Black Horn (19 page)

"Yes.
Your plane, Mrs Manners. We are going to Bulawayo right away. I ran into your
nurse at reception and asked her to pack your things. I also asked the manager
to alert your crew. I'd like to be on the way as soon as possible."

Gloria
was getting her thoughts together. She asked, "Why Bulawayo?"

The
Inspector stood up and looked down at her. He said, "Because Michael was
badly wounded during that shootout."

"Oh,
God. Will he be all right?"

"I
don't know. I happened to be at Binga when the alert came in. We got him to the
hospital in Binga, but it's very small. When I left Binga, two hours ago, his
condition was stable. About now, he's being flown down to the hospital in
Bulawayo, which is well-equipped. Creasy and Maxie are with him. In the
meantime, Commander Ndlovu is on his way from Harare to Bulawayo, together with
three of the murderers' associates, who are under arrest."

Suddenly
Gloria was all business. "OK, Inspector, let's go. I guess Miss Kwok
should come with us."

"Yes,
indeed," Gilbert said, walking around to push Gloria's wheelchair.

It was
late evening when Creasy walked into the room. The black nurse, who was also a
nun, stood up from her chair beside the bed.

Creasy
said, "Would you please leave us now, Sister?"

She
nodded and bustled out, closing the door behind her. Creasy sat on the edge of
the bed and took Michael's hand in his and asked, "How do you feel?"

Michael
did not answer the question. He looked up into Creasy's eyes and said,
"Tell me."

"It's
not good."

"Tell
me!"

Creasy
paused for a moment and then said, "Your shoulder wound is no problem.
You'll recover full use of your arm."

"And
the other wound?"

"That's
bad. The bullet cut your spinal cord. You'll be paralysed from the waist
down."

There
was a long silence and then Michael said, "I guessed it. I also guessed
there's no remedy at all. Not now, not ever."

"That's
it," Creasy said. "I had the doctor here speak to a specialist in
London and got the same diagnosis. The damage is irreparable. After eighteen
years of war here in this country, the doctors have a lot of experience of
gunshot wounds. There can be no reprieve. You must be strong. You can leave
here in about two weeks and get back to Gozo and get started on a new kind of
life. It won't be easy but you're strong and you're tough... and you'll handle
it. Juliet and I will be with you." He squeezed Michael's hand, and then
felt his own hand gripped tightly and heard Michael's strained voice.

"I
don't want to handle it. I don't want to go through life like that. Every time
I looked at the mean bitter woman in her wheelchair, I asked myself how anyone
could live like that. OK, so she'd lived a long time before it happened, but do
you think I want to go through forty or fifty years, getting meaner and more
bitter as every day goes by? There's no way, Creasy."

"It
looks bad now," Creasy said, "but it's amazing how people get over it
and make a reasonable life -- even a good life. I've known many such people. At
first, they can't face the thought, but later on they come to grips with it.
It's hard work, but you can handle it. I know you."

Michael
was very slowly shaking his head on the pillow.

"I
don't want that life, Creasy... I just don't want it and I'm not going to
change my mind. You know what I want you to do?"

Creasy
sighed. "Michael, I'm not going to do it. Get that right out of your mind.
You're not my natural son, but you're my son in every other way. Your life has
to go on. Who knows? In five or ten or fifteen years, they might find a new
surgical technique to reconnect the spinal cord."

Again,
Michael was slowing shaking his head.

"You
don't really believe that, Creasy. They're just words."

"Who
the hell can know, Michael? They're making tremendous strides in medical and
surgical techniques. There are guys I've known who died from wounds in Vietnam
who'd still be alive today."

"Just
words, Creasy ... I want you to do it."

No
words were spoken for more than a minute, while the two men looked at each
other, and then Creasy said, "I'll make you a promise. We'll get back to
Gozo, and in three months from now, to the day, if you still want me to do it,
then I'll arrange for you to have an accident."

Another
long silence, finally broken by Michael. "Three months?"

"Yes."

"To
the day?"

"Yes."

"Then
it's a promise?"

"Yes."

Michael
nodded almost imperceptibly, and squeezed Creasy's hand again. "It's a
deal."

Creasy
got back to the Churchill Arms Hotel just after 8 p.m. It was in the Hillside
suburb and not far from the hospital. The receptionist gave him his key and
three messages. One was from Gloria Manners, informing him that she was in her
suite with Inspector Gilbert and Commander Ndlovu. The second was from
Inspector Gilbert, informing him that he and Commander Ndlovu were waiting in
Mrs Manners' suite. The third was from Maxie, informing him that he was waiting
in the bar. Creasy went into the bar.

Maxie
was nursing a large whisky. Creasy eased himself on to the stool next to him
and said to the bartender, "A cognac. Remy Martin. Straight."

Maxie's
face mirrored Creasy's own exhaustion. Neither of them had slept for
forty-eight hours.

They
were silent until Creasy's drink came and then Maxie asked, "Sitrep?"

"Bad
... he wanted me to top him."

"How
did you handle it?"

"I
told him that I'd take him back to Gozo, and if he felt the same in three
months, I would do it."

"Would
you?"

"Yes...but
I think, in three months, he'll have a different frame of mind. You know how it
is."

"Yes.
It's always that way. That kid had no luck. A few millimetres to the left or
right and he'd be walking around in a couple of weeks." He glanced at
Creasy and asked. "How are you taking it?"

Creasy
took a sip of cognac and shrugged. "I've seen it all before."

"Sure.
We've both seen it all before."

A bunch
of smartly-clad businessmen came into the bar and noisily ordered drinks. Maxie
said, "I phoned home and spoke to Nicole. Of course, I had to talk to
Lucette as well."

"You
told her?"

"No.
I just told her that Michael was wounded and that I'd let her know his
condition in a few days. Of course, she wanted to fly out immediately. There
were a lot of tears. She loves that man."

"Will
she love him in a wheelchair?"

Maxie
thought about it for a long time and then said, "I think so."

"That
might be important."

"Yes.
It might. Leave that side to me over the coming weeks. Then I'll make a
judgement. The worst thing is if she starts off down the road and then gives
up."

Creasy
looked at his friend and said, "I'll leave it to you, Maxie. Now why don't
you go and get some sleep?"

Maxie
shook his head.

"No.
You've got John Ndlovu and Robin Gilbert upstairs in Mrs Manners's suite. It
will be at least an hour before we can get to bed. Maybe after the meeting, we
come back downstairs and hang a big one on."

"Maybe.
What's the mental state of that old bitch?"

Maxie
said, "I would never have believed it, but she was in tears when she heard
about the extent of Michael's wounds."

"In
tears?"

"Yes.
I guess she's blaming herself."

"Why?"

"I
don't know. Maybe because she started this whole thing."

"She
should be happy. We did what we came for. Took out the men."

"She's
not happy," Maxie said. "By the way, she's got a Chinese woman with
her. She arrived today from Hong Kong. There's some connection between what
happened here and the Triads in Hong Kong."

"The
Triads are in this?"

"Yes.
The files we took out of Becker's safe indicate that very strongly. It all
comes down to the rhino horn. Becker was behind the poaching. The Triads were
financing it. That woman up there had her family killed by them."

Creasy
finished his drink and said, "Let's go up and get it over with."

When
Creasy knocked on the door of Gloria's suite, it was opened by John Ndlovu.

He
said, "I'm sorry to hear about your son. I spoke with the doctor on the
phone. I just wish there was something we could do."

"There
is," Creasy said, still standing in the open door. "You can wrap up
all the legal proceedings quickly and, if possible, have those proceedings take
place in Bulawayo. I don't want to have to be commuting between here and Harare
in the next few days."

"That
will be done," the African answered. "Robin Gilbert will handle it
full-time."

He
stood aside and Creasy walked into the room, followed by Maxie. Gloria was in
her wheelchair. Robin Gilbert was sitting on the settee next to a young Chinese
woman. Creasy looked at Gloria. Anguish was stamped on her face.

She
asked, "How is he?"

"He's
paralysed from the waist down, and you can understand how he is better than I
can."

"Did
you talk to him?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Did
you tell him?"

"Of
course."

"How
did he react?"

"With
strength."

Her
voice had lost all its edge of authority and bitterness. She said, "I can
have the best specialists in the States here within forty-eight hours."

Creasy
shook his head. "Mrs Manners, the time for waving magic wands is long
gone. The doctors here are very experienced in these things."

She
lifted her head and asked almost plaintively, "Then what can I do?"

"Only
one thing," Creasy answered. "We found the people that killed your
daughter and we killed them. Our deal was that if we found them, you paid half
a million Swiss francs and, if we subsequently killed them, another million. We
did our job. I'd be glad if you could pay that money as soon as possible. I'm
going to need it."

"Of
course. You'll be paid immediately. Can I see Michael?"

"Why?"

"Don't
be cruel, Creasy. You said just now that maybe I understand how he feels better
than anyone. That's true. Maybe I can talk to him. Maybe I can help."

Irritation
began to well up inside Creasy's mind. Then he realised he was looking into a
woman's eyes which contained compassion and sorrow.

He
said, "You can see him tomorrow morning. Just don't cry or be
maudlin."

She
stiffened in her wheelchair and said, "I know enough not to do that."

Michael
woke and saw the sunlight streaming in through the window. He had been awake
most of the night, in spite of the medication, but realised he must have slept
for at least a couple of the last few hours. He turned his head. The nun
sitting by his bed was white. She was reading a book.

"What
are you reading?" he asked.

Her
head jerked up in surprise. She had black hair under her starched white wimple.

"How
do you feel?"

"Not
so bad. What are you reading?"

Sheepishly,
she said, "A Mills and Boon romance ... I know, but I quite like
them." She put the book aside, stood up and went about her duties, taking
his pulse and temperature and talking to him in a soft Irish brogue. Finally,
she made some notes on the clipboard at the foot of his bed, looked at her
watch and said, "The doctor will be here in about half an hour." She
picked up the phone by his bed and he heard her tell the duty matron that his
condition was stable.

After
she had hung up, Michael said, "I like to read too. I'm going to be here
for quite a while... does the hospital have a library?"

"Oh,
yes. A good one. A selection of books are sent around the wards in the mornings
and evenings."

"What
time in the mornings?"

"Between
ten and eleven."

"What
time is it now?"

She
lifted the watch hanging from her habit and said, "Seven-thirty."

He
turned his head and looked at the bedside table. There was a jug a water and a
glass.

"Can
I have some water?"

She
bustled over, half-filled a glass, put a soft hand behind his neck, pulled him
up slightly and held the glass to his lips. Pain stabbed through his shoulder
but he made no sound. He laid his head back against the pillow and closed his
eyes. The nun sat down and picked up her book. Five minutes passed, then he opened
his eyes and turned his head and looked at the open window and the sunlight
shining through. Another five minutes passed. He turned his head and looked at
the nun.

"What's
your name, Sister?"

She
smiled. She had a round comely face.

"Agatha.
Named after the saint, of course, but I could have wished for a namesake with a
prettier name."

He
managed a smile. "A rose by any other name... Agatha, I have to ask a
favour."

"What
is it you want?"

He
gestured at her book with his good arm.

"I
won't sleep again and I need something to occupy my mind. Is it possible that
you could go to the library and pick out a couple of books for me?"

She
thought about it and then glanced at her watch.

"I
suppose I could do that. It's just down the corridor. What kind of books do you
like?"

"Well,
maybe you could pick four or five for me. I like westerns or detective stories.
Inspector Maigret or something; or a good thriller."

She put
her book down and stood up, saying, "I shouldn't really leave you, but it
won't take more than ten minutes." She pointed to the button dangling from
a line behind his head. "If you come over badly, just press that."