The Vets (Stephen Leather Thrillers) (45 page)

The road wound its way through a range of hills and then alongside the sea. The water was overlooked by three-storey pretty white houses with orange-tiled roofs and large balconies, around which were clustered expensive cars. The setting was idyllic and Lehman figured that it was probably an area where expatriates lived. Seen in isolation there was no way of knowing that the area was so close to China; it looked more like Europe, Greece perhaps.

The scenery became more rural, but they saw no evidence of large-scale agriculture – just small family farms with little in the way of livestock. Lehman asked Tyler if he knew why and Tyler explained that the colony depended on China for most of its food and water, that labour and land was so cheap across the border there was little profit in growing crops in Hong Kong, even in the rural New Territories.

Tyler indicated to turn right and left the main highway down a two-lane road, slowing to make sure that Carmody followed. The two cars were alone on the road and they didn’t see another soul until they turned off, this time along another two-lane road which ran alongside a shale cliff face which had been strengthened with concrete. They followed the road as it curved around the bottom of the cliff and then Tyler signalled a right turn down a single-track road which ran through uncultivated fields peppered with palm trees and bushes. Half a mile down the road they saw a two-storey prefabricated metal warehouse with a gently sloping roof, set back in a field and surrounded by a metal link fence about twelve feet high. There was a large sign by the entrance with the name of a construction company and across it was a banner which said “For Sale or Rent” and the telephone number of a real-estate agency. Tyler brought the Toyota to a stop in front of the metal gate and he switched off the engine. Carmody pulled up in the Jeep.

“No need to get out, I’m just going to get the gate,” Tyler said. He got out of the car and took a set of keys from his pocket. The gate was locked with a thick chain and a large padlock which he unlocked. He slipped the chain out and pushed the gate open. It rasped angrily as if it hadn’t been used for some time. He opened it as far as it would go and then got back into the car. He handed the keys to Lewis. “I’ll drive us through, Bart, and then you can get out and lock it behind us. You can walk up to the building.”

“Sure, Colonel,” said Lewis, weighing the bunch of keys in his hand.

Tyler started the car again and drove it thirty feet inside the compound, and stopped to let Lewis out. Carmody drove through and followed the Toyota and parked at the front of the building. All the men climbed out as Lewis dragged the gate shut and repadlocked it.

“This is going to be home for the next few weeks,” said Tyler. He had two portable telephones. “I haven’t had a phone put in,” he explained. “I’ll carry one of these and I’ll leave one inside.”

The men looked the building over. There were no windows and the metal panels were ribbed for extra strength. It stood on a concrete base which extended to a few feet from the link fence which surrounded it. There was a huge sliding door which took up half the front of the building and which reached more than twenty feet high, almost to the roof. Set into the sliding door was a normal-sized door which had three locks and a letter-box and the name of the construction company stencilled in white paint.

“They used to repair equipment here,” explained Tyler. “The company pulled out of Hong Kong a few months ago.”

He waited for Lewis to walk over with the keys and used them to open the three locks. He pushed open the door and went in. It was stifling hot inside and pitch dark. As the men followed him in, Tyler fumbled for a panel of light switches and one by one a series of fluorescent lights flickered into life. The building appeared to be even larger from the inside, almost the size of an aeroplane hanger. The roof was a network of steel girders from which were hanging a number of chains, hooks and pulleys. The strip lights were above the girders, hanging from the roof. The walls were featureless, the same ribbed steel panels as on the outside, and the floor was dusty concrete. There were bits of scrap metal and machine parts scattered around and oil stains that made irregular dark shapes in the grey concrete. By the side of one wall was a row of workbenches and above them was a wide selection of tools fixed to wooden boards. Most of the tools appeared to be new. Over in the far corner was a pile of cardboard boxes and to the left were what looked like a row of offices, single storey and made of wood.

“God, this is like an oven,” said Carmody, wiping the sleeve of his sweatshirt across his brow.

“It’s too big a space to air-condition, unfortunately, but I’ve had some fans brought in. They’re over there.” He nodded at the cardboard boxes. “Once we get set up we can use them to keep cool. As you can see from the lights, I’ve arranged for the electricity to be connected. Over there” – he pointed at the offices – “is where the firm had its supervisors. Those rooms are air-conditioned and there is a toilet with a shower room.” He walked with the men across the floor to the offices, and pushed open the door which led to a carpeted corridor. There was another light switch by the door and Tyler turned on the lights. Half a dozen doors led off the corridor and there was another door facing them at the end. “That’s the bathroom,” said Tyler, nodding at the end door. He waved at the row of doors to the left. “I’ve had camp beds put in these offices and some basic furniture – chairs and somewhere to hang your clothes. There’s an air-conditioner in each room. Bart, why don’t you take this one, I’ll be in here, then Dan, Eric, Chuck and Larry. If anyone’s unhappy with the arrangements, let me know, but don’t expect four-star luxury.”

“Cooking facilities, Colonel?” asked Carmody.

“There’s a microwave in one of those cardboard boxes, and a coffee machine. There’s some food there but once we’re organised here you can drive to the nearest town and bring back some provisions. First we open the main door and get the cars inside. I want us to keep a very low profile while we’re here. The nearest village is two miles away, our only neighbour is an old people’s home about half a mile away at the end of the road outside. We stay indoors while we’re here. In this part of the New Territories non-Chinese are quite rare, so you’ll stick out like sore thumbs. No sunbathing outside or fooling around. Understood?”

He was answered with a chorus of “Yes, Colonel” and he nodded as if pleased with their response.

“Marie, I’m sure you can do the flowers better than that,” said Debbie Fielding, her hands on her hips and an exasperated expression on her face. Marie was a good, hardworking maid but she had not an ounce of creativity. Her big, brown eyes began to well up with tears. God, thought Debbie, Filipinas can be so sensitive. She smiled at the maid and leaned across the table. “Look, watch me,” she said, and rearranged the floral display. “Put the larger orchids in the middle, like this. See?”

Marie nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Miss Fielding. I am sorry.”

“Everything’s got to be perfect tonight, Marie. You know this dinner party is very important for my mother. Nothing must go wrong. How is Somsong getting on in the kitchen?” The Fieldings’ Thai cook was famed for her cuisine and more than one visitor to the house had tried to lure her away with promises of more money.

“She is fine, Miss Fielding,” said Marie.

Marie, Somsong and the Fieldings’ other maid, Theresa, lived in small rooms at the back of the house. Debbie had missed having maids while she was studying in the UK. It had come as quite a shock when she found she had to do her own washing and ironing and that ovens and bathrooms needed cleaning. She found that maids could be a pain and were naturally lazy unless kept on their toes, but they made life so much more civilised. She scrutinised the long rosewood dining table and its fourteen place settings, the solid silver candelabra and the silver cutlery glinting in the overhead lights. Once the meal was ready and the guests had all arrived the candles would be lit and the lights extinguished. The dining room was impressive – tall ceilings, her father’s favourite gilded Thai wood carvings on the walls and the French window with its breathtaking view of the harbour and Kowloon beyond.

Debbie looked at her watch. Seven thirty. The invitations had said eight though Sally and Michael Remnick would be at the house earlier to greet the guests. The dinner party was in their honour, a last chance for their closest friends to say goodbye. They were flying out to Singapore on Monday.

Debbie went up the wide, curving staircase and along the hallway to her bedroom. She stripped off her sweatshirt and jeans and walked into her large closet in her bra and pants. She ran a hand along the lines of shirts and dresses wondering what to wear. She pulled out a Chanel her mother had bought for her but dismissed it as too serious. A Kenzo was too frivolous, a Ralph Lauren too formal. She wanted something that would be sexy because she’d invited Anthony Chung to be her partner at the party, but nothing too flashy because the evening was for the Remnicks. Her hand touched leather and she pulled out the hanger. It was a black leather dress by Isaac Mizrahi, backless and ending mid-thigh with a chrome zipper running diagonally across the front. She held it up against herself and looked at her reflection in the mirror. A mixture of demure evening wear and cycle slut from hell. It was perfect. She picked out a pair of fishnet stockings and black high-heeled shoes and changed into them. She went into her bathroom where the light was brighter and inspected herself. Satisfied, she sat in front of her dressing table and brushed her hair. Downstairs she heard the doorbell ring and Theresa hurry to answer it. She put the hairbrush on the dressing-table, checked her make-up in the mirror, and went down to the lounge where Sally and Michael Remnick were standing by the mantelpiece.

“Sally, Michael,” said Debbie, holding out her arms. “We’re going to miss you so much.” She rushed to hug Sally and kissed her on both cheeks, then did the same to Michael. Sally Remnick had on a long black dress, high at the neck and cut low at the back and her skin looked deathly pale in contrast. Other than during her games of tennis, she rarely exposed her skin to the burning Hong Kong sun. Michael, on the other hand, loved to sunbathe and his skin was bronzed and tending to become leathery, even though he was barely into his forties. He looked like a 1930s matinee idol in his tuxedo and with his slick-backed hair, greying at the temples. Michael Remnick was a favourite on the cocktail party circuit, charming and always ready with a funny anecdote when the conversation flagged. Hostesses loved to have him and his wife on their guest list.

Theresa was handing them drinks when Anne Fielding came into the room, closely followed by William, who was brushing lint off the shoulder of his dinner jacket. Anne was wearing her favourite Calvin Klein strapless evening dress, a long slip of gold lace which hugged her figure and showed off her neck and shoulders and a good deal of cleavage. She wore her hair up at the back, held in place with a gold clip and there was a gold link chain around her neck, a present from William on their twentieth wedding anniversary.

The Fieldings greeted Sally and Michael, both of whom complimented Anne on how beautiful she looked.

Anne looked Debbie up and down. “That looks good on you,” said Anne. “It’s a bit ‘Mistress of the Dungeon’, but I’m sure Anthony will be impressed.”

“Anthony?” said Sally, one eyebrow raised. “Not Anthony Warmington at Schroeders?”

William Fielding shook his head and accepted a tumbler of whisky and water from Theresa without thanking her. “I wish it was,” he said.

“Dad!” exclaimed Debbie.

“I meant he’s a sharp young man, that’s all,” said Fielding. He took a drink from his glass and savoured the Scottish malt. “Anthony Chung is Debbie’s new boyfriend,” he explained to the Remnicks.

“Well, he’s hardly a boyfriend,” said Debbie, sighing in exasperation.

“Well you have been out with him several times,” said Anne. She took a gin and tonic from the tray held by Theresa.

“Three times, Mum,” said Debbie.

“What would you like to drink, Miss Fielding?” asked Theresa.

“White wine, please,” said Debbie, not looking at the maid. “Three times hardly constitutes a boyfriend,” she said to her father.

“At least he’s a big improvement on that policeman,” said Fielding. “He still hasn’t done anything about my car.”

“Your Mercedes?” said Remnick.

“It’s been stolen,” said Fielding.

“God, another car theft,” said Remnick. “Vandalism is way up, too. Our neighbours had the tyres of their Jaguar slashed last week. The attacks seem to be centred on British-made cars, have you noticed?”

“British shops, too,” said Anne. “There was an article in the
South China Morning Post
about a campaign of harassment against British retailers, supergluing their door locks, spray-painting slogans on the windows.”

“One of the few articles in the
Post
you can believe,” laughed Remnick. “It’s not the most accurate of organs, is it?”

“They can’t get the staff, I suppose,” said Fielding. “They’re being hit by the exodus like the rest of us.”

The doorbell rang and Theresa went to answer it. She opened the door to admit two couples, mutual friends of both the Fieldings and the Remnicks, and soon the lounge was full of laughter and gossip.

Anthony Chung arrived promptly at eight. Theresa let him in and Debbie saw him from across the room. It was the first time she’d seen him in a dinner jacket, and he looked stunning. He looked around the room confidently, like a lion looking for the weakest member of the herd, and when he saw her he smiled and headed over in her direction.