Black Horn (9 page)

"Will
they find anything?"

His
answer was measured. "I wouldn't have thought so, but then, at the end of
his fax, John Ndlovu mentioned that he made an enquiry to Interpol, both about
Creasy and Maxie... not that they are criminals, but since the mercenary
activity in Africa in the sixties and seventies, all intelligence information
on mercenaries has been filed and collated by Interpol. Obviously, they charge
a fee for their information and the fee has a scale of three, ranging from very
brief details to their complete file." He read from the fax: "'Chief Inspector Chapman, my budget is such that I could only afford to
obtain brief details on the subject Creasy, which I enclose. Since your budget
must be greater than mine, perhaps you might wish to extract the full dossier
from Interpol on both men. If so, I would be grateful for a faxed copy. I will
keep you informed of any developments here and will be grateful for the same
from your end. Signed, John Ndlovu (Commander CID)'"

Colin
looked up and said, "So I sent a fax to Interpol for full dossiers on both
men. You may or may not know it, but Interpol is not a police force as such. It
is simply an office with some bright men and women and sophisticated computers.
They correlate information from just about every police force in the world and,
in some cases, such as this one, from intelligence organisations. The
information on these two men came back within an hour." He passed her over
a sheaf of faxed papers. "I think you should look at them."

She
read the pages, and when she looked up he saw the glint of excitement in her
eyes. She said, "So, Creasy is the lead man. MacDonald works for him. A
few years ago Creasy wiped out an entire Mafia family down the length of
Italy." She pulled the last page in front of her and read out the words.
"The subject is not in the mould of the normal mercenary profile. Although
he works for money, he is extremely discriminating about whom he works for.
There is no knowledge of him ever having been involved in criminal activity or
acts of terrorism or atrocity. From tragedies in his personal life, he appears
to have developed a particular abhorrence for organised crime."

As she
spoke the last words, Colin smiled, and then said, "Yes, Lucy, you could definitely
describe Triads as organised crime. But from what you tell me, you don't have
the money to hire such a man and the team he would certainly need."

"It's
true," she said sadly. "But if Creasy finds something out in
Zimbabwe, it's possible there may be a connection which you could use
here."

"Yes.
It's why I think you should go and soon. I'll phone John Ndlovu and ask him to
give you his cooperation."

She
gave him a hard look.

"Are you
suggesting that I go to Zimbabwe just to get me out of danger here in Hong
Kong?"

"Of
course I want you out of danger here, but I have to admit that I'll miss your
company. The simple fact is, Lucy, I'm convinced that the two cases are linked,
and if this man Creasy discovers something in Zimbabwe, we might get something
on Tommy Mo. The Commissioner would never let me send one of my officers out
there on pure speculation, but I think you should go and make contact with the
man and with Mrs Manners."

She
looked at him across the table and said, "So, you'll miss my
company?"

He
nodded firmly. "Understand something. I've spent years studying Chinese
culture and languages and, of course, I'm surrounded by Chinese police
officers, and count several as good friends. But I've never had much to do with
Chinese women. I'm not one to go to the bars in Wanchai or Kowloon. Yet, these
last few days, I feel that in a small way, I've managed to cross the culture
gap."

She
nodded in agreement. "I feel the same, but we Chinese stick to our own.
Being a modern Chinese girl in Hong Kong is not always simple. Within my race
there is still a great deal of prejudice towards gweilos. Many still refer to
you people as Sun Ging Fang Gweilos -- barbarian foreign devils. Even among the
educated. A woman in my position is forced to make a choice early on. If she
goes out with a gweilo, then she is sort of contaminated in the eyes of Chinese
men. The first man I ever went out with was an Englishman and although I took
that decision. I have always felt somehow uncomfortable." She smiled.
"But not with you, Colin. The other night in the restaurant, when you
spoke to the waiter in the Fukien dialect, I was very proud to see the respect
in his eyes. So somehow, for me, you have crossed that racial divide. I also
enjoy your company. I know that I put on a strong face, and some people I know
are amazed that I show no emotion about what has happened to me. They cannot
understand how I continue to stay in this house where my family were murdered.
They don't understand that I cannot bear to leave it, because I feel their
spirits are still here and will remain here until I go far away. But inside of
me there is terrible emotion. I loved my family, and I feel as though part of
my heart has been cut away. Your concern and your friendship have been more
important to me than I can put into words."

It
moved on from there. They went into the lounge and Chapman phoned the office to
check on the status of the red alert, which, he was informed, was still in
effect. The cruise liner QE2, on her round the world trip, was due to berth at
the sea terminal in the early hours of the morning, and Intelligence had
suggested that it might be the target of a terrorist attack.

They
sat on the settee together and watched CNN news. After that catalogue of worldwide
disasters, she put on some classical music, which she knew he liked. As
Chopin's Nocturnes drew to a close, she found her head resting on Colin's
shoulder and her mind both emotional and -- for the first time in a long time
-- very relaxed.

His arms
slid around her shoulders. She lifted her face and they kissed. Her first
thoughts were that, although he could read and write eighty thousand Chinese
characters, he was not exactly an expert in kissing. But somehow his clumsiness
was endearing. After a minute, she pulled away and, for something to say,
remarked on how nice he smelled. He immediately looked embarrassed.

"It's
aftershave lotion," he said. "I don't usually wear it."

"It's
nice. What is it?"

"Versus
by Gianni Versace."

"Hmm,
that's expensive ... a present from a girlfriend?"

He
looked discomfited and shook his head. "No... well... actually, I haven't
had a girlfriend for a long time."

She put
her hand on his cheek and smiled.

"Did
you buy it yourself?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Well...this
afternoon."

She
laughed. Not at him but with him. "Did you plan all this?"

"Well,
no ... Let's say it just happened. I put on Versus and you put on Chopin's
Nocturnes', which always make me romantic"

They
moved to the bedroom. He admired the bed and she explained that it had been
passed down through her family for several generations. It was a massive
four-poster opium bed, ornately carved out of mahogany and ebony. She told him
it was so heavy that when they had moved it into the house, twenty years ago,
it had to be dismantled and then reassembled inside the bedroom.

As they
undressed each other he asked, "And do we get to smoke opium in it?"

"Certainly
not. First of all, I would never offer opium to a Chief Inspector of Police
and, secondly, opium diminishes the sex drive."

She led
the lovemaking. He ran his eyes and his hands over her slim body in silent
wonderment, and then stroked the thin band of silky black hair between her
thighs. Gently she pulled his head down to guide his lips to kiss her there.
His body was impatient. He was breathing quickly. She slid under him and guided
him into her and within minutes he was gasping with pent-up relief.

She was
not disappointed. Her instincts told her that it must have been weeks or months
since he had last made love. But he was intensely embarrassed. She used the
necessary words to comfort and reassure him, and then she slipped out of the
bed, went into the bathroom and ran the hot tap over a small towel and took it
back and gently wiped his genitals.

They
lay side by side in silence and just before she fell asleep, he murmured,
"En goi nei..." 'I love you' in Cantonese.

She
gave him a feathery kiss but did not answer.

She
woke up three hours later, and lay with her head on his chest, and looked
across at the bedside table, where he had left his shoulder-holster and gun. It
seemed incongruous. She could not imagine him firing a gun. She could not
imagine him as her lover, but she had no regrets about being in bed with him
and lying in his arms. She felt not love, but a warm glow. She would leave in
the morning for Zimbabwe. Maybe she would not come back. Maybe destiny would
find a new life for her. She smiled at herself, thinking of destiny. She and
Colin had discussed it a few times. He was very interested and knowledgeable
about the myriad superstitions and beliefs in Chinese society, ancient and
modern. He could understand how it might dominate the lives of poor people, but
not modern, highly educated Chinese. She explained that, no matter how
Western-orientated a Chinese might be, he always kept his ancient
superstitions. Her father was a Western-educated scientist, but when he had
built this house, he employed a Fung Shui expert together with the architect,
and the two men had worked together so that the spirits, inside and outside the
house, would be calm.

Colin
laughed and shook his head in surprise and asked, "Do you also believe in
such things?"

"Oh,
yes. Very much. I believe the spirits affect the destiny of all of us."

It was
ten minutes later when the window shattered... ten minutes after midnight. The
light was still on and her eyes still open. She saw the oblong black object
arcing across the room and, although she had never seen one before, she recognised
it as a grenade. It hit the far wall, bounced off the white Tientsin carpet and
rolled under the bed.

She
felt Colin's body jerk beside her, and then the massive bed lifted and tilted
with the explosion. She lay stunned on the carpet, but within seconds he was on
his feet, grabbing at the gun and pulling her down behind the bed which had
lost one leg. Two more grenades followed. The first one shattered into
shrapnel. She felt a sharp pain in her arm and heard a grunt from him. The
second grenade exploded into white flame and for several seconds she was
blinded. She heard several explosions in other parts of the house and then
voices shouting in Cantonese.

Chapman
was at the broken window, standing naked, the gun raised and firing rapidly.
The door burst open and Chapman ducked and turned. There was a black-clad
Chinese at the door, holding a machine-pistol. The phosphorous grenade had
dimmed but it still gave a faint glow. The Chinese man's eyes were darting
around the room, looking for targets.

A
second figure appeared, also clad in black and also holding a machine-pistol.
Next to her, Chapman fired and one of the men spun away. The other pulled back
into the corridor. Then in a blurred sequence, she saw Colin hurl his now empty
weapon at the door. She felt his arms around her and heard his voice screaming,
"Run!" And then he had lifted her off her feet and flung her through
the window that was no longer there.

As she
rolled over the grass lawn, she heard the staccato sound of firing from inside
the bedroom. To her left, another black-clad Chinese was lying moaning, his
hands clutching his belly. She started back towards the window and then she saw
Colin's face there, twisted in agony.

"Run!"
he hissed, and then his head lifted as more bullets slammed into his back. His
naked torso slumped over the window-sill among the broken glass, and she saw
the blood all over his back. She heard more shouting from inside the house and
from the other side of the garden, and instinct made her run. Instinct made her
stop by the pool and told her that she could not run fast enough. She was
beside the small stone structure that housed the filtration plant. She pulled
open the old wooden door, crawled in beside the round orange filter and the
pump, and pulled the door closed. The shouting went on for another two minutes,
then she heard more explosions from inside the house. She twisted and looked
through the crack in the door. All she could see was flames. She could only
hear the crackle of those flames and the roar as cars revved up outside the
gates. Then she heard the scream of spinning tyres

Two
minutes later, above the roar of the flames, she heard the howling of sirens.
She pushed open the door and fell out beside the pool. She lay there, naked,
feeling the slight wound in her shoulder, feeling hatred consuming her mind and
her guts.

The
Ambassador arrived at the Meikles Hotel half an hour after they had checked in.
He was tall, grey-haired and courteous. Gloria received him in the lounge of
her suite. Creasy, Maxie and Michael arrived a few minutes later. Creasy
immediately noted the change in Gloria's attitude. She was being pleasant.

After a
waiter had served coffee and departed, the Ambassador glanced at Creasy and
said, "Of course, I know what you are and who you are. So do the Zimbabwe
police. In fact, Commander John Ndlovu tells me that some years ago you and he
chased each other around the mountains in Mozambique."

"That's
correct," Creasy answered.

The
Ambassador said "Well, now he's a very good policeman. And, from what I
hear, not corrupt." He turned back to Gloria. "Mrs Manners, I assure
you he carried out a thorough investigation. I don't think he can be blamed for
not coming up with the suspects."

"Will
he co-operate with us?" Creasy asked.