The Scottish Banker of Surabaya - By Ian Hamilton Page 0,99
She hadn’t wanted it in the first place and had taken it only to placate her mother, and maybe to occupy Uncle. And maybe she’d taken it to avoid making a decision about what she wanted to do with her life. Once she’d taken it on, though, it had been like being on autopilot, going through the motions like the professional she was . . . like the professional she’d been.
Autopilot — that’s what she’d been on since waking on Saturday morning in Surabaya with Andy Cameron’s semen encrusting her body. All she felt was numbness when she thought about it, the same numbness she’d felt when she slid the picana under his genitals, the same numbness when she saw him slumped dead on the chair. She had gotten her revenge. Why did she feel no satisfaction?
It has nothing to do with Cameron, she thought. He was just another stranger, like so many others over the years, who had tried to do her damage as she went about her job. He had just been more successful.
“I’m so tired of strangers,” she said quietly to herself. They had filled her life for the past ten years. The clients and the thieves, and all the people along the way who had helped her connect the dots between one and the other. All of them strangers who had to be manipulated, brought onside, urged to do the right thing, forced to comply to her will. Cameron had been no different than any of them. And neither were the Indonesians who had worked alongside her, contributing to a man’s death without any real interest in the why of it. All of them had taken a piece of her.
“I think I’m done,” she whispered.
She deplaned and, ignoring the bustle around her, walked slowly through the airport, a bag in each hand. Uncle hadn’t told her where he would be, but he usually sat in the Kit Kat Koffee House, and she headed there without glancing at the designated arrivals area.
He was there, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lower lip, one of the Hong Kong racing papers open on the retro-style round laminated table. He looked up, and when he saw her, he smiled, put down the cigarette, and stood to greet her. “My beautiful girl,” he said.
She thought he looked almost gaunt, and then wondered if her imagination was working overtime. She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. “I’m happy you came.”
He seemed surprised by her response. “There were other problems in Surabaya?”
“No, no, I’m just pleased to be out of Indonesia, and happy to see you.”
He folded his newspaper and put it into the side pocket of his black suit jacket. “I am sorry you went there in the first place, and I am sorrier about the way it ended. Perkasa, he was a good man?”
“He couldn’t have been better.”
He began to say something else and then caught himself. “Well, then, let us go. Sonny has the car parked at the VIP curb. We got here early, so I imagine the police are getting impatient with us.”
“Hardly.”
“Maybe not,” he said, “but I do not like to take things for granted.”
He reached for one of her bags. “No, Uncle, I can manage,” she said.
“I put you in the Mandarin Oriental,” Uncle said as they walked through the terminal, “and I made a dinner reservation for us at Man Wah.”
It was Ava’s turn to be surprised. “Man Wah?”
“I know you like it.”
“But you don’t.”
“They fuss too much.”
“And I’m not in the mood for a fuss. So if you don’t mind, I’d rather eat noodles.”
He slipped his hand around her forearm and squeezed. “Noodles, then.”
“I still need to shower and change,” Ava said. She was wearing the same clothes she’d started the day in.
“Who is rushing?”
They went through a door marked PRIVATE. The Mercedes was parked no more than ten metres away. Sonny stood by the front bumper talking to a policeman as if he was an old friend. Uncle said, “Help Ava with her bags.”
Sonny stared at her, his eyes pensive. Had he found out something else about Uncle?
The policeman put a fist inside his opposite palm and then lowered his head and moved his hands up and down in a sign of respect. Uncle acknowledged him with a nod.
It was almost ten o’clock when they left the airport, the evening traffic light and moving fast. In less than half an hour Sonny had the Mercedes at the entrance to the Mandarin. The