by H. Y. Hanna
Leah thought of Inspector Ravi and his shrewd, dark eyes. Could she go to him? Would he believe her? A foreign tourist making crazy accusations about one of the richest and most respected men in society… would she be laughed at or even cautioned for wasting police time? If Bentley Warne was powerful enough to get a high-profile journalist like Toran nearly put in prison, there was no telling what he could do to her. The Singapore justice system could be ruthless, especially if manipulated by those with power.
If there was a downside to a country with such a clean, well-organised, crime-free environment, it was the crazily strict laws and harsh penalties which people lived under in Singapore. After all, there was probably no other country in the world where you could be fined hundreds of dollars or be threatened with jail time for simple things like chewing gum, jaywalking, or even failing to flush a public toilet. As for drugs—Leah shuddered—Singapore had one of the toughest anti-drug laws in the world. If you got caught trafficking drugs, it was death by hanging, no exceptions. It wouldn’t be that difficult for Warne to plant drugs in her possessions, to be conveniently “found” by the police. If she were arrested and her passport seized, she could be detained for weeks, even months, while trying to prove her innocence…
Suddenly the thought of what she was up against was overwhelming and Leah fought back a wave of fear and panic. In spite of herself, her thoughts flashed to Toran and, for a moment, she wished that he was here beside her. He would know what to do; he would keep her safe…
No.
Leah took a deep breath. No, she couldn’t trust Toran. And she couldn’t go to the authorities, at least not for the time being. Not until she had definite proof of Bentley Warne’s involvement. She looked down at the USB stick. The proof could be right here. She just had to keep it safe until she could figure out what to do with it.
The bells by the door tinkled again. Leah looked up. A young, blond guy with a wispy beard, in board shorts and sandals, had just walked in. She heard him asking the baby-faced girl if he could just surf the internet without having fish therapy.
Of course, the internet! Leah couldn’t believe how stupid she had been. Coming in here had been a blessing in disguise. She knew exactly what to do now. Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she brought up the browser and navigated to a cloud storage site. Quickly, she opened a new account, then plugged the USB stick into the computer and transferred the contents to the cloud storage folder in cyberspace.
Her eyes flicked over the files that were being transferred. They were video files. Curious, she hovered her mouse over one of the files, then moved it resolutely away again. There was something on these files worth killing for and a public internet café was definitely not the place to view them. She would have to check them out later.
The transfer complete, Leah logged out and closed down the browser, making sure to clear the browsing history. Then she wiped all data from the USB stick. She ejected it from the computer and looked at it thoughtfully for a moment, then returned it to the inner breast pocket of the jacket.
Carefully, she pulled her feet out of the water and dried them on the towel provided. She was surprised to find that they were baby-soft to the touch. Perhaps there was something to this fish therapy after all. Leah gave the tiny fish in the water a last affectionate look, then stood up, collected her shoes from reception and left the internet fish spa. With the data safely protected by password out in cyberspace and no longer on the USB stick, Leah felt braver and walked confidently back the way she had come.
The lunch rush was thinning out a bit in the food court. The wonderful aroma of frying garlic roused her stomach and reminded Leah that breakfast had been hours ago. She was just pausing to examine the menu of a noodle stall when somebody jostled her roughly. Leah stumbled and felt something tug sharply at her left elbow. When she regained her balance, she realised that her father’s jacket was no longer slung over her left arm. She whirled around. It was now in the hands of a man who was walking rapidly away.
Arriving back at her hotel after a late lunch in the food court, Leah felt a wave of fatigue hit her. She hadn’t slept well last night and the early start and the strain of the events that morning were beginning to catch up with her. In the lobby of her hotel, soft piano music was playing in the background, bellboys were carefully pushing trolleys piled high with luggage, and guests were standing around in groups of threes and fours, consulting maps and fidgeting with cameras. Leah shook her head as she walked over to the lifts and pushed the button. Everything seemed so incredibly normal.
The lifts pinged softly and Leah stepped inside. She leaned against the inner wall, shutting her eyes for a moment as the lift ascended. In spite of her tiredness, she smiled to herself. She felt a sense of smug triumph as she thought of Warne’s men finding the USB stick in the jacket pocket and opening it eagerly, only to find it empty. Would they think that it was empty from the start or would they realise that she had wiped the data?
It didn’t matter, Leah thought as she unlocked her door and stepped into her darkened hotel room. The point was that she had outsmarted them and now she was safely back in her room. She gave herself another congratulatory smile. Her hands reached out to grope for the light switch and then she felt herself seized from behind, a hand clamping over her mouth.
For a second, it seemed like an echo of what had happened when she was seized two nights earlier and her mind jumped instantly. Toran? Then Leah realised that the arms holding her were hurting her in a cruel grip and the hand over her mouth was sweaty and sour with the smell of cigarettes.
She tried to scream, the sound coming out muffled. She began struggling, kicking and wriggling and trying to yank her head free. They lurched across the room and slammed into the desk, sending the brochures she had been looking at earlier flying. They reeled back, still locked together, and tripped over the coffee table. Leah heard more things being knocked to the floor.
Then she was thrown on her back on the bed, the breath whooshing out of her as she bounced on the mattress. Hands held her down. She thrashed on the bed, fighting like an animal, screaming with all her might. The hand came up and smacked her across her face. Leah gasped, the scream bitten off. The hand hit her again. She whimpered and tried to curl away, all thoughts of screaming now gone. She couldn’t see properly in the dim light, but she could hear—a rasping, panting breath as the man loomed above her. She whimpered again and thought she heard a laugh.
Then something sharp jabbed her upper arm.
“No!” Leah gasped, trying to jerk away. Panic seized her and she tried to struggle again, but something was wrong. Her legs and arms felt too heavy to lift. A wave of drowsiness overcame her. The room spun and then the world went black.
CHAPTER 16
Toran shifted restlessly, his eyes flicking every so often through the café window to the hotel across the street. What was happening with Leah? He had been puzzled, but not unduly worried when she hadn’t met him at their arranged spot at ten that morning. Perhaps she had overslept; perhaps she had been delayed. He had waited over an hour, then found an internet café to send her a Facebook message. Nothing.
Leah had told him her room number yesterday and he had considered calling her at the hotel. So far, he had avoided contacting her directly because he knew that her calls were probably being monitored, but worry had weakened his resolve. Using a basic prepaid mobile phone, in lieu of his own which he had lost in the yacht explosion, he called the hotel and asked to speak to Leah Fisher. He had been surprised to be connected to Leah’s answer mail and when he checked with the hotel reception, it seemed that Miss Fisher had gone out.
Had Leah gone without him? Toran thought back to the way she had looked at him yesterday, her eyes shining, as she had said, “Together”, and he couldn’t believe that she would have broken her promise to him. But then where had she gone?
Toran had no choice but to wait near the hotel and hope to catch her when she returned. He had called again and left a messa
ge for Miss Fisher at reception, saying simply that her “friend was waiting outside” and asking her to come out when she got the message. It was lame and risky, but he was getting desperate. He knew it was a bad idea hanging around near the hotel—any of Warne’s men watching Leah’s movements might see him too—but he didn’t know what else to do. Somewhere inside him, a nagging feeling of fear had started growing—fear for Leah’s safety.
Then finally, a few hours after lunch, he had seen her, looking tired and dispirited as she slowly entered her hotel. That was over two hours ago and she still hadn’t come out. Was she just ignoring his message? There was no reason for her to. She had seemed so happy and trusting yesterday. What was going on?
Toran pushed the plate with his half-eaten sandwich aside. He looked back at the hotel again. Going in would be stupid and crazy—for all he knew, Warne could have spies planted amongst the hotel staff. He had an advantage now because Warne thought that he was dead—but if Warne realised that he had escaped the yacht, the Australian tycoon would hunt him down.
Toran stood up. His mind was still protesting, but his body wasn’t listening. His feet were carrying him out of the café and across the street. He had to find out what had happened to Leah.
As he neared the hotel entrance, he had a stroke of luck. A mini-bus pulled up and disgorged a group of guests. A convention of some sort, perhaps. They were mostly middle-aged men in polo shirts and chinos, wearing red lanyards around their necks with large badges attached. Toran silently gave thanks that he had decided to wear shirt and trousers today and not jeans and T-shirt. They weren’t quite chinos, but hopefully, from a distance, they would do. Besides, he knew from past experience that body language was everything when it came to tricking the eye.
The driver got out and went round to the back to help unload the luggage from the boot. Toran sidled up to the front passenger door and looked inside. A tangle of lanyards lay on the front seat, next to a clipboard, a couple of pens, and a packet of chewing gum. He opened the door casually, grabbed one of the lanyards, and slipped it quickly over his head. Then he put on his shades and stepped closer to the group. Grabbing one of the wheelie cases, he fell into step with the others, making sure he was in the centre of the group as they entered the lobby.
“This your first time?” he asked the man walking next to him, while his eyes darted around the lobby.
The man looked him in bemusement. “No, I come every year. Funny, I don’t remember seeing you on the bus—”
“No, really?” Toran laughed like the man had said something hilarious and clapped him on the shoulder. The man looked even more bewildered. The others were drifting towards the reception desk now, but Toran kept his hand on the other man’s shoulder and steered him gently towards the lifts. He kept his head down and tilted towards the other man, as if listening intently to what he had to say.
“Wait, don’t we need to check in?” The man looked back towards the reception desk.
“Oh, yes, totally forgot,” said Toran as they stopped by the lifts. One of the double doors opened. He let go of the other man and stepped quickly inside, saying, “You go ahead. I’ll just go up first.”
“But—”
The lift doors shut in the man’s puzzled face. Toran let out a breath as the lift started moving smoothly upwards. He had no idea if that stunt made any difference to him being recognised, but it was the best he could come up with on the spur of a moment.
He stepped out on Leah’s floor and walked quickly down the hallway, his feet making no sound on the plush carpet. Leah’s room was the last one, at the end of the corridor. He slowed as he approached, wondering what to do. Should he knock? He had no idea who might be in the room. He glanced back the way he had come. He was at the end of the dead-end now with no escape except back along the corridor. His muscles tensed. Then he glanced at the room door as he went closer and his muscles tensed even more.
The door was slightly open.
Not ajar, just not square in the frame. As if somebody had let it swing shut, but then forgot to push or pull it all the way, so that it rested propped against the lock. Toran listened. There was no sound from inside the room. He hesitated, then pushed the door gently open. It was heavy, like most hotel doors, with resisting hinges. He stepped inside and listened.
Silence.
There was no one in the room. He could tell that instantly, even though it was in darkness. Stepping forwards, he pulled the string on the tall lamp in the corner, flooding the place with light. The room was in disarray. The bedclothes had been mussed up and things had been knocked off the tables and onto the floors. Leah’s laptop lay on its side on the floor next to the bed and a lamp by the armchair had been knocked over.
Toran’s stomach clenched. What the hell had happened here? It looked like there had been a struggle. They’ve taken Leah, he realised, a mix of horror and anger swelling in his chest.
Suddenly, Toran wanted to yell, to swear, to punch something. It was Warne’s men—he was sure of it. What were they doing to her?
The tightness in his chest was pressing in, making it difficult for him to breathe. He had to find her. He looked desperately around the room, trying to calm his mind, trying to think about where they might have taken her.
Warne was a property billionaire. He owned properties all over Singapore. Leah could have been taken anywhere—to a private warehouse, an isolated house, a disused factory… How was he ever going to find her? Toran wondered in despair.
Then his mind seemed to sharpen, like a camera bringing something into focus. Warne wouldn’t want any connection between Leah’s kidnapping and himself, Toran thought. He wouldn’t want to use any of his own properties if he could help it. But there was one property which was private and deserted and unlikely to be disturbed any time soon. Leah’s old villa, her father’s house. It was also a natural place for Leah to be, that was unlikely to draw suspicion, in case her body needed to be “found”.
Toran shuddered at that thought and pushed it violently away. No, nothing was going to happen to Leah because he was going to find her first.
Dusk was falling as Toran approached the villa. He had asked the taxi to drop him off on the street corner and then jogged stealthily here, his eyes roving constantly around, on the alert. Just outside the villa, he paused. The front was dark, the blinds drawn, but he could see a very faint halo of light shining around the edges of the blinds, as if a light was on at the back of the house.
He slipped through the side gate into the garden and moved quietly through the shadows. The garden was landscaped, but heavily planted with tropical foliage which provided good cover. It was very quiet, almost peaceful in here, the evening stillness broken only by the chirping of crickets. A pale moon was already high in the dusky sky. It seemed almost ludicrous that something sinister could be happening inside the house, just a few feet away.
Toran slowed as he came round to the back of the property. Light was shining out of a set of large windows on the far side. The windows were uncovered and he could catch glimpses of the room inside. It looked like a living area with a breakfast bar and an open plan kitchen. He heard the rumble of voices. They were in there.
He looked at the side of the house next to him. A wall of folding glass doors looked out onto the gardens here, and they were dark, covered by blinds. Toran stole to the glass doors and put a hand on one of them. He was surprised to feel it move inwards slightly. He looked down. The lock had been damaged. He remembered Leah telling him about her father’s study being ransacked. This must be how they had broken in.
Gently, he pushed the glass door open, pulled the blinds aside and stepped into the room. He looked quickly around—it was the study. The evidence of the break-in was still everywhere, with papers and books on the floor, a vase smashed in the corner. He stepped carefully over the mess on the floor and went to the study door, opening it a crack. Voices drifted down the hallway from the kitchen.
“…told you it was too much. Look at
her! How are you going to question her now?”
“I was just followin’ instructions!”
“Well, you’re not going to be able to get anything out of her for a few hours now. The boss isn’t going to like this. He said to make it quick and sharp.”
“Mebbe if I slap her face a bit, it’ll wake her up faster?”
“No! Jesus. What is your problem? The boss said no marks on her and you go and smack her around.”
“I had to shut her up, didn’t I? The bitch was screamin’ her head off.”
“Why did she get the chance to scream? You had the element of surprise on your side. You should have jabbed her before she had a chance to react. Anyway, we’re wasting time. Listen, I’m going to report now. I’ll be back in a couple of hours and you better hope that, by then, we’ll be able to get some sense out of her.”
“Sonofa—”
“What was that?”
“Nothin’.”
“If she comes round before I get back, see if you can get her to talk—ask her what she did with the data on the USB stick. But don’t get violent. You can scare her, but don’t touch her. Do you understand?”
“Yeah.”
“Lock the door behind me.”
Toran drew back slightly as two figures came out of the kitchen and moved down the hallway away from him, towards the front of the house. He heard the front door open, then shut again, and the sound of footsteps coming back. Only one set this time. The man went back into the kitchen.
Toran shut the door of the study and leaned against the wall, thinking furiously. He had to act now, while there was only one of them in the house, and get Leah away. Of course, he could simply rush in and tackle the guy—he wasn’t afraid of a fight and his combat training meant that he knew what he was doing—but it was the riskiest option. He had no idea if the other man was armed or what the situation was with Leah. If the man managed to use her as a shield or hostage, it could mean greater danger for her. Getting her out safely was the top priority. Whatever they liked to show in the movies, crazy heroics weren’t the best choice in real life. It usually got people hurt—or killed.