Two years later: Singapore airport. White Powder Mama’s Number Two, the Red Pole executioner, Lee Fong, had been unsuccessfully looking for Hatcher for almost two years. Finally he had him in sight, had been tailing him for days, waiting for the right moment to kill him in the classic manner, a stiletto placed carefully at the base of the neck, cutting the nervous system and jugular at the same time — an act to save face and prove to White Powder Mama that he was still worthy to be the Silk Dragon’s Number Two.
Hatcher had been on to him from the start, knew that Fong had to prove himself. A contact killing was called for, so it was easy for Hatcher to lure hint on.
Hatcher went to the observation deck. It was getting dark and the platform was empty. He watched a jet take off, heard the door open behind him and swish shut, heard the footsteps moving closer. He stooped down, as if to tie his shoe. The footsteps quickened. They were directly behind him.
Hatcher twisted and stood in one swift move, burying a seven-inch stiletto under the rib cage and jamming it up into Fong’s heart, staring straight into Fong’s face, so close he felt the rush of the Silk Dragon executioner’s dying breath on his face, and trapping Fong’s hand in a steel grip until he felt the life drop out of the assassin’s body.
‘Joi-gin, Fong,’ he said as he dropped him.
Two weeks later, White Powder Mama was dead on the streets of Wanchai, machine-gunned coming out of a nightclub. The reign of the Silk Dragons was ended. The White Palms took over and, to show their compassion, absorbed many of the Silk Dragons’ members.
One of them was Tollie Fong, Lee Fong’s son. Now, twelve years later, he was the Red Pole of the White Palm Triad, and was about to become its leader. As the White Palm assassin, Tollie Fong was perhaps the most dangerous man in the world. As san wong his power was awesome. And his Number One in Hong Kong was Joe Lung, the last remaining member of the Dragon’s Breath, the only one to escape Hatcher’s guerrillas.
Both had sworn to kill Hatcher on sight.
They operated out of Macao.
And all Hatcher’s clicks told him that if this Varney knew he was in Hong Kong, the White Palms probably did too.
hijacking their goods,’ Varney was saying. ‘Beg your pardon?’ said Hatcher.
‘I said, apparently they still hold it against you, hijacking their goods, I mean.’
The secret had been well kept. As far as Varney or Hong Kong or even Interpol knew, Hatcher had been a bad-ass who was now cooperating with the government. Hatcher knew Varney wasn’t there just to offer the ‘courtesy of the Crown.’ He was there to size up Hatcher, decide whether he was one of the good guys or still potentially a bad guy. That was okay, too.
Sergeant Varney was smart enough to realize that Hatcher did not welcome his help or his interest. This was a dangerous man.
‘I suggest you be extremely careful while you’re in the colony,’ Varney said, walking to the door. ‘You are still high on Tollie Fong’s death list. If either he or Joe Lung finds out you are in Hong Kong, they will stop at nothing to kill you. Needless to say, as a police officer I would prefer to prevent that.’
‘I appreciate your interest,’ Hatcher said. ‘As I told you, we’ll both be out of here in a day or two. I’ll try to keep a low profile.’
Varney handed Hatcher his card. ‘If you should need help, just call. My night number is on the back. I assure you, we will respond as quickly as possible.’
The sergeant marched stiffly to the door and left with a short bow.
Hatcher was suspicious and annoyed by the intrusion.
‘I got things to do here, Harry,’ Hatcher said. ‘I definitely don’t need this Limey ramrod crawling up my back.’
‘Just don’t go snooping around Macao, okay?’ Sloan said.
‘Don’t worry about me—’
‘Keep away from Tollie Fong and the triads.’
‘I don’t want to run into Fong and his buddies.’
‘You’ll end up floating in the bay. I’d hate like hell to have to explain that.’
‘That’s really sentimental of you.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘I know exactly what you mean. And I’m not going to end up floating anywhere.’
‘Start messing with the White Palms, you’re as good as dead.’
‘That’s not the way it happened last time.’
‘Don’t get cocky either,’ said Sloan softly. ‘Tollie Fong is the man in the White Palm Triad now and Joe Lung is his number one boy in Hong Kong. And they both have sworn to dust you. You’re not in Bangkok by Saturday, I’ll have the dogs out after you.’
‘I’ll meet you at the Imperial,’ Hatcher whispered. ‘The D’Jit Pochana for breakfast Saturday morning, usual time.’
‘Sure.’
‘One other thing. Get that whiz kid you got in the States, Flitcraft, to check his computer. See if there’s anything on a Vietnam POW camp that was a floater. It moved around. I’m guessing it was a temporary holding camp near the Laotian border. It might have been called the Ghost Camp or something like that.’
‘I’ll see what he can turn up. I’ll have him call you direct.’
‘I’ve got his number. I’ll call him.’
‘All right,’ Sloan said after a moment’s thought. ‘Just be careful.’
‘I’ve never stopped being careful,’ Hatcher answered.
Hatcher turned, went back into his room and closed the door behind him. He didn’t bother to shake hands.
He stepped out on his balcony and looked across the bay at Victoria Peak and Cohen’s mountaintop fortress. A lot of things had changed in the last hour. Now he knew he had to see Cohen.
Every man must pay for his sins, 126 had once said.
The question in Hatcher’s mind was, Who was the sinner, who had been sinned against, and who was going to have to pay?
OPTIONS
Hatcher’s clicks were working overtime. Sloan would have the police version of what happened and background on Wol Pot by the time Hatcher got to Bangkok, so there was no need worrying about that now. If they had lost Wol Pot, Hatcher had to take his other options. But they were risky and they were long shots. The question he asked himself was, Should he trash the project and go back to Georgia? Suddenly the Cody job had taken a bad turn. The complexities were growing. One man had been murdered and now the Hong Kong Triad Squad appeared to be involved. Varney’s ‘social’ call had immediately fired more danger signals in Hatcher’s head. This was no longer a simple trace job. It had turned lethal.
He formed his plan quickly, based on logic. If the Vietnam ghost camp described by Schwartz did exist, there were people upriver in Chin Chin land who would know about it. That meant he would need Cohen’s help. Hatcher decided to make contact with his old friend, then wait and see if Flitcraft turned up anything interesting.
He stared up at the top of Victoria Peak, at the house he knew was Cohen’s, wondering whether the years had changed him. Was he still as powerfu1 as he had once been? Hatcher wondered. And what of Daphne?
Could he still trust any of his old friends?
He dialed a number he still remembered after all the years. A high-pitched voice answered in Chinese: ‘Jo sahn.’
‘Cheap bastard,’ Hatcher growled. ‘Still too cheap to spring for a secretary after all these years. And that phony Chin soprano of yours doesn’t fool ne.’
There was a long pause, then an awed voice almost whispered, ‘Christian?’
‘Ah. You haven’t forgotten,’ Hatcher whispered in return.
‘Christian!’ Cohen shouted. ‘Christ, I heard you were dead.’
‘That’s what you get for listening to rumours.’
‘My God, I can’t believe this. Are you here?’