Zero Minus Ten

SIX

THE PREVAILING WIND

4:00 P.M.

The Viking 66 Sports Cruiser skipped along the water away from the Causeway Bay docks and into Victoria Harbour. T.Y. Woo introduced the captain as his elder brother, J.J. The elder Woo, when not assisting at the antiques store on Cat Street, was a yachting enthusiast. T.Y. often used his brother’s boat for official Secret Service business. Like T.Y., J.J. was very agreeable. He said little; when Bond addressed him, J.J. would just nod his head and smile. Bond assumed the man’s English wasn’t as good as his brother’s.

The boat was built in the UK primarily for the American market with US components, but J.J. managed to have a model shipped over to Hong Kong. Apparently the Woo family had been very wealthy, and J.J. and T.Y. had each inherited a private fortune. The 66 had a solid glass hull, twin 820-hp MANs, and the capability of topping out at 30 knots. The deep-V design gave the boat true offshore capabilities—and a smooth ride. T.Y. proudly told Bond that J.J. had bought the boat for a song—only 1.5 million Hong Kong dollars.

It was still broad daylight. The harbour was extremely busy and full of all types of vessels. T.Y. told Bond that they had nothing to fear from the Marine Police—his boat was registered with them and would not be stopped. Even so, it was apparently not at all difficult to slip away from Hong Kong and over to Macau without Immigration finding out. The only trick was finding a discreet place to dock in Macau.

After twenty minutes, the boat was speeding through the strait north of Lantau Island and below the New Territories. Soon, they were out in the open South China Sea. J.J. opened up the MANs, and the Viking reached maximum speed.

“We will be in Macau in another three-quarters hour, uh huh?” T.Y. said, grinning. The wind was blowing through his short dark hair, and Woo seemed to take great pleasure in the sensation. Bond was feeling the effects of jet lag. He hoped some strong coffee would sharpen his wits enough for him to play a fast-paced game of mahjong, especially since he was not very familiar with it.

“Where are we going exactly?” Bond asked.

“Lisboa Hotel and Casino,” Woo said. “Not one of my favourite establishments.”

Bond knew the Lisboa. It was a prime tourist attraction in the legendary territory. Macau’s history was almost as colourful as Hong Kong’s. It predated the British colony by several centuries, its story part of the seaborne Age of Exploration that brought fifteenth century Portugal to prominence. Trade was the underlying catalyst for its development, specifically the immense wealth to be gained from the spices and silks of the Orient. The port of Macau was set up by the mid-1500s as a stop between Malacca and Japan. The territory flourished, especially during the early seventeenth century. By the twentieth, however, it had declined and had developed a reputation as a hotbed of spies, vice, and intrigue. In 1987, the anti-colonial Portuguese government signed an official agreement with China to hand over Macau on 20 December 1999. Unlike Hong Kong, Macau residents who gave up residency had the right to live in any EC country, including, ironically, Great Britain.

“You need quick mahjong reminder?” Woo asked Bond.

“That would be most helpful.”

Woo gestured that they should get out of the wind and into the boat’s cabin. They left the teak-covered deck, went below, and sat at a small table. Woo made some strong coffee and said, “Okay, tell me what you know.”

“The game is a mixture of gin rummy, dominoes, and poker, you might say. There are four players who play against each other. There isn’t much skill involved, mostly luck, and the trick is to play defensively and try to out-guess what your opponents need. There are three suits—Bamboo Sticks, Circles, and Characters. There are four sets of tiles numbered one to nine in each of the three suits. There are also four Red Dragon tiles, four Green Dragon, four White Dragon, and four tiles of each “wind”—the East Wind, West Wind, and so on.”

“Yes, that is all true,” Woo said. “There is skill, James. You must play fast and be creative in building your hand for most possible points. Every point worth a lot of money, uh huh?” Woo grinned. “We brought 80,000 Hong Kong dollars of company’s cash to lose. I already cleared it with M. She just said we better not lose it!” Woo laughed at that. “If Thackeray on a roll like he always is, M is in for big surprise!”

“Why is he so good?” Bond asked. “The game really does depend on the luck of the draw, doesn’t it?”

Woo shrugged. “I do not know. If he cheats, I do not know how he does it. It is very hard to cheat at mahjong, uh huh? He wins thousands of dollars a night playing.”

The Viking sailed around the southern tip of Macau and made its way up the western side of the peninsula. Woo explained that it was easier to dock unseen over there, and they could take a taxi to the casino. They found a decrepit wooden dock hidden in some overgrowth.

“We use this dock before,” Woo said. “Be careful when you step on it. It not very safe. Oh, I almost forget. We cannot take guns in casino. They have high security. Metal detectors. We must leave them here.”

Bond remembered that from previous visits, and it made him very uncomfortable. Reluctantly, he handed J.J. his Walther PPK. “I hope I’m not going to need that later,” he said.

J.J. told T.Y. in Chinese that he would stay with the boat, then proceeded to stretch out on the bunk in the cabin. Bond and Woo carefully stepped on to the dock. It was a short walking distance to an urban area, and they found a taxi within minutes. The Hotel Lisboa was a barrel-shaped concrete building painted mustard and white, with walls corrugated like a waffle and roofs fashioned to resemble roulette wheels. As they entered the lobby, Bond noticed a collection of oddities on display: a small dinosaur skeleton, giant junks of carved ivory and jade, and a tapestry of the Great Wall. After passing through an unusually stringent security check, Bond followed Woo into the noisy, gaudy casino, where he had gambled a few times before. He was always amazed by the joylessness of the Macau casinos. Gambling there was taken very seriously and the participants did not look like happy people.

Woo stopped at a slot machine. “I must feed Hungry Tiger first,” he said. He slipped a two-dollar coin into the contraption and pulled the handle. He got a cherry, a bar, and an orange. He shrugged. “Come on, let’s go find mahjong game.”

The Lisboa was built on several levels, with different games of baccarat, blackjack, roulette, fan tan, and slot machines played on different floors. The main, rotunda room of the first floor was full of smoke and sweat. Playing mahjong at a casino was highly unusual. Thackeray’s game was a private affair, and was played in a secluded, rented room.

Bond and Woo took the stairs to the third floor, past the VIP baccarat room and into a less crowded area. Woo spoke to a guard, who gestured to his right. Bond followed Woo to an archway covered by red curtains. “We are in luck,” Woo said. “Thackeray not here yet.” He moved through the curtains and was greeted by an Englishman in his late thirties with wavy blond hair.

“Mr. Woo!” the man said. “I thought you had lost all your money the last time you were here! Don’t tell me you’ve come back for more punishment?”

“Ah, Mr. Sinclair, you know that I must save face and try again,” Woo said good-humouredly. “This is my friend and business acquaintance Mr. Bond. He would like to play tonight, too. Is that all right?”

Sinclair scrutinized Bond and recognized a fellow Englishman. He held out his hand. “Simon Sinclair.”

“James Bond.” The man had a firm handshake, he noticed.

“What brings you to Macau, Mr. Bond?” Sinclair asked.

“I’m a reporter for a Jamaican paper, the Daily Gleaner,” he said. “Covering the handover of Hong Kong next week.”

Sinclair rolled his eyes. “You and how many other thousand journalists? Well, come in, come in.”

It was a small room with a square table in the centre. Chairs stood at each of the four sides, and a set of mahjong tiles was spread out, face down, on the table. A Chinese stood behind a fully stocked bar on one side of the room, preparing a concoction in a blender. An archway on the opposite wall led into a small foyer, presumably to a private washroom.

“Do you know Mr. Thackeray, Mr. Bond?” Sinclair asked.

“No, I’m looking forward to meeting him,” Bond said. “Mr. Woo here tells me that he’s quite a player.”

Sinclair laughed. “He takes me to the cleaners twice a week. I don’t know why I continue to play with him—some sort of masochistic streak in me, I suppose.”

“What do you do, Mr. Sinclair?” Bond asked.

“I work for EurAsia Enterprises. I was … uhm … recently promoted to General Manager.”

As if on cue, the curtains parted and Guy Thackeray walked in, followed by two bulky men who looked like bodyguards. He stopped to survey the room, but for some reason became unsteady for just a moment. He regained his composure quickly.

“Hello, Guy,” Sinclair said. “You remember Mr. Woo?”

Woo held out his hand. “Hello, Mr. Thackeray, I have come to lose my money again, uh huh?”

Thackeray shook his hand but didn’t smile. “A pleasure to take it, Mr. Woo.” There was a slight slur to his speech.

Woo turned to Bond. “And this is my friend from Jamaica, Mr. James Bond. He is a journalist covering the Hong Kong handover.”

Thackeray looked at Bond, sizing him up. Bond held out his hand and said, “How do you do?”

There was a slight pause before Thackeray took his hand, almost as if he wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted to do so. But his grip was firm and dry.

“Welcome to the Far East, Mr. Bond,” Thackeray said. “I hope you’re a better mahjong player than your friend Mr. Woo.” Bond smelled alcohol. The man was very drunk.

“I’m afraid I’m mostly accustomed to western rules, but I shall do my best,” Bond said.

The man looked like his photograph. He was very handsome, even if his face was severe. Bond did note that Thackeray appeared tired, with the look of a man under a great deal of stress. After what happened to EurAsia’s Board of Directors, he must be dealing with a massive amount of red tape.

“What can I get you to drink?” he asked.

“Vodka martini, shaken, please. Not stirred.”

For the first time since he’d entered the room, Thackeray displayed the hint of a smile. “I like a man who’s particular,” he said, then walked over to the bartender.

Over the next few minutes, the two bodyguards turned away other prospective mahjong players who had enquired about the game. Although the room was private, the bodyguards didn’t prevent spectators from coming and going. By the time the men were ready to play, six or seven other Chinese men were standing around the edges, chattering quietly among themselves.

“Don’t let my sycophants disturb your concentration, Mr. Bond,” Thackeray said. “They like to bet on the various hands during the game.”

“The more the merrier,” Bond said.

Thackeray had brought Bond his martini and placed an entire bottle of vodka on the table for himself. He sat down, poured a glass, then took a gulp.

“Shall we begin?” Thackeray said, standing next to the table. “Do you know the rules for our game?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “Two-point minimum, ten-point maximum, 100 Hong Kong dollars a point, standard doubling, Maximum Hand is 38,400 dollars. No chicken hands allowed. Agreed?”

“Chicken hand?” Bond asked.

T.Y. explained. “Ah, in Hong Kong version of game, that is what we call a winning hand that has both types of sets—Chows and Pongs or Kongs. It is easiest type of winning hand to get. But remember, a chicken hand is okay if you have points from other things, like Flowers or Winds.”

Bond knew what Woo meant. A winning hand in mahjong consisted of fourteen tiles in a combination of “sets.” A Chow was a set of three consecutively numbered tiles from any suit, such as a 1–2–3 or a 6–7–8. A Pong was a set of three of the same numbered tiles from any given suit, such as three 6s in the Circles suit. A Kong was a set of four of the same numbered tiles from any given suit. To “go out,” a player’s hand must contain three or four Chows, Pongs, and/or Kongs, plus one Pair of the same tiles in any suit. Special hands consisting of a combination of specific tiles were worth more points.

“So, are we agreed?” Thackeray asked again.

“Certainly,” Bond said, feeling as if he was signing a pact with the devil.

Each player was required to hand over 50,000 Hong Kong dollars for a cache of chips. A Chinese man working for the casino acted as moderator and banker. He stacked up four tiles face down in the centre of the table.

Thackeray handed Bond the dice. “I’ll let you have the honour of rolling for the pick of Winds.”

Bond quickly went over in his mind the game’s procedure. Mahjong was divided into four Rounds, each named after the four Winds. The Round’s name was known as the “Prevailing Wind” for all the hands played within the Round. Each player’s seating position was also named after one of the four Winds. Players picked Wind tiles in turn to determine which seat, or Wind, they were to play at the beginning. Whoever chose the East Wind was the dealer for the first hand in the East Round. A Round consisted of a minimum of four hands with the deal being passed around the table. The game would end once each of the four Winds had been the “Prevailing Wind.” There was a minimum of sixteen hands, usually more, in a complete game of mahjong. Fast players could complete a game in less than an hour.

Bond rolled the dice and counted the players around the table counter-clockwise, ending on Woo. He drew one of the tiles on the table. It was the South Wind. Thackeray was next, drawing the East Wind. Sinclair drew the West, and Bond was left with North. Thackeray pulled up a chair. Bond sat to Thackeray’s left. Sinclair sat facing Thackeray, and T.Y. was across from Bond. Thus, for the East Wind Round, Thackeray was the number 1 seat, East, and dealer for the first hand. T.Y. was number 2, South; Sinclair was number 3, West; and Bond was number 4, North.

All four men began mixing the 144 tiles face down on the table. This was done with a tremendous clatter. Then, each player proceeded to build their side of the “the wall,” consisting of 36 tiles stacked two-deep.

Bond decided this was a good time to try and get his target to open up. “Mr. Thackeray,” he said, “I would welcome the opportunity to interview you regarding the Hong Kong handover. I understand your company is successful and well-regarded. You’re an important man in the colony and I’d like to know what you think about living under Chinese rule.”

“You’re lucky, Mr. Bond,” Thackeray said, building the second layer of his wall. “I’m giving a press conference the day after tomorrow at 4:00 p.m. It’ll be at the corporate headquarters in Central. You’re welcome to attend. I’ll make sure your name gets on the list.”

“Thank you, I appreciate the invitation,” Bond said. He thought he would try to get some kind of reaction out of the man. “Terrible thing that happened at that restaurant. I imagine it left you and your company devastated?”

Thackeray’s wall was finished. He looked up at Bond and stared at him. “Yes,” was all he said.

Bond pushed the man further. “I’ve always thought luck comes in waves, both good and bad. Didn’t something happen to your solicitor, too? I heard something … ?”

“Mr. Bond, did you come here to discuss my personal affairs or to play mahjong?” Thackeray growled. What little humour the man possessed was now totally gone. Bond was convinced he was a perpetually cantankerous alcoholic.

“Oh, I came to play mahjong,” Bond said. “Forgive me.”

When the four completed walls formed a perfect square on the table, Thackeray took three small dice and rolled them in the centre. He got a 10. Starting with himself, he counted the sides of the wall counter-clockwise, ending up on the South Wall, in front of Woo. Then, after counting ten tiles from the right end of the South wall, Thackeray “broke” the wall by separating the tiles at that point. He took the four tiles to the left of the break. Woo picked up the next four tiles, followed by Sinclair, and then Bond. This was repeated until each player had twelve tiles. Then, Thackeray took two more tiles to make fourteen, and the other players each took one tile. East always began a hand by discarding his fourteenth tile.

Bond arranged his tiles in front of him. It was a terrible hand. He had two useless blue Flowers. The blue and red Flower tiles gave points to a player if the Flower’s number matched his seat or the name of the Round. Flowers were immediately exposed for all to see, and the vacant spots in the hand were replaced by new tiles. Thackeray had one Flower—a Red 1, which luckily matched his seat. This automatically gave him one point. He drew a tile from the dead wall and kept it. The other two players had no Flowers, which was worth a point if either of them won the hand and could avoid drawing any Flowers during its play. Bond drew two new tiles—they were both North Winds, which were helpful. His hand contained a 1 of Sticks (designated by the picture of a sparrow holding a stick), a 5 of Sticks, a 6 of Sticks, another 6 of Sticks, a 2 of Circles, a 3 of Circles, a 9 of Circles, a 3 of Characters, an 8 of Characters, a White Dragon, a South Wind, two North Winds, and the useless blue 2 and 3 Flowers.

The most difficult thing about mahjong was deciding what kind of hand to go for and sticking with the objective. Good hands usually consisted entirely of Pongs and/or Kongs and the one Pair, or entirely of Chows and a Pair. Bond’s hand was almost impossible to predict. He had a Pair of 6 of Sticks, and a possibility for a Chow of Circles. If he got another North Wind tile, he would have a Pong that matched his seat. This would automatically give him one point. Unless the draw was extremely favourable, he would have to go out with a chicken hand, so he needed to find a way to gain another point. Drawing the winning tile from the wall rather than from a discard would be worth a point as well as more money. Maybe he would get lucky.

Thackeray discarded a North Wind tile. Bond immediately said, “Pong,” and picked up the tile. It was unbelievable luck on the very first discard! Bond displayed the three North Wind tiles face up on the table.

“Well, you’re off to a good start, Mr. Bond,” Thackeray said.

It was Bond’s turn to discard. He got rid of the 1 of Sticks. It was then Thackeray’s turn again, because turns resume to the right of any player that Chows, Pongs, or Kongs. Thackeray drew from the wall and discarded an 8 of Circles. Woo drew from the wall and discarded a North Wind tile, now useless because of Bond’s Pong. Sinclair drew from the wall and discarded a 3 of Sticks. Bond drew a 2 of Sticks. Damn! If he hadn’t discarded the 1 of Sticks earlier, he would have had a chance at making a Chow with another 3 of Sticks.

Play continued uneventfully around the table one more time until Sinclair discarded an East Wind. Thackeray said, “Kong,” and picked it up. He displayed four East Wind tiles, which automatically gave him two points—one point for possessing a Pong or Kong of Winds matching his seat, and one point for matching the Prevailing Wind. Along with his 1 Red Flower, he already had a total of three points. All he had to do now was win the hand in any possible manner.

Thackeray drew a tile, then discarded a 6 of Circles. Play continued around the table. Sinclair made a Pong from Woo’s discard of a White Dragon. This made Bond’s White Dragon useless, so he got rid of it with his next discard.

After a while, the discards were strewn haphazardly face up in the middle of the table. When it was his turn, Thackeray reached across the table to draw a tile from the wall. He discarded a 4 of Circles. Bond could have used it to make a Chow, but a player can only Chow with the discard from the player on his immediate left. Besides, his Pong of North Winds had committed the hand to go for all Pongs or Kongs. If he had any Chows in his hand now, he would have a worthless chicken hand.

On Woo’s discard of a 2 of Characters, Thackeray said “Kong” again and took it. The man certainly had extraordinary luck.

After each player had drawn and discarded two more times, Bond was no better off than he had been before. He discarded an 8 of Circles he had drawn, and Thackeray immediately said, “Out!” and picked up the tile.

All the players displayed their hands. Thackeray had a Full House, a term given to any hand worth four, five, or six points. Thackeray had six. He got three points for having all Kongs or Pongs in his hand (plus the required Pair), two points for the East Winds matching his seat and the Prevailing Wind, and one point for the Flower. He won a total of $6400—Sinclair and Woo each paid $1600; Bond had to pay $3200 because Thackeray won with Bond’s discard. Thackeray would have received a seventh point if he had picked the winning tile from the wall.

After each hand, the players’ Wind assignment and the deal rotated counter-clockwise, unless the East Wind player won the hand or the hand was a “dead hand,” or draw. Once all four players had had a turn at being the East Wind, then a new Round, the South Wind Round, would begin. Thackeray had the privilege of dealing again. During the deal, Thackeray asked, “Mr. Woo, what was it you said you do? I can’t for the life of me remember what business you are in.”

“I run antiques shop on Cat Street,” Woo said, smiling.

“And how do you two know each other?” Thackeray asked, gesturing to both Bond and Woo.

“T.Y. and I knew each other in London before I moved to Jamaica,” Bond said casually.

Bond’s new hand started off promisingly. He had three pairs. It was possible to build a hand of Pongs or Kongs, or he could try for seven Pairs—a special hand worth four points.

It was about five minutes before Sinclair declared “Out” on a selfpicked tile from the wall. He revealed a hand worth three points—one point for the self-pick, one point for a Pong of Red Dragons, and one point for a 3 Flower, which matched his seat. Everyone had to pay him $1600.

This time the seat/Wind assignments rotated. Woo was now East and Bond was West. Woo rolled the dice and started the deal. During this hand, Bond lit one of the cigarettes he kept in a wide gunmetal case. There was a time when Bond smoked sixty to seventy cigarettes a day. Around the time of the Thunderball case, he reduced his intake to twenty or twenty-five. Morlands of Grosvenor Street had been the recipient of Bond’s custom for many years. They had made a special blend of Balkan and Turkish tobacco for Bond and decorated each cigarette with three gold bands. Recently, Bond had switched to another tobacconist and commissioned H. Simmons of Burlington Arcade to create a low-tar cigarette for him. These still retained the distinctive gold bands, along with Simmons’s trademark. With this switch, he had managed to reduce his intake of tobacco even further, down to five or six cigarettes a day. He’d onced joked to Bill Tanner that it was easy to give up—he had done it at least twelve times.

The play of the third hand went very quickly. Once, when Thackeray reached across the table to draw a tile from the wall, Bond thought he saw something strange. Was there the flash of the back of a tile in the man’s hand? He couldn’t be sure. He would watch the table a little more closely and pay less attention to his own hand from now on.

Thackeray won the third hand with a total of three points—one point for a self-picked winning tile, one point for having no Flowers, and one point for having a hand of all Chows and a Pair. Everyone paid him $1600.

Seat/Wind assignments rotated again. Sinclair was East and dealer, and Bond was South. He was dealt what amounted to very close to a winning hand, even though it was a chicken hand containing a mixture of possible Chows and Pongs. Luckily, he drew no Flowers, which was worth one point. He had a chance of winning small. Play progressed five times around the table when Bond drew a tile from the wall that completed his hand. He declared “Out” and displayed his miserable hand. The self-picked tile saved him, as that was worth one point. His two points garnered him a measly $800 from each player.

While the men played, several people came and went through the red curtains. Some of the Chinese spectators were apparently winning a great deal of money. At one point, Bond was struck by a bizarre sight. Two Chinese men with pinkish-white skin and white hair came into the room, stood together against a wall, and watched. They were both wearing sunglasses and looked alike. Not only were they obviously siblings, but they were both albino! That was very unusual in this part of the world, Bond thought. In the past, Asian families would have considered such children to be “unnatural” and would have found a way to get rid of them.

The seat/Wind assignments rotated for the last time of this Round. Bond was now East and the dealer. He got a promising hand containing a complete Pong of the 6 of Circles, and two Pairs. As they played, Bond thought he noticed something unusual again when Thackeray reached across the discarded tiles to draw one from the wall. Thackeray had Ponged with the 4 of Characters early in the hand. Bond decided to throw down Characters to see if Thackeray might be collecting them for a big hand. When it was his turn, Bond discarded a 6 of Characters near his side of the table. Sure enough, he noticed that the tile had mysteriously disappeared a few minutes later!

Thackeray went out for three points. He had a Semi-Pure hand, which meant that it was made up entirely of one suit with the exception of a Pong of Winds or Dragons—in this case a Pong of West Winds. Woo had thrown the winning discard, so he owed Thackeray $1800, and the others paid him $900. Bond saw that Thackeray’s revealed hand contained a Pong of the 6 of Characters.

It was agreed that they should stand, stretch, and refill their drinks in-between the Rounds. Thackeray had polished off a third of the bottle of vodka. Bond and Woo stepped up to the bar and ordered doubles. Bond took a moment to look around the room. The albino brothers were gone.

“I told you he wins a lot,” Woo whispered. “I think I will lose more money than usual, uh huh?”

“T.Y., there are two things I don’t like about that man,” whispered Bond.

“What?”

“He’s a lousy drunk, and I believe the bastard’s cheating.”