The Chinaman

by Stephen Leather

  Beth watched Nguyen as she talked, frowning slightly. He smiled and nodded at her and she looked down. She didn’t look up again until she’d finished the call. As she replaced the phone Kavanagh came out of Hennessy’s office and quietly closed the door behind him. He barely glanced at Nguyen before sitting down next to Murphy.

  ‘Yes?’ said Beth.

  ‘Please, I would like to speak with Mr Liam Hennessy.’

  ‘And your name is?’ she said.

  ‘Nguyen Ngoc Minh,’ he answered.

  ‘Can I tell him what it is about?’ She couldn’t even attempt to repeat his name.

  ‘It is very difficult to explain,’ he told her.

  She reached for the intercom button but stopped halfway. ‘Are you the man who phoned last week?’ she asked.

  ‘I phoned many times,’ said Nguyen.

  Beth took her hand away from the intercom. ‘I’m afraid Mr Hennessy is very busy. He won’t be able to see you.’

  ‘I must see him,’ Nguyen repeated.

  ‘He’s busy!’ insisted Beth, raising her voice. Her cheeks flushed red.

  Murphy and Kavanagh glanced up. The secretary was good-natured to a fault and rarely lost her temper. Nguyen said nothing, he just smiled.

  ‘If you leave your number I’ll call you to arrange an appointment once I have spoken with Mr Hennessy,’ she said.

  Still Nguyen said nothing.

  ‘You must go!’ she said. Murphy and Kavanagh got to their feet and walked over to Nguyen.

  ‘Best you do as the lady says,’ said Murphy quietly.

  Nguyen looked at Murphy and the Irishman could see there was no trace of fear in his eyes. ‘I must see him,’ he said quietly.

  Kavanagh put his hand on Nguyen’s shoulder. ‘What’s the crack?’ he asked Beth.

  ‘He’s been ringing up at all hours asking to see Liam. He won’t take no for an answer.’

  ‘Yez heard the lady, Mr Hennessy doesn’t want to see yez,’ said Kavanagh, gripping Nguyen’s shoulder and pulling him away from the desk. For a second Nguyen was off balance and he clutched the carrier bag tightly as if afraid that it might fall.

  ‘What have you got there?’ said Murphy, for the first time regarding the man as a possible threat. It wasn’t likely that the Loyalists would use a Chinaman to attack Hennessy, he thought, but these days you never could tell. He reached for the bag.

  ‘My shopping,’ said Nguyen.

  ‘Let’s see,’ said Kavanagh. ‘Let’s see what yez got there.’ At first it looked as if Nguyen would resist, but then the tension in his wiry body eased and he handed the bag to Kavanagh. Kavanagh opened it. It contained two bottles of lemonade, a loaf of bread, a can of Heinz baked beans and a brown paper bag full of new potatoes. Seeing that he was satisfied with the inspection, Nguyen held out his hands for the bag, but Kavanagh kept it away from him.

  ‘Pat him down,’ he said to Murphy. Murphy moved behind Nguyen and ran his hands expertly up and down his body, checking everywhere that a weapon could be concealed. There was a Swiss Army knife in one of the side pockets of the suit, but other than that there was nothing remotely suspicious – a small roll of Sellotape, a box of matches, some string, a set of keys, a pack of cigarettes and a wallet. The normal sort of pocket junk that anyone might have on them. ‘He’s OK,’ he said to Kavanagh, who handed back the carrier bag.

  ‘Go,’ he said. ‘Before we make yez go.’

  Nguyen shook his head. Kavanagh and Murphy roughly seized an arm each and were preparing to frog-march him out, when the door to Hennessy’s office opened. Hennessy’s face creased into a puzzled frown when he saw what was going on.

  ‘It’s the man who’s been phoning,’ said Beth, before he could speak.

  ‘Ah . . . The Chinaman,’ said Hennessy, walking across to Beth’s desk. ‘You’re a long way from home.’

  Nguyen held the carrier bag tightly to his chest. ‘You would not talk to me on the telephone,’ he said.

  ‘Out,’ said Murphy, but Hennessy held up his hand.

  ‘No, if he’s come all this way I might as well talk to him, boys.’

  ‘Yer man’s got a knife,’ said Kavanagh.

  ‘A knife?’

  ‘A Swiss Army knife.’

  ‘Well take it off him. Look at him, for God’s sake. How much damage can he do with two strapping fellows like yourselves around? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, let the man be.’

  Kavanagh took the knife from Nguyen and Murphy took the carrier bag.

  ‘You can pick them up on your way out,’ said Beth as Hennessy led Nguyen into his private office. He waved him to a hard-backed leather seat in front of his desk while he closed the door behind them.

  Nguyen sat with his hands folded in his lap while Hennessy sat down behind the desk and leant forward, his arms folded across the wide blotter which took up most of its surface. ‘Let me tell you right from the start, you are wasting your time.’ Hennessy said each word clearly and slowly as if addressing a particularly thick-skulled juror because he wasn’t sure how good The Chinaman’s command of English was. ‘I realise you are upset and angry, and I understand how you must want revenge for what has happened to your family, but there is nothing I can do to help you. And you must know that it is very dangerous for you to be in Belfast asking about such things.’ He pressed the tips of his fingers against his temples as if trying to suppress a headache and studied Nguyen. ‘It is very dangerous,’ he repeated.

  Nguyen nodded thoughtfully. ‘I do understand. But if you do not know who the men are, you can surely find out. I want you to find out for me.’

  Hennessy shook his head, amazed at the man’s audacity, or stupidity. Nguyen took the pack of cigarettes and the matches from his pocket.

  ‘Can I smoke?’ he asked Hennessy. Hennessy nodded and Nguyen held out the pack to him, offering him one. The lawyer refused and watched as Nguyen lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. Hennessy noticed how steady The Chinaman’s hands were, as steady as the unblinking brown eyes that seemed to look through his skull as easily as they penetrated the wreathes of smoke.

  ‘You will change your mind,’ said Nguyen, and it was a statement, not a question.

  ‘No,’ said Hennessy.

  Nguyen smiled, and it was the smile of a man who has the sure and certain knowledge that he is right. He stood up and bowed once to Hennessy and then left the office. Murphy and Kavanagh were waiting for him outside, and they gave him his carrier bag and the penknife. He thanked them politely and turned to Beth and thanked her as well.

  ‘Can I use your toilet?’ he asked, and she told him there was one in the corridor outside. She pointed at the large sheet of glass at the entrance to the reception and through it he saw the door with ‘Gentlemen’ on it. He thanked them all again and left the office, closing the door quietly behind him. The washroom was small with whitewashed walls and a black tiled floor. There was a wash-basin, a urinal and a toilet in a cubicle. There was a mirror screwed to the wall above the basin and by the door was a paper-towel dispenser and below it a large steel wastepaper bin.

  Nguyen entered the cubicle, shut the door and locked it. There was a black plastic lid on the toilet and he closed it and then sat down, placing the carrier bag gently on the floor. He took one of the bottles out and held it between his knees. It contained the antifreeze. He took out the second bottle, the one containing concentrated sulphuric acid. He used the Sellotape to bind the bottles together, wrapping it round and round until he was certain they were secure. He took out the length of string and tied it around the necks of the bottles, making quite sure there was no way it could slip. Individually the bottles of liquid were inert, but together they were very dangerous. He put the bottles on the floor and draped the string over his left leg. He took the box of matches out of his pocket and slid the string through it. He pulled the string to check that it was safely tied and then put his hands under the bottoms of the bottles and stood up slowly. The cistern was high up on the wall and Nguyen stood on the
toilet seat to attach the string to the lever which operated the flushing system. When he was sure it was secure he carefully removed his hands. The bottles turned slowly in the air above the tiled floor. He unscrewed the caps from the bottles and slipped them into his pocket. Then he pulled the filter off the cigarette and stuck the frayed end into the matchbox so that the burning tip was about three-quarters of an inch beyond the match heads. Nguyen stepped down, picked up the carrier bag and left the cubicle. He used the penknife to slide the lock closed so that it showed ‘Engaged’.

  As he left the toilet he smiled a goodbye to Beth. There was no rush, it would take at least two minutes for the cigarette to burn down far enough to set the matches alight. He walked slowly down the stairs and into Donegall Square. Overhead a helicopter hovered high in the air like a bird of prey searching for a victim.

  The intercom on Beth’s desk buzzed and Hennessy’s voice summoned her into the office. From their sofas, Kavanagh and Murphy watched her hips swing as she walked to the door.

  ‘I would,’ said Murphy, whispering because he knew what a tongue-lashing he’d get if she heard him.

  ‘Who wouldn’t?’ replied Kavanagh. ‘But her old man’d focking kill ye.’

  Hennessy was standing by his window watching Nguyen walk down the road, swinging his carrier bag full of shopping.

  ‘I’m sorry, Liam,’ she said, before he could speak. ‘He caught me by surprise. Next time I won’t let him disturb you.’

  ‘That’s all right, Beth. Just tell Murphy and Kavanagh to take care of it if he turns up again.’ Nguyen stepped off the pavement, crossed the road and disappeared into a side street. Hennessy turned his back on the window. ‘I think that man is going to be trouble,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Liam,’ she said as if admonishing a child. ‘What can a man like him do?’

  The sound of the explosion made them both flinch, Beth putting her hands to her face and Hennessy ducking away from the window. Through the open door they saw Kavanagh and Murphy dive to the ground. ‘Keep down!’ Murphy yelled at them.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Hennessy shouted. They didn’t answer. They were as confused as he was.

  Beth was already on the floor, crouched by the side of the door. Hennessy went over to her and put his arms around her.

  Murphy and Kavanagh were crawling over the carpet to check out the corridor. Kavanagh nudged open the door. The corridor was empty, then a pale-faced young man in a three-piece suit nervously appeared from an office further along.

  ‘Mother of God, what happened?’ said the young man.

  Kavanagh got to his feet. Smoke was billowing out of the Gents, acrid-smelling and burning as he inhaled. He coughed and his eyes watered as he gingerly pushed open the door to the toilet. Fumes billowed out and the sprinklers in the corridor hissed into life and he ducked back into the office. In the distance he heard a police siren, and then another. He told Murphy to guard the door while he went back to Hennessy’s office and helped him and Beth to their feet.

  Beth flopped on to a chair and Hennessy went over to his drinks cabinet and poured two Irish whiskeys. He didn’t offer one to Kavanagh, who was teetotal. Beth gulped hers down and Hennessy followed her example.

  Before long, half a dozen green-uniformed RUC officers in bullet-proof vests came tearing down the corridor. A bull-necked sergeant ordered them to stay where they were and left a constable to keep an eye on them. The area round the toilet was cordoned off and then two men in dark-blue overalls carrying big black cases went in. The phone on Beth’s desk rang, startling them all, and she asked the constable if it was OK to answer it. He nodded, his face blank. The men in the RUC had no love for Hennessy and his associates and Hennessy knew that the constable would probably have preferred them all to have been plastered over the walls by the explosion rather than sitting at the desk and drinking whiskey. While Beth was talking on the phone a CID officer in a sheepskin jacket arrived. He flashed his card to Hennessy and introduced himself as Inspector Greig. Behind him stood a young plain-clothes sergeant, a tall, gangly youth with a small, toothbrush moustache. He had the same couldn’t-give-a-shit look as the uniformed constable.

  ‘It seems as if you’ve had a wee bit of bother, Mr Hennessy,’ said Greig. ‘Unless it was one of your own boys being a tad careless.’

  Hennessy shrugged. ‘These things happen,’ he said. ‘Can I offer you a whiskey, Inspector?’

  Greig refused, as Hennessy knew he would. ‘I suppose it’s a waste of time asking if you have any idea who might have done this?’ said Greig, smiling through tight lips.

  Kavanagh laughed sharply but Hennessy threw him a withering look. It was bad enough having the RUC in the office, but if they antagonised them they’d end up being hauled in for questioning and Hennessy didn’t want the inconvenience or the publicity.

  ‘Anyway, you’d better take care in future, Mr Hennessy.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It looks to have been more of a warning than anything else. According to our forensic boys it was a home-made device, in fact device is hardly the right word. They reckon it was a couple of bottles of chemicals that did the damage.’

  Murphy remembered the bottles in The Chinaman’s carrier bag but said nothing.

  ‘An accident?’ said Hennessy.

  Greig smiled thinly again. ‘I hardly think they tied themselves to the toilet cistern,’ he said. ‘No, it was a simple chemical bomb, the sort we used to make as kids. Sulphuric acid and ethylene glycol. Antifreeze to you and me. Tie a bottle of each together and drop on to a hard surface. Bang! Did you never do that when you were a kid, Mr Hennessy? Great crack.’ He could see by the look on the lawyer’s face that the answer was no. Greig shrugged. ‘I suppose we went to different schools, eh? Anyway, it would make a big enough explosion to wreck the room, and you wouldn’t be laughing if you were in there, but it never stood a chance of damaging the building. It wasn’t what you’d call a serious bomb, if you get my drift. Which makes me think that perhaps it was a warning. I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking if you’ve got any enemies, is there Mr Hennessy?’ Greig was enjoying the Sinn Fein adviser’s obvious discomfort.

  ‘I’ll certainly keep you informed if anyone comes to mind, Inspector,’ Hennessy replied.

  ‘I won’t hold my breath.’

  ‘Probably best,’ said Hennessy.

  ‘Can I show you out, Inspector?’ asked Beth, sensing that underneath the banter her boss was beginning to lose his temper.

  Greig hesitated as if loath to let Hennessy off the hook, but then he nodded and followed her out of the office. His sergeant looked hard at Murphy and Kavanagh as he went out, but the two men returned his gaze with easy smiles. They were long past the stage of fearing the police, the army, or anyone else who tried to impose their authority. Greig went into the toilet to speak to the forensic team again. The sergeant turned to speak to Beth but she closed the door firmly in his face.

  Hennessy watched her from the door of his office and, satisfied that she wasn’t in shock, gently closed the door. Kavanagh and Murphy tensed, fearing the sharp edge of Hennessy’s tongue a thousand times more than hard looks from under-age detectives, but his anger wasn’t directed at them.

  ‘I want that Chinaman found,’ he said with barely suppressed fury. ‘I want him found and brought to me.’

  The phone rang and Hennessy picked it up.

  ‘Liam, it’s him!’ said Beth. She knew that Hennessy had said he wouldn’t take any more calls from him, but she was smart enough to know that the situation was now different.

  ‘Put him on please, Beth. Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine, Liam. Really.’ The line clicked and Hennessy waited for The Chinaman to speak.

  ‘Mr Hennessy?’ said Nguyen, not sure if he had been put through.

  ‘What do you want?’ said Hennessy.

  ‘Mr Hennessy, you know what I want. I telephoned to see if you had changed your mind.’

  ‘
Why would I have changed my mind?’ said Hennessy quietly.

  ‘You know why,’ said Nguyen.

  Hennessy took a deep breath. ‘I think that perhaps it would be a good idea if we spoke about this again. It might be we can come to an arrangement. Come back and we’ll talk.’

  Nguyen laughed without humour. ‘I think not,’ he said. ‘You will not see me again, Mr Hennessy. But you will be hearing from me.’

  ‘It will take a lot more than a loud noise in my toilet to change my mind.’

  ‘So be it,’ said Nguyen, and hung up.

  ‘The bastard,’ spat Hennessy. ‘Who the hell does he think he is, threatening me like that?’ He slammed down the phone and glared at the two men by his desk.

  ‘Get his description to the boys,’ he said. ‘I want him found.’

  ‘It might be an idea if yez left Belfast for a few days, just in case,’ suggested Kavanagh.

  ‘Are you telling me that you can’t protect me in my own city?’ said Hennessy.

  ‘I’m not saying that, but it would be easier if we went down to yez farm. That’s all.’

  ‘No,’ said Hennessy. ‘He is not driving me out of my own city, he’s not going to make me run like a scared dog. Just put the word out.’

  He waved them away impatiently and flopped down into his chair. He took a mouthful of whiskey, and then another. He knew he shouldn’t have lost his temper, but the bombing had shaken him badly. It made him acutely aware of his own mortality, that his own threescore years and ten wasn’t all that far away, and the fact that a vindictive Chinaman with a bottle of antifreeze could steal away the years he had left made him very angry. And afraid. The supercilious detective had said it had been a warning. Very well, he would regard it as just that.

  Nguyen didn’t drive straight back to the guest-house. Once he’d collected his van from the car park off Gloucester Street he headed north along Victoria Street and then cut westwards across the city along Divis Street, past grim blocks of flats, to where it turned into Falls Road. It wasn’t that he was worried about being followed, because he knew he was long gone from Donegall Square before the bottles crashed on to the floor. It wasn’t that he enjoyed driving, either. He’d always found sitting behind the steering wheel stressful and he’d been looking forward to the day when his daughter would pass her driving test so that she could do all the restaurant deliveries for him. He drove around to get a feel of the city and its people, and at the back of his mind lurked the thought that by understanding the people of Belfast he might be able to understand why the IRA had killed his family. The city centre was prosperous, shiny fronted shops and clean pavements. The cars in the streets were mainly new and well cared for and there were few signs of a city in the throes of sectarian violence. ‘Belfast Says No’ said a banner Nguyen had seen hanging under the green dome of City Hall in Donegall Square, but he didn’t know what the city was saying ‘no’ to. There was a strong police and army presence, with some streets sealed off with metal railings manned by armed policemen and turnstiles to allow pedestrians through one at a time, but there was no air of tension, none that Nguyen could detect, anyway. He had a large-scale map of Belfast and its surroundings spread over the passenger seat, and as he stopped at a red traffic light he scanned it, trying to pronounce the strange names: Knocknagoney, Ballyhackamore, Cregagh, Skegoneill, Ligoniel, Ballynafeigh.