Carte Blanche - Jeffery Deaver [52]
A year ago he had approached Bond awkwardly for help, suspecting he did something that involved government security. On his way home from school, Kharaz’s teenage son had become the target of some hooded thugs, nineteen or twenty years old, who flaunted their anti-social behaviour orders like insignias of rank. The police were sympathetic but had little time for the drama. Worried sick about his son, Kharaz asked if there was anything Bond could recommend. In a moment of weakness, the knight errant within Bond had prevailed and he had trailed the boy home from school one day when nothing much was going on at the ODG. When the tormentors had moved in, so had Bond.
With a few effortless martial arts manoeuvres he had gently laid two of them out on the pavement and pinned the third, the ringleader, to a wall. He had taken their names from their driving licences and whispered coldly that if the Kharaz boy was ever troubled again, the hoodies’ next visit from Bond would not end so civilly. The boys had strode off defiantly, but the son was never troubled again; his status at school had soared.
So, Bond had become Fouad Kharaz’s ‘best friend of all best friends’. He’d decided to call in the favour and borrow one of the man’s jets.
According to the digital map on the bulkhead, beneath the airspeed and altitude indicators, they were over Iran. Two hours to go until they touched down in Dubai.
Just after takeoff, Bond had called Bill Tanner and told him of his destination and about the ninety or so deaths planned for seven o’clock that evening, presumably in Dubai, but perhaps anywhere in the United Arab Emirates.
‘Why’s Hydt going to kill them?’ the chief of staff had asked.
‘I’m not sure he is, but all those people are going to die and he’ll be there.’
‘I’ll go through diplomatic channels, tell the embassies there’s some threat but we don’t have anything concrete. They’ll leak word to the Dubai security apparatus too, through back channels.’
‘Don’t mention Hydt’s name. He needs to get into the country undisturbed. He can’t suspect anything. I have to find out what he’s up to.’
‘I agree. We’ll handle it on the sly.’
He’d asked Tanner to check the Golden Wire about Hydt’s affiliation with the Emirates, hoping there was a specific place he might be headed for. A moment later the chief of staff was back. ‘No offices, residences or business affiliations anywhere in the area. And I’ve just done a data-mining search. No hotel reservations in his name.’
Bond wasn’t pleased. As soon as Hydt landed, he would disappear into the sprawling emirate of two and a half million people. It would be impossible to find him before the attack.
Just as he disconnected, the flight attendant appeared. ‘We have many different dishes but I saw you look at the Dom with appreciation so I decided you would like the best we have aboard. Mr Kharaz said you were to be treated like a king.’ She set the silver tray on the table beside his champagne flute, which she refilled for him. ‘I’ve brought you Iranian caviar – beluga, of course – with toast, not blinis, crème fraîche and capers.’ The capers were the large ones, so large she had sliced them. ‘The grated onions are Vidalia, from America, the sweetest in the world.’ She added, ‘They are kind to the breath too. We call them “lovers’ onions”. To follow, there is duck in aspic, with minted yogurt and dates. I can also cook you a steak.’
He laughed. ‘No, no. This is more than enough.’
She left him to eat. When he had finished, he had two small cups of cardamom-flavoured Arabic coffee, as he read the intelligence that Philly Maidenstone had provided about Hydt and Green Way. He was struck by two things: the man’s care in steering clear of organised crime and his almost fanatical efforts to expand the company throughout the world. She had discovered recently filed applications to do business in South Korea, China, India, Argentina and half a dozen smaller countries. He was disappointed that he could find no clue in any of the material as to the Irishman’s identity. Philly had run