Carte Blanche - Jeffery Deaver [115]
‘Entropy,’ Bond said.
‘Exactly.’ Hydt beamed. ‘I’d seen a statue of Septimius Severus and I look a bit like him so I took his family name.’ He focused on Bond. ‘Are you feeling uneasy, Theron? Don’t worry. You haven’t signed on with Ahab. I’m not mad.’
Bond laughed. ‘I wasn’t thinking you were. Honestly. I was thinking about the million dollars you mentioned.’
‘Of course.’ He studied Bond closely. ‘Tomorrow the first of a number of projects I’m engaged in will come to fruition. My main partners will be here. You will come too. Then you’ll see what we’re about.’
‘For a million, what do you want me to do?’ He frowned. ‘Shoot somebody with real bullets?’
Hydt fondled his beard again. He did indeed resemble a Roman emperor. ‘You don’t need to do anything tomorrow. That project is finished. We’ll just be watching the results. And celebrating, I hope. We’ll call your million a signature bonus. After that, you’ll be very busy.’
Bond forced himself to smile. ‘I’m pleased to be included.’
Just then Hydt’s mobile rang. He looked at the screen, rose and turned away. Bond guessed there was some difficulty. Hydt didn’t get angry but his stillness indicated he wasn’t happy. He disconnected. ‘I’m sorry. A problem in Paris. Inspectors. Trade unions. It’s a Green Way issue, nothing to do with tomorrow’s project.’
Bond didn’t want to make the man suspicious so he backed off. ‘All right. What time do you want me?’
‘Ten a.m.’
Recalling the original intercept that GCHQ had decrypted and the clues he’d found up in March about the time the attack would take place, Bond understood he would have about twelve hours to find out what Gehenna was about and stop it.
A figure appeared in the doorway. It was Jessica Barnes. She wore what seemed to be her typical garb – a black skirt and modest white shirt. Bond had never liked women to wear excessive make-up but he wondered again why she didn’t use even the minimum.
‘Jessica, this is Gene Theron,’ Hydt said absently. He’d forgotten they’d met last night.
The woman didn’t remind him.
Bond took her hand. She returned a timid nod. Then she said to Hydt, ‘The ad proofs didn’t come in. They won’t be here till tomorrow.’
‘You can review them then, can’t you?’
‘Yes, but there’s nothing more to do here. I was thinking I’d like to go back to Cape Town.’
‘Something’s come up. I’ll be a few hours, maybe more. You can wait . . .’ His eyes strayed to the door behind which Bond had seen the bed.
She hesitated. ‘All right.’ A sigh.
Bond said, ‘I’m going back into town. I can drive you if you like.’
‘Really? It’s not too much trouble?’ Her question, however, was not directed towards Bond but to Hydt.
The man was scrolling through his mobile. He looked up. ‘Good of you, Theron. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
They shook hands.
‘Totsiens.’ Bond gave the Afrikaans farewell, which he knew courtesy of the Captain Bheka Jordaan School of Language.
‘What time will you be home, Severan?’ Jessica asked Hydt.
‘When I get there,’ he responded absently, punching a number into his phone.
Five minutes later Jessica and Bond were at the front security post, where he again passed through the metal detector. But before he was reunited with his gun and mobile, a guard walked up and said, ‘What is that, sir? I see something in your pocket.’
The inhaler. How the hell had he spotted the slight bulge in the windcheater? ‘It’s nothing.’
‘I’ll see it, please.’
‘I’m not stealing anything from a junkyard,’ he snapped, ‘if that’s what you’re thinking.’
Patiently the man said, ‘Our rules are very clear, sir. I’ll see it or I have to call Mr Dunne