The Solitary Man (Stephen Leather Thrillers) Page 8

  The General leaned forward, intrigued. ‘I think you should tell me exactly what you have in mind, Mr Gregory.’

  The DEA executive went over to his holdall and took out another can of Diet Coke. He popped the tab, swallowed several mouthfuls of the lukewarm cola, and began to talk. The General sat and listened with rapt attention as Gregory told him what he had planned. Gregory spoke for a full ten minutes, pausing only to drink.

  When he had finished, the General leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. ‘You are here on a tourist visa, Mr Gregory,’ he said eventually. ‘And you made it quite clear that you wanted this meeting to be unofficial. Am I to assume from the secrecy that what you are proposing is not sanctioned by your government?’

  ‘I have the full approval of the White House. If that wasn’t the case, we wouldn’t have access to either the manpower or the equipment.’

  ‘And yet you are determined to keep a low profile?’

  ‘We are quite happy for you to take the credit, General. It will demonstrate to the world that you are serious about dealing with your country’s drug problem. You are free to suggest that the plan is yours and that you requested that the United States supply the necessary equipment. It will be a shining example of what co-operation between our two countries can achieve.’

  The General nodded to himself, his eyes still on the ceiling. ‘I don’t understand why it is Zhou Yuanyi who is being targeted. There are many other drug kingpins who have much higher profiles.’ He lowered his gaze so that he could watch Gregory’s reaction.

  ‘True,’ admitted Gregory. ‘But our assessment is that we have a higher probability of success if we go for Zhou.’

  The General looked as if he were going to press the point, but instead he tapped a forefinger on the rim of his whisky tumbler. ‘Of course, there will be substantial expenses incurred. On both sides.’

  Gregory smiled thinly. He had been to South-east Asia enough times to know that nothing came without a price. ‘We were thinking that expenses of two million dollars would be in order.’

  The General pursed his lips. ‘The US government offered that much in 1996 for information leading to the arrest of Khun Sa. You are asking a great deal more than information from me. I had a figure of five million in mind.’

  Gregory looked pained, as if the money would be coming out of his own pocket. ‘I suppose we could be persuaded to increase our fee to three million. Payable anywhere in the world, of course. In total confidence.’

  ‘My dear Mr Gregory, I had assumed that that would be the case in any event. I hardly think either of us would want to issue receipts, now would we?’ He grinned impishly, but the smile disappeared quickly as if he regretted the show of emotion. He steepled his fingers under his square chin and watched the DEA executive with unblinking brown eyes. ‘Your country has earmarked almost fifteen billion dollars to fund its war against narcotics, and more than half of that will be spent trying to stop drugs coming into the country. I don’t think four million dollars is an unreasonable request.’ Gregory nodded agreement.

  The General got to his feet and took a small white card from the top pocket of his safari suit. ‘This is the number of my bank account in Geneva,’ he said. ‘Once the fee has been deposited, the airfield will be at your disposal.’ He stood up and extended his right hand. The two men shook hands, then Gregory escorted him out on to the veranda. The soldier with the umbrella was still standing in the rain, a look of detached boredom on his face.

  ‘One more thing,’ said Gregory.

  The General waited, his head on one side. Far off in the distance there was a flash of lightning.

  ‘We would appreciate it if there was a request from your government for military aid to help quell the activities of the warlords on your border. Not a public request, of course, just so long as it is official.’ There was a roll of thunder that went on for several seconds.

  ‘So that America cannot be accused of sticking its nose in where it is not wanted?’ said the General, his face breaking into an amused smile. ‘Consider it done, Mr Gregory.’

  Gregory watched the two men walk back along the path until they were swallowed up by the torrential rain.

  HUTCH AND WINTER FLEW to Bangkok on the same plane but Winter insisted that they sit apart. Winter flew first class on the Thai Airways flight; Hutch was at the back in economy. Winter didn’t explain why he wanted to travel separately, but Hutch figured that Winter was concerned about their names appearing together on the passenger list. Whatever the reason, Hutch was grateful for the separation; it gave him time to think, to look for a way out. If it hadn’t been for the video that Winter had shown him, Hutch would have been tempted to run at the first opportunity. But the video had killed stone dead any thoughts of running, at least until Hutch was convinced that his son wasn’t in danger.

  Hutch had spent three years in Parkhurst prison with Billy Winter, and though Winter was in for armed robbery, he’d never actually shot anybody. Hutch remembered an argument he’d overheard between Winter and a young Liverpudlian who was doing a life sentence for shooting a security guard on a wages snatch. Winter had claimed that only amateurs actually used violence; the professionals only had to threaten. A sawn-off shotgun was a prop, nothing more, he argued; a successful robbery was more often than not the result of mental intimidation rather than physical force. The Liverpudlian had taken the criticism personally and had tried to break a chair over Billy’s head. Despite his small size Billy could handle himself, and Hutch could still remember the Liverpudlian’s scream as Billy’s foot embedded itself in the man’s groin. At the time, Hutch had wondered how the kick to the groin reconciled itself with Winter’s theory of non-violence, but as he sat on the Thai Airways 747 the event took on a greater significance. If necessary, if he had to protect himself, Billy Winter could be as vicious as any hardened criminal, and Hutch was certain that if he didn’t do what Winter wanted, his son’s life would truly be at risk.

  The stewardesses rattled a trolley down the aisles, handing out trays and pouring drinks. Hutch always hated eating on planes. The prearranged trays, the casual service, the steel jugs of coffee all reminded him of prison meals.

  He closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of his seat. In his mind he replayed the video that Winter had shown him. His son, the boy he hadn’t seen for more than seven years. The last time Hutch had seen him he’d been a babe in arms. If Winter hadn’t pointed the boy out, Hutch doubted that he’d have recognised him as his son. Kathy had refused to send him photographs of the boy, hadn’t even replied to his letters. For a wild moment Hutch wondered if Winter was lying, if the boy in the video wasn’t his son, but just as quickly he realised he was grasping at straws. There was no need for Winter to bluff. It wouldn’t have been hard for him to have tracked down Kathy.

  The flight to Bangkok took a little over two hours. Winter and the rest of the first and business class passengers were allowed off the plane first, and Hutch didn’t see Winter again until they were in the Customs hall. Neither had suitcases, only hand luggage, so they walked out into the arrivals area together. There was a long queue in front of the desk where passengers booked taxis to the city, but Winter ignored it.

  A broad-shouldered Thai with a thick gold chain tight around his bull neck stepped out of the crowd, grinning at Winter. They shook hands. The Thai was wearing a solid gold Rolex, studded with diamonds, and several large gold rings. He had a thin scar that ran from the top of his left ear to the side of his nose.

  ‘This is Bird,’ said Winter, patting the Thai on the shoulder. ‘Bird’s on the firm.’

  Hutch forced a smile but made no move to shake the Thai’s hand.

  ‘Bird’s going to look after you,’ said Winter. ‘He’ll take you for a look-see at the prison.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Hutch asked.

  ‘The Oriental,’ Winter answered. Hutch had never stayed at the Oriental, but he knew of the hotel. On the banks of the Chao Phray
a River, it was consistently voted as the best in the world, with prices to match its exclusive reputation. Whatever Winter was doing these days, he was clearly not short of money.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘All in good time, old lad. All in good time.’

  Winter walked away. He stopped in front of a white-uniformed driver who was holding a cardboard sign and said something to him. The man smiled and nodded and took Winter’s bag from him, leading him to the exit.

  Hutch looked at Bird, who grinned and asked, ‘First time in Bangkok?’

  Hutch shook his head. ‘I’ve been here a few times.’

  ‘Pat Pong, huh? You come for the girls? Thai girls are very pretty.’

  ‘Where is the prison?’

  ‘On the way to the city. About five miles. The car’s this way.’

  Bird took Hutch to the multi-storey car park close to the terminal and unlocked the door of a bright orange Ford Capri with a black vinyl roof. Bird saw the look on Hutch’s face and mistook it for admiration. ‘It’s a 1968 two-litre Capri.’

  ‘So I can see. I bet there aren’t too many of these around.’

  Bird nodded proudly. ‘It’s a classic.’

  Hutch tried to suppress a grin. ‘Oh yes, Bird. One of a kind.’ He expected to see a pair of fluffy white dice hanging from the rear-view mirror but was only mildly relieved to find a garland of white and purple flowers. The dashboard had been lined with fake brown fur and a gold Buddha in a clear plastic case had been glued to the ashtray.

  Hutch sat in silence until they were driving along the expressway. ‘You work for Billy?’ he asked.

  ‘We’re partners,’ said Bird.

  ‘In crime?’

  Bird laughed, a deep-throated roar that almost deafened Hutch. ‘Partners in crime,’ Bird repeated. ‘That’s English humour, huh?’

  ‘Yeah. Sort of.’ Hutch settled back in his seat. The air-conditioning was on full and cold air blew across his face. Hutch had been hoping that Winter was working alone, but if Bird and Winter really were partners, then maybe Bird, too, knew where a football-loving nine-year-old went to school. Hutch was running out of options.

  Bird switched on the radio and flicked through the channels until he found one playing a Thai pop song. ‘You like?’ he asked Hutch, nodding at the speaker.

  Hutch shrugged uninterestedly and looked out of the window. He knew nothing about the prisons in Thailand, other than that they were hellish places and that drug smugglers were given as long as fifty years. He wondered why Winter thought that Hutch would be able to get his friend out. It would have made more sense to use someone local. Someone like Bird.

  ‘What’s the name of the prison this guy’s in?’ Hutch asked.

  ‘Klong Prem.’

  ‘Have you been inside?’

  Bird grinned. ‘Not yet,’ he said.

  ‘How many prisoners?’

  ‘Fifteen thousand or so.’

  Hutch raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘What sort of security is there?’

  Bird pursed his lips as he stared at the road ahead. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said eventually.

  Hutch had expected Winter’s partner to be a bit more forthcoming. ‘You don’t know?’

  Bird shrugged noncommittally. ‘That’s why you’re here,’ he said.

  ‘Bloody great,’ sighed Hutch. ‘Haven’t you tried bribing one of the guards for a plan of the place?’ Another shrug. Hutch shook his head in disbelief.

  The Capri hit a traffic jam which seemed to stretch as far as the horizon. Bird resigned himself to a long wait.

  Hutch closed his eyes. He was starting to get a headache and he massaged his temples, trying to rub away the pain.

  Bird misunderstood the gesture and switched off the radio. ‘You want to sleep?’ he asked.

  Hutch shook his head, his eyes still closed. Sleep was the last thing on his mind. He felt as if he’d boarded a roller coaster and was slowly being dragged up to the first peak, with no way of getting off, no choice other than to hang on and see what the ride held in store for him.

  The traffic began to move again. Bird drove off the expressway and then made a right turn, heading west, cutting across the railway line that connected the airport to the city. The Capri rattled over the crossing and down a reddish dirt road lined with trees.

  ‘The prison’s over there,’ said Bird, nodding to their left.

  Hutch peered through the window. Through the trees, less than a hundred yards away, was a white-painted wall, and in the distance he could make out an observation turret, four-sided with large windows, topped by a radio mast. There were piles of dirt and stones at the edge of the road as if there was construction work in progress, but there were no labourers around. A driveway led from the dirt road to the main entrance of the prison, marked by a red, gold and blue insignia and four flags atop white poles. Inscribed in gold on a block of granite, underneath some Thai script, was written, in English, ‘Klong Prem Central Prison’. Bird pulled hard on the steering wheel and headed towards the prison.

  ‘Whoa!’ shouted Hutch. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  ‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ said Bird. ‘Many visitors go to the prison.’

  Hutch sank down into his seat. Ahead of them was a guardhouse, but its red and white barrier was raised and the brown-uniformed guard didn’t even give them a second look. To the left of the driveway was a white structure that looked like an outside lavatory. Written on the side in large blue letters was ‘ATM’.

  ‘Is that a bank machine?’ Hutch asked.

  Bird nodded. ‘Yes, so that visitors can send in money.’

  Hutch’s jaw dropped. This appeared to be like no other prison he’d ever seen, and he’d been in half a dozen in England. Behind the ATM stood a single-storey modern building with huge glass windows that revealed displays of gleaming furniture. The driveway curved either side of a well-tended circular garden, in the centre of which fluttered a red, white and blue Thai flag from a towering flagpole. There was a car park to the left and Bird brought the Capri to a halt next to a brand new minibus.

  Hutch climbed out and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. ‘That looks like a furniture shop,’ he said, nodding at the building.

  ‘It is,’ said Bird, locking the car doors. ‘They make it in the prison factory.’

  Hutch went over to the showroom and peered in through the window. There were tables, chairs and cabinets, all of a quality he’d expect to see in a Hong Kong department store. A middle-aged woman appeared out of the shadows inside the store, smiling broadly in anticipation of a potential sale. ‘Does everyone work in the prison?’ he asked Bird.

  Bird shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘I think so, but . . .’

  ‘You don’t know for sure.’

  Bird avoided Hutch’s look. Hutch shook his head and went after Bird, who was walking towards the main prison entrance. Two guards were lounging either side of an archway wide enough to admit a double-decker bus. They watched Bird and Hutch uninterestedly, and didn’t appear to be carrying weapons. Hutch had the feeling that he could walk straight into the prison, right up to the huge white-painted metal gates that led into the secure area, but he stayed where he was and waited for Bird to join him.

  ‘Visitors go there,’ said Bird, pointing ahead. It was the first factual information that he’d supplied, and Hutch pointedly ignored him. This wasn’t a briefing, it was a farce.

  Hutch looked up at the observation tower. From a distance it had appeared to be glass-sided, but now that he was closer he could see that the windows were also barred, though they were open in places to allow in fresh air. He shielded his eyes with his hands but couldn’t see anyone inside. They walked away from the archway, along a dirt road that followed the perimeter wall, though it was separated from it by a line of trees, a strip of ground-hugging vegetation and an area of bare earth.

  On the right-hand side of the road a group of young men in T-shirts, jeans and baseball caps were s
itting astride motorcycles, talking and smoking cigarettes. They paid Hutch and Bird as little attention as the guards had. Beyond them was a line of modern houses, painted the same white as the perimeter wall and with grey roofs. Ageing cars were parked outside several of the houses and washing blew on lines. Homes for the prison guards, Hutch guessed.

  On the perimeter side of the road, in front of the line of trees that shielded the prison wall, an area had been cordoned off with white railings and inside was a large ornate shrine, bedecked with offerings of fruit and flowers. Two men in tattered white shirts tended bushes around the base of the shrine.

  Hutch pretended to watch them, but his eyes roamed over the perimeter wall. It couldn’t have been much more than twenty-five feet tall, with suspended wires running a foot or so above the top of it. The wire didn’t appear to be electrified, nor was it barbed. Probably an alarm system, nothing more. Midway along the wall was a watchtower, open to the elements but with a circular metal roof held up by three legs. It was unoccupied. Nor did there appear to be any surveillance cameras. If it hadn’t been for the sign at the entrance to the compound, Hutch would never have known it was a prison.

  The base of the watchtower protruded from the wall and at the bottom of it there was a barred doorway. Hutch couldn’t see whether the bars formed a gateway or a permanent barrier. He wished he could have a closer look at the barred doorway, but he doubted that he’d be allowed to walk unhindered across the bare ground to the base of the wall. Hutch shaded his eyes and examined the vegetation.

  Something glittered in the sunlight. It wasn’t earth, he realised. The wall was surrounded by a moat. ‘That’s water,’ he said to Bird.

  Bird nodded. ‘It goes around three sides of the prison.’

  ‘How deep is it?’

  Bird shrugged carelessly. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Hell, Bird. That’s important. Can we wade across or would be have to swim?’ Bird shrugged again and looked away. Hutch made a clicking sound with his tongue as he scrutinised the moat. He doubted that it was to stop prisoners escaping. It was far more likely intended to be a barrier to prevent vehicles getting too close to the walls.