Thai Horse

by William Diehl

  Flitcraft got a cup of coffee and sat down in front of one of the computers.

  Flitcraft was accustomed to the complex entry and silent codes needed to gain access to the government’s general computer and then into specific classified files. These were a series of numbers and names that had to be entered upon prompting from the terminal. The system also had a double-entry silent code series that had to be entered without prompting. If these were not entered, the main computer immediately triggered a hack tracer. Within seconds the base computer registered the phone number and identity of the interrogating computer and then denied further access to the system -

  It was a clever double-entry system designed to prevent hacking into these confidential files. In addition, each specific file category had its own set of bypass codes that were changed weekly, adding still another deterrent to hacking.

  Flitcraft entered the modem program, permitting him access to other computers over regular phone lines. He typed in the general number for computer records and then a prompt requested his access number. He checked the list Betz had given him. Tue access number was 52-767-52116. A second prompt appeared immediately, requesting the code name for general files. Flitcraft entered ‘Sidewinder,’ the code name for entry into all classified files.

  Now came the touchy part, for the computer did not ask for the ID number of the bypass code; it simply prompted a response to the question ‘Specific File Number.’ Without knowledge of the anti-hacking system, a hacker would have entered the code name requested and immediately sent an alarm to the tracer.

  Flitcraft entered the ID number Betz had provided, 9696, followed by the code word ‘Cherry’ and bypassed the hack tracer. The computer repeated the question ‘Specific File Code,’ to which he entered ‘Monte,’ which was followed by a second prompt. He entered ‘Cristo.’

  Bang, he was in the general POW file. On the next prompt he typed in ‘Zenda,’ and the menu of all subdirectories appeared, followed by two questions: ‘Subdirect or subject,’ permitting him either to enter directly into a specific file or to search for one under general subject matter.

  The sergeant smiled. Now the detective work began.

  For the next three hours, Flitcraft typed in questions, seeking the answers Sloan had requested at 3 A.M. that morning. He checked under North Vietnam, POW camps, temporary camps, unverifie1 reports, individual air sightings, reports from POW debriefings. Flitcraft was an expert at digging out obscure information.

  When he was finished, Flitcraft had a list of temporary holding camps, none of which seemed to fit the description Sloan had provided, and several cross-referenced POWs. He had narrowed the list several times through cross- referencing.

  But four returning prisoners had reported they had been held in what appeared to be the same temporary camp at different times between 1969 and 1972. The camp’s commandant was identified as ‘Thysung,’ ‘Taisung’ and ‘T’sung,’ all close enough to be the same man.

  The locations, which Flitcraft pinpointed on a map, were all close to the Laotian border and generally within fifty miles of one another, although the exact location was hardly accurate. None of the four POWs had stayed in the camp for more than a few weeks. There was also a report from a B-52 crew that had sighted what it believed to be a POW camp in the same area. And another report of a recon flight over the location two weeks later that reported the camp no longer existed.

  Significantly, however, all four of the POWs had reported that there were half a dozen men who were prisoners in the camp when they arrived, and were still there when they left. One stated he ‘had heard there was a VIP being held in the camp,’ and another had reported a rumor that at least one of the permanent prisoners was ‘collaborating with Charlie.’

  Flitcraft ran a check on the four POWs. One was deceased, one was in a mental institution, the other two had been discharged. He traced them down and got current addresses and phone numbers.

  For various reasons, none of the information was considered credible or significant by the Army. That was understandable, since the reports were isolated and not verifiable, and since the locations seemed to be those of temporary holding camps. But the four locations and the B-52 sighting were all on the Laotian side of the mountain range called the Chaine Annimitique, and all mentioned the village of Muang, which was six hundred miles north of Saigon.

  Flitcraft also checked out Murphy Cody. As far as the computer was concerned, Cody was dead.

  Flitcraft answered on the first ring.

  ‘This is Hatcher, N3146021,’ he said. ‘Do you need a voice print?’

  ‘You’re clear, sir,’ Flitcraft answered.

  ‘Did you turn up anything?’

  Flitcraft rather proudly told Hatcher that his information indicated that the ghost camp did exist on the Laotian side of the Chaine Annimitique near the village of Muang. Four debriefed prisoners had stayed in it for various periods between 1971 and 1973, the longest for five weeks. And the four had reported the name of the commandant or warden, variously, as ‘Thysung,’ ‘Taisung’ and ‘T’sung,’ all close enough to imply that it was the same man. The locations, too, indicated it was the moving camp Schwartz had called Huie-kui.

  Flitcraft had also phoned an ex-Hanoi POW who had known a man who was in the camp at one time. ‘He had the impression there were several prisoners being held there on some kind of permanent basis,’ Flitcraft said.

  ‘Any mention of Murphy Cody?’ asked Hatcher. ‘No, sir,’ said Flitcraft. ‘The name never came up.’ ‘Did any of the reports mention that a VIP was being held in the camp?’

  ‘Yes, sir. But the closest to anything specific was that there were several prisoners who were segregated from the rest of the group. Like maybe they were permanent party, something like that.’

  ‘Any reason why?’

  ‘I could only reach this one subject,’ said Flitcraft. ‘He said they might have been collaborators, but he was guessing. Besides, what would the percentage in that be? One prison camp is as bad as the next.’

  Flitcraft had a point, although the possibility of collaboration certainly was not out of the question.

  ‘I wonder why the MIA commission never followed through on these reports?’ Hatcher wondered out loud.

  ‘I pieced this together from a bunch of scattered reports,’ said Flitcraft. ‘There were a lot of these transient camps, and nothing to pin them down. After the war, they just vanished.’

  Maybe not, thought Hatcher.

  ‘Thanks,’ he told Flitcraft. ‘You tumble on anything else, feed it to the colonel in Bangkok. I may be hard to reach for a couple of days.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Nice job, Sergeant.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Good luck.’

  Hatcher cradled the phone. It wasn’t much, he thought. But it was enough to make the upriver trip a necessity.

  Someone up there would have dealt with the Huie-kui or at least have heard about it. And now he had a name — or three names.

  He told Cohen the news.

  ‘Someone upriver had dealings with this camp,’ said Hatcher, ‘and I’m going to find them.’

  ‘Well, I never heard of it,’ Cohen said.

  ‘Hell, China, the Ts’e K’am Men Ti knew your sympathies were with America. They did business with the Chinese, the Vietcong, the GIs in Saigon, the Khmer Rouge, but they wouldn’t talk about it with a mei gwok yahn.’

  ‘You’re also on Sam-Sam’s list, too. Something about a gun deal that went sour.’

  Hatcher took a sip of his drink and didn’t answer.

  ‘Well, you just answered that question,’ said Cohen.

  ‘He was dealing with the Khmer Rouge. The whole mission was to bust up that little party..’

  ‘He’s sworn to cutout your tongue and have it for lunch.’

  ‘The old Hatcher gwai will pull me through.’

  ‘Sure,’ said China, ‘I’ll tell you something — when the old Hatcher luck runs out, they’ll feel the earth
quake in New York City.’

  ‘It’ll work,’ Hatcher said, ‘Trust me.’

  ‘Humph,’ Cohen mumbled again. Hatcher was heading for deep trouble and he was going it alone, stubborn as usual. He hadn’t changed a bit. Sing ended his consternation by appearing suddenly at the doorway.

  ‘The car belongs to the Island Catering Service,’ Sing said.

  Cohen turned to Hatcher. ‘That company belongs to the White Palms. There it is. Fong’s bunch is on to you.’

  ‘Then I better get out of here,’ Hatcher said.

  ‘Like hell,’ said Cohen. ‘You’re safe here. Fong wouldn’t dare attack my home.’

  And then after a moment’s thought, he added, ‘We’ll beef up security and everything’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it. Excuse me a minute.’

  Hatcher got up and looked over the side of the balcony. It was thirty feet to the ground, which sloped sharply downward and was covered with vines and ferns. The top of the banyan tree, which was thirty or forty yards from the foot of the balcony, was ten feet below the balcony level. There were four heavy posts supporting the balcony Heavy spotlights were mounted on the corners of the balcony. The high wall continued down both sides of Cohen’s property until foliage blocked his view.

  ‘The back looks fairly secure,’ Hatcher whispered. The phone interrupted any further discussion of security.

  Sing answered the call and looked up with surprise. He held his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘It is for the Occhi di Sassi,’ he said. ‘A Sergeant Varney.’

  Cohen’s face clouded up. ‘Son of a bitch, what now?’ He looked at Hatcher, ‘You want to take it?’ he asked.

  ‘Let’s find out what he’s up to,’ whispered Hatcher.

  Sing handed him the phone.

  ‘Hatcher,’ he whispered.

  ‘Sergeant Varney from the Hong Kong police,’ he heard the clipped tones reply. ‘You remember me, sir?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You did a nice job slipping my men this morning,’ Varney said pleasantly. ‘But I think I should warn you. Joe Lung went to your hotel room. Now he’s on the island and has several men with him.’

  ‘How did you find me?’ Hatcher demanded.

  ‘Guessed, sir,’ answered Varney. ‘I decided to take a chance that you were visiting your friend the Tsu Fi. Point is, we have a safe house near the airport. We’d like to take you out of there.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Hatcher answered.

  ‘We thought perhaps you would prefer to avoid a confrontation at your friend’s home. This man, Lung, is serious, Mr Hatcher.’

  ‘I’m sure he is,’ Hatcher replied. ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘We’ll slip in there in an hour and bring you out. I’ll have a backup unit with me. We have Lung under observation. I think everything will move smoothly.’

  ‘Call when you get to the gate,’ Hatcher said and hung up.

  ‘How about the man on the hill?’ Cohen asked Sing.

  ‘Still there.’

  ‘Does he suspect we’re on to him?’

  ‘I think not,’ said Sing.

  ‘How many men do you have?’ asked Hatcher.

  ‘Three in the front, one in the back, the three of us inside,’ Cohen answered.

  ‘If Varney’s in on it, they’ll set up the hit here, China. Lung and his men will probably come in behind Varney. They figure they’ll catch us by surprise.’

  Hatcher had never seen Cohen this angry before. ‘They wouldn’t dare attack this house,’ Cohen said coldly, but his tone was less than convincing. Then he added, ‘If they do, there’s going to be hell to pay.’

  WHITE PALMS

  In a warehouse below the mountain, Joe Lung sat back from a window, watching the house on the peak through powerful infrared binoculars. It was getting dark, but he had a clear view of the balcony in. the back of Cohen’s home. Suddenly he saw Hatcher appear at the railing of the balcony for a moment, then disappear from view.

  ‘There he is,’ he hissed with a combination of satisfaction and hatred.

  There were six other men in the room besides Lung, all dressed in black sateen pants and black shirts. All but one of them stood quietly against the wall of the small office with their hands folded in front of them. The one who stood aside, whose name was Wan I-low, had helped case the house, and was obviously uncomfortable. Lung looked across the room at him.

  ‘You have a problem with this, Wan?’ Lung asked.

  ‘It is a fortress,’ Wan answered. It is thirty feet from the ground to the balcony in the back—’

  ‘I can see that,’ Lung snapped impatiently.

  ‘The front wall is eight feet high with electricity across the top. There are scanners in many places in the gardens. And the steel gates are—’

  ‘I will worry about getting us inside,’ Lung said, ‘You have anything else to cry about?’

  Stung by the insult, Wan hesitated a moment. He was a tall man in his early twenties, with long, slender fingers and light skin, an athlete in excellent condition, and he was far from being a coward. ‘He is Tollie Fong’s mark,’ he said softly, staring at Lung.

  Lung’s lips curled back in anger. ‘Hatcher is my mark. I have been waiting eight years for today. He killed four of our brothers in the triad, my brothers. He stole our merchandise. Do not tell me Hatcher is only the san wong’s mark.’

  ‘He killed Tollie Fong’s father,’ Wan replied. ‘I think we should wait for him to return before —‘

  ‘You do not have the insides for this, is that it?’ Lung said viciously. ‘You see this?’ He jerked up his black shirt. A long jagged scar stitched across his belly from side to side. ‘The bastard gwai-lo spilled my guts, but I have enough left to take him. I have a right to this kill, Wan. I am the san wong’s Number One here. When Tollie is gone, I say what we will do and what we will not do. You understand that?’

  Wan did not reply. Embarrassed, he looked at the floor.

  ‘I tell you we are going to hit the house and kill them

  Wan looked up, startled. ‘You mean to kill the Tsu Fi.’

  ‘Fuck the Tsu Fi!’ Lung said, his voice rising. ‘He is mei gwok, a gwai-lo just like Hatcher, He protects our blood enemy. I say get rid of this American Jew.’

  The other men showed no emotion at all. They stood silently, inscrutably, while Lung and Wan How argued the wisdom of attacking Cohen’s home.

  ‘I disagree,’ said Wan. ‘We have no fight with the Tsu Fi. If we kill him, we will make many enemies.’

  ‘Enemies make us stronger,’ said Lung. ‘You are getting weak, man. Too much easy life. The hydrofoil back to Macao leaves every thirty minutes.’ He waved him away.

  ‘I have taken the oath,’ said Wan How. ‘If it is your decision to do this, I will do my part.’

  Lung glared at him for several seconds, then nodded slowly. ‘Good,’ he said.

  Lung turned back to the window and stared back up at the house. ‘Khan has been watching the house all day. The women are gone. There are five men besides Cohen and Hatcher. Three on the grounds in front, the gwai-lo and Sing inside. One man patrolling the back.’

  There was a knock on the door.

  ‘Keye?’ he said to one of the other men.

  ‘Hai,’ the man answered and opened the door. Sergeant Varney entered the small office. Lung turned to him with a smile that was almost a sneer.

  ‘Well?’ he asked the British cop.

  ‘I made the call.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’m not sure Hatcher will come out with me,’ Varney said. ‘He is a very cautious man.’

  ‘Then we cannot take the risk. We will follow you inside the gates. It is the only way through the front. Four men in the front — I will take Keye and three others and go up the balcony at the rear.’

  ‘I can’t be in on the killing,’ Varney said hurriedly.

  ‘Of course not,’ Lung said with a shrug, still smiling.

  ‘And I’m going to have to put on a bi
t of a show. The man with me isn’t part of this. I have to make it look good,’ Varney went on.

  ‘I hope you do not shoot too well,’ Lung said slowly, his eyes mere slits.

  ‘I don’t want my man hurt.’

  ‘Then keep him out of our way,’ Lung said sharply, his voice hissing like a snake’s, his eyes glittering. ‘If he gets out of control, he is a dead man, you understand that, English?’

  ‘Look, I’ll be useless to you in the future if you force me to tip my hand,’ Varney pleaded.

  ‘Just stay clear when it starts!’ Lung repeated sharply, and Varney knew the discussion was Dyer.

  He cleared his voice and said, ‘Right.’

  ‘We will be ready when you get there. Just do exactly as we discussed.’

  Varney nodded, and after hesitating a moment, he left.

  ‘You trust the Englishman?’ Wan asked.

  ‘He has been on our payroll for more than a year. He cannot afford to refuse us about this. Besides, he is the one who spotted Hatcher in the beginning.’ He turned back to his binoculars and, without looking t his soldiers, added, ‘He will be a big risk after this. He has outlived his usefulness to us anyway.’

  He turned back to the tall Chinese. ‘The Englishman is yours, Wan.’ He pointed to two of the henchmen who stood silently against the wall. ‘You will take these two and pick up Khan at the Gardens, follow the Englishman through the gates and hit the front of the house. Kill Varney and his partner and everyone on the grounds. My team will take out everyone inside the house. Just remember, Hatcher is a dangerous man — but he is mine. If you must take him on, wound him only, so I may finish the job.’

  ASSAULT

  Cohen had sent Tiana to Fat Lady’s for the night. He sat on the bed and watched Hatcher open the Halliburton case, snap open the video camera arid remove the plastic trigger housing. He unscrewed the le ns from the telephoto lens and took out the gun sight. He removed the short barrel from the other lens and the two magazines from the batteries.