The Solitary Man (6 page)

'Who's that, Grandmother?' the little girl asked, pointing up the hill.

The old woman narrowed her eyes and looked in the direction the girl was pointing. At the crest of a hill was a man on a horse. The horse was big, much bigger than the packhorses and mules that carried the opium through the jungle and which brought supplies to the village, and it was white, gleaming in the early morning sun. It stood proudly, as if aware of the attention it was THE SOLITARY MAN 39 attracting. One by one the women in the fields stopped what they were doing to look up the hill. The man in the saddle sat ramrod straight, as proudly as his horse. He scanned the fields with a pair of binoculars.

'That's Zhou Yuanyi,' said the old woman. 'Get back to work.' She seized another oval pod.

'Who's Zhou Yuanyi?' asked the little girl.

'It's his fields we're working in,' said the old woman. 'These are his poppies.'

'Wah!' said the little girl. She looked around the field in amazement. 'He owns all these flowers? All of them?'

The old woman grinned, showing the gap where her two top front teeth had once been. 'Child, he owns the whole mountain. And those beyond.'

The little girl stared back at the man on the horse. 'He must be very rich.'

The old woman scraped the opium sap from a large pod. 'The richest man in the world,' she said. 'Now get back to work. Don't let him see you staring at him. Zhou Yuanyi doesn't like being stared at.'

The old woman took a quick look over her shoulder, up the hill. Zhou Yuanyi took the binoculars away from his eyes. He was wearing sunglasses, but from a distance it looked as if he had no eyes, just black, empty sockets. He kicked the white horse hard in the ribs, jerked on the reins and turned it around, riding down the far side of the hill, out of sight. The old woman watched him go, then turned back to her poppy plants. There was still much work to do.

WARREN HASTINGS PRESSED A yellow button on the dashboard of his Range Rover and the wrought-iron gates glided open. He nudged the car forward into the compound, its tyres crunching on the gravel drive. His two-storey house with its white walls and red-tiled Spanish-style roof was illuminated by his headlights, and long black shadows were thrown up against the tree-lined hillside behind the building.

He'd stayed on Hong Kong Island until late, knowing that both cross-harbour tunnels would be blocked solid by spectators returning to Kowloon and the New Territories. Two large Dobermanns came running around the side of the house, their stubby tails wagging and their long pink tongues lolling out of their mouths.

Hastings cut the engine and climbed out of the Range Rover. 'Hiya Mickey, hiya Minnie,' he said, greeting the dogs with pats on their heads.

Behind him the wrought-iron gates began to close, but as they did two headlight beams swept across the compound and a Mercedes saloon accelerated through the gap. It braked hard and skidded several yards across the gravelled drive. The dogs stared at the car, their ears up.

The engine of the Mercedes was switched off, but the headlights stayed on, blinding Hastings. He was as tense as the two dogs, aware of every sound in the night air: the metallic creaking of the two engines as they cooled, the Geiger-counter clicks of the crickets on the hillside and the far-off rumble of a minibus heading* towards Sai Kung. Mickey looked up at Hastings, his eyes bright and inquisitive.

'Trousers,' said Hastings, squinting into the lights.

He heard the driver's door open and first one foot then another step on to the gravel. The door clunked shut, the sound echoing off the hillside.

'Who is it?' Hastings called. 'What do you want?'

Mickey took two paces forward, his hackles up. Whoever it was remained silent. Hastings put up a hand, trying to block out the blinding headlights.

'That's no way to greet an old friend, is it now, Hutch?' The voice was gruff, almost hoarse, the accent pure Geordie.

Hutch stiffened at the use of his real name. It had been a long time since anyone had used it. He screwed up his eyes, but he still couldn't see who it was.

The visitor walked to stand in front of the car, between the headlights. 'You don't look bad for a man who's been dead for seven years,' he said.

The man chuckled and it was the sound of rustling leaves, an ironic, bitter laugh devoid of amusement. He walked forward. As THE SOLITARY MAN 41 he got closer, Hutch could just about make out the man's features: he had grey hair, slicked back from his forehead and curly at the ends, thin lips, a nose that was slightly crooked. It was the man who'd been staring at him in the stadium. Billy Winter.

'What do you want, Billy?' he asked.

'Brandy and Coke would be nice.' Winter extended his hand, but Hutch ignored it.

Mickey and Minnie both took a step forward, their teeth bared in silent snarls. Hutch stroked the back of Mickey's neck. 'Trousers,' he said, his eyes fixed on Winter. 'How did you find me?'

'It wasn't hard.' Winter kept his hand out and eventually Hutch shook it. 'That's better,' said Winter. 'Can we go inside? It's like a sauna here.' He took a large white handkerchief from the top pocket of his jacket and wiped his forehead. 'And what's this business about trousers?'

'They're trained to obey key words,' said Hutch. 'That way no one else can give them instructions.'

'Yeah?' said Winter. He looked at the dogs. 'Sit,' he said. The dogs stared at him. 'What makes them sit?' Winter asked. He spoke out of the corner of his mouth as if he feared being overheard.

'Blue,' said Hutch. Both animals sat obediently.

Winter raised an eyebrow, impressed. 'Trained to kill, are they?'

'Do you want me to say the word?'

Winter grinned but didn't reply. He started walking towards the house.

'How did you find me, Billy?' Hutch asked.

'All in good time, old lad.'

Hutch hesitated for a moment, then he followed Winter. The front door had two security locks and Winter stood to the side 'I while Hutch opened them.

'Takes you back, doesn't it?' said Winter. 'All the locks. There's something about the rattle of keys, still gives me the willies, even now.'

'Yeah? I never give it much thought.' He pushed open the door and let Winter walk in first.

Winter frowned as he heard a rapid beeping noise. 'What's that?' he asked.

'Security system,' said Hutch. He walked over to a console on the wall by the kitchen door and tapped in a four-digit code. The beeping stopped. Mickey and Minnie stood at the threshold waiting for permission to enter. Hutch waved them through and they trotted obediently into the hallway. 'Through there,' Hutch told Winter and indicated the door to the sitting-room.

As Winter sat down on a long brown leather sofa, Hutch went over to a rattan drinks cabinet. 'No Coke,' he said.

'Brandy and ice'll be just fine,' said Winter, adjusting the creases on his slacks. He looked around the room. 'Nice place,' he said amicably. 'You wouldn't know you were in Hong Kong, would you? It's a little piece of England, isn't it?' He patted the arms of the chair with the palms of his hand. 'I must admit I was surprised to discover that a man who spent so much of his time in solitary confinement had decided to hide in the most crowded city in the world.' Mickey and Minnie stood by the french windows, watching the visitor. Winter stared back at them. 'Sit,' he said. The dogs didn't move. 'Blue,' said Winter, louder this time. The( dogs remained standing, their ears pricked, their mouths slightly open. 'What's wrong with them?' Winter asked Hutch.

'They're trained not to obey strangers,' said Hutch, heading towards the kitchen with an empty ice bucket.

Winter glared at the Dobermanns. 'Stay!' he said authoritatively. The dogs stood stock still. 'Gotcha!' said Winter.

When Hutch returned with the bucket filled with ice, Winter and the dogs were still staring at each other.

'You look better without the beard,' said Winter. 'Made you look like a bit of a wild man, you know. The glasses suit you, too. They make you look almost intellectual. I nearly didn't recognise you.'

'Thanks for the character analysis,' said Hutch, without warmth. 'How did you know where I was?' He poured a large measure of brandy into a glass and dropped in three cubes of ice.

'Looked you up in the phone book,' said Winter. Hutch gave him his drink. 'Aren't you having anything?' Winter asked.

Hutch shook his head. 'How did you . . . ?' Realisation dawned. 'Eddie Archer.'

'Best paperwork in the business,' said Winter. He sipped his THE SOLITARY MAN 43 brandy and smacked his lips in appreciation. 'Oh, yeah, your passport runs out in two years. Eddie asked me to tell you not to apply through official channels. It's genuine, but the birth certificate isn't. He'll fix you up with a new one, but you ought to know that his prices have gone up substantially.'

'So much for honour among thieves.'

Winter grinned. 'You always said you were innocent, Hutch.'

'You know what I mean.'

'I've known Eddie a lot longer than you. We grew up together in Newcastle . . .'

'Spare me the deprived childhood story, Billy. I know it by heart.' Hutch went over to a wood-framed armchair and sat down. Mickey padded over to stand next to him but Minnie remained with her eyes fixed on Winter. 'So you heard that my body wasn't in the plane, and you paid Eddie a visit. Who else knows?'

'Just Eddie. And me.'

'What do you want, Billy?'

Winter studied Hutch as if wondering how to phrase his reply. He swirled the brandy around his glass. 'I need you to do a job for me.'

'What sort of a job?'

'The sort only you are qualified to do, Hutch. I need you to help me get a guy out of prison.'

Hutch shook his head. 'I'm not going back to the UK.'

'He's out here. In Bangkok.'

Hutch sighed deeply. 'Billy, I run a kennels. I train dogs. I breed Dobermanns. I don't break people out of prisons.'

'You're the best. You escaped from Parkhurst, you got clean away.' He paused, then smiled slyly. 'Almost clean away.' He put his brandy glass down on a hardwood side table, then took a large cigar from his jacket pocket and lit it.

'I can't help you. I've too much to lose.'

'Exactly,' said Winter. The two men locked eyes. Minnie growled, sensing the hostility in the room. 'Don't make me force you, Hutch.'

'I can't help you.'

'You don't have any choice.'

'We were friends, Billy.'

Winter shook his head. 'This is nothing to do with friendship. You're coming with me to Bangkok tomorrow.'

'And if I refuse?'

'You can't refuse. I make one phone call to Plod and you go back to finish your life sentence, plus whatever they add on top for your escape.'

'You'd grass on me?'

'I don't think I'll have to. But a threat isn't a threat unless I have the balls to go through with it. And believe me, Hutch, I've got the balls.'

Hutch glared at Winter. 'You bastard,' he said.

Winter shrugged. 'Sticks and stones, old lad. Sticks and stones.' He took a long drag on the cigar and stood up. The two Dobermanns watched him intently. Winter stared back at them. He took the cigar out of his mouth and snarled at the dogs.

'Don't tease them,' warned Hutch.

'I killed a dog once. When I was a kid. Did I ever tell you about that?'

'No. No, you didn't.'

'With a cricket bat. Thwack. Never forgotten the sound.' Minnie bared her teeth and growled.

'You'd better go,' said Hutch.

Winter got to his feet. Ash from his cigar spilled on to the floor. 'I'll pick you up at noon tomorrow. We'll only be away for a couple of days.' He turned and walked out of the room without a backward look.

The two Dobermanns stood looking at Hutch, sensing his anxiety. Mickey growled softly and Hutch stroked his head. 'It's okay,' he said. 'Just an old friend, that's all.' He went over to the console, pressing the button that opened the main gates. He watched Winter drive out of the compound on a black and white monitor set into the wall. Winter waved out of the window of his Mercedes as if he knew he was being watched.

TIM CARVER LOOKED AT his wristwatch for the hundredth time. His driver was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and the noise was driving Carver crazy, but if he told him to stop the man would probably sulk for a week. If there was one thing that Carver had learned since he had been assigned to Thailand, it was that Thais did not react well to criticism.

The traffic ahead appeared to be locked solid, par for the course on the roads leading out of Bangkok at rush hour. In fact, the city's streets were jammed pretty much around the clock, and Carver had long become accustomed to sitting in his car waiting for interminable periods before crawling forward a few yards and stopping again. Carver usually played through his Thai language tapes during traffic jams, brushing up on his vocabulary, but today he decided to use the time to get his thoughts in order. The regular monthly meeting of the Foreign Anti-Narcotic Community had gone on longer than usual: two Thai undercover agents had been found floating in a canal close to the city's Chinatown, their bodies mutilated, and the overseas agents were worried about the ramifications for the safety of their own people.

It had been Carver's turn to host the lunch, and over beer and sandwiches at the DEA's offices the FANC members had pored over the police report on the deaths. It was a foregone conclusion that the Thai agents had been betrayed by one of their own; what worried Carver and his colleagues was at what level the betrayal had occurred. The primary reason for the formation of the FANC had been the rampant corruption within the Thai police force which had led to countless undercover operations being blown long before arrests could be made. The members of the FANC, primarily representing American, European and Australian drug agencies, shared information and consolidated their efforts to fight the drug trade, and only contacted Thai police and intelligence officials at the end-phase of any operation. Carver and his counterparts would have preferred to have excluded the Thais completely, but they didn't have the power to make arrests, or even to carry weapons in the country. The trick was to call in the Thais at the last minute, minimising the opportunity for the targets to be tipped off.