Dawn was fast approaching. This had been their third night on the river. He edged the boat to the shore and then slipped over the side. Using his feet to test for depth, Matt moved along the bank until he found what he was looking for.
“This is the spot,” he called back, before retreating to the craft to help Catherine ashore.
She stood and watched as he pushed the boat forwards and began hacking at the flimsy underside with the knife. A few minutes later and it had submerged beneath the surface.
“What now?” she asked.
“Now we walk,” he replied, “or at least, I do.”
He picked her up in his arms so she wouldn’t have to put weight on the injured ankle, and set off in the direction he had intended. Twenty minutes later and they had reached the grassy outskirts of the tiny fishing village. They crouched a few yards from the first wooden-planked building, concealed from view by tall brush. For several minutes, Matt examined the village through the binoculars.
A shanty town was the kindest description he could afford the place. Most of the residences were built on stilts, looking anything but secure. Over to the left at the edge of the bay sat a much larger building, factory like in appearance. The long wooden pier jutted out from the shore and stretched out into the open sea. A host of small wooden boats were moored alongside it.
This once sedate local fishing industry was in the process of being modernised, mechanised into overproduction. Not even here could the fingerprint of man’s insatiable greed to harvest the world’s natural resources be escaped. At the shore of the village lay a much smaller jetty, barely entering the waters of the bay. Unless you knew it was there, easy to miss with the naked eye. Some several hundred yards out into the ocean a larger, more modern junk-like boat was anchored. This is why they had come here.
The direction of the binoculars returned to the small jetty. He’d missed the presence of the small motorised launch the first time. The parting of women with their children, playing in the shallows, brought it clearly in view. A small, elderly man stood on the beach looking at his watch. Matt checked his own. They were slightly later than planned. He lowered the binoculars and turned to look into her green eyes.
“Last leg,” he said. “Touch wood we’ll have you snuggled into a warm, comfortable bed by nightfall.”
Perplexed by his obvious triumphant expression, Catherine nonetheless obediently allowed her hand to be taken in his and limped by his side into the village. The small Chinaman saw them approaching. Immediately he began to shake his head.
“No,” said the elderly man. “Wanted, wanted.”
Matt was puzzled.
“What is he saying?” asked Catherine.
“I think he wants more money,” he replied, reaching into the haversack “Wait here.”
Matt approached cautiously and held out the US dollars for the Chinaman to see. The man cast his gaze to the additional funds. It wasn’t a great deal of cash in the western world, but a small fortune here. The old face hesitated.
“No, wanted,” he repeated.
The Englishman produced additional cash. The man was unmoved. They were at an unexpected impasse, and it irritated Matt. He was about to raise his voice when the man handed him a folded A4 sized piece of paper. The note revealed an artist’s sketch of a man’s face, a face bearing a remarkable resemblance to Matt.
“Wanted,” repeated the man. “No.”
This is why he was being uncooperative. The Authorities were circulating copies of Matt’s description and looking for him. The Englishman’s mind raced into overdrive, shaken by the turn of events. Unless he could find a way to persuade this man to co-operate, Catherine would never get to safety. There had to be a way. He gave the little figure a cold, steely stare to unnerve the Chinaman.
“Me, no,” Matt agreed, and then pointed his finger towards Catherine. “Woman not wanted,” he added. “Okay?”
The elderly man focused his attention to Matt’s partner, his thought processes almost audible in the stiffening breeze from the ocean. Inwardly angry and impatient, Matt stood quietly and waited. A greedy smile appeared on the little figure’s face as he grasped for the notes in Matt’s hand.
Matt thought about not releasing them, almost snatching them away from the yellowish hand of greed. The reality of the situation forced him into compliance, and he allowed the currency to be freed from his hold. Still, the deal was done.
Matt returned to the waiting Austrian woman.
“What is happening?” asked Catherine.
“He has agreed to take you to Taiwan.”
“You mean us,” she said.
“No, he only has room for one.”
There was a stunned silence as she took in his words.
“I cannot leave without you,” she said.
“You must.”
“No, I will not go alone.”
Matt gripped her forearms and looked into her eyes.
“He can only take one of us,” Matt said decisively. “And it must be you. Yours is the political voice that must continue to speak, that must eventually be heard.”
For the first time he saw uncertainty in her face. He held her gaze, insistent and demanding of her agreement.
“It is the way it must be,” he said gently.
“But what will you do?”
“Head south and wait for the next bus,” he said with a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
“Where will you go?”
“I’ll head for Xiamen. They call it Amoy in the west.”
“Will this take long?”
“About a week,” he replied.
He could see her mind in turmoil, trying to decide. Her head began to shake in disagreement and he responded by tightening his grip on her arms.
“There is no time to argue,” he said. “You have to go, now.”
She made the right decision, echoed by the resigned nod of her head. Catherine limped past him to the waiting Chinaman.
Matt watched as the launch sped towards the larger boat. She did not look back. Not even as she boarded the heavily sailed craft. Nor after it hoisted anchor and gracefully slid away, out of the bay.
The knowledge Catherine would soon be safe lifted one burden from his mind. The thought of being marooned on the mainland however, with no obvious means of escape, filled him with the utmost trepidation.
Chapter Twenty Five
Path of Reflection
Milieu Dawn Page 24
