Part 28 (2/2)

Bixton beamed. But Sir Andrew hadn't quite finished. His persistence, infused with shrewdness, was one of the reasons M believed that future audiences with him might take place at 10 Downing Street. 'Bond will be all-hands-on-deck?'

The threat implicit in the question was that if 007 remained in South Africa in defiance of M's orders, Sir Andrew's protection of Bond, M and the ODG would cease.

The irony in giving an agent like 007 carte blanche was that he was supposed to exercise it and act as he saw fit which sometimes meant he would not be on deck with all of the other hands. You can't have it both ways, M reflected. 'As I said, I'll make some calls.'

'Good. We'd better be off.'

As they departed, M stood up and went through the french doors on to the balcony, where he noted a Metropolitan Police Specialist Protection officer, armed with a machine gun. After an examination of and a nod to the new arrival on his turf, the man returned to looking down over the street, thirty feet below. 'All quiet?' M asked.

'Yes, sir.'

M walked to the far end of the balcony and lit a cheroot, sucking the smoke in deep. The streets were eerily quiet. The barricades were not just the tubular metal fences you saw outside Parliament; they were cement blocks, four feet high, solid enough to stop a speeding car. The pavements were patrolled by armed guards and M noted several snipers on the roofs of nearby buildings. He gazed absently down Richmond Terrace towards Victoria Embankment.

He took out his mobile and called Moneypenny.

Only a single ring before she answered. 'Yes, sir?'

'I need to talk to the chief of staff.'

'He's popped down to the canteen. I'll connect you.'

As he waited, M squinted and gave a gruff laugh. At the intersection, near the barricade, there was a large lorry and a few men were dragging bins to and from it. They were employees of Severan Hydt's company, Green Way International. He realised he'd been watching them for the past few minutes yet not actually noticing them. They'd been invisible.

'Tanner here, sir.'

The dustmen vanished from M's thoughts. He plucked the cheroot from between his teeth and said evenly, 'Bill, I need to talk to you about 007.'

50.

Guided by sat-nav, Bond made his way through central Cape Town, past businesses and residences. He found himself in an area of small, brightly coloured houses, blue, pink, red and yellow, tucked under Signal Hill. The narrow streets were largely cobbled. It reminded him of villages in the Caribbean, with the difference that here careful Arabic designs patterned many homes. He pa.s.sed a quiet mosque.

It was six thirty on this cool Thursday evening and he was en route to Bheka Jordaan's house.

Friend or foe . . .

He wound the car through the uneven streets and parked nearby. She met him at the door and greeted him with an unsmiling nod. She had shed her work clothing and wore blue jeans and a close-fitting dark red cardigan. Her s.h.i.+ny black hair hung loose and he was taken by the rich aura of lilac scent from a recent shampooing. 'This is an interesting area,' he said. 'Nice.'

'It's called Bo-Kaap. It used to be very poor, mostly Muslim, immigrants from Malaysia. I moved here with . . . well, with someone years ago. It was poorer then. Now the place is becoming very chic. There used to be only bicycles parked outside. Now it's Toyotas but soon it'll be Mercedes. I don't like that. I'd rather it was as it used to be. But it's my home. Besides, my sisters and I take turns to have Ugogo living with us, and they're close so it's convenient.'

'Ugogo?' Bond asked.

'It means ”grandmother”. Our mother's mother. My parents live in Pietermaritzburg, in KwaZulu-Natal, some way east of here.'

Bond recalled the antique map in her office.

'So we look after Ugogo. That's the Zulu way.'

She didn't invite him in, so, on the porch, Bond gave her an account of his trip to Green Way. 'I need the film in this developed.' He handed her the inhaler. 'It's eight-millimetre, ISO is twelve hundred. Can you sort it?'

'Me? Not your MI6 a.s.sociate?' she asked acerbically.

Bond felt no need to defend Gregory Lamb. 'I trust him but he raided my minibar of two hundred rands' worth of drink. I'd like somebody with a clear head to handle it. Developing film can be tricky.'

'I'll take care of it.'

'Now, Hydt has some a.s.sociates coming into town tonight. There's a meeting at the Green Way plant tomorrow morning.' He thought back to what Dunne had said. 'They're arriving at about seven. Can you find out their names?'

'Do you know the airlines?'

'No, but Dunne's meeting them.'

'We'll put a stake-out in place. Kwalene is good at that. He jokes, but he's very good.'

He certainly is. Discreet, too, Bond reflected.

A woman's voice called from inside.

Jordaan turned her head. 'Ize balulekile.'

Some more Zulu words were exchanged.

Jordaan's face was still. 'Will you come in? So Ugogo can see you're not someone in a gang. I've told her it's no one. But she worries.'

No one?

Bond followed her into the small flat, which was tidy and nicely furnished. Prints, hangings and photos decorated the walls.

The elderly woman who'd spoken to Jordaan was sitting at a large dining table set with two places. The meal had largely concluded. She was very frail. Bond recognised her as the woman in many of the pictures in Jordaan's office. She wore a loose orange and brown frock and slippers. Her grey hair was short. She started to rise.

'No, please,' Bond said.

She stood anyway and, hunched, shuffled forward to shake his hand with a firm, dry grip.

'You are the Englishman Bheka spoke of. You don't look so bad to me.'

Jordaan glared at her.

The older woman introduced herself: 'I'm Mbali.'

'James.'

<script>