The Noble Path: A relentless standalone thriller from the #1 bestseller by Peter May (learn to read books .TXT) 📕

friend first,’ Sivara said. ‘Will not be long.’ And for the first time she had a dark sense of foreboding.

‘Couldn’t you drop me off first?’

‘Quicker this way.’

‘Please, Sivara. I must make that phone call.’

‘Shut up!’ His voice was sharp and ugly and hit her like a slap in the face. Her heart was thumping.

‘Sivara, stop the car, I want to get out.’ She grabbed the wheel, and he turned and struck her viciously across the mouth with the back of his hand. The blow knocked her sideways and she struck her head hard against the side window. She felt dizzy and sick and her mind was fogged with fear and confusion. Why was he doing this? He had been so lovely, so kind.

The car turned into a blind alley and jerked to a halt. She heard the driver’s door open, and then he was round at the passenger side, opening the door and dragging her out. She tried to pull away, but felt weak and sick and he was much too strong, hands holding her wrists with a grip like a vice.

‘Sivara, please . . .’ He threw her back against the wall and she struck her head hard and slid to the ground. She was aware of him grabbing her bag and taking out her passport and purse. He dropped the passport and pushed the purse into a back pocket and threw the bag away. Then he was standing over her, undoing the buckle of his belt. The mischief in his eyes had been replaced by lust and malice.

‘English slut!’ he hissed.

She tried to get to her feet, but he grabbed the neck of her T-shirt, ripping it away and exposing her breasts. Then he punched her in the face and her world went black.

*

The doctor looked cool in his white suit. He had cropped, silver hair and a wrinkled, brown face. He was carrying a small black bag in his right hand. Tuk was waiting for him in the hall at the foot of the stairs. He led him through to the study and poured them both a drink. He could smell the spice of the doctor’s aftershave. ‘Well?’ he asked, and handed him his drink.

The doctor took a sip. ‘She is concussed, of course. Has several nasty contusions about her face and wrists. But nothing serious, nothing broken. She is also in a state of shock. She should rest for several days.’

Tuk nodded thoughtfully. ‘And?’ he asked.

‘There was no intercourse,’ the doctor said.

‘How can you be sure?’

The doctor smiled. ‘Because she is still intact.’

Tuk was surprised. A virgin! ‘What age would you say she is?’

The doctor shrugged. ‘Late teens – eighteen, nineteen.’

‘You will make your report to the police, of course.’

‘Of course.’

*

Lisa opened her eyes and saw nothing but white, a brightness that almost blinded her. She felt as though her head were stuffed with cotton wool, and through it there was a distant sensation of pain. She closed her eyes and opened them again more slowly. This time, form gradually took shape in the light. Something dark passing in long, slow sweeps over her face. She tried to focus. It was a ceiling fan turning lazily in the heat. Now she felt the draught of it. As she tried to lift her head the pain drew closer, but she saw that she was in a large, square room with white walls and slatted wardrobes. Full-length white curtains were drawn on tall windows and a curious scent of spice hung in the air. A big soft bed enfolded her, her head sunk deep in a voluminous pillow. And then she realized that under the sheets she was naked, and she had a momentary, flickering image of Sivara standing over her, a face distorted by lust.

But full recollection was slow in returning. It came in fragments, pieces of a jigsaw that made no sense. Then, suddenly, the whole picture was clear to her, the full horror returning, and she tried to sit up, panic rising in her like bile. But her body would not respond.

She heard a door open, but could not raise her head far enough to see who was there. Then a man’s face leaned over her, smiling, kindly, with fine black hair brushed back from his forehead. ‘And how are you now, my dear?’

‘Where am I?’ The fear was clear in her voice.

‘Now, you mustn’t be afraid.’ He sat lightly on the edge of the bed and carefully brushed the hair from her eyes. ‘You are quite safe. My name is Tuk Than. You were coming to see me, I think. The police found my name and address in your handbag. When they contacted me, of course I insisted they bring you here. Unfortunately your passport and money were gone with your assailant.’

She looked at him, trembling. ‘Did he – am I . . .?’

‘The doctor says you were not violated, my dear. Perhaps he was only after your money. Perhaps he was interrupted. We will only know when they catch him. Now you must rest. The doctor has given you a sedative and we shall see how you are in the morning.’ He rose from the bed. ‘Perhaps, though, you might tell me what a pretty young English lady was doing carrying my name and address around in her handbag.’

‘I’m looking for my father.’

He frowned. ‘Your father?’

‘Yes. Jack Elliot. I was told you might know where he is.’

And a shadow fell across Tuk’s face.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

An estimated one hundred and twenty thousand Vietnamese troops are making sweeping advances in the face of crumbling resistance from the Revolutionary Army of Kampuchea. Outnumbered in the region of three to one, almost half the nineteen divisions of Kampuchean troops committed to the border by the Khmer Rouge have been encircled in two massive flanking movements by the Vietnamese – at the Parrot’s Beak in Svay Rieng and the Fishhook in Kampong Cham. Independent sources say that Kampuchean tanks and artillery are being destroyed by superior Vietnamese firepower, and there