The GoldenCity

Gabriel couldn’t have known about the brave bookseller and the yakuza with the gun and the killing in the hotel room, but perhaps he had seen the general direction of Hollis’s journey. Who am I? Hollis asked himself again. He would always be a warrior, but now he needed to be fighting for a something more important then revenge. Staring out at the waves, he felt as if he had cut away all the clutter and confusion that had held back his understanding. If you remember who you are, you’ll know what to do.

“Hollis!”

He spun around and saw Billy Harano striding down the beach. Billy must have bought a fresh tube of hair gel in Tokyo -every hair of his Elvis pompadour was in its proper position.

“These old people like you. My aunt says you are a good worker. If you want, you can stay here forever.”

“Your aunt is a wonderful person, but I need to move on.”

“Yeah. I thought you would say that. I talked to some people. There is a safe way for you to get out of Japan. We take a ferry down to Okinawa and the southwest islands. If you pay enough money, the fishing boats will carry you anywhere you want- Taiwan, the Philippines, even Australia.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“These villagers will miss you,” Billy smiled. “I will miss you, too. It is very cool to know a Harlequin.”

“I wanted to talk about that, Billy. Now that we’re friends, I can tell you my Harlequin name…”

He was still Hollis for a few more seconds. Gazing out at the horizon, he felt very aware of this choice. He was giving up all attachments, a normal life.

“My Harlequin name is Priest.”

“Priest. Yes. Very good.” Billy looked satisfied. “I never really thought you were called Hollis.”

24

Boone arrived with his team half an hour before Martin Doyle was supposed to be released from prison. The motorcycle riders zoomed up and down the road a few times, and then everyone waited beneath a banyan tree growing in a field across from the prison parking lot. Children, small and delicate, climbed the branches of the tree and gazed down at the three Thai men and the three foreigners. One of the little girls wore a garland of flowers around her neck. She plucked off the orange and yellow petals and watched them flutter to the muddy ground.

The motorcycle riders were Thai military policemen who wore jeans and flashy silk shirts instead of their uniforms. They would chase Doyle if he tried to escape. Boone and the two Australian mercenaries would sit behind them.

The older Australian was a chunky little man named Tommy Squires who followed directions and only got drunk when the job was over. Tommy had brought along a friend named Ryan Horsley. Boone was starting to dislike the young man. Horsley was an ex-rugby player who thought he was tough. There was nothing particularly wrong with that idea, but Horsley also thought he was clever-and that was a sad error. Boone always preferred employees who were smart enough to be aware of their own stupidity.

The heat and humidity made everyone feel slow. The policeman bought fruit drinks from a road vendor and sat in the shade while Squires and Horsley inspected the lances. One of Boone’s contacts had purchased the lances in Singapore, where they were called ECCDs-Electrified Crowd Control Devices. They were six-foot long white plastic poles with blunt ends. When the tip came into contact with a human being and was compressed slightly, it delivered a 50,000 volt shock.

In China, the ECCDs were used for breaking up demonstrations where the crowd locked arms or sat down in the street. The problem with Tasers or pepper spray was that the demonstrators never knew when the officer was going to pull the trigger. If a crowd encountered a line of policemen carrying Plexiglas shields and ECCDs, they could see their punishment heading down the street, getting closer, a little closer. When the tip of the lance was about two or three feet from their faces, they would usually panic and run.

Boone took out a pair of compact binoculars and scrutinized the prison administration building. A Thai driver named Sunchai had parked his delivery van near the entrance. Boone checked his watch. If everything went according to schedule, Doyle would be released in five or ten minutes.

“You ready?” he asked the Australians. “We’ll wait until the van pulls out of the parking lot, then follow about 100 meters behind. I know it’s hot, but make sure you wear the motorcycle helmets. I don’t want Doyle to glance in the rearview mirror and see three foreigners.”

“So when is he going to break and run?” Horsley asked.

“I don’t know. With traffic, it’s a two-hour drive from here to the airport.”

“But he’s definitely going to do it?”

“Very few things in life are definite, Mr. Horsley.”

“This whole thing doesn’t make sense. When he strolls out of the building, we should cuff the wanker, pull a sack over his head and toss him in the van. Instead we’re going to ride around holding these pig stickers.”