Black Horn (4 page)

The old
woman was silent.

Juliet
glanced at Creasy and caught the look in his eyes and immediately shut her
mouth and kept it shut.

"It's
not a good idea," he said, looking at the woman. "Juliet is
forgetting some things. Even flying first-class is going to be inconvenient for
you. We go from here to Brussels and spend one or two nights there. From
Brussels, we'll probably have to fly to London to connect with a flight to
Harare, and that flight will take at least ten hours. After one or two days in
Harare, we'll have to go on to Bulawayo and that flight won't offer first-class
service. In total, we'll be in the air for about twenty-four hours, plus the
usual waiting about in airports. That kind of travelling is very tiring, even
for a very fit person. With modern communications, we can stay close in touch
with you, right here in Denver."

Gloria
Manners was looking at the table in front of her. She glanced at Creasy and
then at Juliet and said, "I think you're right, young lady." She
turned to look at Creasy and said, "I understand your argument, and of
course there's something else behind it as well...You don't savour the prospect
of having a bad-tempered old woman tagging along... especially one that's
paying the bills."

Creasy
shrugged non-committally and said, "It doesn't matter if you're paying the
bills. I never accept interference on a job. It was your personal comfort I was
concerned about."

"Then
you don't have to be concerned any more," she said. "Juliet was
right. You could have shaken me down for a couple of million bucks or more.
I'll use that money to charter a private intercontinental-range jet with a full
cockpit and cabin crew. I'll take along Ruby, who knows how to look after me. I
suggest we meet at the airport at ten o'clock tomorrow morning."

"You
can make all your arrangements, including the jet, by that time?" Creasy
asked.

It was
Senator Grainger, who supplied the answer. "Yes, she can... money talks in
these situations, especially in this country."

As Ruby
wheeled the old woman away, Michael said to Juliet, "You did us no favours
there."

She was
looking at Creasy. She started to mutter an apology, but he held up his hand.

"It's
done now. The private jet will save time, and having her along just might have
advantages."

"What
advantages?" Michael asked.

"Right
now, I can't think of any." And then shrugged. "But who knows?
Besides, we can't afford to turn this job down. The coffers need
replenishing."

His
pleasure was mirrored on his face. She saw it as she crossed the room and shook
his outstretched hand. She noticed other men in the bar watching her ... all
the other men in the bar. Colin Chapman pulled a seat back for her and she sat
down with a gracious nod of her head at this un-modern courtesy. He sat down
opposite her, the pleasure still on his face. A waiter appeared and she ordered
a banana daiquiri.

"It
is so rare," he said, "these days, to see a Chinese woman wearing a
cheong-sam... which is a great pity, because they are one of the most beautiful
costumes in the world."

Again,
she inclined her head and said, "To tell the truth, Colin, it's the first
time I've ever worn one. When I was at school, they were looked on as a bit of
a joke, and later on we all wore designer clothes. This morning, when I was
packing up my mother's clothes, I found half a dozen which I'm sure she hadn't
worn for many years. They fitted me perfectly, which for a cheong-sam is very
necessary."

He was
admiring the high mandarin collars and the soft blue silk which flowed over her
contours. At the same time, he was thinking that Lucy Kwok was a very practical
young lady, perhaps even hard-hearted. After all, her mother had been brutally
murdered only two weeks ago, and here she was wearing her clothes.

It was
as though she read his thoughts.

"I
know it must seem a little strange, but I was close to my mother and she would
have approved." She smiled at him. "In fact, I wore it because of
you, in acknowledgement of your understanding of our Chinese languages and
culture. It is also why I invited you to eat at the Dynasty restaurant tonight."

The
policeman looked slightly uncomfortable.

"Of
course, I appreciate it. I've heard of the exquisite food, but I could never
afford it, not even on a senior policeman's salary."

Mischievously,
she said, "So now you're worried that you'll be seen there and
investigated by the Independent Commission Against Corruption."

Very
seriously, he said, "Lucy, you must understand that in my particular
position I have to be very careful. As soon as I received your invitation this
morning, I sent a fax to the head of the ICAC, informing him where I would be
dining tonight and who... and who'd be paying the bill."

The
surprise showed on her face.

"Are
you joking?"

"Definitely
not. I even insisted on an acknowledgement of my fax, which came back ten
minutes later."

Her
drink arrived and, as soon as the waiter left, he continued, "Understand
that the Triads know me as their enemy. Last year, they managed to obtain my
account number at Lloyd's bank in London and paid three million Hong Kong dollars
into it, without my knowledge. Fortunately, as soon as I started working in the
Anti-Triad section, I took precautions. For the last three years, copies of my
bank statements, both in London and here, have been sent automatically to the
ICAC

"I'm
impressed," she said. "And the only bribe I will ever offer you is
that of friendship. I'm sure the ICAC cannot object to that. Anyway, I don't
have a lot of money. It seems that my father spent most of his wealth on his
research... but tonight I will be extravagant...shall we go for dinner?

The
first confrontation took place at thirty-five thousand feet, above the middle
of the Atlantic Ocean. The private jet was a state-of-the-art Gulfstream IV.
Its configuration was a crew-quarters, just behind the cockpit, then a galley
and service area and, behind that, a dining area and then a lounge. At the back
was a comfortable, en suite state cabin, together with two smaller cabins
containing three bunks each.

The
two-man cabin-crew had produced a gourmet lunch, and then Michael and Ruby
retired to the lounge area and played cards. Creasy and Gloria Manners stayed
at the dining-table.

"What's
the programme in Brussels?" Gloria asked.

"It's
a question of consultation," Creasy answered. "I have a friend there,
called Maxie MacDonald. Rhodesian born and bred. During the War of Independence
there, he fought in an elite unit called the Selous Scouts. They infiltrated
what we used to call the Terrorist Organisation and what they used to call the Freedom
Fighters. It happens that he operated in the area where your daughter was
killed, and knows it intimately. I know how to take care of myself in the
African bush, but compared to Maxie, I'm a novice. For a few months, I was
attached to the Selous Scouts, but operated mainly on the other side of the
country adjoining Mozambique. Maxie and I are good friends. We've worked
together over many years. I have good contacts in Zimbabwe, but his are even
better. He still has family there. I want to talk to him before we head south.
I also want to see a couple of other friends in Brussels and check out the
scene. For some reason, Brussels is a kind of information centre for
mercenaries. We may need some back-up and we'll certainly need some weapons.
I'll arrange all that over the next forty-eight hours."

Gloria
asked, "What arrangements have you made for me and my nurse?"

"I've
booked you a suite in the Amigo Hotel, plus an adjoining room for your nurse.
It's more than five star and damned expensive."

"So
you'll meet your friend Maxie at the hotel?"

Creasy
shook his head.

"Maxie
is retired now. Together with his wife and her young sister, they run a small
bistro. Michael and I will have dinner there tonight. I'll brief him on the
situation and then listen to his suggestions."

He
could almost feel the hostility coming across the narrow table.

"And
what do I do?" Gloria asked. "Sit in that hotel and twiddle my
thumbs?"

"It's
operational," Creasy answered. "It's a significant part of my preparation.
Maxie's knowledge and contacts are important."

The
reaction was immediate. Gloria Manners rose slightly in her wheelchair and
said, "I don't want to be a simple onlooker. I have an alternative
suggestion. You invite this Maxie MacDonald and, if necessary, his wife and
even her sister, to dinner at my hotel and then I can listen in on what's going
on."

Creasy
shook his head. "I can't do that. Maxie and his family run a business with
a local clientele. They just can't close down for a night. Michael and I will
go in and have a late supper, when Maxie's got time to talk to me."

Gloria
Manners reached forward and pressed a button on the bulkhead. Ten seconds
later, the steward appeared. Gloria Manners looked at Creasy and said,
"I'm going to have a cognac. Do you want something?"

"I'll
join you with a cognac"

They
remained silent until the steward brought the drinks, and then Gloria leaned
forward and said, "We had better examine the parameters of this
relationship."

"I
guess so."

"You work for me."

"So?"

"When someone works for me, they do what I tell 'em."

Creasy smiled. It was the first time she had seen him smile, but she didn't get the
reaction from a normal smile.

He said, "Mrs Manners, I work for you because I choose to. As a matter of
fact, I need the money that you're offering...but I don't need it so bad that I
have to take bullshit from anybody. We do this my way, or when we land in
Brussels we say goodbye and you fly, in your plane, back to Denver and hire a
bunch of ex-Green Berets, who would be about as comfortable in the Zimbabwe
bush as I would be in a society cocktail party in Hollywood."

She took a sip of her cognac, watching him all the time over the rim of her glass.
She said, "Jim Grainger told you about me?"

"Told me what?"

"That I'm a difficult bitch."

"No one needed to tell me that."

"He
never liked me."

"Why
not?"

"Maybe
there's a reason. But it's none of your business."

"It's
immaterial," Creasy answered. "Whether you're difficult or not only
affects me as to this operation. You're paying me a modest sum to find out
whether there might be any reason to continue looking for your daughter's
killers. If we continue, you have to fall in line. You don't tell me how to
handle my contacts and my friends. You don't tell me how to handle the
operation. Make your mind up now."

As they
looked at each other across the table, Creasy realised that it was a make or
break situation.

The old
woman said, "I didn't come along to stay in a suite in a luxury hotel... I
need to be part of it."

"You
will be. But on my terms."

"What
are your terms?"

"I'll
give you an example. If you want to be in on the conversation with Maxie
MacDonald, then I'll arrange a special car to bring you from the hotel to his
bistro and you join us for dinner. Of course, you have Ruby with you."

Another
silence, while they eyeballed each other across the table. Then her head dipped
in the merest nod of acknowledgement.

She
said, "You booked me into the Amigo Hotel with my nurse. Are you and
Michael staying there too?"

Creasy
shook his head.

"No.
Michael and I are staying in a whorehouse." He stood up, glanced down at
her shocked face and said, "I'll tell you about it when we get to
Brussels."

He walked
down the plane to the lounge area. From behind him, Mrs Manners voice called
out imperiously, "Ruby! I need you."

The
nurse sighed, tossed her cards into the middle of the table and stood up.

Creasy
sat down in her chair and watched as Michael stacked the cards.

In a low voice, the young man asked, "Why do we have to work for a bitch like
that? Why do we even have to spend more than thirty seconds in her presence? I
don't give a shit who killed her daughter. In fact, if we find out who did it,
maybe we'll point them at the old bitch herself."

Creasy
looked at his adopted son and said in a very reasonable voice, "There are
two reasons, Michael. One is that I was asked to do the job by Jim Grainger,
and he's been a good friend to both of us. Right now he's looking after your
sister in America. The other reason is that, although we're not broke by any
means, we need the money. That last operation cost a fortune."

Michael
was shuffling the cards. He looked up and said, "You once told me that we don't
work for anyone we don't like."

"That's
correct."

"I
don't like Gloria Manners."

Creasy's
voice lost its reasonable tone. "You make judgements after just a few
minutes' conversation with somebody?"

Michael
was obstinate. "It doesn't take more than a few seconds to know whether
you like somebody or not."

Creasy
leaned forward and his voice now became harsh. "That makes you stupid, and
I don't like to work with people who are stupid. It can be fatal. Personally, I
don't like Mrs Manners -- but I don't dislike her. I'm reserving my judgement.
I advise you to do the same. Otherwise, when we land in Brussels, you can fuck
your little girlfriend and then go back to Gozo, while I find someone
intelligent to work with me. Believe it when I tell you that there would be
many takers. The money is good and the target is a criminal. We stand on moral
ground."

There
was a long silence as Michael continued to shuffle the cards, then he said,
"It's just that I hate that bitch... Maybe it's my background. Maybe all
those years of being told what to do and not having any way out made me hate
people like Gloria Manners on sight."