The digital numbers read 11:58. Once again, Bond looked at the contents of the shoe that Major Boothroyd had given him. Was there another tool … ? Of course! The tweezers! Bond plucked them from their position in the shoe and used them carefully to extract the lithium battery. The digital clock blinked out at 11:59. The crisis was over. Thackeray’s bomb was a dud.
Bond and Sunni climbed into the RIB, which took them over to the Peacock. Captain Plante met them on deck.
“Commander Bond?”
Bond nodded. “The bomb’s defused. Your men can salvage it off that sampan.”
“Excellent, Commander. Your chief is on the line there on the bridge,” he said. “Just up those steps. I’ve orders to deliver you back to England.”
What about Sunni? Bond thought. What were they going to do with her?
Bond got on the line, and after a few pips, heard M’s strained voice.
“Well, 007, I see that you persist in disobeying my orders.” she said.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I assure you it won’t become a habit. It’s just that …”
“Never mind, 007. I understand you stopped that man Thackeray from doing whatever it was he was planning.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I imagine the handover ceremony is in progress as we speak.”
“It’s midnight here, ma’am,” Bond said. “I suppose so.”
“Good. You’re to accompany Captain Plante back to England. I’m putting you on three months’ suspension for insubordination.”
Bond closed his eyes. Fine, if that’s the way she wants to play it.
Then M added, “With pay.”
“Ma’am?” He wasn’t sure he heard her correctly.
“As for the girl, I’ve arranged for a passport in her name. Just give the details to Chief of Staff. We’ll need to know which country she prefers. She can choose between England, America and Canada.”
Bond couldn’t believe it. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll ask her. I’m sure she’ll be very appreciative.”
They rang off and Bond joined Sunni on the deck of the ship. It began to pull away, heading east out of the harbour.
He put his arm around her. “England, America or Canada?” he asked.
“What?”
“You have your foreign passport.”
“Oh, James!” She kissed him. “Do I have to decide this second?”
“No.”
They looked out at the magnificent skyline of Hong Kong Island. At that moment, its sovereignty was changing hands. The future of the fabled city-state was now in the hands of the People’s Republic of China.
Bond thought about T.Y. Woo and his brother, and the lives they’d given for the colony which was now lost. He made a mental note to contact Woo’s son in England and offer to provide any assistance that Chen Chen might need. As for himself, he would have to live with the guilt he felt for being forced to turn his back on T.Y. that fateful day in Guangzhou. He knew he could eventually bury it, for it was no different from what he’d felt when his friend Felix Leiter lost a leg at the hands of Mr. Big’s men in Florida, or when his colleague Darko Kerim was killed by Russian agents on the Orient Express, or when his companion Quarrel was burned alive on that island in the Caribbean. James Bond had lost many friends during his career with the Secret Service. He had learned long ago how to deal with it and turn the pain into an asset that contributed to his self-made shell—the hardened, tough armour that protected him from the inevitably maddening, and conceivably fatal, aspects of consciousness called human emotions.
He looked over at Sunni and saw that tears were streaming down her cheeks. Bond gently used his finger to wipe them away.
“You miss your mother, don’t you …” he said tenderly.
She nodded. “That’s not why I’m crying, though,” she said. “I’m crying for Hong Kong. I fear for its people.”
“No,” Bond said, kissing her softly. “The people will manage. Don’t worry about them. They are strong, and they are determined. So don’t cry.”
“All right.” Sunni smiled and wiped her face. “No tears for Hong Kong.”
She allowed him to encircle her with his arms as they looked towards the skyline to watch the fireworks.
ZERO: 1 JULY 1997, 12:01 A.M.
In Statue Square, the handover of the British Crown Colony known as Hong Kong was executed peacefully and smoothly. Formal statements were read by both sides, and the representatives from China shook hands with the representatives from Great Britain. As soon as the transition was declared official, there were tumultuous cries from the people standing in the congested streets. Some were cries of joy, and others were cries of sadness. The fireworks began, filling the sky with colours, noise, and celebration.
Over at Government House, a few blocks away, the Union Jack was lowered for the last time, and the red and yellow Chinese flag was raised in its place. A new chapter in the history of Asia, and mankind, had begun.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ZERO MINUS TEN
The author wishes to thank the following individuals and organizations for their assistance:
IN THE U.S. AND CANADA:
Kevin Chin, Paul F. Dantuono, Sandra Groark, Alexandra Harris, Dan Harvey, Daisy Koh, Joseph Lau, Hen Chen Lee, Charles Plante, Doug Redenius, David A. Reinhardt, Moana Re Robertson, Kathy Tootelian (for the mahjong illustrations), Mike VanBlaricum, Amanda Wu, Kenneth Yung, and everyone at Viacom New Media.
IN THE U.K.:
Peter Janson-Smith, Carolyn Caughey, Man Wei Tam, Pradip Patel and Rina Gokani of the Chiswick Pharmacy, Corinne B. Turner, the staff of Glidrose Publications Ltd., and the heirs of the late Ian Lancaster Fleming.
IN HONG KONG AND AUSTRALIA:
Sarah Cairns and Henry Ho of the Mandarin Oriental; Terry Foo of the Hongkong and Shanghai Bank; Eric Lockeyear, Mark Bowles, and Peter IP Pau-juk of the Royal Hong Kong Police; Marg Mason of the Kalgoorlie-Boulder Tourist Centre; Jacqueline L.S. Ng; James Pickard; and Jeanie Wong and Stephen Wong of the Hong Kong Tourist Association. Special acknowledgement is made to the Royal Hong Kong Police for permission to use material from the Government Press book Triad Societies in Hong Kong by W.P. Morgan (Crown Copyright Reserved, 1960).