The Solitary Man (Stephen Leather Thrillers)

by Stephen Leather

  Hutch dropped into an armchair. He felt the transmitter press against his stomach. He wondered what would happen to Harrigan if he pressed the button and summoned the helicopters. Would the DEA allow Harrigan to keep his freedom or would they send him back to prison? And if they did send him back behind bars, how would Hutch feel? He still hadn’t decided whether or not he was going to activate the beacon. A lot would depend on what happened once they crossed the border. In the bathroom, the shower kicked into life.

  ‘DO YOU MIND?’ ASKED Carver, showing the cigarette packet to Chau-ling. She shook her head and Carver lit one. They were sitting on camp stools in a green canvas tent illuminated by an electric bulb hanging from a metal pole. Ricky Lim stood at the entrance to the tent like a sentry on guard. There was a metal desk in the far corner of the tent, and a rusting grey filing cabinet next to it. On the filing cabinet stood a half-empty bottle of Johnnie Walker Red Label and several glasses.

  ‘What do you know about this colonel?’ he asked.

  ‘Absolutely nothing,’ she said.

  Carver blew a smoke ring and then tried to blow a second ring through the first. He almost succeeded. ‘Could you do me a favour?’ he asked.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  It was typical of her, thought Carver. Most people would have said ‘sure’ before knowing what favour was being asked, out of politeness if nothing else. ‘Don’t tell anyone that I’m with the DEA.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because we’re not always on the best of terms with the military, that’s why not.’

  ‘You mean, you can’t trust them?’

  ‘This is Thailand, Miss Tsang. You can’t trust anybody.’

  Chau-ling raised an eyebrow. ‘Why Mr Carver, are you including yourself in that generalisation?’

  Carver didn’t reply. He didn’t enjoy crossing swords with Tsang Chau-ling. She always seemed to draw blood.

  ‘Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,’ she said. ‘And I think it’s about time we were on first-name terms, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Carver. He smiled and tried another smoke ring.

  Lim spoke in Cantonese, and stepped backwards into the tent.

  ‘Somebody’s coming,’ said Chau-ling, standing up.

  A stocky Thai in a colonel’s uniform appeared at the entrance to the tent. He had close-cropped, jet-black hair and a broad jaw with skin as smooth as a child’s. He smiled and offered his hand to Chau-ling, Western style, and when she held out hers he took it and kissed it softly. ‘Enchanted to meet you, Miss Tsang,’ he said. His accent was vaguely French. ‘I am Colonel Suphat. I have been told to offer you every assistance.’

  Chau-ling introduced the Colonel to Carver and Lim, using only their first names. The Colonel didn’t ask why they were involved, much to Carver’s relief. He was in enough trouble already without having to lie to the Thai military.

  ‘Please sit down,’ said the Colonel, motioning them to the camp stools. He went over to the filing cabinet. ‘Can I offer you a drink?’

  Carver was about to refuse when Chau-ling accepted the offer. The DEA agent figured that she was only being tactful so he nodded. The Colonel poured large measures of whisky and handed them to his three visitors, neat. He toasted them and drained his glass. Carver looked across at Chau-ling. Without flinching, she drank her whisky to the last drop. Lim did the same. Carver shrugged and followed suit.

  ‘Now, you have no idea where the attempt will be made to cross the border?’ asked the Colonel. He spoke directly to Chau-ling, as if the men were of no interest to him at all.

  ‘We know they will be passing through Fang,’ said Chau-ling.

  The Colonel nodded. ‘We will be watching the roads from Fang, but there are many. We think our best chance of catching them is at the river. We have increased our patrols, and we have men posted at regular intervals along the bank.’

  ‘Colonel Suphat, your men won’t shoot, will they?’ asked Chau-ling anxiously.

  ‘It has been made clear to me that they must be captured alive,’ said the Colonel.

  ‘Not just alive,’ Chau-ling said quickly. ‘Warren mustn’t be hurt.’

  ‘I understand,’ said the Colonel. ‘But they will be held in custody. They will have committed an offence by trying to cross the border illegally.’ He collected their empty glasses. ‘Now, can I suggest you make yourselves as comfortable as possible? I shall keep you informed of developments.’

  Chau-ling thanked him, and the Colonel turned on his heels and left the tent.

  Carver turned to Chau-ling. ‘I don’t believe this,’ he said. ‘You’ve got the Thai army eating out of your hand. I wouldn’t get this kind of co-operation in a million years.’

  ‘You don’t have my father,’ said Chau-ling.

  For the first time, Carver realised that she almost certainly did know what her father was and what he did. But she did have a point. Without her father’s influence, they didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of preventing Hutch from committing suicide.

  HUTCH LEANED OVER THE sink and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked terrible. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin was ingrained with dirt and his hair was lank and greasy. He’d lost weight, too. There was a set of scales in the corner of the bathroom and he stood on them and peered down at the dial. He was a full stone lighter than when he’d left Hong Kong. He stripped off his sweatshirt and jeans and washed himself with a wet towel, taking care not to get water on the sticking plaster. Carver had said that the transmitter was sealed and water wouldn’t harm it, but Hutch wasn’t sure how well the plaster would stick to his skin if it got wet. There was a sudden knock on the bathroom door and Hutch jumped.

  ‘Hutch, the guide’s here,’ said Winter. ‘Time to go.’

  ‘Give me a minute,’ said Hutch. He dried himself and swilled his mouth out with water from the tap, then stood for a few seconds looking at the sticking plaster and the bulge where the beacon was. There was another knock at the door.

  ‘Come on, Hutch. There are people waiting for us on the other side.’

  Hutch pulled on his clothes, checked himself in the mirror again and went out to join the others. The guide was a Thai in his late twenties, light skinned with narrow shoulders and a girl’s waist. He was wearing a faded grey T-shirt and blue jeans and he kept looking at his watch as if they were already late. Winter had dumped his linen suit in a wastebin and changed into a green long-sleeved shirt with epaulettes, and brown corduroy trousers.

  ‘Have you got stomach problems?’ Winter asked Hutch.

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘You were in there a long time.’

  Hutch shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, I’m here now. What’s the plan?’

  ‘Back in the truck and up to the river. Nung here will take us across and into the Triangle. Then we’re home free. Okay, let’s hit the road.’

  They went downstairs to the truck. Winter, Hutch and Harrigan got into the back while Bird woke up the driver. The boxes were stacked around the three men again and they settled down on the pillows.

  The drive up to the river took the best part of an hour, most of the journey involving abrupt changes of direction and gear grinding. Several mosquitoes had joined them in the back of the truck and Hutch had acquired two bites on his neck by the time they juddered to a halt.

  Hutch, Winter and Harrigan helped push the boxes out of the truck and then stood at the roadside.

  ‘No problems?’ Winter asked Bird.

  ‘No, but we took a bit of a detour because Nung reckoned there were roadblocks.’

  ‘Is that normal?’

  ‘They were probably just looking for bribes. They don’t get paid for a couple of weeks.’ Nung spoke to Bird in Thai and Bird nodded. ‘Okay, the boat’s already here. We should go.’

  Nung led the way, taking them along the edge of a rice field to a line of palm trees. They disturbed a large grey water buffalo and it grunted a warning for them not to get too close. Har
rigan slipped off the path and into the water.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Ray, watch where you’re going,’ said Winter as Hutch helped pull Harrigan out.

  ‘Come on,’ hissed Bird.

  The ground began to slope down and the field gave way to shrubs and bushes. Hutch heard the river before he saw it, its fast-flowing waters lapping against the muddy banks. Nung waved for them to stop. The water glinted in the moonlight, rippling and twisting like a million serpents. Hutch found it impossible to judge how wide the river was; the far side merged into the landscape so perfectly that there was no way of knowing where the water ended and the land began.

  ‘That’s Burma over there?’ Hutch asked Winter.

  ‘Myanmar,’ said Winter. ‘It’s called Myanmar now.’

  Nung disappeared down to the water’s edge.

  ‘You’ve crossed here before?’

  ‘Twice. Don’t worry, Hutch. This guy knows what he’s doing. He goes back and forth every other day. Most of his family still live over there. The border means nothing to these people.’

  Nung reappeared and started whispering to Bird. Bird shook his head. He waved Winter over. Hutch and Harrigan went with him. ‘We might have a problem,’ said Bird. ‘The boatman says there have been several army patrols by here tonight, and there are army boats on the river.’

  ‘That’s unusual?’ asked Winter.

  ‘This much activity is, he says. Is it possible they know that we’re going to cross?’

  ‘I don’t see how,’ said Winter.

  ‘Well, the boatman reckons it’s too risky to go tonight. He says we should wait.’

  ‘Fuck that. Who died and left him in charge?’ Winter spat. ‘Tell him to do as he’s fucking told.’

  Bird flinched at the intensity of Winter’s outburst. ‘It’s you he’s worried about, not himself.’

  Winter calmed down. ‘Okay, okay. Sorry. Look, offer him a few thousand baht, whatever it takes. But we go tonight. We’re expected over on the other side.’

  Bird and Nung went down to the water again. ‘You handled that well, Billy,’ said Hutch. ‘A master of tact and diplomacy.’

  ‘Ha bloody ha. Come on, let’s go.’

  Winter, Hutch and Harrigan went carefully down the bank. The wet clay was slippery and they moved slowly. ‘There they are,’ said Winter, pointing.

  Ahead of them Hutch could make out a small wooden jetty sticking some twenty feet out into the river. At the end of the jetty stood Bird and Nung, talking to a man at the rear of a long, thin boat. There were eight planking seats along the length of the vessel, each big enough for two people. The boat was barely two feet above the waterline, with a large diesel engine fixed to the back. Connected to the engine was a long prop, raised out of the water, with a small propeller at the end. Hutch had seen similar boats operating along the river in Bangkok. The propeller could be dipped in and out of the water by the boatman, giving them a high degree of mobility and allowing them to speed through shallow water if necessary.

  As they approached, Bird took out his wallet and gave the boatman a handful of banknotes, then turned and gave Winter a thumbs-up.

  ‘Typical Thailand,’ said Winter. ‘There isn’t a problem that money can’t solve.’

  ‘Maybe he’s got a point,’ said Hutch. ‘Maybe we should wait.’

  ‘Don’t you start,’ said Winter. He patted Hutch on the back. ‘Trust me, old lad. We’ll be a hell of a lot safer over there.’

  They walked along the bank to the pier. Nung and Bird helped them down into the boat one by one. The boatman steadied them as they took their places. He was in his sixties with leathery skin and gnarled hands and a baseball cap pulled down low on his head. Harrigan and Winter sat together in the middle of the boat, and Hutch took the seat directly behind them. Bird took his place at the back. The boatman started the engine and revved it. Grey smoke belched out of the exhaust.

  Nung untied the boat and scrambled to the front as the boatman lowered the propeller into the water and they surged forward. The engine roared as they picked up speed. Spray blew up across Hutch’s face and the wind whipped through his hair. The sound of the engine was deafening and Hutch was sure it would be heard for miles. He tapped Winter on the shoulder. ‘Isn’t this a bit noisy?’ he shouted.

  ‘Ten minutes, max,’ said Winter. ‘There are plenty of these long-tailed boats on the river, even at night. Just settle back and enjoy the ride.’

  Flecks of water blurred Hutch’s vision and he took off his glasses and wiped them with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. He put them back on and looked at the receding shoreline. Three figures were standing watching them. One of them was pointing, another was holding something up to his face. Hutch realised with a jolt that they were soldiers. He grabbed Winter’s shoulder and shook it.

  ‘Billy, we’ve been spotted!’ he yelled.

  Winter looked across at the three soldiers. ‘Shit,’ he said. He twisted around in his seat to check that the boatman had seen them, but the old man had already wound the engine up to its maximum. ‘Keep down!’ Winter shouted. They all ducked, but to Hutch’s surprise there were no shots. He looked over his shoulder again. The soldiers hadn’t moved, though they had been joined by two more men. The boat bucked and tossed as it cut across the troughs of the river, then it settled into a steady rhythm again as it powered through the water.

  ‘They’re probably not after us,’ said Winter. ‘It’s drugs coming over from the other side that they’re worried about. Trust me.’

  Hutch didn’t reply. He was sure it wasn’t a coincidence that the army patrol had been on the spot.

  When they were about halfway across the river, the boatman turned on to a course parallel to the banks. Nung was kneeling at the prow, peering forward. Occasionally he would wave his left or right hand, indicating that there were obstacles in the water ahead, usually drifting branches, and the boatman would make swift corrections with his prop. Ahead of them the river bent around to the right and the boatman took them closer to the Burmese shore. The vegetation seemed more dense on the Burmese side, with trees and bushes almost right up to the water’s edge.

  Suddenly Nung began to wave frantically. Hutch peered around Winter’s shoulder to see what was wrong. He and Winter saw the launch at the same time and they cursed in unison. It was painted grey, about a hundred feet long with a large naval gun mounted at the front. The red, white and blue Thai flag flew from atop the superstructure and in front of it was a massive searchlight, the beam of which swept across the water towards them. The boatman took immediate evasive action, steering hard towards port, away from the Burmese bank. Hutch’s stomach lurched and he gripped the side of the boat. Bird reached into his jacket and drew his gun but Winter slapped him on the arm.

  ‘Don’t be stupid!’ Winter shouted. ‘You’d be wasting your bullets.’

  The searchlight beam caught them and the boatman turned again but whoever was operating the searchlight knew what they were doing and the boat remained fixed in its brilliant glare. Thai commands were shouted at them through a loudspeaker, like the voice of some vengeful god, so loud that Hutch could feel the vibrations against his skin.

  ‘What are they saying?’ asked Harrigan, his voice trembling.

  ‘They’re wishing us a pleasant voyage, you stupid bastard!’ screamed Winter. ‘What the fuck do you think they’re saying?’ Winter gripped Bird’s arm. ‘Tell the boatman not to stop. Whatever he does, he’s not to stop.’

  Bird translated Winter’s orders and the boatman nodded stiffly.

  ‘Can we outrun them?’ Hutch yelled.

  ‘Not for long,’ replied Winter. ‘Besides, look at the size of that gun.’

  The long-tailed boat veered back to starboard. For a moment they escaped the searchlight but it quickly caught up with them, its glare blinding Hutch. He put a hand across his face to protect his eyes. The boat swerved yet again, skidding sideways across the water before the propeller bit and pushed them forward. Hutch slipped off h
is seat and fell backwards, banging his head. Winter reached back and helped him up.

  More Thai commands were shouted at them through the loudspeaker. The boat was heading directly towards the Burmese shore, cutting across the flow of the river. They were still several hundred yards from the shore, and the army launch was rapidly gaining on them.

  Nung had given up navigating and was lying face down in the prow. The boatman stood up so that he could get a better view of the water in front of them, gripping the handle of the prop with both hands.

  Water splashed up over Hutch, drenching him and obscuring the lenses of his glasses again. It dripped down his face and into his open mouth and he spat over the side. The boat kicked and bucked and for a second it was out of the water and then it crashed down, knocking the wind out of him. He wondered how much punishment the small craft could take. One thing was certain: it wouldn’t survive a collision with the army launch.

  The boatman slammed his body against the prop handle and the boat turned almost immediately. Hutch realised what the man was trying to do: the long-tailed boat could turn on a sixpence and while it couldn’t beat the launch for speed it had the edge when it came to manoeuvrability. The sudden change of direction was taking them behind the launch. Suddenly the air was split by the sound of gunfire, miniature explosions a fraction of a second apart, and bullets whizzed overhead. The boatman sat down heavily, holding on to his baseball cap with one hand.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ shouted Harrigan. He was staring white faced at the launch. Two men were standing at the stern firing assault rifles from the hip.

  ‘Keep your head down!’ yelled Winter. There was another rattle of gunfire and more bullets shrieked overhead. The launch began to turn and the searchlight lost them. They raced through the darkness, the bottom of the boat juddering on the rough water. The boatman turned them towards the shore once more. The engine was screaming at full throttle, its pistons rattling and shaking as if trying to break free from their cylinders.

  The searchlight beam flashed across the water ahead of them. The boat veered left, away from the murky brown oval of light and into the darkness. There were more bullets and shouts from the launch. Hutch looked over his shoulder. The army vessel had almost turned. There was no one manning the large gun on deck but the soldiers with the assault rifles had moved to the prow and put their weapons to their shoulders. Their aim didn’t appear to have improved, though: the bullets were still going high. Suddenly he was blinded by the searching glare of the searchlight as it came to bear on their boat. He turned away, blinking to clear his eyes. Bird and Winter were silhouetted in the brilliant white light.