The Solitary Man (8 page)

'He's nine next month,' said Winter. 'He wants to play for Manchester United. He doesn't live in Manchester, in case you were thinking of looking for him. She's changed her name, of course. And his. New names, new life. She's seeing a man. A doctor. He's divorced, too. With two daughters, but his wife's got custody.'

The camcorder followed the boy as he kicked the ball high into the air and ran after it, arms flailing. The goalkeeper, a gangly red-haired boy, rushed out of the goalmouth but he was too late and Hutch's son kicked the ball past him.

'Bit of a fluke, I thought, but a goal's a goal, right?' said Winter. Both teams of schoolboys ran back to their places to restart the game while a balding teacher in a baggy tracksuit picked the ball out of the net. 'It's a private school. Expensive.

The doctor pays, of course. You should be proud of your boy, Hutch. Very proud.'

The screen went blank. Winter stood up and ejected the cassette. He pretended to throw it to Hutch, but at the last minute kept hold of it. 'No, I think not,' said Winter. 'You won't need it where we're going.'

Hutch stared at Winter, his stomach churning. 'You've changed,' he said quietly.

'Yeah? Well, we're all getting older.' He took a cigar case from his inside pocket.

'That's not what I mean and you know it. This isn't your style. You were never the sort to threaten a man's family.'

Winter smiled tightly, a grimace that was devoid of any humour. 'You never knew me on the outside.' He extracted a large cigar from the cigar case. 'Let's say I want someone to do something for me. Something dangerous. Something illegal. And say I tell whoever it is that if they do that dangerous thing for me, then I'll give him a house. Do you think he'll do it?' Winter didn't wait for Hutch to answer. 'Of course he won't,' he said. He bit the end of the cigar off and spat it towards a wastepaper basket in the corner of the room, missing by several feet. 'He's not going to trust me, he won't believe that I'll actually give him a house, right?' He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a book of matches.

'But if I go into his house late at night with a couple of heavies and a can of petrol, and if I pour the petrol over him and his wife in bed, and if I take out a box of matches . . .' Winter pulled a match out of the book and lit it. He used the match to get his cigar burning, then held it between his thumb and first finger as it burned. 'You see, Hutch, then he's going to believe that I'm going to do what I say. He's going to believe that I'll burn him 1 and his wife and his house.' Winter tossed the match on to the carpeted floor. It spluttered and died out. 'The bad stuff he'll believe, the good stuff he won't.'

Hutch nodded. 'What time's our flight?'

JAKE GREGORY STOOD ON the veranda and stared out across Kandawgyi Lake. The rain came down in sheets, an endless torrent that beat down on the roof of the bungalow in a deafening roar. The sky above was gunmetal grey, the lake so dark it was almost black. The monsoon rain had washed the colour out of the landscape but there was no hiding the beauty of the jungle-covered hills. Gregory sipped his Diet Coke, lukewarm because he didn't trust the ice. He was only going to be in the country for twenty-four hours and if the price of avoiding diarrhoea was a warm Coke or two, he'd put up with it.

He saw the umbrella first, fluorescent orange and white stripes, moving from side to side in an almost random motion. As it came closer he saw there were two figures sheltering underneath it, stepping carefully to avoid the deeper puddles as they walked along the path to the bungalow. The taller of the two men was wearing a khaki uniform and holding the umbrella. The other man was broader and wearing a safari suit. Both had military haircuts, almost as short as Gregory's own crew cut. Gregory drained his can and put it down on a rattan table. He went to the front of the veranda and waited for his visitors to arrive. He smiled as he saw that the man in the safari suit had rolled up his trouser legs to keep them from getting wet in the downpour. It was a sensible move, but it made him look as if he was paddling in the sea.

'Mr Gregory,' said the man in the safari suit. He stepped on to the veranda, his arm extended. 'Welcome to Myanmar.' He was shorter than Gregory by several inches but kept his head tilted slightly up as if to compensate for his lack of stature.

Gregory shook the man's hand. 'General, it's good of you to come,' said Gregory. 'Shall we go inside?'

The General nodded and walked past him into the bungalow. The man with the umbrella remained resolutely in the rain. The air conditioner was on, rumbling unobtrusively in the background.

'Can I get you a drink?' Gregory asked.

'Whisky, if you have it.'

Gregory suppressed a smile. He knew exactly what the General drank, and had bought a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label from the duty-free shop at the airport in Bangkok. He poured a large measure into a crystal tumbler and handed it to the General.

THE SOLITARY MAN . 59 The man with the umbrella had still made no move to come in out of the rain. Gregory closed the sliding glass door that led to the veranda and stood with his back to it as the General dropped down into a cane chair.

'So how do you find our country, Mr Gregory?' the General asked as he carefully unrolled the bottoms of his trousers. His English was flawless, the enunciation that of the British upper classes.

'Breathtaking scenery,' said Gregory.

The General smiled and savoured the bouquet of the whisky. 'Yes, our scenery is beautiful. Our temples are beautiful, too. Have you seen any of our temples?'

'I'm afraid not, no,' said Gregory.

'A pity. Scenery and temples, we have both in abundance.' He raised the whisky-filled glass. 'Other things are in short supply.' He smiled, showing white even teeth. 'So tell me, Mr Gregory, how can I help you?'

Gregory went over to a long sofa and sat down facing the General. 'Zhou Yuanyi,' he said.

'Ah yes. A thorn in my side.' The General drank his whisky slowly, savouring each swallow.

'And ours. He is swamping the east coast of America with heroin - heroin of a very high quality at a very low cost.'

The General nodded. 'A fact of which the government here is well aware, I can assure you.'

'Aware, yes. But to date you have been unable to resolve the problem.'

'There are ... difficulties. He has a considerable number of men, highly trained, well equipped. And he has connections in Thailand.'

'Connections?'

The General drained his tumbler. Gregory picked up the bottle of Black Label and poured him another drink. The General nodded his thanks. 'Much of Zhou's heroin is refined on our side of the border before being smuggled into Thailand. I say smuggled, but it actually goes over with the connivance of the Thai army. Zhou is not ungenerous with his associates. Several very high-ranking members of the Thai military have grown very rich thanks to Zhou. Very rich indeed.' He raised an evebrow. 'Moral standards 60 STEPHEN LEATHER in Thailand are not quite as, how shall I put it, inflexible as they are here in Myanmar.'

Gregory resisted the urge to smile. Both men knew that corruption was equally rife on either side of the border. It was a way of life in South-east Asia, and it permeated from the upper echelons of government all the way down to the man on the street. 'You've tried several times to apprehend him, without success.'

The General shrugged. 'We have come close, but as you Americans say, no cigar.'

'Do you think he was tipped off?'

'Almost certainly. We've closed down several of his refineries, burned some of his poppy fields, imprisoned some of his men, but we've made no real progress. He moves too quickly. Have you been to the Golden Triangle?' Gregory nodded. 'Then you know what the terrain is like. We can't send in tanks or even jeeps, and helicopters aren't much use because his bases are too well camouflaged. Unless we know where to look, they can fly around for weeks and not see anything. But I'm not telling you anything you don't already know, Mr Gregory.'

'We in the United States appreciate the problems you have, General,' said Gregory. 'Which is why we have formulated a proposal which might interest you.'

The General gave Gregory a half-wave, indicating that he should continue. The rain beat heavily on the roof of the bungalow, abated for a few seconds, and then returned, even louder than before.

'We intend to locate Zhou's headquarters. More specifically, the man himself. I can't tell you how, but within the next few weeks we hope to have a clear indication of where he is.'

'And then?' asked the General.

'That depends on whether we can count on your cooperation or not.'

The General crossed his legs at the ankles and rested his tumbler of whisky on his knee. 'What form would my co-operation take?' he asked.

'The use of an airfield, as close to the Golden Triangle as possible. And facilities for a small contingent of American troops.'

'How small?'

'We don't envisage requiring more than twelve.'

The General raised his eyebrows in surprise. 'You intend to take on one of the most powerful warlords in Asia with a dozen men?'

'Not take on, General. Take out.'

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.