It is the 1930s, and a teenage James Bond is taking a break from Eton to
travel in Mexico with his anthropologist aunt Charmian, who is hoping to
make contact with a Mayan tribe. James and Charmian have just arrived in
Tres Hermanas, a small town on the Gulf Coast, where the people are busy
preparing for a carnival.
THEY LEFT THE MAIN SQUARE and squeezed into a narrow street that was crammed
with people. James had to fall back behind his aunt as they forced their way
through the crowds.
Charmian was carrying a large leather saddlebag, her travelling bag, which she
always took with her when she went away. It had originally been made for an
Argentinian gaucho and was scratched and worn from years of use. It was
large enough to carry everything she needed; her purse, a first-aid kit,
maps, a compass, field glasses, bottled water, toilet paper and countless
other essential items.
As they struggled down the street, James saw a boy of about his own age slip
in behind Charmian and keep pace with her. He thought nothing of it until he
noticed a small, quick movement. It happened so fast and was so unexpected
that at first he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d seen. Had it even happened?
Yes. The boy had pulled out a knife and cut through the shoulder straps of
Charmian’s bag. Before she had even realised what was happening, the boy had
snatched the bag, turned and run, brushing past James as he went.
For a moment James was too surprised to do anything. He was left standing
there like an idiot and marvelling at the boy’s neat handiwork. But then he
snapped out of it. All of Charmian’s life was in that bag: her money, her
passport and all her documents. If she didn’t get it back she would have to
cancel her trip.
“Hey!” he yelled, and, without thinking, set off in a sprint after the boy who
was dodging through the crowds 20 feet ahead.
James shoved a couple of people out of his way. He knew that if he lost sight
of the boy he would never see either him or the bag again. But he was a fast
runner, and, as the thief ran, he cleared a path through the milling people,
making it easier for James to keep up.
James shouted again and watched as the boy ducked into a side alley.
James barged in after him. The boy pounded down the alley, a silhouette in the
darkness. The other end opened out into a small, dingy courtyard overlooked
by tall buildings. There was a well in the centre surrounded by flies.
Washing hung down on all sides and the stuffy air smelt of food.
James put on a burst of speed and grabbed the boy’s shoulder. He wheeled
round, slashing his knife in a wide arc. James just managed to jump back out
of the way.
The boy smirked, holding the knife out in front of him.
James glanced round the courtyard. There was no other way out.
He’d fallen for a trap. The boy hadn’t come in here to try to escape. He’d
come in here to get rid of James.
For the first time, James got a proper look at him.
He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and loose, wide trousers. His hair was
black and oiled and he had a faint fuzz of hair on his top lip. He was
almost exactly the same height as James and, but for the fact that he had
brown eyes instead of blue, the two of them could have been brothers.
The boy raised his knife higher, taunting James.
James was unarmed, and he knew never to get into a fight with someone who had
a knife. The damage that even a short blade could do was appalling.
“Give me back the bag,” he said calmly.
The boy said something defiant in Spanish and cocked his chin at James.
“The bag,” said James, nodding at it.
The boy held it in his free hand. Without its straps it was heavy and awkward.
“ Americano?” said the boy.
“English,” said James. “You like I should cut you, Ingleesh?” said the boy.
“So you always remember the name of Angel Corona?”
James said nothing, but held Angel’s gaze and tried to appear neither scared
nor angry. He wanted to do nothing to provoke the boy.
It made no difference, Angel lashed out at him anyway, and once more James had
to jump back.
Angel advanced on him. “I slit you belly and spill you guts, yeah?” he said,
and smiled widely, showing his perfect white teeth.
James held his palms up towards the boy and kept on slowly walking backwards.
He knew that in a few paces he would have his back against the wall and
there would be nowhere for him to go.
“You are stupid,” said Angel. “You should never have chased me, Ingleesh.”
James had to agree. He had acted without thinking.
He sensed something above him. It was a bed sheet, hanging from a line. He
thought quickly. It might be his only chance. He raised his arms higher in a
gesture of surrender and as his fingertips brushed against the cotton sheet,
he grabbed hold and tugged hard. The sheet flapped down on to Angel. It was
just enough to distract him. James kicked hard at his wrist.
He was wearing a pair of stout English-made shoes with hard leather soles and
toecaps. He connected with the underside of Angel’s wrist and the force of
his kick knocked the knife flying.
Angel was furious. He tossed the sheet to one side and hurled himself at
James.
But James had the advantage now; without the knife and weighed down by the
bag, Angel was no threat to him.
James brought up his forearm and smashed it into Angel’s throat as he ran at
him. Angel croaked and fell back, dropping the bag and clutching himself. He
spat out a curse and came back at James in a roaring scramble. James stepped
to one side and raised his knee at the same time, driving it into the boy’s
stomach. As Angel doubled over James grabbed him around the neck and,
holding him tight in the crook of his elbow, marched him over to the well
and shoved his face under the water.
Angel struggled and flailed about, and when James reckoned he’d had enough
he let him go and dropped him to the cobbled ground. He sat there, coughing
and spluttering and looking at James with a mixture of fear and hatred.
“Maybe you’ll always remember the name of James Bond.” James
retrieved Charmian’s bag, then picked up the knife and dropped it into the
well. “Adios,” he said finally and walked back down the alley towards
the main street.
He found Charmian at the other end, standing in the middle of the road,
calling out his name. James waved and called back.
“James, that was very reckless,” said Charmian when she saw him. “That boy
could have killed you.”
“I know,” said James. “I didn’t think. I got your bag back, though.
Everything’s still in it, but you’ll need new straps.”
“I should have been more careful,” said Charmian. “I shall have to replace
them with thin chains, then they’ll be harder to cut.”
James saw Charmian’s eyes go suddenly wide and fearful. She had seen something
behind him. He spun round to see Angel tearing out of the mouth of the
alley, the knife once more in his hand.
Hell. He should have checked. The well obviously wasn’t as deep as he had
imagined.
But the next moment there was a commotion as two burly men in suits grabbed
hold of the boy. They both had moustaches and one was holding a pistol.
Angel struggled, but the man pressed the pistol into his face and he calmed
down. They said something quickly to him in Spanish; the only words James
could understand were the boy’s name.
The second man took the knife and snapped a pair of handcuffs on Angel.
As the two men dragged him away they stopped briefly by Charmian and the one
with the gun bowed.
“Good afternoon, señora,” he said. “I am sorry about this
unfortunate incident. The boy is known to us. We have been trying to catch
him at his games for many weeks now. We lock him up, señora. You come
in the morning to the police station and make a statement, yes?”
“Yes, of course.” Charmian smiled politely and watched as the men dragged the
struggling boy away down the street.
As they went, they had to push past a group of tourists, four Americans and a
Japanese. They pointed at Angel.
“Give ’em hell, kid,” one of them shouted, a short slab of a man who was
almost as wide as he was tall, with no neck and a big square head.
“Whatzat?” said one of the others, who was as bony as his friend was solid.
“I said, ‘Give ’em hell’,” the squat man repeated loudly.
“That’s right,” said his friend, and they all laughed. All except the one
woman who was with them, a beautiful blonde wearing a wide-brimmed hat.
“Come along,” said Charmian, taking James by the elbow. “I have no intention
of going to make a statement in the morning. For one, I fully intend to be a
hundred miles away by then and, for two, the less we have to do with the
local police the better. I know that boy did try to rob me and probably
tried to kill you, but I’m afraid I do feel rather sorry for him. The police
do not have a good reputation.”
Just then there was a rumble of thunder and the heavens fully opened, pouring
down a torrent of rain into the dusty street.
“We should hurry,” Charmian yelled. “Or we shall be drowned.”
In his haste to escape the rain James quickly forgot about Angel Corona and
the five tourists.
He could have had no idea what part they were all going to play in his life.
Text © Ian Fleming Publications Ltd 2007. Young Bond illustrations by Kev
Walker © Ian Fleming Publications Ltd 2005/2006. Young Bond, the Young Bond
logo and Hurricane Gold are trademarks of Ian Fleming Publications Ltd.
www.youngbond.com
HURRICANE GOLD (Young Bond) by Charlie Higson
Puffin (September 6), £12.99; 368pp
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