‘I will ask one more time, señor. What is your business in Mexico? And especially Agua Verde? More importantly why did you kill those men?’
‘You mean the ones who were doing their best to kill me?’ Brand leaned forward on the edge of the low cot. ‘Or has that been conveniently forgotten?’
The uniformed officer considered what Brand had just said.
‘I have only your word you acted in self-defense. The dead cannot make their story known. You understand this places the burden of proof on yourself. And I know nothing about you except you are a stranger in Agua Verde. Put yourself in my position, señor. What would you do?’
Brand had to give the man that one. He wasn’t about to push his luck with this one. He was unusually polite for a member of the Rurales. The Mexican law force had a reputation that went before it. They were known to be tough, often ruthless, and their attitude was one of indifference to anyone brought before them, especially gringos This Major Ruiz, young and correct in his manner, was different, and Brand had no intention of making him angry. Ruiz had already proved his worth by stopping Brand from receiving a savage whipping from the cell block Sergeant. That had gone a long way towards convincing him all Rurales officers were not the same.
It had been nothing more than bad luck that had involved Brand with the two hardcases working for Han, and a continuation of the same black streak delivering him into the hands of the Rurales. It was as if he had been dealt bad cards from the start of the game. Nothing had gone right for him. Brand was used to setbacks but he’d had more than his fair share this time out. Maybe he was getting soft. Losing his edge. He shook away the thoughts. Allowing himself to wallow in self-pity was not his way. He was still on form. Tired perhaps from all that had happened. And now this endless questioning from a man young enough to be fresh from training school.
Brand sighed, reining in his feelings, and did what he could to answer the Major’s questions without giving too much away.
Later, alone in his dingy cell, he lay staring up at the sunlight streaming through the bars of the window. Dust motes floated lazily in the yellow shafts. Black flies buzzed in and out of the window. His presence attracted them and Brand swatted them away impatiently. He sat up, running a hand through his thick hair. He slid his hands down across his face, feeling the rough whiskers there. He needed a shave. And a bath, then a change of clothing. He wasn’t going to place any bets when that might happen.
He pushed to his feet and began to pace the cell, using the movement to ease the stiffness from his body. He was still walking back and forth when he heard footsteps approaching the cell. He heard voices too, one the unmistakable Spanish accented English of Major Ruiz. A bolt was snapped back and the heavy door swung open to admit two men.
The first was Major Ruiz.
Behind him was a tall, fair-haired man the same height as Brand and could even have been his age. He wore an expensive light gray suit, a white shirt and a neatly knotted, thin dark tie. As he moved into the cell his gaze met Brand’s and there was a moment in which the two men sized each other up.
‘Sorry I’ve taken so long to get to you, Brand,’ the man said in an unmistakable British accent. ‘And I apologise for you having to be stuck here in this place. It serves a purpose but in your case it’s less than suitable.’
‘If that means you’ve come to get me out I’ll agree.’
‘That I have.’
‘I don’t know who the hell you are but you’re a welcome sight.’
‘Hunt. Captain Richard Hunt.’
Brand took the offered hand, feeling the latent strength in the man’s grip. He judged Hunt to be a capable, reliable man. The kind who would be welcome in a tight corner.
Hunt turned to Ruiz.
‘Major, your cooperation in this matter will be noted and passed both to your superiors and the British Consul.’
Major Ruiz inclined his head.
‘Glad to be of help, Captain. If you learn more about this man, Han, please inform me.’ He turned to Brand. ‘Señor Brand, my apologies for any inconvenience. I was unaware of your position in this matter.’
‘You were doing your job, Major. No fault to be found there.’
Brand held out his hand and shook the Mexican’s.
‘Come on, Brand,’ Hunt said briskly. ‘I have a carriage waiting outside. We’ll collect your belongings on the way.’
As he stepped out of the building Brand drew breath. The warm air held a tang of the sea. He paused for a moment to wait for Hunt. When he appeared he was carrying Brand’s Colt and the Smith & Wesson. He passed them over.
‘You might need these,’ he said.
A carriage and pair waited for them. Brand and Hunt climbed in. As they settled in the soft seats the carriage moved off. Brand tried to relax, but found himself studying the man sitting across from him. Hunt’s clothing might have been fashionable but the man was no fop. He played the game well, hiding his toughness beneath a casual veneer. Brand was a good judge of character. He prided himself on knowing his man, whether friend or enemy. In his line of work making a mistake could easily lose him his life. If that happened nothing else mattered one way or another.
‘If you don’t mind, me saying so,’ Hunt remarked, ‘you look bloody awful.’
‘Not been one of my better days,’ Brand said. He was becoming increasingly curious about Richard Hunt. The vague thought flickered through his mind that perhaps Hunt was one of Han’s employees; he dismissed the suspicion even as he conjured it up; Hunt was too perfectly in character, and head and shoulders above the sort who would sell himself to a man like Han. Despite that Brand still wanted to know who his companion was.
‘I’ve heard a lot about you,’ Hunt said. He leaned forward, a faint smile on his tanned face. ‘How is Mr. McCord?’
Brand became instantly alert. He hadn’t been expecting such a conversation opener. For a second he was lost for words. Hunt had no such problem.
‘The last time I was in Washington McCord and I had a chat about the Debenham affair. You were up in Montana working on that assignment at the time. A strange business. I’d met Lord Debenham a few times and when the complete facts came to light it was something of a shook.’
‘You knew his daughter too?’ Brand asked.
‘Sarah?’ Hunt nodded. He hesitated for a moment. ‘A lovely girl. Terrible the way she died. I know she was helping you but I have no way of knowing how close you were.’
‘Close enough that it mattered,’ Brand replied. He didn’t like dragging up the past. Especially when it concerned such a personal part of his own life. The feeling he’d had for Sarah Debenham hadn’t died with her and it hurt when he allowed it to touch him.
For a time both men were silent. Brand stared out at the passing scenery. He saw little detail. The only thing he did register was that they seemed to be leaving Agua Verde behind, heading into the country.
‘I have a hacienda a few miles out,’ Hunt explained. ‘The British Government rented it for my stay.’
‘And how long’s that going to be for?’
Hunt shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘That depends on what you have to tell me concerning a certain Chinese gentleman by the name of Kwo Han.’
‘Seems to me you already know a hell of lot I don’t,’ Brand said. He wondered just what Hunt was liable to come out with next.
‘I have facts, but only from my side of the table. It seems that we can help each other.’
A short time later the carriage turned up a short drive and came to a halt outside the hacienda. The stone structure had been overlaid with plaster that had been painted a brilliant white, and the window, shutters, doors, and other woodwork had been done in a deep red. The house was surrounded by thick shrubbery and dotted with trees.
As the carriage stopped the front door of the house opened and a muscular black man stepped outside. He was dressed in a pair of canvas trousers and a cotton shirt, and he carried a huge old Dragoon Colt tucked under his belt. He stood watching as Brand and Hunt climbed down out of the carriage.
‘He the feller, Cap’n?’ he asked, his bright eyes studying Brand closely. His accent was odd to Brand’s ears. A soft, rolling cadence Brand hadn’t come across before.
‘This is Mr. Jason Brand,’ Hunt said. ‘He is, as we might say, in the same line of business we are.’
‘Welcome aboard, Mr. Brand.’
‘This disreputable character is known by one and all as Rumboy,’ Hunt said. ‘It’s a title he’s acquired for his uncontrollable affliction to the wretched stuff be drinks. Stay round him long enough and you’ll see what I mean. A habit he acquired back home in Jamaica. Apart from that he’s a fair hand in a roughhouse and a pretty good shot with that blasted cannon he carts around with him.’
‘I could have done with you a while back,’ Brand said.
‘From what I hear, boss, you done pretty good on your own. Those two boys you fixed up were bad fellers.’
‘Look, we can talk later,’ Hunt suggested. ‘I think our guest would prefer to clean up, have a meal, and then get some sleep. Rumboy, get the help organised. Plenty of hot water for a bath. I’ll find a razor and some clean clothes. Does the idea appeal, Mr. Brand?’
It did appeal. Brand couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed taking a bath so much. The sheer luxury of washing away the sweat and grime from his body, followed by the removal of the itchy beard from his face, did wonders for his moral. He cleaned the bullet burn on his shoulder and side and treated them with cooling salve Rumboy had supplied at Brand’s request. And then there was the almost sensual pleasure of getting dressed in clean, fresh clothing. Hunt had provided underclothing, a pair of dark trousers and a white cotton shirt, clean socks as well. As Brand finished off brushing his dark hair Rumboy appeared in the door of the bedroom. He had Brand’s boots, cleaned and highly polished.
‘Now you lookin’ better, boss,’ the Jamaican said. He placed Brand’s boots beside the bed. ‘You go ‘head and get some sleep, Cap’n say. I come back and wake you in time for dinner tonight.’
‘Thanks, Rumboy.’
The Jamaican left, closing the door behind him. Brand turned towards the bed. He stretched out on it, and couldn’t help comparing its comfort with that of the crude cot in the Rurales’ cell. He closed his eyes and slept. His last thought before he blanked out was about his assignment and the man he was looking for.
His name was Kwo Han, the son of a poor dock-worker, who had learned at an early age that a man had one chance in life to make good. Watching his father struggle through each day, breaking his back and his spirit to earn enough to keep food in the mouths of his family had taught the young Kwo Han another lesson. That physical toil made no man rich or powerful. Not in the streets of Shanghai. There was money to be made in other ways. By trickery. By deceit. And by plain and simple stealing. Kwo Han learned these facts with ease and quickly turned his talents to good use. By the time he was ten years old he was an accomplished pick-pocket. He had also tried his hand at burglary, and had already gathered himself an ample reserve of money and other valuables. In his sixteenth year, yearning for greater glory, Kwo Han was presented with a rare opportunity. He was approached by a courier of the Shanghai Tong, the elite of China’s underworld organisations. The Tongs, secretive criminal societies, were feared and respected by both sides of the law. They had their own rules to govern the behaviour of their members, and any Tong recruit learned these rules before anything else. To go against the Tong meant suffering and death. For Kwo Han the terrors threatened by the Tongs meant nothing. He knew that once he was admitted nothing could stand in his way. His assumption proved to be correct. In his first five years with the Tong he advanced rapidly. Initially he was given work as a courier but an incident involving members of a rival Tong revealed the violent talents of the young Kwo Han. His reward was promotion to the ranks of the Tong assassins. He was given instruction in the use of the traditional Tong weapons and rigorous training in the martial arts. Kwo Han became a deadly and efficient killer of men. Time after time be proved his worth and his loyalty to the Tong. In his mid-twenties he had progressed through the lower ranks of the society to become a respected and feared Tong Master, one who no longer took orders, but one who gave them, and accepted no excuses for failure. His need for power and his desire to extend the reach of the Tong beyond the shores of China turned his eyes towards the great American continent. Kwo Han realised the potential presenting itself. He saw the countless thousands pouring into the vast, rich lands and he knew that there was a future for his organisation in the New World. San Francisco and the Barbary Coast were ready-made breeding grounds for the criminally orientated, and the Tong of Kwo Han quickly established itself. Gambling, prostitution, the distribution and promotion of opium addiction. These were only a few of the Tong’s dealings. It was also involved in the control of Chinese labor, the supply of goods to Chinese owned stores. Additionally there was the fleet of fast clipper ships and passenger-cargo ships plying the numerous trade routes; as well as the normal and legitimate cargo there were items carried which never showed on the loading manifests: drugs, illicit liquor, guns, a varied selection of goods shipped without the knowledge of the authorities to avoid heavy tax and duty payments; gold and silver bullion, stolen in one country and sold in another where the exchange rate was much higher; and there was the human cargo, for although slavery had been officially abolished by the greater nations, there were those who still practised the degrading business.
Black men and women were shipped like so much livestock to the ancient and isolated ports along the coast of North Africa - and not only black slaves, for the robed and feudal Arabs had taken a liking to the pleasures of the fairer skinned; young and beautiful white women brought a high price, as they had and still did in China.
For Kwo Han the years passed quickly and profitably. Yet even at the height of his power he was still always eager to involve himself in something new. Any scheme which might add to his prestige and his wealth. As with the arrangement he had made with the man named Harvey Ruger. Two million dollars’ worth of pure gold to be brought out of America and shipped to Mexico in one of Han’s ships.
Once in Mexico the gold became Han’s responsibility. He would arrange for its sale to one of his contacts in Europe. A man who would pay in cash and at the rate of exchange agreed Han would receive almost four and three-quarter million American dollars. It was a satisfactory arrangement which Han would complete by using the money to set up a partnership between himself and the San Francisco based American syndicate Ruger had put him in touch with. The Americans had the ability to reach right across the continent, as far as New York. Allied with Kio Han’s exceptional transportation and distribution network, the partnership would create a vast and dominant criminal organisation capable of stretching across America, and as far as China, North Africa and perhaps in the future even into Europe.
The first part of the plan had worked to schedule. The gold had been located and started on its journey to Mexico. An unforeseen problem had arisen in the form of an American lawman who had discovered the whereabouts of Ruger and Sung Shan. It became clear to Han that the Americans wanted their gold back. The spoils of war to the victor. Even after such a long time had elapsed since the Civil War, the US administration – as with any government - refused to forgive and forget. Born out of the desperation of the national conflict, the Confederate gold was wanted for the coffers of the Union. Because of Ruger’s failure to deal with the man, and despite his eventual capture, concern had been raised over the possibility of the lawman having passed on information he might have picked up. Sung Shan had decided to keep the man alive, even to the extent of bringing him to Mexico so that he could be questioned thoroughly. But the American had managed to escape shortly before the ship dropped anchor, and had reached the shore safely, finding cover in the forest edging the beach.
Despite a search by Kwo Han’s men the American had stayed free. He had inflicted fatalities upon Han’s men, and had killed two more men shortly after he had arrived in Agua Verde before falling into the hands of the Rurales.
The whole affair had angered Kwo Han greatly. Not only had his organisation been compromised but he had been made to look a fool through the incompetence of his men. One man, a stranger to the area, had created total disorder. Kwo Han would have liked him dead very quickly but he had to proceed with caution. He could not afford to let the American damage his forthcoming business deal. He was concerned because the American had come into contact with a British agent called Hunt.
It was not the first time Kwo Han had been involved with the British. His criminal ventures had drawn him to the wide expanse known as the Caribbean and much of it was favored by the British. Their Empire still exerted great influence and they had a reputation of being ruthlessly single-minded when it came to protecting their own.
Kwo Han and Richard Hunt had crossed paths before. Each man was clever in his own way and despite their efforts neither had been able to overcome the other. Hunt, aware of the delicate nature of politics, had been forced to step back whenever he failed to gather enough evidence to lay at Han’s door.
Han’s endeavour in Mexico had not gone unnoticed. The British had their undercover agents spread over the Gulf area. So it had not been a great surprise when Hunt had shown up in Yucatan. He had close contact with the local law force – in this instance Major Ruiz of the Rurales. Hunt had to step carefully until he had solid evidence against Han, and the Chinese, aware of this, made sure he operated carefully. It had been the usual game of cat and mouse.
Han was mindful that Hunt would stay on his trail. His dogged single-mindedness would keep him in Han’s shadow until he had destroyed him. Han had already realised that the events which had taken place could make life difficult for him. Any careless mistakes would be grasped at by Hunt. He would be watching and weighing the facts. Han would be forced to tread a delicate path. But he had no choice in the matter. He had to go through with his deals. Too much effort and expense had been expended, and the stakes were far too high to even consider pulling out. Kwo Han was not thinking along those lines. As far as he was concerned the situation simply called for further arrangements to be made, and to that end he had already made preliminary moves.
He glanced up from the papers he was working on when he heard the single, sharp tap on the door of his book lined study. Kwo Han pushed the papers aside. He rested his large, muscular hands on the polished surface of his huge desk.
‘Come,’ he said.
The door opened to reveal a heavy-set Mexican wearing a sombre black suit. The man stepped into the study, closing the door behind him, and crossed to stand before Kwo Han’s desk.
‘Sung Shan made it sound urgent,’ he said.
Kwo Han nodded. ‘Sit down, Cruz, and listen,’ Han said. ‘Yesterday an American shot and killed two of my men in Agua Verde. I presume you have heard about it?’
Cruz’s eyes glittered. ‘I heard. He is a pistolero.’
‘I am not concerned with his ability to use a gun. Just the speed with which we can stop him using it again.’
Cruz’s dark face hardened. ‘You want him dead?’
‘Yes. First, however, I would like to find out if he has passed on anything to that Englishman Hunt.’
Cruz grinned, showing his large, white teeth. ‘You mean The Captain?’
‘Yes. A most clever man, Cruz, who seems to have a great deal of influence with the authorities. Beneath his rather casual exterior there lies a very dangerous threat to my business in Agua Verde.’
‘Is he some kind of policeman?’
‘Something of the kind. An agent who works for the British. He spends a great deal of time in the Caribbean. And now Yucatan. It is not the first time I have come up against him,’ Han said. ‘Captain Hunt, for all his pretence, does a great deal of prying. He asks lots of questions, innocent on the surface, but by the time he has all his answers the result is far from innocent.’
‘It could be why he took the American from the Rurales.’
‘I do not think he did it because he has a soft heart. That man, Brand, has been plaguing me all the way from America. Another government agent.’
‘What do you want done?’ Cruz asked.
Kwo Han sat back in his chair. ‘Hunt’s curiosity is such that it would not take a deal of arousing. If he thought he might be able to acquire some important information concerning me, I’m sure he could be lured to a conveniently quiet spot.’
‘And then brought out here?’ Cruz grinned again. The idea appealed. ‘We could use our informants make Hunt believe they are willing to pass him information.’
‘Imaginative thinking, Cruz. Do it as soon as possible. I would like to have this matter settled before the buyers arrive. Remember, Cruz , I need the man alive. I do not mind how bruised he is as long as he will be able to answer questions.’
Cruz stood up. ‘What about the American?’
‘I think that we can leave him for a time. He will not be going anywhere. By now, he and Hunt will have exchanged any information they have, so his threat has been reduced to mere physical violence. At this point Captain Hunt takes on a greater potential threat. Therefore, Mr. Cruz, we will deal with him first. Take him out of the game before he can instigate any action against me. The American will no doubt start looking for Hunt if he vanishes. If we work this correctly he will come to us. And then we will be able to deal with both of them at our leisure.’
‘Then Hunt is yours,’ Cruz said. He turned and left the room without another word.