The Chinaman

by Stephen Leather

  When he’d finished he got to his feet. ‘Do you want to tell me what we’re doing?’ he asked.

  ‘Now we’ve got a record of the length of his stride, and the length of his footprint. And you can use the stick to get an idea of where the next footprint is when you’re following a trail. I’ll show you tomorrow.’

  ‘You didn’t learn that following deer around the Highlands,’ said Morrison.

  ‘I got it from a book,’ she said. ‘A guy called Jack Kearney wrote it. My dad has it in his collection.’

  ‘And where did he learn a trick like that?’

  ‘He was a border guard in southern California. He spent more than twenty years hunting down Mexicans who tried to get into America illegally, and he used to help track down missing kids and the like. Come on, I just want to see which way he went when he got to the hedgerow. My bet is that he turned right and headed east.’ She was right. When she reached the hedge she followed it along and eventually discovered a footprint. ‘Look, let me show you how to use the stick,’ she said. She put the two elastic bands on either end of the print. It was a perfect fit. ‘You can see from the way the heel is slightly deeper than the sole that he was walking, rather than running. So if we put the toe marker on the front of the print, and swing the pole around in an arc, we know that the next print should be within the area it covers. There you are. See?’

  Morrison looked and saw the rounded mark of a heel in the ground, not as clear as the first print but definitely there, nevertheless.

  Further on the ground sloped sharply down. Kerry held up her hand to stop the two men and she spent a lot of time examining the slope.

  ‘That’s interesting,’ she said, indicating a bluebell that had been crushed against the grass.

  ‘He went that way?’ asked Morrison.

  ‘Look at the way it’s been trodden on,’ she said. She sat down on the grass next to it and Morrison joined her.

  ‘I don’t follow you,’ he said.

  ‘The head of the bluebell is higher up the slope than the stalk. That means that whatever squashed it was moving up the slope, not down. If it was The Chinaman, he was coming this way, not going.’

  ‘You mean it would be the other way if he’d been going down the slope?’

  ‘Think about it, Sean, picture a foot coming uphill. It’ll push the stalk up. And a foot going down would push the stalk down.’

  ‘Was it definitely him?’

  ‘Can’t say for definite. The grass is too thick and springy, there are no marks in the soil. But if it is him, he’s going back the same way he came, he’s not just running away. He’s returning somewhere.’ Kerry looked up at the darkening sky. ‘We might as well go back,’ she said. ‘We’ll make an early start tomorrow.’ Morrison stood up and helped Kerry to her feet.

  ‘Shouldn’t we go on?’ Kavanagh asked.

  ‘We need a good light,’ she explained. ‘Otherwise we’ll miss something. We know which way he’s headed now, we can pick his trail up at first light.’

  The three of them walked back to the farmhouse together. Hennessy was waiting for them in the kitchen. Sarah Ryan was there and she rushed over to hug Kerry and kiss her on both cheeks.

  ‘Liam didn’t tell me you were coming,’ she cried. Sarah was a couple of years younger than Kerry and when they were teenagers they had spent a lot of time together during the school holidays, riding and picnicking in the countryside around the farm.

  ‘God, it’s been so long,’ Kerry said.

  ‘I’ve a few more wrinkles,’ laughed Sarah.

  ‘Twenty-two years old and you talk about wrinkles, wait until you hit twenty-four!’ They hugged each other again.

  ‘Do you want some sandwiches and coffee?’ Sarah asked, and Kerry and Morrison both said yes.

  O’Hara came in from the hallway as Sarah busied herself with the food. ‘Any luck?’ he asked.

  ‘More than I would have thought possible,’ said Morrison, leaning his pole against the Welsh dresser next to Kerry’s. He held out his notebook.

  ‘Very good,’ said O’Hara. ‘By Sean Morrison, aged four.’

  ‘It’s a drawing of his footprint, you prat,’ laughed Morrison. He handed it to Hennessy. ‘Kerry found the spot where he was hiding in the woods. And we think we know which way he went.’ He took off his baseball cap and dropped it on the table.

  ‘Uncle Liam, do you have a map of the area? A large-scale one,’ asked Kerry.

  ‘I think so,’ he said, and went through to the lounge. He returned with several maps including a large one rolled up in a cardboard tube. He popped it open and pulled it out and she helped him spread it over the kitchen table. Morrison used a cruet set to anchor it down at one side and Sarah gave them two knives to weigh down the other side.

  Kerry sat down in front of the map while Morrison and Hennessy looked over her shoulder. She traced out the route they’d taken with her finger, down the track, across the field to the copse, around the edge of the trees and to the hedgerow. ‘We got as far as here,’ she said, tapping the map. ‘But the light was starting to go and I didn’t want to make any mistakes. We’ll start again first thing in the morning. The interesting thing was, Uncle Liam, there were signs that he was going back the way he’d come. As if he had a base somewhere, you know what I mean?’

  ‘That’s a thought,’ said Hennessy. ‘He must be staying somewhere. I suppose I just assumed that he was living rough.’

  ‘What about the van?’ said Kavanagh. ‘He’d need somewhere to store the stuff he used to make his explosives. And the landlady in Belfast said he drove away in his van.’

  Kerry took one of the small-scale maps and spread it out on top of the first map. She drew a line on it in pencil. ‘This is the way he was heading,’ she said. The line cut across the B8 and B180 and through Dundrum Bay. ‘That’s his general direction, so if we assume that wherever he was heading was twenty degrees or so either side of that line, we’re left with this,’ she said, and drew two more lines either side of the original one, creating two wedge shapes.

  ‘That’s still a hell of a lot of countryside,’ said Kavanagh, unconvinced.

  ‘Agreed, but he’s not likely to be travelling too far, not at night. Let’s say two hours, six miles maximum. That would put him in this area.’ She made a curving line that cut across the first three lines.

  ‘That includes a good piece of the Mourne Mountains. And a fair smattering of villages,’ said Kavanagh.

  ‘He’s not likely to leave his van where it would be seen,’ said Morrison. ‘He’s not stupid. He’ll know that the army is all over the place and that they don’t take kindly to strange vehicles.’

  ‘The van is the key,’ agreed Kerry. ‘Assuming he has the van, he must have driven it to where he hid it, which means it can’t be too far away from a road. I don’t think he’d hide it in the mountains, even if he could drive there. I think we should look for a wooded area with a road nearby. I reckon this is the best bet.’ She pointed at the Tollymore Forest Park.

  Sarah put mugs of coffee on the table and mouthed ‘See you tomorrow’ to Kerry before slipping out of the kitchen door. Kavanagh looked at the map and scratched his head.

  ‘Yez making a lot of assumptions,’ he said. ‘The Chinaman could’ve doubled back, he could’ve ended up by going west, not east. He might’ve ditched the van. He could be holed up less than half a mile away, Christ, he could be back in the copse, he could even be watching the house right now.’

  ‘You’re so bloody defeatist!’ snapped Kerry, surprising them all. She realised her show of temper had shocked them so she smiled in an attempt to defuse the situation. ‘You’re right, of course,’ she said. ‘But I don’t think west is likely. One, because he headed in the opposite direction, and two, because going west would mean crossing the River Bann, either by bridge, where he’d risk being seen, or through the water, which would be perfectly possible but uncomfortable.’

  ‘And he did say that he’d be back in three days,�
�� said Hennessy.

  ‘Three days?’ said Kerry.

  ‘He said I had three days to tell him who’s behind the bombings in England,’ explained Hennessy. ‘He said that if I didn’t have the names by then that he’d kill me.’

  ‘Oh God, Uncle Liam. That’s terrible.’

  Hennessy shrugged. ‘It’ll be OK, Kerry. Don’t think about it. But the fact that he’s given me the deadline means there’s no need for him to stay close by. And I don’t think he’ll dump the van. How else is he going to get away when all this is over? I think you’re right, Tollymore looks the best bet. Castlewellan Forest Park is another possibility, but that’s a mile or so further away.’

  ‘I’m not sure what you’re suggesting,’ Morrison said to Kerry. ‘I thought the idea was to track down The Chinaman.’

  She nodded quickly. ‘Yeah, yeah, but a two-pronged attack doubles our chances. You and I go after him, following his trail as best we can. But at the same time I think you should send some men to check out the forest and come at him from behind.’

  ‘But the forest is several square miles,’ O’Hara protested. ‘It would take for ever.’

  Kerry shook her head. ‘You’re forgetting the van,’ she said. ‘If we’re right and he’s hidden the van among the trees, then he must have driven it off the road. All you’ll have to do is drive along slowly looking for places where he could have turned off. You’ve got to think like your quarry, put yourself in his place. It might come to nothing, but it’s worth a try. And what’s the alternative?’

  ‘She’s right,’ said Hennessy. ‘Jim, can you take three of the guys tomorrow morning? Use two of the cars and take a run through the forest. No guns, just in case you come across the army. Just the shotguns, we’ve got licences for them.’

  ‘Sure, Liam. Whatever ye says.’ Kavanagh still sounded decidedly unconvinced.

  Kerry sipped her coffee. ‘Right, that’s all I can do tonight,’ she said. ‘I’m going to get an early night.’

  Hennessy raised his eyebrows. ‘It’s only nine o’clock, Kerry.’

  ‘When I said we’ll make an early start, I meant it,’ said Kerry. ‘We’ll be up at five.’

  ‘Five!’ snorted Morrison.

  Kerry stood up and grinned at him. ‘Say goodnight, Sean,’ she said and leant over to kiss Hennessy on the forehead. ‘Goodnight, Uncle Liam.’

  Hennessy reached over and held her hand. ‘Goodnight, Kerry. And thanks. For everything.’

  ‘I haven’t done anything yet,’ she said. ‘But it’s going to be all right, I promise.’

  The four men watched her go.

  ‘She’s one hell of a girl,’ said Morrison.

  ‘She’s her father’s daughter, all right,’ agreed Hennessy. ‘It must be in the genes.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Kavanagh, watching Kerry’s hips swing. ‘It’s definitely in her jeans.’

  ‘You, Jim, are a sexist pig.’

  ‘We all have our faults, Sean.’

  ‘If you two children are going to squabble all night I’ll leave you to it,’ said Hennessy, getting up from the table and gathering the maps together. He left the three of them sitting together, drinking coffee and reminiscing about the old days.

  Morrison woke to the smell of freshly made coffee. He screwed up his eyes and squinted at Kerry, who was sitting on the edge of his bed holding a steaming mug.

  ‘Rise and shine,’ she said, and waited until he hauled himself up into a sitting position before handing him the mug. She pulled the curtains open but the sky was just a smudgy grey.

  ‘What time is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Four thirty,’ she said.

  Morrison groaned. He gulped down his coffee and gave her back the empty mug. ‘How come you look so wide awake?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m used to it. When we run the executive courses, Dad always gets me to do the night-time marches and stuff like that. It’s great fun, we send them to bed at midnight and then wake them up at three in the morning and take them for a six-mile hike. They look like death when they get back.’

  Kerry looked nothing like death, just then, Morrison thought. Her blue eyes were bright and clear and she seemed to be bursting with energy, her chestnut hair was still damp from the shower and she’d even put on makeup, a little mascara and a touch of lipstick. He doubted that it was for The Chinaman’s benefit and he felt suddenly pleased that she’d made the effort for him.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ she asked. ‘You’ve a wistful look about you, Sean Morrison.’

  ‘I was just thinking how dog-tired I am,’ he lied. ‘Right, get out of my room and let me wash. I’ll be downstairs in five minutes.’

  ‘Do you want breakfast?’ she asked.

  The mere thought of food at that time of the morning made Morrison’s stomach lurch and he declined, but said he wouldn’t mind another coffee.

  When he walked into the kitchen, drying his hair with a blue towel, it was waiting for him. Kavanagh was there, along with three men he’d decided to take with him to the woods: Roy O’Donnell, Tommy O’Donoghue and Michael O’Faolain, all of whom looked totally wrecked. Hennessy was there, too, sitting at the table with a collection of guns and walkie-talkies in front of him. As Morrison sipped his coffee, Hennessy handed him one of the guns, a small automatic. ‘Be careful,’ warned Hennessy. ‘Any sign of the army and dump it fast.’

  Morrison nodded, more interested in the two other guns on the table. They had short, wide barrels and looked as if they fired just one cartridge. He realised what they were just as Hennessy began to speak. Flare guns. Hennessy was a keen sailor and they were obviously guns for firing distress flares.

  ‘I want you to take one of these, Sean, and let it off if you get close to The Chinaman and need help. You can call in with the radio, but that won’t identify your position, so call us up and then fire the flare. I’ll give you half a dozen cartridges.’

  ‘Do we take the other one?’ asked Kavanagh.

  ‘No, I’ve only got the two and I’ll need one here to signal to Sean and Kerry.’

  ‘But we’ll have the walkie-talkie,’ said Morrison.

  ‘Yes, but only to call me, you won’t be able to leave it on receive in case you get close to The Chinaman and he hears it. If I want to contact you I’ll let off a flare and you can call me up on the radio when you’re sure it’s safe. You’ll only use the walkie-talkie if I signal you with the flare or if you’ve dealt with The Chinaman.’

  ‘Dealt with?’ said Kerry.

  ‘Captured,’ said Hennessy. ‘Or whatever.’ He held out two of the walkie-talkies to Kavanagh. ‘You can use these, Jim, keep one in each car. If you catch The Chinaman you call me and I’ll contact Kerry and Sean. Does that make sense?’

  ‘It sounds hellish complicated,’ said Morrison.

  ‘Uncle Liam’s right though,’ said Kerry. ‘Out there in the countryside sound travels a long way, especially electronic noise.’

  ‘And don’t forget the army monitors all radio frequencies so we’ll have to keep all transmissions to a minimum anyway,’ added Hennessy. He gave a small canvas haversack to Morrison. ‘You can use this for the flare gun and the radio,’ he said.

  Kerry picked up the ski-poles from beside the Welsh dresser and stood by the kitchen door.

  ‘What about food, and water?’ Morrison asked.

  She patted a small rucksack slung over her shoulder. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘And the maps. And torches. And anything else we might need. Come on, Sean, time to saddle up and move out.’

  ‘Yes, Tonto,’ he laughed. He packed the walkie-talkie and the flare gun and slipped the automatic into the inside pocket of his bomber jacket. It was heavy and the jacket bulged.

  ‘This might be more comfortable,’ said Kavanagh, and slid a clip-on holster across the table. Morrison slotted the gun in and then clipped the holster to the back of his jeans.

  ‘Better?’ asked Kavanagh.

  ‘Much,’ said Morrison. ‘Good hunting, OK?’


  Kavanagh made a gun with his hand and sighted down it at Morrison as he and Kerry went out of the door.

  ‘You lads had better be careful, too,’ warned Hennessy. ‘We’ve got licences for those shotguns but don’t go waving them around the Brits, for God’s sake. The last thing we need right now is trouble with the army.’

  ‘Don’t yez worry, Liam, we’ll be just fine,’ said Kavanagh. ‘We’d better be off.’ Kavanagh took the three men out into the courtyard and shortly afterwards Hennessy heard the two Land-Rovers start up and drive off. Willie O’Hara, his hair tousled and his eyes bleary, staggered into the kitchen and slumped into a chair.

  ‘What’s all the noise, Liam?’

  ‘The lads on the way out after The Chinaman. Do you want coffee?’

  ‘A whiskey’d go down a treat, right enough.’

  ‘Aye, you’re right. I’ll join you.’

  As Hennessy poured the whiskey into two tumblers, Kerry and Morrison walked across the fields towards the copse. The grass was covered with a sheen of morning dew that glistened in the early light. This time there was no need to walk through the trees so Kerry took him around the perimeter of the copse and along the hedgerow. When they arrived at the slope where they’d examined the squashed bluebell the previous evening, Kerry slowed the pace right down and began walking slowly, her eyes scanning the ground left and right like a fighter pilot scrutinising the sky. Morrison followed behind her and slightly to her left.

  ‘What exactly do I look for?’ he asked.

  ‘If we’re lucky we’ll see a clear sign, like the footprints we saw yesterday, or vegetation that’s been trampled. But signs like that’ll be few and far between. Generally all we can expect to see are slight changes, small things. It’s hard to explain. Sometimes it’s just a feeling that something isn’t right.’