The Solitary Man (Stephen Leather Thrillers)

by Stephen Leather

  Half a dozen soldiers in camouflage uniforms ran by, bent at the waist to keep their heads low. ‘Can you see where they’re coming from?’ Zhou shouted.

  One of the soldiers, an officer, pointed to the west. Zhou stared into the darkness but couldn’t see anything.

  SOLDIERS WERE POURING OUT of the compound, many of them burned and bleeding. ‘Which way?’ Hutch shouted at Carver.

  ‘The jungle,’ said the DEA agent. ‘We can take cover in the trees.’

  Another missile ripped into the compound and blew one of the huts into a thousand flaming pieces. Hutch tripped on a discarded AK-47 and almost lost his footing. A soldier looked over in his direction. It was Home. Home screamed at them and took aim with his rifle. Hutch tried to run but with Chau-ling in his arms he could barely manage a jog. Home fired and the bullet whizzed over Hutch’s head. Home shouted something else and put his rifle to his shoulder again. Hutch’s heart was pounding and all the strength seemed to have drained from his legs. He was going to die, he realised. There was no way he could run, no way he could escape the next bullet.

  Suddenly Carver stepped between him and Home. The DEA agent fired, three shots in quick succession, and Home fell backwards into the mud. Carver pushed Hutch between the shoulder blades in the direction of the compound gate.

  ZHOU FLICKED THE CATCHES on the case and lifted the lid. The Grail launching unit and tracking unit nestled in their foam rubber compartments. The two armoury guards joined him and dropped the cases on the ground next to him.

  ‘Be careful!’ he screamed.

  The guards said nothing.

  Zhou assembled the missile system, exactly as the Ukrainian had showed him. The Ukrainian had been a good teacher, patient and encouraging. Zhou had been one of half a dozen men who had been trained in the use of the weapon, though he’d never actually fired one. It was simple, the Ukrainian had said. Arm, aim and fire. The infra-red homing system in the missile would do the rest, provided it was pointing in the general direction of the target. The most important thing to remember was to check that there was no one standing behind you when you launched the missile. Zhou turned his head to warn the guards to stand clear, but they had already run off.

  Zhou hefted the launcher on to his shoulder. Another missile streaked across the night sky, heading for the inferno that was the compound. Zhou had lost count of how many explosions there had been. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Maybe more. He pressed his eye to the sights and searched the sky in the direction the missiles had come from. He could just about make out two helicopters, hovering above the tree line about two miles away. As he watched, one of the helicopters launched another missile. They were cowards, thought Zhou. They didn’t fight like men: they hid during the fight and fired their missiles from a distance, convinced that they were safe. They were wrong. Zhou smiled as he tightened his finger on the trigger. They would soon find out just how wrong they were: they were well within range of the Grail missile.

  He settled the sights dead centre on the nearest helicopter. He tensed his shoulder in anticipation of the recoil and pulled the trigger.

  HUTCH REACHED THE OUTSKIRTS of the jungle and slowed to a walk. Carver was already there, leaning against a tree and dabbing the knife wound on his face with the bottom of his shirt. Hutch put Chau-ling on the ground.

  ‘How is she?’ asked Carver.

  ‘Unconscious,’ said Hutch. He felt for a pulse again. It was strong and he could see her chest rise and fall as she breathed. There was a red welt across her left cheek as if she’d been slapped, and myriad cuts on her forehead. Hutch leaned forward and kissed her on the nose. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.

  She moaned, but her eyes remained closed.

  Hutch looked up at Carver. ‘Why? Why are they doing this?’ he asked.

  ‘They wanted Zhou Yuanyi dead.’

  ‘And me? What about me?’

  ‘I didn’t know,’ said Carver earnestly. ‘I honestly didn’t know. That’s why we’re here.’

  Hutch raised his eyebrows. ‘You came after me?’

  ‘To warn you.’ He winced as he dabbed his lip. ‘Though if it hadn’t been for your girlfriend there, I don’t think I would have been so quick to leap into the lion’s den.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m glad you did,’ he said as he gently stroked Chau-ling’s cheek.

  ROGER WARNER JUMPED AS the warning bleep went off in his headset. He scanned his VDU. ‘Incoming,’ he shouted.

  Hal Austin’s voice was unruffled as if they were doing nothing more stressful than discussing the weather. ‘I have it.’ The Apache was already banking to the right.

  ‘It’s tracking us,’ said Warner. He scanned his panel display. The incoming missile would be using one of two systems, either chasing the heat from the two massive T700-GE-701C turbines or homing in using its own radar. The infra-red indicator was flashing. ‘Infra-red,’ he said. The two chaff and flare dispensers on each side of the tail boom some six feet from the tailplane contained countermeasures for both types of missiles. He fired an infra-red decoy flare. It shot away from its cartridge leaving behind a plume of grey smoke. ‘Cart fired,’ said Warner. The flare exploded to the left of the Apache. Warner stared at his VDU as the helicopter continued to dive to the right. In theory the heat generated by the pyrotechnics should be a bigger attraction than the helicopter’s turbines. Warner fired a second cartridge, just to be on the safe side.

  Austin had already activated the Apache’s pulsed infra-red jammer. Sited above the mid-fuselage, it was putting out pulses of IR frequencies designed to confuse the missile’s seeker head. ‘There she goes,’ said Austin. The missile began to move away from the Apache, towards the flare.

  Warner exhaled. He’d been holding his breath from the moment that the missile warning had gone off. The missile’s path was inexorably heading away from the Apache.

  ‘Oh fuck,’ said Austin.

  Warner frowned and scanned his VDU and instruments. He suddenly realised what had upset the pilot. The missile was going away from them all right, but it was now heading directly for Burden and Lucarelli’s Apache.

  BART LUCARELLI STARED AT the VDU screen in horror as the missile warning beeped in his headset. He’d fired off two infra-red flares but it was clear that the missile wasn’t fooled. The cyclic between his legs was pushed as far forward as it would go as Burden put the Apache into a dive. Lucarelli knew it was too late. The missile hadn’t even been fired at their helicopter, and if it had been then the standard evasion techniques would have neutralised it within seconds. It was the other Apache’s flare that had sent the missile heading in their direction, too close to be distracted. Burden banked the Apache to the left, so quickly that Lucarelli’s stomach lurched. He couldn’t take his eyes off the screen. In his headset he heard Burden start to speak, but before he could get a word out the missile struck and the Apache exploded.

  HUTCH STARED UP THE slope at the burning compound.

  Carver knelt over Chau-ling. ‘She’s coming around,’ he said. Chau-ling coughed and tried to sit up. ‘Easy, stay where you are,’ said the DEA agent.

  ‘Warren . . .’ said Chau-ling.

  ‘I’m here,’ said Hutch. He crouched down beside her and brushed her bloody hair away from her face.

  ‘You have a lot of explaining to do,’ she said.

  ‘I know.’ He smiled despite himself. He patted Carver on the shoulder. ‘Take care of her, Tim.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Carver.

  Hutch stood up. He ran his hand through his hair as he stared at the inferno. ‘I have to go back for Billy.’

  ‘No!’ Chau-ling shouted. She sat up and stared at him, her skin ghostly pale and streaked with glistening blood. ‘You can’t go back!’

  Hutch shook his head. He didn’t look at her.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Hutch,’ said Carver. ‘It’s suicide.’

  ‘I can’t leave him there.’

  ‘He’s dead already,’ said Carver.

  �
�You don’t know that.’

  ‘You don’t owe Winter anything,’ said Chau-ling.

  ‘I do,’ said Hutch.

  ‘What?’ asked Carver. ‘What’s he ever done for you?’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

  Hutch started up the slope.

  ‘Wait!’ shouted Carver. He tossed Hutch his gun.

  Hutch caught it and nodded his thanks. He looked at Chau-ling. Tears were streaming down her face and she had her arms out towards him, a silent plea for him to stay. There was nothing he could say to her. He turned and headed back up the slope towards the flames.

  HAL AUSTIN WATCHED IN despair as the wreckage of Burden and Lucarelli’s Apache plummeted down towards the treetops. One by one the bright spots disappeared on his helmet’s night vision display and within seconds all he could see was the jungle canopy.

  ‘It was my fault, Hal,’ said Warner, his voice crackling over the headset.

  Austin held the Apache in a static hover, its nose pointing towards the compound which was now engulfed in smoky flames. ‘Can it, Roger,’ he said.

  ‘If I hadn’t fired the cart . . .’

  ‘If you hadn’t fired the cart the missile would have got us.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘Later, Roger. We’ve got work to do. Can you see where it came from?’

  ‘To the right of the compound.’

  ‘We’re going in.’ There was silence from Warner. ‘We’re going in, Roger. Activate the chain gun.’

  The Apache’s Hughes XM230 chain gun was mounted in a cradle below the helicopter’s nose. While the missiles were being fired, the gun was inert and locked out of the way. Warner’s left hand reached forward to the weapons console and he armed the gun. It was capable of firing up to 625 rounds a minute and Warner could aim it using the helmet’s monocle sight, allowing him to shoot wherever he was looking, but for greater accuracy he’d use his head-down display. He slid his hands around the grips either side of the TADS/PNVS system, his right thumb resting on the chain gun fire button and he lowered his eyes to the display. ‘Let’s do it,’ he said.

  HUTCH SEARCHED AMONG THE bodies around the pile of burning wood that was all that was left of Zhou’s headquarters. He found the old servant, a piece of smoking metal embedded in his back, still alive but fading fast. A soldier grabbed at Hutch’s foot and Hutch jerked it away. The soldier’s left leg was missing and he was lying in a pool of his own blood. It was a scene from hell.

  He saw the lower half of a body wearing jeans sticking out from underneath a jagged chunk of concrete from the water tower. He pushed the concrete away. It was Harrigan. His eyes were wide and staring and his throat was a bloody mess. There was no need even to try feeling for a pulse.

  ‘Hutch?’ Winter’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

  Hutch looked around. ‘Billy? Where are you?’

  Winter raised his arm. He was about fifty feet away, lying under the body of one of Zhou’s soldiers. Hutch pulled the corpse off him. Winter’s shirt was soaked with blood.

  ‘Oh Jesus, Billy,’ said Hutch, sitting back on his heels. He touched Winter’s chest, looking for the wound. Winter tried to sit up but Hutch put a restraining hand on his shoulder. ‘Lie still, Billy. You’ve been hurt.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ said Winter. ‘That’s not my blood.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Sure I’m sure. Help me up.’

  Hutch gave him a hand and Winter pulled himself up. Almost immediately he keeled over. ‘My leg,’ he said. ‘Christ, it hurts.’

  ‘Is it broken?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ He looked down at his injured leg. A jagged piece of bone was sticking through the material of his trousers. ‘Yeah,’ said Winter, ashen-faced. ‘It’s broken.’

  Winter looked around the compound. Every building had either been destroyed or was burning and the air was thick with choking smoke. ‘Which way?’ he said.

  ‘Over there,’ said Hutch, putting his arm around Winter, allowing him to take the weight off his injured limb.

  ZHOU THREW THE LAUNCHER to the ground. His hands were shaking. He’d lost sight of the missile almost as soon as he’d fired it and he’d been amazed to see the helicopter burst into flames followed several seconds later by the sound of the explosion. Zhou was exhilarated. He’d done it. He’d actually done it. He’d shot down a helicopter. His heart pounded and he was breathing in short, ragged gasps. It had been so simple, just like the Ukrainian had said. Arm, aim and fire. It had been the first time Zhou had actually fired a Grail missile, and he’d brought down a helicopter. He looked around, wanting to share the excitement with someone, but he was alone.

  Panic-stricken soldiers were running down the hillside away from the compound. The armoury was ablaze and there were periodic explosions as the grenades and ammunition exploded. There wasn’t a single building still standing. The destruction had been absolute as if the attackers had been determined to raze the compound to the ground.

  Zhou peered into the darkness. The dark shape that was the second helicopter was growing larger. It was heading his way. Zhou scrambled over the grass on his hands and knees towards the remaining metal cases. He grabbed the nearest and fumbled with the catches.

  ‘BLOODY HELL, LOOK AT that,’ said Winter. ‘Look at the size of it.’ The helicopter was huge, a black beetle-like monster that sped towards them, its nose down. Winter had stopped in his tracks and was staring at it, his mouth open in amazement.

  ‘Billy, get down,’ said Hutch, and shoulder-charged Winter out of the way. The two men crashed to the ground. Winter grabbed at his injured leg, gritting his teeth in pain. Hutch saw a section of the corrugated iron that had once been the roof of Zhou’s building. He wasn’t sure how much protection it would offer but he pulled it over them none the less.

  WARNER COULD SEE THE men on the ground through the night vision sensor as clearly as if it was daylight. He smiled. The 30mm rounds would go through the sheet of metal as if it was tinfoil. But he wasn’t interested in them, he wanted the man with the rocket launcher. The man who’d killed his friends. He scanned the area, then saw him, bending over something. Warner centred the man in his sights as Austin put the helicopter into a steep dive. Warner adjusted his aim accordingly. The man lifted something up and put it on his shoulder. Warner swallowed. It was a rocket launcher.

  There were twelve hundred rounds of ammunition under the rotor gearbox, as close to the Apache’s centre of gravity as possible so that firing the massive gun wouldn’t disrupt its trim. Warner had enough firepower to keep the massive gun pouring out bullets for a full two minutes but he fired only a short burst, his eyes glued to the VDU display. He felt the Apache shake as Austin let go an infra-red cartridge as a precautionary measure.

  ZHOU SLIPPED HIS FINGER over the trigger of the Grail launcher and squinted through the sight. The helicopter had gone. He swung the launcher around, frantically trying to locate it. Nothing. Just stars and clouds.

  Suddenly he heard a whirring, roaring noise and a black shape swooped towards him, so low that it seemed to be flying through the flames. Zhou put the launcher back on his shoulder. He heard screeching sounds above his head and something ripped through his chest, tearing and shredding like a million machetes. He fell backwards, his mouth filling with blood, the launcher falling from his lifeless hands.

  THE HELICOPTER ROARED OVERHEAD, its gun clattering loudly. Hutch pushed the corrugated iron away and helped Winter to his feet.

  ‘Who the hell are they?’ asked Winter.

  ‘DEA,’ said Hutch.

  ‘The DEA have helicopter gunships?’

  ‘Looks like it.’ He supported Winter around the waist and they ran towards the entrance like contestants in a three-legged race. Behind them the helicopter went into a noisy hover, its rotor wash kicking up dust and debris.

  Something whacked the back of Hutch’s leg and he stumbled, his gun flying from his grasp. Both men fell to the ground. Winter screamed in pain. Hu
tch examined the back of his own leg. There was a small black hole in his jeans and the material was stained with blood. The leg was numb, but as he peeled away the denim the pain hit him, lancing into his flesh like a hot iron. He’d been shot.

  He looked up. A figure was striding towards him, cradling an AK-47. It was Bird, his face contorted with rage.

  ‘You!’ screamed Bird. ‘You did this!’

  ‘GOT HIM,’ SAID WARNER, unable to keep the elation out of his voice. Generally he was like ice in combat, cold and hard, his emotions suppressed as he got on with his job, but the man with the missile launcher had killed two of his friends and Warner’s adrenal glands had gone into overdrive.

  ‘Nice shooting,’ said Austin, putting the Apache into a climb that made Warner’s stomach turn over. The helicopter banked to the left. Below, Warner could see the compound ablaze. There wasn’t a single building untouched by the flames.

  A group of half a dozen soldiers in camouflage uniforms fired assault rifles at the Apache, but the bullets had no effect on the armoured underside.

  Another group of uniformed men raced out of the compound. One of them was on fire, and was slapping his burning shirt as he ran. He stumbled and fell, the flames engulfing his face, and then the helicopter banked to the right and Warner couldn’t see him any more. Warner bit down on his lip, hard, and closed his eyes. He wondered how long it had taken Peter and Bart to die.

  ‘One more pass and then we’re out of here,’ said Austin, putting the helicopter into a steep turn.

  ‘DON’T,’ SAID WINTER. ‘DON’T kill him.’