Carte Blanche - Jeffery Deaver [71]
‘What’s Dunne’s story?’ Bond asked. In front of him the fish cooled but he’d lost interest in it.
‘It’s curious. He was born in Belfast, studied architecture and engineering, came top of his year. Then he became a sapper in the Army.’
Sappers were combat engineers, the soldiers who built bridges, airports and bomb shelters for the troops, as well as laid and cleared minefields. They were known for their improvisational skills, building defensive or offensive machinery and bulwarks with whatever supplies were available and under less-than-ideal conditions.
The ODG’s Lieutenant Colonel Bill Tanner had been a sapper and the soft-spoken, golf-loving chief of staff was one of the cleverest and most dangerous men Bond had ever met.
Osborne-Smith continued, ‘After he left the service he became a freelance engineering inspector. I didn’t know that any such line of work existed but it turns out that in constructing a building, ship or plane, the project has to be inspected at hundreds of stages. Dunne would look over the work and say yea or nay. He was apparently at the top of his game – he could find flaws that nobody else could. But suddenly he quit and became a consultant, according to Inland Revenue records. He’s a damn good one, too – he makes about two hundred grand a year . . . and doesn’t have a company logo or cute mascots like Wenlock and Mandeville.’
Bond found that, since the apology, he felt less impatient with Osborne-Smith’s wit, such as it was. ‘That’s probably how they met. Dunne inspected something for Green Way and Hydt hired him.’
Osborne-Smith continued, ‘Data mining’s placed Dunne going to and from Cape Town over the past four years. He’s got a flat there and one in London, which we’ve been through, by the way, and found nothing of interest. The travel records also show he’s been in India, Indonesia, the Caribbean and a few other places where trouble’s brewing. Working on new outposts for his boss, I’d guess.’ He added, ‘Whitehall’s still looking at Afghanistan, but I don’t give a toss about their theories. I’m sure you’re on the money, James.’
‘Thanks, Percy. You’ve been very helpful.’
‘Delighted to be of service.’ The words that Bond would have found condescending yesterday now sounded sincere.
They rang off and Bond told Felix Leiter what Osborne-Smith had turned up.
‘So that scarecrow Dunne’s an engineer? We call ’em geeks in the states.’
A hawker had entered the restaurant and was moving from table to table selling roses.
Leiter saw the direction of Bond’s gaze. ‘Listen up, James, I’ve had a wonderful dinner but if you’re thinking of sealing the deal with a bouquet, it ain’t gonna happen.’
Bond smiled.
The hawker stepped up to the table next to Bond’s and extended a flower to a young couple seated there. ‘Please,’ he said to the wife, ‘the lovely lady will have this for free, with my compliments.’ He moved on.
After a moment Bond lifted his napkin and opened the envelope he’d casually removed from the man’s pocket in a perfect brush pass.
Remember: flowers . . .
Discreetly he examined the forgery of a South African firearms permit, suitably franked and signed. ‘We should go,’ he said, noting the time. He didn’t want to run into Hydt, Dunne and the woman on the way out of the hotel.
‘We’ll put this on Uncle Sam,’ Leiter said and settled the bill. They left the bar and slipped out by a side door, heading for the car park.
Within half an hour they were at the airport.
The men gripped hands and Leiter offered in a low voice, ‘Yusuf was a great asset, sure. But more than that, he was a friend. You run across