Singapore Girl_An edge of your seat thriller that will have you hooked

by Murray Bailey

  “You and whose army?”

  “The Royal Military Police.”

  He laughed then. “Listen, Carter, come here and we’ll talk. I can be a reasonable man. I’m sure you are too.”

  I said nothing.

  “Just charging in here, being stupid, will get you killed. It’ll get your girlfriend killed. We can talk.”

  There was silence as he thought, then he said, “Get here as soon as you can. Be sensible and your little girlfriend will be fine. We’ll talk. We’ll come to an arrangement.”

  I put the phone down.

  “What’s up?” Stevenson was sitting on the wall outside the comms room.

  I told him and added: “We’d better move. Our advantage is time. He thinks he’s got three to four hours, we’re going to be there in one.”

  Stevenson nodded. “Then we’d better go get those guns.”

  FIFTY-SIX

  The Bedford truck bounced over the rough terrain in the darkness. Cranfield drove with the lights off. Ahead, we could see the Jungle Training Corps area.

  We stopped forty yards away. There were lights on in one of the Nissen huts and it was quiet.

  “Just one nightwatchman,” Stevenson said as he got out.

  I moved to follow him.

  “No,” he said. “You stay here. You don’t want to be involved in what we’re about to do.”

  I was about to disagree but he raised a hand. “Seriously, Ash, stay here.”

  Their dark forms disappeared in the gloom and then a minute later the Nissen hut door opened. They went inside.

  I watched and waited.

  Cranfield was the first to reappear. He ran out of the hut carrying a couple of rifles and a bag. Stevenson followed seconds later carrying something much bigger. It wasn’t until he was back at the truck that I realized he had a Bren gun strapped across his chest.

  “We can’t risk that!” I said, getting out.

  “I’ll be careful.” I could see his teeth as he grinned at me in the dark. He didn’t stop and it clunked as its twenty-three pound weight met the metal of the load bed. He climbed in after it and reached out for me.

  I took his hand and joined him in the back.

  With our torches we surveyed our provisions. In addition to the arms, we had four ladders, three crates of the hooch, two flare guns, hurricane lamps, four petrol canisters and some butane bottles.

  He turned his light on me. “Ready?”

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  “What did you do back there?” I asked as we headed down Route Three.

  Stevenson said, “Just persuaded the guard to lend me the guns.”

  “How?”

  “Cranny gave him a few bottles of hooch earlier. He couldn’t resist, so providing he gets the weapons back he won’t be telling anyone.”

  “And if he doesn’t get them back.”

  “Then I probably don’t need to worry about it, do I?” He laughed. “Seriously though, I knocked him out and tied him up so it looks like a burglary. About time they improved security around here!”

  Although we’d now been over it many times, we talked through the plan again and I insisted that Stevenson only fired the Bren at the ground.

  “Don’t trust me with it?” he grumbled.

  “No, I don’t.”

  We skirted around the hill and parked where we had the previous night. I reckoned Rix would have set up a sentry. Someone would be the lookout, to pick us off before we even reached the gates. That’s what I would have done. I would have also set an ambush on Route One—catch me on the way back from Kuala Lumpur.

  I hoped he’d done that. If so, we were probably up against three men instead of four.

  Stevenson and I split up and eased our way through the undergrowth. The loudest period of the cicadas had passed but there was still the insect hum and other jungle sounds that covered the noise of our footsteps.

  I circled around the perimeter wall and came out near the gates. I flicked my torch on and off so that Stevenson would know I was there. He flashed back.

  The lookout would either be at the bottom of the hill or, more likely, close to the gates. Maybe Rix would assume I’d just drive up to the gates and be an easy target.

  The lookout wasn’t near the gates. He was round the bend about a hundred and fifty yards away with a good line of sight for another fifty yards or so.

  The idiot was smoking a cigarette and I saw the red glow as he inhaled. No doubt he thought he had plenty of time before I arrived.

  But he wasn’t on my side of the road. I saw the glow and then a grunt. A second later, Stevenson flashed his torch. I flashed back.

  We continued down the hill, picking our way on either side of the road, and found no one else.

  We joined up and returned to the lookout guy. I flicked on my torch. He was sprawled on the ground, face up, neck broken. It was the Brit I’d spoken to, which figured. The Aussies were probably closer to the boss and let the outsider be the sentry.

  “One down.” Stevenson grinned at me.

  “Three to go,” I said. “Where’s the dog?”

  “Don’t know. Not in the kennel. I left the food by the gate but he could be anywhere.”

  We made our way back up the hill then cut through to the truck. I could smell the hooch ten yards away.

  “You better not be drinking, you scum!” Stevenson whispered.

  Cranfield chuckled. “Almost done,” he said. “Thirty-six Molotov cocktails.”

  Stevenson and I took a ladder each and made our way to the perimeter, close to the outbuilding. I carried my Beretta and he had a rifle over one shoulder and the jemmy tucked into his belt.

  I climbed up and checked for guards. Like before, I could see lights on in the garage and also one in the main building. It was the window where I’d seen Rix and his men last night. I saw movement inside and wondered whether they were in there planning and preparing.

  I nodded down at Stevenson and he hauled up the second ladder. I placed it on the far side of the wall.

  It wasn’t for me. We’d talked about the girls, and the plan was to get them away before any shooting started. Stevenson handed me the jemmy and I dropped down on the grass and jogged over to the outbuilding wall. Again I waited, watched and listened.

  After a few seconds punctuated only by distant animal cries, I moved around to the front. Now I could see a finger of light through the crack of the door. But I’d expected it to be locked, probably padlocked. That’s why I had the jemmy. The girls were in here, and after three escaped, I figured the security would have been enhanced. But it wasn’t.

  No padlock. No bolt. Not even a keyhole.

  I held the jemmy as a weapon and eased the door handle down. I paused and then moved it inwards. For a second I was bathed in light, so I stepped through and shut the door behind me.

  It was a small room, smaller than I’d expected from the outside. There were dormitory beds but not twenty or sixteen. There were five.

  The rest of the building was made up of a kitchen, a lounge and toilets. I’d guessed wrongly. This wasn’t a girls’ dorm. This was the staff quarters.

  I slipped back outside and to the wall.

  Stevenson was looking over the top.

  “Not there,” I whispered.

  “Shit!”

  I said, “Give me ten minutes.” I could have added “Get everything ready”, but he knew.

  I dropped the jemmy and slunk along the wall, my Beretta at the ready. My biggest concern now was the dog. If it was roaming free in the grounds, I might not see it soon enough.

  I made it to the garage without a sign of anyone or the dog.

  Through the door I thought I heard a noise—like a quiet clang, but as I strained to hear, I heard nothing more.

  I checked my watch. Two minutes gone.

  The door creaked as I opened it but there was no one inside. It was a workshop with tools and sawdust on the floor. A cricket bat leaned against one wall. I walked on, through a
door into the garage itself. It smelled of old oil and was empty except for four vehicles.

  A sleek light grey Jaguar Mk II was the first. Then a small black car that I didn’t recognize, a Ford probably. Then a Land Rover, plain and cream.

  The final vehicle was a van. A dark blue van.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  Almost four minutes gone. I slipped outside and heard the dog for the first time. Which was a good thing. It’s bark told me it was over by the staff outbuilding.

  There were people in the downstairs room with the light on. But there was probably someone—maybe more than one—in an upstairs room, watching in the dark. That’s what I would have done. If they were expecting me yet. I still hoped they thought I was two and a half hours away. Plenty of time to relax. Plenty of time to prepare.

  I went onto all fours and began to crawl towards the main building, using the hedges as a shield.

  When I reached the back door, I stood to one side. The frame was broken where they’d kicked their way out yesterday after I’d locked it. The hallway was dark and empty.

  I glanced towards where I guessed the dog was sniffing the ladder, and then I went inside.

  If Rix and his remaining men were in the room on the right again, we could have followed Stevenson’s idea: all-guns-blazing. But with the dog outside I couldn’t risk Stevenson joining me. I also needed to find those girls.

  Inside, I could again hear the mumble of voices through the closed door. I stepped quietly along the carpet and noted that all the other doors were open. No lights were on. Which led me to assume the girls were being held upstairs.

  I tried to take the stairs lightly but they creaked and groaned as I moved up them. At the top, seven doors led off from the long landing. If there was a sniper, he would be at the front, so I checked the rear rooms. The first room was a bedroom, dark and otherwise empty. I noted a four-poster bed and plush furnishings: lace and velvet and maybe something like chiffon hanging down. I’d seen similar in my career as an MP, although never this fine. My instinct said brothel. High-end and luxury, but a room designed for sexual pleasure.

  The second room was the same. The third looked like a typical classroom—certainly not what I’d seen in any brothel before. There was a small room at the end of the corridor that turned out to be a bathroom.

  Three rooms remaining. One minute remaining.

  I figured one sniper, one room. Odds of one in three. I chose the nearest door, the one furthest from the gates, furthest from where a sniper would want to be.

  I turned the handle and stepped inside.

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  Another classroom, dark and empty. I strode to the windows that opened onto a balcony, checked my watch and waited.

  A number of things happened almost simultaneously. To the left of the gates a Molotov cocktail crashed against the wall and flames whooshed upwards. A split second later, a flare shot from left to right and ignited gas from a butane bottle that had been lobbed over the wall on the right. As the gas bottle exploded, so did a string of bottles hanging from the left-hand wall. Ten green bottles hanging on a wall.

  There were flashes to the left and right and the gates burst apart. Stevenson had hit them dead centre with the Bedford with his foot to the floor.

  We’d gone for a shock impact and I think we achieved it: an explosion of light and noise like the walls were coming down.

  The truck slewed into the garden as Stevenson slammed on the brakes. He was out of the cab before a sniper could open fire.

  In the noise and confusion, I stepped onto the balcony and saw a man at the far end. He made only a handful of shots at Stevenson before I took him down.

  I flashed my torch three times to let them know it was now me up here but I still didn’t know where the girls were. I repeated the signal and dashed back inside.

  When I reached the top of the stairs, I could hear Stevenson open up with the Bren. He would be in the back of the Bedford now, behind the cab. I hoped he and Cranfield were following instructions: don’t shoot at the school, just make a lot of noise.

  Two men were already running along the hallway to the front. I shot one before he reached the end. The second turned in surprise and I shot him before his gun came up.

  Neither was Rix. Four men were down, which hopefully meant just one to go.

  The noise outside continued and I waited on the stairs. But no one appeared. I heard a door close somewhere downstairs but no one appeared beneath me.

  The shooting outside stopped and I listened hard. All I could hear was a moan coming from one of the men sprawled on the floor below.

  I edged down the staircase. At the bottom, I scooted across the hallway and checked the two fallen guys. One was dead, the other dying. I put him out of his misery. At the window I gave three flashes again: I still haven’t found the girls.

  “Rix!” I shouted. “It’s over, Rix.”

  No response.

  I started checking rooms, kicking the doors wide open, flicking on the lights. I passed two empty ones before I heard him.

  “In here,” he said. He didn’t sound defeated, but then he didn’t sound aggressive. It was like a friend telling me where they were.

  I figured his voice came from the back—from the headmaster’s office, the one with the Japanese artefacts.

  Walking cautiously, I approached the door. Then a noise behind me made me turn and look at the entrance. Stevenson was there. He had the big gun in both hands and he was grinning.

  He said, “Still no girls?”

  I said, “Check all the rooms. They have to be here somewhere.”

  “You?”

  “Rix is in his office,” I said. I didn’t mention that I expected to find Jane in there too. He was calm because he had a hostage. Someone who meant even more to me than saving the lives of schoolgirls—if I had to make a choice.

  Fortunately I didn’t.

  I kicked open the door and could see him standing beside the desk. He was alone and had a revolver in his hand.

  I noticed that the kimono was still in place but the samurai sword was on the desk and other artefacts were missing. My back brain processed this as we aimed our guns at each other.

  “Where’s Jane,” I asked.

  “Safe,” he said. “But before we talk, I want to make a deal.”

  I shook my head. “Was your plan to have me picked up by the police?”

  “They’re on their way,” he said, but I heard bluff in his voice.

  “I got here before you were ready,” I said. “McNaughton’s not coming.” For a second I saw doubt in his eyes. Not McNaughton then. “Who are you expecting?”

  He shook his head. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll turn evidence.”

  I said, “Put the gun down.”

  He dropped it at his feet and placed a hand on the desk.

  He said, “There you are. I’m showing good faith.”

  “Is that what you showed the guy you killed and decapitated—the man on the causeway?”

  “I was following orders,” he said. “Deal and I’ll explain.”

  “Explain and I’ll consider it,” I said.

  “All right. I’m not in charge here.”

  I shook my head. “You beat someone to death with a cricket bat and then you took off his head and hands. You didn’t want him recognized—because that wasn’t the purpose. You used him as a threat to warn off someone else.”

  Now he shook his head, although his eyes never left mine.

  I said, “You used that sword and it cut cleanly.”

  “But that doesn’t make me the boss.”

  “So who’s the boss?”

  He smiled with his mouth but not with his eyes. “I thought you’d spotted it. When you were in here before. I thought you saw the signature on the bottom of the letter. The one on the desk. RZ.”

  “RZ.”

  “She liked to call herself Rafflesia Zarah. She liked th
e power, liked men to be afraid of her. She was here during the war, you know. And at the end she killed three of the Japanese officers who had kept her here. She tortured them for days. She’s a hard woman. Yes I used the sword, but I didn’t beat him to death. That was her. She went crazy because he betrayed us. He let those girls escape.”

  I said, “Where are the girls.”

  “Deal?”

  “All right. You help us get Sarah, you have a deal. Where is she?”

  “Right now? Beneath us.”

  I must have involuntarily followed his gaze, because I didn’t see his initial move. The next second he had the sword in his hand and lunged for me.

  The sound of the Bren gun pummelled the air. Rix’s arms went up and he danced briefly like a marionette. And then his body went down but kept jerking despite him being dead.

  Stevenson stood beside me.

  “Bastard,” he said.

  “There must be a cellar,” I said. “The girls are down there and the woman probably has them held hostage.”

  It took us a few minutes to find the hidden door in the panelling beneath the staircase.

  I kicked it open and found a light switch. The smell of fear assaulted my nostrils as I moved down, step by step, gun ready. But when I reached the bottom I was surprised at what I saw. It was like a dorm room with twenty basic cots. At the end was a cage were young women and girls huddled together, with tape around their mouths. Their hands were also bound.

  We quickly opened it up and they spilled out, nervous and uncertain. They clustered by the nearest bed.

  I eased forward and removed the first gag. The girl looked Eurasian and was maybe sixteen.

  “Where is she?” I said.

  “Sarah?” she said, hoarse with nerves, and pointed towards the far end of the room where there appeared to be a hole in the wall leading into a tunnel.

  “And the other woman—Jane?”

  The girl nodded again.

  “Help them,” I said to Stevenson, meaning the girls from the cage. I shone my torch and proceeded along the tunnel. It was barely wide enough for one person, with a rounded ceiling that made me duck. There were no doors and, after fifty yards, it seemed to be a dead end.