A Warlord's Lady (4 page)

My breath caught in my throat and it echoed in the absolute silence of the street.

What in the good Lord’s name was going on? What magic cocktails?

Cain Dath inclined his head slightly. ‘And I recognise you too, Maggie South.’

All I could think was ‘What the fuck?’

Although now would have been the perfect time for me to escape, I’ll merrily confess I was spellbound by the intrigue.

Mags struggled to stand straight, and Jürgen released his grip somewhat. Mags shook herself, and smoothed her hair back a little. She didn’t look nearly so haggard now. In fact, she looked quite young.

‘What are you doing here, Maggie?’ Cain asked softly.

Mags laughed, and it was a horrible sound, so creepy I could almost feel it on my skin.

‘Your time is coming to an end,’ she hissed, taking another swipe at Jürgen. ‘We found her first, and we will have her.’

Jürgen yelped and gripped his arm where Mags’ blood red nails had sliced his flesh.

‘No,’ Cain replied, his face thunderous.

There was a crash to the right and suddenly the street exploded with people. The yelling and ensuing cacophony was deafening.

Wasting no more time, I ran.

A gunshot rang out, then another, but I didn’t dare turn around. I pounded along like a demented anteater, hunched and clinging close to the wall. Knowing with horrible clarity that my disguise was failing.

‘Sabra!’ a voice called, and the urgency in the tone made me trip. My head twisted in the direction of the voice and I saw Mags pelting behind me.

‘Mags,’ I cried, stopping all together and slumping against the wall. There was more gunfire in the street and I flinched instinctively.

‘It’s okay, honey,’ Mags crooned as she reached out and touched my arm.

A sob threatened to choke me. ‘What the hell is going on?’

Surprise flashed over Mags’ face. ‘I’ll tell you after…we’ve got to get out of here.’ Her blonde head twisted back to check the street behind us.

I was too terrified to argue. Mags was familiar, and the creepiness I’d witnessed in the street earlier had gone. She was just Mags again; the smell of old cigarettes hung around us and I found myself feeling absurdly relieved.

‘Do you trust me, Sab?’ Mags asked, her tobacco stained eyes watching me closely.

I nodded, not knowing what else to do.

‘Don’t let Cain Dath get you,’ Mags warned. ‘We can’t let him get you.’

‘But what’s going on?’ I asked again, but Mags was pushing me forward. ‘Why would he want me?’

‘I’ll tell you later,’ Mags whispered and continued pushing my naked back until we were ensconced in a smelly alcove. ‘Just promise me, Sabra, you will never let him touch you.’ The urgency in Mags’ voice was undeniable.

‘You were the one who told me to get a bit of rumpy-pumpy!’ I let out a watery laugh.

Mags shook her head, her rouged lips tight. ‘This isn’t a joke. I didn’t recognise him then, but I do now. Promise me, Sabra Westwood, you will never let him touch you. Ever.’

I looked up into Mags’ eyes and, seeing the concern there, forgot I was naked, forgot I should be camouflaging, and forgot we were being chased. I forgot everything but the promise I was going to make.

‘Promise me!’ Mags urged again, her ruby nails like iron, biting into my exposed biceps.

I nodded, wincing. ‘I promise.’

Suddenly, there was a horrific bang and I flinched. Above me, Mags’ face contorted as a bullet ripped through the side of her head. Blood spewed everywhere. Warm, metallic, splattering rain. A scream gathered deep in my throat as I looked up. Behind Mags’ fallen body stood Cain Dath — he’d killed her at point-blank range.

Sabra screamed and opened her eyes.

When her mind reconnected with her body she found herself panting, collapsed in one of her cushy microfibre sofas.

It was only a flashback,
she reminded herself. She’d had these flashbacks frequently since her escape and they were always brutally real. She’d even seen a psychiatrist about them. He’d recommended anti-anxiety medication, but it hadn’t helped.

‘Another bad dream, hon?’ said a soft voice from her left.

Sabra’s hand flew to her chest in alarm, and her head spun around. She could feel her skin fluctuate wildly in alarm.

Her friend, Elka Maram, sank down onto the sofa beside her. Somehow she’d got past the guards and let herself in — probably with the spare set of keys Sabra had given her. In recent weeks the armed guards had taken to checking ID before anyone even so much as knocked on her front door. This had its benefits, as now Sabra was unlikely to harassed by ‘God-botherers’, but it also meant that she didn’t get to donate to the Girl Guides and Red Cross when they came with their fundraisers. It also meant that the few friends that Sabra had retained since her ordeal were unlikely to visit. That is, except Elka.

‘How did you get in?’ Sabra asked. ‘No one has got past them this week, not even the Baptist minister.’

Elka shrugged, her brown eyes twinkling. ‘I showed my ID, and told them you were expecting me.’

‘They’d know you were lying,’ Sabra replied dourly. ‘Some of the guards are actually magicians.’

Elka waved a manicured hand dismissively. ‘Doesn’t matter…were you having a bad dream?’

For a moment Sabra stared at Elka’s face, trying to dismiss a weird feeling that flopped in her gut.

‘It was just a flashback.’ Sabra smiled ruefully, trying to decipher Elka’s curious expression. ‘What’s up anyway? Shouldn’t you be at work?’

Again, Elka waved her question away; she looked very tired. ‘You’ve been in the papers again,’ she said, raising an eyebrow and running a hand through her short cropped blonde hair before reaching down into her bag to pull out a crumpled newspaper clipping. ‘They’re hinting that you’re responsible for that bus crash in Laos. They say the Warlord is punishing tourists because he can’t have you.’

‘What?’ Sabra gasped, and with a hand that still trembled slightly, she took the newspaper clipping and stared. The first thing she noticed was the hideous photograph. Her hair was dishevelled and clearly she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her stomach and breasts strained against a too-tight tee-shirt emblazoned with a picture of a cat.

‘How did they get this photograph?’ Sabra groaned, looking up at Elka with increasing horror. The background of the image was blurred, but Sabra could make out the old Hills Hoist clothes line, and the familiar shape of her treasured mandarin tree. ‘It’s in my garden!’

Elka shrugged. ‘I guess there was a paparazzi photographic sniper in your garden. I wouldn’t put anything past them.’

Sabra read on.

Miss Sabra Westwood, Chameleon and ex-concubine of the infamous Laotian warlord, Cain Dath, was spotted yesterday looking less than glamorous. News just out of Laos claims that the Warlord remains furious about her tell-all exposé, ‘Memoirs of a Warlord’s Love Slave’. Sources report he has claimed responsibility for the fatal bus crash that occurred yesterday, killing 28 passengers including 14 Australians. There has been no response from Miss Westwood’s lawyers about the claim.

Sabra Westwood, who is now a millionaire due to the massive success of her exposé, alleges that while holidaying alone in Laos 18 months ago she was kidnapped by the Warlord and imprisoned for six months, serving as his sex slave. Westwood has maintained she doesn’t know why he kidnapped her, or what importance she holds for the increasingly powerful warlord. Police Sergeant Hollis reported to the West Australian Newspaper yesterday that Westwood’s behaviour is becoming increasingly erratic, her appearance dishevelled and slovenly. Fears are held for her mental health. Hollis told the West Australian Newspaper exclusively that moves are underway to have her admitted into Cerebral Management, for her own health and safety.

Relatives of those in the bus crash are calling for an inquiry and it is said that a number blame Westwood directly for the deaths of their loved ones. As such, police protection around Westwood has been increased and court proceedings initiated to expedite her admission into Cerebral Management.

With trembling hands, Sabra placed the clipping down on the table. Elka watched her with a steady gaze.

‘I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you — ’ Elka began, but Sabra interrupted.

‘It’s all right, Hollis was harping on about Cerebral Management earlier. This isn’t really a surprise.’

A startled look ricocheted around Elka’s face briefly before she spoke. ‘Really? Hollis spoke to you about it? Wow.’ There was a moment of silence, and Sabra shuffled on the couch, allowing her backside to sink deeper into the softness. ‘What are you going to do?’ Elka asked, her hand slipping closer to Sabra.

Sabra took the proffered hand gratefully and squeezed. Elka’s hands were warm. ‘I don’t think there is anything I can do. He said he’s going to get the courts to sign and then I can’t refuse.’

The two fell into silence and Sabra’s clock ticked relentlessly from the mantle.

‘I’ll figure something out,’ Elka said. ‘We can’t let you be admitted to Cerebral Management, you’d never get out.’

Sabra ignored the hot flush of annoyance. ‘Why would you say that? I’ve got nothing to hide. They couldn’t keep me there indefinitely.’

Elka hesitated and pursed her lips. ‘I know things, Sab.’

A cold trickle of unease scuttled up Sabra’s spine and she stared at Elka. She was the Australian consul official who had chaperoned Sabra back to Australia after her escape. Elka had stayed on in Perth, guiding and assisting Sabra through all her interviews, interrogations and reports — they’d become fast friends.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You just have to trust me.’

Sabra was silent but her mind was racing.
What was going on?

‘Elka…I do trust you, but you’re a government employee. Won’t you get into trouble if you try and help me?’

Elka’s eyes hardened. ‘It doesn’t matter, there are bigger things at stake here.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like you getting kidnapped by Cain Dath again…’

At his name spoken aloud, Sabra’s heart gave a treacherous thump, but she struggled to ignore it. ‘And how is that going to happen? He’s probably not even in Australia.’

‘He’s not, but his henchmen certainly will be, and it’s simply a matter of time before they come to get you.’

Elka sounded so sure of herself; it was more than a little unnerving.

Frustration seemed to bubble out of Sabra, and she couldn’t stop the next words from coming, as plaintive and childish as they sounded. ‘But
why?
’

‘Because…’ Elka began but clearly silenced herself.

‘Do you know something I don’t, Elka?’ Sabra’s heart beat hopefully, but Elka’s eyes darted away from her and fixed themselves on the copy of Sabra’s book.

‘Didn’t I tell you not to write that?’

‘Yes, but then, so did everyone. But what else could I have done? I couldn’t go back to work, not with all the flash-backs and memories…I took a chance, and it’s made me money, not that I’m able to spend it with all this government protection.’

Elka shook her head wearily. ‘It’s led him straight back to you.’

‘You said before he’d find me anyway…why?’

‘You’re special, Sabra. Very special. He won’t let go of you — but nor will I.’

The creeping sense of unease made its way back up Sabra’s spine.

‘What do you mean? You’ve said it many times that there’s nothing more you can do to help me, apart from being my friend.’

Elka nodded her head, as if agreeing with something within her own mind. ‘Yes, and I’m going to get you out of here, away from Cerebral Management and away from Cain Dath, forever.’

Sabra sighed and shook her head. ‘And how do you propose to do that?’ she asked.

Elka raised her head, and the look in her brown eyes was chilling. Her teeth, so white, looked startling against the red of her lipstick. She looked creepy and disturbingly familiar.

‘Explain to me, just how do you propose to do this?’ Sabra asked again, feeling a little worried.

‘I’m going to have to kill you,’ she hissed.

Before Sabra had time to scream, Elka was on her. She found herself smothered by Elka’s smokily perfumed hands. Vomit boiled up her throat with the shock, and she gagged. Vicious hands were on her throat, tightening, a maniacal gleam burning in the insane depths of Elka’s previously-kind eyes.

The sense of betrayal was soul-shattering.

‘What…are…you…’ Sabra rasped, struggling to try and get away.

‘I’m sorry,’ Elka snarled, her lips obscenely red against the paleness of her face. She didn’t look sorry. She looked rather delighted, in fact.

For a long choking second, Sabra struggled with the urge to do something, anything. Elka’s hands tightened. She could hear a horrid gurgling gasp, and realised dimly it was her own body wheezing for breath.
That’s me?
Perhaps she was having one of those out-of-body experiences. Sabra felt herself look down to watch the scene play out. Elka was hunched over her body, with her ruby-nailed hand white knuckled and tight around Sabra’s throat. She stared at herself, the colour of her skin fluctuating wildly, like a dying squid. Her hair was lank and greasy and it shimmered with all kinds of colours. Sabra couldn’t help a roiling sense of dissatisfaction. When she’d been captive, her every whim had been catered for, her hair washed, her nails manicured, her skin flawless. She’d presumed this was because her master, the Warlord, had wanted her that way. It was only when Sabra stared into her own hypnotic grey eyes that she felt a pang. There was a woman, a woman one of the most powerful warlords in the world had coveted — and
still
coveted. Why? She didn’t know, and suddenly she realised if she were to die she’d never find out — and that, quite simply, wasn’t good enough.

It was as if some peculiar force came over her. Instead of choking and being horrified she felt calm; her heart ceased to hammer in her chest and her mind grew clear. She searched down deep for some sort of well of strength, and unexpectedly found one. With a triumphal grunt she pushed Elka with all her might. Elka released a startled scream, and the force of Sabra’s push sent her careering into the other sofa on the opposite side of the room.