But it wasn’t. When I got there I saw it was a turn, and then a few yards later a four-rung metal ladder went upwards.
The hatch moved easily and I poked it open before risking climbing up.
I was in the garage.
The doors were open and the black Ford was gone.
FIFTY-NINE
The front garden, wall and broken gates glowed orange. Fires burned where Molotov cocktails had been thrown. Cranfield crunched down the drive, weapon at the ready.
I called to him and we met halfway.
“Black car,” I said. “Did you see it?”
“Yeah, she got away,” Cranfield said.
“Young woman with black hair?” I asked.
“No. A little old woman. I let her through.” Doubt creased his forehead. “She was escaping, right?”
I didn’t answer. I was already running back to the garage.
Sarah pulled off the grey wig and tossed it into the footwell. Jane was in the boot and she could hear the bangs as the feisty girl thrashed about. If that stupid soldier in the drive had listened he would have surely heard, but he hadn’t. He was too anxious to worry about an old woman.
It was over. She’d hoped that the decapitation and extreme treatment of Jeevan would shock the others into line. They should have killed Carter when they had the chance but that was now in the past. The future lay in Sumatra. That was her contingency plan and she’d been ready. She had plenty of money and taken a few of her most precious artefacts.
And she had the girl as a hostage.
Sarah would lie low for a few weeks in Sumatra and then fly to the Philippines. She had heard that Manila was becoming like Singapore city. There would be plenty of opportunity to re-establish her business. She would find a town close but not too close, and the men would come—they always did.
Once out of Bukit Zarah, Sarah drove much faster. She took the laterite-covered lane into the jungle, her headlights bouncing due to the uneven ground. It was narrow and treacherous in places, but it was a shorter route to the airfield.
After twenty-five minutes she reached the left turning she was looking for. She slowed and took it carefully and then stopped.
Standing in the middle of the road was a man with a rifle. In the headlights she could see a Chinese face, a light green uniform and the cap of a communist. He was dirty and tired and thin.
The surprise on his face told her it was a chance confrontation. She was on a remote track and he was crossing it.
The communist’s rifle came up and he advanced. His eyes were wide and scared. She guessed he was young and inexperienced. Most of the insurgents had been plantation labourers. They joined the MRLA—the liberation army—expecting money, food and women. The reality was quite different, and most of them looked starved.
Sarah wound down the window.
“I am Chinese,” she said in fluent Mandarin. She repeated it in the Hokkien dialect.
The soldier hesitated but kept the gun raised. He stepped forward until he was within reach.
“Do you have food?” he said in Hokkien.
“No.”
He looked into the car and focused on the bags on the back seat. With a jerk he had the door open and one of the bags out. It contained her clothes and artefacts. As he tossed the pagoda paperweight aside, a thump came from the rear.
“What do you have in the boot?” he asked.
“A pig,” she said, and even as the words came out of her mouth, she realized her mistake. Honesty would have been better than the lure of food.
He walked around the car. As she got out he swivelled his gun towards her.
“I’m not a threat. I am just a schoolteacher,” she said and smiled. “You can have the pig.”
His attention turned back to the rear of the Ford. He placed his hand on the latch and opened the boot. For a second, the surprise of finding a bound woman made him freeze.
Sarah was already moving. She dropped her shoulder and charged, hitting the communist sideways. The rifle went off, a sound that echoed through the close trees. The man fell to the floor still holding his gun. He tried to swing it up, but Sarah was too close. She kicked the man’s arm and then stamped on his chest.
Another gunshot sounded, not far away. The communist wasn’t alone after all. She heard voices in the jungle and the sound of men running through undergrowth.
Sarah slammed the boot shut and jumped back into the driver’s seat. There was a shout and a volley of shots.
The engine was still running and the wheels spun as she stamped her foot on the accelerator. The car lurched forward, slewing one way and then the other as she fought for control.
Twenty feet, then thirty feet away. Bullets pinged off the metalwork and the rear window shattered. She kept her foot down until the sound of gunfire faded and then stopped.
She cursed her bad luck and the loss of her bag and artefacts. Then she cursed the car. It was getting increasingly hard to control and the offside rear wheel hit every bump hard.
A puncture and no spare. But she wasn’t going to stop again. The car was still drivable providing she slowed. She dropped the speed to under twenty and less noise brought back her composure. Now she realized that she could no longer hear Jane banging about. Had a stray shot killed her? No matter. She was well away and almost at the airfield.
She saw the final turn and cut through from the lane to the field. She followed the track around the perimeter to the buildings and stopped at the workshop.
Bullet holes peppered the bodywork, but when she opened the boot, Jane was still alive. Unhurt.
Sarah pulled her out and she flopped, dazed, onto the ground. Then she dragged her by the arms to the shed and opened the doors. She started the generator, threw the power switch and bright lights flooded the inside.
She tied Jane to a workbench and touched her hair. It wasn’t red but it was close enough. She was more than a hostage. With her pretty face and hair, the girl would fetch a good price in Sumatra. Or maybe she’d keep her and be the start of the new business. Good always came from bad, and this was the start of a new beginning.
She opened the back doors to the shed and walked straight to the trees.
Jane’s head hurt from where she’d been hit and from being thrown about in the boot.
She would need to focus if she were to survive this, but it was hard. She just wanted to close her eyes and sleep and wake up in a comfortable bed, like this was all a bad dream. But it wasn’t. It was real. She’d fallen for this woman’s charm and trusted her.
She felt sick as the woman caressed her face and hair, but she continued to act as if she was half-conscious. She had to wait for her chance.
Sarah walked towards the trees and then started to pull away the bushes. While she was occupied, Jane scanned around for something, anything to cut her bonds.
There were tools neatly attached to the wall above the workbench. She managed to stand and raised a leg over the bench. It just reached the wall, so she flicked her foot and made contact with a file. On the third attempt it dislodged and fell. With more manoeuvring she got it close enough to reach. Then, holding it in one hand and with just a little play in the bindings, she began to saw at the rope.
Jane watched the woman again and abruptly stopped sawing. Sarah had cleared the undergrowth and a palm-fence to reveal a small aircraft. Now she was coming back.
She walked into the workshop and picked up a hook on the end of a cable. Then she returned to the plane, reeling out the cable as she went. Once there, she attached the hook above the front wheel. Then she returned and switched on a motor and pulled a lever. The cable was a winch that tightened and rewound itself.
The plane began to move slowly. It rolled forward twelve yards, clear of the undergrowth, and Sarah pushed the lever and the winch stopped. She returned to the plane, disconnected the hook and went back to the motor and switched it off.
She climbed up on the plane’s wing and opened the door to the cockpit. She got in, and J
ane saw what looked like confusion on the other woman’s face.
She heard the plane’s engine turn and choke and die.
Sarah yelled inside the cockpit and pounded the instrument panel. She went quiet for a moment and then climbed out.
In the workshop once more, she wheeled out a fuel tank and connected a hose.
The smell of aviation fuel filled the air and made Jane’s eyes water. Each time Sarah looked at her she stopped sawing at the ropes. Now she felt one start to fray.
Sarah yelled again—frustration and anger. Jane stopped and watched her. Fluid was running under the belly of the plane and onto the ground. And then Jane got it: the fuel line had been severed. Sabotaged maybe? She hoped so.
Sarah calmed herself and searched the workshop, presumably for something to mend the leak. She scrabbled a hand over the workbench.
Jane dropped her head, subdued, no threat. If Sarah spotted the missing file… but she didn’t. She moved away, and through half-open eyelids, Jane saw her find what she was looking for and hurry back to the plane.
The first cord snapped and her right hand moved more freely. She started sawing at the next cord.
Sarah connected a new tube and immediately began to fill the tank again. A few minutes later, she disconnected the fuel line and climbed into the cockpit.
The engine fired on the third attempt and the propeller started to turn, slowly at first and then faster. She released the brakes and taxied round the buildings and to the start of the strip.
For a moment Jane thought the woman was going to take off, but the propeller speed dropped again and Sarah climbed out. From the Ford she fetched a bag and threw it into the plane. Then she headed back to the workshop.
Jane kept her head down but kept watching.
Sarah suddenly had a knife.
“OK, time to go,” she said, and placed a hand on Jane’s shoulder, ready to cut the ties.
In one movement Jane jerked her head upwards and pushed up with her feet. The top of her head struck Sarah under the chin as she bent down.
The woman didn’t howl. She just jolted up and backwards like a felled tree. She lay flat on her back and seemed out cold. Blood on the light concrete looked stark around her head. Her hair looked sticky with it.
Jane’s head hurt like hell where she’d connected with Sarah’s jaw, but she ignored the pain. She kicked away the dropped knife and felt in the woman’s pocket. Her fingers closed around a key—the car key—and she gripped it like it was salvation itself. Then she started for the car. Her legs were weak and her hands shaking as she pulled the driver’s door open and slid into the seat.
She put the key in the ignition. The engine turned over once and stopped. Fear and instinct made her glance in the rear-view mirror. The interior of the workshop was clearly visible. And Sarah was no longer on the floor.
SIXTY
Just go! Jane forced herself to turn back and fumble with the ignition key. And then she screamed.
Sarah’s face loomed large through the windscreen. Blood edged her hair and left tracks on her neck. Both of her hands were pressed on the bonnet as though stopping the car from moving.
Focus! Jane screamed to herself. Her trembling hand took hold of the key and turned it once more. The engine started. She hit the accelerator and heard a reassuring roar of power. Then she jammed the gearstick into first. But she forgot the clutch and the car lurched and stalled.
Sarah pulled open the door.
Jane started to turn the key but Sarah grabbed her right arm and pulled. Another jerk and Jane found herself falling from the car. And Sarah didn’t let go. She kept on pulling, dragging Jane by her arm towards the plane.
Sarah had something in her other hand, and as Jane fought, it was brought down hard onto her shoulder.
The acute pain made her head swim. Her arm was useless. Her collarbone felt broken. Jane fought against blacking out but the fight was gone. Sarah pulled harder and Jane howled with the searing pain. It was like her arm was being torn off. She had no choice but to go where Sarah pulled her.
They were heading for the plane. Her ears rang but above the noise in her head she could hear the propellers continuing their lazy rotation. Then she thought there was something else. Another machine.
Sarah switched direction, as though she’d changed her mind. Now Jane was being tugged towards the workshop and there was panic in Sarah’s face.
She glanced back, again and again. And then Jane saw them: lights bouncing towards them along the runway. Headlights. A car’s headlights.
“Ash!” Jane yelled, although her voice was faint and lost.
I had been driving like a maniac for almost forty minutes. I’d hared along the route I’d driven with Stevenson but faster. It was dark and dangerous but desperation and intense focus had kept me on the road.
I’d figured Sarah would have taken a shorter route and she had a head start. A growing ache in my gut told me I was too late.
As I burst out onto the runway my spirits rose. I saw the plane lit by the workshop lights. I drove straight at it in case Sarah tried to take off, but then I saw two people struggling in the field behind it.
I closed the gap and realized Sarah was dragging Jane. She pulled her into the workshop and looped an arm around Jane’s neck. There was something in her other hand.
I passed the Ford, skidded to a halt ten yards out and dived out of the jeep. Using it as cover, I aimed my gun.
“Game’s up!” I shouted.
Sarah was holding Jane in front of her like a shield. In her free hand she held a crowbar, not a gun.
I stood and walked towards the workshop. Sarah pulled Jane backwards until they could go no further.
Then she swung the crowbar under Jane’s chin and pulled hard.
Jane fought, but she was stopped as the metal pressed into her soft throat. I could see Sarah speaking to her, threatening.
I shouted, “Stop!”
I entered the workshop, the sound of the generator beating against the wooden walls.
Sarah said, “Take another step and she’ll never speak again. Take two and she’ll die.” Her voice came out like an animal’s snarl.
I didn’t move.
Sarah said, “Now drop the gun.”
I paused and then placed it at my feet.
“Good man. Now kick it over to me,” Sarah said, her voice gaining in confidence.
I kicked the gun but aimed it short. I figured Sarah would want it. She looked at me with cold eyes and then shuffled forward. One pace. Two. It was almost within her reach. As soon as her eyes left mine and flicked to the gun, I lunged.
Sarah stepped back, the gun still between us. I could feel the hum of the electricity from the generator. It was behind me now.
I saw something flash across Jane’s eyes, and then she did a slow blink. One. Two. Three. On three she became a dead weight, dropping an inch or so and startling Sarah. At the same instant she dug her left elbow into the woman’s gut and stamped down and back with her left foot. The elbow made good contact and the foot scraped down her shin.
Sarah fell back and must have released her grip on the bar because Jane squirmed free and dived for the floor.
I was already moving. I closed the gap and made a grab for the crowbar.
Sarah saw the move and swung it at me.
I leaned back, like avoiding a punch, and the crowbar whooshed past. Then I stepped in to counterpunch. But the woman was fast. She sidestepped, jabbed out with the crowbar and caught the meat of my right arm.
For a second my arm felt paralyzed. Sarah saw an opening and advanced, jabbing and jabbing. I dodged and weaved and backed up.
She caught me again. Same arm, although less pain this time. But I made it look bad. I staggered and went on one knee.
The generator was right behind me now, but the noise was forgotten in the excitement. Sarah was like a hunter who had closed in for the kill. Her eyes had a wild look and an insane grin split her face.
“Goodbye, scum!” she said, and she swept the crowbar overarm towards my head. At the last moment I dived away. Momentum carried the crowbar into the space where I’d been and beyond. There was no way to change the course.
The smart thing would have been to let go. But it was a split-second thing and the realization of her error came too late.
The crowbar struck the electrical terminals of the generator in a shower of sparks. Sarah was hit by the full force of the electrical current discharging to earth. Her body jiggled and she screamed. It seemed to go on a long time but the noise was just the echo against the walls and jungle beyond.
SIXTY-ONE
I checked Jane’s collarbone in case it was broken but found no damage just tenderness. At first, she held herself up, apparently stoic. But this was shock. I put my arms round her and she collapsed into me. The emotion finally came out. She cried hard and let me take her weight.
Maybe five minutes passed before she eased herself away and wiped her eyes.
“I’m all right,” she said.
“Yes, you did well.”
She started to apologize for her stupidity but I waved it away and guided her to the Land Rover and drove. The generator still hummed but it soon became lost in the rumble of the jeep and the buzz of the jungle.
I went back to our hotel and stayed with her as she had a bath. She knew about the girls in the cellar because she’d been taken past them. What she didn’t know was that Stevenson had agreed to take them in the Bedford to the orphanage.
I tucked her into bed and told her I had things to do.
Concern creased her face. “More trouble?”
“No,” I said. “Just things I need to wrap up. Get some sleep and wait for me here.”
I made her promise this time. No more heading out on her own. I needed to do two things. There was an outstanding matter regarding the body on the causeway, plus I wanted the truth about Laura van Loon.
Singapore Girl_An edge of your seat thriller that will have you hooked Page 26
