Singapore Sling Shot - Andrew Grant [107]
“He’s deranged enough to fear us. Have the searchers not call out his name. Tell them to remain as quiet as they can. They might have more luck.”
“Yes, Colonel, and we are putting another one hundred people on the island. We must find him soon.”
“One would think so, Louis. One would think so.” The Colonel came to his subordinate’s side and stood staring at the photograph, trying to see beyond the bland image. “Where are you, Mr Crewe?”
I wake suddenly. I can hear movement in the jungle outside the cave. There are people out there, but they are not calling out as they did before. They are trying to move silently, but they are not succeeding.
It is morning. Late morning, I think. I have slept for a long time. My headache is almost gone. Am I getting better?
I crawl to the front of the cave and stay in the shadows. A pair of boots attached to legs in jungle camouflage trousers walk past. They have not seen the cave entrance because I cut bushes and pushed them into the holes I made in the earth. To them it looks as if there is nothing behind the bushes but the steep bluff that rises above it. How did I know to do this? There are just so many things I know. If only I could remember why I know.
There is another figure further away down the slope. I can see that he is not carrying a gun. Instead, he has a bush knife. He is slashing at the bushes as he moves forward.
I wait for some time until the sounds pass on into the jungle and then I leave the cave. I could stay here all day, but I want to walk in the jungle and enjoy its smells and its sounds. I want to pick fruit. I want to feel myself alive.
It is easy to see where the searchers have been. There are scuffs in the leaf mulch on the jungle floor. There are broken and cut branches. They are clumsy. Very clumsy!
There is a road below me. A narrow road. Parked on it is a utility truck. There is no one around. I squat and wait in the undergrowth to see if this is a trap, but it isn’t. There is no one here. On the tray at the back of the truck, there are two large plastic containers. This must be food and water for the people in the jungle.
I drop down to the road and go to the truck. Yes, the first container is filled with plastic water bottles. I take two. They are cold. In the second container, there is food. There are packets of cooked rice, sauces and fruit. I take some of each and fill my pockets. It is good of the people searching for me to provide me with food. Why are they searching for me? Have I done something bad? Do they want to punish me?
I move on down the road a little, and as I hear another vehicle approaching, I moved back into the jungle. A utility loaded with more people in uniform goes past.
“Why are they searching for me?” I ask the question aloud, and the sound of my own voice startles me. I think this is the first I have spoken aloud since I spoke to Sami Somsak on the telephone.
“Sami Somsak?” I repeat the name aloud. “I know Sami Somsak!” I have a picture of the man in my mind. Yes, I know him, and yes, he is my friend. My good friend. My very good friend.
I sit and drink some water. The fog in my head is slowly clearing. I see other faces, and with some of them come their names. There is the beautiful lady, Simone. Something happened to her. Something bad. I can’t remember what it is. Not yet!
I eat some rice and drink more water. Sylvia! I was married to her. Am I married to her now? Simone? Am I married to her? The fog around her is thick. I can see her face and I have her name, but that is all. Jo Ankar! This name arrives out of nowhere. I can see his face. He is Thai, a handsome man with silver flecks in his short hair. He is a friend, a good friend and he is dead.
The realisation that