‘He may have been on your side, Harry. He sure as hell wasn’t on mine.’
‘I had that under control.’
Fong clung to the ladder and sneered as he listened to Sloan’s confident explanation.
‘He raped and murdered Daphne Chien in cold blood just to get even with me,’ Hatcher said hoarsely. ‘He was about to hand you your brains. He was training antiterrorists upriver, that’s what ex-SAVAKs and Tontons were doing up there.’
‘He was training them for me,’ Sloan said bluntly.
Hatcher shook his head. ‘And what was the big payoff, Harry? Were you going to set him up so he could smuggle a thousand keys of 999 past customs?’
‘What the hell, if it wasn’t him it’d be somebody else. It’s good for the economy.’
‘Fifteen years ago you sent me upriver to get rid of the Chiu Chao dope smugglers. Now you’re in bed with them.’
‘Water under the bridge, laddie,’ said Sloan. ‘You’ve got Paris, New York, Chicago, your buddy in the insurance company. I’ve got Thailand. What the hell’s the diff?’
Hatcher stood up.
‘For years I thought you had mined me into a judge, jury and executioner. It finally got to me in Los Boxes, when I had nothing else to think about. Now I know I was never judge and jury — that was your job. I was just the executioner. Anyhow, somebody else will have to judge you. I’m through with all of that.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Home.’
‘What about me?’
‘Tell Buffalo Bill his son died honorably on the field of battle. He can die in peace. See you, Harry.’
Hatcher turned and walked away.
‘Wait a minute, damn it!’ Sloan called after him.
But Hatcher vanished into the swirling black smoky mist.
‘The world is divided into the shit-throwers and the shit-throwees, Hatcher,’ Sloan yelled after him. ‘Remember that. The throwees have damn little to recommend them.’
Sloan leaned back against the wall. The pain in his side burned deeper, but he turned his mind away from it as he worked up a story for the Thai major, the Mongoose, when he showed up.
He didn’t hear Tollie Fong drag himself painfully out of the river behind him, didn’t hear him creep across the dock, his feet squishing under him. Fong was almost on top of him before he became aware of his presence and turned — just in time to see the deadly dagger drop silently through the air and feel its awful point pierce his throat.
FISHING
Hatcher lay flat on his back staring at the ceiling. The boat rocked gently in the evening breeze, occasionally bumping the dock. He felt safe here and secure. It was good to be back home. After twelve hours of sleep his furnaces were beginning to fire up again. He watched a sliver of sunlight move slowly across the ceiling and vanish as the sun set. The mantle of darkness brought with it the night birds, who started calling to one another. He heard the car cruise slowly into the parking lot, its wheels crushing the oyster shells under them, and then the familiar footsteps. He felt the boat rock ever so gently. His eyes closed, and a moment later he felt her sit on the edge of the bed.
‘You’re late,’ he said without opening his eyes.
‘I went by the Crab Trap. Got us some shrimp and clam chowder,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think either of us felt like cooking tonight.’
He reached up, puller her gently down beside him, and she nuzzled his neck with her face.
I was thinking,’ he said. Why don’t we crank up the old scow and take a run out to the reef, eat out there, maybe even go for a moonlight swim.’
‘The ocean’s getting cold,’ she said.
‘Sure, I’ll bet it’s a freezing seventy-five degrees out there.’
There was a difference in their metabolism. She was always cold and he was always warm. What was comfortable to him raised goose bumps on her arms. In the heat of summer, air conditioning drove her crazy, while it was his salvation. But he had learned to compromise, something that had been alien to his experience before he met her. Ceiling fans and fast runs through the sound to the open sea worked for both of them.
She lay close to him, stroking his hard arms and hard stomach and wrapping one leg over his, pressing against him, drawing his strength to her.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked. It was the first thing she had asked him since his return the night before.
‘Tired,’ he answered. ‘It’s been a rough two weeks.’
‘Was the trip successful?’
‘Yes.’
She did not ask why he had gone or what had happened on the trip; she was grateful that he had returned as quickly as he had.
As he lay there she noticed that the hair on his arm was singed and his fingernails were cracked and damaged. But she put her curiosity aside. She knew eventually he would tell her what he wanted her to know. The rest was part of the secretness she had come to accept.
‘I had some bad times on this trip,’ he said suddenly, surprising her.
‘Bad in what way?’
‘The Chinese have a saying, “Killing the past scars the soul.” I put a lot of scars on my soul this trip.’
‘Are you sure you want to talk about this?’
‘No, I think it would be better to forget it, but I want you to know there were chapters in my life that needed closing and now they’re closed. There’s nothing more to be gained by looking back or talking about them.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. We learn from the past.’
‘There’s nothing I want to learn from mine.’
Unconsciously she rubbed the stubble on his arm as he spoke.
‘I put a lot of ghosts to rest.’ He sighed.
‘Is that why you went?’
He hesitated for a moment before answering. ‘That was part of it. I also felt an obligation to an old friend.’
‘Did all this have to do with that man who came here?’
‘He was part of it. He was the catalyst. It’s much too complicated to explain. But I’m glad I went. I had to deal with some things I’ve been ignoring for a long time.’
‘What kind of things?’
‘The dark side of my nature.’
‘Ah, so there is a dark side after all.’
‘Yes. There sure is.’
‘I’ve never seen that side of you.’
‘You see only what people let you see, Ginia.’
‘Is this going to be some kind of confession?’
‘No. I’d like to forget it now.’
‘Then I’ll forget it,’ she said. ‘I only know I missed you. I missed you every day. I’d come by the boat and sit up there and wonder where you were and what you were doing and whether you were well. I had this awful feeling you weren’t coming back.’
Close, he thought, your instincts are pretty damn good.
‘I thought a lot about you, too,’ he said.
‘I realized how little I know about you in those two weeks,’ she said. ‘I don’t know anything about you before you came to the island. You could be married for all I know.’
He laughed. ‘No, no wife. No children. No ugly surprises like that.’
‘I didn’t know you went to Annapolis, although I suppose I should have guessed, you’re so good with boats.’
‘Where did you learn that?’
‘From Jim Cirillo. I was over one day cleaning the boat and he came by. He really loves you, you know, I don’t think I ever realized that before. You’re like a son to him. He worries about you.’
‘And do you?’
She smiled, nuzzling harder. ‘Not when you’re here.’
‘I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere for a long time now.
‘That’s good news.’
‘It is?’
‘I’ve become too accustomed to being with you, Hatcher. It’s screwed up my life-style.’
‘Screwed it up?’
‘Well, not in a bad sense. I suppose that was the wrong way of putting it. I’ve become — dependent on you for certain things. I was always radically independent before you. That kind of thing can be, uh, uncomfortable.’