To Parts Unknown

by John Anthony Miller

  I described what I had done in Singapore, my articles on the war and the people. He seemed interested.

  “I like the idea of writing about ordinary people and how the war impacts them,” he said. He looked at the clock. “You missed today’s deadline. Can you have something for me tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” I said, and turned to leave.

  “Hey, Adams,” he said as an afterthought. “Why did you leave London?”

  I managed a weak smile. “Maybe I was running from something worse.”

  The following day brought tragic news. The Japanese had invaded Sumatra, the island neighbor of Java, and were battling the Dutch for control. This caused widespread panic in the streets of Batavia. Most believed Java was next.

  I spent the day writing about my escape from Singapore and the invasion of Sumatra and its impact on the Dutch East Indies. I created several articles about both people I had met and the impact of war: the little girl who lost her life, Chin and his son, my discussion with the guests fleeing the Victoria Hotel, the chaos of our last few days in Singapore, Balraj and Lady Jane, although I protected their identities, and Van der Meer and the rubber plantation. I brought them to Harry Simpkins in time to meet the deadline for the morning papers in London. He glanced through them, read a few closely, complimented me on style and content, and then passed them on.

  If the Sumatran invasion was devastating, the events of the next day, February 15th, were cataclysmic. The island of Singapore, once thought invincible, had surrendered to the Japanese. It was one of the worst defeats in British history. The Allies faced a bleak future; they were losing the war on every front. It seemed only a miracle could save the free world from the shackles of Toto, Mussolini, and Hitler.

  Thomas visited an old friend that evening, so Lady Jane and I agreed to meet for dinner. I anxiously looked forward to it; I couldn’t stop thinking about the moments we shared after the plane crash. Even if they did make me feel guilty, like I was betraying Maggie's memory. I was waiting for Lady Jane in the dining room when she rushed in, waving a newspaper. She hurried to my table and dropped it in front of me.

  "Did you see this?" she asked. “We escaped just in time.”

  I glanced at the headline: “Singapore Surrenders.” “Yes, we did. I hope Batavia is different.”

  We talked awkwardly through dinner, avoiding eye contact, both uncomfortable being alone. I think we each understood that we had crossed a boundary, whether wanting to or not, and it might be difficult to retrace those steps. We made casual conversation about the weather, our impressions of Batavia, what we had liked about Singapore, an hour of discussion that really meant nothing. After dinner, I had to know what she had been thinking and where she might be going.

  “Do you plan to return to India?” I asked.

  “I’m not welcome in India,” she replied. “It’ll be a long time before I can ever go back. At least to New Delhi.”

  An awkward silence ensued, both of us wanting to discuss an issue we were uncomfortable with, but neither knowing how.

  “But everything about you is British India,” I said. She studied me closely for a moment, her eyes meeting mine for the first time that evening. “Yes,” she said. “You’re right. I am India.”

  She was silent for a moment, forming her thoughts, and then she continued, speaking slowly and clearly. “It’s a fascinating place, desperate for independence, anxious to experience the unknown, willing to falter, wanting to explore, but needing to be loved. But at the same time, it’s a land that clings to tradition, comfortable with the safety and security of what it’s always known. As bold as it is, it’s wary of independence, anxious about the unknown, terrified to falter, too timid to explore, and more importantly, afraid to love.”

  Her voice was moving, anxious and pleading, desperate for understanding. She watched me as I sipped on tepid water.

  “Britain, it seems, has its own issues,” I said. “It’s mired in the past, a comfortable time when happiness reigned. And although it knows it must face the future, and grasp each opportunity offered, it seems unable to. It can’t let go of what once was, so it may never know what could be and even has trouble seeing what already is.”

  She reached across the table and wrapped my hand in hers. “I think with patience and determination, and recognition of their weaknesses, India and Britain could forge a long-lasting alliance.”

  “That’s an interesting theory,” I said, daring to think of a different time.

  She paused and glanced at nearby patrons, her eyes then returning to mine. “Do you think you’ll return to London?”

  I considered it for a moment. “I’m not sure. I may want to go somewhere and start over. Maybe Singapore after the war.”

  “George,” she said softly. “You won’t let yourself start over, no matter where you go.”

  She was right. And I knew it. But I couldn’t help it.

  She clasped my hand tighter. “You have to stop running away.”

  The next evening I saw Thomas in the hotel bar. He had shaved his beard and was dressed impeccably, his appearance the opposite of recent days. He also smoked the pipe that was such a familiar sight in Singapore. It was only then that I realized his pipe was for civilized settings, his cigar was not. He was in a joyous mood, and even though we learned that the Japanese had captured Sumatra, the surrender did little to dull his spirits.

  "Java is next," he said. "And then Australia will follow. The Japanese want the whole Pacific Ocean."

  His statement did have merit. Japan needed natural resources, and they were conquering the territories that had them.

  I was saved a reply by the entrance of Lady Jane. She glided into the room wearing a beige dress with an ivory shawl draped carelessly over her shoulders, looking absolutely radiant.

  Thomas and I rose, and I moved to seat her. "Thomas, where have you been hiding?" she asked. "In the darkest corners of the city,” he said.

  “And why am I not surprised?”

  It bothered me that they were always flirting, although I knew it shouldn’t. Maybe the kiss we shared was innocent, the embrace friendly. Maybe I was making too much of it. Or maybe I wasn’t.

  A hotel clerk approached our table. He looked at me for a moment, and then addressed us as a group.

  "Mister Montclair?" he asked in accented English.

  I pointed to Thomas.

  “I have a letter for you,” he said.

  “Thank you,” he said as he tore the envelope and removed the note. After glancing at the page, he handed it to me.

  MONTCLAIR,

  PLANTATION CAPTURED BY JAPANESE. I’M PRISONER WITH MAN FROM SINGAPORE LOOKING FOR LADY JANE.

  VAN DER MEER

  I passed the letter to Lady Jane. She scanned the note and then handed it back to Thomas. Her lips were taut, her face firm, but she never said a word.

  CHAPTER 18

  “I have to rescue Van der Meer,” Thomas said firmly. “And that’s not open for discussion.”

  My jaw dropped, and I looked at him like he had lost his mind. The Japanese had nearly killed us once already.

  "Thomas, I know Van der Meer is a close friend,” I said. “But it’s too dangerous. You’re speaking with emotion, not logic.”

  "He would do the same for me," Thomas said. “And with no hesitation.”

  I thought about Van der Meer, the muscled arms and battered face, accented by the gold tooth. He probably would rescue Thomas. And enjoy doing it.

  “Lady Jane, did you expect Balraj to come looking for you?” Thomas asked.

  She glanced furtively at me, and then replied hesitantly. “I’m surprised that anyone tried to find me. But how would they ever know to go to Van der Meer’s?”

  He shrugged. “Chin’s cargo route was well advertised. And he flew to Van der Meer’s two or three times a week. But even if Balraj knew that, how could he have gotten out of Singapore?”

  I wondered if it really was Balraj. He didn’t seem devoted enough to
Lady Jane to attempt anything that difficult. And if he successfully escaped from Singapore, I couldn’t imagine him going to Van der Meer’s.

  "Does it really matter?” I asked. “We shouldn’t even think about attempting a rescue. We can’t do it.”

  Thomas eyed me sternly, his resolve evident. “You don’t understand the bond between Van der Meer and me.”

  I sighed, knowing I couldn’t change his mind. I also knew I couldn’t desert him. “If you’re that determined to proceed, then I want to help you.”

  He studied me for a moment, probably wondering whether to endanger my life. “I would welcome the assistance,” he said. “But I would never ask.”

  I had been rejected by the armed forces in England. Now I had the chance to prove myself, to make a contribution to the war effort, even if it was so minuscule as to deny the Japanese the expertise needed to operate the rubber plantation. But I also realized that I lacked the physical stamina for a jungle rescue. I could be more of a hindrance.

  “I’m not much of a fighter,” I said. “And I don’t know how much help I can be, but I’ll do everything I can.”

  “And so will I,” Lady Jane said.

  "This is a task for George and me," Thomas said sternly.

  "I think I should go,” she said. “I’m part of this group.”

  "But it's no place for a woman," Thomas said.

  A defiant look captured her face, an expression I had seen before. I remembered her in Singapore, flying by on a motorcycle as she searched for Balraj Patel, sitting unperturbed in a basement bomb shelter reading a murder mystery, relaxing in a taproom in a strange city with a roomful of strangers, belting out the chorus to a popular song. She was different; she grasped every branch the tree of life offered, determined to climb to the top. Thomas might think he was going to prevent her from going, but he wouldn’t be successful.

  "Thomas, I think we’re going to need all the help we can get," I said.

  "She cannot come," he said, emphasizing every syllable. "And that is final."

  "I insist," she demanded. “You can have a million reasons for not letting me go, but being a woman can’t be one of them.”

  We were silent for a moment. The war had brought tremendous changes to the world. Women worked in factories, replacing men who went to war, building airplanes, tanks, and jeeps. They also joined the service, performing a variety of tasks previously assigned to men, and I knew, as did Thomas, that women were working as spies behind enemy lines, perhaps the most dangerous task of the entire war effort. The difference, of course, was that in each of these examples, the women had been trained.

  "I'll look after her, Thomas," I said. "I promise." I wasn’t very confident. I could barely look after myself. In many respects, Lady Jane was stronger than I.

  He looked at us each in turn and then relented. "All right. You can come. But only George and I will participate in the actual rescue. Is that understood?”

  "Yes,” she said. “And don’t worry. I won't disappoint you."

  “I need a little time to plan this,” Thomas said. “Fortunately I have some friends in Batavia that will help."

  We sat in silence for several moments, reflecting on the mission looming before us. The closer it came to fruition, the more intimidating it became.

  "Excuse me," Thomas said as he rose from his chair. "I'd like to explore some paths for our departure."

  He went to a well-dressed Asian gentleman seated at the bar and spoke with him for several minutes. Then he chatted with a swarthy sailor who sulked in a dark corner of the taproom, nursing a bottle of beer. I didn’t know the content of the conversations, but I was impressed that he knew such a diversity of people.

  I also noticed that an attractive Asian woman, about thirty-five, watched him from across the room. Her hair glistened in the dim lighting, and her black eyes peeked seductively from the shelter of provocative lashes. Her attention had not gone unnoticed by him, and he now stole glances in her direction as he talked to patrons.

  Eventually he strolled to the woman’s table and offered a greeting. She smiled and invited him to join her.

  “Why do you think Balraj changed his mind?” I asked Lady Jane.

  “I don’t know if he did,” she said. “Maybe he’s just trying to get to Australia.”

  She watched Thomas chat with the Asian woman, and I saw a hint of jealousy housed in her eyes. While our conversation continued, she stole furtive glances at him. It troubled me. We had the opportunity to be alone, and I wanted the conversation to be personal, like the one on the beach, not about the rescue, Singapore, or Thomas.

  “If Balraj is at Van der Meer’s, then he overcame tremendous odds to find you,” I said. “He must really love you.”

  Thomas left the lounge with his companion as Lady Jane watched warily. I was hurt that she seemed so bothered by his behavior. She stood abruptly, grabbed her purse, and prepared to go.

  “It may not even be Balraj,” she said. “It might be Gregory.”

  CHAPTER 19

  I went back to my room, confused by her behavior. I wasn’t sure why she was so annoyed and upset. I didn’t know if it was because Thomas had left with another woman or because someone had followed her to the rubber plantation. Or both.

  She had made it clear that she had no interest in Balraj Patel, and that the whole incident was a mistake. Given the abrupt ending to their relationship, I doubted he would go to such lengths to find her. He may have gone to Chin’s to escape from Singapore, but once he had successfully left the island there was no reason to go to such a remote part of Sumatra. It didn’t make sense. I knew that, and so did Lady Jane.

  The only other candidate was Sir Gregory Millburne, Lady Jane’s fiancé. I found it interesting that Thomas seemed to have no idea the man existed, evidence that Lady Jane truly had confided in me. The private conversation we had on the beach really did mean something to her, just as it did to me.

  If it was Millburne, what type of man followed a woman from India to Singapore to Sumatra, risking his life on each leg of the journey? Especially after she had refused his marriage proposal and left him for another man, a man of different class, culture, and race. Nothing could be more humiliating to someone in his social position. He must really love her, and I suspect she had come to the same conclusion. She had said that he was a good man, and that she had nothing negative to say about him. Maybe that’s why she’d left the taproom so abruptly. Maybe Thomas’s dalliance hadn’t helped.

  She was a brave woman. Not only was she joining the rescue effort, confronting the Japanese, but she might also face the man she had abandoned, ruining his life and reputation. I supposed, even though the chances were slim, that she might find Balraj Patel waiting for her. I thought about the interest she enjoyed from the opposite sex: Balraj, Sir Gregory, Thomas, and even me. It was a testament to the woman who had earned it.

  My articles describing the fall of Singapore and Sumatra were among the best I had ever written. With Harry Simpkins’ help, I interviewed military personnel from both the British, Dutch, and Australian armies, all high-ranking officers, and then penned a detailed military analysis of each campaign. Both articles were featured in theBatavian Journaland theLondon Times. Within hours of their publication, a tall man in a pinstriped suit approached me in the hotel lobby.

  "Mr. Adams?" he asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  He held out his hand and shook mine firmly. "Joe

  Durgan. I'm a senior editor with the Associated Press in New York. I’ve enjoyed your articles."

  "Thank you," I said, surprised by the recognition.

  "You did a first-rate job," he added. "I saw some of your stuff from Singapore too. I was impressed. Are you staying in Batavia long?"

  "I haven't quite decided."

  "I don’t think anyone has, including me. Well, I sure hope you'll give theAssociated Press first crack at your future stories."

  "I'm actually employed by theLondon Times," I told him. “But
they don’t have exclusive rights.”

  "Good,” he said. “Then maybe you’ll send some stuff my way. Here's my card." He scribbled a brief note of introduction on the back. "Present this at any Associated Press office in the world, and they'll buy your stories. If they're up to snuff, I mean."

  "Sure," I said. "I will. Thanks for the opportunity, Mr. Durgan."

  "And keep up the good work," he said. "Don't forget it's the people, Adams. That's what makes you different."

  "What do you mean?"

  “Your style," he said. "You write about people and what events do to them. Not the other way around like a million other reporters. You have a good angle. I like it. It puts feeling in your stories. A human aspect." He looked at his watch. "Hey, I have to go, so I guess I’ll see you around."

  Buoyed with enthusiasm, I went back to my room and scanned the daily paper, comparing other articles to mine. While reading the accounts of the days leading to Singapore’s fall, I was sickened to learn of the turmoil before the surrender. Human behavior sometimes finds its ebb during catastrophes, whether natural or man-made; I realized that, but I was annoyed by reports of several bank robberies, all accomplished in the early morning hours. The same people probably performed them all, but investigators were left with no clues or culprits.

  I continued turning pages, finally arriving at the classifieds. Although I rarely read this section, a large rectangular ad caught my attention. It stated:

  Anyone knowing the whereabouts of Jane Smythe contact Philip Paddington Smythe via the law office of Jackson, Tudor, and King, F20/6A Gupta Blvd., New Delhi 91-99-6832-9562

  Maybe her father or his representative was at the plantation. To me, that now made the most sense of all, especially given a classified ad that was aimed at a global audience. Her father was probably anxious to make amends, afraid of what Lady Jane could be confronting and desperate to have her returned to the aristocratic cocoon he had built in New Delhi. I didn’t blame him.