‘Well, you act like you forgot,’ Cohen said. ‘This is their turf, Christian. As long as you’re in this house, you’re safe, but I wouldn’t give a Confederate dollar for your chances out in the colony. I love you pal, and I hate to see you leave, but you can’t stay in Hong Kong. Somebody’s already got a tail on you, old pal.
‘Yeah. I think it’s the Hong Kong police. A sergeant named Varney with the Triad Squad paid me a visit this morning. He claims my name popped up in their computer when I went through customs.’
‘You don’t believe him?’
‘I believe the computer part of it, that could happen. But this Varney seems a little
‘Humph,’ Cohen said pensively. ‘This Varney just showed up at your room?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t trust anybody, particularly where you’re concerned,’ said Cohen. ‘I’d forget whatever brought you here. Go home, Hatch.’
‘I can’t do that.’
‘Why? What’s so special about this trick?’
Hatcher told Cohen the whole Murph Cody story, ending with the death of Windy Porter and the disappearance of Wol Pot.
‘Right now, I don’t have a lead except this ghost camp in Laos. If it existed, somebody upriver knows about it. Maybe I can get a name, some lead before I go to Bangkok.’
‘Bangkok! Shit, it’s worse in Bangkok,’ China said, his voice going up an octave. ‘Fong spends half his time wasting dissidents up in the Golden Triangle and the other half getting laid at the Royal Orchid Hotel. Why don’t you just go over to Macao and hatch an egg in his front yard.’
‘There’s five million people in Bangkok. I can keep away from Fong and his bunch.’
‘Hell, a damn cop already knows you’re here. You think you can just slip in and out of Bangkok without stirring up something? And you have no other leads?’
‘A picture of Cody and his hoochgirl. Does the phrase “Thai Horse” mean anything to you?’
Cohen looked at him and smiled for the first time since Sing discovered the house was being watched.
‘Thai Horse? Why?’
‘It popped up somewhere.’
‘Come here,’ Cohen said, leading Hatcher back into the bedroom. He pointed to the ivory statue of the horse by the bed.
‘That is a Thai Horse,’ he said.
‘The statue?’ Hatcher said with surprise.
‘That’s right. It’s a real treasure. Authentic Thai Horse, about third century B.C. Been kicking around for a
‘What is a Thai Horse?’ Hatcher asked. My God, could the reference to the Thai Horse at the Wall have meant a statue, a simple gift? he wondered.
‘The mythical ghost horse,’ Cohen said. ‘Supposedly stolen from the King of Siam, According to legend, it carried Thai heroes to heaven after the great wars. Legend has it that a Chinese brigand stole the horse and brought it here to the first emperor of China in exchange for a pardon. They renamed it the Celestial Horse, the
Hatcher whispered, ‘Where’d you get it?’
‘From an artifacts museum in Peking,’ he said with a wink. ‘Don’t ask me how much I paid to get this little darling lifted.’
Hatcher stroked the smooth sides 0± the handsome ivory horse. Could there be any significance to the reference other than as a statue? he wondered. Finally he said, ‘Well, that doesn’t add anything to what I know, which is damn little.’
‘Have you got anything else on the fire?’ Cohen asked.
‘I’ve got a man doing some checking for me in Washington,’ Hatcher said. He looked at his watch. ‘I can call him now. If he comes up with anything, I’m going to play out the hand.’
‘Or—’
‘I’ll trash the job and go home.’
‘Then I hope the son of a bitch doesn’t even turn up
FLITCRAFT
Sergeant Flitcraft was waiting in the reception room of computer operations in the Pentagon when Sergeant Betz arrived at work. Betz was a tall, paunchy man in his late forties, a short-sticker with a cushy job and less than two years to go before retirement, The broken blood vessels in his nose attested to his penchant for scotch, particularly Dewar’s. He and Flitcraft went back a long way. Bragg. Korea. Nam. Betz scowled at Flitcraft, the smiling, tough black sergeant, who had somehow managed to stay in the service although he walked with a limp,
