Singapore Sling Shot - Andrew Grant [96]
The priest came to the rear of the hearse. Sami gave me an almost imperceptible nod. He turned to the children and whispered to them. Justine was already prepared for what was to come, this, the final physical act she could participate in to lay her sister to rest.
The undertaker and an assistant eased the casket out. Jo took one handle by himself, Justine and Angela shared one, while Sami and I took the other pair. It was only a short distance to the grave, and with the undertaker and his assistant hovering, we made it. The coffin was placed on the cradle and the priest called everyone in closer. Reluctantly, the mourners did as directed. There were now probably fifty or sixty people gathered to bid farewell to Simone DeLue. The rain started and umbrellas appeared like mushrooms.
The priest began with a eulogy of his own. As he talked, my mind started to play the sort of games that used to be a part of my everyday life, the other life, the one I played in the shadows.
Here, in the spectacular coffin lying there in front of us, was a young vibrant woman, the victim of a stupid accident. She had fallen down a stairwell and died. People died in accidents all the time, every day, every hour, every minute, every second probably.
Coincidence in my world is a dirty word. There is no such thing. Things happen for a reason. If you believe in God, then it is God’s reason. Everything else happens and I believe the random or fickle finger of fate is a vastly overrated entity. Is anything about life or death truly random? Was it all pre-ordained and written in a big book in a heavenly archive as many maintain?
As the priest continued to speak, I looked up and slowly turned my head to look at all of us gathered there. Sami was beside me. Justine next and then the children. Jo stood to my left and slightly behind me. The others, apart from the three former hostages, I didn’t know, but here we all were, gathered in a cluster around the grave.
Then it, the nagging thing that had been playing on the edge of my subconscious, found a coherent voice. What if Simone’s death hadn’t been an accident? What if somehow Thomas Lu had orchestrated it? Lu would have anticipated that Sami, who had gone to great lengths to seek the release of the hostages, would, of course, be in attendance at Simone’s funeral. What better opportunity to take Sami Somsak out of the equation with a well-placed round from a sniper’s weapon?
Even as that thought crossed my mind, I knew Sami had it covered. He had people scattered throughout the cemetery watching for just that eventuality: mourners with large bunches of flowers, flowers that smelt of gun oil, and eyes that were scanning every inch of the massive cemetery.
The coffin! The thought hit me from out of the blue. In my previous life, moments, nanoseconds even, of understanding had saved my life and the lives of others. Now was such a moment.
Suddenly it made sense, all of it! As I opened my mouth to shout a warning I already knew it was too late. A dull metallic click sounded over the voice of the priest.
“Get down!” I finally managed to scream out as I threw myself sideways. I slammed into Sami, driving him down and away from me as the air exploded around us.
36
Lying there in the rank grass, time seemed to move in slow motion. I was lying prone with most of my torso behind the concrete slab of a low grave. As an automatic reflex, my head was turned away from the direction of the blast. I was looking at the flank of the hearse parked ten metres beyond me and seeing it with the pure clarity of my instant adrenaline overload.
The sound that filled everything around me was a mixture of the sonic whiplash of high explosive and the voice of a million angry wasps. In front of my eyes the hearse, a big, white American tank, rocked on its springs as every scrap of glass disintegrated into sparkling dust. The metal flanks of the wagon rippled and pocked as dozens of holes appeared. The sound of a giant tin opener punching holes in cans underlaid the whine of the metallic wasps