Forever in Your Service by Sandra Antonelli

Author:Sandra Antonelli
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sandra Antonelli
Published: 2019-03-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

What a thing it was to relive a moment, to physically be half a world away, yet mentally exist in another place with time vividly recreated right down to the stench. Handkerchief to his nose and mouth, Kitt rose from the fetid corpse and moved away from the crate that held the same contraband handbags and scarves as the last container, which unlike this one, had not also served as a tomb for Dr Vida Zora and three others. Bloody hell, amid bodies, counterfeit goods, and the presence of the Malay customs broker representative, her young Chinese assistant, Dalton whined about his broken Rolex, and what idiot wore an expensive dress timepiece to such a filthy job, anyway? Bill Dalton, that’s who.

Not that he was any better, thinking about Mae and the Christmas tree and his proposal and how he hadn’t considered she’d ever say anything except yes. Since that was the case, it was time to get out, to make a move in another direction, to retire without keeping his hand in anything related to intelligence work.

The green-faced NCB officer had sunk to his knees outside, downwind, opposite where he had vomited. The Chinese assistant harbourmaster splashed his face with bottled water. The Indian-Malay, or possibly Nepali, dockers Molony had roped into service to open the containers shook their heads and shrugged, Tzin securing his plait, thickset Popo snapping chewing gum that, before the doors had swung open, smelled of violets.

The Malay customs broker patted her young assistant’s back. “He’s stone, lah.”

“Get him out of here,” Molony pinched his nose. “Her too.”

“What time is it?” Dalton asked.

Jaw tight with annoyance at himself, at Dalton, Kitt sent a text to follow up the call he’d made to Reed—As per your suggestion. Shithouse, henhouse, sweatshop—and glanced at his own watch, a practical Citizen. “Nine-fifteen,” he grumbled.

“No! No!” Molony shouted from the open doorway.

Kitt looked up and the Professor, tiny knife in his hand, fell through the door of the container, face down behind the NCB officer shrieking, “Teedak! Teedak!”

The assistant harbourmaster tumbled inside the space, arms stretched out to the screaming customs broker, his arterial spray spattering her face. “To-long! To-long!” she cried for help in Malay.

“Christ!” Kitt hissed, dropped his phone and hurtled himself clear of a pallet plank Popo swung at his head. He rolled to his feet as Tzin, the thinner brother, slashed out at the NCB officer. The still-green-faced man stumbled and staggered as blood erupted from the gash across his throat.

Dalton fumbled for the palm pistol strapped to his ankle and the length of pallet wood struck his back, splintering, knocking him out of the container, the pop-pop of two bullets ricocheted off metal.

Tzin moved for the boy. Kitt ducked another blow and tried to reach him, tried to drive forward and shove the kid out of the container, shouting at him to run. Then a length of wire passed in front of his eyes and caught the fingers he’d raised in defence. In an instant, jerked in reverse, the floral scent of Popo’s violet chewing gum gusting into his face.

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