Take stock and report. The thigh bruise wasn't any real problem – I could run close to the limit if I had to. The laceration to the rib had stopped limiting the lung-capacity two days ago, or I couldn't have worked as I did with Kishnar. The right hand was useless but the arm was perfectly fit, without any degree of paralysis: I could block with it. The sutured artery in the left wrist must have healed to the point -of handling very high systolic pressure, or – again -1 couldn't have got through the Kishnar thing. Everything else normal.
Hand on my arm. 'How-'
Top line.'
Not necessarily telepathy; he'd been waiting for my assessment and report at this stage, within minutes of the action.
He nodded and took his arm away.
C1, please.
'Come in.'
Flood's voice. He'd stayed behind at the night-club to liaise.
Can you give a status report for the board?
Signals board. That was to say Croder.
Loman leaned forward. 'Tell him that we're proceeding to the rendezvous as planned, and anticipate effective action.'
Took some saying. The man had guts, admit it. He was reporting to C of C and there were other ways he could have put it: estimations are sanguine, complications not foreseen at this stage, a nice cosy phrase that would mean that we were all sitting here with our fingers crossed and our sphincter muscles tight and our minds turned away from the unthinkable. The control and the director were, after all, escorting the executive in the field to a deliberate confrontation with the objective, who had put a small army into the streets of Singapore to wipe me out.
C1… C1…
Katie took the phone.
'Come in.'
The 727 is being readied for flight. Chinese voice, American accented English. Fuelling has commenced and the systems are being checked.
'Thank you. Please keep me informed.' She turned her head. 'Did you get that, Mr Loman?'
'Yes.'
He didn't speak again until we passed the first of the Changi International Airport signs. Two more calls came in, giving us the present position of the Shoda convoy, and Flood signalled with a request for updated information, obviously for London.
We hadn't stopped at an intersection since we'd left the night-club; when the lights had been at amber or red there'd been a marked police car standing there with its lights flashing and we'd gone straight through. This was why Pepperidge had said it was a forty-minute run to the airport with escort.
I looked out of the windows, trying to get the thought out of my mind that I was sitting in a Black Mariah on my way to the execution block. I wasn't having any second thoughts:
if this thing finally didn't work then that would have been written in the stars. There was no other end-phase operation we could hope to pull off and we knew that. The nerves were tightening, that was all, normal at this stage, ignore.
The Loman spoke.
'It's my opinion,' carefully, 'that your estimate of the time factor is on the pessimistic side. I'd say you have more than a five-minute period to work in. There will be quite a little panic when the crates are opened, and they won't signal Shoda's aeroplane immediately. Do you want further briefing on this?'
'No.' Beacons were coming up, red lights at the top of radio masts sliding past the darkened windows. 'That's all I need.' A jet was taking off, its vibrations palpable inside the car.
'If I'm wrong, of course…'
If he was wrong it'd blow the whole thing into Christendom. No, not the whole thing, just the executive; but Flood would have a rotten job to take over.
The main tower showed through the windscreen, black against the glow of the terminal lights. The smell of kerosene was coming in through the air-conditioning ducts.
'Gentlemen.'
Loman showed us his watch. 20:13 hours; Pepperidge altered his to synchronise.
I was aware of the outline of Katie's face on the right side, the curve of the cheekbone, the curl of hair.
I wish we could have met before. But then I suppose it wouldn't have worked out.
Slowing. A red light flashed from the rear of the Mazda ahead of us.
'They're taking us straight onto the tarmac,' Katie said. 'Is that right, sir?'
'Yes.'
She slowed again.
Martin, will you stay the night? There's not much of it left anyway.
Another jet went sliding across the roofs of the buildings, lifting clear and leaving its sound filling the night.
She swung the wheel, following the Mazda.
Keep back the dawn. Wasn't that the title of something?
Slowing.
Gates, Personnel Only.
Two uniformed guards checking the Mazda, asking for IDs. Two guards, I suppose, because there'd been an attempted hostage situation at this airport a month ago.
Ice.
One of the gates swung back and the Mazda was waved through. We followed.
Ice along the nerves.
Hand on my arm. 'The way you've got things worked out, old boy, it should be a pushover.'
'Yes.'
Perfect direction in the field, close attention to the minutiae of the situation, tot of rum for the troops, so forth.
Tarmac. Vehicles moving; fuel tankers, baggage trains; security patrols. A jumbo on the main east-west runway, rolling under power, a windsock flying out in its wake, then dropping. The last met report had said still-air conditions at ground level.
A lot of noise now from the jumbo, North-West Orient. When it had died away Loman asked me, 'You still prefer a police car?'
'Yes.'
The High Commission limo would stand out, I didn't want that. The whole thing had to be performed in low key, no rush, no excitement, softly, softly, catchee monkee, too much confidence, too much bloody chutzpah, it's not going to be as easy as that, it's not going to be a pushover.
Steady, lad.
We slowed and stopped. I could see the 727 standing near the line of hangars, at least I assumed it was the one.
'Is that-'
'Yes, over there,' Katie said. 'TH-9 J-845.' To Loman, 'Shall I wait here, sir?'
'See if you can get in there between the fence and the service truck.'
We moved off, did a slow turn and slotted into cover. I could see a limousine standing a hundred yards away, not far from the 727 and flanked by two smaller cars.
C1. C1, please.
'Come in.'
Their ETD is down as 20:25.
Thank you.' To Loman, 'Sir?'
'Yes, I've got that.'
He picked up his field-glasses and focused them.
Seventeen minutes.
Close, we were getting very close now.
The main taxiing-lane was behind us and I could hear the aircraft rolling there; I could see the red wingtip lights on the starboard side reflected in the outside mirrors. The line was almost unbroken.
I've given this a tremendous lot of thought, I'd told Croder, and you know my record.
Too much pride? Not really. The way I thought I could handle things, there was a chance. That was all we needed, a chance.
Loman, beside me, suddenly petulant, 'I would feel very much better if you would arm yourself.'
I think it was just something to say, to fill the silence, break the waiting, because he knew bloody well I never used a gun, those things are more nuisance than they're worth.
Didn't answer.
'This car will stay right here,' Pepperidge said. 'So if-' and he broke off because we were all watching the limousine over there and an Asian woman in a track-suit was getting out and opening a rear door, standing aside. At this distance and in this light I couldn't see more than four small figures moving quickly from the car to the steps of the jet. The car didn't move, stayed where it was. Within sixty seconds the steps began retracting and half a minute later the cabin door was closed.
'Two women,' Loman said with the field-glasses raised, 'and two army officers.'