for they now stood at these leaded windows looking out across London – his London, only it was not his London, but a London of an earlier time, the London reflected in the engraving over the fireplace. A London of the seventeenth century, complete in all its perspective, real enough to touch; there was even movement on the Thames which seemed to be flowing almost past the house.
‘You like that little trick? My time and place machine?’ Brokenclaw was fiddling with the buttons again, and in seconds the view of the Blue Ridge Mountains reappeared. The sense of time, place and dimension was startling.
‘How?’ Bond asked.
Brokenclaw laughed. ‘How? Oh, with a great deal of technology.’
He began to explain to Bond that they were in fact within a house that did not exist at all.
‘But I saw it. I saw its bulk last night whe
n we arrived.’
‘You saw a house. But not this house. Did you notice the name of the company on whose executive jet you travelled?’
‘Silver something . . .’
‘Silver Service.’ Chi-Chi, dressed in a robe, had entered, Frozen Stalk Pu at her elbow.
‘Lady walk about. I bring her straight to you,’ Pu said.
‘Good,’ Brokenclaw gave another of his beaming smiles. ‘Go and bring coffee and more toast for the lady, Pu. You will take breakfast, Jenny? Yes, I may call you Jenny?’
‘Of course, and of course. I guess I must be disorientated. I could have sworn I saw the Blue Ridge Mountains from the windows of the guest suite.’
‘Come on in, darling.’ Bond crossed to her, kissing her cheek. ‘I left you to sleep.’
‘And I awoke and found you gone. So I came looking.’
‘Just in time. Mr Lee has been explaining why you can see the Blue Ridge, but I still don’t understand him. He says we are in a house that does not exist.’
‘Silver Service, Inc. That was on the side of the Gulfstream,’ she said, as though contributing something of immense value. ‘Am I right?’
‘Completely.’ Brokenclaw was still smiling the sly, want-to-know-a-secret smirk. ‘Silver Service, Inc. is a company which can never, never in a hundred years be tied to me. I own it, naturally, but nobody can ever prove that, if only because my name does not appear in any of its records. Like a number of companies I own, much is done on trust. Trust, and, well, I suppose you could say, fear.’
They moved back to the table as Frozen Stalk reappeared, carrying fresh coffee and toast. Lee gave orders to have the chafing dishes checked and asked what Ms Mo would like to eat. She said that toast would be just fine. ‘Toast and some preserves.’
They all took more coffee and, when Pu had left, Brokenclaw carried on his explanation.
‘The house you caught a glimpse of in the early hours of this morning, certainly exists. Silver Service, Inc. makes compact disks – for the young market, for those who have to have loud, discordant music with unbelievable lyrics. The company manages to get through about forty new bands in a year. The run-of-the-mill bands do not last long. However, it also owns, lock, stock, barrel, electronic keyboards and drum machines, four bands who manage to keep turning out albums which please their public so much that they make millions of dollars a year – millions for themselves and millions for Silver Service. The house you saw last night belongs to that company, who rents or sells it to members of one or another of the bands in vogue. If it has been sold, then the company simply buys it back when the band ceases to be financially viable. At the moment, it belongs to a young man called Halman, an odd name and I think not his own, Marty Halman, drummer for a band called Ice Age. He lives in that house, often with several concubines, and a very expensive and serious nasal habit. I believe he’s in residence at the moment, and I fear that Ice Age, who have been chart-toppers for nearly eighteen months, will soon be no more. But, while they last, they make a great deal of money. When they are gone, the house will be bought – I use the word loosely – by another member of one of Silver Service’s top groups, or bands.