“What?”
“No one in washroom!”
Bond went into it. The two cubicles were empty, and there was no window. How the hell did he get out? Bond examined the back wall of one of the cubicles. He knocked on it and determined that it was hollow.
“It’s a trap door,” he said to Woo. He carefully felt the seams of the wall and finally found a minute depression. There was a tiny toggle switch there which, when flipped, activated a sliding door in the wall.
“Come on!” Bond commanded. He and Woo entered the dark corridor and ran twenty metres to another door. It opened easily—to the outside. They were behind the hotel, looking at a dark alleyway. Thackeray was nowhere in sight.
“What the hell … ?” Bond muttered.
They ran to the front of the casino. It was night now, and the neon from the building lit up the street. A black sedan tore out of the car park. Bond recognized the three killers in the front seat of the car. He started to draw his Walther PPK, but realized he had left it at the boat. The car sped away into the night.
The sound of approaching police sirens told them they should leave. “Come on, James,” Woo said. “There is nothing we can do. Let’s go back to boat.”
Bond nodded.
They hailed a taxi, went to the outskirts of town, walked quickly to the old pier, hopped on the Viking 66, and woke up J.J. On the journey back to Hong Kong, they discussed what had happened.
“Were they Triad?” Bond asked.
Woo said, “Possibly. Probably. It was their method. I spoke to guard before we left. The men picked up their weapons from kitchen before entering room. That is how they do it, so they do not have to bring weapons to scene of crime. They take whatever is available nearby.”
“Were they after Thackeray?”
“It seem like it.”
“He must have known they were coming. Why else would he run like that? How did he know there was a secret escape route from that room? What the hell is going on?”
“You tell me, James. I am tired.”
Bond also felt fatigued. It was nearly 10:00 p.m. He felt the jet-lag. He would go to his hotel and sleep until late morning.
“You saved my life, James,” Woo said. “Now I owe you big time.”
Bond shook his head. “Forget that maijiang business, T.Y. I wasn’t doing you a favour, I was doing my job.”
“Still, I am very grateful and indebted,” Woo said with great sincerity.
Bond smiled. “Don’t worry about it. Be thankful we’re returning to Hong Kong with all of our body parts.”
Woo grinned widely and held up the brown bag. “Not only that, we return with helluva lot of money, uh huh?”
EIGHT
PRIVATE DANCER
ZERO MINUS EIGHT: 23 JUNE 1997, 2:00 P.M.
James Bond slept until just before noon. He exercised, then ate a hearty brunch in one of the hotel’s several restaurants, the Mandarin Grill. The Grill sported green decor on the walls, mirrors on rectangular columns, and a couple of large aquariums. Bond knew that the concept of feng shui, the art and science of positioning man-made structures in harmony with the vital cosmic energy coursing through the earth, was taken seriously in the East. Sometimes entire buildings had to be adjusted slightly in accordance with instructions from professional feng shui masters. Fish tanks were in abundance in restaurants, as these improved the feng shui. It was obvious that the Mandarin Grill was one of Hong Kong’s most carefully planned restaurants. Like the Man Wah, it was pleasantly subdued and quiet—the perfect place to collect his thoughts. Bond had ordered scrambled eggs and toast, with freshly squeezed orange juice and now felt refreshed and alert.
Standing outside the Man Mo Temple in the Sheung Wan, or Western District, of the island, Bond marvelled at the city around him. The people, mostly Chinese, seemed oblivious to the historic event that would occur in eight days. Everyone went about their business completely ignoring the huge dragon to the north that was breathing down their necks. But Bond wondered what would happen to some of Hong Kong’s famous landmarks, such as the temple in front of him. Following the tourists, Bond stepped inside. The rich interior altar contained polished brass and pewter ritual vessels and a pair of shining brass deer symbolizing longevity and wealth. Brass statues of the Eight Immortals stood in front of the altar, each representing the different conditions of life: male, female, lord, peasant, age, youth, poverty, and wealth. A smaller room to the right contained images of Buddhist deities like Kwan Yum, Wong Tai Sin, and Kwan Ti, the god Mo himself. The temple was dedicated to two deities, Man and Mo, the first being the god of literature who controlled the destinies of mandarins and civil servants; the latter being the god of martial arts and war, who was the guardian deity of the Hong Kong Police but was favoured just as much by the underworld. All day long, worshippers dropped in for a fast communication with the gods. Bond stood fascinated watching people use the chim. These numbered bamboo sticks were used to answer important questions concerning business, family or fortune. The narrow canister was shaken until a stick fell out; its number then used to predict the outcome. Of course, one could always try again if the answer wasn’t favourable!
“You have question to ask gods, Ling Ling Chat? ”
Bond turned toward the whisper and saw T.Y. Woo’s smiling face. He was right on time.
Bond whispered in reply, “T.Y., I’m not sure the gods would appreciate the questions I have. And I probably wouldn’t like the answers, either. Come on.”
Bond and Woo left the temple and walked down Ladder Street from Hollywood Road. It was typical of the steep lanes paved with stone slabs for the convenience of sedan-chair bearers. They stepped down to Upper Lascar Row, which had once housed foreign seamen known as lascars. The lane was lined with renowned bric-a-brac and antiques dealers. Also called “Cat Street,” it got the nickname from the accompanying brothels.
Woo led him to a four-storey building with a red façade surrounding picture windows. The legend “Woo Antiques and Curios Shop” was set into the façade, and the windows revealed a clutter of expensive antiques and objets d’art. Two angry Chinese dragon-lions stood on either side of the single door, symbolically guarding the shop from evil.
“This is where J.J. and I live,” Woo said. “This is safe house.” Bond followed him inside and found J.J. polishing an antique bronze opium pipe. He looked up and nodded with a grin, then went back to work. The place was crammed with everything from inexpensive knick-knacks to fine jade figurines and ivory objets d’art. He led Bond to the back of the store and showed him the code to be punched into a numbered button pad on the wall. This unlocked a door, which revealed a set of stairs leading up to a large four-bedroomed flat. Bond would never have guessed such a large space could exist within the narrow building he had seen from the outside.
Woo poured two glasses of cold Tsingtao beer, and they sat down at a table near the kitchen.
“I want to meet the Triad Dragon Head today, T.Y.,” Bond said.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Will not be easy. Li Xu Nan very private man. Sometimes he can be found at one of his clubs, like I told you. He goes to Zipper a lot.”
“What are my chances of finding him there today?”
“Fifty-fifty,” Woo said. “Either he is there or he is not, uh huh?”
“T.Y., do you think the Triad is really involved in all this? What do you think about Thackeray’s behaviour last night?”