Carte Blanche - Jeffery Deaver [37]
Since the ODG’s raison d’être was operational, much of Hirani’s work lay in ensuring he had sufficient monoculars, binoculars, camouflage, communications devices, specialised weapons and counter-surveillance gear to hand. In this regard he was like a librarian who made sure the books were checked out appropriately and returned on time.
But Hirani’s particular genius was his ability to invent and improvise, coming up with devices like the iQPhone. The ODG was, of all things, the patent holder on dozens of his inventions. When Bond or other O Branch agents were in the field and found themselves in a tight spot, one call to Hirani, at any time of day or night, and he would find a solution. He or his people might put something together in the office and pop it into the FCO diplomatic pouch for overnight delivery. More often, though, time was critical and Hirani would enlist one of his many wily innovators and scroungers around the world to build, find or modify a device in the field.
‘James.’ The men shook hands. ‘You’ve bought Incident Twenty, I hear.’
‘Seems so.’
Bond sat down, noticing a book on Hirani’s desk: The Secret War of Charles Fraser-Smith. It was one of his own favourites on the history of gadgetry in espionage.
‘How serious is it?’
‘Rather,’ Bond said laconically, not sharing that he’d nearly been killed twice already in pursuing the assignment, which he’d had for less than forty-eight hours.
Sitting beneath pictures of early IBM computers and of Indian cricketers, Hirani asked, ‘What do you need?’
Bond lowered his voice so that the closest Q Branch worker, a young woman raptly staring at her screen, could not hear. ‘What kind of surveillance kits do you have that one man could put in place? I can’t get to the subject’s computer or phone but I may be able to plant something in his office, vehicle or home. Disposable. I probably can’t retrieve it later.’
‘Ah, yes . . .’ Hirani’s luminescent eyes dimmed.
‘Some problem, Sanu?’
‘Well, I must tell you, James. Not ten minutes ago I had a call from upstairs.’
‘Bill Tanner?’
‘No – farther upstairs.’
M. Dammit, Bond thought. He could see where this was going.
Hirani went on: ‘And he said that if anyone from O Branch wished to check out a surveillance kit I was to let him know immediately. A touch coincidental.’
‘A touch,’ Bond said sourly.
‘So,’ Hirani said, with a qualified smile, ‘shall I tell him that someone from O Branch wishes to check out a surveillance kit?’
‘Perhaps you could hold off for a bit.’
‘Well, get it sorted,’ he said, the gleam in his face restored. ‘I have some wonderful packages for you to choose from.’ He sounded like a car salesman. ‘A microphone that’s powered by induction. You only have to place it near a power cord, no battery needed. It’ll pick up voices from fifty feet away and adjust the volume automatically so there’s no distortion. Oh, and another thing we’ve been having great success with is a two-pound coin – the ’ninety-four tercentenary of the Bank of England commemorative. It’s relatively rare so a target tends to keep it for good luck but not so rare that he would sell it. Battery lasts for four months.’
Bond sighed. The off-limits devices sounded so damn perfect. He thanked the man and told him he’d be in touch. He returned to his office, where he found Mary Goodnight at her desk. He saw no reason for her to stay. ‘Scoot on home now. Good evening, Goodnight.’
She glanced at his latest injuries and forewent the opportunity for mothering him, which from past experience she knew would be deflected. She settled for ‘See to those, James,’ then gathered up her handbag and coat.
Sitting back, Bond was suddenly aware of the stench of his sweat and the crescents of brick dust under his nails. He wanted to get home and shower. Have his first drink of the day. Yet there was something he had to sort out first.
He turned to his screen and entered the Golden Wire’s general information database, from which he learnt where Severan Hydt’s business and home were located, the latter,