Last Resort

by Susan Lewis

  ‘Four two three,’ she told him. ‘Four five six. Four four one.’

  He had put a hand to his head, still thinking, then finally he’d started to laugh. ‘I don’t know what those numbers have to do with the Hong Kong Triads,’ he said. ‘I’ve never even heard of this divisible-by-three thing. It could be that you’re right, but in this instance, chérie, they’re the tonnage of the marijuana shipments we sent over to the States.’

  Of course it was possible, but the coincidence was too great and though she made a pretence of believing him, in her heart she remained convinced she was right. She hadn’t pushed it, though, for a sixth sense told her that the less she knew the safer she would be. She couldn’t quite qualify the feeling, but she was pretty certain that if the people he was dealing with ever got wind of the fact that she knew more than she should her life would be in serious jeopardy. And Christian’s eagerness to get her out of Hong Kong after the shooting in Mongkok only heightened her fears that it already was.

  They’d flown out on a private plane the morning after the shooting, travelling under false passports again, this time in the names of Paul and Gillian Anderson. Tse Dong and Lei Leen had stayed behind and for the time being she and Christian appeared to be alone in Manila. Not that the phone calls had stopped, if anything they were even more frequent than before – and always in Cantonese, so Penny still had no idea what they were about.

  They were staying at the grand old turn-of-the-century Manila Hotel, not in a suite this time, but in a spacious double room with a clear view of the harbour. This attempt to blend less noticeably with the other guests, coupled with Christian’s evident unhappiness and unease, was enough to tell Penny that the need for anonymity was growing. Whether this was because the DEA was closing in on him, or whether it had something to do with the Chinese, she didn’t know, but what she did know was how deeply it was affecting her to see him looking so vulnerable and lonely.

  They had left the hotel an hour ago, crossing the busy intersection of Bonifacio and Ayala Boulevards, where brightly coloured jeepnies crammed with solemn-faced passengers vied for space with beaten-up American cars and glossy white hotel taxis. They’d strolled around the Intramuros, watching Filipino schoolchildren in their smart, checkered uniforms explore the ruins of the old Spanish fort and romp excitedly around the Wall of Martyrs picnic ground, feigning executions and bloody, agonized deaths. With his smattering of Tagalog Christian had joined in the fun, allowing himself to be shot, but only after delighting them by falling to his knees and reciting a few badly memorized lines from José Rizal’s Noli me tangere. As she watched him Penny smiled and laughed and fought back the tears of guilt at not loving him enough. How much less complicated things would be if she could despise him for the crimes he had committed, but life was rarely, if ever, that simple and she knew that despite everything he would always hold a very special place in her heart.

  The children had caught up with them again as they’d roamed Rizal’s shrine at the heart of the fort, but Penny had seen what an effort it was for Christian to resummon his earlier light-heartedness. It would have been easy to put his increasing depression down to the morbid exhibits in Rizal’s house – the national hero’s discarded pens, his sister’s letters, the echoing emptiness of the room in which the great man had spent his final days before execution – but Penny knew there was much more to it.

  As they left the fort and wandered through the pitted, dusty streets to Rizal Park it was left to her to turn down the bicycle and sidecar rides, to tip the beggars and smile at the sweet Filipino faces that watched them pass. She could sense him withdrawing deeper and deeper into himself, as though he was closing her out, preparing himself for the moment she left, when he would be forced to face the aimlessness and futility of his lonely existence. She ached with pity and wished she could find the words to comfort him, but what could she say? Besides, she wasn’t such an egoist as to believe that it was she alone who was causing this despair, for something was happening, something that she was sure went far beyond his fear of her leaving.

  ‘Christian, speak to me,’ she said, sliding her hand into his as they strolled into the exotic tranquillity of the Chinese Gardens. ‘Tell me what’s troubling you.’ She guessed she probably wouldn’t want to hear the answers, but she just couldn’t bear to see him suffering like this.

  Squeezing her hand, he looked down at the clustered lily pads meandering languidly over the dark, rippling water. Then he turned to walk on, leading the way across the footbridge towards the ornate, colourful gazebos with their tall red pillars and curled roof edges. With the exception of an old man sleeping peacefully in the shade of a flowering magnolia they were alone in the garden.

  ‘Christian?’ she prompted.

  Letting go of her hand, he walked on, wandering up the wide, terracotta steps into the welcoming coolness of a gazebo.

  ‘Don’t you find it beautiful here?’ he said, as she came to join him. ‘It’s so peaceful and . . .’ he turned to look at her, a hesitant tease lighting his eyes ‘. . . and romantic?’ he said.

  ‘Very,’ she smiled.

  Drawing her into his arms, he kissed her forehead, then laid her head on his shoulder. ‘I love you,’ he whispered, holding her tightly.

  She stood quietly in the embrace, listening to his heartbeat and trying to find her way through the impossible tangle of her emotions.

  Eventually he let her go and turned to look around.

  ‘Christian, what is it?’ she said, putting a hand on his arm.

  He was staring past her, his eyes unfocused and steeped in anguish. ‘Will you marry me?’ he said softly, still not looking at her.

  Penny felt herself tense as her heart contracted and her eyes closed against the terrible realization that she was wrong, he wasn’t preparing himself to let her go at all.

  Hearing footsteps, they both turned and watched a young man with a camera approach. He took several shots of the gazebo; then, coming inside, he seemed surprised to find someone there even though he must surely have seen them when he was pointing his camera in their direction.

  When he spoke, Penny wasn’t too sure whether or not it was English, for his accent was too thick, but from his gestures it was evident he was asking if he could take their picture.

  Smiling, Christian looked down at her. ‘What do you say?’ he said.

  Penny shrugged. ‘Why not?’

  At the time it didn’t seem odd to her that a shabbily dressed, badly nourished Filipino youth should possess such an expensive-looking camera; nor that Christian, who was a fugitive from the law, should so readily agree to his photograph being taken by a stranger. In truth she barely thought about it at all as she smiled into the lens, grateful for the timely interruption.

  When the boy had finished, he thanked them, shook their hands and walked away. But once again Penny was saved from answering, this time by Christian’s mobile phone.

  As he spoke he walked out of the gazebo, though whether to prevent her from listening or to improve the connection was impossible to say. By the time he’d finished, Penny could see the change in him. Putting the phone back inside his shirt pocket, he bounded up the steps, grabbed her hand and ran with her to the gates.

  ‘What is it?’ she cried, having to shout to make herself heard above the roar of the traffic. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Back to the hotel,’ he answered, plunging into the interminable stream of vehicles and weaving a path to the other side.

  When they reached the hotel lobby he stopped, turned her to face him and spoke quickly, his words shortened by his breathlessness. ‘That was the call I’ve been waiting for,’ he said, his eyes shining with an emotion she found impossible to fathom. ‘I have to go out now. I won’t be long. I’ll explain everything when I get back.’

  ‘But where are you going?’

  ‘Not far,’ he answered. ‘I want you to go up to the room and wait for me there. Lock yourself in and don’t answer the door to anyone. Don
’t answer the phone either. And . . .’ He stopped, swallowed hard and as his eyes flooded with pain, he said, ‘Please, don’t walk out on me now. I know you want to, but . . .’ he lowered his head ‘. . . please, don’t go,’ he said hoarsely, and without waiting for an answer he left.

  Penny watched him until he’d disappeared through the garden; then, looking around her, she started across the vast, pale marble lobby with its numerous red sofas and glittering chandeliers. There were at least a hundred people either sitting or standing around in groups and though she caught no one looking in her direction she had the distinct and uneasy feeling that someone was. When she reached the lift her heart began to thud as she waited for the doors to close, afraid that someone would get in with her. No one did.

  When she got out on the fifteenth floor she was still alone. The floor attendant was at his desk, singing, and he treated her to a beaming smile as she passed.

  ‘Good day, ma’am,’ he said.

  ‘Hello, Teddy,’ she answered. ‘How are you?’

  His smile widened. ‘I happy because my girlfriend call from Hong Kong last night,’ he told her.

  Penny smiled. ‘Then I’m happy for you,’ she said, thinking how wonderfully benign and ingenuous the Filipinos were.

  ‘You enjoy your stay with us, ma’am?’ he said, falling into step beside her.

  ‘Very much, thank you,’ she said.

  ‘This your first time in Philippines?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where you from, ma’am?’

  Penny was about to answer when she suddenly realized that she couldn’t remember what it said on her new passport. But what was the harm in telling this boy the truth? ‘England,’ she said.

  He seemed pleased by her answer. ‘I know you not American,’ he told her. ‘I can tell by voice. You live in London, ma’am?’

  She nodded. ‘I used to, yes.’

  ‘Where you work now?’

  ‘France,’ she said, wishing it were true.

  ‘What you do there?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m a journalist.’

  ‘That’s nice, ma’am,’ he said, taking her key card from her as they reached her room. ‘You journalisting here in Manila?’

  ‘No,’ Penny smiled. ‘Just visiting.’

  ‘Then enjoy your stay,’ he said, pushing the door open for her.

  A few moments later Teddy was back at his desk. There was no one else around as he picked up the phone and dialled the number he had been given the day before.

  ‘Hello?’ a voice at the other end barked.

  ‘Is Teddy,’ he said. ‘She here. She in room 1514.’

  ‘How do you know it’s her?’

  ‘She say she English. She say she work in France journalisting.’

  Penny had been standing at the window for some time, gazing down at the harbour. The sea was a metallic grey, the sky was translucent. There was none of the activity of Hong Kong harbour, just a few workmen meandering about the pier and a dozen or so tankers and container ships, resplendent in their ugliness, anchored randomly across the still waters of the bay.

  Behind her the twin double beds, silent TV and empty bathroom seemed almost menacing in their obdurate stillness. After Teddy had closed the door she had left it unlocked until she’d checked that she was alone; then, after putting the chain across, she had taken an Evian water from the fridge and walked to the window, telling herself that she should be seizing this opportunity to leave. Her bags were there, already packed, except of course she wouldn’t have taken anything with her. She tried to imagine how Christian would feel if he returned to find her gone, leaving behind everything he had given her. The hurt such an act would inflict on him wrenched at her heart and frowning, she closed her eyes.

  She’d thought that leaving Hong Kong and freeing themselves from the omnipresence of the Chinese would give her the chance to think more clearly, to decide how she was going to break it to Christian that she didn’t want to go on with him. But all it had done was bind her more tightly to him and bring a new edge to her fear that she was never going to find the courage to leave. Of course she would in the end, she’d have to, because she was even less capable of living a lie than she was of causing him pain. It seemed so pathetic, so ill-judged and absurd, to be giving such consideration to the feelings of a man who was wanted by the law for crimes she just knew were far more heinous than he’d told her. But trying to connect that man to the man who had asked her to marry him not an hour ago was impossible. He neither looked nor behaved like a criminal and were it not for the false passports and the residue of certainty that his Chinese contacts were Triad members she could almost believe that this was all some kind of elaborate trick. And in truth it was really only the shooting in Mongkok that persuaded her it wasn’t. That and the unshakeable feeling of danger that, for no reason she could pinpoint, seemed to have increased since they’d left Hong Kong.

  Leaning forward she rested her forehead against the window. She should get out of there now and she knew it. She should pick up her purse and take a taxi straight to the airport. So why didn’t she? Why was she standing here, waiting for him and knowing that when he came back she would have to give him an answer she’d give almost anything not to have to face? She knew why, of course, she was afraid of who might be lurking in the hotel, who might be waiting even now for her to make her escape. If they were Christian’s people, then she believed she had little more to fear than the awkwardness and pain of explaining to him why she had tried to leave. She might be a fool for thinking that way, but no matter what else he was capable of, nothing in the world would persuade her that Christian meant her any harm. But if they were Christian’s enemies there was no knowing what they might do. Common sense alone told her that there had to be those who were afraid of how much she knew, those who would quite happily see her dead rather than run the risk of her telling what little she had learned. There might also be those who would see her as a means of exerting pressure on Christian, of increasing their power over him by employing methods of torture she didn’t even want to think about. That was why she was still standing here, gazing out at the opaque waters of Manila harbour and the unsightly jungle of ships’ cranes.

  She had already turned away, when something she had seen suddenly registered in her mind and she turned back to look again at the group of four men standing at the far end of the pier. Though the distance was sufficient to deceive, she was certain that one of them was Christian. Going quickly to their bags she rummaged inside one of them until she found the binoculars, almost dropping them as the telephone startled her. Ignoring it, she returned to the window and trained the glasses on the men at the end of the pier. She was right, it was Christian, and when she saw who was with him her blood ran cold. It was Benny Lao. She moved the glasses around a little, trying to get a look at the other two, but, though they seemed familiar, for the moment she couldn’t quite place them.

  And then it hit her. Of course: they were the customs officers who had been on duty at the private airfield when they’d flown in the day before. She frowned, wondering what they could be doing out there with Christian and Benny Lao. The shorter of the two officers was pointing out to sea, or, she thought, following the direction of his arm, maybe he was pointing at one of the container vessels.

  ‘Oh God,’ she groaned aloud, lowering the glasses as the suspicion of what they were doing dawned on her. Of course, he was pointing at a ship: wasn’t it just such vessels as these that were used to transport drugs? And wasn’t the sprawling archipelago of the Philippines as renowned for its role as a transhipment centre as it was for its easy corruption?

  Looking through the binoculars again, she watched as they continued to gesticulate and discuss whatever business they were about. If she was right in her suspicions, then she’d be a fool to wait a moment longer. It made no difference whether it was heroin or marijuana – both were illegal; and if they were caught, then she, by mere association with Christian, would be as guilty as th
ey. But her fear of what she could become embroiled in did nothing to eliminate the fear of who might be waiting for her downstairs . . .

  As the dilemma hung unresolved in her mind she watched the four men begin to walk back along the pier and tried to make herself think clearly. Her heart began to race with the sudden speed of her thoughts as she attempted to weigh up which risk was the greater, to stay or to run. But how could she run when God only knew who might be waiting for her downstairs? She could always call hotel security; but even if she could think of a rational explanation for requesting an escort out of the building, once they’d seen her safely into a taxi there was every chance the taxi would be followed. A surge of panic gripped her as she realized she couldn’t think of anything else. It was as though her mind had ceased to function. She was trapped here and, short of calling the British Embassy, there was nothing she could do. So why didn’t she call the Embassy? Because, she realized despairingly, it would be tantamount to handing Christian over. And, fool that she was, she just couldn’t do it.

  She was so preoccupied with her dilemma that she didn’t hear the faint rustle of a note being pushed under the door; nor, when she turned to the phone, did she see it.

  As she picked up the receiver her heart was beating hard. She’d sworn to herself that she wouldn’t give in to this again, that somehow she would make herself accept that even if he could there was no reason in the world why David would want to help her. But she didn’t know who else to turn to.

  As she pressed out the number her stomach churned with nerves. The very thought of hearing his voice was making her fingers shake and her eyes burn with tears. It would be seven in the morning in France. Please God let him be there and please, please God let it be him who answered, not his wife.

  David was in the shower when the telephone rang. Hearing it, he banged open the screen, leapt over the edge of the bath and ran into the bedroom.

  ‘Hello?’ he snapped, grabbing a towel off the bed. ‘Hello?’