Zero Minus Ten

TEN

MARKED FOR DEATH

WHEN THEY WERE CLEAR OF THE CLUB, SUNNI SAID, “WE NEED TO GO TO Kwun Tong.”

“I know a safer place,” Bond said. He wanted to call Woo at the antiques shop. They could get a car just by speaking a code word and an address into the phone.

“My mother,” Sunni said. “They’ll come to hurt my mother. We have to get her out of there.”

“Can you phone her?” Bond asked.

“She never answers. She’s not well.”

Bond wanted to wash his hands of the woman right then and there. She was going to drag him into a situation with the Triad that he couldn’t afford to be in. The mission could be compromised.

“Look,” Bond said, “I’ll help you. I’ll get you to a place of safety. But we do it now, and we go where I say.”

Sunni suddenly looked at him with a mixture of fear and anger. She swore at him. “Fine, I’ll go alone. I should have known. You just want to get into bed with me.” She started to run up the street. Bond let her go. She would only complicate things. He’d turned around and begun to walk the other way when a black sedan tore up the street and screeched to a halt in front of the girl. Two young Chinese men jumped out of the car and grabbed her. Sunni screamed.

Bond immediately ran back to her. She was putting up a great struggle as they attempted to push her into the back seat of the car. “Leave her alone!” Bond shouted at them. The men looked at him.

“James, help!” Sunni cried.

One man reached inside his jacket. Bond was a second ahead of him, drawing the Walther and drawing a bead on the man’s head.

“Let her go!” he shouted. “Keep your hands where I can see them!”

The other man must have had a pistol behind Sunni’s back, for he rolled away from her and shot at Bond, just missing him.

Bond swung his aim to the shooter and fired. The bullet caught the gunman in the chest, knocking him to the pavement. The other man suddenly let Sunni go and got in the car. Sunni fell to the ground, terrified. The sedan’s wheels squealed as it sped away, leaving the dead man for all to see.

Bond ran to Sunni and helped her up. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded, visibly shaken.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you to your mother. Is it close?”

“It’s northeast, near the airport.”

“Right, let’s go.”

They heard sirens in the distance and Bond knew they needed to disappear before the police arrived. He grabbed her hand and ran into a side street, thinking they might be safer for the moment mixing with the crowds. After they had sprinted a couple of blocks, he pushed her into a shop selling a variety of handmade bamboo birdcages. The screeches and whistles of the parakeets and budgerigars were completely disorienting.

“We’ll rest here. Catch your breath,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said.

“It’s all right,” Bond said, but he was angry with himself. He shouldn’t have got involved. Now he was in it up to his neck.

“Who are you really?” she asked.

He didn’t answer.

“Are you a policeman? A detective?” she asked.

“Something like that,” Bond said. “I work for the British government.”

“Drug enforcement?”

He shook his head. “Just a troubleshooter, you might say.”

“Right,” she said. “Your shooting is certainly going to get us into trouble!”

“It was either him or me. Now, where’s your flat?”

“Kwun Tong. We can take the MTR, that might be safe.” The Mass Transit Railway was Hong Kong’s efficient underground system.

Bond knew it was a risk taking her home, but he had already promised. “All right, show me.”

She led him outside and down an MTR stairway.

The underground was impeccably clean. Bond was surprised by the shiny, unmarked surfaces of the trains and the lack of litter anywhere in the station. Unlike London, Hong Kong had no problems with graffiti and vandalism.

Sunni bought two tickets from a machine and led Bond through the turnstiles to the Tsuen Wan line. They had to wait only a few minutes for a train heading north. The rush hour was practically over, so it wasn’t as crowded as it could have been. They left the train at Yaumatei station and changed to the Kwun Tong line, which would take them east.

Finally reaching their destination, Sunni and Bond got off at the Kwun Tong station. The area was a little different here, Bond thought. Kwun Tong was near the airport, so there was a mixture of industrial and residential streets. They walked to Hong Ning Road and into a housing complex called Connie Towers. It was a twenty-one-storey structure that was modern, clean, and secure. The windows were “decorated” with laundry hanging on flagpoles, as is so often the case in Hong Kong tenement buildings.

“If you don’t mind my asking, how much does a flat in a building like this cost in Hong Kong?”

“About 3 million Hong Kong dollars,” she replied. Apparently she made good money working as a hostess.

They walked through an underground parking area to a lift. Chinese characters were painted above the doors, which Bond translated as: “Come and go in peace.” They got into the lift and they stood there silently as they travelled to the eighteenth floor. Bond noted that she was apprehensive, a bit short of breath. The girl was truly beautiful, though, and if his better judgement told him he should mind his own business, that damnable chivalrous trait that had got him into trouble many times in the past prevailed.

Once they were on the eighteenth floor, Sunni moved to a door protected by a large, locked, metal sliding gate. She stood staring at it in fear. The lock mechanism had been scratched and obviously tampered with. She looked up at Bond and his eyes told her to be quiet. He nodded to go ahead, so she used her key and opened the door. Bond drew his Walther PPK and preceded her into the flat.

It was a modest place, but tastefully decorated. The living room contained a sectional sofa, coffee table, a stereo, and a few other pieces of furniture. A framed plaque on the table displayed a Chinese character meaning “Tolerance.” There was a crucifix on the wall, indicating that Sunni was not Buddhist, but one of the minority Chinese Catholics. A tiny kitchen was adjacent to the living room.

It was far too quiet. “Mother?” Sunni called out in Cantonese. She moved along a small hallway which led to the two little bedrooms and a bathroom.

An elderly woman was lying on the bed in one of the bedrooms, seemingly asleep. Sunni approached and called to her again. The woman didn’t move. Sunni touched her and gasped. She recoiled and turned away. Bond knew immediately what was wrong. He felt the woman’s forehead and grasped her wrist in search of a pulse. She was cold and lifeless.

“I’m sorry, Sunni,” he said.

Sunni was sobbing, her back to Bond. “She … she had a bad heart,” she managed to say.

Bond wondered if something had happened that might have frightened the woman. There was also the possibility that she had simply died in her sleep. As he examined her further, he realized that rigor mortis had set in, indicating that she had been dead for some hours.

It was an awkward moment and he wasn’t sure how to comfort her. Bond put away his gun and reached out to her shoulders. She shrugged him off and said, “Please don’t touch me.” She turned to him, her eyes full of tears. “It’s all your fault! They came here and scared her to death!” She pushed away from him and went into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Bond spoke to her through the door. “Sunni, we don’t know that for sure,” he said gently. “She’s been dead several hours. Her body is already stiff. When did you leave the flat today?”

“Around noon,” she sniffed.

He nodded and said, “She’s been dead more than two or three hours. Trust me.” He opened the door slowly. She stood looking out of her window. Her bedroom was as small as her mother’s. Space was at a premium in Hong Kong.

Though tiny, the room was decidedly feminine. Bond noticed a small round charcoal burner plugged into the wall next to her bed. A red light was burning brightly on top of it. Sunni turned, wiping away her tears and saw him looking at the contraption.

She managed a short laugh. “That’s a little stove my mother gave me. It’s a Chinese tradition … the red light means ‘fire,’ and it’s supposed to bring me marriage … a husband. My mother was quite concerned that I’m nearly thirty and wasn’t married.” She started to cry again.

Bond held his arms out to her, and this time she allowed him to hold her. She sobbed quietly against his shoulder.

Then he heard a creaking noise. Damn! He hadn’t closed and locked the front door! How could he have been so careless? He drew his gun. “Stay here,” he commanded, then moved back into the living room.

As he entered the room, the front door slid open, revealing two young Chinese thugs in dark clothes. They were brandishing long, crude machetes. It all happened very quickly. The men rushed Bond and he shot them. They were both hit in the chest, but one of the men struck 007 hard on the left arm with his chopper. Bond yelped in pain but managed to fire at the man a second time at point blank range.

He became aware that Sunni was screaming. He rushed to her and held his hand over her mouth. “Shhhhh, it’s all right now,” he said, as calmly as he could. A few seconds passed and she started to calm down, but then she noticed Bond’s shoulder. He was bleeding profusely through his jacket. He had a huge gash across his upper arm. He needed medical attention immediately.

“Lock the door, Sunni, quickly,” he said sternly to jolt her out of her panic. She snapped out of it and ran to the door. Bond went into the bathroom and removed his jacket, shoulder holster, and shirt.

The cut was three inches long and half an inch deep. Luckily, the muscle had not been severed, but blood was pouring from the wound. He quickly removed his right shoe and pulled the prying tool from under the tongue. He snapped off the heel and tipped the contents into the sink.

“Sunni, I need your help,” Bond called. She hesitated at the door to the bathroom, not wanting to look. “Please,” he said, “I need you to apply this antiseptic to the cut.” He took the bottle and held it out in the palm of his right hand.

She looked at him. The same thought passed through both of their heads.

“Sunni,” Bond said, “you’re right. I suppose this is all my fault. I’m sorry.”

“I should let you die, you know,” she said. “I should grab a knife and cut you myself. I would regain face with them. It would cancel the death warrant on me.”

“You don’t really believe they can help you, Sunni? They’re using you. You’re a commodity.”

“I am a Blue Lantern.”

“What is that?”

“I’ve been accepted as a member but have not been formally initiated yet.”

“Then you’re not a member.”

Sunni finally reached for the bottle of antiseptic and opened it. “You have to wash the wound first.” Bond nodded. He moved to the shower and turned on the hot water. As he leaned into it, the blood swirled with the water down the drain. Sunni took a large white towel from a rack, wrapped it around Bond’s arm, and held it tightly.

“According to the law, I am a member,” she continued. “I could be arrested and jailed for simply being a Blue Lantern.”

“I wouldn’t have thought they would allow women in Triads?”

“It was once all-male, but in the last few years they’ve begun to admit women. Most of them stay Blue Lanterns and are never initiated.”

“Then that should tell you what they think of you,” Bond said. “Leave them.”

She removed the towel and poured antiseptic on to the wound, which was still bleeding badly. Bond winced at the sting.

“Don’t you see? I can’t do anything! If I run, they’ll eventually find me and kill me, or I’ll be arrested and go to jail. My only way out of this is to kill you. Believe me, there are some other girls you could have met tonight who would have cut your hands off if you’d spoken to them about Triads.”

“You’re not going to try and kill me, are you, Sunni?”

She didn’t answer. “You need stitches.”

“Look,” he said, “you need help, and I can help you. Come with me to a safe house. I can get medical treatment, and they won’t find you there. I need to make a phone call then we could be on our way in minutes.”

She wrapped some gauze around his arm very tightly, then covered it with the towel again. “There, that should hold you for a while. It’s a good thing you had all that stuff in your shoe.”

Bond stood up and put on his shirt. He slipped the shoulder holster back on. Extending or raising his left arm hurt like hell. He took two of the acetaminophen tablets and one antibiotic, swallowing them with water from the sink in his cupped right hand. He replaced the contents of the shoe and put it back on. Finally, he managed to put the bloody jacket back on, then walked into the living room and reached for the phone near the kitchen.

“I’m making that call. You can come with me or you can stay behind,” he said. “If you’re coming, you’d better pack a bag. You probably won’t be coming back here.”

“I can’t leave my mother!”

He was dialling the number. “There’s nothing you can do for her now, Sunni. You have to think of yourself. Do you want to come or not?”

He got a recording at the other end. He spoke into the phone: “Ling Ling Chat, need taxi immediately, repeat immediately, at …” He turned to her. “What’s the address?”

“One forty-seven Hong Ning Road, Kwun Tong.”

Bond repeated it into the phone, then hung up. “You have five minutes to pack,” he said. He understood what the poor girl was going through. In the space of one hour, she had suddenly been confronted with a life-or-death decision and the frightening prospect of abandoning the life she had been living.

Finally she asked, “Can you get me out of Hong Kong?”

He said truthfully, “I can try.”

“Legally?”

“I can try.”

She hesitated another moment, then pulled out a flight bag, began to rummage through her bedroom, and threw clothing into the bag. She spent some time in the bathroom, dumping in supplies. Finally, she went to a bulletin board in the kitchen removed some snapshots that captured moments in her life. The last thing she did was to take a child’s toy from the kitchen window. It was one of those petalshaped pinwheels on a stick. She shoved it into the bag.

“It’s for good luck,” she said. She zipped up the bag and threw it on her shoulder. “I’m ready.”

“Good girl,” he said, then drew his gun. He moved to the front door and listened. He motioned her to follow him as he unlatched the bolt and slid the door open. The hallway was empty. They walked to the lift, and Bond noticed that it was moving up towards their floor.

“Let’s take the stairs,” he said.

With gun in hand, Bond led the way down, a flight at a time. At the twelfth floor, he heard footsteps hurrying up below them. He pressed Sunni back against the wall and waited. Sure enough, two more Chinese youths brandishing choppers appeared. Bond shouted “Freeze!” in Cantonese, but the thugs ignored him and charged. It left him no choice but to shoot. The gunfire reverberated loudly in the stairwell. The two Triads slammed back against the wall, then rolled down a flight of steps.

It wouldn’t be long before the police arrived, he thought. They needed to get to the street and find Woo before that happened. His wounded arm felt as if it was on fire. Sunni was frozen in fear in a corner of the stairwell. He gestured for her to keep following him, and continued down the stairs.

At the seventh floor they encountered four men. They rushed at Bond, attempting to overpower him. Bond got off one shot at point blank range, but had to duck to avoid the swings of the choppers. He rolled forward, through the three standing men, but couldn’t avoid losing his balance and falling down the steps. The Walther flew out of his hand and fell to the landing below. One of the men charged at Sunni, his chopper raised. Instead of screaming and cowering, however, Sunni surprised Bond by performing an expert martial arts manoeuvre. She bent forward as the man swung, blocked his arm and threw him over her back—a perfect Yaridama. The man crashed into the wall behind her. She immediately turned and delivered a crescent moon kick to the man’s chest and fast one-two spear-handed chops to his neck, breaking it.

By now, Bond was on his feet, jumping towards the other two. They tried to swing the choppers at him, but he ducked, put his hands on the landing, and shot his legs straight out at them. The kick hit one man in the abdomen, knocking him into his partner. Sunni was behind them, and she grabbed one in a head lock, then brutally rammed him into the wall. In less than a second she was lashing out with a roundhouse kick to the other man’s kidneys, sending him flying back towards Bond who simply grabbed his shoulders as the man fell into him, then sent him sailing down the stairs. All four men were now down.

Bond looked up at her with respect and smiled. “Nice work, Sunni.”

She shrugged. “I grew up on the streets of Hong Kong before going to the States. I’m not totally helpless.”

He retrieved the Walther as they continued down the stairs. Eventually they reached the ground floor and Bond stopped. “They probably have a car down here somewhere. There’ll be at least a couple more of them.”

He peered out into the covered parking area and saw the black sedan idling near the exit. There was only a driver, and he was peering over his shoulder at the lift door, waiting for the men to return. Bond realized that he would certainly see them when they came out of the stairwell.

“Stay here,” Bond said. He took a breath, then bolted out of the stairwell. He performed an agile body roll and ended up behind a stone column. The driver of the car shouted something in Chinese. A shot rang out and a bullet broke away a chunk of the column.

Bond heard the car back up and turn towards him. Another shot demolished a chunk of the concrete dangerously close to his head. His left arm was throbbing with pain now, especially after the fight on the stairwell. He was thankful it wasn’t his gun-arm.

He carefully leaned out and shot towards the car, shattering the windscreen, but the driver had opened the door and was squatting behind it for cover. It was going to be a standoff unless Bond could gain a better vantage point from which to fire.

He could hear police sirens in the distance. They’d arrive any minute. He was about to run back to the stairwell when he heard the screeching of tyres from the parking area entrance. A red taxi zoomed in and slammed into the driver’s side of the black sedan. The driver was sandwiched between the vehicles, his body mangled like a broken doll. Chen Chen was driving the taxi, and his father was sitting beside him.

Bond called to Sunni, and they ran to the cab and got into the back seat. The taxi’s only damage was a bent front bumper, so it manoeuvred around the smashed car and out of the parking area just as a police car entered from the other side.

“You call for cab, mister?” said Woo, displaying his trademark grin.

“Sunni, meet my friend T.Y. and his son Chen Chen,” Bond said. “Fellows, this is Sunni.”

“Welcome and hello,” T.Y. said to her. “We take you somewhere nice, uh huh?”

Sunni managed a smile, but she was still too shaken to speak. She was silent throughout the entire ride as Bond apprised Woo of the evening’s events.

“There goes your cover,” Woo said. “I do not know many journalists who carry guns and shoot Triads in residential housing, uh huh?”

“I’m just going to have to steer clear of the Dragon Wing boys while I’m here. I hope I haven’t compromised anything with Thackeray. I’ll just need to watch my back on the street.” He turned to Sunni. “Do you know a man named Guy Thackeray?”

She shook her head. He believed her.

“Any news from London?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said Woo.

“What about Australia?”

“No one claim responsibility yet. Authorities are clueless. I got report from M. Section A’s early findings indicate device was definitely home-made, probably created in crude laboratory. Sounds like someone independent. No affiliation with particular country. It could also be some stupid research lab, illegally experimenting with nuclear power.”

Bond thought Woo’s theories were sound. There were a lot of companies in the world that had the capability of harnessing nuclear power. The fact that no threats or extortion messages had been received by anyone now seemed to be a positive sign. Perhaps it was merely an act of careless experimentation by an irresponsible energy company, with no intent to harm.

It was 10:00 p.m. by the time the cab arrived at Upper Lascar Row on the island. They all entered the antiques shop and went up the stairs to the safe haven. Woo showed Sunni a room where she could be alone if she wanted. Bond poured himself a glass of straight vodka on ice and drank it quickly. “T.Y., I need to do something about this arm. And quickly.”

“I already made call. I know good doctor, he is on his way now. Works for safe house.”

Sure enough, a few minutes later a little Chinese man named Dr Lo arrived. After half an hour, Bond’s wound had been sterilized and stitched up. It still hurt, but he could live with it.

“I’m going to need some clothes from my hotel,” he told Woo.

“No problem. All taken care of. Chen Chen will collect your things in morning, uh huh? Right now I fix some noodles for you and girl.”

“T.Y., she’s going to need a foreign passport. She’s in danger and I want to get her out.”

Woo frowned. “M will not like that.”

“Bad luck,” Bond said. “Sunni provided some valuable information and now we need to protect her. She damned near saved my life at that building. She’s one hell of a fighter.”

“I see what I can do,” Woo said.

Bond finished his vodka. Shirtless, Bond knocked on Sunni’s door. She said, “Come in.”

She was lying in a foetal position on a double bed in the sparsely furnished room. “Are you hungry, Sunni? T.Y. is making us some dinner.” She shook her head. Bond sat down on the bed beside her. “You’re going to be okay. We’re going to get you a foreign passport. You’ll be able to stay here safely until you leave.”

“Where am I going?” she asked quietly.

“Where would you like to go?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really care.”

“Well, we’ll try England for starters, all right?”

She shrugged. The poor girl had been through a lot—the realization that she was marked for death by the Triad, the discovery of her dead mother, and the traumatic escape from her building—it was enough to make anyone a complete wreck. Sunni had a great deal of fortitude. Bond leaned over and kissed her cheek, then stood up and left her alone.

It was later, after they had eaten a delicious meal of noodles and chicken (Sunni decided to join them but ate very little), and had all retired to their respective beds, that Sunni slipped into Bond’s room.

He woke up when he felt her presence in the room. She was wearing a t-shirt and panties and stood barefoot by the bed, looking at him.

Without a word, he pulled the sheet down, offering her a place beside him. She slipped into the bed and snuggled next to him. Her body was warm and soft, and her legs felt smooth against his. They kissed, slowly at first, then with more passion as their desire increased. After a few minutes, she pulled off her t-shirt and pressed her breasts against his chest. She enjoyed the feel of the hair there, as she wasn’t used to it. Most Asian men lacked hair on their chests.

She opened up to him that night, over and over again. He filled her with strength and security, helping her achieve a release from the demons that had tormented her since the evening began. She needed the climaxes, for they allowed her to forget her troubles and lose herself in a floating world of ecstasy and passion. It was three or four hours later when, totally spent, they finally fell asleep in each other’s arms.