The Solitary Man (Stephen Leather Thrillers)

by Stephen Leather

  Austin raised his eyebrows, surprised by Gregory’s technical knowledge. The operation of the Hellfire missiles wasn’t classified, but it wasn’t common knowledge either, and it was clear that the DEA man knew what he was talking about.

  ‘Your target acquisition and designation sights will guide you to the beacon once it’s in line of sight, and once you’re within range you’ll be able to release the modified Hellfires. Just fire and forget, gentlemen. Fire and forget. You can use the remaining laser-guided Hellfires to clean up the surrounding area. You’ll be carrying a full load of twelve hundred rounds of ammunition for the chain gun to take care of any ground resistance.’

  Lucarelli sniffed and lifted his arm. ‘What’s the range of the transmitter?’ he asked.

  ‘We’ll be picking it up from orbiting satellites, but so far as the Hellfires are concerned, you’ll want to be no further than two miles from the objective. Obviously the closer you are, the better.’

  Warner raised a finger. Gregory nodded for him to speak. ‘Is collateral damage a problem?’ Warner asked.

  Gregory shook his head emphatically. ‘There won’t be any good guys in the vicinity,’ he said. ‘Anyone out there is a legitimate target.’

  ‘Opposition?’ asked Burden.

  ‘Nothing to worry a low-flying Apache,’ said Gregory. ‘Mainly automatic weapons, AK-47s and M16s, but they won’t be expecting you. They’re there to guard the poppy fields and protect the warlord; they’re not geared up for air attacks. They’re jungle fighters, nothing more. You’ll be in and out before they know what’s happening. It’ll be a milk run.’ Burden scribbled on his clipboard.

  Austin studied the map. ‘Fifty miles, you say?’

  ‘That was then,’ said Gregory. ‘They could be up to a hundred and twenty miles inside the border now. We won’t know until we get the fix.’

  Austin nodded. Two hundred and forty miles wouldn’t require long-range tanks and if that was the maximum distance they’d have to cover they would be there and back within ninety minutes. Not exactly a milk run, but like Gregory said, they’d have the element of surprise on their side.

  ‘The technicians will be modifying the Hellfires over the next couple of days, but as of now I want you guys on permanent standby. We don’t know when the beacon is going to be activated, but the moment it goes off you’ll be away. Night or day. Austin and Warner will fly lead, Burden and Lucarelli, you’ll be flying wing. Any problems?’

  The Apache crews shook their heads.

  Gregory nodded. ‘Facilities here are basic, I’m afraid, as you’ve probably already discovered. The mosquitoes are lethal so use the nets and keep taking the tablets. I don’t want you getting sick.’ He put down his can of Diet Coke and unclipped the map from the blackboard.

  The four men stood up and went outside together. About three hundred feet from the cluster of tents stood the two AH-64D Longbow Apaches, squatting like huge drab olive beetles on the grass, their main rotor blades drooping as if they were melting in the heat. The large sensors on the noses of the helicopters looked like the eyes of a giant fly, adding to the impression that they were giant insects and not machines. Technicians in camouflage overalls were gathered around the nearest helicopter, fitting missile installations to the undersides of the Apache’s stubby wings.

  ‘What do you think, Hal?’ ask Warner.

  ‘Piece of cake,’ said Austin, taking a stick of gum from his chest pocket. He unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth. ‘They won’t know what’s hit them.’

  HUTCH WORKED ON AUTOPILOT as he ran through a mental checklist of everything he had to do. Matt had agreed to swop cells with Harrigan, the cell door key was now as perfect as he could make it, and Billy Winter had been briefed. Hutch figured that once Harrigan was wearing the brown uniform that prisoners had to put on for court appearances, the guards were unlikely to realise that he wasn’t the American. The guards appeared to be interested only in the number of bodies and rarely seemed to look at faces. The other occupants of Hutch’s cell would realise that something was up but there would be no reason for them to say anything. If anyone did make a move to alert the guards, Joshua had promised to intervene with Baz. Baz was by far the biggest man in the cell and was treated with wary respect by the rest of the prisoners. The Canadian would also be aware of the swop, but again Hutch assumed that he would keep his mouth shut. The biggest worry was Pipop. He was one of the few trustys who knew the prisoners by name and he would be sure to notice that Harrigan was in the wrong cell.

  Hutch felt a light touch on his shoulder. It was Thep. The old man examined the bookcase that Hutch was working on and nodded his approval. He pointed over to the varnishing area. Hutch picked up the bookcase and carried it over to the varnishers. On the way back he was confronted by one of the carpenters. It was the big man with the ponytail who’d given him the file. Hutch tried to walk around the man but the carpenter stepped to the side with him. Hutch took a step back, but as he did so he realised that there was another man behind him. Both men were holding screwdrivers. Hutch looked around. Another carpenter was standing by one of the lathes, and moved forward. There was no sign of any guards or trustys. ‘A-rai?’ said Hutch. What?

  The carpenter directly in front of him held the screwdriver at Hutch’s stomach, the handle tight in his fist. ‘We want the file,’ he said.

  ‘I paid for it,’ Hutch protested.

  ‘Not pay. You rent.’

  Hutch put his hands up. The screwdriver was only inches from his stomach. ‘No one said anything about rent. I bought it.’

  The carpenter shook his head. He jabbed the screwdriver at Hutch and Hutch jumped back. ‘Ten thousand baht,’ he said. ‘I want ten thousand baht.’

  It was a shakedown, Hutch realised. It wasn’t about the file at all. They’d obviously heard that he had access to money from the outside and decided that they wanted some of it. ‘I can give you the file back,’ said Hutch. It was in the cell, hidden in the cement wall that cordoned off the toilet.

  ‘Ten thousand baht,’ repeated the carpenter.

  The carpenter to Hutch’s right stepped forward. Hutch moved away. They were forcing him up against a wall. There was no point in shouting for help: the noise of the lathes and wood-turning machines would drown out his cries. Two of the Thais in the varnishing team had seen what was going on, but they had turned their backs and were concentrating on their work.

  ‘I don’t have any money,’ said Hutch. He knew they wouldn’t believe him but he had to say something to buy time. There was only one way he was going to survive the confrontation and that was to show them that he was tougher and harder than they were. It had happened in every prison he’d ever been in. The easy way out would be to give them the money, but they’d take that as a sign of weakness and keep coming back for more.

  The carpenter with the ponytail grabbed Hutch by the shirt collar. He noticed the gold chains that he was wearing and his eyes widened. Before he could react further, Hutch grabbed the screwdriver and brought his knee up into the man’s groin. The carpenter gasped. Hutch held on to the screwdriver for all he was worth and stamped down on the man’s foot. He twisted the man’s arm and threw him against one of the other carpenters.

  The carpenter to his left stabbed at his arm and drew blood. Hutch yelled out loud. He headbutted the ponytailed carpenter and felt his forehead smash down on the Thai’s nose. Blood spurted over the man’s mouth and chin. Hutch kept a tight grip on the man’s arm as he turned, throwing the Thai off balance. Hutch kicked him in the stomach, hard, then kicked one of his knees. Not until the Thai went down did Hutch let go of the man’s screwdriver. He punched him in the face, putting all his weight behind the blow. He felt a stabbing pain in his side but Hutch ignored it. His attention was totally focused on the man on his knees. He kicked him under the chin and the carpenter’s neck snapped up. The man pitched backwards and lay on the ground, unmoving. The carpenter curled up into a ball, moaning like a sick child. Only then did H
utch turn to face the other two men. Less than five seconds had passed since the ponytailed carpenter had reached for Hutch’s gold chains, but Hutch had inflicted enough damage to make the other two men think twice. They jabbed their screwdrivers at Hutch but their hearts weren’t in it; they’d seen what he’d done to the leader of their group and they were reluctant to meet the same fate. The Thais backed away. Hutch took a step towards them, his hands up. They turned and ran. Hutch began to tremble. The strength drained from his legs and he leaned against the wall, gasping for breath.

  A large figure loomed by his side. It was Joshua. ‘What the hell was that about?’ asked the Nigerian.

  ‘Just establishing the pecking order,’ said Hutch.

  Joshua nodded at the carpenter on the ground, who was now struggling to his knees. ‘Where did you learn to fight?’

  ‘Self-taught,’ said Hutch.

  Joshua took Hutch’s left arm and examined the scratch. ‘You were lucky,’ he said.

  Hutch pulled his arm away. ‘Yeah, wasn’t I just.’

  TSANG CHAU-LING HANDED HER passport to the immigration officer. He scrutinised the landing card she’d filled in on the plane. ‘Why are you coming to Thailand?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  He gave her back the form and tapped it with his pen. ‘Your reason for your trip. Business or holiday?’

  Chau-ling looked at the form. She hadn’t ticked either box. She took his pen and put a line through the box marked ‘Business’. The immigration officer stamped her passport and waved her through.

  Chau-ling waited for Ricky Lim. He hadn’t said a word to her during the two-and-a-half hour flight from Hong Kong. He wasn’t happy about accompanying her to Thailand, but he knew better than to express his reservations to her father. She smiled up at Lim as he joined her, but he refused to be mollified. ‘Come on, Ricky, give me a smile,’ she said.

  Lim bared his teeth.

  ‘You can do better than that,’ she teased.

  ‘Not right now I can’t, Miss Tsang,’ he said. He pointed towards the exit. ‘Your car should be waiting outside.’

  Chau-ling followed her bodyguard out of the terminal.

  HUTCH SMEARED SHAVING FOAM over his stomach, rubbing it in with the palm of his hand. ‘How do you know that I won’t just keep on running?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t,’ said Carver, lighting a Marlboro. He leaned back in his chair and watched Hutch shave his stomach with slow, careful strokes.

  ‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ said Hutch, wiping the disposable plastic razor on a piece of towelling. ‘What are you saying, that you trust me?’

  ‘Something like that.’ Carver flicked up the top of his Zippo with his thumb, then snapped it shut. ‘How did you get the scratch on your arm?’

  ‘Power struggle. Nothing major.’ Hutch stopped shaving and looked at the DEA agent. ‘Hypothetically speaking, Tim, suppose I get across the border and make it to Zhou’s camp . . .’

  ‘I’m assuming you will,’ said Carver, continuing to flick the top of his lighter.

  ‘. . . and what if I just don’t press the button on your gizmo? What if I disappear into the jungle?’

  Carver shrugged carelessly. ‘It won’t be like last time. There won’t be any faked death, no nice, neat way out. The DEA will come looking for you, and they will get you. No matter how well you hide, they’ll find you.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘There are some pretty heavy people in the DEA. People you wouldn’t want to meet, believe me.’

  Hutch pointed the plastic razor at Carver. ‘Why is it that everyone I meet threatens me these days? I never get to hear the carrot without having the stick waved in my face.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Carver.

  ‘That thing isn’t a bomb, is it?’ Hutch said, nodding at the brushed metal box, about the size of a slim cigarette case, lying on the table next to Carver’s hand. ‘It’s not going to explode when I press the button, is it? This isn’t some sort of devious set-up?’

  Carver smiled. ‘No, it won’t explode. It’s a transmitter, not a bomb.’

  ‘How do I know?’

  Carver’s smile widened. ‘I guess you’ll just have to take my word on that, won’t you?’ He leaned forward and brushed his fringe out of his eyes. ‘You don’t owe these people anything. Billy Winter is threatening your son, he set you up, he doesn’t care if you live or die. He’s destroyed your life and he did it without a second thought. You owe Zhou Yuanyi even less.’

  Hutch started shaving again.

  ‘I’m with the good guys, Hutch. I’ve no reason to betray you. I meant what I said. You help the DEA and the DEA will stand by you. A new identity, a new life, a life that will stand up to inspection, American citizenship. If you don’t press that button, you’ll be putting your life in Billy Winter’s hands. Do you want to do that again?’

  ‘I think I can trust Winter, despite what he’s done.’ Hutch finished shaving and put the razor on the table. He used the towel to wipe his stomach clean of the remaining foam. ‘I want half a million dollars.’

  Carver’s eyebrows shot skyward. ‘Say what?’

  ‘Five hundred thousand dollars. This Zhou’s got to be worth that much to you.’

  ‘Why this sudden concern about money?’

  ‘Think of it as an incentive. If I know I’m going to get half a million dollars, I’m more likely to press the button, right?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  Carver exhaled through his nose and stared at Hutch through the smoke. ‘Not for me, Hutch.’

  ‘And for your boss?’

  Carver rubbed his chin thoughtfully. It was a relatively small amount to lose in the DEA’s budget. And Hutch was right, it was a small amount to pay if it led to the trial and conviction of one of the biggest heroin suppliers in the world. ‘I don’t think it’ll be a problem.’

  ‘I have your word?’

  Carver nodded. ‘Yeah, you have my word.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll press the button. How long will it take the choppers to get there?’

  ‘Half an hour, give or take.’

  ‘There’ll be shooting, right?’

  ‘They’re not going to go in with guns blazing, don’t worry. It’ll be a Ranger unit, they’re trained for operations like this. In and out, a snatch squad.’

  ‘And they’ll take me with them?’

  ‘Damn right.’

  ‘What about Winter?’

  Carver handed the metal case to Hutch. Hutch held it against his stomach while the DEA agent tore off a piece of flesh-coloured sticking plaster from a roll. ‘Why are you so worried about him?’ Carver asked.

  ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘Try me.’ Carver stuck the sticking plaster across the transmitter and spread it across Hutch’s stomach.

  ‘We were banged up together for a couple of years, that’s all. You get close to a person when you’re in prison, especially the sort of prisons I was in. There were times when he was the only man I spoke to for weeks on end.’

  ‘How come?’ Carver ripped off another piece of tape.

  ‘We did time in the punishment block together, in Parkhurst. They called it the choky. You’re banged up in your cell for twenty-three hours a day with just an hour for exercise. You eat on your own, you slop out on your own, you exercise on your own. The only humans you see are the guards, and they barely count as human. They call it solitary, but if you’re lucky you can talk to the guy in the next cell. If you stand on your chair and stick your head out of the window, you can talk, just about. Billy Winter’s voice kept me sane. He got me through it, he stopped me from going crazy. I did a full month in the choky in Parkhurst, and for three weeks of it Billy was in the cell next to me, talking, making me laugh, keeping me alive.’

  Carver stripped the second piece of tape across Hutch’s stomach. ‘The Rangers will take him out, too. Just keep your heads down. They’ll have your photogra
ph, you won’t be in any danger.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’ He put his shirt back on and buttoned it up. ‘How does that look?’ He turned side on to give Carver a better look.

  ‘Can’t see a thing. Just be careful when you change into your uniform tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll do it tonight when everyone else is asleep.’

  ‘And what about Harrigan?’

  ‘I’ll take care of that tonight, too. What happens if I get the transmitter wet? Say I get caught in the rain?’

  ‘It’s sealed. Completely waterproof.’

  Hutch patted the shirt. ‘Five hundred thousand dollars, right?’

  ‘You’ll take a cheque?’

  Hutch smiled thinly. ‘You’re sure you can get it?’

  Carver put the Zippo back in his breast pocket. ‘I’m sure. Providing that you activate the transmitter. Is money that important to you, Hutch?’

  Hutch rolled his shirt sleeves up. ‘It’s not the money. It’s the principle.’

  TSANG CHAU-LING AND RICKY Lim arrived at the prison gates just after one o’clock in the afternoon. Khun Kriengsak had sent a clerk from his office to help her arrange the visit and he took her along to the canteen where a uniformed guard was sitting at a desk. The clerk gave the guard a piece of paper with Warren Hastings’ name on it, and then asked Chau-ling to produce her passport. The guard added the details to a list that already contained several dozen names.

  ‘They will call him to the visiting area,’ said the clerk, who spoke passable Cantonese. He took them through the arched entrance towards the visiting area. It was an L-shaped enclosure to the left of the main gate, with benches on the visitors’ side. More than fifty visitors were already there, standing around and looking expectantly at a door on the prisoners’ side. Several men in blue T-shirts and shorts were lounging around the door, laughing and smoking cigarettes.