‘You get the point,’ Sloan continued. ‘We need somebody who knows the territory and can keep his mouth shut. And nobody I know is better at keeping quiet than you, old buddy. Besides, you were a damn good investigator in your day, if I do say so myself.’
‘My day’s not over, and don’t call me your old buddy. And who the hell’s we?’
‘Half a dozen of Buffalo Bill’s old staff. Look, this Thai, his name is Wol Pot, brought the trade-out to the embassy in Bangkok. Luckily, the IO there is one of Cody’s old exec officers, Lew Porter.’
‘Windy Porter?’
‘Yeah, you remember him?’
‘Vaguely.’
‘He interviewed Pot. Right away he sizes up the situation, puts Pot on hold and calls me. I round up a couple of the old-timers from S-town, we kick it around. Finally we had to take it to the Old Man.’
‘Why?’ Hatcher rasped.
Sloan stared hard into his eyes. ‘Because Buffalo Bill’s dying of cancer, Hatch. He won’t last the year.’
That stopped Hatcher cold. He had a hard time picturing General Buffalo Bill Cody with some insidious worm eating up his insides.
‘We all love the Old Man, okay?’ Sloan said, and his voice turned husky. He stopped for moment and swallowed hard before he went on. ‘He asked us the favor. If his kid’s alive, he’d like to see him once before he dies.’
‘What if he’s in trouble?’
‘That’s why I need you, Hatch,’ Sloan said, his voice still shaky. ‘If he’s in deep shit, Porter can’t handle it. He’s a burned-out old trooper. Point is, the general will meet Cody somewhere — anywhere — Hawaii, Tokyo, Sydney. Wherever Murphy wants t meet him. Nobody needs to know it ever happened.’
‘A trip like that would probably kill the Old Man,’ Hatcher said.
‘His quality time’s running out anyway,’ Sloan said with resignation. ‘The thing is, it has to be handled with satin and lace by somebody who knows the score, who can roll with it, no matter how it might go, convince the kid we’re not out to dump on him, we just want to give the Old Man one last gift.’
‘He’s hardly a kid,’ Hatcher said. ‘He’d be — forty-two now,’ he said, adding a year to his own age.
‘Go to Thailand and find him, if he’s there,’ said Sloan matter-of-factly. ‘Or put the old man’s mind to rest.’
‘Prove he’s dead,’ Hatcher rasped.
‘Yeah, One way or another.’
Hatcher laughed hard at that.
‘Navy’s been chasing down leads on Cody for fourteen years,’ he said, ‘and you want me to go to Bangkok, which has fifty million people, and turn him up, just like that.’
‘Nobody’s been looking for Cody. As far as the Navy’s concerned he’s dead meat. But you, hell, laddie, you’re the best I ever had.’
‘Can the shit, Harry.’
‘You got the edge, Hatch,’ said Sloan. ‘We’ll give you Wol Pot. We’ll give you Windy You know Cody. You know the territory. And you can keep your mouth shut no matter what happens. You proved that in Madrango. All I want you to do is go over there, find Cody and set up the meet. Or tell me he’s dead. Hell, you’ll even have Flitcraft at your disposal.’
‘Flitcraft’s still on the roster, huh?’
‘He’s my number one.’
Hatcher poured himself another glass of wine and fiddled with the file for a few moments.
‘You know I can’t go back there,’ he said finally.
‘C’mon, that was, what? Eight, ten years ago?’
‘Wouldn’t matter if it was fifty..’
‘You get in a bind, I’ll give you all the backup you need. I’ve still got a few heavy hitters over there.’
‘What’s the deal with this Thai, what’s his name again?’
‘Wol Pot. Look, I don’t care what you do to the little slope. If he gives you any shit, break his legs, hang him on the rack, pull out his fingernails. I don’t care.’
‘Same old Harry.’
‘It’s his story, make him prove it.’
‘That’s not what I mean. Does he get his visa?’
‘If he delivers, I suppose I can arrange something.’
‘It’s got to be straighter than that. If he turns him up, I’ve got to know what kind of deal I can give him.’
‘If he turns him up, we’ll provide protection and get him out of Thailand.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Why do you care?’
‘If I make a promise I want it kept.’
‘Done. You’ll do the job, then?’
Hatcher stared at him for several seconds. He put the .357 on a table.
‘The price will be $236,600.’
‘What!’
‘That’s two hundred dollars a day for every day I was in that rat hole.’
‘Get real, man.’
‘That’s as real as it gets, Harry.’
‘Where am I going to get that kind of money?’
‘Hey, this is Hatch, remember? You got private-sector accounts all over the world. Panama, Switzerland, the Bahamas. So maybe you’ll have to scrimp somewhere else. Tough shit.’
‘You’re a rich man, Hatch.’
‘Punitive damages. The price is $236,600, non- negotiable. Take it or leave it.’
Sloan’s grin broadened as big as it could get. His eyes began to twinkle again. ‘It’s more than that, isn’t it? I can see it in your eyes, pal. You miss the edge. You miss the old adrenaline pumping. Life’s too easy. Hell, when you’re hooked, you’re hooked forever.’
Part of what Sloan said was true. But it wasn’t that razzle-dazzle feeling one gets running the edge that was sucking Hatcher back to the old life, back to places he’d sworn never to go back to, to people he never thought he’d see again, to work again for Sloan, a man he once thought he was going to kill. It was Cody, man who had once been more of a friend than Sloan hid ever been because Cody had always been honest with him.
‘I’ll take the jaunt because of Murph Cody and the old man, period. It has nothing to do with you and me. If Cody’s there, I’ll find him. If he’s not, I’ll let you know. And if you ever come back here again, I’ll feed you to the fish.’
Sloan leaned over closer to him, the old teeth sparkling, the gray eyes twinkling.
‘You know, I think you’re serious, he said.
Hatcher smiled back without mirth.
‘Keep thinking it,’ he said. ‘Your life may depend on it.’
PREPARATIONS
It was dusk when Ginia, responding to Hatcher’s call, returned to the boat carrying a wicker picnic basket. She opened it and took out the contents while Hatcher took the boat out through the sound and into the open sea, sticking close to the shore.
‘Fettuccine with fresh vegetables from Birdie’s, homemade clam chowder, cold shrimp and hush puppies from the Crab Trap,’ she said. ‘How soon do you want to eat?’
‘Now. I’m starving.’
‘What happened to your army buddy?’
He leaned over and kissed her on the throat. ‘Gone,’ Hatcher growled and the subject was dropped. She knew better than to ask ‘Gone where?’ If he wanted her to know he would tell her. Obviously he didn’t. She was delighted that the stranger had left and Hatcher was hers for the evening.
She went below, selected a bottle of vintage red wine from the liquor cabinet and opened it to let it breathe. She heated the food in the oven and set the table. Then she turned on the radio, keeping the volume low.
‘Hey,’ she yelled up to him, ‘you want to put this thing on automatic pilot and come eat?’
‘Done,’ came the hoarse answer. She heard the engines die out and the anchor splash in the water, and a moment later he appeared in the salon.
‘I decided to anchor for a while. We’re right off Sapelo Island,’ he said, dipping his fingers into the fettuccine and tasting it.
‘Mind your manners,’ she snapped.
‘Delicious,’ he said and poured each of them a glass of the red. They clinked their glasses in a silent toast. He leaned over and kissed her very lightly, tasting the dry, musky wine on her lips.