The Solitary Man (Stephen Leather Thrillers)

by Stephen Leather

  ‘Yeah,’ said Hutch. ‘Ladders, pliers, wire cutters, even a hosepipe. It was all in a storeroom.’

  ‘How come it was so easy?’ asked Harrigan.

  Hutch snorted. ‘If it was easy, everyone would have done it,’ he said. ‘It’s finding the weakness in the system that counts, the flaw that the staff can’t see. You have to be able to work out where the blind spots are, where the cameras can see and where they can’t. There were fifty-three security cameras in operation the night I broke out.’

  ‘And they didn’t see you?’

  ‘Nah,’ said Winter. ‘He was out two hours before they discovered he was missing.’

  ‘How come?’ asked Harrigan. ‘How come you got through the wire and over the wall without anyone seeing you?’

  ‘Because the screws have faith in the system, that’s why. They don’t see the gaps. All they see are the wire fences and the walls and the cameras and the dogs. They think like guards, they don’t think like prisoners. They didn’t think anyone could get to the storeroom because the prisoners are always in their cells or under supervision, so they didn’t bother fitting double locks. A prisoner would never be in the storeroom on his own, so there was no need to have the tools securely locked away. The cameras watch the wire, so they cut down on the dog patrols. But there are never more than two guards monitoring fifty-three cameras. Do you think they spend all the time staring at the screens? Of course they don’t. They drink coffee. They gossip. They read dirty magazines. They’re human.’

  ‘That’s debatable,’ joked Winter. ‘But Hutch hasn’t told you the best bit. How he got off the island.’

  ‘How?’ asked Harrigan. He had the wide-eyed look of a small boy being told a ghost story around a campfire.

  ‘I flew,’ said Hutch. ‘I stole a small plane and flew away.’

  Winter guffawed and Harrigan looked at him, wondering what was so amusing. ‘He’s being too modest,’ said Winter. ‘What he neglects to mention is that he’d never flown a fucking plane in his life before that night!’

  ‘What?’ Harrigan turned to look at Hutch in amazement. ‘How come?’

  Hutch shrugged, his palms spread upward. ‘I was lucky, I guess.’

  ‘Crap,’ said Winter. ‘He spent three months practising.’

  ‘They let you take flying lessons in prison?’ asked Harrigan.

  Hutch and Winter looked at each other and burst out laughing. Hutch shook his head. ‘One of the guys inside had worked as a commercial pilot. He taught me. We used to sit on my bunk and he’d go through all the controls, explaining what everything did and how it felt.’

  ‘But you’d never taken off before?’

  ‘Taking off was the easy part, it was the landing that was difficult.’

  ‘Er, actually old lad, the way I heard it, it was more of a crash than a landing,’ interrupted Winter.

  ‘Yeah, well, it didn’t quite go to plan,’ admitted Hutch.

  Harrigan shook his head in disbelief. ‘You’re winding me up,’ he said.

  Hutch reached for one of the bottles of water and drank before continuing. ‘The way Ronnie told it, they land and take off at about sixty-five miles an hour, so it’s no more dangerous than driving a VW. He said you just fly them parallel to the ground at sixty-five miles an hour, cut the engine, and keep the nose up. It’ll land itself. Then it’s just like driving a car. Providing I picked a big enough field to land in, the plane would come to a stop itself. But I never got to see if it worked. I hit bad weather, couldn’t see a thing. I ended up ditching in the sea, and even a VW wouldn’t have done me any good.’ He touched the side of his head. ‘The plane was smashed up pretty bad. I hit my head but the seat belt held. I went under but one of the doors had busted open so I managed to get out.’

  ‘You were lucky,’ said Winter.

  ‘Yeah, well, how lucky can I be to end up sitting in the back of a truck full of tampons with two characters like you?’ said Hutch.

  Winter and Harrigan laughed and before long Hutch was laughing along with them.

  ‘IF YOU LIGHT ANOTHER cigarette, I swear to God I’m going to make you eat it,’ said Chau-ling.

  Carver’s hand hovered over his pack of Marlboro.

  ‘Can’t you open a window?’ she asked.

  ‘They’re sealed so that the air-conditioning works,’ said Carver.

  ‘Yeah? Well, it’s failing abysmally,’ she said. She brushed her hair away from her face with both hands, tucking it behind her ears. ‘You said Warren was working for you.’

  ‘That’s true. Sort of.’

  ‘But you made it sound like you’d set the whole thing up from the start. That was a lie, wasn’t it?’

  Carver hesitated, but he realised immediately that his hesitation had given him away. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘They framed Hutch. They sent him inside so that he’d have to escape.’

  ‘And you can prove that?’

  Carver nodded. ‘I’ve got them on tape.’

  ‘So Warren is in the clear. You can prove he’s innocent.’ She studied him with unblinking eyes. ‘What are you going to do?’

  Carver swallowed nervously. ‘There’s nothing I can do.’

  ‘You can warn Warren. Hutch, I mean. You can get to him before he activates the transmitter.’ Carver shook his head. ‘If you can’t, I’m sure the police can.’ When Carver didn’t react, she stood up and headed for the door.

  Carver didn’t know if she was bluffing or not, but he couldn’t take the risk. ‘Wait!’ he said.

  She turned and looked at him, her hands on her hips. ‘I’m waiting,’ she said.

  ‘Please, sit down.’ Chau-ling did as he asked and looked at him expectantly. Carver pointed at the map on the wall behind him. ‘This is jungle, Miss Tsang. Miles and miles of it. Most of it hasn’t even been mapped. Why do you think the Burmese and the Thais haven’t been able to do anything about the drug warlords who live there? Finding a needle in a haystack doesn’t even come close.’

  Chau-ling shook her head. ‘He isn’t across the border yet, is he? He’s probably still in Bangkok.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So first he has to get to the border, and he can’t go through the airport. He’ll have to go by road, which means that we can get there before him.’

  ‘We?’ said Carver. ‘When did this become we?’

  ‘You’ve set him up to be killed, you and your damn organisation. And I’m not going to stand by and do nothing. We’re going to get Warren back, you and I. Or I’ll see to it that you and everyone else involved pays the price.’ She looked at him with narrowed eyes. ‘I can do it, Tim Carver. Believe me.’

  ‘What can we do?’ asked Carver. ‘We’re talking about hundreds of miles of border.’ He traced his finger along the river that separated Thailand from Burma and Laos.

  Chau-ling stood up and went over to the map. She stared at the area that the DEA agent had been pointing at. He was right.

  ‘And you’ve no idea where he’s going to cross?’

  Carver rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘I know he’s going to a town called Fang.’ He tapped the map with his forefinger. Fang was a small dot several inches from the border.

  ‘So we go to Fang,’ she said.

  ‘And then what? He’s not going to be walking down the main street, is he? As soon as it gets dark, they’ll be over the border.’

  Chau-ling stared at the map. ‘Look, if you’re sure that he’s going to be in Fang, then it seems obvious to me that they’ll cross the border fairly close to the town. It wouldn’t make any sense for them to go all that way and then travel miles and miles along the border before crossing. Would it?’

  Carver looked at the map. He slowly ran his finger up from Fang until it reached the river that separated the two countries. ‘But it’s still too large an area. We’d need God knows how many men to keep watch. And the DEA doesn’t have that sort of manpower in the whole country.’

  Chau-ling smiled thinly. ‘No, but I know someone who might do,
’ she said.

  RAY HARRIGAN LAY CURLED up, clutching a pillow to his chest and snoring softly. Hutch played the light along the man’s sleeping body. ‘He looks like shit,’ said Hutch.

  ‘He’ll be okay once we get him back to Ireland,’ said Winter. ‘Hell, I could do with a cigar right now.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you should have booked a seat in the smoking section.’ Hutch switched the flashlight off. There was no point in wasting the batteries.

  ‘Takes you back, doesn’t it?’ said Winter. ‘Just like the choky.’

  ‘Not quite,’ said Hutch. ‘At least there’s no screws rushing in for a spot of rough and tumble.’

  Winter chuckled. ‘Yeah, fair point. How much time did you do in solitary, Hutch?’

  ‘Four months, six days,’ Hutch answered without hesitation. ‘Not all at once, though. You?’

  ‘I forget.’

  ‘I never really thanked you, did I?’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For getting me through it. I’d been in solitary for fourteen days when they put you in the next cell, and I was going out of my head.’

  ‘That’s why they do it, old lad. It’s not meant to be a pat on the back. I thought you coped okay.’

  Hutch tapped his forehead. ‘Not in here, Billy. They knew exactly what they were doing. They were trying to break me, and they would have done, too.’

  ‘You want to know something funny, Hutch?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I always feel safer in small spaces. I’ve a house in Wicklow with seven bedrooms, a snooker room, a living room you could ride a horse around, enough space for ten people. You know where I spend most of the day?’

  Hutch shook his head. ‘Where?’

  ‘There’s a small alcove off the kitchen, a sort of breakfast area. Just enough room for a small table and four chairs. That’s where I sit. It’s the only damn place in the whole house where I feel comfortable.’

  ‘You don’t have to be a psychologist to work that one out, Billy.’

  Winter chuckled. ‘Yeah. You and I are the same, Hutch. Jailbirds of a feather.’

  ‘Not me. I couldn’t stand prison, I can’t bear to be locked up.’

  Winter chuckled again, a dry, hollow laugh like pebbles being crushed underfoot. ‘You don’t see it, do you? You really don’t see it.’

  ‘See what?’ snapped Hutch. He had the feeling that Winter was making fun of him.

  ‘Why did you go into the kennel business, Hutch?’

  ‘Because I like dogs. I’ve always liked dogs.’

  Winter said nothing.

  ‘What? What are you getting at?’

  Winter shook his head. ‘If you have to ask, old lad, then I’m not going to tell you.’

  Hutch tried to contain his impatience. ‘It’s not like you to be so enigmatic. Now what the fuck are you talking about?’

  ‘Forget it. I’m just winding you up. Christ, I could do with a cigar.’ He sighed deeply. ‘You should get some sleep.’ The truck bounced over a rough section of road and the driver braked sharply.

  ‘I always knew you better than you knew yourself, Hutch,’ said Winter smugly. Hutch didn’t reply.

  TSANG CHAU-LING ASKED TIM Carver to wait outside in the corridor while she made the telephone call. He picked up his packet of cigarettes and his lighter before going. Chau-ling closed the door to the office and dialled Khun Kriengsak’s number. She told his secretary who she was and he was on the line within seconds. Chau-ling explained what she wanted, and why. She heard the lawyer exhale slowly. ‘Can you do that for me, Khun Kriengsak?’ she asked.

  ‘I can,’ he said slowly, drawing out each syllable as if seeing how far he could stretch them.

  ‘It is very important,’ she said.

  ‘I am sure it is,’ he replied.

  ‘And you would be doing me a great service.’

  ‘Your father has asked me to do everything within my power to assist you, Miss Tsang. I am more than happy to comply with his instructions. But may I ask if he is aware of what you’re doing?’

  ‘Not exactly, no.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the lawyer. ‘That does put me in a quandary, you see. It is your father who is my client, after all.’

  ‘I understand, Khun Kriengsak,’ said Chau-ling. ‘But I would rather not tell my father.’

  The lawyer exhaled again. ‘Perhaps we could leave it this way, Miss Tsang. I shall do as you ask, and I shall not refer the matter to your father . . .’

  ‘Thank you,’ gushed Chau-ling with relief. ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘I had not finished, Miss Tsang,’ said the lawyer smoothly. ‘I must tell you, however, that if your father raises the matter with me, I shall have to be honest with him.’

  ‘That’s all I can ask, Khun Kriengsak. Thank you.’

  ‘Where will you be?’ he asked.

  ‘Chiang Mai,’ she said. ‘Then a town called Fang. I’ll call you from there.’

  ‘I know Fang,’ said the lawyer. ‘Be careful.’

  ‘I will be.’

  ‘And Miss Tsang, please do not even think about crossing the border. The Golden Triangle is a very dangerous place.’

  ‘The thought hadn’t even entered my mind,’ said Chau-ling.

  TIM CARVER WASN’T QUITE sure at what point he’d decided that he was going to help Tsang Chau-ling, even though to do so was likely to end his career with the DEA. The agency had gone to a great deal of time and trouble to set the trap for Zhou Yuanyi, and if Carver warned Hutch it would have all been for nothing. He’d never seen Jake Gregory angry but he had no doubt that it would be on a par with a raging thunderstorm. Against that, Carver knew that he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he knowingly sent a man to his death. He had at least to try to warn Hutch. If he was too late, or if Hutch and Harrigan still managed to get over the border and disappear into Burma, then Carver could at least tell himself that he’d done his best. That he’d tried.

  He lit a cigarette and inhaled gratefully. She was a strong-willed girl, all right. There was an intensity about her that broached no argument, and he was sure that she was used to getting her own way. He could imagine her twisting her father around her little finger. Carver leaned back against the wall. Hutch was a lucky man to have earned the adoration of such a girl. That she loved him was transparently obvious. He wondered who she was calling. Who could she know in Thailand who would have the power to have the border watched? He went over to the water cooler and filled a paper cup. Ed Harris came out of his office.

  ‘Hey, Ed, did you ever come across a girl called Tsang Chau-ling while you were in Hong Kong?’ asked Carver. Harris had spent two years working out of the DEA’s Hong Kong office.

  Harris bent down and helped himself to water. ‘Doesn’t ring a bell,’ said Harris. ‘I’m on line to Washington. Why don’t you run her name through the computer?’

  Carver screwed up his empty paper cup and tossed it into the trash can. He looked at his office door. It was still shut. ‘Yeah, why not?’ he said. He followed Harris through to his office, closed the door and sat down on the edge of the desk as Harris tapped on the keyboard.

  ‘You think she’s bad?’ asked Harris, his eyes on his VDU.

  ‘No way,’ said Carver. ‘But she knows people.’

  ‘Yeah. What makes you think that?’

  Carver gave a half-shrug. He looked around for an ashtray. There wasn’t one and he remembered that Harris was a non-smoker. ‘Just a hunch,’ he said. He held the cigarette vertically so that the ash wouldn’t break off.

  Harris sniffed and continued to tap away. He stopped and stared at the screen. His eyebrows went up and he clicked his tongue. ‘Well, well, well.’

  ‘What, what, what?’

  Harris turned the VDU so that Carver could read the details on the screen. ‘Your Miss Tsang is clean, but her father is a different kettle of drug dealer.’

  ‘Her father?’ Carver’s eyes flicked across the screen.

  ‘Tsang Cha
i-hin. Civic leader, one of the richest of the rich, chairman of half a dozen worthy causes, major shareholder in two of the biggest listed companies in Hong Kong, well connected in Beijing, and responsible for shipping something like two hundred tonnes of marijuana to the United States every year.’

  Carver pulled a face as he scanned the file. ‘Hearsay,’ he said. ‘He’s never been indicted.’

  ‘And whenever we search his ships, we find nothing. But you know as well as I do, that means nothing. The guy’s so rich he can buy all the protection he needs. He’s being watched, though. And you’ve got little Miss Tsang in your office? How about pumping her for information?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Carver.

  ‘Is she pretty?’

  ‘Definitely. A stunner.’

  ‘How about just pumping her?’ Harris laughed but Carver didn’t think it was funny. He stood up and cupped his hand under the cigarette.

  There was a knock on the door. Carver jumped and ash spilled on to the carpet. Harris got up and opened the door. It was Chau-ling. Carver could feel his cheeks redden, even though he was sure she couldn’t have heard what Harris had said.

  ‘I’ve finished,’ she said. ‘My friend can help.’

  ‘Friend?’ asked Harris.

  ‘It’s personal,’ lied Carver. The fewer people who knew what he and Chau-ling were up to, the safer his career would be.

  HUTCH STRETCHED OUT HIS legs, taking care not to disturb Harrigan. He wiped his shirt sleeve across his forehead. He was dripping with sweat. ‘What is this Ireland thing all about, anyway?’ asked Hutch.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ said Winter.

  ‘How long to Fang did you say?’ Twelve hours? We’ve got time.’

  Winter snorted softly. He said nothing for a few seconds, then sighed mournfully. ‘Things have changed a lot since you were in Parkhurst. It’s all drugs now.’

  ‘You were never into drugs. Straightforward armed robbery, I seem to remember.’